#edit: removed the fuck off. that was immature

[datcravat]

Hey just so you know radical feminists aren't against trans rights, we literally get into fights to defend the human rights of trans people and constantly call out transphobic people who think they belong in the feminist community, they don't. We just make the distinction that women are a social class based on being born female, which is who feminism is for, and fight for our right to single-sex spaces, we literally don't want anyone dead, just our rights respected. Trans people deserve every right as literally every human being does, and radfems aren't against that.

Because I said "FUCK TERFS"? You are either entirely unaware of the damage point-blank excluding trans women from these spaces does to cis and trans women alike, or you know about it but are feigning ignorance in the name of feminism so you can be transphobic. I hate both. Whether you like it or not, your philosophy is extremely harmful to trans lives. Accept that about yourself, disgusting TERF. 👍

This is the only ask about this I will answer so my followers can clearly know my stance.

[werewolf-girl-knot]

Not to do edition wars on here but like. W5 just removing representation instead of doing the real work to do that representation right is not a good thing at all and I wish people would stop acting like it is. Like, having explicitly indigenous land back werewolves is good, actually, and it really wouldn't have been that hard to just make the depictions and the names more respectful. They had some really good native writers and consultants working on the game before Paradox ran them off with their racism anyway, like, we're actively being robbed of perhaps the first good version of Older and Younger Brother in the official books.

The presence of Metis as werewolves with disabilities is also good actually, and the fact that werewolves are a little fucked up about both these things is kind of important to the issue the game itself points at within werewolf culture. With warrior culture in general. I feel like a lot of people think the werewolves just shouldn't be problematic at all, which uh. Seems like a pretty immature way to approach monster media, as well as approach a game with Werewolf's themes.

[shirogane-oushirou]

[cw mentions of ableism. talking / venting about the sharing vs non-sharing shit (i do not lean towards supporting one "side" over the other); starts out relatively neutral-toned but i start to sound frustrated part way through. i also have a more personal ramble at the very end that has a separate cw list. it's also long... don't feel obligated to read. i just needed to say things and be Done with it.]

man. i'm ready for all of the sharing vs non-sharing back and forths to stop.

to be clear: this isn't some "i'm above this argument" thing. on the contrary; i completely see where both "sides" are coming from! i simply mean it shouldn't be so difficult for a select few shit-stirrers to Get that selfshipping is a personal thing, and we should be able to ship in whatever way makes us most comfortable.

if someone is non-sharing, they should be allowed to create those boundaries without being harassed or called "immature" or "delusional" by sharing people. beyond how supremely ableist that is, nobody has the right to say they can't view their f/os in a certain way, no matter if other people don't understand those feelings.

if someone is sharing, they should be allowed to share their feelings for a character openly with other sharing people without being sent hate from non-sharing people who think they're "loose" or who want to be their f/o's "one and only". shaming people for being open to sharing is fucked from multiple "sexual / romantic purity" and "anti poly-[sexual / romantic / platonic] relationships" angles, and nobody has the right to claim sole and total ownership over a character they did not make.

and yet, every couple of weeks, we get posts from a vocal minority making a huge fuss over "the other side", when it's just a vocal minority FROM that other side ALSO making a fuss. and then those vague posts leave their intended orbit and cause more mis-worded posts and misunderstandings and off-the-cuff bigoted statements, and the cycle starts again.

we should theoretically be able to respect each other while focusing that energy on, oh i dunno, chasing harassers out of the community? getting selfshippers who aren't part of a specific marginalized group to help selfshippers from that group when they're harassed, maybe?? especially when the sharing vs non-sharing Thing very often coincides with bigotry; people who are harassing others tend to not just stop at being petty or mean, they make it personal.

and -- not as important but a nice little bonus -- i would think that working towards a community that's more safe for everyone in it would also "coincidentally" (/s) get rid of the shit-stirrers, whether because they were kicked out or because they realized what they were doing and grew as people.

---

[cw ableism, vague death ideation, non-physical self harm mention]

i was originally gonna put this bit in the tags, but i think i should put it under the cut bc it's a little personal + it got too long.

also, i try to stay in my lane and not discuss details about delusions or how to approach them -- i've only experienced them a couple of times, so i'm not going to claim to know much about them -- so if i've overstepped, PLEASE let me know and i'll edit or remove anything i've misspoken about.

but coming from someone who went too deep into selfshipping in the past and worries about the mental health of people who do: It's None Of Your Business!!

delusions aren't morally "bad" or "wrong". holding deep feelings abt a character isn't inherently delusion-based and also isn't morally "bad" or "wrong". and neither of those is the same as -- speaking from experience (above content warnings come into play here) -- being obsessed with a character to the point that you self-isolate and emotionally self harm because you wish so badly that the character was real and you believe there isn't a point to life if you'll never meet that character... and this is also not inherently delusion-based and ALSO not morally "bad" or "wrong".

these separate things -- delusions, deep feelings, and unhealthy obsession -- CAN intersect but just as often don't. none are immoral, and all are deserving of being approached with compassion and respect, in whatever way is most appropriate.

negative, harmful ACTIONS that some people take in these states are worth bringing up to them when it's safe to do so, depending on the details of their situation, but the states themselves don't have any moral weight. ie, if someone's harassing others for sharing their f/o because they're in a dark, obsessive place, that is a morally negative ACTION, not a morally negative mental state. they need to take responsibility for harm they've CAUSED, not for what they're experiencing internally.

but if you're calling people "immature" or "delusional" as an insult, something tells me you're not really considering that! whether through malice or just a lack of compassion, you don't see worth in how another person approaches this community.

you aren't better for thinking of a character a certain way, and neither is the person you're being ableist towards. if no harm is being done to you or others, you're just being a dick for the sake of being a dick. listen to other people, learn, and do better.

if you think someone is genuinely in a bad mental place because of selfshipping (wrt isolating and self harm), approach them as another human being. meet them where they're at. don't patronize them, don't call them "delusional", treat them like someone who has their own thoughts and values.

they may want help, or they may not, and you have to respect them for their choice no matter what YOU think is right. there is no truly right way to approach someone who's in a dark place, but you can at least avoid saying things that FOR SURE will make them feel talked down to, belittled, or shamed. if they aren't ready now, maybe they will be ready for help in the future, and shutting them down will make them less likely to seek that help.

(i was also going to put THIS in the tags but i should probably put it here: when i say 'learn and change' i mean it as a positive. people have the capacity to learn and grow and become better; if you've said something in all of this that can be read as harmful... consider why it's harmful and why you said it.

you aren't the same person you were a year ago. 5yrs ago. 10yrs ago. you have grown and you will continue to grow. but if you can be more aware of it and grow more purposefully and consciously? all the better.)

[wackpedion]

YAYAYA I LOVE UUUU OKAY SO MSI is made up of 4 members, the lead singer Jimmy Urine, guitarist Steve, Righ?, bassist Lyn-Z, and drummer Kitty. The first bassist for MSI was Vanessa YT but she left some time after the release of their second studio album Frankenstein Girls Will Seem Strangely Sexy

MSI's gimmick seems very immature on their surface, basically their goal is to just offend and be unpalatable to the general public. However it's actually such an interesting approach they have to music, in where they refuse to abide whats profitable and easy to sell and rather do what nobody else dares to do, talk about things nobody else dares to talk about. They value free speech Alot, and refuse to tone themselves down for anyone else. Another core idea of MSI is this quote "oppression of the word is what gives it the power", it comes from this skit about slurs and the message is basically that to oppress a word gives it more meaning and power when it's used, and to normalize it as any other word removes that power. This quote was printed on the back of the FGWSSS CD, the skit was ripped and featured in Crappy Little Demo, and it's also in Jimmy's solo song Problematic. This leads into why MSI's so free with language and don't shy away from using slurs, which as you can imagine is very controversial (which is fair, there are things to criticize about that approach such as if its possible, correct, or if its even their place to make such an assertion)

Not to mention the sound of their music itself is such a unique and fascinating blend of so many styles. Basically, for their album Tight they recorded a cover of the song Bring The Pain in several different styles and genres that they liked and were looking to take inspiration from, and then they took the best parts of each one and edited them together. This sounds easy, but this was in the 90s and using shitty equipment so it was quite the difficult effort but they fucking did it anyway, and this mashed together cover served as the basis and blueprint for the MSI style. It's so interesting and makes them truely like no other, MSI likes to make jokes off this by calling their genre Industrial Jungle Pussy Punk

Additionally they're such colorful characters, especially Jimmy Urine. They're known for their crazy stage antics and performances, the band likens themselves to being more entertainers than musicians. Things they've done at shows: Lyn-Z climbed unto a balcony and threw bar stools down at the audience, Jimmy Urine set his own pubes on fire (and was later arrested for public indecency), start playing a wildly different style of music in the middle of a show to confuse everyone, one time Jimmy Urine said "I am going to fuck this up because I hate all of you" and then proceeded to sing a whole ass other song while the rest of the band played something else, they have this taxidermied canine called Chauncey that they would sometimes bring out to performances, Jimmy Urine making out with people at shows, Jimmy Urine making out with a man and then proceeding to call him a Faggot, Jimmy Urine pissing in a cup and drinking it, also Steve drinking Jimmy's piss and then spitting out into the audience, also Steve puking at shows, and etc. They're actually fucking insane nobody else does it like them.

also as you said YES HOME OF SEXUALS !! Jimmy Urine is so openly queer and I admire him so much for it, guy was so unapologetic and out in the 90s and early 2000s and didn't even stop to explain or label himself which is metal as fuck. I will always remember the time he had "RED IS FOR FAGZ" written on his back as he wore all red, I would say more but like I made some other post about it recently so I don't feel like listing out all the gay shit he's done

And now one last thing I'll talk about: Their album Frankenstein Girls Will Seem Strangely Sexy, specifically its production because its such a funny fucking story. Basically, after the release of their debut studio album, Tight, many different record labels wanted to work with them. And so what did MSI do? Be as annoying as fucking possible for no fucking reason. They would charge obscene amount of money for their appearances, they would purposefully ruin their own songs, the investors wanted an album that would be good for radio and so naturally MSI filled it with as many curse words as fucking possible and then made nearly all of the songs under 2 minutes, then the song Faggot which is all about gay sex, they made the album as obnoxious sounding as fucking possible, on the CD's there would be stickers like "Be the first on your block to throw this new album out!", it has 30 tracks and they're all in alphabetical order, and also they priced it at 30 bucks so it wouldn't sell well. They basically did their fucking best to drain as much money as they could from labels and make sure they wouldn't make any money back on it its funny as hell like what was their PROBLEM. I love them. ok thats it sorry for this wall of text did u know i have autism

heyyy can i infodump to u ab MSI i feel like you'd get a kick out of their antics

Hell yeah tell me about the home of sexuals

[ilooklikeaburntchickenugget]

Hi, I love your writing. I really want to make a request where the readers have eating disorder but works in the modeling industries. She is like dating Gerard, but they were in a super big fight because of her eating disorder, as well as her constant traveling for fashion weeks, and at the end, they make up, and Gerard is helping her getting better, and stuff like that. I really love your writing, can you please write one? THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!!!

Title: Poisons A/N: I actually got two requests for something like these. The endings for both requests were slightly different, but here’s the first one. I didn’t really edit it, just because I haven’t updated much content in forever, but here you go! Pairing: Gerard Way (probably late Black Parade era) x Model!F!Reader Word count: 3,170 Warnings: Eating disorder, swearing, angst, drama, there’s just a lot.

Okay, so this was not what Gerard expected to come home to.

The man expected to go back to his New York apartment, shared with his gorgeous girlfriend, and for everything to be perfect. Well maybe not perfect, but perfect in Gerard’s mind.

He wanted nothing more than to just eat some chips, not having eaten in 16 hours due to his flight and partial distaste to airplane food, and curl up with his girlfriend, hugging every inch of her curves.

Instead he came home to a house that was nearly empty of any food, only a few protein shakes resided in the large fridge. This was already a huge warning sign Gerard looked out for. His mind attempted to justify itself, thinking that maybe he was jumping to the worst of the worst conclusions. No, you were probably just traveling so much that you weren’t at home enough to actually buy food.

He sighed, moving to one of the cabinets he knew the take out menus were hidden in. Opening it up, he picked up one of the cheap paper menus covered in dust, shaking it with his hand to get it off. Great, these hadn’t been touched in months.

After debating mentally between Chinese and Italian, he moved to your bedroom, in hopes to finally see the love of his life after months of being absent on tour. There you were, peacefully sleeping in bed. Jetlag, he knew.

He carefully removed his shoes, moving to his closet to change his airplane clothes to more comfortable ones. Climbing into the warm bed beside you, he placed his hands on your hips as he always had. His initial smile soon turned into a frown.

Even under the large hoodie you were wearing he could feel the painful outlines of your ribs. Grimacing to himself, he heard a small sigh fall from your lips. “Gee?” You coarsely called out.

“Mhm,” He hummed back, kissing the top of your head despite the pure disappointment towards you that coarse through his veins.

“What’re you doing? Weren’t you supposed to be gone for another week?” You asked again, still half asleep.

“The guys and I decided to cancel the last week where we were just supposed to travel, I missed you too much.” He smiled lightly, moving your hair to the side to kiss your neck.

“Mmm,” You hummed quietly, your consciousness growing back. Within seconds realization hit you, your eyes internally going wide, not wanting to show anything to Gerard, and you pulled away from him slightly.

“Babe,” He sighed, “We’re not doing this again.” “Doing what again?” You tried to pretend to not understand what he was saying.

“You’re a gorgeous, talented model,” He began with a soft smile, “But don’t go into acting, you’re not good at it.” “Gee, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You fired back.

“Take off your hoodie,” He insisted, “Now.” “Gerard, what the fuck?” You scoffed, “Take off my hoodie?” “You heard me,” He stated, “Take it off.” “Why would I take it off?” You scrowled.

“So I can confirm that you haven’t been eating like you’re supposed to.”

“Gerard, please-” You begged, now falling off your pedestal of lies. He sighed heavily, rolling his eyes.

“Why haven’t you?” He asked, looking at you, “What has caused you not to eat again? I thought we were over this.”

“I don’t think that’s your problem.” You snapped. You rarely if ever did so, but this was only further confirmation that you hadn’t eaten in a couple of days. You were cranky.

“Damn right it is my problem.” He sat up next to you, his face had gone completely serious. There were traces of anger in his eyes, his pulsing veins along his muscular arms told you all you needed to know. He wasn’t only infuriated with your habit, he was disappointed.

A word you hated. You absolutely hated. The way it sounded, the meaning, how it made you feel. “Please,” You begged him, your once bright eyes gray from the torture you had put yourself through. “Please what?” He asked, his tone still somewhat harsh.

“Just don’t be mad.” You pleaded. You could see his eyes scan over your face, looking for any signs that you were lying. He found none.

Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes to clear his head he nodded lightly. “Alright,” He said barely letting out a breath, “But you need to tell me everything.”

