#except i also like to add version numbers but only if word dicks about and won't let me save the original file when writing on my phone

[umbracirrus]

I've basically not been on my laptop for a week and now I'm absolutely lost trying to look through my files trying to figure out where things are saved and screaming at past me for how bad my filing (or rather, naming) system is-

Though admittedly taking a break from things like writing has kinda helped with rebooting my brain a bit, I'm feeling more motivated to do things now such as writing.

I also know I've been tagged for WIP Wednesday during the week! I'll get to that some point this weekend and will look at what I've been tagged in too! 😊

[sevenkittensinatrenchcoat]

Cats 1986 (and Others) vs. 2016

A post I made a few months ago comparing information gathered from interviews with different Cats casts has come up again recently and I’ve heard even more interviews since, so I want to add on to that a little and elaborate on the things I’ve already said.

CW: Some of the language regarding Demeter’s backstory is a bit darker than I’ve previously mentioned

So, I’ve now heard interviews from US Tours III, IV, and V, spanning from 1986 to 2012. They’re all Broadway-based, and the Broadway Revival went in a very different direction, but the three tours were all very similar to each other.

In both the tours and in 2016, the cast was sat down before rehearsals to hear the “story of Cats”. However, this meant two completely different things. The Tour casts were told the plot of the show, who their characters were and what they were meant to be doing. The 2016 was told the story of how the show Cats was created, how ALW had the idea and made a show out of it. No mention of the story and characters. This means that the Tour casts were given useful information for building their characters, while the 2016 cast got something that was interesting but did nothing to help them do their jobs in the present. More emphasis was put on the show’s legacy than on how to actually perform it. Trevor Nunn did the 2016 explaining, I believe, and it sounds like he was on an ego trip, talking about what he did instead of what the cast was supposed to do. Trevor Nunn is one of the few people who knows how the show works, so this is quite frustrating.

Though the Tour cast was given a whole story, most of them only remembered the perspectives of their own characters. The point of learning the plot was so that they knew what they were doing. It wasn’t supposed to matter to the audience. So, everyone mainly focused on their own jobs. But, everyone knew Demeter’s backstory, because it was the first thing they were told and it caught their attention. It almost became a meme that the first sentence of the plot was “Demeter was raped by Macavity”.

The story begins with Demeter having just escaped from Macavity. He kidnapped and raped her. Though she didn’t want it, she kind of enjoyed the sex, which messed with her head quite a bit. Bomba went through the exact same thing, but because she enjoyed it, she acts like the whole thing was nothing more than an annoyance. The two react to the same situation in different ways.

Jacob Brent was either given a toned down version of the story (he mentions kidnapping, but not rape), or he chose to give a toned down version to avoid the uncomfortable subject. 

The 2016 knew that Macavity and Demeter had some sort of backstory, but they weren’t very clear on exactly what happened. They decided that they’d had an abusive relationship, but that the whole thing was consensual and there was no kidnapping, because the only element of this story that the audience can pick up without context is that there was some sort of sexual relationship between Macavity and Demeter, but she’s now afraid of him.

At least one cast member said that Macavity was a rapist, but she didn’t elaborate.

This messed with Demeter’s character far more than anyone expected. The rape element honestly isn’t necessary. Demeter and Macavity had some sort of sex, but it could’ve been consensual, with Demeter enjoying the sex but hating the man. That’s actually what Gillian Lynne seemed to have implied in interviews. However, the kidnapping part of the backstory is important, because it establishes the connection between Demeter and Grizabella. While hiding from Macavity, right before the story begins, Demeter sees Grizabella on the Bad Side of Town. Due to not being a Jellicle before this night, she doesn’t know who she is, and therefore has no bias against her. She just sees this woman living on the streets, humans wondering aloud why she isn’t dead, and felt sympathy for her. 

So, when Grizabella appears at the ball and everyone hates her, Demeter wants to intervene, but she doesn’t want to upset her new friends. She came to the Jellicles for protection and is afraid of them rejecting her for siding with their enemy. Still, she tells the tribe what she knows about Griz, possibly trying to convince them to be nicer to her, but it doesn’t work and Demeter just starts following the crowd.

The lyrics Demeter sings, by themselves, are musical exposition that doesn’t imply sympathy. A line like “You’d really have thought she’d ought to be dead” sounds like it could be played as an insult. The words can either mean “I’m surprising the poor thing’s still alive in her condition” or “Why can’t the bitch fuck off and die already?”. Without the context of Demeter’s backstory, Kim Faure picked the latter, when with the context, it’s clearly meant to be the former. So, Demeter’s delivery of her lines in Glamour Cat in 2016 is venomous, almost sadistic.

Later on, towards the end of act one, 2016 Demeter reaches out to Grizabella like she does in most other versions, despite the earlier delivery. What made her change gears? I have no idea.

So, there was a lot of insight on Demeter. She’s the character with the most detailed backstory, making her the closest thing the show has to a protagonist. 

Another character that gets a lot of attention, as he demands, is Tugger. Many Tugger actors were interviewed. I think he’s the favorite character of the host of the podcast. Different Tuggers from different eras responded to certain topics differently. Tuggers from the 1980s were unaware that Tugger was commonly interpreted as Not Straight and that Tuggoffelees is a thing. But, the more recent the show their from, the more they’re aware of and interested in the topic. The Tour V Tugger joined very late, during the last few years of the tour. He had access to the internet and could see what the fandom was up to. He played Tugger as ambiguously bi and, though he hadn’t thought of it at the time, liked the idea of the Tuggoffelees pairing. Tyler Hanes, 2016 Tugger, was the only one interviewed who played Tuggoffelees on purpose.

