#and sit your ass down & come back with a more comprehensible argument rather than that weak ass shit to excuse ignorance being justified

[writingblock101]

Still Insufferable (Damian Wayne x Reader)

This is a part two to Insufferable! I had an anon request this a while back and found some prompts that gave some great inspiration! Hope y’all like it! You don’t need to read part one, but it does make the transition smoother. For reference, you and Damian are 17. 

Words: 2,800 

Tags: @idkmanicantenglish @mayahoelland2013

Warnings: None

“Do you ever follow directions?” A familiar, condescending voice asks you from the ground. 

You spot an annoyed Damian Wayne from your upside perch, staring up at you with crossed arms.��You grin, a little too excited to see someone who looks so annoyed with you. 

“I’m creating an extensive target practice!” You claim, gesturing with your bow to the targets down range

“By hanging upside from the rafters?” Damian raises an unimpressed eyebrow. 

“You’re questioning my methods.” 

“I’m not questioning it,” Damian corrects. “I’m saying it’s stupid.” 

You gasp in mock offense then unhook your legs and flip to the floor. 

“Your words wound me!” 

“You’ll recover,” Damian says dryly. 

“I thought you would approve of me making a more comprehensive training.”

“You were hanging upside down from the rafters. How is that more comprehensive?” Damian questions.

“Because I don’t always get the pretty shot with the perfect set up in the field!” You argue. “Sometimes, I’m making the shot while hanging upside down with a broken toe!” 

Damian pauses, his eyes flickering to your feet. 

“Is your toe broken?” He asks.

He almost sounds concerned. It’s kind of sweet. 

“No,” You admit. “But what if it was?” 

He blinks. The concern is gone. 

“You spend too much time with Roy and Jason.” 

“Well, Roy is basically raising me at this point, so yeah, kind of,” You point out. 

Damian rolls his eyes. 

“Mission briefing.” 

“Aw, you came all the way here to tell me yourself,” You tease Damian, aware of the various intercoms around the Tower.

He scowls at you, but doesn’t dampen your good mood. 

“I was the closest to the range. It made the most sense for me to come tell you.” 

“No need to make excuses,” You shrug. “I get it, I’m amazing and you can’t resist being around me.” 

“You’re insufferable.” 

“You know, that line didn’t fool me when we were 12 and it’s still not fooling me now.” 

Damian’s scowl deepens. 

“Mission briefing, now.” Then he walks off before you can make another smart ass comment. 

Sometimes, Damian makes it too easy. You hit the switch to pull the targets back in, figuring you’ll get your arrows later. 

You’ve been an official Teen Titan for a few months now. After Roy talked you into tagging along with the team for a mission, you were hooked. The rest of the team agreed to extend an invite to you, which you happily accepted. You love the team, including Damian. Despite your constant bickering, you and Damian work well together in the field, enhancing each other’s skills. 

In all honesty, you really enjoy being around Damian. While he’s a bit uptight, when he relaxes, he’s fun to be around. You’ve enjoyed getting to see the more relaxed side of Damian. Besides, it's fun to have someone who keeps up with every sarcastic remark you make, even if it includes him calling you insufferable. It’s a bit of a long shot, but you know Damian likes you more than he makes it seem he does. 

You head to the main conference room of the tower and settle in for a long presentation. While the briefings are long, and rather boring, they’re in depth. You have to give Damian credit, even when things go wrong on missions, his extensive briefings prepare your team for almost every possibility and help make adaptations to the plan on the fly. 

You fiddle with a pen, unscrewing it, laying out the pieces then put it back together as Damian talks. As you get more fidgety the longer the meeting goes on, Damian wordlessly slides a new pen over to you with a slightly different composition. You smile at him and busy your hands with taking part the new pen. Damian’s cheeks darken slightly, but before anyone can notice, he’s back in leader mode. 

Damian pulls up the blueprint, running through everyone’s role and position for the mission.

“And Black Falcon, you’re with me, handling guards on the roof and additional security measures.”

“The dream team,” You grin with a wink.

Damian rolls his eyes and ignores your remark. Instead, he fields any questions then dismisses the team. You glance down at the file briefing in front of you then remember one last question for Damian. As a few Titans clear out, you wander to the front of the room where Damian is studying the blueprint from the presentation. 

“Hey, boss man,” You wave your file at him. “This building is using the Kingsley Security system. What are your thoughts about debuting the new hacking arrows?” 

Damian frowns, flipping to the page with the schematics concerning the security system. 

“How effective is the firewall on the arrows?” 

“If you’re worried about them tracking back to us, the arrows’ firewall should be strong enough to erase our trail.” 

“Should be?” Damian raised an eyebrow. 

“They’ll be fine, but I don’t like to make guarantees.” 

“And why is that?” 

“Because sometimes, shit happens.” 

“I don’t like variables.” 

“Well, Dames, I’ve got bad news for you about how life works.” 

You cross your arms, leaning your hip against the table. 

“I don’t like variables on my missions when lives are on the line,” Damian says, scanning over the Kingsley credentials. 

“We’re connected to a computer with the highest level of security to currently exist. Even if they manage to trace back the arrows, they won’t get far.” 

Jon and Colin watch you two bicker about arrows and security.

“He likes having someone to argue with way too much,” Colin mutters to Jon. 

Jon nods along. 

“You’re telling me. He’s not going to do anything about it though.” 

Colin cracks a grin. 

“He’s just gonna roll his eyes and tell her she’s insufferable.” 

Jon and Colin snicker, catching Damian’s attention. He narrows his eyes at the two who sit innocently. 

“Listen,” You bring Damian’s attention back to you. “It’s your mission and I’ll respect whatever you want to do, but the only way for me to improve the arrows design is to test them.” 

“I’ll consider it,” Damian says. 

His phone lights up with notification on the table. Your eyes dart toward the light and your eyebrows go up. Damian catches your eye and snatches his phone off the table with red cheeks.

“Am I your lock screen?” You ask with a small grin. 

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” Damian shoves his phone in his back pocket. 

“Really?” Your grin grows as your eyebrows move higher. 

Jon and Colin watch with shit eating grins. 

“Grayson set it,” Damian growls. “I haven’t bothered to change it.” 

“Sure, he did,” You nod. “It’s a cute picture.” 

The picture is after Damian and Bruce got into a huge argument, bad enough that Damian called Dick to get him out of the Manor. Dick figured it would be a good day to give Damian a childhood experience he missed out on and decided to take Damian to a theme park. Knowing you were in town with Jason while Roy was handling some business in Gotham, he talked Jason into bringing you. While at the park, Dick insisted you and Damian needed to try a funnel cake since neither of you had ever had one. 

You and Damian decided to split one since Dick warned you they were pretty sweet. When you and Damian tried your first bites, Damian’s face instantly scrunched up which made you laugh and Dick managed to catch the moment on camera. 

Damian scowls at you while you just grin. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone and ruin your reputation,” You laugh, leaving the room. 

Damian scowls at you as you leave and returns his attention to collecting his files. 

“Ah Dames, get that look off your face, we all know how you feel,” Jon teases. 

Damian turns, scowling at Jon. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Sure you don’t,” Colin rolls his eyes. “We can all tell you like Y/N.” 

“She’s--”

“Insufferable,” Jon finishes. “Yeah, we know. You know, just because you keep saying it, doesn’t mean it’s actually true.” 

“And you know, we get it, you’re a condensing, uptight dick--” Colin starts to rattle off. 

“Why does everyone assume the worst of me?” Damian scowls at Colin. 

“It saves time,” He grins at his friend. “But, despite those things, you can be charming when you want to be. And if you actually acted on that charm, Y/N would agree to a date with you.” 

Jon stares at Colin for a minute, looking unimpressed then turns to Damian. 

“My advice is much more subtle. Stop being an ass.” 

“I didn’t ask for advice,” Damian growls. 

“We are aware and we also are aware that you never will,” Colin nods. 

“Why not let yourself be happy, Dames?” Jon asks. 

“I am happy,” Damian glares at the two of them then walks out of the room, tired of hearing their advice. 

“Think he’ll listen?” Colin asks. 

Jon shrugs. 

“Who knows.” 

. . . 

Your back hits the ground but you roll to the balls of your feet, breathing hard. You tighten your grip on your bo staff, ready to lunge for another hit when you notice Damian walk into the training room. As he walks toward you, you straighten up and grab your water, figuring it’s time for a break. Damian raises his eyebrows at your bo staff. 

“That’s not your normal choice in weapons,” He observes. 

You shrug, taking a swing of water and ignoring your cheeks heating up. While you wanted to expand your training, you’ve seen Damian using a bo staff a lot. He seems to like them so you figured you’d give them a shot. Besides, Tim has given you a few pointers. 

“Decided to try something new,” You say casually. 

Damian quirks an eyebrow, but says nothing else. 

“I’ve been thinking--” He starts. 

“A dangerous pastime,” You nod solemnly. 

Damian glares at you but continues, as if he didn’t hear your sarcastic comment. 

“We have a strong enough firewall on the computer in the Tower that if your arrows malfunctioned, we could detect and fight a security breach.” 

“So, I can bring them on the mission?” You finish. 

“Yes.” 

“Sweet!” You grin, pumping your fist. 

Damian rolls his eyes again at your celebration, but you can see him trying not to smile. He turns to leave, but you look back at the bo staff you were training with. 

“Wait! Damian!” You call. 

He turns, looking at you with raised eyebrows. 

“You’re better with a bo staff than I am,” You admit. “Wanna help me out?” 

Damian’s eyes flicker between you and the bo staff. You see a small smile fighting its way onto his face. 

“I’ll change into something more suiting for training.” 

You grin, spinning the staff around you then go into a mock solute. 

“Yes, commander.” 

Damian rolls his eyes again, but leaves to change. 

. . . 

You swing your staff up hard, but Damian blocks it and swipes at your legs with a low kick. Grinning as he falls into the expected move, you flip your staff around and hit Damian’s side. He grunts and moves again, this time, landing a hard blow to your arm. You grimace at the force, but swing your staff around again and manage to knock Damian’s legs out from under him with a move he showed you. 

Damian hits the ground hard with a grunt, but instead of rolling to his feet for another hit, he lays on the ground, looking a little dazed. 

“I got it!” You cheered as Damian sits up, watching you with a small smile. 

“Drive your hips more so the power doesn’t come from your arms as much,” He instructs. 

“You know, with all the archery I do,” You flex a muscular arm. “I’m pretty sure my arms are stronger than my hips at this point.” 

Damian rolls his eyes as he pushes himself to his feet. You swear you sees his eyes lingering on your flexed arm. 

“Basic anatomy,” He claims. 

“Right, your definition of “basic” and a normal person’s is pretty different.” 

Damian raises an eyebrow at you. 

“How do you mean?” 

You narrow your eyes. 

“You know what I mean.” 

“I don’t,” But the slow start of a shit eating grin on his face tells you Damian knows how you meant that statement. 

You groan, throwing your hands up. 

“Okay, fine, Wayne. I’ll give it to you, you’re pretty smart.” 

“Am I now?” Damian full on grins, making your heart flutter. 

You roll your eyes again, despite your raised heart rate. 

“I’m not going to say it again.” 

“I didn’t think you would. It doesn’t change the truth.” 

You sigh, shaking your head. 

“Why do I still like you, knowing you’re a total asshole?” You question as you walk toward your water. 

Damian freezes for a moment, your words slowly mulling over in his head. Before he can say anything else, his watch beeps. Damian looks down at it with a scowl.

“Duty calls?” You ask, handing Damian his water. 

He looks up from the notification and nods. 

“Get dressed, we leave in ten minutes.”

. . . 

Following your normal post mission tradition, you relax on the roof with a few boxes of take out. You dig into your box of fried rice, enjoying the view as your legs dangle over the edge of the huge tower. The roof access door opens and someone sits next to you but you don’t have to turn to see who. Wordlessly, you hold out Damian’s vegetarian Lo Mein which you took the courtesy to grab while he showered after the mission. 

“Your arrows worked,” Damian comments, accepting the box from you and digging in with his own chopsticks. 

“Mmhm,” You hum with a smirk. “Told you.” 

Damian rolls his eyes. 

“Of course you wouldn’t be able to resist making a childish remark.” 

You grin, nudging Damian’s shoulder. 

“You knew I already knew the arrows worked. You just wanted to hear me say it.” 

“I absolutely did not.” 

“Sure you didn’t. I’m irresistible.” 

“You’re insufferable,” Damian corrects. 

“I still don’t believe that line.” 

“Your belief does not change the truth.” 

You laugh, leaning against Damian as you both continue eating, enjoying the view and each other’s company. After the first time Damian joined you on the roof, it became both of your traditions to enjoy your post mission meals together. Later, you would rejoin the team for game night or movie night, but for now, you two enjoy your quiet meals and unwind peacefully. 

Once your meals are finished and the boxes are discarded to the side, you scoot closer to Damian, resting your head on his shoulder. He slowly places a hand on your knee, seeming a bit uncertain. You smile to yourself and squeeze his arm, scooting a little closer to encourage him. He leans into you, seeming more relaxed by the affection. 

“You know,” You finally say after a few minutes of silently watching the sun set. “I turned out liking you a lot more than I originally planned.” 

“How much did you intend to like me?” Damian asks.

You feel him starting to go stiff. 

“Well, given you insulted me when I first met you,” You point out with a shrug. “I didn’t expect to like you very much.” 

“And now?” Damian asks hesitantly. 

You lift your head from Damian’s shoulder to look at him, your noses inches away.

“Now, you’re pretty alright,” You tease, admiring his pretty green eyes. 

Damian rolls his eyes with a small laugh. 

“Just alright?” He asks, squeezing your knee lightly. 

“Well,” You shrug again, feeling your heart pound. “Maybe a little more than alright.” 

You stare at each other for a long moment until Damian’s eyes flicker to your lips. Here goes nothing. Before you can bring yourself to regret, you close the small distance between each other and press your lips to his. He’s hesitant for a moment, stiff against you. Before you can pull away, Damian’s fingers sink into your hair, pulling you closer as he kisses you back. 

You melt into the kiss and grip his shirt tightly. As he shifts his head to deepen the kiss, a voice yells from behind you: 

“It’s about time!” 

You and Damian jump apart, still holding a hand on each other to see Jon standing by the roof access door. Damian scowls at him while Jon grins like he’s just won the lottery. 

“You have no idea how annoying it was so watch you two pretend like you don’t like each other,” Jon rolls his eyes. “Come on, we’re starting game night.” 

He disappears back through the door as you look back at Damian. 

“Well, duty calls,” You joke, sliding off the ledge. 

Damian turns, catches your wrist, and tugs you back to him.

“They can wait,” He mutters to you, kissing you again. 

You happily melt into the kiss, your hands on Damian’s chest as his hands slide to your hips. 