And you did. Most of it at least. You explained how your insecurities resettled themselves in your mind, starting the moment he left for Tour. You talked about how you were getting more gigs and all due to your tinier size. You explained how skin and bones was basically the new trend.

He sat and listened to you. And he believed it, because he knew it was true. But naturally, he also was a human lie detector. Especially with you.

“Okay,” He began, “And what else?” So maybe that one small part your left out was something that you really didn’t want to admit. Gerard had this strong distaste for most of your model “friends”, ya know, the ones who are naturally tiny and eat salads 24/7, never genuinely enjoying a single meal. The one’s who flashed their designer shit everywhere they went, who posted bikini photos every other day and managed to somehow photoshop themselves into complete Barbie dolls. It made Gerard’s blood boil, he never liked you hanging out with them. Because are them you were not Y/N, you couldn’t be. And that made you even more secure.

“There’s nothing else.” You lied. He looked you in the eyes, waiting another moment.

“I’m gonna give you one more chance to tell me the truth,” He sighed, “What else?” “I said nothing.” Your tone was adamant. He rolled his eyes in disbelief.

“You lied to me,” He began, “You just fucking lied to me. We’ve been over this how many times?” “I didn’t fucking lie to you,” You stuck up for yourself, moving further away from him.

“Another lie, damn Y/N.” He sighed, “We’ve been dating for three years, and you still can’t trust me.” “I do trust you, Gerard.” “Then why are you lying to me?” He asked, his tone going to a much harsher pitch.

“Ya know what?” You said, grabbing your pillow violently, getting up from the bed, Gerard looking at you with no emotion. “Fuck you.” You stated.

“Are you seriously gonna leave?” He asked, rolling his eyes, “Immature.” “No, I’m going to the fucking couch where I don’t have to sleep next to a complete dick.” You fired back, going into your closet and grabbing a spare blanket. “You didn’t mean that.” He scoffed.

“Then why the fuck did I say it?” You marched out of the bedroom, flipping him off to which you heard a sarcastic laugh.

This was far from how you had planned his return. You were gonna stock the fridge and pantry, ya know, not give him a chance to think you weren’t eating, and probably have dinner made. You would eat a small portion, making the excuse you had a big lunch with your friends, and bam! Everything would be okay.

But naturally, shit didn’t work out and after numerous insults thrown at each other you found yourself on the couch silently sobbing. You and Gerard had never gone that far, ever. This fight was beyond messy, it was a complete dumpster fire.

You wanted no more than to apologize to him, but you also wanted an apology from him. You should’ve told him everything, that was on you. But he pushed your buttons and he knew what he was doing. It only took 15 minutes, before you heard his soft footsteps coming from the bedroom, and his warm arms wrapping around you, to which his shoulder became one to cry on. His slow and soft coos calming you down, as he began apologizing over and over again, clearly more mad at himself at this point. “Sugar, I’m so so sorry,” He apologized, “I was just really upset.” “I know,” You sniffled, “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have called you a dick.” You looked up at him. “Well, I was kinda being one.” He lightly smiled, to which you giggled in his chest. “Just promise me, you’ll start eating again.” “Gee-” You were about to make an excuse when you were interrupted.

“Babe, you have to.” He began, “Remember what your manager said last time?” You sighed, remembering. Yep, they would place you right in a psych ward. “So here’s what’s gonna happen. We’re not gonna tell anyone, but I need you to start eating, okay? We’ll go gradually, start small and build up. Together, okay?” You nodded, placing you head on his shoulder.

“I love you,” You smiled, looking up at him. “I love you too.” He smiled right back down.

-Six months later-

"Gee, that’s too much salt!” You scolded as he put a tablespoon of salt not a teaspoon into the cookie dough you were making.

“Oops.” He looked down to which you smiled lightly. You took a chunk of it placing it into your mouth, and he did the same. You couldn’t help but gag at how much salt was in it. “Salty.” He admitted, and you lightly nudged him.

“Yeah, ya dork.” You smiled. “That’s what happens when you add too much salt.” He lightly laughed, wrapping his hands around your waist from behind and placing his head on your shoulder.

“So what’re we gonna do to fix it.” “Nothing,” You said, “We could like, triple the batch, but that would be way too much.”

“Don’t forget we’re seeing the guys tonight,” He smiled, “They’re gonna eat this shit up.” You sighed, nodding.

“Maybe it isn’t such a bad idea after all.” The two of you spent the next half hour adding more of every ingredient, thankful that your apartment was stocked with food to use.

Carefully, you placed as many trays as you could into the oven, closing it and setting the timer. Giving Gerard a quick peck on the lips, he went off to review some emails as you checked your phone. Of course, the group chat was buzzing.

You sighed as you open the text chain reluctantly, scrolling through only to see your name pop up numerous times. “Y/N, where have you been?” “Yeah, fr, we have been out to lunch with you in forever.” “Why are you ignoring us?” “Really? Now you’re being a fake friend.” “Guys, I’m okay.” You simply responded, “Just really busy.”

“Uh huh, you’ve been doing boutique stuff for months.” “Literally nothing even big.” “Not since that Prada show.” “It’s Gerard, isn’t it.”

And just like that, you were about to light these girls up. Gerard was the only one willing, and quite frankly able, to get you out of the huge hole you had dug yourself into. And damn, now these bitches (I hate misogynistic terms against women, but I think it may fit here) were really gonna act like the good guys. “Don’t bring Gerard into this.” You simply responded. “It has to be him.” “He’s not even worth it.” “You could have any guy in the world, and you chose him.” “He’s way out of your league, and you’re still on your knees for him. Smh.” You knew damn well they were trying to get to you. None of these girls had had any true romance, only summer flings with football players, actors, and singers. Granted, Gerard was a singer, but he made good music. He was an artist at his core, singing was just apart of that art. It didn’t take you more than a moment to remove yourself from the group chat, and block all those girls. The real fake friends. The timer went off, which startled you a bit, but placing your phone down with a heavy sigh, you turned it off, to check out the cookies. The top row was done, which you were going to take out. Naturally, the tsunami of inappropriate texts from who you would once call your “girlfriends” was still flooded in your mind, and like a complete idiot, you reached in, touching and grabbing the sheet. With you bare hands.

“Shit!” You yelped, dropping the pan on the open oven and rushing to put your hand under cold water.

“Y/N?” You heard Gerard rush in. You looked up at him, and judging your hand under water, and the cookie sheet which had clearly gone through it, he took a slight sigh, first going to examine your hand. “You alright?” You nodded despite the tears forming in your eyes.

It wasn’t even the burn that hurt. It was the fact that you knew you let those girls get to you so easily, and the just embarrassed yourself in front of Gerard. You knew he didn’t find it embarrassing at all, it was an honest mistake. But still, it embarrassed the shit out of you. “Baby,” He cooed, moving your head up with his fingers under your chin to see the tears that were now slowly cascading down your red cheeks, “It’s okay.” He said lightly. You nodded, placing your head into his chest and sniffling a bit. “What happened.” “I was just distracted,” You admitted, “Forgot the oven mitt.” He nodded, holding you for a moment longer before he knew you were okay, and going to pick up the mess. “Gee, I can clean it up, I made it-” “No, no, please, just worry about your hand, okay, sugar?” You nodded, attending back to it.

The bright red mark across your hand didn’t want to budge, which you were fine with, considering it didn’t hurt as much, just stung a bit. He managed to clean up all the cookies pretty fast, putting them on the stove top to cool, and quickly going back to you. Giving you a kiss on the top of your head, it was his way of messaging he didn’t want to push the topic. But if you wanted to talk he’d be there to listen. It wasn’t but a few hours later that the guys came over. The mistake from earlier was long forgotten, other than the mark on your hand.

The guys were honestly some of your best friends, just like they were Gerard’s. They truly cared about you, just as much if not more than you cared about them. All of them knew about your struggles, and they were honestly your number one cheerleaders.

So the looks on their faces when they saw you healthy again was one that you could not pay for. It was definitely a lot of pride in you for doing it, and it made you feel even better about your decision to get healthy again.

Honestly, you loved the relaxes atmosphere of just hanging out. Sitting next to Gerard with some water, as he drank a Diet Coke, and some of the guys had beers, some opted otherwise. You could theoretically drink as well, but you didn’t want your boyfriend to ever feel alone or strange not drinking alcohol, considering his rough past with it. So you typically opted for a non alcoholic beverage.

It wasn’t until after the guys were gone and you were in the shower that Gerard figured out what was wrong. Your phone kept buzzing, going off constantly. He had never once checked your phone without your permission. There was a huge element of trust in your relationship, and he never felt that there was a reason to. He knew your passcode, you two had openly shared each others in the case one of you needed to use the others phone, but when he picked up yours and saw all those girls name pop up he scoffed.

He knew he probably shouldn’t have done it, but he opened your phone, scrolling through the messages. Some of them you had yet to block, and they were obnoxious. He went into the group chat where the messages were flooding, reading from the beginning of the day until now.

Pissed was an absolute understatement. If it wasn’t for the sound of the shower you were in keeping him aware of his surrounding, he probably would have smashed your phone. Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, he placed it face down on the counter right where it was, resorting back to your bedroom in some hope of calming down before you got out, not making anything too obvious.

Everything was fine, completely normal. The two of you laying in bed together, doing your typical night time routine of reading a bit, maybe watching something, it really depended. You could feel how tense Gerard was, even by your head just leaning on his shoulder. His muscles flexed together, twisted into tight knots. You weren’t sure what had him so stressed, there wasn’t a need for him to be, right? “Babe?” You asked, to which he quietly hummed, “Are you alright?” You had caught on quickly, like you always had. And now he had cursed himself for looking at those messages. Transparency, he remembered, transparency.

“Honestly,” He sighed putting his book down, “I- I- I saw those messages.” He stumbled on his own words. You gave him a confused look, “The ones the girls sent.” You let out a sigh. Oh shit, he thought, thinking the worst of the worst. “Please don’t listen to them,” You insisted, “You know you’re not the reason for any problem in my life?” “Of course not,” He scoffed, “You’re totally fine. It’s just, how they treated you that bothered me.” “Gee-” “Y/N, we’ve talked about this.” He turned to you, “I’m not a controlling person, I try my hardest not to be. But damn, those girls are complete poisons. They’re hurting you, they’re doing far more harm than good. And I hope that doesn’t make me sound like a manipulator or anything, but even you’ve admitted you’re a lot different around them.” You sighed and nodded.

“I know, I just-” You began, “I’ve spent so many years of my life surrounding myself with people like them that it’s hard for me to know what to do without that, ya know?” He nodded.

“You don’t need a bunch of model friends thought to still be a great model.” You nodded.

“I’ll cut everything off with them in the morning, okay?” “Babe, you don’t need to rush it,” He said, “I mean, sure, the sooner the better, but this is your timing okay?” You nodded.

“Do you think everything will be okay?” You asked him next.

“Well, after they very possibly blame you for everything over text and try to put you down a psychological spiral, because that’s what they do, then yes, everything should be okay.” He smiled to which you nudged him. “You’re making this so much easier.” You sarcastically said, “I don’t even know why I ask you.” “Because you love me.”

[prorevenge]

Fire me for doing my job? Pay up.

TL/DR at bottom.

A couple of years ago, I was hired as a Technical Account Manager for an enterprise software company. My job was a combination of project management, technical support, and customer relations management. When I started, it seemed like a decent job, for the most part, though the software, seemed immature. The software's purpose was to audit customer systems, searching for certain data, to be able to report on compliance. It was a very new company, founded by some guys who been successful at starting companies before, there was stock, it seemed on the up and up.

I had a couple very large customers, and we were having performance problems with two of the searches. I filed bugs, and worked on managing the processes to get to resolution. During this time, my management starting getting distant. We were signing lots of contracts, so I just put it off as them being busy.

They issued a release to fix the performance problem. I installed it, and we reran the job. I'm monitoring the logs, and the performance problem still exists. The job is hanging when the system tries to query this one table, which has literally billions of rows. Our logs do not display the actual query being run, to avoid exposing information about database security. But the customer guys I worked with were DBAs, and they could see the query on their side. They showed it to me. The query was using a WHERE clause that was of the form, SELECT this, that, theother FROM table WHERE CAST(column) AS VARCHAR = searchvalue.

Now, any competent developer who was evaluating a performance problem would instantly see that it would have been efficient to cast "searchvalue" to the column type, which would have executed the CAST once, as opposed to doing it on the column value, which would be done as many times as there are rows in the table. The CAST was being executed billions of times. This meant multiple things:

the developer doing this was careless and/or unskilled

nobody with 1st year computer science skilled had reviewed the 'fix'

they hadn't actually verified improved performance before shipping the fix

I summarized this in email to my manager and our boss, asking that they raise a stink about this. We bragged about our excellent development team, and this wasn't up to our standards. Silence. Like, literally no reply.

We are still selling contracts left and right, and the company meetings are all about how our valuation is soaring. I am being told to tell the customer that we are working on this and other improvements. During this time, our preliminary runs are at the customer are not returning the results we should be seeing. After the above experience, I check out the source code and start digging in. I realize that there is a fundamental logical flaw in our search approach, and that for certain systems, the software simply cannot work as designed, without significant additional development. I can't go into what that was without violating an agreement that will be discussed shortly. I bring this up in an email, and again, silence. The customer is getting frustrated and angry meetings are being had. I bring these up with management, and again, silence.

Along the way, I invent a way to use our software, that, with a small bit of additional functionality, creates the ability for a customer to use our system at a customer's vendor companies to expedite the audit. This turns every customer into a salesman for us, as it causes them to demand that their vendors buy and use our software. Huge win.

The next week, I get a call from the senior manager. I am told to leave the customer site, and go home. I can see the handwriting on the wall. I find out from co-workers that he has told the customer that the reason for the lack of results is my poor skills, and that they will replace me. Internally, they are telling my coworkers that they were tired of my toxic attitude.

During this time, two other employees have been removed from projects due to customer complaints about the project. They are redeployed to other accounts, I am not.

A week later, they fire me. No reason given, no severance. They, however, don't fire the other two guys. Big mistake. I'm over 50, they are 30 somethings. This is the US, where being over 50 is a protected class for discrimination law.

I realize that what is going on. They are pumping the value of the company, getting the contract volume growing, so that they can flip the company to a corporate buyer and make some quick big money. The talk of going public was always bullshit.

I contact a lawyer. We write a demand letter. We explain the disparate treatment due to age, and note that:

the state I am in doesn't allow mandatory arbitration in employment contracts, so they can't force private arbitration, and we will be able to pursue court action

they have no record of any job performance issues or lack of technical skill, given that I found the bug, explained the fix, and added significant capability to the product supporting substantial new sales. I had great relations with the customers, and we would call them to say so.

while we might or might not prevail, the technical issues and poor engineering practices that I found would become a matter of court record, becoming visible to anyone doing due diligence on the company, crushing their valuation in their pump and dump scheme, and that this would be visible to new and existing customers.