Tyler Hanes was very interesting. He watched the 1998 film while preparing for the role and didn’t seem to like it very much. He wanted his version of Tugger to be his own and avoided taking inspiration from any other version. John Partridge’s Tugger and Hanes’ Tugger being so different from each other might’ve been deliberate.

But, the choreography is what really messed with Tugger’s character. The host of the podcast mentioned Tugger’s pelvic thrusts and Hanes said that he wanted to do that sort of thing, but the new choreography removed all of it. He couldn’t make Tugger as horny or sexy as he wanted to. It was a key part of the character, but the choreography just wouldn’t let it happen. The result is that a bunch of queens fangirl over Tugger, but because Tugger’s defining trait in his number is being vain and obnoxious, the reason why he, of all toms, is considering the sexiest is completely lost. He’s just a dick to everyone (except Misto) and they love him anyway. 

Other Tuggers do act like assholes during the number, but it’s not the focus. The lyrics are about Tugger being difficult, but the choreography, often to a comedic degree, isn’t about that. The message of Lynne’s choreography is that DESPITE Tugger being obnoxious, he’s a sex god and that’s what matters to his fans. Blankenbuehlers’s choreography mainly focuses on Tugger being obnoxious, which is a better match to the lyrics, but it makes the character less likable.

Also, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: The two most sexualized numbers are Tugger’s and Macavity’s. Tugger’s number is about a man being sexy. Macavity’s number has two women being sexy. Blankenbuehler redid Tugger’s number, toning down the sexuality, but he left Macavity alone completely, so it’s as sexual as it always is. Male sexuality needs to be toned down, but female sexuality is fine. This is what happens when a woman is replaced with a straight dude. I doubt it was done on purpose, but there was definitely some subconscious bias going on there.

The way the casts talk about the two choreographers is also different. Both of them are treated as the experts on the show, more like how a director is normally treated. But, how well they filled that role varied. Lynne could explain what every single move meant. Those who worked with her knew exactly what they were doing. Nobody has ever described any of Blankenbuehler’s choreography with the same detail. In numbers in 2016 that Blankenbuehler left alone, even without Lynne present at all, everything was clearly explained. Skimble actors, since Skimble’s number wasn’t altered much, describe people who’d worked with Lynne talking them through the choreography. No one talked about Blankenbuehler’s work like that. Every move of Lynne’s Jellicle Ball apparently represented something. Blankenbuehler’s Jellicle Ball looks fine, but there isn’t that level of detail.

The rehearsals of the the choreography were paced differently as well. 2016 was apparently put together in something of a hurry. Most Cats rehearsals begin with several days of the cast studying cats and learning how to move like them. 2016 devoted only a few hours to this. Gillian Lynne reportedly visited a rehearsal and was upset the none of the dancers knew how to move like cats. Cats has unique choreography in a unique cat-like style, but the 2016 team had no time to practice it, so they often come across as a bit too human. They’re talented human dancers, but they’re not very cat-like. Blankenbuehler’s choreography is often in a different, more modern urban style, that doesn’t seem like it was done with cat-like movement in mind.

I don’t hate Blankenbuehler. In behind the scenes stuff, he seems like a nice guy that the team liked working with. But, I don’t think he really understood what his role was. He was a choreographer and he did choreography. This would’ve been fine, even great for any other show, but not Cats.

Most modern musical theatre is based on opera. Characters sing about their feelings and that tells the story. The added element of dance takes the feelings of the song and amplifies them. The actors are emoting with their entire bodies in a larger-than-life way that creates an emotional intensity that audiences can empathize with. The music makes the audience feel what the characters are feeling in a way nothing else really can. Music is kind of magical. You hear a certain melody with certain instruments, and suddenly you’re happy, or sad, or angry.

This, by the way, is why going for realism in musicals is a terrible idea. Musicals don’t exist in physical reality. They exist on an emotional level that realism takes away from.

Cats rarely works like opera. The lyrics are mainly just adaptations of whimsical poems, so they don’t tell you much of anything. Memory, which features original lyrics and no dancing is an exception to this rule. In general, because they’re not dance roles, Grizabella and Old Deuteronomy have to use music and song lyrics to play their parts in the story. Jemima also does this whenever she does something connected to either one of them.

But, Cats is normally more of a ballet than an opera. Ballet tells a story purely through dance. Because the lyrics in Cats matter so rarely, it ends up working like a ballet, because the dance, unrelated to the poems, means something. It’s still a heightened reality where music invokes emotions and actors emote with their whole bodies, like in other musicals, but instead of the dance being an amplifier, it’s the storyteller.

ALW really liked a bunch of poems and wanted to put them to music. The result was a bunch of songs with a similar them but no real connection to each other. That works as a concept album, but Webber wanted a musical, an actual show where people danced to his concept album. He didn’t care about the story and didn’t expect anyone else to.

But, other people cared about the story. No one knew how to make a musical that’s not about something. Trevor Nunn added Memory and the storyline with Grizabella as an emotional centerpiece. There wasn’t a clear plot, but, on an emotional level, it now felt like something was actually happening. Gillian Lynne had no idea how to choreograph a musical about nothing, so she didn’t. She came up with her own interpretations of things and made the show about something. Several somethings, in fact. Victoria is going through puberty and discovering her sexuality. Demeter is recovering from an abusive sexual experience, with Bomba having a different attitude towards being in the same situation. The women in the story were given detailed story arcs that often revolved around their sexuality.

How sexuality is portrayed in Cats could be its own essay. 