“Am I still insufferable?” You tease against Damian’s lips. 

He smirks, standing to his feet and pulling you close by your waist. 

“Yes,” He kisses you again. 

I’ve been writing things as I get inspiration. I think I’ll be compiling a prompt lists soon because I have some request... They are really big ideas and I don’t think I can take on any projects that big right now. I hope you enjoyed! 

[pumpkinpaix]

this is gonna sound so harsh but im legit tired of chinese diaspora people who think that bc they are of chinese descent and they have pleco they can act like voices of authority in the fandom. if modao is the 1st chinese book you have read pieces of with a dictionary, if you have never interacted with the actual chinese fandom, you are not part of the intended audience and your biased opinion is not the One And Only Valid Truth 🍵

strongly agree | agree | neutral | disagree | strongly disagree | this is really hard for me to express in terms of an agree/disagree axis lol

genuinely cannot tell if you’re trying to shade me here anon lmao 😂

this got long and rambly (of course) asldkjfslj. i would love to make the excuse that it’s bc i’ve got a migraine and had No Sleep but. let’s be real i’m always like this.

ok i’ll start with where i agree: i don’t think anyone has the right to act like an ultimate voice of authority in fandom. i think different people with different backgrounds have varying realms of expertise and they should be respected when they share that knowledge, but that the instant someone starts to use that kind of power as a weapon against people they personally don’t like, i think they forfeit that privilege. no one has the one and only valid truth about a piece of media because that’s fundamentally impossible. i have definitely interacted with diaspo who behave like their heritage gives them some kind of incontrovertible authority over everyone else, and they’re fucking insufferable and often rather cruel, even/especially towards other diaspo. meet me in the denny’s parking lot and fight me for real. i’ll kick ur ass. >:c

however, I also think it’s true that there’s a lot of dismissal of heritage fans in this fandom, if that makes sense, from both sides of the equation: non-Chinese fans ignore our cultural hangups because they’re inconvenient, and non-diaspora disdain us for being not Chinese enough. that puts a lot of us in a position of feeling disrespected just for being who we are, or having our very real knowledge and unique experience as individuals devalued because of it.

regardless of my identity, I have formally studied a lot of things: literary translation, media analysis, the politics of oppression, film critique, religious studies, philosophy, four foreign languages etc. and that is all knowledge that I had to work for, and work hard for. I do have a certain measure of authority on all of these subjects over a layperson (to varying degrees), and there are going to be times when i will be more correct than someone who disagrees with me -- but I’ve also absolutely experienced people talking over that specialized knowledge because of who I am, which is, to be clear. extremely infuriating and hurtful. like, i have cried so much about it in the last 18 months. people see my racial and cultural identity before they see anything else, which is understandable to a degree, but upsetting when it becomes the basis for how my work is judged, whether positive or negative. i don’t want you to trust me blindly because i’m abc. I want to you to trust me because you have examined my work critically and judged it to be trustworthy!

so i guess this is getting into the strongly disagree part of the answer: i’ve been speaking a lot with other diaspora fans lately, and it’s been simultaneously hugely relieving and also really saddening. relieving because oh thank god someone else Gets It, and saddening because pretty much all of us, no matter what kind of diaspo we are (north american, european, SEA, taiwanese etc), we’ve all experienced a lot of pressure in this fandom, from non-Chinese, Chinese, and other diaspora fans alike. we’re all acutely aware that we are not modao’s intended audience because being diaspora vs being “from the mainland” or whatever, are actually quite different things, but modao still feels close to home. even if it was not written FOR us it is still familiar to us.

and, because so many of us are multilingual and multicultural, we end up being the bridge between the “actual” chinese fandom and the english-speaking fandom, which is largely made up of non-chinese. (sidenote: I hate it when people say things about being “actually” any identity because it’s almost always for the exact reason you brought up: to use heritage as street cred. it’s like damn, being “actually” chinese doesn’t make ur opinions any less rank. sure you might be “actually” chinese, but do you have basic reading comprehension and literary criticism skills? no? ok then sit your ass back down) many of us are most comfortable in english! so we produce our content in english! but we also DO often have a somewhat privileged access to the culture that underlies mdzs and can explain it in a language that other non-Chinese fans can understand. so it’s not surprising that people flock to us for answers to their cultural questions. and like. if we think we know the answer, it’s natural for us to try and help. this is fandom! we’re here to have fun and find community! and it is definitely a little bit nice to have my culture treated as something desirable for once instead of just like. a weird exotic curiosity that no one really cares too deeply about. and, since a lot of us are able to do things that non-Chinese fans can’t (research in chinese, for example. ask family members for help and more information etc.) we end up just having more information to share.

I think this sometimes results in a tendency for fandom at large to put heritage/diaspo fans on pedestals and tout them as authorities (or use our conflicting viewpoints as ammunition in fandom drama) when the diaspo in question have repeatedly stated that they should not be taken as authorities on something -- and then, once you reach critical mass, your reputation starts to precede you, and I think there’s a lot of misconceptions of how a lot of diaspo act in this fandom simply because of that phenomenon. most of us know that we’re not ultimate arbiters of some kind of cultural gateway, and it can be very tiring both to be treated as such when we insist we are not, and then punished by other people who assume that we acted like we were.

i don’t think there’s a benefit in trying to keep en fandom and cn fandom totally separate, and I also think it’s unfair to consider the cn fandom the “real” fandom. i think that way lies deeper misunderstandings, gatekeeping, etc. i think we can definitely acknowledge the differences between them, but i think trying to make meaningful connections between fandom circles is really valuable! i don’t think i’ve ever made it a secret that modao is my first cmedia fandom? so it’s also the first time i’ve had reason to interact with chinese fandom, which has been super enlightening and interesting! i’ve made some super cool friends and learned a lot about how fandom works in china, how it’s similar and how it differs from the fandom i’m familiar with.

and then, kind of circling back around, there’s also a bit of a sense like, okay, so if diaspo don’t belong in the CN fandom, but we can’t talk about our own culture with some degree of confidence in EN fandom, then like..... where do we go...? if we see EN fandom doing something that contradicts our cultural knowledge, do we just. not say anything? do we not count unless we’ve already ingratiated ourselves to CN fandom? that’s probably where the core of my strong disagreement comes from, because criticism of diaspora fans as like, acting above their station so to speak, feels just like a tired continuation of the same shit we’ve had to deal with for our whole lives, being told we’re not good enough for anywhere and that we should just be quiet and keep our heads down and get over it. that our opinions, despite coming from a unique perspective with a unique relationship to the subject in question, are less valid or real than “actual” chinese people, you know? and sometimes i see that and im like lmfao just sneer at me for being jook-sing and leave then if you’re so eager to think of me as lesser.

so yeah, basically im of a few minds: true! diaspora fans don’t get to throw their weight around just because they’re diaspo. they don’t get carte blanche to act like bullies or try to shape the fandom to their own personal liking and crusade against people who disagree with them. they don’t get to pretend their heritage makes them superior to everyone else, and i think western diaspora especially need to be careful when asserting any kind of moral lens over the text to acknowledge that we have our own biases to interrogate. i am not immune.meme etc. on the other hand, this vein of criticism tends to put all diaspo in a bit of a double-bind, and also, however unintentionally, plays into the general, continuous trend of dismissing diaspora for being diaspora, and i’m really not about that. i don’t think that’s the motivation behind opinions like this, but i do think that when the basis for the argument hinges on the idea that diaspora are not “real” chinese, no matter how much I too have beef with certain diaspora fans, the argument needs to be revisited. 

(ko-fi)

🍵 ((un)popular) opinions meme

[mrsjadecurtiss]

What do you think of Robert? What are your opinions on him, do you think that if the war never happened that he'd still go down this self destructive path?

I think Robert was fundamentally not made to be a king - He has the charisma and the looks and is an able warrior, but his negative character traits are indulged and enhanced by his position and led him down an almost unavoidable path.

Robert is someone who above all wants to enjoy and live an easy life:

"You need to come south," Robert told him. "You need a taste of summer before it flees. [...] Flowers everywhere, the markets bursting with food, the summerwines so cheap and so good that you can get drunk just breathing the air. Everyone is fat and drunk and rich." He laughed and slapped his own ample stomach a thump. "And the girls, Ned!" he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling. "I swear, women lose all modesty in the heat.[...]" The king laughed happily. Robert Baratheon had always been a man of huge appetites, a man who knew how to take his pleasures. - Eddard I, aGoT

"Robert wanted smiles and cheers, always, so he went where he found them, to his friends and his whores. Robert wanted to be loved." - Sansa IV, aCoK

He has just enough of a moral understanding to at least know when he is doing wrong and to even feel bad about it at times, but not enough to actually change anything about himself.

The rage was gone from him now; in his eyes Ned saw something sad and scared. "I should not have hit [Cersei]. That was not … that was not kingly." He stared down at his hands, as if he did not quite know what they were. - Eddard X, aGoT

Robert desires to have an easy life, he wants to be loved, he wants to have fun, but he does not want to deal with the hard and unpleasant things. In times of crisis, he wants to take the easy way out, and he prefers to avoid uncomfortable truths.

Lord Tywin stared at him as if he had lost his wits. "[...] When I laid those bodies before the throne, no man could doubt that we had forsaken House Targaryen forever. And Robert's relief was palpable. As stupid as he was, even he knew that Rhaegar's children had to die if his throne was ever to be secure. Yet he saw himself as a hero, and heroes do not kill children." - Tyrion VI, aSoS

"Well, now I know Jaime's dark sin, and the matter can be forgotten. I am heartily sick of secrets and squabbles and matters of state, Ned." - Eddard II, aGoT

"Most likely the king did not know," Littlefinger said. "It would not be the first time. Our good Robert is practiced at closing his eyes to things he would rather not see." - Eddard IV, aGoT

He feels most comfortable when he is surrounded by people who love him and know how to handle him/want the best for him, and steer him onto the right path in a way where he can still feel good about himself.

"These are difficult times. I need good men about me. Men like Jon Arryn. He served as Lord of the Eyrie, as Warden of the East, as the Hand of the King. He will not be easy to replace." - Eddard I, aGoT

In an environment that works against him, or goes against his wishes even if it is for the better, it creates a destructive energy in him. He cannot stand dissent to his wishes because it robs him of a pleasure he desires, and creates unwanted conflict. He also cannot handle constructive criticism because it makes him confront unpleasant truths - he always wants the easiest path with the least tension. If he is presented with a situation that strains his limits as there is no amiable solution to a difficult/disturbing problem, his reaction is a toxic one; turning to rage and violence even towards his own child.

Not for the first time, he wondered what he was doing here and why he had come. He was no Jon Arryn, to curb the wildness of his king and teach him wisdom. Robert would do what he pleased, as he always had, and nothing Ned could say or do would change that. - Eddard II, aGoT

He may act against what he knows is right, because it is the easiest route; like when he has the wolf Lady killed to please Cersei:

“A costly pelt,” Robert grumbled. “I want no part of this, woman. You can damn well buy your furs with Lannister gold.” [...] "We have a wolf," Cersei Lannister said. Her voice was very quiet, but her green eyes shone with triumph. It took them all a moment to comprehend her words, but when they did, the king shrugged irritably. "As you will. Have Ser Ilyn see to it." - “Robert, you cannot mean this,” Ned protested. The king was in no mood for more argument. “Enough, Ned, I will hear no more." - Eddard III, aGoT

"I am sorry for your girl, Ned. Truly. About the wolf, I mean. My son was lying, I'd stake my soul on it." - Eddard VII, aGoT

And when Ned reprimands him about Daenerys he will not hear dissent, even though he knows deep down that it is wrong:

He gave the king a long cool look. “Would [the man who spared Barristan] were here today.” Robert had shame enough to blush. “It was not the same,” he complained. “Ser Barristan was a knight of the Kingsguard.” - “Whereas Daenerys is a fourteen-year-old girl.”

[...] “Not another word. Have you forgotten who is king here?” - “No, Your Grace,” Ned replied. “Have you?” - “Enough!” the king bellowed. “I am sick of talk. I’ll be done with this, or be damned."

[...] “I will not be part of murder, Robert. Do as you will, but do not ask me to fix my seal to  it.” For a moment Robert did not seem to understand what Ned was saying. Defiance was not a dish he tasted often. Slowly his face changed as comprehension came. [...] “You are the King’s Hand, Lord Stark. You will do as I command you, or I’ll find me a Hand who will.” - “I wish him every success.” Ned [...] laid [his badge of office] on the table in front of the king, saddened by the memory of the man who had pinned it on him, the friend he had loved. “I thought you a better man than this, Robert. I thought we had made a nobler king.” Robert’s face was purple. “Out,” he croaked, choking on his rage. “[...] Go, run back to Winterfell. And make certain I never look on your face again, or I swear, I’ll have your head on a spike!” - Eddard VIII, aGoT

“Gods have mercy,” he muttered, swallowing his agony. “The girl. Daenerys. Only a child, you were right . . . that’s why, the girl . . . the gods sent the boar . . . sent to punish me . . .” - Eddard XIII, aGoT

Robert is a man who always wants it easy, he wants his demands to always be fulfilled, to be loved and have fun without dealing with the bad things; but an important theme that is repeated over and over in asoiaf is that you can only act good if you are willing to face the bad that may come with it, and if you cannot live with the consequences, your action might not be justified.*

Bran thought about it. "Can a man still be brave if he's afraid?" - "That is the only time a man can be brave." - Bran I, aGoT

"Sacrifice . . . is never easy, Davos. Or it is no true sacrifice." - Davos VI, aSoS

"The blood of the First Men still flows in the veins of the Starks, and we hold to the belief that the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. If you would take a man's life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die." - Bran I, aGoT

Ned stood, gently disengaging himself from Sansa's grasp. All the weariness of the past four days had returned to him. "Do it yourself then, Robert," he said in a voice cold and sharp as steel. "At least have the courage to do it yourself." - Robert looked at Ned with flat, dead eyes and left without a word, his footsteps heavy as lead. Silence filled the hall. - Eddard III, aGoT

This is why putting him on the throne was poison - all the power in the world, and noone who would dare go against his wishes. It indulges all of Robert's worst traits, and buries anything he had inside him that was salvageable.

Ser Barristan Selmy spoke up. "Your Grace," he said, "it is not seemly that the king should ride into the melee. It would not be a fair contest. Who would dare strike you?" - "Ser Barristan is right. There's not a man in the Seven Kingdoms who would dare risk your displeasure by hurting you." - Eddard VII, aGoT

I am surrounded by flatterers and fools, the king had insisted. Ned looked down the council table and wondered which were the flatterers and which the fools. He thought he knew already. - Eddard IV, aGoT

And Robert knows it - he knows being a king isn't for him, that he doesn't enjoy the actual work that goes into governing, that he doesn't have the personality for such politics or to deal with the people involved, and that he would much rather spend his time enjoying life and doing what he loves...