I had a check for six months pay in my hand a week later. I had also been interviewing, and landed a great new job with a product that actually works (completely different functional area) that same week. The agreement that we signed prohibits me saying anything public about them, and them from saying anything about me, so no further details. And they neglected to collect my Macbook, so free computer, as the agreement says that no further claims can be made by either party.

TL/DR; they tried to throw me under the bus to further a get rich quick scheme, and I got a better job, and six months pay for them trying to fuck me over.

[edit] corrected SQL

(source) story by (/u/UnkleRinkus)

[indig0g0]

If you are so against theft, why you friends with gabriel tho? There has been HOW MUCH evidence against him? I don't know, Newt. Seems Pretty Sus To Me. SEEMS LIKE YOU ARE TRYING TO TAKE THE HEAT OFF THE CURRENT SHIT AGAINST GABE I'M JUST SAYING-

Hi kids, first of all! His name is GABRIEL! Calling him not his name, when he doesn’t like it! Is just like misgendering! Anyway! Lets sit down for this! I was waiting for you (or maybe it was someone else!) to come back for this!

Did you know that its possible, as an adult human being, to disagree with everyone in a situation? Did you also know.... That there’s a difference.... Between using the same concepts? And OUTRIGHT TRACING SOMEONE’S ART? Did you know...... That there was more to the story... than bo’s callout post made it out to be? Did you know there was a third whole design in the mix?

Also before we get started I want to state that as a 25 year old man, who has been in multiple different art communities. You cannot steal a concept. You cannot steal a concept. YOU CANNOT STEAL A CONCEPT. There are 800 trolls with white porcelain masks! There are 800 trans masc jadeblood trolls! These are all concepts! Iridescence as a concept! Is a CONCEPT.

Opalescence is a concept that is similar but different to iridescence.

ANYWAY!!!

LETS SIT DOWN FOR THE WHOLE STORY BECAUSE BOY HAVE I HAD ENOUGH OF BEING ASKED WHERE I STAND ON THIS!

Okay! So! Here’s the thing (the thing! Which I got from someone who WASN’T either Bo or Gabriel! Surprise! There’s AN OUTSIDE PARTY!)

Bo made an iridescent adopt! Gabriel wanted the adopt! But Liam bought the adopt first! Whatever! That’s the end of it of whatever that is! Bo and Gabriel stopped being friends in this time, i think, but that’s not my fucking business because i’m 25 years old and other people’s interpersonal problems aren’t my fucking business!!

Its reasonable here, then, to like the concept behind a design right? And you you probably think “oh this is where gabriel ripped off cosmit, right?” and you’d be wrong!

We’re going to cut to my favorite third party, a loving friend and wonderful person... Echo! Who makes adopts! As a source of income!

Who was like! Hey party people! Suggest themes for me to use in my next batch! of adopts! and now you think... oh... here comes opal.. WRONG AGAIN!

So what happened was... gabriel had been like “i saw this cool iridescent design, and the concept was really cool! maybe you should do an opalescent design!” and echo was like oh fuck yeah i’d love to do that! and so.... they did. Now i’m sure you’re thinking..... Oh it’s Opal!

Except. Actually it wasn’t.

The opalescent (NOT iridescent, they aren’t the same if you were wondering!) troll Echo original made? One of the ones that bo linked in their call out? Isnt opal.

It’s the original opalescent design that echo made! Which they.. Kept! That’s their Magiro!

This is magiro on the end! This is the original design!

this image? the girl on the bottom? THATS FUCKING MAGIRO. THAT IS ART. FROM ECHO’S BLOG. OF ECHO’S CHARACTER.

which looks..... NOTHING like...

this absurdly small screenshot i also pilfered from bo’s callout post! Of cosmit!

Who’s sprites I will not post out of respect for Liam because I have not asked him if I can use it! But the original is necessary so it’s here anyway. (I have permission from Echo to post the originals here! FYI!)

Now because they ended up keeping Magiro! They said! I’ll make you one for free with the same general concept! And lo!

Opal was born! This was the design that Echo did for gabriel! This is opal! As you can see... She looks nothing like cosmit! Except for the fact that she has

dark skin is meant to be black coded and has a similar theme. she even has a nose rings You can see it under her glasses!

and so these are the sprites Gabriel made based off the design ECHO made him

‘

Now! Here’s where it gets hinky!

Here’s where I don’t agree with either party!

Bo and Liam were upset that Gabriel (and Gabriel alone) apparently ripped off Opal! I don’t see it, and I don’t think you can steal a concept either! But whatever theyre adults they can make their own conclusions!

Now where I don’t agree with Gabriel is... Gabriel started making posts (after being told he was accused the first time, idk by who) about Opal being the BEST opalescent troll in the community! Which is fucked up! It’s immature and I was upset with him for it! And then it spiralled a little!

Gabriel got a call out blog made about him for reasons OTHER than opal! The callout blog tried to bring up opal! Liam made a public statement that he and gabriel were handling it privately! And I thought that was going to be that on that!

or was it!

So in private, and bo’s “call out” will confirm this, the whole party eventually agreed that Gabriel would be making edits to opal to make her theme different instead of white opalescent blah blah, this all is NOT my business and frankly I don’t fucking care.

My problem comes in when it become not enough for bo that Gabriel to make changes to or stop using Opal altogether and started... Boxing gabriel into a new solution? Because Gabriel apparently wasn’t bending over backwards enough? I don’t fucking know! It’s not my fucking business! DURING a time of crisis. DURING. BO DID THIS WHEN GABRIEL WAS ALREADY IN A POSITION TO HAVE A HARD TIME SAYING NO. THIS IS FUCKED UP NO? But! I don’t know how you can post screenshots of you saying “You’re having a bad time because of this tropical storm about to rock your shit and I hate you and want you to go away Take this Hilariously Low sum of money for a character with tons of art and effort” and then think you’re like. In the right here? Bo admits they were stupid angry and that they cancelled the deal on a whim IN Their call out post! And then turned around, in their anger, and started threatening gabriel ! That’s literally blackmailing him! Because he wasn’t doing what they wanted! it’s all literally in the post! I read the whole thing! Gabriel came back with a counter, which was getting rid of Opal altogether including making the replacement in the story NOT black coded, NOT a woman (explicitly stated to be transmasc for the new concept), No piercings etc.

Bo then, later AGAIN during a time of Financial and real life crisis (their confrontation was sent within HOURS of the announcement of another hurricane about to rock houston) decided to turn around and verbally berate Gabriel about how he failed to deliver his apology, turned around, and tried to post a largely evidence-less call out about him.

The reason for Bo doing this?

Gabriel reblogged female-coded aesthetic into the tag. And that was all the proof Bo needed that GABRIEL IS A LIAR BLAH BLAH

heres the thing.

gabriel and i are in a different artist’s server together.

Gabriel has posted the wip of the new design into the server. I’ve seen it. with my own two fucking eyes.

in fact. the new design. BARELY EVEN LOOKS LIKE A FUCKING TROLL AT ALL

IT LOOKS NOTHING LIKE COSMIT

IT DOESNT EVEN FUCKING LOOK LIKE OPAL

BO WENT OFF THE RAILS

FOR LITERALLY NO FUCKING REASON

AND NOW A BUNCH OF 17 YEAR OLDS ON TUMBLR

ARE TRYING TO RUIN NOT ONLY HIS LIVELIHOODS, BUT ALSO EVERYONE AROUND HIM

OVER A DESIGN THAT WAS 3 CONCEPTS REMOVED FROM THE ORIGINAL

ANYWAY TLDR: they both handled this extremely poorly! I do NOT agree with Gabriel’s handling of Bo’s and Liam’s initial concerns! But I SUPER don’t agree with “i own blackcoded opalescent characters as a concept bc i said so” and but mostly?

I really disagree with bo’s attempts to use the crisis of a TROPICAL STORM to solicit the response THEY ALONE wanted.

THIS is why I have bo blocked. I could give a shit LESS about all the other bullshit. Do I like it? No. It is my business? no.

But the sheer fucking LACK OF EMPATHY displayed here is FUCKING ASTOUNDING.

Theres actually OTHER reasons I don’t like bo, which are all 100% unrelated to all this fucking horse shit! But that’s my fucking business!! anyway!! fuck off!!

[leafy-wings]

artfight party people im up there as catastrophyte and im on steampunk

im not gonna upload all of my wof ocs, i have a general loose toyhouse link character here https://artfight.net/character/550690.the-rest-of-them 

and let me point you in the direction of some of my choice wof ocs; NOTE all of the art included is just bad im not very good at drawing dragons

https://toyhou.se/5507850.jewel hivewing/fantribe that i thiiink was seawing/silkwing basically. his arts pretty old. i imagine his stature and body as like pudgy/small but lanky. characterized as a timid paranoid hypochondriac shut in with a surprising repressed hunger for violence

https://toyhou.se/1715769.kismet + https://toyhou.se/2177913.weed ahh the refuge and rogues girls. kismets a rain/nightwing with power feeling powers that have left her jaded and closed off from her fellow dragons, she has trouble accepting how many dragons can be so rude or aggressive. her scales are premanently red/green, but her moon silver scales can change colors. shes gfs with weed, the ditzy rain/sandwing. i like imagining her rainwing frills lead down her neck into her sandwing frills and her eyes are mostly pupil from sandwing dark eyes

https://toyhou.se/9141113.boohoo wof version of my sona. timid and neurotic, hes a little boy in a very big world haunted by the ghost of a darkstalker wannabe and pushed into murder and crimes and whatnot

https://toyhou.se/9485074.whirlywhoo whirlywhoo showed up in my dreams so im in love with her. insanely flexible design and personality because shes from my dreams

https://toyhou.se/2505358.rouge speaking of refuge and rogues.. this guy never got a comprehensive ref and all of his art is pretty bad, just know hes a skywing with dark horns and wiry jewelry around his horns and neck. he appears immature and childish but is really not well put together and stressed from the responsibility of being a runaway animus. maybe draw him with his friend rose an animus with blood moon foresight who freaked out so bad about her potential evil that she asked him to take away his powers and he was like ahhh noooo and just made her forget about her fear but at that point it was so suffocating and all encompassing to her character that shes just forgotten how to be rose and barely knows how to like. speak anymore. so he takes care of her when he can

 https://toyhou.se/6580645.poison-ivy nothing special to say on this guy. former criminal turned former assassin turned normal sweet guy crime informant. he lived a rough life and has evil leafspeak that kills plants and eventually got well embroiled in crime life like. actively poisons himself to build tolerance because he is a target to be assassinated and keeps files on everyone and notes about their schedules and how hard they are to kill kinda embroiled in crime. but i like to think that hes gotten a hold of himself and now seeks to live a normal life and turns bad dragons over to the authorities instead of dealing with it all himself

https://toyhou.se/7355688.petrichor i really like petrichor, theyre basically a baby rainwing that was like Im fucking evil now. like i use him for roleplays a lot so i ha ve to pretend theyre not evil but this guys literally like im going to act so so so fucking stupid that no one figures out im evil. but theyre like petty cartoon sidekick evil. this kid will push you down the stairs

caddis; wing removed for ref purposes, both of his horns are cracked and hes missing his left eye. hes a pirate.. cowboy. when he was younger his bff and him went gambling and they super fucked up and got into more debt than their cash could pay and so they were told to kill one of the other as penance and so his friend couldnt kill him but certainly tried, taking his horns and eye as trophy/proof and since then caddis has been hunting him down. to the death!!!!! hes a chill guy otherwise and is always minding his own got damn business EDIT hes a rain/seawing and he has the glow scales i just totally forgot to put them on there. his glow scales are icy blue

[ryik-the-writer]

The Audacious Storybrooke Mirror Advice Columnist (Wednesday Paper Edition)

In which Lacey French is a smutty advice columnist for the Storybrooke Mirror.

Ch. 2: Gold discovers he sent Lacey the email

This took way too long guys, sorry!

A03

                                                   *-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-*

When Mr. Augustine Gold opened his eyes he had a three-to-four second grace period before he remembered who he was and where he was before his body announced its condition.

And, as always after a night like last night, it started with a blinding, pounding headache, followed by a wave of nausea, and soon, the cold sweats.

Groaning pitifully, he pushed through the stars flashing before his eyes and slowly eased out of bed sideways, holding his head. The room was dark as a tomb, but he could see he was still wearing yesterday’s suit, abet a bit more rumpled. He’d even worn his shoes to bed.

He kicked them off, his body jolting in pain from the movement, and he felt for his cane, having to practically crawl across the floor to get it.

The little light that greeted him in the hallway felt like a snakebite to his senses, and he almost screamed when he cut on the bathroom light.

He turned on the cold water but could not bend over without his head killing him so he cupped his hands and splashed the cold water in his face.

His hands were shaking as he opened his medicine cabinet and crammed down two Alka-Seltzers, three aspirin and a Valium.

Now all he needed was an ice-cold beer and he might live.

He felt his way to the head of the stairs and wondered how the hell he was going to get down them in his state.

Then he heard Jefferson snoring from the living room and he immediately returned to the bathroom and drank water from the tap.

Now slightly stable, he removed his clothes, crawled into bed and jacked his electric blanket on high, quickly drifting off to sleep.

It was just after noon when he awoke again. Now his stomach was hot and burning, screaming for carbs. He quietly unlocked his door and made the careful trip into the living room.

Jefferson was gone, thank Gods, and Gold grabbed his phone and called in an order for two grilled cheese sandwiches, a large fries and, for the hell of it, a chocolate shake. He rolled his eyes when granny charged him double for delivery, obviously sensing his massive hangover and choosing to punish him from it.

He devoured the food in barely five minutes, feeling disgusted with himself for more than just his eating habits. He fell into such bad habits when he was falling off the deep end again, and boy had he fell.

It would be easy to blame it on Jefferson, his tacky business associate and friend on a good day.

Last night had not been a good day, but somehow still lead to Jefferson coming by for drinks as he tried to help him create an online portal for his tenants to pay their rent.

It would take out the need for him to run all over town on rent day, Jefferson had explained, and Gold half liked the idea of not having to soak his leg for a week straight, so he said fine.

The website was forgotten about as soon as the hat-making fiend found the good scotch, and frankly Gold couldn’t remember what he did after that.

His computer was still on in his study, Gold discovered when he wondered around his home, picking up the remnants of the night before. An unfolded blanket here, several crystal glasses there.

A blurry memory was tugging at his brain and demanding he sit at his desk.

He obeyed, only because his body still hadn’t recovered. The memory was becoming clearer. Jefferson’s chaotic laughter as Gold did … something. He was sending out an email to someone, and no doubt had received a response by now.

Gold rolled his eyes and waited for his email to load. No doubt he had sent a grueling message to the mayor, probably something immature that Jefferson had egged him to send.

He blinked and saw that he had no responses, so he went to his Sent emails. One look at the last one he sent and his stomach lurched harder than any amount of alcohol could warrant.

“No…no, no, no!” Gold panicked, her name alone heating him and draining him all at once.