Anyway, Cats tells its story with a unique style of choreography. Because the choreographer is the story teller, Lynne had a lot of influence over the show. She was the one who knew all the details. Blankenbuehler was brought in to choreograph a show, like a normal job for him, not knowing what that would actually mean. He came in to have dance amplify the emotions in the song lyrics like in any other musical, not knowing that that’s impossible to do with Cats. The role of choreographer meant a level of knowledge and control that would normally belong to the director, composer, and lyricist. He didn’t realize that the show having any story at all depended on him.

So, he did stuff that looked cool, but didn’t tell the story, or that took the story in a direction that it wasn’t supposed to go. Tugger dancing in front of a giant mirror is funny in the moment, but that sort of narcissism, though funny, isn’t likable, and Tugger needs to be likable. He’s a major character and he helps save the day at the end by hyping up Misto. But, 2016 Tugger hypes up Misto because if feels like Misto is the only cat he truly respects. He has the same respect for Old Deuteronomy that the others have, but he doesn’t sound quite as sincere when he sings about him. He spends so much of his number antagonizing Munkustrap in particular that it’s hard to believe that he has any respect for him.

What can be learned from these interviews is that Blankenbuehler didn’t know what his job truly was and was there because someone important thought Cats would be more popular in 2016 if it was more like Hamilton and got the Hamilton guy to give it a make-over. Nunn was so proud of the show’s success that he neglected what made it successful in the first place, and the 2016 cast was rushed through rehearsals without proper instructions. Everyone tried their best, but they were all stuck.

For the most part, I blame whoever decided to have Blankenbuehler rechoreograph the show. Blankenbuehler did what he thought his job was and the cast did their jobs to the best of their ability. What really ruined Cats 2016 was an executive decision to fix something that wasn’t broken, believing if they made the Old Big Show more like the New Big Show, that would make people love it again. But Hamilton is no more like Cats than a cat is like a dog.

[voxofthevoid]

Taking It Up The Ass Isn’t Character Growth - A Rant

So, in response to an ask a while back, I said I had a rant brewing on fandom and sex positions, and well, a lot of you wanted to see it, so here you go. You literally asked for it.

Disclaimer: This is going to talk a lot about top/bottom roles in slash fic and fandom attitude towards them and is heavily filtered through the lens of my own tastes and experiences with fandom. I’d also like to be upfront that I am 100% in favor of people writing whatever fictional content they want, and it’s not what fandom does with characters that bothers me but rather how that translates into attitudes towards real, live people. Also, this is the essay version of a slow burn AU because I regurgitate my entire fandom history before getting to the point. Beware.

I discovered fan-fiction around a decade ago, had no clue what the hell it was, got hooked and dived deeper. I started participating in fandom circa 2013, and I was fairly young and also completely inexperienced both sexually and romantically. The fandom in question was Hannibal and my ship of choice was Hannibal/Will. It was/is a very chill fandom in general, but we had our drama. And chief among the contentious topics was—you guessed it—the top/bottom debate. I can’t actually remember any other topic that was discussed and argued for so ardently in that fandom, at least in those days. Even after I drifted away, I came across a few posts on the matter.

Generally, you had two camps—people who supported strict roles and those who were in favor of switching*. And because we’re a society plagued by illogical assumptions, the strict role camp mostly had people who thought Mr. Big Bad Cannibal in the Fancy Suits wouldn’t take it up the ass because he’s older, more experienced, more mentally stable, and of course, more ‘dominant’ in personality. Yes, that sentence is chock full of problematic shit. I am aware. Lots of people were aware and argued strongly against attributing top/bottom roles to personality. I don’t remember anyone arguing as enthusiastically for Top Will, but those voices were also there. But the general idea was that assigning strict top/bottom roles to a male/male couple was casting them in a heterosexual mold and thus, the progressive option was to make them switch. Strict roles also garnered comparisons to “yaoi” and uke/seme stereotypes, which was of course bad and fetishizing and we, the Western media fans, of course had to do better. Stealth racism is fun to untangle.

Anyway, I lapped up the woke juice. Partly because I was a baby queer from Buttfuck Nowhere, Asia, who had zero exposure to LGBT+ communities and what queer folks did with each other. Partly because it was the stance taken by most of my favorite writers so it seemed like a good position to emulate.

Emulate it I did. Most discussions I had about this happened in private with the handful of close friends I had in fandom. Where it really showed was in my writing. I made sure to write switching—maybe not in every fic, but then I alternated between fics. Thing is though, I did have a preference. I liked Top Will. I created and consumed a ton of Top Hannibal, and sometimes it was okay, sometimes it was not, but I couldn’t pinpoint why it made me uncomfortable. Back then, I thought I was a cis questioning/bi girl and once again, the impression I got was that not being MLM, having a preference was automatic fetishization. So I tried my best to justify my preferences, to my friends at least. I think what I said was that fandom was skewed towards Top Hannibal, and I liked the opposite because I’m a contrary fuck. Which I am, to be fair, but this was just me desperately trying to figure shit out without being offensive.

That’s the line I touted all the way until 2018, which was when I fucked off to grad school in A City, finally freed of Buttfuck Nowhere and able to actually date. At this point, I was settled in my sexuality (girls only) and questioning my gender (non-binary or trans guy). I had also tentatively figured out during undergrad that I’m an exclusive top and a Dom. Actual attempts at dating cemented that, yes, those are my preferences, about as flexible as a steel rod. Cue motherfucking epiphany over my fanfic tastes.