"Look at what kinging has done to me. Gods, too fat for my armor, how did it ever come to this? [...] I swear to you, I was never so alive as when I was winning this throne, or so dead as now that I’ve won it." - Eddard VII, aGoT

"I swear to you, sitting a throne is a thousand times harder than winning one. Laws are a tedious business and counting coppers is worse. And the people … there is no end of them. I sit on that damnable iron chair and listen to them complain until my mind is numb and my ass is raw. They all want something, money or land or justice. The lies they tell … and my lords and ladies are no better. I am surrounded by flatterers and fools. It can drive a man to madness, Ned. Half of them don't dare tell me the truth, and the other half can't find it. There are nights I wish we had lost at the Trident. Ah, no, not truly, but …" - Eddard I, aGoT

Robert groaned with good-humored impatience. "If I wanted to honor you, I'd let you retire. I am planning to make you run the kingdom and fight the wars while I eat and drink and wench myself into an early grave." - Eddard I, aGoT

"Let me tell you a secret, Ned. More than once, I have dreamed of giving up the crown. Take ship for the Free Cities with my horse and my hammer, spend my time warring and whoring, that's what I was made for. The sellsword king, how the singers would love me." - Eddard VII, aGoT

And yet he doesn't do anything about it and keeps staying at the position he hates - he does not want to deal with the uncomfortable consequences that would come with upsetting the status quo, or making changes to his own personality and going through growth, or confronting ugly truths about himself in a productive way, etc etc.

He does make a talk of changes at times during aGoT, and seems to have a sense of responsibility about his Job, but as it is his desire for changes came too late, and what responsibility he felt mostly served to paralyze him in place.

"The sellsword king, how the singers would love me. You know what stops me? The thought of Joffrey on the throne, with Cersei standing behind him whispering in his ear. My son. How could I have made a son like that, Ned?" - Eddard VII, aGoT

"I'm still young, and now that you're here with me, things will be different. We'll make this a reign to sing of, and damn the Lannisters to seven hells." - Eddard VII, aGoT

In a way Joffrey is to Robert what Ramsay is to Roose: an exploration of the inherent flaw in their way of life, demonstrated in the most extreme case. In Joffrey's case, it shows what happens to give someone unlimited power with noone daring to oppose them.

Do you think that if the war never happened that he'd still go down this self destructive path?

It's a little unclear which war you mean, so I will briefly touch on several points:

There could have been ideal circumstances where he might have worked out as a king, if he was surrounded by people who know the perfect way to deal with him and make him work past his flaws (intuitively doing the work of a modern therapist), but the average life is not ideal and grrm shows the realistic fate of a man like Robert.

I think by the time Ned arrived it was sadly too late to change - maybe if the Lannisters didn't exist, or this or that event hadn't happened, but Grrm shows that most of what lead to Robert's downfall was in the end caused by himself. Cersei kills him because she came to despise the man he was, and for good reason as he abused her during all her marriage - and while he has some scenes of feeling bad or even apologizing for it, he never made any attempts to actually change the terrible way he was treating her.

If Robert's Rebellion never happened, he would have probably made an able enough Lord of Storm's End; delegating his "boring" administrative duties to his advisors and maester, enjoying the privileges of highborn life, and having just enough responsibility to feel like the alpha male of his society yet not enough to do as lasting damage as he did for the throne. He would not have been the best Lord, but sadly there are many worse in Westeros, since the entire dynastic ruling system is inherently flawed. If he would have been a better person depends on who he is surrounded with, if circumstances would have motivated him to change, or if perhaps his position of power and outward influences would still just have indulged him into the man he was in aGoT. Ultimately, there are a lot of butterfly effects leading to different results that i’m sure have been explored in many fics.

"Love is sweet, dearest Ned, but it cannot change a man's nature." - Eddard IX, aGoT

This was the boy he had grown up with, he thought; this was the Robert Baratheon he'd known and loved. If he could prove that the Lannisters were behind the attack on Bran, prove that they had murdered Jon Arryn, this man would listen. Then Cersei would fall, and the Kingslayer with her, and if Lord Tywin dared to rouse the west, Robert would smash him as he had smashed Rhaegar Targaryen on the Trident. He could see it all so clearly. - Eddard VII, aGoT    

What do you think of Robert?

Since i am someone who frequently enjoys morally grey and villainous characters, despite his many negative traits i have a fondness of Robert; I think he is an interesting character and very human in his flaws, and there is a lot of melancholy to his story that makes me somber about him even if it obviously does not excuse his bad actions. I also think he has a great character design that's fun to draw and some fun boisterous scenes, and some of his positive qualities remind me of people i know.

*Stannis is an interesting character as Robert’s brother, as he is the opposite to him in this regard, as well as in many aspects of their personality and even their outward presentation (like how Stannis crops his beard short to contrast Robert’s wild one)

[undercovermcdfan]

re: this wack ass argument

Hello @brighter-than-a-wildfire , 

I’d like to formally begin where the hell are you stepping off of. I try to go about this without bringing my own biases and experience related to issue at hand– which is, to anybody reading, Garroth’s status of a xenophobe in person presents to me: My assertion that Garroth being showing xenophobic behaviors– which is intended by the writers to be interpreted as so– is a form of me performing victim blaming towards Garroth. You can read the argument untouched and in the way this person sent it here: link 

this is gonna be a wild ride, so buckle up folks, I’m breaking down this example of an apologist and trying to downplay my points with their attempts of “explaining” a phobia I’m very familiar with. 

So you give an apology in the first message, which I’d like to address: 

I’m going to start with an admission and an apology, Garroth actually does fit the xenophobe profile but definitely not for the reasons you probably think. [..] I also apologize for my poor wording, I was angry and did not get my point across clearly for any misunderstandings.

Which normally, I’d appreciate this if it didn’t sound so back-handed. Essentially, wrong foot– just because you say an apology but give zero sentiment in learning or really caring for what you’re apologizing for, this really leaves me in a case of holding my hands out like “uh… what the fuck dude.”

Apologizing for poor wording yet going back and doubling down on what you said– man, if you called that angry writing, this wasn’t a step above? In fact, the rambles you put in that 8 reply piece you spammed me with highlighted yourself in a much more sinister way than you might’ve liked my dude. I originally regarded you a hopped up fan defending Garroth. Congrats, you leveled into something way more disliked by me. 

What kills me about this, is your goddamn arrogance. Example, here’s some of your phrasing towards me: 

but definitely not for the reasons you probably think.

Before I properly get into this, let’s do an examination of phobias. Now, most phobias come from some sort of traumatic experience or a belief, i.e.

I just really have a problem when it seems like people are demonizing trauma victims.

I’m not new to this. Trying to explain a topic I shown to understand completely well, but to fill up the space and fluff up your argument, you still go in and try to explain what you think phobias are and what you think Garroth’s actual ‘phobia’ is. Making it sound so medical, with such a disconnect, honestly was I surprised when you admitted this perfect little gem?

[…] but I also understand Garroths point of view, because to be honest, I’ve been in a similar situation. 

Was this a case of bad wording? Or as the weirdly… specific example you given sheds light of your own beliefs: 

i.e. You may be afraid of spiders because one Sunday at a potluck you found a spider on your leg and it bit you, or you might be afraid of people from Mexico because your dad told you that they’re bad people who drink white peoples blood or some shit. 

Should I comment how you compared a rather normal and human fear of a spider to hey let me say I’m afraid of an entire group of people because they’re from X place, despite the fact this belief is irrational and wildly disheartening to even think somebody might say. 

It’s… way to specific. Like I’m not the only one, right? 

I feel like there’s some shit you personally gotta unpack instead of info dumping on me. 

Also the irrellevant and irrational argument to gander some weak ass sympathy for mister whitey tighty Garroth. I enjoy his character, he’s dynamic and I’m fucking thrilled Jess took the gamble, doubling down on Garroth’s unpleasantness! Because, newflash, it’s not a new thing– he treated a good number of character poorly and if you been a little more clever, you could’ve went the angle of “Garroth was just fishing for a reason to hate Liochant, just like how he fished when Laurance or Dante were introduced.”

But no. 

You went extremely tone-deaf and a very very… weak defense, I feel, partially to save face maybe? Embarrassed, possibly. You did admit you acted in anger the first time and don’t think I haven’t noticed you changed your URL– probably for a completely different reason. Maybe you might change it again. 

Let’s break this next part down– picking apart your biases as well, I think it’s time to bring out my own since I’m trying to snuff out this wacky fire you’re starting.

His home was taken over by Tu’la, his parents were captured and scheduled to be executed, and his father wasn’t recovered which caused his little brother who he had already lost to go looking for their father, and Garroths hasn’t heard from Vylad since so it’s entirely possible to Garroth that he’s dead. Now, here comes a refugee from Tu’la, the very place that did all those things, who says that he wants to be a guard.

That bolded part– I’m not sure where? You got that from? Whether this could chalk up to Garroth’s shittiness for not thinking that deeply for the youngest Ro’meave or– which is more likely– he knows and has a way to communicate with Vylad, Vylad is just mf chilling in Tu’la with this half ass attempt to find the Shit Lord named Garte. 

But the gall, the goddamn gall of you to twist this fact around and use it as “Well now look at Lio oooh he has to be suspicious.”

MY DUDE. 

First episode, Liochant is introduced as a character who been around for a while– he isn’t fresh faced. He’s part of Katelyn’s version of Jury of 9, he went through he guard academy and if not that, Katelyn vouched for Liochant multiple of times. 

Technically, Liochant outranks Garroth when it comes the job as a guard because the Dragonward is seen the best of the best. And let me tell you something about Wonderbread over here– remember the conversation Garroth tried with Katelyn, asking her if Liochant being part of it was a good idea. 

Deadass. Garroth a goddamn snake. We are given, quite blatantly, Garroth’s reason of Lio’s suspicion. Wasn’t his character, Lio never gave Garroth to doubt him but Garroth knowing he’s from Tu’la?

“He must be one bad hombre.” 

 ALSO HEY. MY DUDE. SEPARATE RACIAL BIAS AND XENOPHOBIC BIAS. Because I never said Garroth dislike other races. Tu’la is shown to have multiple races residing in it– Garroth dislike people from Tu’la. He never really shown screen time with KC, so honestly IDK on that dynamic. But I do have something I agree with you: 

[…]think that Garroth did try to disguise his hostility at first, but we all know how good Garroth is at subtly.

But you take it “aw shucks he’s not that bad.” I take it as same old shit. Let me spell something out for you that I mentioned before– this shit, this xenophobia? This is part of my life as an American citizen who’s parents are immigrants. People who can act somewhat polite but their actions convey they still fucking hate you. Why? It’s not for who you are, but where you from and their own ignorance, they fear you. 

Garroth is mad ignorant. 

Only when he’s forced to get to know Liochant, he starts acting like he isn’t bad but if given the opportunity? Man, we’d probably see this shit until Liochant snaps (which leads into a can of worms of oh no Garroth’s fears are realized). 

Garroth’s ass is so ignorant, Liochant makes a meal and he straight up disrespects him. 

Anyways, I’m getting tired at reveling in your own ignorance. But hey, one thing quick: 

He’s a human that makes mistakes, and I don’t think those mistakes should condemn him forever. I just really have a problem when it seems like people are demonizing trauma victims.

Garroth ain’t no trauma victim but let’s say, he is. Deadass, get off of tumblr because people are still responsible what they fucking say or do to others. And take that damn lesson to heart, because I see how you’re projecting your own thoughts on to Garroth and trying to make yourself feel better. 

You can understand the how but the how doesn’t justified the results.

And you wanna know the results?

Garroth is an xenophobic prick.

[atenementfunster]

all the more reason, chapter 6

ao3 link here!

Roger Taylor, dead as a doorknob, and his best friend John Deacon (also dead) meet some blokes who are decidedly NOT. Dead, that is.

(aka that ghost au that no one asked for, featuring Gay Panic™, John’s sass, and Brian being too endearing for this world. the overall vibe of the fic is not sad, if that’s a concern for you, but it does get rather melancholic. they are dead, after all.)

“Holy shit.”

John’s grip on the back of the sofa slips, and he elbows Roger in the back of the head. Roger can say nothing, only nod in agreement, his skull throbbing dully.

Freddie smiles, lips curled over his teeth, and turns back to Brian. “Well, they’re delightful. Where did you find them, the playground out back?”

Brian cants his head, and a new flood of panic rushes through Roger so fast he's near dizzy from it. He can’t help but turn to John, who looks something like a mouse pinned beneath the gaze of a hungry cat.

“This is Roger,” Brian says, slowly, like he’s worried about Freddie’s mental stability. Which is fair. “Met him at school, actually. He’s a Biology student.”

Freddie’s gaze, sharper than it has any right to be, flicks from John, to Roger, to Brian, then back to Roger. He’s got the look of a man who’s processing at an alarming rate, and Roger recognizes it instantly because it’s a look he often sees on John’s face. He opens his mouth, then closes is, completely unable to think of anything to say. John shifts again behind him, and Roger turns to see him with a hand up in a fragile little wave.

In a flash, Roger forgets about Brian and about Freddie, and turns fully to look at John, who’s gone quite white. Ignoring any semblance of consequence, Roger shifts and puts his hand over John’s, who’s got a death grip on the back of the sofa. He watches as John let out a breath, and says, “hello,” to the first living man that can see him.

Roger turns back to Freddie, whose lips are pursed and eyes assessing. There’s comprehension there, and acknowledgement, and space for a whole conversation. But in a blink the look is gone, and Freddie’s turned back to his friend. “A biology student? Brian, I never knew you’d stoop so low.”

Brian’s still looking at him a bit oddly, so Roger leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees and says, “attitude like that, you must be an arts student.”

Freddie’s smile takes a turn for the wicked. “I didn’t take you for romancing bitches, Brian.”

Brian makes a sound like he’s choking, but it’s drowned out by Roger’s surprised laugh. “Something tells me I’m not the bitchiest person in the room, mate,” he counters, standing and holding a hand out for Freddie to shake, unthinking.

Roger realizes his mistake almost immediately, but he can’t back down now, but apparently his worries are unfounded. The man ignores it and loops his arm around Roger’s shoulders instead, pulling him so close their heads knock, other hand coming up to pat at his chest. His warmth is the same as Brian’s, thrumming with energy in ways it shouldn’t be, and behind him John makes a noise like he’s being strangled.

“Well, you’re right about at least one thing, Rog,” Freddie says, like they’ve been friends for years.

The floor feels like the deck of a ship, and Roger laughs shakily, managing to say, “at least one person acknowledges I can be right sometimes,” before backing out of Freddie’s grip. “Gotta hit the head,” he adds, turning to Brian with a question in his eyes.