Racy Lacey. Lacey French. His tenant and the target of his desires for well over three years now.

He dared read the contents of the email and started shouting. He was going to kill Jefferson and then himself!

He grabbed his cane and marched back to his room, throwing on his rumpled clothes back on. Damn a hangover.

He’d tear Jefferson’s head off first, he decided as he descended down the stairs.

Then he’d dip his entire body into a vat of acid and use his skeleton as a prop in his shop, he agreed as he opened the front door.

All thoughts left him when the piercing blue eyes he often dreamed about met his, and her curled up fist knocked him in the mouth.

“Whoa! Sorry!” Lacey apologized.

Gold rubbed his lip, staring at the girl that had his heart in a painful knot.

“Miss French,” he greeted, trying to lay on an air of sophistication despite his appearance. “What on earth are you doing here?”

Lacey gave him an incredulous look. She recognized a hangover anywhere, and this one, judging by the tint of green to his skin was pretty bad.

She managed to keep from laughing and remain serious. After all, she was here to figure out if he really meant in his email, among other things.

Cruella had suggested she “jump his bones” at a hastily set up breakfast between them the morning after she had gotten the email.

She hadn’t revealed the name of her current admirer, just the text of it.

It could have been Leroy Miner for all she cared.

“This one looks serious, darling,” her equally lewd co-work had pointed out as she snuck a dose of Kahlúa into her coffee. “If you don’t grab him, I will.”

Cruella would need a whole cabinet of the stuff if she knew her “admirer’s” true identity.

A look over at Mr. Gold didn’t quite turn her on. Mind you, the rumpled look was indeed alluring, and the shadow of facial hair and mused hair had its own appeal.

But she wasn’t her to gander at her landlord, she was here to set him straight and bury this whole thing, no matter how it ended.

She held up a printout of the email he had written and watched as his mightier-than-though look quickly faded.

“You’ve got quite the talent,” Lacey said. “Though it’s a bit Harlequinn for my taste.”

“Did you come all the way here to insult me,” Gold growled. The email may have been a drunken spur, but he had meant every word he said. He did find her attractive, but that didn’t mean he was going to let her say whatever she wanted to him.

“Not at all,” Lacey returned. “I just wanted to know … well … what are we going to do about this?”

If Gold had more courage—or at least if he were les sober than he was now—he would tell her exactly what he wanted to do about this blunder. However, he was hungover and still in his bathrobe of all things and far from confident.

“Nothing,” he said, grabbing the email from her. “Forget about it and have your rent on time this month.”

Before he could slam the door and push her out of her life, her heeled shoe divided his door and the glare in her striking blue eyes threatened to do the same to him.

“Are you bloody kidding me?” she hissed, a bit loud.

“Miss French, control yourself,” he warned, sure he heard one of his neighbors doors open.

“I am in complete control, you wanker,” she shouted. “You’re the one that caused all of this.”

Gold fought the flush creeping up his neck.

Lacey crumpled the email in her hand, sick of this nonsense already. “Whatever, like I’d want to be seen with the likes of you.”

Gold scoffed, solidifying his hurt. “Same to you, dearie, Gods only know what you have at this point.”

Lacey paused and stared at him, the blush on her cheeks from embarrassment.

Gold shut his mouth. Why the hell did he say that? He didn’t mean a word of it! Not to her, never to her.

Lacey turned on her heel before he could say anything, and he almost went after her, but there were spectators watching them from their porches, and he only had the courage to slink back into his living room.

Lacey clawed at her face as she stalked back to the office, Gold’s email still curled up in her hand. She wouldn’t cry over him. Lacey French did not cry over men, though she could occasionally get them to cry over her.

The Mirror was mostly empty due to the lunch hour and Lacey allowed herself to stew in anger without having to explain herself.

She was grateful for the hum of her old computer through the silence. It was a comfortable familiarity. Many people hated their day-to-day jobs or even just lasted long enough to get their paychecks and leave.

Lacey legit liked her job. She didn’t live to work by any means, but she loved her role in creating the little glorified newsletter they pushed out every other day, like that people read and liked what she wrote and came back for more each week.

She liked the admiration and the scrutiny in all forms it came as. It made her life an adventure.

And currently her adventure had reached a stalemate.

Mr. Gold was an obstacle she could cross easily, but Mayor Regina fucking Mills was not.

The woman controlled the town, and one word from her would get her cast out.

Lacey felt sick as she logged into her account and gazed over the subject lines of her email.

All of these were too delicious damn it! How the hell was she supposed to keep this clean!

She threw her head back with a groan. All of these were too delicious! She was finished if she didn’t have something in by Friday.

She turned her head onto her cheek, glaring at the crumpled up email she wished she had thrown at Mr. Gold’s head. She picked at the ball until it unfolded to reveal its contents.

She reread it again, ignoring the little twist in her belly at the words.

Gold had a way with them, she’d give him that. She was sure he had the ability to woo a few women once upon a time.

Lacey lifted her head and scanned over the note again, an idea coming to her.

Gold wrote her a mesmerizing, flattering letter. Sultry, yes, but a few tweaks could have fixed that.

She wondered, what other words did Mr. Gold have under his belt, and just how well could he use them?

[365days365movies]

February 6, 2021: Romeo + Juliet (1996)

From the top!

Two households, both alike in dignity In Fair Verona, where we lay our scene, From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes A pair of star-cross’d lover take their life; Whose misadventured, piteous overthrows Do, with their death, bury their parents’ strife The fearful passage of the death-mark’d love, And the continuance of their parents’ rage Which, but their children’s end, nought could remove, Is now the two hours’ traffic of our stage; The which, if you with patient ears attend, What here shall miss, our toil shall strike to mend.

I mean, c’mon. It’s Shakespeare, I practically had to.

Which is why it may come as a surprise to hear that I think this play is overrated, far too overexposed, and honestly stars two of the most obnoxiously immature protagonists that Shakespeare ever wrote. Which is not to say that I don’t like it, but it is to say that it isn’t my favorite. Which one is my favorite, you ask? Eh, I vacillate between a few, but I might get into it, we’ll see.

Weirdly fitting, though, since this film is directed by a director who also isn’t my favorite. Can’t say I have a definitive favorite director either, but Baz Luhrmann ain’t it. To be fair, I haven’t seen Moulin Rouge (probably should, huh?), but his turn on The Great Gatsby...wasn’t my favorite, I’ll just leave it at that.

And while we’re into it, lemme just address Romeo and Juliet adaptations on film real quick. To be completely transparent, before today...I’ve only seen one adaptation of the play: Franco Zeffirelli’s excellent 1968 turn on it, and it’s a fantastic adaptation at that. Sone of you, however, may now be realizing that, if I’ve only seen one adaptation of the play...there’s an extremely glaring omission to my film repertoire.

Yeaaaaaaaaah...we’ll get there, I promise.

But, of course, the adaptations only scratch the surface of this plays influence. See, the whole point of the rivalry between the Montagues and the Capulets is that it’s SO OLD, that nobody truly remembers why it started in the first place. Because of that, other romance films have sought to supply a reason for that rivalry.

In other words, the two protagonists destined to fall in love often come from two backgrounds, if not families, that class. And, yes, only ONE FILM that I’ve watched this month doesn’t do that. Dirty Dancing and The Notebook make their “ancient grudge” class-based; low-class vs. upper-class. Even You’ve Got Mail makes it about money, although that one’s a little more of a stretch. In any case, versions of this trope have lasted for centuries, and it’s...maybe poisoned romantic cinema? I mean, there’s a reason they all seem similar. They’re all taking from a classic. And, yeah, more of them than you’d think use this formula. I mean...

Hell, if you think about it, both of them are technically dead by the end.

Anyway, jumping right smack dab into the ‘90s, where teen heartthrob of the decade, Leo DiCaprio himself, is cast to play the titular teen boy, and sort-of popular at the time Claire Danes is cast as the titular teen girl. Put them together, and you have a hatred that will last for centuries. Because yeah, they HATED each other apparently. Let’s watch! SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap

...Look, here’s a quick recap of a story that EVERYBODY KNOWS.

Two families hate each other, and each has a teenage kid; a boy named Romeo and a girl named Juliet. They see each other at a party, they IMMEDIATELY get those teenage hormones a flowing and fall in love at first sight. They talk a few times, then decide to get married. Romeo’s friends say, “Dude, her family’s all dicks,” and Romeo says “naw, dude, she’s hawt,” They hook up, and they get secret-married. But, since they can’t be together in life, and since Juliet’s supposed to marry a whole other dude, Juliet runs to the priest and says, “hey, fake my death real quick?” He gives her a potion, she pretends to be dead, Romeo finds out (after one of his friends is killed by Juliet’s cousin), and runs to her side. Dude then ACTUALLY kills himself with poison, only for Juliet to wake up, see his dead body, and then kill HERSELF with a KNIFE, and then the families find out, and the Prince comes by and just says, “Goddamn, you guys are dicks. So much so that you killed your kids, congrats.” And that’s the end.

Yeah. Two hours of play and movie (nice touch, by the way, Luhrman) compressed into a paragraph. And yet...I’m still gonna recap this movie. Glutton for punishment, I guess. And with that said...

It all starts with a newscaster, speaking the lines of the Prologue in the guise of a newscast, which is...very neat, actually! That’s followed by...Pete Postlethwaite saying the whole thing over again, backed by a hell of a lot of fast cut editing.

...Oh God, it’s a Luhrmann movie. I forgot. Also, uh...really trying to stretch out that runtime to make that 2-hour mark, huh, Bazzie? I admire that you’re trying to stick to that “two hour-stage” quote from the Prologue, really I do...but you had to repeat the Prologue TWICE to do that?

As the lines flash on screen, we’re also introduced to out major players, whom I’ll just introduce as they come up. After a little montage of the movie to come, and a confirmation that the ancient grudge has broken out into a gang war on the streets of Verona Beach (clever), we jump in the car of a few Montagues: Sampson (Jaime Kennedy), Benvolio (Dash Mihok), and Gregory (Zak Orth).

At a gas station, they meet some Capulets, specifically Abra (Vincent Laresca) and a few others. After some thumb-biting, they all draw their swords. Which are guns that have sword written on them. Well, that’s just silly.

This standoff is interrupted by the arrival of another Capulet: Tybalt (John Leguizamo). This, of course, leads to a swordfight (ugh), during which all players are, just...REAL dramatic with their movements, holy shit. In the process, Sampson’s shot (or...stabbed, I dunno), and the gas station explodes.

It’s war in the streets now, as Tybalt and Benvolio are eventually intercepted by Captain Prince (Vondie Curtis-Hall), the chief of police for Verona Beach. He reads out his rage upon the heads of the families. For the Montagues, these heads are Ted (Brian Dennehy) and Caroline (Christina Pickles); and for the Capulets, they’re Fulgencio (Paul Sorvino) and Gloria (Diane Venora). Is...is the grudge taking place because one of them is named “Ted,” and the other is FUCKING “FULGENCIO”? Because that’s one hell of a dichotomy.

Captain Prince lets them all off with a warning (I mean, no, they should ALL be arrested), and Caroline and Ted question the whereabouts of their melodramatic emo son. That son is, of course, Romeo (Leonardo DiCaprio), who laments poetically about how fucked up his family is.

Hanging out at a decrepit carnival (because of course he is), he’s soon found by Benvolio, and he laments on the lack of love between their two families. They bond over talk of women, and decide to secretly go to a party held by the Capulets that night to check out some girls.

Meanwhile, Fulgencio is speaking about this whole mess to Dave Paris (Paul Rudd). D...Dave? Really? We’re keepin’ fuckin’ Benvolio and Balthasar, but we had to name Paris DAVE? Guys, a little consistency with the name shit, PLEASE! Anyway, Dave (uuuuugh) is the governor’s son, and very wealthy, while also being a suitor for Fulgencio’s daughter.

That daughter is, of course, Juliet (Claire Danes), who’s being attended by her vain mother and kindly Nurse (Miriam Margoyles). As her mother’s preparing for the party, she talks up Paris as a suitor, although Juliet doesn’t seem SUPER into it. And s the Nurse tells her to “seek happy nights to happy days,” we go to Sycamore Grove, and to another party.

And this is where we meet my favorite character (everybody’s favorite character, let’s be honest): Mercutio (Harold Perrineau). Mercutio has been invited to the Capulet’s party, and invites Romeo to come along, in disguise. In the process, he gives one of the play’s most famous monologues: Queen Mab’s Speech. It’s truncated here, ad to be frank, Perrineau’s performance is a bit...over the top. But, it ends up to be fairly effective.

Also, Queen Mab is ecstasy. Yeah, that kinda dulled by enthusiasm for the whole enterprise, I ain’t gonna lie. But Romeo lies with Queen La, and they head to the Capulet’s party. And we’re about to hit PEAK LUHRMANN, people.

Look, I’m lame, I’ve never really done drugs, ecstasy included...but it FEELS like I’ve taken something now. And Romeo’s now trying to sober-up a bit. He dunks his head into a sink in the bathroom, and looks at a tropical aquarium that’s in there. And through that aquarium...

However, Juliet’s quickly spirited away by Nurse, and brought to dance with Dave. Romeo, meanwhile, gives his “Did my heart love till now” speech, and DOESN’T SAY THAT SHE DOTH TEACH THE TORCHES TO BURN BRIGHT??? Seriously, the beginning of that speech is completely deleted. That line, in and of itself, should’ve been left in.

Anyway, Romeo and Juliet speak, and the teenagers kiss...a lot. And yeah, they do kiss in this scene in the ply, but not that much. Immediately afterwards, they discover their family alliances, and Romeo and Mercutio flee the party. Romeo heads back soon after, and, well...you know the line. But soft...

This movie...LOVES water, huh? We see both Romeo and Juliet from underwater at separate points, they see each other for the first time through an aquarium, they’re making out in a pool right now. I mean, I’m sure there’s some symbolism to that, but I’m not sure what it is yet.

Anyway, the two starcross’d lover come just short of crossing stars, and they IMMEDIATELY get engaged to marry.

After a bit of ‘90s music whiplash, we meet Father Laurence (Pete Postlethwaite), a botany-loving priest, and soon-to-be ally to the young couple. Romeo asks Laurence to wed them, despite the fact that Romeo actually was in love with a woman named Rosaline. But, yeah, she’s one of the unseen casualties of this play, only sometimes making it into adaptations. As Romeo speaks to the Priest, I think this is a great time to mention that there is a FUCKTON of Jesus and Christian imagery in this movie. Water and Jesus, goddamn.

The Priest agrees, believing that a marriage between the two could bring peace to Verona Beach at last. We also get a bunch of quick edits showing various parts of the Luhrmann Shakespeare Cinematic Universe, all backed by a choir boy singing “When Doves Cry.” This is an...unusual movie.