And see, over these years, I was engaging intermittently with fandom. I dutifully wrote switch couples. I also continued to have rigid tastes and continued to explain it away as being a contrary fuck—to be fair, until Steve/Bucky, my preference did seem to be the opposite of the larger fandom preference. But correlation, as we know, isn’t causation. Until Steve/Bucky, I continued to write versatile couples because I honestly didn’t have the guts to just say I liked it just one way. I do now but even then, I feel compelled to add that it’s because I want to see my own taste reflected in fic, so I write/read the character I relate to as a top, it's not that deep etc. Would I be as forthright if I didn’t have that reason? Would I have such strict preferences in fic if I didn’t have strict preferences IRL? The latter’s a mystery, but the former isn’t—I wouldn’t be because fandom is still entrenched in the same ideas that got me to this point to begin with.

In every fandom I’ve been in, I’ve seen some version of this debate go around. Sometimes, it’s one party saying “why would you write Character X as a bottom, he’s so Reason A” and a reblog chain that insults the OP and/or extols the virtues of switching. Sometimes, it’s a general-ish message that says they don’t understand why people have strict preferences when we all know real gay couples switch. Sometimes, it’s blanket statements that accuse anyone with preferences of fetishizing. Sometimes, it’s the same reasoning that gets you “Character Y is a top because of Reason B” transposed on versatile couples except this takes the form of “they switch because they’re equals.”

Ya’ll, I’m fucking tired.

I have long since lost count of the number of stories I’ve seen where an exclusive top learning bottom and liking it is character growth. Where a character who prefers to bottom taking a turn on top is empowering.

Isolated, these are fine. But I’ve seen enough of such stories that it’s distinctly discomfiting and a major squick. Sometimes a trigger, if I'm too immersed in the story. I’m not going to try and burn an author at the stake because they pissed me off. I am just going to close that window and quietly handle my shit. People can write whatever they want. But this one theme hits too close to home, as you can see from this 1.6k rant.

My friend (also my ex-girlfriend) and I had an all-out bitching session about this the other day. Both of us are kinky fuckers who have rigid, complementary roles we prefer and we have both had our grueling days of struggling to reconcile our sexual tastes with our ideologies precisely because of how these things are frowned upon in conservative and progressive circles. Seeing that in fandom, of all places, is both insulting and exhausting. Topping and bottoming aren’t personality traits. Neither is D/s. It’s sexual preference and power play. It really does not have to be that deep. I am not exorcising childhood trauma using the bodies of women. My partners, former and current, have not been brainwashed by the patriarchy. We will not become better, more complete individuals once I magically stop being a stone top and my partners embrace the joys of a strap-on.

I have, with my own two eyes, seen someone say that in a really committed relationship, of course the couple will switch.

Bullshit.

It’s transparent bullshit. This does not get attributed to cisgender M/F couples. Even when the automatic assumptions of woman = bottom and man = top get addressed, switching isn't presented as the default. No one’s saying “oh, if you really love your husband, you’ll peg him”. I do know butch/femme sapphic couples get their own share of shit. Because it’s all heteronormativity, right? Can’t have any other reason for top/bottom roles.

You have two extremes with “so who’s the woman” on one end and “it’s woke only if they switch” on the other, and as far as I’m concerned, they’re equally damaging. There shouldn’t be a pressure, however subtle, to conform your taste in fiction to some arbitrary idea of progressiveness. People are going to like whatever they want anyway; all this does is create an atmosphere where those likes can’t always be freely expressed without a lot of mental gymnastics. We’re seeing so many versions of this in the pushback against so-called problematic content, but smaller, subtler versions exist too.

Fictional characters aren’t real. They can be whatever you want them to be. And yes, other people will often want them to be the exact opposite of your ideas, but that’s just how things work. Meanwhile, the people behind these usernames? They’re real. No one should be throwing real people under the bus to ‘protect’ characters that don’t exist. Hannibal Lecter doesn’t care whether he gets fucked or dismembered in Author B’s fanfiction, but the discourse that surrounds the dick up his ass? That does affect flesh and blood people.

I am not claiming that this is the only attitude in fandom. Middlegrounds do exist. Plenty of people abide by fic and let fic and there are folks who pipe up to say not every RL queer couple switches. But it’s often the extremes that reach most people. That was certainly my experience, and I’m not the only one.

I don’t really know how to end this post. It is 100% a rant and one that’s been building up for a while. Bottom line is that people’s sexual behavior varies wildly and whenever you attack sexual tastes in fanfic by saying it’s unrealistic - or worse because let’s be real, that’s a very tame word choice - please remember that there’s likely someone out there who practices it.

* I’m using switch and versatile synonymously in this post. It’s mostly concerned with top/bottom debates. A lot of what I’m saying is also echoed in portrayals of and discussions surrounding D/s dynamics, but I’m not addressing that as much for now.  

[grell-writes-stuff]

A Self Indulgent First Chapter

Enjoy...something

Words: 2,549

Genre: Young Adult / Paranormal

---------------------------------------------

Slam!

Gasp!

And then the apathetic yell of “Walk it off, Willow!” from Coach Martin. No stopping the game or running over to make sure I’m not deprived of air or dying or something. Just “Walk it off, Willow!”

I suffer for a second with the wind knocked out of my body. My inhaler finds its way from my pocket to my hand, and while I hold the one breath I force myself into and wait for my crap lungs to jump-start again, I contemplate the most-likely-illegal play that landed me flat on my back in the middle of the field. Quarterback Tom Styles’ outstretched elbow connecting with my neck at full speed in his chase for the checkered ball and high school sports glory, clearly confusing his claim-to-fame varsity moves with a pickup game of soccer since I doubt he has the brain cells to remember the rules to two sports at once. And probably a little bit on purpose. Because he’s a dick.

My chest wheezes a little, but at least it’s something, and the weak inhales finally start to catch as a sun-freckled face appears above me and blocks out the light. Ivy offers me her hand.

“Did th-that look a-as bad as it f-felt?” I sputter.