“Down that way,” he supplies, looking a bit overwhelmed, which Roger thinks is entirely unfair, considering the very fabric of his existence is undergoing a rather dramatic remodel. And then there’s John.

Roger catches his gaze and John slinks around the sofa, looking at Freddie like he’s a predator about to give chase before following Roger to Brian’s loo.

“Oh my god,” he says the second the door’s shut, turning to Roger with wide eyes. A hand comes up to his mouth, and he gasps, “oh my god,” again into his palm.

“Hey, Deaky, hey,” Roger whispers, rubbing his hands up and down his arms in a feeble attempt at comfort. “This is a good thing, yeah?”

John stares at him as he shakes in his grip, holding his gaze unblinking for too long before nodding once, a jerk of his head. It sends his hair from behind his shoulders to the front, and Roger brings a hand up to fiddle with the strands.

“This is good,” he repeats for John, hoping his expression is a better reflection than how confident he feels. Because for all their unsurety, it is. Roger might not know the why’s and the how’s about what’s happening to him, but he’s not alone in it anymore. He was never alone, he knows - John’s too good a person to leave him alone in this, even though he’d probably deserve it - but now John gets to know what it feels like to be seen, to be touched again.

“Maybe you should talk to him?” Roger says when John says nothing, just keeps staring at him.

The reaction is an immediate shake of his head. Roger feels a teasing retort rise to his lips, reminding John just how he was when Roger reacted in much the same way, but resists the urge and smiles instead.

“Doesn’t have to be now, but you’re talking to him. We both are,” he decides, and his tone brooks no room for argument. John’s shoulders, which were creeping somewhere along the level of his ears, drop as the tension seems to melt out of him. For a moment, Roger thinks he might need to catch him, for fear of him falling, but he just leans heavily onto the closed door, hand coming back up to cover his mouth.

“Yeah,” he mumbles eventually. “Yeah.”

“C’mon,” Roger says, giving his arms one final rub for comfort, “we’d better get back out there before Brian thinks I’m taking a shit in his toilet.”

It surprises a chuckle out of John, who swats him but looks a bit less shaken, and Roger knocks him gently on the side of the head before opening the door and going back out to their waiting hosts.

“So, you’re the singer, yeah?” Roger says, walking over to Freddie with his hands on his hips, posture as relaxed as he can make it. John’s at his shoulder, arm touching his elbow, and Roger doesn’t have to look to know he’s trying very hard not to stare at the man.

The man who’s looking at John with a smile, eyes narrowed and thoughtful. “Ooh, the singer, I like that,” he replies, but his gaze is still all for John.

Brian doesn’t seem to notice, because he’s shaking his head and taking a swig of his beer before saying, “right to his head, I tell you.”

Roger feels suddenly cornered, and rubbing his palms on his jeans doesn’t seem to assuage the feeling. He doesn’t know how to handle Brian, what to do about Freddie, and John, who’s normally a comfort, is now shaking against his arm.

Freddie’s said something to Brian, taking the attention off of them for a moment, and Roger interrupts tactlessly with, “sorry, guys, but I think I’m gonna head home. Feeling a bit peaked.”

Brian looks like a cross between disappointed and confused, and it damn near makes Roger double back, but John’s leaving his side while mumbling, “you don’t have to, Rog,” before phasing completely through the front door. Freddie tactfully doesn’t watch him go, but does stare Roger down, head cocked and eyes appraising.

Decision made, he says, “thanks for the beer, I’ll see you soon, yeah?” to Brian, taking the few steps to reach him before touching his elbow lightly. He doesn’t have to put much effort into looking sorry. “Nice to meet you,” he adds, glancing over at Freddie, whose stare is unnerving.

“Pleasure was all mine, dear. Do come and visit.”

Roger gives a feeble one-handed wave, and nearly walks straight through the door. Remembering at the last second, he grabs the door handle and twists it open with an unpracticed hand, before pulling it open and shutting it softly behind him.

The doorway that greets him is empty, which throws Roger off, as his mouth had already been open to try and give John the reassurements that would likely fall on stubborn ears.

Pot, kettle. Roger huffs and takes the stairs two at a time, ready to start hollering his name, but it seems he needn’t have worried - John’s sitting on the curb at the base of the steps, knees folded to his chest and chin propped up on them.

Roger eases his way down and leans too much weight against him, causing John to nearly overbalance. He blinks rapidly but looks over at Roger with a steady enough look, one brow even raised. Roger’ll take it.

“Alright?” He asks, then chuckles and adds, “stupid question, I know.”

John exhales on a dry laugh, eyes sliding shut and hands clenching around his shins. “Now I feel like an ass for taking the piss out on you,” he mumbles into his knees.

Roger shrugs even though he knows John can’t see it. “I probably deserved it.”

Tilting his head, John looks over at Roger with a half-lidded gaze, expression open and contemplative. It lasts for a moment too long, and soon Roger’s wilting a bit under the attention, because he already feels taken apart tonight, he doesn’t exactly like it coming from John, too. He looks like he’s going to say something, though, and Roger when opens his mouth to tell him to get on with it, John turns away so suddenly Roger’s mouth closes with a clack of his teeth.

“Thank you for leaving, even though you shouldn’t have,” John says to the thatch of weeds beside his left shoe. “Means a lot.”

Roger shoves him again, this time a hair too hard, and John has to stretch out a hand to catch himself before he goes ass over tits on the pavement. It earns Roger a glare, and he maturely sticks his tongue out in rebuttal. “I wasn’t gonna stay, not with you shaking like a lamb.”

John frowns - no, Roger would go so hard as to call it a pout. “Wasn’t.”

“A foal, then.”

“You’ve made your point, I think, Roger.”

They’re at a standoff, Roger leaning into John’s space with eyebrows raised and John holding steady beneath his prying eyes, until he finally deflates, shoulders dropping as he lets out a breath beneath the weight of Roger’s gaze. “I panicked,” he finally admits. “Happy?”

“I’m always happy,” Roger says, and it surprises a laugh out of John.

“Yeah, alright.”

“Enough of this,” Roger declares, bringing his hands down onto his thighs with a loud slap. Standing, he holds out a hand for John to take, which he does with no hesitation. “You know,” he adds, one John’s standing, Roger looping an arm over his shoulders, “this Freddie might be your Brian May.”

“Stuff it,” John says, smiling sideways at him through a veil of hair.

“And they know each other. What are the odds, right? Destined to meet, we were.”

For once, John seems content under Roger’s touch, leaning in as they walk slowly down the lot. It’s both proof that John was well and truly shaken, as well as evidence that he’s slowly learning to like Roger’s touch. Maybe it’s his way of readying himself for Freddie’s.

“Guess so,” John murmurs, and he looks down at his feet, lips still curled in a soft smile.

[dippedanddripped]

“You want the truth? It’s hopeless. It’s completely hopeless.” That’s what Patagonia founder and chairman Yvon Chouinard told the L.A. Times about the plight of the earth amid climate change. In 1994. Regardless, Chouinard and his company have spent decades—and millions of dollars—fighting for environmental causes around the world while investing in more sustainable business practices. What’s more, Patagonia has embraced and promoted the B Corporation movement, while Choui­nard led such efforts as 1% for the Planet, a collective of companies that pledged to donate 1% of sales to environmental groups and has raised more than $225 million since 2002. Meanwhile, over the past 46 years, Patagonia has become a billion-dollar global brand, making it the ultimate do-good-and-do-well company.

But Chouinard remains unsatisfied. The 81-year-old is more focused than ever on demonstrating, by Patagonia’s example, the lengths a company can go to protect the planet. During a break from fishing near his Wyoming home, Chouinard is both passionate and wry in discussing his business philosophy, what we get wrong about sustainability, why he’s so excited about regenerative agriculture, and Patagonia’s rising political machine.

Fast Company: How do we cope with the idea that to be in business means we are polluters and hurting the planet?

Yvon Chouinard: Everything man does creates more harm than good. We have to accept that fact and not delude ourselves into thinking something is sustainable. Then you can try to achieve a situation where you’re causing the least amount of harm possible. That’s the spin we put on it. It’s a never-ending summit. You’re just climbing forever. You’ll never get to the top, but it’s the journey.

FC: About eight months ago, you wrote a new mission statement for the company: “Patagonia is in business to save our home planet.” What impact has that had so far?

YC: It’s affected every single person’s job. Some more than others, but it’s got everybody thinking. We’ve made a commitment to be fossil-fuel-free by 2025. We’re invested in companies that are working on growing synthetic fibers, stuff made from plants rather than petroleum. We’re not just cleaning up our act in our own buildings and stuff; we’re going around to our suppliers and convincing them to use cleaner energy. Then we’re continuing to work on saving large areas of the planet that capture a lot of carbon. I’m personally working on a new state park down at the tip of South America, about 800,000 acres of peat bogs and swamps and 200,000 acres of sea, that sequesters more carbon than almost anywhere in the world.

FC: Ten years ago, you started getting into the food space, launching Patagonia Provisions and working on regenerative agriculture. Now you’ve been bringing those regenerative principles to your cotton supply chain. Did you always see that as the ultimate path?

YC: This is all pretty new. Scientists are just discovering how important agriculture is to climate change, both negatively and positively. [Environmentalist and entrepreneur] Paul Hawken has a book that lists 100 things that we can do to combat climate change [Drawdown: The Most Comprehensive Plan Ever Proposed to Reverse Global Warming]. Out of those 100, the most important that applied to us was agriculture, so we’re doubling down on regenerative organic agriculture. We’re working on a new certification that goes beyond organic. We’ve been using organically grown cotton for years, but all it does is cause a little bit less harm. So we decided to start growing it regeneratively and organically. We started with 150 farmers in India, small-scale farmers. We talked them into growing cotton with a minimum amount of tilling. Even with cotton now, we’re sequestering carbon. This is a big deal. Regenerative agriculture can’t be done on a large scale. It just can’t. These people are getting rid of their bugs by squashing them with their fingers. They’re stringing up lights to attract the insects at night and using natural methods. Then they’re using cover crops—chickpeas and turmeric, for which there is a big demand. And they’re using compost. We’re paying them an extra 10%, so [between that and the cover-crop revenue] they’ve almost doubled their income. Next year, we’ve got 580 small farmers who will grow cotton this way.

FC: What do you think of Jeff Bezos and Elon Musk pursuing interplanetary travel and Mars and moon colonies because they don’t seem to believe that we can save our home planet?

YC: [Laughs] I think it’s pretty silly. And not just silly, but it’s really a shame. The monies that are going to space exploration should be used to save our own planet right now. We’re in a triage situation. Things are so grim. It’s World War III. I lived through World War II, and I remember what the country had to do to mobilize. You couldn’t buy sugar. You couldn’t buy meat. Being French Canadians, we were lucky in that we got horsemeat. [Laughs] That’s what has to happen with this global warming business. Here we’re just wasting this money going to Mars. I want to start doing some T-shirts that just have a rainbow trout on it, the T-shirt, and it says, there’s no rainbow trout on Mars, or screw Mars. We gotta do that.

FC: You’ve been pretty clear about your pessimism around the fate of the planet while remaining committed to trying to fix it. When we spoke back in 2017, you said something to the effect of “What’s the alternative, just sitting on my ass?” To what do you attribute your ability not to be nihilistic and to keep working toward that never-ending summit?

YC: The solution to depression is action, and I’ve got a clear idea what I need to do. A lot of people want to do something about global warming, but they don’t know where to start. It’s a lack of introspection and imagination. A guy in our fabric lab went to one of our suppliers in Japan and he said, “Hey, I see you’re buying your energy from coal-fired power plants. Why don’t you switch over to green power?” This is a giant Japanese factory. He said, “I hadn’t thought about that.” They looked into it, switched over to green energy, and it only cost them $7,000 more a year. So there you go. The guy never thought about it, but it sounded like a good idea. There is a lot of that low-hanging fruit around.

FC: What role has your Buddhism played in finding that approach?

YC: You can approach Zen in different ways. One way is you can sit there and contemplate your navel all day long. I just approached it through action, whether it’s sport or business.

FC: In the face of news like the Amazon rain forest burning or the current administration’s efforts to open up logging in Alaska, how do you stay motivated? Is it simply more action?

YC: Yeah, it is. We came out with a film that’s against offshore, penned fish farms and hatcheries, Artifishal. It has had a huge effect, particularly in Europe. Because of that film, a lot of the schoolchildren in Sweden are no longer fed farmed salmon. I just heard yesterday that Denmark is going to stop licensing any more offshore fish farms. Francis Mallmann, the chef, the barbecue king in Argentina, has taken salmon out of 19 of his restaurants worldwide. You see little victories like that, and it all adds up.

FC: That’s where your motivation comes from?

YC: Yes. It’s not like we’re sitting here all depressed. [Laughs] And Trump, we’re doing a big backsliding with this whole Trump administration, but they’ll be gone in another year or so. I’m convinced of that. Then we can get rid of all the stuff that he did, start over again.

FC: The Business Roundtable recently issued a statement expanding its definition of the purpose of a corporation from solely making money for shareholders to seeking to benefit all stakeholders, including employees, communities, and the environment. What did you think when you heard that?

YC: It’s a good first step. The ones that actually do it are going to be pretty pleasantly surprised that it leads to good business. The consumer, especially with consumer products, is expecting that from companies, and if you’re not doing it, you’re going to lose out.

FC: You’ve said in the past that you could convince anyone one-on-one that chasing growth for growth’s sake is bad and that embracing the ideals of sustainability, or responsibility, only makes you more profitable. If you were in that Business Roundtable, what would you say to the CEOs of JPMorgan Chase or Apple?

YC: If I had enough time, I would just give them example after example of how doing the right thing ended up making us more money. And the additional motivation was just believing in karma. It comes back every single time.

FC: Patagonia is a private company. Would it help your argument to more regularly disclose financials?

YC: It probably would. [Laughs] But I don’t know. Let’s say you’re a gasoline company, selling gas at the pump. There’s a gas station on every corner, basically. Would you go out of your way to go to the one that was a member of 1% for the Planet, and on your receipt it said, “Thank you for spending $40 on gasoline. Forty cents of that is going to go to planting trees, saving the planet”? I mean, be very specific about where it’s going to go.

FC: Probably, yes.

YC: Gasoline is gasoline, right? You can’t sell your gasoline on [the idea] that yours is superior to someone else’s.

FC: Though they try, but yeah.

YC: We all know it’s the same stuff. [Laughs] Yet they spend millions in advertising themselves. For what? It’s ridiculous. It’s not based on anything tangible. But this would be a great marketing ploy.

FC: In the past, you consulted with folks at large companies, such as Walmart, and came away not so convinced of their actual ability to pursue sustainability. If we’re looking to create a better version of capitalism, what do you think should be done with publicly traded companies?