It also seems that Tybalt has issued a challenge against Romeo, which Mercutio and Benvolio muse upon. They meet with Romeo on the beach, and as they hang around, their revelry is interrupted by the arrival of the Nurse. She gives him a warning not to fuck with Juliet’s heart, which he says that he won’t, as they’re planning on marrying. She appears to approve, but Mercutio seems not to. Definitely going with a more superficially mercurial take on the character, which fits. But that’ll be more apparent later.

Nurse goes to Juliet, and...OK, is she supposed to be Italian or Hispanic? Because I feel like I’m supposed to be mildly offended, but I don’t even know what she’s going for here. Anyway, the wedding time approaches, and the two get wed in secret. But on the beach, Tybalt has come to go after Romeo. Romeo tries to make amends, even giving up his “sword” to him, much to Mercutio’s anger. Which, uh...he’s not gonna stand for.

And, of course, Mercutio’s fatally stabbed while defending Romeo’s honor. He lays A PLAGUE O’ BOTH THEIR HOUSES, and dies. Romeo’s PISSED, and immediately goes to kill Tybalt. That leads to Romeo’s banishment, although they consummate their marriage before he takes off. Also, Juliet KNOWS that he KILLED HER COUSIN...but it’s Leo, I guess, and...hormones.

Romeo’s banished and goes to Mantua, AKA a trailer park in the middle of the desert. Juliet, meanwhile, is commanded by her father to marry Paris, although she REALLY isn’t into it now! She goes to Laurence and, yeah, threatens to kill him AND herself if he doesn’t have an idea. Hormones, man. They’ll fuck you UP.

Laurence’s solution, of course, is to have Juliet pretend to have killed herself by drinking a potion. No idea why he comes up with this idea, or has the skill to make the potion, but some questions aren’t meant to be asked or answered. He also says to that he’ll send a litter to Romeo, to let him know what the deal is.

Juliet pretends to kill herself, and it interred with her relatives. Meanwhile, Romeo’s cousin Balthasar (Jesse Bradford) comes by the desert, having just gone to Juliet’s funeral, and tells him that Juliet’s dead. And since Romeo never got the goddamn letter, he’s decided, “Well! Guess I’m gonna kill myself.”

He gets some poison, then goes to Juliet’s tomb, which is...decked in neon crosses. I mean, it looks nice, even it’s very, uh...over the top. Goddamn.

And, at this point, you know how this goes. Romeo drinks the poison and dies, Juliet wakes up JUST after, then kills herself as well, and the parents of both parties arrive to see them both dead, along with the Prince, who says “Y’ALL ARE DICKS,” and bounces.

That’s Luhrman’s Romeo + Juliet. And it’s a movie. Yeah, that I’ll give you. What did I think? What rating does it get? Well...I’ll elucidate in the Review.

[starlitshores]

This might end up being an unpopular opinion, but I’m actually okay with public figures - specifically white hockey players - showing up late to speak out against racism and in support of Black Lives Matter.

The statements that some players have made today sound more thoughtful and considered than I would have expected from them (the bar was low). That takes more work (and, we can hope, self-reflection) than smashing the share button on a corporate sponsor’s statement or an image that only lasts one day.

And yeah, we can choose to think positively and make the assumption that the younger guys who smashed that share button did so because their thoughts, feelings, and gut responses truly align with the messages that Black Lives Matter and bigotry is wrong and we need to do better.

But for some of these guys? Their statements sound like they had to actually take the time to open their eyes to the world outside of their privileged bubble and to actually listen. They had to take the time and sit with it and then figure out how to write a public response. And when they did, they were honest enough to admit that before this, they didn’t even notice. Not just that they have never experienced racism in any form themselves, duh, but that they were somehow walking through life willingly ignorant to reality.

And we can all sit here and go “You ASSHOLE. How did you NOT KNOW?” because I’m not trying to be funny how did you miss Michael Brown’s death and the Ferguson protests six years ago? How did your heart not break hearing about Tamir Rice over eight years ago? How have you not seen the long long lists of names of Black lives lost to police brutality? How did you not even hear about BLM holding up Pride parades IN YOUR SUMMER CITY to protest the presence and inclusion of cops? HOW?

However, everything we’ve all been sharing for the last week, we’ve been sharing in an echo chamber. We already care. So, fellow white people - and this may be obvious to many and is not intended to be repetive or condescending - we’re probably not really educating each other. But we do need to take the weight off our Black and other minority friends and educate other white people. That’s one of the big things we can and should do. And we need to accept that it’ll be uncomfortable and infuriating because the people who need educating are the ones who haven’t been paying attention, haven’t cared, and/or have actively been on the other side. (You know, the ones we don’t want to talk to at Thanksgiving or school or work. For REASONS.)

I’m biased as fuck about this because I teach racist white kids for a living. And I get one semester to shake those deeply ingrained prejudices loose enough that when I present new information or new opportunities to learn and expand their understanding of the world, something gets through. And whether it’s a 15 year old girl sobbing that she’s been a horrible person her whole life (we had a chat about white guilt and forgiving your child self in order to move forward as an ally) or a grown ass rich man finally not looking away and acknowledging his own privilege, I’ll take it. It’s a step.

What I took away from these statements, as lukewarm as some of them were, and as close-to-but-not-on-the-mark as others were, was a little ray of hope.

Based on NHL history - even though he’s answered questions about YCP and queer players and even used the word “paradigm” correctly in his response - I did not expect a player like Jonathan Toews to make any statement let alone one that I saw several white hockey fans in the comments respond to positively. And I definitely didn’t EVER think he’d also make a reference to the experience of North American First Nations in what I personally saw - ymmv - as a little dig at his team’s racist as fuck logo. (Please please please advocate for a change in the logo and branding, Jonny...)

Perhaps there are others who haven’t yet spoken up because they don’t feel ready. Either they’re not informed enough, or they don’t know how to say it, or they’re coming out of some murky dark hole of racist shit, or their white bubble just popped and the world is scarier than they realised. And there are for sure others who haven’t said anything because they’re quite happy in their white bubble and/or because they’re on the cops’ side and don’t want to bother with the PR. (Note: Eichel is an American captain, and Parise is from Minneapolis so their freedom and expectation to speak is, I’d argue, different.)

What I do know is that I’m okay with a late statement from someone who is doing the work and means it, and will happily hold them accountable for living up to it in future.

EDIT: I removed a section about Tyler Seguin. I’ve seen so much negativity about Tyler lately, especially regarding his stint in the Bahamas and that beer pong thing. And I think I allowed that and his past immature comments/behaviour to make me a bit more apologetic than I wanted to be regarding one of my favourite players. My literal gateway into hockey. I still want to acknowledge those past behaviours and my own worry when I saw that he posted because my bar for him IS higher than for other players based on what I’ve seen him do in his community and I was worried he might not meet it. He exceeded it. And since his original statement, he has STEPPED UP. He did a great interview with The Athletic, and the boy is now out there at a BLM protest in Dallas. That’s my baby and I’m proud. The end.

[arlingtonpark]

SNK 115 Review

nickyoung_confused.gif edition

Point in favor of Levi being alive: Note how he was found. He was lying on the banks of the river perpendicular to the shore. Remember, the last panel in the last chapter seemed to indicate he was going to land in the river. This implies he survived the explosion and was able to swim to shore. That means Hange was lying about him dying instantaneously from the blast, and from there we can infer she’s also lying about his current condition.

Point against Levi being alive: note how Isayama draws his eyes. They’re blackened out, like they’ve been removed completely. This is exactly the same way he drew Zeke’s eyes when he was dead.

My best guess is that Levi survived the explosion and was able to make it ashore, but lost consciousness shortly before Hange found him. If he isn’t dead now, he will be soon. I’m not holding my breath.

But if Levi IS alive right now, he definitely should be. Drowning is traditionally not helpful treatment for the severely wounded.

Last chapter was about Zeke’s origins, but in hindsight, it plays a lot like the first part of a two part special. 114 and 115 are basically a double length chapter as far as I’m concerned. Together, they tell Zeke’s story.

And it’s very enlightening about Zeke’s character.

Perhaps the most interesting new element to Zeke’s character is his loneliness. Zeke…is lonely. It’s a lonely place at the top (of Mount Psychopath). His father never loved him and he knew it. He loved and trusted Mr. Xaver more than his own flesh and blood. After biting Mr. Xaver’s head off, Zeke calls him father, as he should.

The relationship between these two people is quite something. They gave each other the loving relationship they weren’t able to have on their own, and together, with full faith and conviction, they concocted a truly despicable plan. They’re bound together in sickness and in health.

Suicide and euthanasia are touchy subjects, so I won’t go into them here, but I will say this:

Euthanasia without consent. Is. Murder.

They call this the “euthanasia plan” but that’s just good branding. Their plan is to murder the Eldian race. It doesn’t matter if this is an act of mercy, as the word euthanasia implies, if it is done without the approval of the subject, it’s murder. The Eldian people, of course, cannot consent to this because there is no one body or individual with that authority.

The only two people who could conceivably make that call are Historia, the reigning Eldian monarch, or Eren, as bearer of the Founding Titan. Zeke is just some rando who took it upon himself to genocide a whole swathe of the population. He clearly has grandiose delusions.

This plan also reveals a very odd facet of Zeke’s thinking. He seems to view the Eldian people as a singular entity. And I mean, yeah, they are all connected to each other through the Founding Titan, but it still says a lot about Zeke that he describes his goal as a “euthanasia” (a thing that is done to individuals) instead of as a “genocide” (a thing that is done to groups and what his plan actually is). He seems to have taken it to heart that the Eldians are just an extension of the Founding Titan.

This truly is a deranged plan. The way of thinking that underlies the euthanasia plan is basically a kind of anti-hedonism. Anti-hedonism would be the idea that painful events are inherently bad and that there is no such thing as an inherently good event. No such thing as an inherently good event.

Zeke doesn’t believe in inherently good events.  

There are only things that cause us pain, like having a shitty dad, and things that serve to diminish that pain, like playing catch, but those events are not good in themselves. Thus, the only intrinsically valuable things to gain from living are things that have intrinsically negative value, so we’re all better off dead.

If that sounds stupid, that’s because it is. This is a really fucking stupid idea. Believing in this means believing that pain now for the sake of happiness in the future is nonsensical.

Because happiness has no value in itself, but pain does have value in itself (negative value, that is) the concept of sacrifice does not compute. This is probably why Zeke couldn’t understand the sacrifice the Survey Corps made at Shighanshina, or for that matter why Levi was willing to sacrifice his fellow soldiers.

Enduring pain for the sake of happiness makes no sense when pain is inherently meaningful and happiness isn’t.

But the idea that there is never any reason to make sacrifices is ridiculous.

And another thing: why doesn’t Zeke bring his plan to its natural conclusion? If death is preferable to living, then why not use the power of the Founding Titan to just kill all the Eldians up front? 

It would be easy. He could alter Eldian biology so that oxygen was poisonous to them. 

Why not? If non-existence is the best state of being, why not just kill them all?

But that’s the biggest indictment of Zeke’s plan. The logic behind Zeke’s plan leads you to one unavoidably dumb conclusion:

Murder is cool.

Killing people is cool because life is suffering. Zeke is what you get when you take edgelord teen philosophy to its logical extreme.

Except that’s obviously not true. Happiness/pleasure/fulfillment/what have you are clearly inherently worthwhile, and so long as that is true, living will always be preferable to death. The reason why is because of opportunity cost.

Opportunity cost refers to the benefits you miss out on by choosing to do one thing over another. If you die, then you miss out on the happiness you would have enjoyed had you lived. If the opportunity cost of dying is greater than the cost of living, then living is preferable to death.

But in the end, all this talk of preferring death over life is beside the point because that’s not even what Zeke’s plan involves. Zeke’s plan is not to literally euthanize all Eldians, it is to sterilize them so their race dies out in 100-aught years.

That’s genocide.

The enforced sterilization of a whole people is genocide. Not just colloquially, but even legally. The crime of genocide was first defined by the Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide, which entered into force in 1951.

Article 2(d) is very clear:

“[G]enocide means any of the following acts committed with intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a national, ethnical, racial or religious group, as such: […] Imposing measures intended to prevent births within the group.”

The idea that destroying a whole group of people is immoral is based on the notion that life is inherently worth protecting. But of course, Zeke doesn’t believe in this. See: all the bodies he leaves in his wake.

Yes, Zeke’s logic is that life has more pain than pleasure, but this logic only works if you also assume the positive aspects of life have no intrinsic value. The euthanasia plan is just as much a product of Zeke’s psychopathy as it is a product of his ideology.

It’s not that Zeke is a psychopath because he thinks death > living, it’s that he thinks death > living because he’s a psychopath.

Speaking of dumb things Zeke believes, I looooove the meeting between him and Eren.

Eren feeds Zeke this obviously dumb line poo-pooing the Eldians for making them kill innocent people by existing and Zeke is in tears because yes, finally, someone gets it!

Eldians never should have been born; because they were, I have to kill innocent people in furtherance of my ideology that Eldians never should have been born.

...

Wait.

Eren’s statement makes no sense at all, but Zeke “11/10 intelligence” Jeager has his head so far up his ass he doesn’t even see it. Dude is so overjoyed that someone is finally stupid enough to see things his way he starts crying.

And I’m crying too. Because of how sad this is.

Eren obviously doesn’t believe what he’s saying. Zeke just wants someone in his life who understands him and he thinks he’s finally found that someone. But he truly is alone. I might actually feel bad for him when it all falls apart for him.

Eren is almost certainly playing him. Eren fights for freedom. I think the kind of freedom he supports is shallow, but ultimately freedom to Eren entails living, so there is no way he’s actually on board with this plan.

Eren siding with Zeke essentially makes him a proponent of the King Fritz School of sinful atonement, and unless a substantial flashback is in the offing, there’s no way such a drastic change in his character would happen off screen.

Another interesting new element is Zeke’s view of the titans. He seems to believe that titans aren’t the problem, it’s the people who abuse them. It’s a take on the “guns don’t kill people, people kill people” line you see sometimes. It’s not the tool, but the people who use it.

But it also seems Zeke has no faith in people (what a surprise) and that the only way forward is to deprive them of those tools completely. He sees humans in puerile terms, as hopelessly immature. And as far as the story is concerned, he’s right.

Yelena makes the point that power invites temptation for abuse. Having titans at your disposal gives you power over others and people have abused that power throughout history.

But Yelena is a hypocrite. She was known for abusing people she took captive. And now, having won power over Pixis and his men, she has decided to impose a caste system on them.

Paradisians must now wear armbands that denote when they swore allegiance to Zeren. And because the time of your swearing determines your station, these armbands are also a status symbol. They indicate your status in the new social order. For the people who surrendered last, it is a form of public humiliation. It’s cruelty.

It’s also what the Marleyans did to the Eldians, and Yelena thinks this was a good policy. Reminding the lower classes of their place is a good thing to her.

I think the point of this anecdote is to show how hopeless humanity is. I don’t know where the story is going with this. My sense is that Isayama is going for an absurdist moral to the story.