Ivy tilts her head from side-to-side like it’s the scale measuring how uncool I am. “Worse. Very pathetic. You will die alone.” She yanks me to my feet and acts like a support in spite of the height difference.

“P-Please stop making m-me take gym with y-you.”

“Nah. It’s too funny.” She ignores my scowl. “Come on. Let’s get you some water and wait for those shitty lungs to work again.”

She escorts me – hobbling like some eighty-year-old man with spine problems and not just what will soon be a terrible, ugly bruise – toward the bleachers, empty except for the water bottles of our classmates. I’m happy enough to sit on the sidelines, not just while recovering from having all of the air robbed from my chest, but for the rest of gym class, and also forever. Ivy is equally as happy, but only because it prompts the girls’ teacher, Coach Caruthers, to scream in her booming voice:

“Hammond! Back on the field!”

Without missing a beat, Ivy responds, “In the event of moderate injury, students are allowed to have a friend or fellow student for mental, emotional, or physical support. It’s in the code of conduct.”

I don’t know if that’s actually something in our school’s rule book, but Ivy has read the whole thing cover-to-cover for the sole purpose of seeing how many provisions she can disregard without getting into trouble through malicious acts of over-compliance or sheer dumb luck. So, she’s either following the rules to the letter or lying about them. As I sit, I see that Caruthers does not look impressed when Ivy plops onto the bench next to me. The whole reason our gender-segregated phys. ed classes collaborate so often is because they’re full of athletes – and me, the outlier – so more often than not, it’s just an extra practice for the varsity players. Even though Ivy was born with the “good at physical stuff” gene, and talented enough to be a forward on our girls’ soccer team, she prefers to rely on the natural part of her ability and not the practice part to the vexation of literally everyone.

“Hammond!” Caruthers screams. “On the field, or off the team!”

Ivy squirts a stream of water into her mouth and quickly swallows before passing the bottle on to me. “Cool. Who’s replacing me?” she retorts.

I focus on downing some water and breathing evenly again and not on the vein beginning to pop out of Caruthers’ angry-red neck. She can’t say anything back because, well, Kinross High School isn’t huge. Pretty much everyone who can play sports is already playing sports, and as far as Ivy’s tendency to disrespect anyone of authority can go, she’s also crucial to securing victory over visiting teams. Caruthers just grits her teeth and returns to refereeing the game where Tom Styles has once again stolen the ball that got away from him, this time without incapacitating anybody since the one guy with asthma has left the field. (Asshole.) I watch as Abby Jefferson starts to gain on him, and Tom makes the choice to skillfully send the ball flying across the grass to the next open player, Drew Young, the only person in our gym class who does even less than I do.

That’s not for lack of talent either. I’ve seen Drew actually try on the rare occasion, and he could absolutely score a spot on a boys’ sports team. But most games, like today, he receives the pass and kicks the ball along to the next open player – it’s intercepted by one of the girls – and continues pacing the field leisurely. Coach Martin yells at him to get his head in the game, but Drew doesn’t bother. If the activity doesn’t involve selling the pens that he stole from the cheerleaders to the football team, the little weasel has no interest.

The game continues on.

Ivy reclines until her shoulders are touching the bench behind us, tilting her head back and staring at the sky. I have to wonder how comfortable it is.

“My dear Sid,” she theatrically addresses me. She likes to be dramatic sometimes. She thinks it’s funny. “I have a proposal for you.”

“I told you I’m not training a messenger pigeon with you. We only live three houses apart.”

“I’ll wear you down eventually, but no, that’s not what I wanted to talk about.” She looks over at me without breaking her questionable position. “I know what we’re doing tonight. I’ve concocted a perfect plan, you see, for this most All-Hallowed of Eves.”

“You can say ‘Halloween’ like a normal person. It’s okay.”

“Let me bring you back in time,” she continues, ignoring me, “to the Kinross of yore. Just decades after its founding, the Salem Witch Trials came about and our town was no exception to the noose–”

“Salem is two hours away, Ivy,” I interrupt with the fact.

“Shut up. The Salem Witch Trials swept across the state of Massachusetts, migrated into Kinross, and thus the most famous trial of Kinross history was set in motion when one Ann Kelly was accused of being a creature of the occult!”

“Can I get the abridged version of this plan please?” I ask her. “Like, the part that takes place in this century?”

Finally fed up with my interjections, Ivy sighs exaggeratedly and rolls her eyes at me. “Blah, blah, blah, she was hanged, she’s buried in the historical section of Riverview, and we’re going there tonight during the witching hour to see” – she switches to her best spooky voice with elongated, trembling vowels – “her haunted grave.”

“Hard pass.”

That makes her sit upright again with a slouch to her posture. She’s wearing a fabricated pout. “Sid,” she whines.

“Ivy, I’m not sneaking out with you at three in the morning on Halloween to go see a ‘haunted grave.’” She opens her mouth, but I follow up with, “Our parents would kill us. Besides, what’s-her-name probably just angered a bunch of Puritans and got executed because of religious prejudice. That doesn’t mean she was a witch.”

“Well, of course. I think angering Puritans was a mandatory activity back then. But come on, Sid! The legend says she’s a witch, and it’s the perfect Halloween thing! I think we are obligated – if not encouraged by the spirit of Halloween herself – to go see a ghost witch.”

“Does the spirit of Halloween have a gender?”

Ivy pushes past that and waits to catch my eye dead-on. “Bet you a hundred bucks we actually see Ann Kelly’s phantom.”

My lips part to say no just a split second before I register the number. “Wait – a hundred?”

Something cocky has taken up her face, and she recites with inflated confidence, “Ten A-Hams. A Franklin. A thousand Roosevelts.”