YC: You’ve got to reinvent capitalism altogether. It leads to a whole bunch of poor people and a few extremely rich people. Ultimately, capitalism is going to lose its customers. There won’t be anybody to buy the product because everybody is going to be so poor. The whole thing is going to crash before the next election, probably. We’re going to get another huge recession, and everybody’s going to lose out on their stocks. There we go again. It’s a system that’s got to change. The whole stock thing is dependent on growth. Look at Amazon. Amazon doesn’t make a profit. They don’t pay any taxes. Nothing. But they’re growing like crazy. It’s all growth, growth, growth—and that’s what’s destroying the planet. I’m dealing with that myself. We’re a billion-dollar company, over a billion, and I don’t want a billion-dollar company. The day they announced it to me, I hung my head and said, “Oh God, I knew it would come to this.” I’m trying to figure out how to make Patagonia act like a small company again.

FC: How do you stop growth?

YC: There is a book from the Henokiens, an organization of companies that have been in business for 200 years minimum. Of course there are hardly any American companies; they are either Japanese or European. How are they able to stay in business for 200 years? Well, they couldn’t grow 15% a year for 200 years, let me tell you that. [Laughs] They were able to diversify, and they’re not the same company as when they started. Some of them started out as a blacksmith’s shop, like I did. But they have purposely held back on growth for the sake of longevity.

FC: What do you make of proposals like the Green New Deal? Is that encouraging?

YC: It is, absolutely. I’m an avowed socialist. I’m proud of it. That was a dirty word just a few years ago until Bernie Sanders brought it up. It was equated with communism and that whole thing. Yet the countries around the world that are most squared away are all socialistic countries like those in Scandinavia. I’m not talking about Venezuela, which is a disaster. That’s not a socialistic country. That’s a . . . I don’t know what.

FC: What role can businesses like Patagonia play in advocating for that national mobilization effort to save the planet and change how we work in the process?

YC: We’re keeping quiet in the primary election, but for the national presidential election, we’re going to be very, very active. We’re going to spend a lot of money and basically say, vote the climate deniers out. Anyone who is a climate denier or even on the fence, vote them out because they are evil. They are out to destroy our planet, and we’re not going to stand for it. We got involved in the last election and we helped elect a couple of senators in Montana and Nevada. I had no idea how much power we really have.

FC: That was the first time Patagonia pushed for and supported individual candidates. What were the lessons out of that experience?

YC: They were going to be close races, and I’ve heard from them both that we made the difference. When we have that amount of power, let’s use it. Because the opposition is using it. You’ve got the Koch family and the fossil-fuel companies: They’re going to be influencing the elections. We’ve got to do the same thing.

FC: You mentioned Artifishal. Even with Patagonia’s smaller, shorter films—I liked [surfer] Dave Rastovich’s Saving Martha, on Tasmanian fish farms—there’s an aspect of fun with them, whether it’s surfing or climbing, combined with activism for the causes you believe in. Over the last number of years, you’ve invested more in that kind of storytelling to get these issues across to people in a way that’s engaging. I don’t want to call it marketing, but has this become a much bigger part of the company?

YC: Well, that’s for sure. We’ve got a propaganda machine going. After we were involved in this film 180 Degrees South [a 2010 documentary retracing Chouinard’s 1968 journey from Ventura, California, to Patagonia, Chile] and then DamNation [Patagonia’s 2014 movie about the damage dams can do], we realized the power that we have in film. I had no idea. With DamNation, we got the whole Obama administration to rethink hydropower. They no longer considered it green energy. Now it’s back, of course, with Trump, but that was it; they said hydropower is not green energy, and that was as a result of our film. We recognize that people make decisions based on emotion, and the best way to elicit emotion is through film. It’s not through books or catalogs or speeches. So we’re in the film business. We’re working on 10 films at a time these days. Some of them don’t make a cent. But that’s not the purpose.

FC: A lot of people look at you as an inspirational figure, but who inspires you? Who is Yvon Chouinard’s Yvon Chouinard?

YC: [Laughs] Well, I think . . . I don’t know. There are a few people around the world who are doing really great stuff. Huey Johnson, who has a nonprofit in Marin County, in San Francisco, has been around a long time. He started Conservation International, the Nature Conservancy, the Trust for Public Land, and he’s got an organization called Resource Renewal Institute. The guy never gives up. He is an optimist. I’m a pessimist. He’s been an inspiration. [Environmentalist] David Brower. [Oceanographer] Sylvia Earle. Jane Goodall is trying to save her chimpanzees, and they’re on their way out. It’s like Friends of the Polar Bear. Forget about trying to save the polar bear; you gotta save the planet to save the polar bear. That’s depressing stuff, but they hang in there. Goodall is on the road 360-something days a year. It kills me to spend just a few days. I just got back from Labrador and oh my God, I mean . . .

FC: That’s far from Wyoming.

YC: Getting back from Labrador to Jackson Hole was an effort. I ran from one end of the Boston airport to the other, because my plane from Halifax was late. I passed 36 gates, and they weren’t in a row. They were in different terminals. I practically had a heart attack. [Laughs] And get this: I get to the gate, and they’ve shut it down. The plane is ready to take off. There’s a guy there who says, “Hey, I know who you are. I told them to keep the gate open for just a couple minutes more. I knew you were gonna be coming.” And they did, and they got me on. The guy says, “Hey, I’m a cinematographer. I know all about all the films you make. Keep up the good work.” And he walked away. I thought, Jesus, this guy is an angel. [Laughs] That’s the karmic kickback I’m talking about.

THE SECRET TO FIGHTING CLIMATE CHANGE

Patagonia is helping to lead the shift to regenerative agriculture, which sequesters carbon rather than producing it. Here’s how it works.

1. Create healthy soil

During photosynthesis, plants use solar energy to extract carbohydrate molecules, or sugar, from carbon dioxide. Those carbon-based sugars are extruded from the plant’s roots, feeding bacteria and fungi into the nearby soil. Those microorganisms turn soil minerals into nutrients that feed plants and fight disease.

2. Avoid pesticides

To keep the soil as healthy as possible, growers eschew chemicals (akin to organic farming), relying instead on natural methods—from hanging lights at night to physically removing and killing insects by hand.

3. Plant cover crops

In between seasons of growing cash crops such as cotton, farmers cultivate cover crops such as turmeric and chickpeas, which make the soil hardier by protecting it against nutrient loss and erosion, as well as helping to control pests. The farmers then have an additional crop to sell to supplement their income.

4. Use low-till farming

Tilling churns and disturbs roots—where most plants store a significant amount of their carbon—and other rich organic matter in the soil, making it less robust and productive. Even worse, it releases carbon into the atmosphere. By contrast, low- or no-till growing lets the carbon remain sequestered in the soil. Even when the roots decay, the CO2 emissions take a long time to reach the earth’s surface and atmosphere.

[celebratorypenguin]

Fic: Press

Rating: PG-13 for language, drinking, and sadness

Summary: John was as angry as he could ever remember being, in a lifetime full of very good reasons to lose his temper. How dare they, these idiotic Americans, how dare they spin out his words and twist them into a rope to hang him with?

Notes: The subject is the run-up to the first Chicago press conference after the “Bigger than Jesus” debacle, when Tony Barrow convinced John to apologize and whatever he said was enough to bring John to tears.

I don't think he talked about money.

Of course, this is pure speculation.

Press

***

August 11, 1966 Chicago, Illinois Astor Hotel

"Fuck 'em."

John stood toe to toe with Brian, head lifted, shoulders back, his eyes flashing a schoolboy's defiance that was incongruous with the hard, mature edges of his face.

He heard someone say his name very softly. It could have been either George or Paul, who were flanking him, each with a hand on his upper arm. George's fingers were tight, restraining him, while Paul's were gentler, meant to soothe.

It was in that moment that John realized how hard his blood was pumping, because normally he could tell his friends' voices apart from across a roomful of nattering reporters, much less mere inches from his ear.

John was as angry as he could ever remember being, in a lifetime full of very good reasons to lose his temper. How dare they, these idiotic Americans, how dare they spin out his words and twist them into a rope to hang him with?

"We agreed to a press conference - again - but I never agreed to apologize and I just won't do it! I didn't do anything wrong!" John shouted, not for the first time that day. "This is their madness and I'm not going to apologize for their stupidity!"

He saw Brian's gaze shift to Paul. Supplicating. Make him see reason. In his peripheral vision he could see Paul shake his head. I've tried. I can't.

Brian's sigh turned into a harsh cough. John's breath hitched as he remembered that Brian had all but crawled out of his London sickbed to come to America and straighten out this disaster. And it was a disaster from start to finish, from the baying crowds and record burnings to the mouth-breathing, knuckle-dragging preachers, all calling for Beatle Blood.

"John," came Ringo's voice from somewhere behind George, "don't you think it might help to, you know, put your cap in your hand and just--"

"No!" John whirled around, shaking off George and Paul, and jabbed a finger in Ringo's direction. "I'll be damned if I utter one word of apology for something that was never my doing!"

"Not that you apologize much when something IS of your doing," muttered George.

Seething, John rounded on George. "Fuck off!"

"No, John, YOU fuck off!" George retorted. His face, normally so composed, was twisted in an enraged grimace, and his sharp, white teeth glistened around a snarl. "Your fault, not your fault, no one cares! But you're the only one who can fix it!"

"Guys." Paul's speech had a trace of sibilance; his lip had swollen where he'd been biting it, for hours if not days. His complexion was chalk-white. "We can't do this now, okay?"

"Easy enough for you to say," John heard himself spitting at Paul. "It's not you they're planning to execute, is it?"

A sixth voice, one they didn't hear very often, crashed through the argument like thunder, and a hand landed squarely on his shoulder. "Lennon. With me. Now."

It was Tony Barrow.

John bristled at the demanding grasp. He glared at Tony, who glared back - a form of unspoken communication that Brian had never gotten the hang of - and shoved John forward. Glancing behind, John saw the other three rooted to the spots where they'd been standing. Ringo's face was almost a cartoon mask of confusion, George's was wrathful, and Paul looked ready to either cry or vomit.

So much fear and misery, all over a few sentences that were quoted out of context.

Tony and Brian led John from the corridor to a small conference room and motioned for him to sit at the table. Brian sat at his right hand, Tony opposite them.

"You're going to apologize," Tony said evenly.

Twisting in his chair, John lifted his middle finger at Tony and turned away from him.

"You're going to apologize," repeated Tony as he rose and walked behind John. "You can go in on your own, or take the other three with you - if they're speaking to you, and I wouldn't blame them if they weren't - that's up to you. But you're going to give an apology, and that's that."

John, his arms folded over the back of his chair, looked up at Tony and saw the firm set of his square jaw. "What do you think I should apologize for? The fact that these people don't seem to be able to read? Should I go in and apologize that they don't know how to think?"

"John," Brian rasped, "there's a lot at stake here. I don't think you understand the severity of the situation. This is not the time for a wisecrack."

"I think this is the perfect time for a wisecrack!" John raked a hand through his hair. "You're just trying to save the tour, aren't you? Save the money!"

Tony's face reddened. "Do you honestly think this has anything whatsoever to do with the tour, with business, anymore?"

"There's the matter of safety, too," Brian added, his eyes pleading with John to settle down, to see reason.

John wasn't having it, not this time. "It's not your ass on the line, here, Brian, it's mine, and I'm not going to sell out--"

"John, just shut up and listen for a change." Tony raised his voice, something John had never heard him do. Shocked, John sat up a little straighter. Tony leaned over him and locked eyes. "This isn't about the tour anymore. No one cares about the money. Did you know that Brian was willing to cancel? That he offered to buy out the contract, just so that you didn't have to come here?"

John hadn't known that, of course, and he stared at Brian as if he were a stranger. "Is that true?" he asked, his voice sounding unnaturally high and strained to his own ears.

Brian nodded. He put a hand lightly on John's arm. "If anything happened to you - to any of you - I'd never forgive myself."

"Any of us?" John snorted. "It's me the hounds are after! Just throw me in front of the crowds and let 'em lead me off to the gallows, is that the plan? Because if it is, let me tell you--"

"Shut it, Lennon." Tony leaned over John, eyes narrowed. "Yes, these are ridiculous people and they're backwards and ignorant. They also have guns, John, lots and lots of guns."

"And they're going to shoot them at ME!"

"What makes you think that their aim is any better than their reading comprehension? Sure, they'll be shooting at you, but what if they MISS, have you thought of what happens then? Half of them can't tell you boys apart, anyway. Are you planning to smart-arse your way out of watching Ringo take a bullet for you?"

John almost stopped breathing. Ringo...

"'He's too far away onstage to hit by accident,' you'll tell us," Tony continued, mocking John's nasal accent before returning to his own voice. His next words were even more shocking. "What about George, then? Are you willing to explain to him why he'll never play the guitar again, because you couldn't be arsed to apologize? Will you be able to look him in the eye when the shot meant for you blows his fucking hand off?"

Shivering wtih fear rather than cold, John curled in on himself. He shut his eyes and pressed his hands over his ears, his head ringing with George's phantom screams.

All because of me, my fault...

John felt Tony's hands on his wrists, forcing them apart. When he looked up at Tony, John's vision was blurred with hot tears. "Stop," he implored. "I'll apologize."

As if weighing the sincerity of John's words, Tony paused and looked at him for several long seconds. Then he dealt the final blow. "What if it's Paul? He's always right next to you, practically joined at the hip. You'll be sharing a mic one moment, and the next he'll be doubled over with his hands over his belly."

Oh, please, not Paul...

"No!" Gasping, John turned to Brian for help, but Brian's gaze was downcast, removed.

Tony plowed ahead. "D'you know that a gunshot wound to the gut is one of the worst ways to die? It's a slow death, an agonizing death, and you'll get to listen to him scream, you'll get to watch him fucking DIE, right there, but that'll be okay because your precious principles weren't compromised. He'll forgive you with his last breath, John, but he'll die because of you. Only because of you."

John buried his face in his hands. Tears spilled out from between his shaking fingers, winding a looped path down his wrists. To John, they felt like Paul's lifeblood spilling out in waves over his guilty hands, the scent metallic and earthy. He wanted to kneel, to pour every drop back into Paul's body but it was too late, too late, and Paul would never forgive him, would never KNOW...

"Stop it! Stop! I'll do it, I'll say anything, tell me what you want me to say and I'll do it," John stammered between painful, shallow breaths. He lifted his head and caught sight of his reflection in the mirror on the wall. His eyes were puffy, the rims blood-red, and his lips trembled uncontrollably.

At last, Brian knelt next to John and covered John's hands with his own. "Do you understand, now, John? I'd never have asked you if there had been any other way at all we could handle this."