Such a moral would look something like this: life is a grueling struggle that you will ultimately lose. But you should keep struggling because that is the only way to rebel against the cruelty of the world.

Isayama did say in an interview that certain philosophies have influenced him, and Albert Camus’ absurdism is one of the more well-known philosophies.

During their meeting, Eren mentioned how Grish killed children. And Eren killed children too, so let’s delve back into this in light of what Eren said.

It’s awful whenever anyone dies, but not all killings are immoral. There are exceptions, and those exceptions depend on your ethical framework.

The one that SNK appeals to the most is a form of consequentialism. Consequentialism, to put it simply, is the idea that actions are moral if they make the world a better place. By what measure depends on the specific kind of consequentialist theory you believe in. And ONLY the consequences matter. Nothing else.

There is nothing wrong with having a consequentialist worldview. If those children had to die to save those people, then killing them was not wrong, provided Grisha didn’t act with any malice.

But there are other ways to judge. One of them is by applying the Principle of Double Effect.

The double effect principle states that actions are not immoral even if a bad result comes of it if the bad result is a side effect of the action. (In the past, “double effect” referred to what we now call a side effect)

The principle of double effect is often misunderstood, so I want to be clear here: it is not the idea that it is ok to do a bad thing if it will lead to a good outcome. The bad result must be incidental to the action, not a direct result of it.

The exact criteria varies, but it usually goes something like this:

The action must be inherently good or at least morally neutral.

The person committing the act must merely permit the bad result to occur. It cannot be intended.

The bad result must not be a direct result of the action. It can only be incidental.

The good result must adequately compensate for the bad result.

If these criteria are met, the Principle states the action was a moral one.

For example, when confronting the Female Titan during the expedition, Erwin kept many soldiers in the dark about his true plans, and many died because they didn’t know what they’d be dealing with. Was that wrong?

No, it wasn’t. Many soldiers died, yes, and Erwin certainly foresaw that would happen, but that was incidental to his decision. Erwin Smith bears no burden for their deaths.

Now think about what Grish did.

He killed children because they were royalty and he wanted to eliminate the possibility that the Founding Titan could be reclaimed by them.

By the criteria of double effect, this is clearly immoral. Grish intended for them to die. He wanted it to happen. And their deaths were not incidental to Grish’s decision to kill them. 

Needless to say, people die when they are killed. 

Grish killed them for a good cause, but committing a bad act in pursuit of a good goal is impermissible under double effect.

Now what about Eren?

Eren wanted to launch an attack on the Marleyan government and he did it from the basement of a building. He did it by transforming into a titan while in the basement. He knew there were people in the building and he foresaw they would die if he transformed. He did it anyway. During the attack, people in the crowd were also killed. Was that wrong?

Yes, it obviously is.

Killing people and provoking the world’s militaries was the entire point of the attack.

Eren wanted them to die.

And it’s not like these people were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Never forget that Eren used the people in the building as shields first. By threatening to transform and kill them if provoked.

Eren intended for them to be in a position to die if he transformed, which he was planning to do anyway all along. They died when he transformed because Eren wanted it to be that way.

Honestly, I’m not even sure Eren’s actions were ok even from a consequentialist perspective. Yeah, his plan may make the world better off, but there’s something to be said about necessity.

Did those children really have to die to make this plan work? Why is it necessary to gather a coalition of the world’s militaries at Paradis? That’s the only part of Zeren’s plan that remains to be revealed.

I don’t like how the series implies a choice between Grish being right and Zeke being wrong and Grish being wrong and Zeke being right.

Grish’s actions are controversial. At. Best.

This series tries to push the line that people need to do bad things to bring about a good ending. I still have flashbacks to Armin’s “Erwin is a bad person for doing what needs to be done” speech in the Female Titan Arc. It’s dumb and it makes no sense.

You can’t be a bad person for doing the right thing. You just can’t. It’s impossible. I don’t have to explain why, do I?

No?

Okay, good.

So in other news.

Congratulations everyone! If you had “Zeke dies but comes back in a reference mashup of Star Wars and Jesus’ Resurrection,” come on down to collect your winnings! Now I wonder if Luke emerged naked from the taun taun 🤔

Seriously wtf?

What’s great about this chapter is how well it does subtle comedy.

Zeke emerges from that titan and the rain stops. The clouds part and a naked Zeke is bathed in rays of light as he emerges from his titan incubator. :D

Zeke is asked what happened and he straight up has no idea. Hard cut to him looking on in bewilderment as a girl molds his body out of dirt. :DD

Eren says he wants Gabi to help him flush out the Marleyans who’ve infiltrated the walls. Pieck is standing right behind him. XDDD

It’s disturbing how Eren apparently can’t be bothered to learn Gabi’s name. To him, she’s just the brat who killed Sasha.

Sasha is dead and Eren was her friend. He has every right to be upset. To be upset at Gabi. But that’s no license to disrespect her person by refusing to learn her name. Mr. Braun has shown that.

Eren has only ever called Gabi “that girl who killed Sasha.” That sends a clear signal. That signal is that this is all she is to him. It’s dehumanizing and it’s why I hope that through it all, Eren will not be elevated by the story by being made into the ultimate hero of it.

He is just such an asshole.

[emotionalgirl101]

Question | Chapter 2

Words: 2,104

Genre: college au, angst, fluff

Pairing: SKZ x reader

Summary: Your best friend, Minho, had been refusing to introduce you to his other group of best friends for months now, with no explanation as to why. One night after getting drunk after work together, he gave in to your pleas. Oops.

Warning: Contains mature content (such as coarse language, violent themes, etc).

A/N: SORRY FOR POSTING LATE! Just a quick reminder to check out the profiles post, and I’ll be making a Question masterlist for the series, too. In case you’re reading this first, I based appearances on the ‘I am who’ era. There is no real reason as to why apart from the fact that Jisung’s hair looks so fluffy and nice and oml I love it especially when he wears the cap in the ‘Awkward silence’ mv too I need help. Also, not edited because I felt bad about posting so late rip. Enjoy~

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You weren’t far from the apartment, but not close enough, to your disappointment. You were sobering up and starting to regret the whole thing. You didn’t feel that confident walking in in your work clothes, you were still tipsy and looking like a mess, and your feet were fucking killing you. Curse your uniform meaning you had to wear high heels. 

Minho appeared to sense your anguish, cutting short his conversation on a stupid argument he overheard at the bar, and focusing in on you. “You okay? Seem kind of, I don’t know, out of it, I guess…” He let his words linger in the air. Once he got tired of waiting, he poked you in the arm so you’d give him attention. “I’m just worried I’ll make a fool of myself.”

“Ah,” he smirked, “someone’s sobered up, huh? Well, too late now. I’m a nice friend but not nice enough to walk all the way back in the other direction and catch a bus with you. You have no choice now.” He taunted, looking dead ahead. Although he didn’t say anything similar, ‘told-you-so’ energy was emulating from his aura. So, you did what anyone else would do in that situation. Hit him for being a teasing ass and pout. “Not helping” You grumbled. He let out small laugh, massaging the point of impact with his free hand. He had still insisted on carrying your bag. You couldn’t be that mad at him due to the fact, playfully or otherwise. 

He piped up again, just as the previously stirred silence was starting to settle. “I know. How about we come up with a list of things for me to stop you from doing, so you don’t embarrass yourself?” He looked over at you, hoping you’d like his suggestion, or at the very least, appreciate it. He had limited brain cells, especially after drinking and working at that bar for so long. Pay some credit where it’s due. 

“Like, a set of rules, or something?” You looked at him, waiting for a response. “I guess, yeah.” He shrugged back. You shook your head, the teasing tone rising in your voice again. “Rules? Nope, not listening. I’m not falling them. Never have, never will.” Shock flashed across his face, then recognition took its place.

“Dude, come on! I said that once, like a year ago. I was immature back then.” Minho huffed out. “Yeah, like you’re much better now.” You snickered under your breathe, but you both know he heard it. He charged at you without warning, and you squealed, running behind a light post to take cover from his playful abuse. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I give in, okay?” You put your hands up in surrender as you retreated from behind the pole. The boy was laughing, and then so were you. He swung your bag over his left shoulder, and pulled you into his right side. An arm was slung around your shoulder. You crossed the street, encompassed by the peaceful harmony of breathing and shared heartbeats.

“Okay, we’re almost at the house. You have 2 minutes to give me any instructions to help you out. If you say nothing, I get no blame if you make a fool of yourself. Now, shoot.”

You sighed. He was right. At a time like this, a strategy was important. Minho was your best friend, and you wanted to make a good impression, not only for the sake of Minho, but also your friendship. The only time you went to his apartment was when all his roommates were out for the day. If you were going to hang out, you’d have to be able to go to his place without any awkward encounters. It made the most sense. Besides, you were bound to meet them, anyway. Minho’s birthday wasn’t that far off, and if they were his friends, how bad could they be?

“Okay. Most important thing first. Do not let me pull any stupid stunt-“ “Like stripping?” Minho inquired innocently, remembering that one time you got blackout level wasted after your mid semester exams. You didn’t want to that about that, especially not right now. “I was thinking more like standing on the table, but yeah. Hopefully, I won’t get THAT drunk.” You emphasised. “Oh, with our group, it’s highly likely that’ll happen.” You rolled your eyes. “Next?” He urged.

“Under no circumstances will you let me, or you for that matter, tell any embarrassing stories. Like, really bad ones that you save for drunken nights with close friends.” He nodded, “Got it. Anything else?”

“I guess, just don’t let me do anything I’ll regret. Anything bad that I’d remember in the morning with a bad hangover and want to kill you over.” The sudden threat caused the raven haired boy to tense slightly, but you both laughed it off.

“Any warnings for me? Anything I should be aware of about these guys? Like, you know, homicidal tendencies?” He threw his head back, laughing at the way you put the question to him. “Nah, nah. They’re not anything like that. One thing, though. They can be loud. Like REALLY loud.” He kept moving forward. The door to his apartment was slowly appearing, but you weren’t focused enough on your surroundings to notice. “Like, worse than you loud?” You said in mock fear. He just smiled cheekily. “Worse.”

He came to a stop at a midnight blue front door, removing his arm from around your shoulders and fishing out his keys from his right pocket. The nerves hit you like a brick wall now. “I’m still way too sober for this.” You sighed, more to yourself than to the boy ahead of you, hands retreating to your jacket pockets as you said so.

He chuckled. “Don’t worry. We can fix that.” He winked and ushered you in.

You stood in the small entry way, looking around at the clutter, which strikes you as typical for an apartment of nine boys. You took a step further in as Minho manoeuvred from behind you, placing your belongings by the door. He slipped off his shoes, and you followed suit, as he dumped his keys carelessly on the table beside him. 

As Minho closed the door behind you, a loud voice came from the passage way to your left. The owner was hidden behind the wall, but it definitely belonged to a guy your age. 

“Hyung!” he called out, “Finally! I’m starv-“ His sentence was cut short when he rounded the corner, and his eyes met yours. His mouth fell open and brown eyes were grew wide. “-ing... You’re not...” his words faded as he finally realised Minho was, in fact, there. He recovered, smiling, as realisation adorned his feature. His smile was so warm when is gaze returned to you.

“You must be the one trying to steal him away from me.” The boy had no trouble teasing you, despite this being your first exchange. Minho smirked at the boy’s antics before introducing the two of you to one another. “Jisung, this is Y/n. She’s older than you so behave. Y/n this is my housemate, Jisung.”

You smiled, feeling comfortable around Jisung almost immediately. “Nice to meet you,” you waved.

“No need to be formal with him, don’t worry.” You laughed as Jisung acted offended by Minho’s words. The older moved towards him, throwing an arm lazily over the boy. Both beamed at you.

“Did I hear a girl’s laugh, or is Jisung flirting with Minho again.” a sharp-tongued boy emerged from the opposite hallway Jisung had appeared from. He looked pleased with himself when the colour drained from the two faces his eye fell upon. If all of Minho’s friends gave him this much shit, you could see yourself getting along with all the boys without trouble. He then turned to you, bowing slightly and introducing himself with a softer smile. “I’m Seungmin.”

“Y/n.” you replied. You soon found out just how blunt Seungmin could be. “So how’d you get stuck with him?” He pointed to Minho, who had a genuine expression of annoyance and shock. “Dude, I’m right here.” 

Seungmin continued to smile at him and shrugged. Then had a hand on his left shoulder gently usher him out of the hallway, revealing a smaller guy. He grinned just as brightly as the rest had when his eyes fell on you. He moved away from Seungmin and bowed, a small smirk gracing his lips. “I’m Changbin, Minho hyung’s good looking friend.” 

Seungmin rolled his eyes, mouthing a not so subtle ‘sorry about him’ at you, just before Jisung shut him down. 

“You wish, hyung” Jisung snorted. He looked proud when laughter erupted from everyone, with the exception of Changbin. He looked like he had no clue how to react, letting out a small, unsure laugh.

“I’m Y/n.” you smiled after calming down a bit. Changbin’s bright smile returned to his lips. Minho looked back at you, “Since you’re going to get sick of introducing yourself five more times,” he turned to face the large archway behind him, that appeared to lead into the main living area. Then he proceeded to shout notice of your arrival. “EVERYONE! MY FRIEND, Y/N IS HERE. YES, SHE’S A GIRL, AND IF YOU HURT HER YOU’RE NOT GOING TO WAKE UP IN THE MORNING. THANK YOU!” He huffed a sigh, turn back to you, then at the boys. They were all quiet, shifting uncomfortably at the thought of Minho’s shallow threat. You and he both let out a laugh, which was quickly halted when a shout came from the room beyond you.

“MINHO HYUNG HAS FRIENDS?!” Minho turned expressionless as the young boy’s voice had the rest of the entry way in stitches. Jisung leaned on Minho’s shoulder, which was aggressively pushed away by the latter. Jisung lost his balance, almost falling over completely, only egging on everyone else’s laughter. 

The boy, whom you guessed had made the comment judging by the huge grin consuming his face, entered with an older housemate in toe. They boys appearances made you feel as if you were being approached by a fox and a teddy bear. 

The younger boy waved at you, before the older began to speak. “Hi, I’m Woojin, and this is Jeongin. Welcome.” He turned to the other boys, “Ever thought about letting her further inside?” He raised his eyebrows, followed by Minho using the opportunity to usher you away. “Thanks, hyung.” he smiled up at Woojin as you passed through.

He walked you through the entry into the living area. It was an average size considering there were nine boys living in the house. Two boys were lazing on the couch in front of the large tv, eyes trained on the fantastical figures there were controlling on the screen. Jisung, Changbin and Jeongin headed their way after following you and Minho into the communal room. The kitchen linked in, more so hidden out of sight to the left of the entrance. Woojin headed there, Seungmin in toe. Minho guided you over there as well.

“So Y/n, how did you meet Minho?” Woojin smiles politely as he poured water for the four of you. Jeongin appearing behind him, making his way to the pantry before Seungmin grabbed him in a back hug. “Hyung~” Jeongin whined, resulting in Seungmin releasing him and turning back to the conversation. The others were watching the exchange, too, so you didn’t have to worry about replying right away. 