“You know what? Fine. I’ll take your money,” I tell her. “You’re on.”

Her grin is smug as we fist-bump on it and close the deal, but I decide that I don’t care so much with the promise of an easy hundred dollars coming my way. Ivy ingests another stream of water, and swallows while her eyes quickly scan the grass to catch up with the game again. Suddenly, a yell flies from her mouth:

“Box him out, Julia! Come on!”

Then she’s up off the bleachers and jogging back out onto the field. As unwilling as Ivy is to make an effort and practice, she’s also equally as competitive, even if this is just a gym class where victory doesn’t really matter. I, on the other hand, take my time on the bench. Struggling to breathe isn’t my idea of fun. I need to stop letting Ivy manipulate me into taking phys. ed. If she keeps it up, she might kill me.

 ***

I can nearly be qualified as a mess by the time Ivy and I reach our lockers after final period, and she’s humming like she’s got live wires for veins despite just spending an hour burning off energy. Meanwhile, I’m still recovering from my last bout of airlessness after I returned to the field and ran for maybe ten minutes. And I feel gross. The benefit of having P.E. last period is that I don’t have to shower here and can wait until I get home or to Ivy’s. The con is the window of time in between. I usually try to keep the gap as short as possible, and therefore, my time at my locker brief. I think Ivy and I took enough time getting changed after gym to avoid most people – at least the non-athletes.

“Hi, Sidney! Hi, Ivy!”

A mixture of feelings suddenly rockets through me and don’t add up in the end. While my chest is beginning to slowly overclock, and the hallway seems a few degrees warmer and rising steadily, I’m ready to play dead as Naomi Park opens the locker right next to mine on the opposite side of Ivy’s. Her shoulder is a fraction of an inch from touching my arm which is probably too close when I’m still drenched in gym sweat. Ivy greets her politely with ease while my brain is trying to catch up with the mundane situation and not think about how she smells like some kind of flowery perfume and I smell like crap.

“Hey, Naomi,” leaves my mouth and sounds too drawn-out and weirdly cheesy, so I just try to smile to make up for it. That feels awkward too, but she thankfully doesn’t seem to react to that, and her glossy pink lips tilt up without much effort into a perfect grin.

She puts some books on the shelf in her locker. “Any exciting Halloween plans?”

“Nope,” Ivy says immediately, likely because our actual idea involves a wager and might not be entirely legal – it’s a misdemeanor at the least. I just take the hint and don’t add anything to refute her answer.

“You? Any plans? For tonight – Halloween?” I wish that had come out differently. It could have at least sounded coherent.

“Nothing tonight,” Naomi responds. “But Heather’s having a ‘Belated Halloween Bash’ on Saturday while her parents are out of town so I’m ‘required’ to be there.”

“Oh, cool. That’s…cool.”

“I guess so. Heather’s parties get a little boring after a while though. I bet your plans for Saturday are much more fun.”

“Yep. Pints of ice cream, horror movies, and making bets on how long it takes Sid to hurl when the blood starts gushing,” Ivy interjects.

“Ivy.” I mutter the snap of her name so it doesn’t sound as harsh as I want it to. The temperature in the hallway rises astronomically.

Naomi giggles, which hurts. Well, it would if her laugh wasn’t so musical and twinkly. It’s like a damn harp quartet. “Sounds like a good time,” she comments. Her locker door shuts. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

“Yeah, totally – tomorrow. See ya’, Naomi!” She’s nearly out of earshot down the hall, and I wait until I know she definitely can’t hear anything before I say to Ivy without daring a look at her, with the heat of embarrassment and shame boiling me alive from the inside, “Please say nothing.”

I can hear the grin on her face when she speaks. “You realize she’s just another human being, right?”

“Are you kidding? She’s at the right hand of Heather Loch. She’s popular. I’m shocked she still knows my name.”

Ivy shuts her own locker with a characteristic slam. “Dude, you’re ridiculous. She likes you back. If you just talked to her, and told her that you like her, you would have a girlfriend.”

“Ivy, she thinks I’m a loser.”

“I think you’re a loser and I still like you sometimes.”

I roll my eyes and can’t say anything to that. I don’t care if Ivy thinks I’m lame. It’s not the same. We’ve been together for as long as I can remember, so at this point, she’s locked into this friendship, no matter how easy it would be for her to hang out with the people at Kinross High who are actually popular and liked.

I close my locker and we start walking to the main exit of the building and eventually across the school’s student parking lot. Some groups linger, but most people seem to be dispersing and heading home for the day. Ivy and I walk straight through the lot as always, avoiding the cars pulling out.

I want to avoid the Styles’ Ford Everest – which is so bright red that it’s an assault on the eyes – but we have to walk past it and the clump of popular kids loitering next to it: blonde, perfect, popular Heather Loch, Asshole Quarterback Tom and his not-as-terrible twin, Ed, and my locker neighbour and secret crush, Naomi. The girls are under the guys’ arms like they belong there, popular with popular. There’s usually not much interaction between our pair and their group because I’m pretty sure most of the popular kids either don’t know who I am or just hate me for no reason, but today Tom decides to rub in his full-contact plays on the soccer field.

“Nice moves out there, Pussy Willow!” he shouts clear across the lot. It makes me feel the bruise on my back, still fresh, but I’m past the point of being mad about it. Really, Tom’s just an annoying jerk, and that’s all he’ll ever be.

I try to tap into Ivy-like sarcasm and passiveness. “I get it. Because my last name is Willow, and you’re insulting me. That’s really funny. It’s original.”

He yells something back that includes one of Ivy’s favourite swear words, but we disregard it and turn out of the parking lot in the direction of our houses. Ivy states that we’re going to my place because, in her mind, it’s easier to sneak out of a single-parent household. I don’t try to refute it because arguing with Ivy when she has her mind made up is like talking to a brick wall.