Unable to speak, John nodded curtly. Brian patted him on the back, then rubbed small circles there until John's tears were spent.

"I can't..." John began, then cleared his aching throat. "I can't be responsible for...for anything happening. To me. Or to them." He looked from Brian to Tony. "I'll say anything," he repeated, more calmly now.

Seemingly satisfied, Tony helped John out of the chair and led him out to the corridor where Mal was waiting with the other Beatles. John mussed Ringo's hair affectionately. George's eyebrows were raised in surprise, but when John suddenly grasped his hand and squeezed it tightly, he looked so astonished that John almost burst out laughing.

Almost.

He glanced over at Paul, who looked almost as miserable as John himself. Paul tilted his head, his wide eyes asking what his lips could not: Are you okay?

No. I may never be okay again, thought John, but he loped toward Paul with outstretched arms and clasped him tightly for a long moment, dampening Paul's hair with a stray tear.

"What's that for?" Paul asked, his voice dark with emotion. "Steady on, Johnny, steady on."

John rubbed his wet cheek against Paul's jacket, then stepped back. "I'm going to apologize," he said as he looked at each of them in turn. His eyes lingered on George, who had been so furious with him for his stubbornness.

George rewarded him with a smile. "Good, then," were all the words he uttered, but there were entire sonnets in the loving tone.

Exhausted, enervated, John let his head droop. He stared dumbly at the carpet, trying to gather words that would release him, release them all, from this madhouse.

"When do we go in?" Ringo asked.

"You don't. I do," replied John, lifting his head just long enough to give Ringo a watery smile of thanks, then resuming his study of the carpet.

Then he saw a pair of boots right in front of him, and another, and a third. He looked up to see the other three standing so close that he could smell their different aftershaves.

"We'll go together," George declared.

John pressed his lips together, blinking fast to prevent a fresh flood of tears. There would be humiliation enough in the next half hour to last a lifetime. But if it would keep them safe...

"Ready, boys?" Brian asked, breaking into John's train of thought.

"Absolutely," Ringo and George chorused, smirking at the synchronism. Paul leaned against John's shoulder and whispered into his ear, "You're John fucking Lennon. You can do this. You can do anything."

Brian opened the door to the suite where the reporters were waiting. John took a deep breath. I'm John fucking Lennon. I can do this. I can do anything, he said to himself as he followed Paul into the lion's den.

*** END ***

[garamonder]

The Only Road, a Spider-Man: Homecoming Story

The Only Road

A rare breather between fighting should have been a relief for the Avengers. Instead, one small comment triggers a confrontation Peter had been avoiding for months.

2878 words // General // T for Language // Peter Parker, Tony Stark, the Avengers team

AO3, Fanfiction.net, or

Maybe the problem had been boiling beneath the surface for a while, because after one small comment the argument had escalated with terrifying speed.

In a moment where he stood watching the fabric of the Avengers being tenuously knitted back together, Peter commented, almost to himself, he might not have been so enthusiastic in Germany if he'd known T'Challa really meant to kill Barnes. The fight at the Leipzig airport had actually been kind of fun, the more so because he'd been reasonably sure they were only fighting to incapacitate. He had gotten fairly good at telling when someone was genuinely trying to kill him.

He liked T'Challa, who carried a dignity that (sometimes) sobered Peter's motormouth antics. He had said it because he, too, understood grief and the knee-jerk hate born from it. Killing Barnes would have been a stain that never left the king's soul, Peter knew, and he was inwardly grateful that he didn't end up a party to it. And the death would have been ever the chasm between the Avengers, preventing their truly reconciling.

Mr. Stark's reaction was unexpected.

"And who are you to decide that?" he said sharply, taking Peter aback.

"What?"

Stark's face plate had receded along with the imminent danger, and in the day's waning light Peter clearly saw his frown. "Just because you tapped into the fight, kid, doesn't mean you know the half of it."

Defensively, Peter raised his eyebrows and said, "Well, it would have been nice to know before I got roped in as an accessory to attempted murder."

"T'Challa's father was murdered," said Stark—did he know he was clenching his fist?—"and T'Challa retaliated."

"Barnes didn't kill his father," Peter replied incredulously. What was with him? "T'Challa would have killed an innocent man." Peter so feared taking a life that he had great pity for Barnes, whose choice in the matter had been taken away for so long.

"He is so far from innocent," said Stark.

Peter didn't get it, stepping back and feeling like he'd missed a question on the pop quiz. Why was Mr. Stark wound so tight now when it came to the sergeant? Before Germany he hadn't appeared to care personally about Barnes one way or another; his main concern had been reserved for the wayward Steve Rogers. The Winter Soldier had barely factored into his lectures. Peter didn't even know about that awesome metal arm til Barnes had thrown a fist at him.

Things had changed after he'd landed back in Queens. Something had happened in Siberia and now Stark refused to even glance in Barnes's general direction. The soldier stood there now, and the new arm he bore courtesy of T'Challa—who had tried so fiercely to kill him—shone dully in the red light. Some distance away the other Avengers had begun to look over curiously, though they were out of earshot. It should have been an idyllic scene, the group of them together with a sun setting behind them, but Peter was barely aware of them.

He didn't say anything, hoping to drop it, but Stark wasn't done. "What do you know about revenge?" There was a shake in his voice Peter had never heard before.

Did the guy really think Peter was such a kid? He flushed and said, "I know what murder is—"

"You really don't."

Glancing self-consciously at his teammates, Peter edged away from them. Bewilderment was giving way to irritation. How was the other man taking this as a personal attack? Never before had he reacted in this way to something so insignificant, and Peter had the feeling he'd stepped on a landmine meant for someone else.

Vaguely he felt the instinct to back down, to make peace, yet he couldn't help but say edgily, "Why? Do I have to be eighteen or over to know? Because this sounds like something that should go on my driver's license, next to my birth date and whether I'm an organ donor—"

"The sarcasm is not helpful right now," said Stark, he who was always sarcastic.

"Is that something else you get to decide?" muttered Peter.

Stark's eyes flashed. "There are a lot of things you don't understand about the world and this is one of them. High schoolers don't get to judge; Mock Trial Club doesn't count. Put that on your driver's license."

Peter wasn't about to trot out Uncle Ben for him. But for the first time since Tony Stark showed up on Peter's couch sitting a little too close to May Parker, Peter found himself getting genuinely mad at the billionaire.

"Something bothering you, Mr. Stark?" he deadpanned.

"Yeah, something's wrong with the stereo in my suit," snapped Stark, tapping where his helmet still covered the sides of his head. "I keep hearing this high-pitched whine in my ear."

A fierce blush crept up under Peter's collar, and he was glad for the mask hiding his red ears. Sensing the heat rising in his face, his suit deployed a cooling system with a small but embarrassingly audible hiss.

"Woah, fine," he said, raising his hands and starting to back away toward the others. "Forget it." Let Stark bitch to empty air, Peter wasn't going to stick around for it.

"Extra credit for the latchkey kid," Stark said as a parting shot.

What? Peter spun. "The hell does that mean?"

Possibly Stark realized that his words could have been misinterpreted as a dig at Peter's situation as an orphan, because too late, he tried to backpedal. "I didn't mean it that way," he muttered.

"No shit," said Peter, but it was still a shot at his age, among the many already made. He was getting sick of it, and maybe he was a little touchier about it since most of the Avengers had taken up the joke, save for Rogers and Banner. Barnes didn't take up jokes.

He knew his place, okay? At best, he'd so far been the cavalry. And yeah, he was a teenager. Fine. So what? So he was expected to just go along with everything he was told to do? No doubts, no reservations about consequences? Just what, be grateful they were including him? Letting him tag along?

That's when Peter blurted out the thing he'd never intended to bring up to Stark, ever. "Okay, so, life-and-death stuff isn't a choice you get to make for other people, right?" he demanded. "That's your great wisdom here?"

"Right," said Tony testily.

"Then what was with that kill mode you put in my suit?"

Not expecting him to lobb that after dodging the issue for so long, Stark looked warier, and a little like he'd regretted losing his temper. Yet he didn't back down, and upon seeing his expression harden stubbornly Peter got even more incensed. "Yeah, I know about the kill mode," he said, flaring, "One of your training wheels fell off."

"You crashed the bike," Stark spat right back.

Their voices had raised slightly, the tone if not the exact words carrying faintly across the way. Tactfully, Captain America turned and walked in a different direction, ostensibly saying something about securing the perimeter. The perimeter was hardly in jeopardy but Wilson and the Winter Soldier followed, and then some of the others went a heartbeat later peering over their shoulders all the while. Romanov found a pile of rubble to lean back against and crossed her arms, away from the conversation but unobtrusively observant. Peter hardly noticed.

"I was preparing for the future, okay?" said Stark.

Really, like the kind he talked about 'reframing' in his half-assed speeches to the September Foundation? Gears in Stark's metal armor whined slightly as he shifted his weight to stare at the patch of ground the Avengers had vacated.

"The future?" Peter said flatly. "I thought that meant getting in a good word for me at MIT. Not killing. How exactly do you plan that for a kid you just met? Oh, my God," he said, rocking back with a flash of comprehension, "that was already in the suit in Germany, wasn't it?"

Of course it was. How had he not thought of that before? For a heartbeat he hoped it'd been a later upgrade to the suit, something added after he'd proven himself at the airport. A fractional hesitation was the only answer from Stark he needed, and Peter was too aghast to care what he said next.

"Oh, God. How long did you think it'd take for me to use that? What—how—" he spluttered, shrilly "—at what point were you going to decide, 'hey, it's time for him to go Terminator?' Is that what 'training wheels' are," he flapped his arms around, "moral hangups you were just waiting to like, fall off?"

"More like naivety," snapped Stark. When Peter shook his head insistently and turned away, Stark practically shouted at his back. "What the fuck did you think, that you could just web up someone like Loki? Like Thanos? Maybe I didn't want to leave you in the wind, you ungrateful brat. You're not going to just take down bicycle thieves forever, there are bigger fish to fry and I wanted to make sure you could actually fry them. Instead," he jabbed a metal finger toward the irate teenager, who'd wheeled around for a retort, "you take asinine risks and about get yourself killed to try and save people who just tried to take off your head when you should be aiming for theirs."

He was not only referring to Toomes, which might have been forgivable had it been a onetime thing. It hadn't been. Peter stood with taut fists, too shakingly furious to heed the horror in the back of his head at this intensifying blowup with his longtime idol, the guy who'd set Peter up as a legitimate hero in the first place. At the same time, though…just how long was Peter supposed to be cowed by gratitude?

Deep down he knew these ugly words on both sides were sparked by the incendiary factors of exhaustion, fear, and near-constant fighting over the last few days. Everyone was tired and irritable and rather than coming as a comfort, their first few hours of real peace only served to exorcise the pent-up stress. Then the wrong button had gotten pushed at the wrong time.

His angry speechlessness broke when Stark turned away.

"I'm not your son."

Stark rounded as his face went white. With shock or fury, Peter couldn't tell.

"I'm your teammate. Right?" pressed Peter. He stared at the frozen Avenger and repeated, with a pleading note that the animosity couldn't hide: "Right?"

Tony Stark said nothing.

"I know you feel responsible," said Peter, suddenly desperate, "but you can't think of me as like—like a surrogate kid and respect me as an equal. I don't need a dad. I need help, and you need me. Either I'm just a kid or…or I'm one of you guys."

There it was, in so many words. So long as Peter was just a boy to them, he'd never truly be an Avenger. It wasn't so much that he wanted to be one of them, though he did—with all his heart—but that he had to be one of them, for their sake too. The world was too small and the galaxy was too big to shut him out. They were partners, all of them. Comrades in arms.

Despite losing both parents to a plane crash at four, Peter had not lacked for a father figure. He'd had one until the year before, when that figure was cut down one average night in a shock of blood and horror. It was one of those private, life-shattering tragedies that clocked somewhere below the mass slaughter usually in the Avengers' field of vision, the kind of thing that only Peter seemed to be working daily to stop.

The Avengers had never represented the fork in Peter's road; the two paths had lain in the wild-eyed face of Ben Parker's murderer. There, Peter had chosen one road and he chose it forever. In death, Uncle Ben had imparted his most important lesson, and it would not be superseded by anything Tony Stark had to say.

Which was very little, now. The moment had stalled, Peter spiraling down from the peak of anger to a place of dawning alarm and embarrassment now that the tides had receded from the shore.

Accepting that he'd cooled down, his suit switched off the AC. For the first time he realized Karen had stayed silent throughout the argument.

He'd known from little asides that Stark had had issues with his own father, and Peter had never wanted to step in the way of whatever psychological progress the man was making. He felt guilty for doing it now. However mad he was, he really did not want to hurt Mr. Stark's feelings.

"So um," Peter sighed, wishing Stark would say something, "if I'm gonna be a partner, you guys have to trust me or it's not fair. And you have to listen when I say…I will not kill anyone."

He thought maybe he owed an explanation, because this was something that was unofficially sort of in the job description, so he hesitated before going on to say what he'd never told anyone. Forcibly ignoring the magnetic resistance he had to looking Stark in the eye, he admitted: "I'm afraid of killing. I'm afraid of it happening once, and I'm even more afraid of not being so scared of it the second time. There can't be a second time if there's not a first. And, yeah, I'm too young to be ready for that anyway, but I am never going to be ready for it."

Overhead, Wilson took flight. He soared over to the purpling sky to scout, his amazing wings sounding like a distant airplane.

Gazing after him, Peter murmured, "I used to think maybe you all would see me as a burden if I didn't do it, but I don't think that anymore. I'm not a liability. I think I'm the reminder you guys need. Because I think maybe…you've forgotten how to be afraid of the right things."

He realized as he said it that the Peter Parker who could use the kill mode to its full, terrible effect was not the Peter Parker they needed. Who they needed was the enthusiastic, optimistic, happy-go-lucky guy who loved his aunt and his friends and his neighborhood, who loved helping people find the train station and getting their bikes back. Who could say, with earnestness and complete faith, that mercy was strength. Peter needed him too.

Behind them the sun was disappearing with a last gasp of light. Now that the veneer of adventure had faded somewhat he found himself homesick in this strange place and missing Aunt May and Ned, who assumed the likeness of bright tethers in his mind that kept him close to reality, in Queens.

At last, Mr. Stark seemed to sag. It was another full minute before he spoke. When he did, the anger was gone and he sounded, for the first time, a little sad and unsure.

"Okay."

Okay? Okay as in…Peter was still an Avenger? Or okay as in, You're done, pack your suit?

With a sideways look for Natasha, who had begun to move away in truth, the older man went on slowly, "Listen, k—Peter. The only thing I said to you just now that wasn't complete bullshit…was that you don't know the whole story."

Peter waited.