Everyone’s attention returning to the topic at hand, you replied with small “uni.” Minho took over the conversation to give a more in-depth explanation. You were so grateful he could read you so easily. Jeongin joined the conversation momentarily to make fun of Minho. Seungmin managed to grab a couple of chips from the bag in the Maknae’s hands before Jeongin was out of the kitchen. The boy proceeded to make a desperate run to save his snack from unwanted hands, leaving to the couch with his Honey Butter Chips. You laughed at their behaviour, more so when you shared a cheeky smile with Seungmin.

Steps were heard from yet another passage way, this time one that was located to the right of the kitchen. He emerged, a calm aura surrounding him. His hair was a brown, slightly fluffy mess, his fingers running through it. His over sized shirt hung on his frame nicely, partially exposing the left side of his collar bone. His eyes landed on you, just as quickly as yours had on him.

“Hi, I’m Chan.”

>>

[allthephils]

Gravity

Rated T    Word count: 1697

Summary: Home can feel like a prison when you’re on the edge of adulthood and everything that matters is hours away.

Read on Ao3

It’s too fucking quiet in here. The only sounds are creaks in the dark and it’s scary but not in the way it should be. Dan’s just scared in general, anxious. He’s like a guest in this house, a guest with rude, unattentive hosts. Nothing here feels like him, not the real him anyway. He just wants to feel safe, he wants to be home, though technically that’s exactly where he is. There’s a real physical pain in his chest and his skin is crawling with a restless need to run, to throw open the front door and take off, sprinting. Before the thought even forms completely, he’s grabbing his coat and slamming the door behind him.

  The air is cold against his skin, biting right through his coat. He’s standing in the drive, keys in hand, heart beating impossibly fast. He brings a hand up to his chest as if he could calm it with his touch. It’s just a car, a boring, late model, sensible family car, but it’s sits waiting like a land mine. He could wait till morning and try to book a train ticket but the thought tugs at the ache in his ribs so with a quick inhale, he presses the unlock button on the fob and opens the door.

 He doesn’t have to think about where he’s going. The pull toward Phil is always there and it gets stronger every day, every minute they’re apart. He only has to break free of the orbit he’s in and let himself fall.

 Before they met in real life, there was longing born of infatuation and curiosity. They’d turned the sexual tension up so high, he thought he’d combust that day at the train station. It was different in person, scarier, but deeper too. Something real and strong had grown between editing tips and late night Skype calls talking about Muse. Stealing away during YouTube events was one thing, folding himself into Phil’s arms in his bed, his actual bed from the videos, was something else entirely.

 Longing doesn’t cover it anymore, it’s heavier than that, a strong, suffocating need. It is actual cruelty to expect him to stay in that house while his family is away. The two of them, alone in separate houses just hours apart is just wrong. It’s too much to listen to Phil say he misses him, tell him what he’d do if he were there. He can’t want anymore. Every cell is bursting and tearing and propelling him forward.

 There’s a playlist of songs that have been the soundtrack to the two of them so far. It’s loud enough to quiet any doubt left nagging in the corners of his mind. Loud enough to quiet predictions of Phil’s voice admonishing him, you don’t have a full license yet, you didn’t get permission, if something happened because of me…

 He didn’t tell him, didn’t ask permission. He’s an adult and if he wants to be with his boyfriend, his boyfriend who talked all day about how much he wished he were there, well then he’s going.

 It’s so dark out here. An hour in and the road is empty and stretching ahead, neverending. The fear of the dark and the solitude has settled into a nice steady thrill. He’s sipping coffee at nearly midnight, staying alert not just for the drive but for what comes next.

 He’d make this drive for a one real life glimpse of Phil’s eyes, sleepy and squinting behind glasses, so blue but with some magical spark of something else dancing at the edges. He’d make it to watch his adam’s apple bob as he sips his coffee, to rest his hand just above his knee, resisting the urge to squeeze until he realizes he doesn’t have to resist.

 Too much is lost in texting, in phone calls, and Skype sessions. The connection is never enough to hear every subtle nuance of Phil’s voice. His laugh isn’t the same through a speaker and he always covers his mouth. Those crooked pink lips, too pretty for such a broad chested boy, framing his gorgeous bubbling laughter. Put your hand down. Dan tries to tell him but he’s embarrassed by his narrow teeth and too big smile. It’s not. Dan always says, it’s so pretty, all of you is pretty. He doesn’t try to sound cool, he forgets to. And it’s worth it to see the blush that colors those pale cheekbones, sharp enough to stab him right in the heart.

 He has this high pitched giggle when Dan catches him off guard, crossing a line Phil isn’t accustomed to, and a soft, sleepy drawl that comes when they really settle in deep. When they’ve been talking for hours and their voices drop low, when shirts get

rucked up and their breath gets ragged, hands roaming to all the bits of skin they wish the other could touch, that’s the one he needs to hear up close. That deep, confident growl is disarming over miles of air but in person, with those curious, eager hands mapping every part of Dan, then it’s sublime. He wants breath on his neck, in his ear, and against his lips when Phil speaks. He wants unintelligible sounds, muffled whimpers, and pleasured moans. He wants to pull warm, viscous love from every pore of Phil so he knows. Even though they don’t say it, not yet.

 They’ll be alone. They won’t need to be quiet or hold back. And if Phil is half asleep, too tired to bring Dan’s vivid imagination to life, he’ll climb into his bed and tangle his legs up with his. He’ll listen to the sound of him sleeping, the tiny groans when he rolls over, the snores. He’ll rub the soles of his feet over his calves, feel the rough hair and just underneath, the muscle, soft and at rest. He’ll trace his fingers over the trail of hair on his belly and up to his chest. He’ll flatten his palm over that firm place and feel his heart beat and let himself sleep till morning.

 The exit for Rawtenstall is 2 miles ahead. Rehearsing the many ways he could say hi when the door opens, he pulls the visor down and opens the mirror. As he pulls off the road into town, he adjusts his fringe. Phil’s is bound to be pushed back and that image sends all Dan’s blood rushing downward. He’s chewing his chapped lips so he takes a swig from his water bottle before dragging his lip balm across his lips. It’s cherry, a cheeky homage he bought to remind him of some of the happiest days whenever he licks his lips.

 He watches the front door for a few long minutes before he gets out of the car. The drive was unreal, removed from time and space and consequences but now he’s here. What if Phil’s parents came home early? What if Phil is angry at the interruption to his sleep? What if he thinks this was a stupid, impulsive, immature thing to do? It’s going to frighten him. A knock on the door at three in the morning is it’s own special terror. Dan’s hands are sweating even as he shivers on the stoop. He wipes them on his jeans and shakes his head briskly, building some courage.

 A quiet knock, then a louder one, discordant with the symphony of crickets. His heart beats at twice the speed of the rhythm playing all around him, his foot tapping along. It occurs to him that he could be stood here till the sun comes up with Phil hiding out in his room, afraid to come downstairs. Picking up his phone, he texts It’s me. It’ll ruin the surprise, wreck the tension of the Hollywood moment, but he can’t bare to scare him like that. The footsteps are heavy, anything but graceful and Dan exhales, still terrified but ready to cry from relief as well. There’s a click, a rattle, and a thud as the locks are released and the door knob finally turns.

 “Hi.” Dan says and there’s a hand on his arm, yanking him inside, pulling him into a hug. There’s nothing to hide from, no one to impress. His coat slips off his shoulders into Phil’s hands and is tossed aside.

 “How did you get here? Are you ok?” He kisses his cheek between his freckles like he always does when they’re alone.

 “Yeah. I drove.” Dan swallows, knowing how crazy he must sound. “I missed you.”

 “You drove?”

 Dan nods. “Can we go to bed?”

 Phil looks like he has questions but he doesn’t voice any of them. He takes Dan by the hand and leads him up the stairs. Dan’s clothes come off slowly under his care. There are whispers in the dark and promises to explain in the morning. Phil lay on his back, his arm open in invitation and Dan fits himself perfectly against his side, weaving his leg between Phil’s. His head rests on Phil’s chest and his eyes slip shut as he breathes in the scent of leftover cologne and the slight hint of salty sweat. He’s unguarded, so sure and trusting, he could melt into this man.

 Home used to feel like this, like his grandma’s kitchen, a refuge from the big daunting world. The older he’s gotten the more that feeling has slipped through his fingers and he’s felt a pull to branch out and make his own sanctuary. He’s been so eager to shop for pots and pans and wardrobes and to find brick and mortar to house it all. It all seemed so adult not so long ago. Now he knows it’s far simpler than that. This is what it is to be grown. The rise and fall of Phil’s chest underneath him, sharing the air they breathe, needing to be close, to know that Phil is here and that he’s safe and he’s happy. If finding your own home is growing up then he’s doing far better than he gives himself credit for. His forever home is right here in his arms.

 End.

[buckymcbuttfacebarnes]

Bashful Creatures (4)

masterlist

(yall imma be honest with u i dont know what the FUCK is going on with my tags sometimes they work sometimes they dont, im finna edit this so if u get tagged twice IM SO SORRY)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: abt 1.8k

Summary: Y/N feels herself beginning to fall in love with her best friend. This part picks up immediately after the incidents of part 3!

Warnings: at this point yall know the drill

A/N: (extended portions written in italics are memories!) love y’all thank u so much for the kind feedback! let me know what u think of this part!!! soz it took 85 yrs school and stuff got me all effed up! i think i might do pt 5 in buckys pov?? or just do both in one and like switch off idk??

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

The sound of the door slamming shut resonated through you, stunned you, but you didn’t try to stop him from leaving. He needed space to cool off. The least you could do was give that to him. The deafening silence settled into something uncomfortable and awkward, even though it was just you and it. You and the silence. It felt like wearing a shirt too tight for your body, an ill-fitting second skin that you couldn’t seem to peel off.

Your eyes flitted around your bedroom, the place where you had retreated immediately after the ordeal, fragments of Bucky were everywhere. In your bed, at your desk, in the silvery glow of the moon’s rays shining through your window... They seemed to haunt the room with his presence, making it impossible to do anything but focus on him. Nothing but the things you had said and the things he had said to you rung in your head. Over and over again. How could you have let the situation escalate so quickly? Why did it escalate so quickly?  

To escape his phantom presence, you wandered the empty compound, heart beating loudly in your ears as if you were still in the midst of yelling at the man you love so dearly, like you were still caught in the thick of it. Am I your friend or your fucking babysitter? Your fingers twitched and fiddled, wiping dismissively against the sides of your thighs or being shaken out as if wicking water off of them. You imagined his face in your head, the sad  tears that rolled down his cheeks. He let you hold him then. You should have kissed them away and soothed his troubles, assured him of your presence. I’ve come back to you. You should have just told him:  I love you, Bucky. God, how terribly you wanted him to tell you that he loved you too. It seemed so far-fetched, like some unattainable dream. Nothing more than whimsical fantasy because there was no way in hell someone as beautiful as Bucky might love you too. Someone so kind and cunning. Coy and charismatic. Someone so sweet...it seemed impossible that your infatuation could be made into something real. That this was more than some paltry story of love unrequited.

The empty spaces of the compound did nothing to help you escape him. You saw him everywhere you went.

As he swung you around you looked to him with the widest smile, your cheeks were beginning to ache.  You couldn’t suppress the laugh that bubbled from your lips, spilling out of you like a kettle boiling over.

“What? What?” he asked defensively, the grin on his face betraying his tone. “Hold on, we haven’t even gotten to the best part!”

It was just the two of you, alone in the compound, and you were embracing every moment of it.

“Quit laughin’ and  listen,” he shushed, tapping his ear with a forefinger before his hand returned to its place on the small of your back.

“I’m listening!”

“You aren’t if you’re ta—” You cut him off by placing a hand over his mouth. You ignored his warning look and slowly removed your hand, revealing his smiling mouth.

The music that blared from the speakers beside the TV  began to swell with the clear, bubbly blare of trumpets. It filled the sunlit room and mingled with the sounds of your uncontrollable giggles and his successive chuckles. It filled  you with an unimaginable warmth. Your heart began to pound faster, was it the music? Or was it Bucky? The way he was smiling, with all of his pearly whites showing, so wide that there were crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Maybe it was the loose strands of hair that framed his face, or the two aquamarine eyes that peered down at you, glittering like two of the most beautiful gemstones you had ever seen.

Perhaps it was the way his hands rested comfortably against your back. There was a time where he was weary about touching you at all. A time where he worried he might frighten you, or underestimate his strength. A time where he wouldn’t remove his glove, even though you’d seen the sparkling metal countless times on missions.  He thought it to be a threat. A  reminder of his dark past, some sort of defect that made him unloveable. How could he believe such a thing when you were standing there in front of him, hands clasped at the back of his neck, grinning up at him like a fool? How could he believe such a thing when the look of love shined in your eyes the way the metal of his left hand glinted in the hot sun? How could he believe such a thing when you loved him?

On a day that felt like yesterday, you had fallen in love with Bucky Barnes. In that moment it felt right, the warmth that spread through you, the way your fingertips seemed to grow hot, and you chewed unknowingly on your lower lip—a telltale sign of nerves. He didn’t seem to notice though, so you basked in the feeling, let it wash over you like the build of the beautiful music he had playing in the background. In that moment, there was no doubts. You confidently thought, This is love. And it was.  

And though after those few sweet moments you’d begun to doubt your feelings were there or that they were more than some immature thirst for romance, the fondness you harbored in your chest for him then remained there for a long time. Now it seemed to burn brighter than ever.

You continued your aimless trek through the compound, your bones felt heavy, your body sluggish. You made a stop in the kitchen to pour a glass of water. Your eyes flickered to the kitchen table that you had once sat at. Where Bucky had stood across from you and vulnerably asked, “Where were you last night?” He had told you he had been looking for you. An indirect way of saying that he had needed you and you weren’t there.

You knew that...yet you still stared into those suddenly child-like eyes and gave him gave him a painfully pathetic reply: “I was out. Had a hot date.”

It was hard not to cringe at the thought of the pitiful exchange. How the fuck was he to forgive you after something like that?

Your eyelids pressed shut, squeezing together in some attempt to force the memory from your brain. Heavy shudders of breath left your parted lips. Weary elbows came to rest upon the cold countertop, your head hung low in your hands. How did this happen? You asked silently. Tears sprung to your eyes and a sudden sob racked your body. You hadn’t expected to cry, but it washed over you in a forceful wave. It was turbulent and uncontrollable. You were glad he wasn’t here to see it. Partly because you feared he might cry again too, partly because it was possible that he may not care at all. How could I leave him all alone? You thought of the way his eyes glistened with tears. How his hands hesitantly came up to pull yours from his face. The way he had fled so urgently from your touch, as if your hands might cause him some physical harm. The thick lump that had formed in your throat choked you, you heaved heavy breaths between your violent sobs. You wept until your eyes formed no more tears, until your head throbbed, until you were completely exhausted.