[bigskydreaming]

Hoo boy. Actually using a cut on this one because it got long even by my standards, so....yikes. LOL. Umm, it started out salty but then it got angsty and then it got salty again and then maybe salt-angsty? Idk, whatever, its about Tim and also Damian and also BFTC and also Ric and its a freaking mess but also probably more coherent than I’m advertising it as here? I don’t fucking know, man, my baseline for this stuff is so fucked, never take my word for it. Okay, anyway!

So I’m probably always gonna be more salty about Tim and the reactions to the Robin/Red Robin thing and to Dick not believing him about Bruce, than I am even about people giving Dick shit for being a bad brother to Jason.

Because with the latter, even though I shout a lot about how there’s no real canon basis for the “Dick was an asshole to Jason before his death” stuff, it is true that most of their interactions had to happen offpanel, where we didn’t see them....so even though I’ll always be like umm, guys, why do you insist on headcanoning Dick as Douche of the Year when you could just as easily headcanon him and Jason getting along....I mean, I do still understand that we didn’t see either of those things really, so its dealer’s choice.

But its different with Tim, because we DID see Dick build a relationship with him, practically every step of the way. For years and YEARS, both in real time and comic book time, Dick made Tim a huge fucking priority in his life. Called him his brother long before Bruce adopted him. Took him places to train, and tried to make training fun too at times. Checked in on him, came running when he needed help. Dick DID THE WORK of building their bond. We saw it happen, in canon. It didn’t just magically appear fully formed, no more than Dick’s bond with Damian did....yeah Tim wasn’t as resistant as Damian was, but that doesn’t change the fact that Dick made an effort to show up in this kid’s life as often as he realistically could. Dick was a rock solid presence for Tim that he could count on, knew he could count on, he’d witnessed with his own eyes how damn much Dick cared about him and worried about him. Dick DOTED on this guy.

And then pretty much the first time Dick does something that Tim and his stans didn’t like - not even because he WANTED to, but because he literally felt like it was the choice he HAD to make, to extend some kind of meaningful gesture that this ten year old assassin who pretty much ONLY saw value in things like symbols and legacies and mantles at that particular point in his life would actually see as a reason to stay - the second Dick prioritized someone else over Tim, not because he didn’t want to be there for Tim, but because he had to make an actual CHOICE, he was just one person, he literally could not be all things to all people all at the same time....

Like, Tim and a lot of his fandom act like this was Dick abandoning Tim as a brother. Rejecting him. What????

And for the record, if we’re gonna talk about how dare Dick choose this kid he barely knows over Tim, his brother of years, not even mentioning what Damian did to Tim already.....like, let’s not forget that its not like Damian was some random stranger who held no possible emotional significance to Dick whatsoever. Like, Tim was fixated on his conviction that Bruce was alive, but Dick didn’t disbelieve him just to be an asshole, he just genuinely believed that he’d buried his father....and here was this prickly little ten year old who was the LAST possible piece of Bruce left in the world. Like, screw the idea that Dick was more drawn to Damian from the start because Damian was ‘the blood son’ and Bruce’s heir more than Tim was, that makes zero sense without Dick devaluing his own equally adoptive connection to Bruce himself. 

Nah, instead try the take that for Dick, Bruce wasn’t just the source of his family in the sense that Bruce was a second father to him....it was also because time and time again, Bruce added to Dick’s family, grew it by yet one more sibling, gave him more family than he’d ever have had without Bruce....and here comes Damian. One last addition to Dick’s family, via Bruce....and he’s not especially significant for the reason that he’s Bruce’s biological son unlike the rest of them, and this somehow elevates him over Dick’s other brothers from the start.....nope, its just as likely a read that Damian’s significant for Dick, he’s someone Dick HAS to take a chance on, HAS to bring into their family one way or another, has to get to ACCEPT them as family, to BE family, no matter what it takes.....because Damian is the last new sibling they’ll ever have, as far as Dick knows at that point. 

Bruce is dead, he thinks. There will be no more new brothers and sisters from that point on, whether biological or adopted....because Bruce isn’t there to be the one to widen their family again, one more time. No, Dick thinks, that falls to him now, he’s the only one who can do that.....he’s the only one who can make this one last gift from their dad, this prickly assassin child who so clearly is desperate for love and affection and approval and the very same things so many of them struggled with, its up to Dick to make sure he doesn’t LEAVE, that he doesn’t reject THEM, that he stays, stays family even without Bruce to be the connection...because anything less than that, anything other than making this one last potential brother, because he’s already connected to Bruce, the actual basis of that connection being shared biology not really that relevant, just that this connection EXISTS even without Bruce’s presence....failing to make him their brother in REALITY, in FULLNESS, rather than just a tangential association that benefits none of them, adds nothing to their family...to Dick, the very idea of that must be like it’d be failing Bruce one last time, squandering his last gift to their family, when his greatest gifts have always been the siblings he added to their number. 

So Dick had to get Damian to stay, to see that he had family here, by any means necessary, and so of course Dick did the only thing he knew would work, the only thing that has EVER worked except for in the case of Cass who is an outlier and should not be cited in reference to any of her brothers’ emotional obstinancy ever...he gave Robin to Damian....the only thing that has ever bonded him and his brothers, the only thing Dick has that didn’t come straight from Bruce and that he could offer on his own, the only thing that all his brothers value so highly, and thus in that they’re all connected.