"And—" here Stark rubbed his temples— "it's not because you're a kid. It's because I'm an asshole who can't let go of the past." He stared at something Peter could not see.

The teenager wasn't sure what to make of this flash of vulnerability, which happened so rarely. His hand snaked nervously behind his back to pluck at the spider emblem there.

"Don't do that, you'll pill the fabric. The truth is…well, I'm gonna keep that private. I have a problem with Barnes and it's not going away anytime soon. But—" He sighed. "I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I'm sorry. And maybe you're right. About your right to be ah, a conscientious objector." He kind of rolled his eyes at the end, and with relief Peter felt normalcy settling back in.

"Thanks." He meant it.

They lingered awkwardly there, but Peter was secretly relieved by the confrontation he didn't think he'd ever make were he not as exhausted and banged up as the rest of them.

It felt like the first open confirmation that Peter was truly an Avenger, for better or worse. Spider-Man took the same risks they did, made greater for the identity he was determined to protect, and shared in the challenges as well as the brief moments of brevity. He may not even have to sign the Accords, which were not designed for galactic considerations and were rapidly falling apart. He felt optimistic, and smiled beneath his mask.

"Is this a bad time to admit the programming for your new suit was code-named 'Growing Pains?'"

"Oh, my God, Mr. Stark," said Peter, throwing up his hands in disgust.

Mr. Stark laughed.

.

.

This is a distant cousin to another one-shot I wrote called 'Trust Falls,' where Peter worries about his place on the Avengers.

[mraoulee]

M. Raoulee Reviews Ghost In The Shell So You Don’t Have To Suffer

I realize what day it is and that this is a hell of a time to post my first review, especially of something people are bound to have strong opinions about.  I’d like to take a moment to blame the heap of studios who dumped money into this for the timing and state that this review is in fact, 100% serious.  It contains spoilers.  

Short Version

I bought a cup of wine before I went in.  The clerk told me to enjoy the wine; didn’t mention the movie.

I took two sips out of it before the film started, resolving to save the rest for when things got unbearable.  It was gone within two minutes.

I have no idea why anyone would remake Overdrawn At The Memory Bank and have Scarlett Johansson playing Aram as well as suddenly on an elite anti-terrorism force.  In fact, I have no idea why anyone would remake Overdrawn At The Memory Bank at all.

The only reason this isn’t my new most hated movie is that I haven’t seen the possible previous one in a while and I think I should rewatch it before I make that determination.

Long Version

I’m reviewing this as a fan of most of the originals. You want a review from a neutral party, you won’t find it here.  Ghost In The Shell was my childhood.  

Additionally, I am going to speak to the racism, but please do seek out and read thoughts on the subject by people of color.  Their anger needs an audience because holy shit.  Just… holy shit.  I’ll be editing in links and highlighting their posts on the subject.  If the original ran without them, I just wanted to get my anger out before it consumed me and I apologize for jumping the gun.

There are a few miniscule bright spots in this train wreck.  Say, five cool shots.  One of them’s of the Major storming off in a pout and turning her camo on at the same time, there’s another neat panning shot in the one apartment.  Ultimately, the few well-filmed shots take place in scenes that are wrong for other reasons, so we’ll come back to them.  I think the practical effects, what few there are, rock, but it’s hard to tell given the cinematographer’s dedication to not showing them.  

Some of the PoC bit parts slay.  Hats off to Chin Han and his amazing Togusa.  I’m so disappointed I didn’t get to see more than a minute of him even though his presence and plotline in the originals speaks more to the point the writer may have been aiming for in this film.  Way to not use your resources, writer.  Other wasted PoC actors include Danusia Samal, Lasarus Ratuere, Chris Obi, Kaori Momoi-- stuck with one of the characters that ruins the movie but still makes her endearing af --and Adwoa Aboah whose appearance I sincerely hope gets uploaded to Youtube so everyone can see her almost salvage the Major as a character strictly by virtue of her personal awesome.  

The main cast is bad.  Just bad.  

At first, I was pretty jazzed with the guy playing Batou because he looks, he even walks the part.  Then he had to go and open his mouth.  What ditch did they find that dude in and why did they not return him to that ditch with prejudice given some of that line delivery? I mean, I can see Batou’s understated done-ness posing a challenge, but there was just no excuse for this person snorting through his lines and then going WWE all over the action scenes.  

The guy playing Cutter showed up with ham in his pockets; enough ham that made me wonder why they didn’t just get Christopher Walken if they wanted that much ham on set since he actually knows how to carry his meat products effectively.  I don’t think Cutter was a well-thought-out villain at any point, but seriously, WTF.

Kuze has that much CG interference he can’t sell anything besides an ongoing dopey expression.  Probably not his fault, but still, I think a baby deer would have done better.  Why not just have Kuze manifest as a baby deer? Are baby deer that expensive? [ETA: I have been informed that they are, though I stand by my point.]

Then there’s Dr. Ouélet.  I’m not judging this actress on her job based solely on the fact she’s playing the other character who has no business being in anything billing itself as Ghost In The Shell.  I’m not judging this actress because of her accent.  I’m judging her for playing her part like a six-year-old with a mouth full of gummi worms.  If you, like most sensible people, aren’t into watching six-year-olds with mouths full of gummi worms moralize about technology, oh look, it’s another good reason to avoid this movie.  

The Major.  Oh, the Major.  There are lines in this script, particularly shoved in her mouth, which cannot be delivered well.  And they’re really obvious.  If this actress was going to gank this part it was her fucking duty to speak up about this awful shit and she clearly did not.  The one moment of good chemistry she has with Batou looks and sounds like a goof they left in.  The scene with Adwoa Aboah is good because of Adwoa Aboah.  The rest of her performance is some phoned-in nonsense.  I don’t even know what she was trying to do with the character.

Not that you get to see terribly much of her.  They CG her to hell and back.  And not well-- in general, the CG in this movie looks cheap and rushed outside of taking people’s faces apart for shock value, though that happens with enough frequency all of its impact is lost.  As for the rest of the CG, that’s especially glaring with the wide shots of the city and with the Major.  The Major looks like a character from TES: Oblivion with the actress’s head plunked on top and also a bad wig.  90% of the time, that bad wig is crooked.  The CG model for her body has different measurements than her actual body.  No effort was made to make her appear any taller, meaning that a few shot recreations and shots in general go sideways because the Major is suddenly too short.  In fact, I’m pretty sure they look bad period because her height throws things off on a regular basis.  And just-- nobody thought to bring a box.  

This movie cost millions and millions of dollars.  It went to theaters with problems that could have been solved by boxes.  Let that sink in.

Anyone who tried to redeem this film by saying it looks good has clearly never seen a movie that wasn’t shot on shitteo before.  It doesn’t.  The sloppy CG is only part of the problem, although let me mention how glaring it is to go from wide shots of a pristine, CG skeleton of a city to street shots which attempt to be as crowded and dirty as possible.  Again, I think there are some good practical effects down here, but the cinematographer.  Oh, the cinematographer.

Please, anyone who knows this asshole, take his camera away.  I’m begging you.  He fails utterly to grasp scale.  As in, I’m not sure he realized there was a problem with the Major’s height.  He doesn’t understand movement or focus.  I have no idea how he’s been getting work since the 70’s.  The fiveish good shots I counted appear to have been accidents or laziness.  Say, the panning shot in the doctor’s apartment was probably the easiest way to shoot the scene, but it works well because it gradually reduces a conversation to the two participants and makes it personal.  Or it would.  If the conversation itself didn’t suck.

Here’s the thing: he had previous iterations of a lot of the shots to work from.  He still fucked them up.  Every single shot he lifts, he blows.  It’s not even a case of things not being replicable with live actors.  It’s this man needs to have a different job.  There’s bullet time all up in a recreation of the fight in the wash.  He puts the disappearing off of a roof shot in the middle of the day and at an incomprehensible angle.  The lighting and colors are frequently just fucked up.  Did I mention the chintzy CG jellyfish all up in the dive scene… which he then doubly fucks over in the second half by cutting sloppily around the Major and Batou, not that it’s possible to cut well around Batou’s actor completely missing the point of the scene and the Major somehow managing to take off her wetsuit in a stilted fashion.  He can’t even be assed to show us the garbage man’s death.

Did I mention they kill the garbage man?

I nope out of movies for killing dogs, but I would rather the writer had killed the dog here than the garbage man.  The whole point of the garbage man was supposed to be his perfect cinnamon roll innocence in the face of vast, complex machinations far beyond his comprehension.  You would never know that from this film and it’s decision to have him be a rat bastard.  You would never know, because the writer decided to use physical elements from Ghost In The Shell rather than actually retell any form of it.  

The plot here is some cheap, moralizing leftovers.  Saying it’s supposed to be Ghost In The Shell is just offensive.  Audience, they don’t even explain how Ghost works as in-universe jargon.

There are jackasses *cough*bennett*cough* who make the argument that the plot of the original Ghost In The Shell film is sub par.  I’m pretty sure the writer here watched one of their reviews, agreed, and never bothered with any of the originals outside of vague summaries, deciding in the end to produce something which does indeed have more in common with Overdrawn At The Memory Bank than Ghost In The Shell.

I would argue that the plot of the original film is a utilitarian creature.  It exists so that the Major and the Puppet Master can talk and the audience gets the results of that, IE the resulting entity sitting on Batou’s couch in the child’s shell, as a going away present to think about.

In other words, the original Ghost In The Shell has approximately the same plot as a romance movie.

In other-other words, it’s actually really hard to fuck that up.

You see why I don’t think the author made any attempt to retell the first movie.  I don’t even think this is a combination of the two movies and the TV series as has been claimed.  The second movie’s a hot mess and can’t exist without the first one, and you can’t cram the TV series, either season, into a movie.  Hell, the sequel film didn’t even quite fit.

The plot of this film is just the same corporate greed, technology is bad tripe that’s been getting shoved at the audience since the fucking 70’s.  I imagine the writer flying an Acme jet over the audience and unloading a comically whistling payload of anvils.  The dialogue clunks, nothing new gets put on the table; hell, nothing truly from Ghost In The Shell gets put on the table.  There is no fucking point to the plot of this film, and the plot physically is not Ghost In The Shell, primarily because of the fucking anvils.  Anvils are not gifts to your audience.  You don’t think about anvils.  They’re just there.

Running with the conceit though that this was maybe at some point supposed to be Ghost In The Shell, I have some questions.  A selection: If this main character of yours is supposed to be the Major, what’s up with the pouting and helplessness? Why the fresh hell is Aramaki the only character speaking Japanese and who told you those subtitles were OK? Did anyone explain to you what the point of a Tatchikoma is and that controlling a tank with a mouse is absurd beyond that? Did anyone tell any member of the crew that the Major is actually supposed to have junk-- the lack of junk in the first movie was a censorship issue? Why is the Major the ‘first of her kind’ adapting to her new shell when in the original we got to enjoy her casually strutting around in body that was functionally leased? Why can’t her and Batou actually be friends-- was that so damn hard to write? Was it worth it to you to make Momoi’s character spout that line about Motoko ranting about technology as a child instead of something truly motherly that didn’t sound like a box of hand tools falling over? Why does Motoko need not one, but two other women who drag her through her own plot? Oh, wait.  I know that one.  It’s because you kneecapped her character and also, you’re a complete waste of space.  You got off hammering in all of those lines about consent, didn’t you, you fucking creep?

The only shred of a prop I will give the writer is that they did possibly remember that the Major is queer.

Otherwise, between them, and the director, the audience gets… someone who isn’t Motoko Kusanagi, but who purports to be her and also gets handcuffed to a stripper pole at one point.

My father howled laughing when I told him.  

You can’t use handcuffs on a cyborg in the Ghost In The Shell universe.  What part of 800 pounds of metal did you not understand? What part of Section 9 exists at least in part because of shit like that did you not understand?

In conclusion, you probably saw that I just gave the Major’s name from the Japanese version.  

It turns out, this Mira Killian is Kusanagi Motoko and there’s memory wiping involved and also she has to go visit her mommy and her obligatory sci-fi cat before she can… not get to ascend or grow as a character because she promised Mommy she’d come home.

I’m saying it’s not that they changed the Major’s ethnicity.  It’s they literally have a white woman playing a Japanese woman.  There is nothing not terrible about that.  

This movie is the perfect example of fractal wrongness.  It fails at everything it tries to do and on every level.  It’s ugly, it’s rapey, it’s racist and it’s not Ghost In The Shell.  Shame on the crew.  

To quote Mina Li: so basically it would have saved them money if they just took the negatives of the original GitS and filmed themselves taking dumps onto it.

Don’t anyone else give this trash a dime.  Go watch the 1995 movie or the TV series.  There’s no need to suffer like I did.  

Other Reviews: Rebecca Sun, Angie Han, Other Suggestions Always Welcome Because This Movie Sucks That Hard.

[bigdip2373236]

Back from the Future- Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Its hard to pinpoint exactly when it dawned upon me for the first time, but I think it was as I was relaxing in the hot tub room with Melia after I had fucked her for the first time. The realization hit me; I was essentially a god here in this primitive age of 2015. And, if I were to confine my time travels to the past from 2015, nothing could stop me from doing as I wanted. I had three beautiful women with me on board my all powerful craft, time was on my side- the technology given to me by the Jogany meant that I would not age for a couple of thousand years.

Instead of being down heartened by the destruction of Earth in my time, I had to seize the moment. Everything was in my favor! Time to buck up and enjoy myself, not waste my time wondering what if I went back and.... Also, time to make sure all three women understood they were with me now for good.

I sent Melia back to the room. I used the Computer to transport her there, rather than make her walk! I then leapt out and ordered Computer to dress me in standard uniform. I did not need to wear one anymore as my civilisation was dead but, it looked impressive none the less and was actually very comfortable and easy to move round in.

I sent a mental order to the women that they had 30 minutes to ready themselves. I opened a screen to see what they were up to. Joanna and Chloe were hugging, Chloe was thanking her for tending to her ass after the butt fucking I had given her earlier. Melia was humming to herself, dressing, looking strangely happy. Good, I thought. Just Joanna to worry about. Not that I needed to worry, I had full mind and body control over her if I wished. However, I would prefer it if the women would just submit to me on their own.

At the appointed time, I transported them all to join me in the command room. I sat in the command chair and I had Computer produce three comfy chairs for them to sit in. When we were all comfortable, with a cup of coffee in our hands, I began...

Ladies, I understand that it is difficult to accept your new positions so soon after you have arrived here. But, I am serious, you are here to stay now. No arguments or question about it. If you accept this willingly, life will become amazing for you. If not, well, you have seen how I am in charge and you cannot escape, even if you wish to. Now, you may speak if you wish. I said.

I am happy to stay. Chloe said.

Me... me too. said Melia, surprising me. I had to remember that she was naturally submissive.

That just left Joanna.