With a glass of water in hand, you made your way to your room, mind blank. On the way, you abruptly stopped and turned around. You let your legs carry you without protest. They seemed to know where they were going.

You ended up at Bucky’s door. You didn’t know when he would come home, but you knew that when he did, you wanted to be with him. And so you entered. Heavy lidded eyes glanced around the room as the light flickered on. There was a bed, a plain bedside table, a desk, a desk chair. He was more for functionality than style, you had always known that. Upon his desk was a photo of himself and Steve. The surface of his bedside table was covered by a record player, the only special thing that he had ever really asked for. There were a couple plants here and there, courtesy of you. You had wanted to liven up the painfully minimalistic room just a little bit. You flicked the switch and the room went dark again. Curled up beneath his duvet, you inhaled deeply through your nose, exhaling loudly. It was all Bucky. You longed for him. For his gaze, for his touch, his laugh, his silky voice.  You withheld another sob. You needed him here.

When he got home you would tell him. You would tell him that you loved him, that you were sorry. You imagined his warm body slipping into bed beside you. He would hold you in his arms and maybe then you’d tell him. Or maybe he’d say he didn’t want to talk and instead you would fall asleep together. Bodies intertwined like unruly vines, breaths perfectly synchronized. He would sleep all night because he only slept well when you were there to keep him tethered to reality. You’re here, we’re together. It’s alright. You’ve come back to me.

You would wake to the soft crackling of a record on its turntable and the great crescendo of some euphonious song that he happened to know. He might get you to dance with him, as he often liked to do. Swing you around the room and send you smiles full of mischief. Or maybe he’d be lying beside you still asleep. The only music would be the sound of his gentle huffs of breath. You would look upon his softened features, dotingly stroke his cheek, then maybe blush in embarrassment at your sentimental behavior. You would ignore the bashful smile that would force itself upon your lips, ignoring your brain’s protests, and hope that things could be like this all the time. You would tell him so. You would tell him you loved him. You would say that you’re never going to leave. He would say he loved you too.

When you woke the next morning, you woke to an empty bed. Bucky had not come home that night.

@slender–spirit @katielu-blog @bookhoggerph @sergeant-james-bbarnes @killjoynotes @thirstresponsibly @cherrywinedarling @janeyboo @buckybarnesxoxo @depressed-fangirl​ @tchallaholla @rheasneonjournal @lilypalmer1987 @zeonxox @sarahp897 @sebspeach @kat-lives @graveyardfairy @fandom-obsessed-girl @painkiller80  @i-had-a-life-once @writingsleepless @starkxpotts @damagelove @buckybarnestrashh

i had to come back and fix the effing tags since they dont know how to act so if yall got tagged like 849 times it was my fault soz im a dumbass love yall!

message me if you’d like to be added to the taglist for this fic<3

[danfanciesphil]

Prompt where they fight or smthng and phil leaves for a walk and comes back to dan playing his song on the piano?

very cute, i really like this one

xx

EDIT: I realised just as i started writing this that you specified ‘his [phil’s] song’ - so i am now assuming you’re talking about the song dan wrote for him in Birthday Sex? Sorry if that isn’t what you meant haha, but i dont know of a song irl that dan would play for phil that could be classed as ‘his song’ (thought im sure there are several) 

hope this is all ok! and thank you

Prompts are temporarily closed for the time being! Thank you all for your submissions, I’ll be posting the ones I have in my inbox asap!

“I just don’t think it’s very fair of you to blindside me with all the shitty stuff from our past without some kind of warning!” Dan protests, throwing his flat keys down on to the dining room table. He shrugs his coat off, irritated, and throws it onto a nearby chair. “In front of all our friends!”

“Oh, so I’m just supposed to shove all that stuff to one side and never think about it again?” Phil asks, sounding incredulous. Dan rolls his eyes at the theatrical way Phil is behaving. “I’m never allowed to bring it up, or speak about it, or think about it in case it makes you feel guilty and miserable for a split second, is that right?”

“Obviously that’s not what I’m saying, Phil.” Dan says icily, crossing his arms. “You don’t have to be so... so...”

“So what?” Phil prompts, one hand curled around his own set of keys, still. 

Dan just glares, lips pressed into a thin slash across his chin. He’s not going to finish that sentence. It won’t do either of them any good; besides, they’ve both had a couple of glasses of wine. 

They’ve been out for a meal at a posh sushi place for Hazel’s birthday. It’s a place they know well, a menu they’ve ordered from frequently, and friends that they both enjoy being around. 

Dan has no idea why, on this occasion, things turned sour. Out of all the many ways Phil could have answered Louise’s innocent, funny question of ‘what’s the worst pick-up line you’ve tried on someone?’, he had to say ‘well, that’s a difficult one because for the last eight years I've been desperately in love with someone who made it extremely clear they didn’t want me back until very recently. So, I haven’t tried out an actual pick up line in forever.’

His answer had stunned the table into an awkward hush. Dan had been so taken aback by the nonchalant way in which Phil casually dropped this information into the lighthearted conversation - with people who know absolutely nothing about it, save for Louise - that he’d actually choked on an edamame bean. 

They all knew, of course, that Phil was talking about Dan. They must have. 

Suddenly, remembering the stunted, jolty attempts people were forced to make to kickstart the conversation again, to move it into safer territory, Dan doesn’t feel quite so generous. 

He decides to finish his sentence, after all. 

“You don’t have to be so childish about this whole thing.” Dan says before he can think it through properly. “It’s over now. We’re married, we’re together, you have me. Why are you insisting on picking at the scabs? And without even so much as a hint to me beforehand that it’s on your mind at all!” 

“Childish?” Phil repeats, his voice soft and hurt. 

Dan’s heart sinks, and he regrets the choice of adjective immediately. “No, well, no-”

But it’s too late to take it back. The word hangs in the air, taunting them both. 

Dan scrambles to think of a way to repair the situation, but he’s not fast enough. Phil, still wearing his coat, turns back the way he came, keys still clasped in his fist, and walks out of the door. 

Fuck. 

---

Phil has no idea where he’s going. He hadn’t really thought further ahead than getting out of the flat before the argument turned even nastier. 

That’s the problem with arguing with Dan; he’s a hothead. He can’t seem to catch the words in his mind long enough to think them through, he just spits them out, harsh and unfiltered, then regrets it. 

The wind whips against him, and Phil draws the lapels of his coat around himself a little tighter. He’d been so looking forward to getting back home after the dinner tonight. They’d left the heating on, and Phil had been feeling pleasantly tipsy all evening until it got awkward. He’d been thinking about how, later, he could drag a wine-sweetened Dan underneath the covers, kiss him in all the places that made him squirm until neither of them felt the cold anymore. 

He sighs, taking a random turning into a side street he’s never walked down before. He wonders if he should put his hood up or something, as the worst thing would be getting recognised right now. It’s unlikely to happen, though, in the dark. 

Childish. 

That was the word Dan had used to describe him. It echoes through the wide, hollow rooms of Phil’s usually thriving brain, echoing off the cold, stone walls. 

Is that truly how Dan perceives him? Immature and thoughtless? Attention-seeking, maybe? Or sulking, to get his way? 

A shiver runs through his body, and his teeth begin to chatter. He steps through the milky, pale yellow splash of light from an overhead streetlamp, glad of the fleeting absence of darkness. 

He hadn’t meant to say what he did, when he answered Louise. He didn’t think. It’s not like him to say things without thinking, either - but he supposes being around Dan so much must mean he picks up on some of his habits, both good and bad. 

Just now, Dan had said that Phil had blindsided him with the answer. That he’d failed to let Dan know that it was playing on his mind, and that if he’d pulled Dan aside, maybe tried to talk it through a little, things would have been okay. 

But Dan doesn’t understand. The ‘Birthday Sex Era’, as Phil now thinks of it, isn’t something that fleetingly pops into his head now and again. He’s thinking of it always. There’s never a moment that it’s not there, stubborn and loud, a great sea-monster lurking in the ocean of Phil’s love for Dan, its tentacles protruding into every single memory they have as a pair. 

Phil isn’t able to just carve the Birthday Sex monster away. It’s too entwined in what they are, in what they were. It’s part of him, and it’s part of Dan, and it’s a part of both of them, together. 

So, when the delicious Californian white wine is flowing, and Phil is comfortable and relaxed around his favourite, trusted friends, it’s only natural that he’ll answer something asked of him with total honesty. It just so happens that the honest answer he gave tonight was one that the Birthday Sex monster has wrapped itself around. Phil couldn’t help but tell Louise the truth. And the truth had been that Phil, for a long time, was simply not interested in ‘picking up’ anyone but Dan, and that Dan had - somewhat cruelly - encouraged this. 

Two shadowy figures turn into the street, starting to walk towards him. Phil is wearing his contacts, but he still can’t really make them out. Not wanting to linger too long in a deserted, back street with two unfamiliar strangers late at night, Phil turns, walking briskly back the way he came. 

It’s freezing tonight, anyway. Phil’s had a little walk to gather his thoughts. 

It’s time to go home. 

---

Phil tries to unlock the door quietly, half hoping the inevitable confrontation can be postponed a little longer, until he’s shucked off his coat and shoes, at least. 

He manages to stay quiet as he lets himself in, and takes his time about removing his outer garments. He runs a hand through his hair, shuddering as his body soaks up the warmth of the flat, and sighs. 

Belatedly, he realises he can hear a soft, enchanting melody, seeping through the floorboards of the upstairs hallway. Intrigued, as ever, by Dan’s decision to play the piano, Phil follows the haunting tune.

Strangely, as he pads up the stairs, Phil realises that he’s humming along. He pauses in his step, head cocked to listen harder when he deduces that he actually knows this particular song. 

He shuts his eyes, still humming as he tries in vain to place it. Is it a video game theme song, he wonders? Dan is very fond of learning every score of the Final Fantasy soundtrack. But somehow Phil knows it isn’t that, this time. 

His brain aches in protest, complaining that it’s too befuddled with alcohol and post-argument tension to work out what the song is. 

Phil rolls his eyes at his own mind, then continues up the stairs, deciding he’ll just have to remember to ask Dan once they’ve resolved this little tiff. 

It’s as Phil approaches their bedroom, that it dawns on him. The realisation tumbles over him in a gush, and he sucks in a breath, stopping in his tracks. He stands in the doorway, not daring to move in case he interrupts. 

Watching Dan play is a performance in itself, regardless of the music he produces. His back is straight, just as his evil teacher drilled into him that it must be all that time ago. His fingers dance, light as petals skimming the surface of a lake, over the keys. 

Dan hasn’t noticed Phil’s arrival, he’s sure. 

The tune begins soft, then sweeps into a whirlwind of complexity, soaring into something so swooping, so magnificent, so deep and vibrant and pure that it sends Phil’s stomach crashing to the floor. 

After a while, it peters out, trilling gently, teasing the growing quiet with more until it stops entirely. 

Dan hunches forwards, his forehead pressing against the stand as his fingers curl into fists. 

“I haven’t heard you play that in a while,” Phil says, trying to keep his voice soft so he won’t startle Dan, but the younger man jumps anyway, spinning to face him. 

There are obvious, shiny tear-tracks over his cheeks.  

“Phil,” he breathes, clearly amazed, “you’re- you’re back.” 

Phil shrugs, shuffling into the room a little. “Where else would I go?”

Dan is silent for a minute, his top teeth trapping his lower lip like he’s trying to button his mouth closed. It doesn’t work. The words burst out anyway, tumbling from his lips in a messy, unprocessed garble.

“I’msosorry-”Dan starts, eyes desperate. “I just- like, I don’t even know why I would say that- I don’t- obviously I don’t think you’re childish, but youknowwhatI’mlike-”

“Dan.” Phil interrupts, gently. 

“And especially after drinking- like, I knew I should’ve said no to that second glass, but-”

“Dan, stop,” Phil urges, moving towards him. 

Sitting down on the piano stool, scooted up against Dan’s side seems to startle him into silence, so Phil takes the opportunity to speak. 

“I’m not really sure who’s right or wrong here.” He confesses, shrugging one shoulder. 

Dan rolls his eyes. “Come on, Phil, there’s no need to become a martyr just because I’m getting a bit weepy-”

Phil smiles, brushing a thumb under each of Dan’s eyes, rubbing away the moisture collected there. “I’m not being a martyr.” Phil turns to face him as much as possible on the stool, trying to get the words straight in his head. “I just think that this - our situation - is a peculiar one. I don’t quite know how to handle it best, y’know?”

Dan nods, chewing his lip again. 

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to be constantly on edge in case I spring a guilt trip on you from nowhere,” Phil says, completely honest about this. “But I also don’t really know how to deal with all the leftover... stuff still inside me from that time. The Birthday Sex time.”

“What kind of ‘stuff’?” Dan asks cautiously, sounding like he doesn’t really want to know the answer. Honestly, Phil is pretty sure Dan won’t like the answer either. 

Phil swallows. “Hurt. Anger. Heartbreak. Insecurity. Anxiety.” Phil swallows again. “You know. Stuff.”

Dan takes a deep breath, but nods again, seeming to understand. “So... you’re saying that ‘stuff’ might sort of... leak out at random, inconvenient times?”

Phil quirks a smile at him. “I’m going to try really, really hard not to let that happen. I don’t want to hurt you, or cause arguments. And you’re right, y’know? What you said earlier - it’s over. I have you now.”

His hand travels absent-mindedly to Dan’s hip, ducking beneath the jumper he’s wearing until his fingers skim the tattoo he knows is inked there. 

Dan shakes his head. “I was a prat earlier. Please don’t take any of what I said to heart.”

Phil chuckles at him, and Dan gives him a serious look.

“No, seriously Phil.” He says, making Phil chuckle more. “If anyone’s a fucking child around here it’s me. I’m the one who threw a god damn bitch fit at you for bringing up your own perfectly valid feelings of betrayal. I mean, what right do I have to yell at you for that when it’s all my fault you ever felt that awful to begin wi-”

Phil kisses him to shut him up, mostly, but also because he’s tipsy and sad and bullying himself for things he’s apologised for so many times. Sometimes, the best way to draw Dan out of his own abusive head is to remind him how much he is loved, despite whatever he may think of himself. 

When Phil draws away, there’s a surprised, sweet expression on Dan’s pretty face. Phil smiles at the sight of it, curling his hand into Dan’s jumper. 

“Your playing was so lovely,” Phil tells him wistfully. 

Dan ducks his head, smiling bashfully. “Thanks. I think that’s the only thing I can play without any mistakes.” 

“Will you play it again?” Phil asks, resting his head on Dan’s shoulder.

Dan pretends to look exasperated, rolling his eyes. “You’re requesting your own song for the second time?”

Phil nods, beaming, and Dan shakes his head fondly, but kisses him nonetheless. He places his hands over the keys, and Phil lights up, settling down to listen, his eyes fluttering closed. 

“As if I could ever say no.” Dan murmurs, then starts to play.