I understand that there is nothing I can do about it but I dont like it. Joanna said.

Fair enough, Joanna. I understand. Just give it a try and you might find that you actually start to enjoy yourself. I said.

Ok. I will. But only because I dont have any other choice. Joanna replied.

Thank you Joanna. Right enough talk of that. Lets have some fun as a demonstration of the capabilities of my craft. I want you to think of any event in history that might interest you and well go and see it. I said.

I let the ladies get over their shock and the inevitable disbelieving comments. During the time it had taken them to get ready I had made sure that Computer had a comprehensive list of dates, stretching back to when the Earth was formed.

The ladies were arguing good naturedly amongst themselves, when Melia spoke up,

Ive always wanted to see a dinosaur. she said.

What sort of dinosaur? I asked

A T-Rex! Melia replied excitedly.

Computer, can you lock onto a time when there were T-Rexs around? I asked, not because I did not think it could, more to impress the girls.

Computer replied in the affirmative. Make it happen please. I commanded

We are already there. Computer replied, I am locating a T-Rex for you now.

On screen, show maximum visibility. I ordered.

The entire front of the craft became transparent and we had the most magnificent view of ancient Earth. There were plenty of volcanoes smoking in the distance and vast herds of dinosaurs stretched out across the plain below us. No T-Rex though. The girls were all standing as close as they would to the view, sounds of amazement coming from all of them. It was pretty spectacular.

I have scanned and no T-Rex is on this part of the continent. Moving to where I have located one. Computer stated.

The craft moved across the landscape at a speed unimaginable to primitive humans. The ladies all took a step back and looked scared.

Ladies, this craft can fly well beyond light speed, this is nothing. Can you feel any movement? I asked

The girls realised that they could not and gradually moved back to the window.

It was breathtaking, the speed at which the land moved under us. Soon, we slowed down and lowered down to about 50 feet off the ground. There, below us was a real live T-Rex. I was impressive being so close to it. It was heading away from us but was totally unaware of our presence.

Computer, track its movements and transport us 100 feet in front of it on the ground. I ordered.

Suddenly, the four of us were standing on the ground with the T-Rex heading right for us. I had of course erected a force field around us, invisible to the girls and the T-Rex. The dinosaur came within 30 feet of us and stopped, noticing us for the first time. It must have seen our movement as it certainly couldnt smell us in the force field.

Ladies, trust me. Do not try and run away. Just stay close to me. I said to the worried girls.

Melia and Chloe were pressed up against me, shaking. Joanna had stepped behind me. The T-Rex moved forward again, much quicker, obviously about to attack us. I stood my ground. The T-Rex loomed over us and reached down with its jaws open. Its snout was stopped by the force field and it was an incredible sight to look up and see the open jaws trying to eat us, the dribble running off the side of the force field. The T-Rex was getting frustrated as it tried to get at us. I found it quite thrilling as I knew it could not get at us. The girls however, they were petrified. I was quite enjoying it, I had an arm round both Melia and Chloe as they huddled in to me. The T-Rex was now trying to push us with its head, giving us the most incredible close up of its eyes and nostrils! Joanna had now moved her arms around me and was gripping tightly, mashing her breasts up against my back. I was very happy at that moment, feeling close to the girls and having the most amazing experience with a dinosaur.

Eventually, the T-Rex realised that it was not going to get a meal with us and it moved away and was soon in the distance behind us. The girls all talked at once. The words incredible, amazing, terrifying etc were used. I was glad they were so enthused. Perhaps it was just what they needed? I knew what I needed now and after that incredible experience, it was sex.

I reached my hand down and fondled Melias bum as we stood there. The girls were all staring at the retreating dinosaur. I pulled Melia to me and kissed her passionately. Melia returned my passion with vigor. Obviously a bit of danger got her horny! I was rock hard and could feel my cock pressing against her belly. This was not the time for fore play! I guided Melia onto her hands and knees and pulled down the loose shorts she was wearing along with her panties. I positioned myself behind her and guided my cock into her drenched love tunnel. Melia was just as horny as I was. I began by slowly pushing my cock in and out of her cunt, smearing her juices up the length of my shaft.

It was at this point that Joanna and Chloe turned around as the dinosaur was out of sight. They both gasped as they saw me fucking Melia from behind on her hands and knees. I had now grabbed Melias hips and was rapidly sawing my cock in and out of her pussy, making her mewl. It felt so good sliding my cock in and out of her tight, juicy pussy. I looked back to Chloe and Joanna. Chloe had one hand down her shorts, rubbing her pussy through her panties. Joanna just stared. I was glad to see that Chloe liked to be a voyeur.

Turning my attention back to Melia, I ran my index finger round her puckered anus, enjoying her increased movements as I felt it. I pushed it forward and broke through her sphincter and inserted my finger into her ass. Melia pushed back with renewed vigor, obviously comfortable with my finger penetrating her asshole. Chloe now had her finger inside her panties and was furiously rubbing her clit, throwing her head back and panting hard as she watched us fuck. The surprising thing was that Joanna had her hand on one of her own boobs and was rubbing it and pinching the nipple through the tank top she wore. Interesting!

Melia was approaching orgasm fast as her screams got louder and I inserted a second finger into her ass. It was that finger that sent her over the edge, causing her to explode in orgasm, her pussy tensing around my shaft and spasming. This sent me to the edge and I pulled out and sprayed my cum all over Melias pussy and asshole, with some shooting up her back as well. However, most of my cum now pooled in her asshole, as she had collapsed the top half of her body and her head was on the ground, with just her hip up in the air. I told her to stay like that as I finished my final couple of spurts, adding to my cum dribbling slowly out of her asshole and down her pussy.

I stood up and went over to Joanna. I took her by the arm and led her over to Melia and behind her so she could see the mess I had made.

Lick it up please Joanna. I ordered.

Joanna surprised me by immediately getting onto her knees and lowering her head towards Melias pussy. Joannas lips made contact with Melias pussy and she began eagerly lapping up my cum, cleaning it all up off her pussy before moving up to Melias anus. I watchedas Joannas tongue swirled around Melias anus, licking up all my cum before dipping the tip of her tongue into Melias ass. It was such an erotic sight. A sound whipped my head round, it was Chloe exploding in orgasm as her fingers brought her off. Joann finished cleaning up my cum and was now just kissing Melias pert ass. I was very pleased with her obeying my instructions so quickly.

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[samerystargaryen]

HELP ME CURE THIS OVERLOAD || DAM

TAGGING: @acupdaniharper & @samerystargaryen

DATE: Thursday, August 16th.  

PLACE: Miami, Dani’s parent’s house

NOTES: Sam tags along with Dani as she attempts to reunite with her parents. They don’t get far as Dani is distracted by her argument with X.

Dani

Things had gone pretty smoothly since they landed in Miami. They had managed to make the flight quite a bit of fun and got their rental car without an issue. Now, she was driving down the familiar streets that led to her parents’ house, and she could feel her heart in her throat. It had been years since she had seen them, and she knew that the return could be less than welcoming. However, she had run from the problem long enough. If it went south, she would just grab her beautiful girlfriend and drive down to the keys that night. Just thinking of Sam had the singer reaching over the middle console for her girlfriend’s hand. “This will probably be awkward for you babe,” she said after a few moments. “I doubt they will welcome us with open arms, but thanks for coming with me.” Dani brought Sam’s hand up to her lips and kissed her knuckles briefly as she turned down the last street. As the house came into view, she saw the lights on which indicated her parents were home. Putting the car in park outside of the house was simple, but getting out took her a few more seconds. “I guess let’s get this over with,” she mumbled before getting out and walking over to meet Sam on her side. Without hesitation she reached for the blonde’s hand and gave it a squeeze as they walked towards the door. “Sure you want to do this?”

Sam

It was obvious to Sam that Dani was nervous about being reunited with her parents, and she couldn't blame her. The whole situation was something Sammy couldn't really imagine. The more she'd gotten to know Dani, the more she'd seen what an amazing, generous, and compassionate person that she was. Why anyone would want to toss her aside was beyond her comprehension. "I'm right here with you. You don't have to worry about me." Sam gave Dani's hand a soft, and hopefully comforting, squeeze. It was just like her girlfriend to be thinking about her when she was the one who was going though the stress of being reunited with her family. "This is all about you, baby, and we can stay or leave whenever you want to." Sam followed Dani up the sidewalk and tried to follow her lead. Since her parents weren't exactly welcoming of their daughter being a lesbian, Sam wanted to let Dani decide her comfort level. She couldn't imagine being introduced as a friend or trying to hide how special Dani was to her, but for Dani, she would give it her best effort. When Dani grabbed her hand, Sammy couldn't help but to smile over at her. She knew she was overthinking things, and instead of trying to guess what it was going to be like, she focused all of her attention on Dani. Making sure her girlfriend knew she wasn't alone was the most important thing. "This is right where I want to be," she said, hoping Dani knew that meant right there by her side through whatever her parents threw their way. "You've got this," she said softly.

Dani

Dani had been having an argument on her phone with none other than X that had her steaming, however she knew she needed to push that aside for the moment. She'd talk to Sam about it afterwards. Taking in a breath, she rang the doorbell to her family's home and waited. It didn't take long for her to hear her mother's voice calling back to who she suspected to be her father and telling him she was going to get it. Seconds after, the door opened to reveal the face of a very surprised Isabella Harper. Her mother's eyes took in her daughter and then looked over to the other woman before speaking. "First you're gone for years, and now you bring this back into our home. I'd rather you not come home at all if this is what you're going to do." With that she attempted to close the door until her father's hand could be seen stopping it. He must have heard what Dani's mother said and moved towards the front of the house quickly from the kitchen. Dani watched as her mother gave him one of her patented disapproving looks before storming off into what the singer suspected was their bedroom. 

"Mija," was all she needed to hear from Michael Harper in order to make her stop from turning around and walking right to her car. "Danielle, I'm sorry for your mother, just please stay for a little bit. I'll talk to her. Both of you, come inside. Please." Seeing her father's pleading eyes made Dani sigh before nodding her head. She had always been a daddy's girl, and that wasn't going to change anytime soon. Slowly they made their way into the house and Dani led her and Sam towards the couch to sit while her father went to go deal with her mom. She knew it might be awhile and would rather not listen to the words that were going to be thrown around, so she turned her attention to her favorite distraction.

"Hey baby," she said with a strained smile. "Before they come back out here, I just wanted to give you my phone. I texted X, and they made it into this whole thing it's not. I'm not trying to fight with you because honestly she isn't worth fighting about, but I wanted you to know so you can text your friend. I don't like them, but they are your friend so my feelings on it doesn't really matter.For the record though, you can say anything you want about my friends, but when you accused them or talked to them about your problems they tried to make it right and not turn it into this whole outing shit." Dani figured she might as well get all the unpleasant stuff out of the way before they started their vacation. She wouldn't want it bringing them down at all.

Sam

When the Harper's front door opened, Sam's initial instinct was to smile. Her politeness that had been ingrained in her since birth mixed with her optimism to have her feeling positive that things would work out right. She had an amazing girlfriend and was convinced that Dani's parents would realize just how wrong they'd been years ago. It took less than a second for Sammy to realize just how wrong she was. Dani's mom was not only not glad to see her daughter, but she seemed angry that she'd shown up at all. Despite knowing that it was possible to go that way, Sam hadn't expected it at all. Knowing that her own emotions were nothing compared to what Dani was going through, Sam clung to her girlfriend's hand to show her that she was still there with her. Nothing that was thrown their way was going to change that. Her parents were the ones making a huge mistake, and it appeared that she wasn't alone in thinking that as Dani's dad caught the door before it closed. Tentatively walking inside of the place Dani grew up, Sam couldn't help but to look around and take it all in. She hoped to find pictures of a tiny Dani hanging on the walls or any other signs of the childhood she'd had there. "Your dad seems nice," Sam whispered to her girlfriend once they were alone.

Turning her attention away from the new room they were alone in and fully to the beautiful woman sitting next to her, Sammy could see that she was trying to put on a brave face. Assuming that it was due to her mother's outburst, she reached over to find Dani's hand again. "She can still come around," she said to try and keep the hope alive for her. They were inside the house after all, so it was a step at least.When Dani handed over her phone and mentioned something about X, it took Sam a bit to catch on that it was something else entirely that had her girlfriend upset. "What?" she asked, voicing her confusion as she tried to keep up with what was being said at the same time she was scanning through the texts to see exactly what she'd missed. Realizing it was a lot to try to figure out and not wanting Dani to have even more on her mind, she shook her head and handed the phone back. 

"Hey, you don't have to worry about anything right now." Sam angled her body towards Dani's so that she had her undivided attention. "We'll figure whatever that is out later, okay?" Sam reached her free hand over to join the hand already clutching Dani's. "You've already got a lot going on." Picking their joined hands up and placing a soft kiss on Dani's knuckles, she tried to give her a reassuring smile. Being in Dani's parents home after she'd been forced to leave for being outed was already a lot to have to try and relive without the added triggers on an argument with a friend about the same topic. "Let's focus on you right now."

Dani

Dani could hear her father trying to plead with her mother which wasn't entirely pleasant. Her mother was blaming her father for how she turned out and a lot of other crap that really didn't even make sense. Luckily it all was in Spanish so Sam couldn't hear exactly what was being said. Instead of focusing on it, she kept focusing on her girlfriend. "It's okay," she said with a sigh. "I honestly expected worse than this. I thought they both would kick me out on my ass, so this is going pretty well." It was sad, but very true. Her family was very religious if the crucifixes and pictures of Jesus around the house weren't obvious enough. "I just wanted you to know, Sam. I don't want to fight with you, and I'm not going to. I trust you. The way you two talk makes me uncomfortable, but that's all I'm going to say about it. I just wanted you to know where I stand so you won't get yourself into a situation that would make me not trust you."

Sam

The Spanish conversation coming from the kitchen sounded like an intense one, but Sam wasn't entirely sure if that was because it was another language. "You mean that's going good?" she asked as she glanced towards the sound of Dani's parent's voices. She couldn't see them from where they sat in the living room, but the sounds of the conversation painted enough of a picture for her. Plus, they hadn't been asked to leave yet again, so that had to at least be a little bit positive. "I don't want to fight with you either," she admitted easily as she tried to block out Dani's parent's arguing. Fighting with Dani was the last thing on her mind. What she wanted was to be there for her, and show her that she wasn't alone. While she heard what Dani was saying, she wasn't exactly following along. There were so many questions she wanted to ask to try and figure out what had her girlfriend so on edge if it wasn't the possibility of being asked to leave the home she grew up in. Despite wanting to talk about it, Sammy reminded herself that it wasn't the time for it. Dani and her relationship with her family was the most important thing, so she tried to reassure her the best way that she could. "Hey, you can trust me. We're in this together."