And its like, so the first time Dick does something that Tim actually doesn’t like, that’s proof that Dick doesn’t really care about him, like all those years of bending himself into a pretzel to try and show up for his little brother every chance he could, no matter what else was going on in his life....like suddenly they mean nothing. Like Dick was only ever actually a good brother...so long as he was doing what Tim wanted. So long as he was prioritizing Tim properly.

And people compare it to Bruce and what happened between he and Dick years earlier, when Bruce fired Dick as Robin, when first off, there’s the fact that Robin is and was Dick’s and never Bruce’s, but I’ve gone over that to death, but secondly, there was no FIRING Tim as Robin, like there was no scene ever where Dick took Robin AWAY from Tim. I realize that might be parsing semantics to a degree, as by making Damian Robin, there was the implicit assumption that Tim now would no longer be Robin, but my point is that....there was NO scene where Dick did or said anything that can reasonably be construed as him thinking Tim wasn’t good enough to be Robin, wasn’t cutting it, was a liability, or that he wasn’t his brother. Could it have been written better, the exact how and when of making Damian Robin, that took Tim’s feelings more into account? Sure. 

But I maintain there is no version of that scenario that was ever going to satisfy fans who simply wanted Tim and only Tim to be Robin and weren’t interested in this newest one....which is ENTIRELY different from what happened between Bruce and Dick, no matter WHICH version of that story you go with....because there WAS no one else to be Robin at that particular time. It wasn’t happening because Bruce felt someone else needed it more than Dick. The ONLY conclusions there, were always going to be that....Bruce’s motivations or thoughts there were about Dick, in some way or another.

With Tim and Damian.....it wasn’t that at all, because it wasn’t like Dick just out of the blue said hey, Bruce dying has made me decide its too dangerous out there, I’m going to be Batman but I’m going to do it alone, I don’t want you being Robin anymore. No, he only did it to GIVE Damian something, to bring in MORE family, make that circle WIDER and try and build a connection that at the time was non existent. That’s an entirely different motivation than just wanting to TAKE AWAY Robin from Tim, purely because of something to do or not to do with Tim and nobody else.

And Dick literally told Tim it was because he felt Tim was too GOOD to be Robin anymore? Because he viewed Tim as an equal and wouldn’t be comfortable ordering him around in the field, the way Batman and Robin’s dynamic has always worked? And that just....didn’t mean anything to either Tim or most of his fans, because it wasn’t what they WANTED to hear, it wasn’t ‘oh I realized I made a mistake, Tim please be Robin again’ so it might as well have never been said, I guess.

But another huge component of Dick’s angst when he was fired as Robin was because no matter how close he and Bruce had been before that, Bruce had never actually taken the initiative and clarified what their relationship was without Batman and Robin in the picture, what Dick was to him, if and when Dick was no longer Robin. And even after he fired Dick, its not like he stepped up then either to offer an alternative view of how he saw Dick....he was perfectly willing to let Dick just go off and become Nightwing and at no point take the initiative to reach out to Dick and clarify hey, just because I thought it was too dangerous for you to be Robin, that doesn’t mean I stopped viewing you as my family, as my son. No, he waited for Dick to come back to HIM before he could even manage to utter that he’d missed Dick at all.

And that is not Dick and Tim’s dynamic and never was??? Because Dick CONSTANTLY told Tim he was family, he was his brother, long before all of that went down in RR #1. Dick expresses affection openly and often, so much so that the joke has long been that he can be smothering with that. And at the time, Tim was very much legally a Wayne, as was Dick, so....where on earth in any of that was the implication that Dick was in any way trying to reject Tim as a brother? That whatever Dick did with the mantle of Robin could at that point have anything to do with their status as brothers....which had for a long time by that point existed entirely independent of what they both did or didn’t do as vigilantes?

Not to mention the fact that unlike with Bruce and him, where Bruce had shown no effort to reach out to Dick in the literally-according-to-canon EIGHTEEN MONTHS between firing Dick after the Joker shot him and Dick coming back to the cave to confront Bruce about adopting Jason and making him Robin....

Again, not remotely accurate in comparison to Dick and Tim, because even when Tim left, pissed off and hurt....Dick still tried to check up on him constantly, worried about him? Asked others to look after him when Tim kept rejecting his attempts to reach out? Where the fuck does all this stuff about Dick making no effort to hang on to Tim and keep him in his life come from, I would def love to know.

Because if its just about the fact that Dick didn’t believe him about Bruce being alive at first.....I’m just gonna say it. That’s a really fucking shitty thing to hold against someone. LOLOL, yeah, he sucks because he ‘refused’ to believe Tim that the father he’d just buried and whose life he essentially now was living - raising his son, running his company, wearing his mantle, protecting his city, all of which is despite the fact that Dick’s ONLY wish for himself for years, as Tim well knew, had simply been to be his own man, live his own life, not just a pale imitation of Bruce’s....

Like basically, that whole thing there is Tim and/or his fandom resenting Dick for.....being too emotionally fragile at that point in time to deal with the possibility Bruce might actually be alive, might be able to be brought back, brought home....since what goes hand in fucking hand with that is the CRUSHING EMOTIONAL DEATHBLOW that’s the inevitable fallout of THAT if Tim turned out not to be right.

We of course know that Tim was right in the end, and we knew it even then too, those of us reading back at the time....because its comics, and its Bruce, and of course he wasn’t going to stay dead forever, which meant yeah duh, Tim is probably right, even without any evidence yet we can say that.

But without that awareness, without any kind of GUARANTEE....can you imagine being told hey, I know it literally sounds too good to be true, too good to be believed, but that thing you’re probably wishing like hell could happen, your dad could come back, maybe he’s not even really dead at all....guess what, it can! And like....you wouldn’t at all be hesitant about that, afraid to trust it, afraid to believe....because that means finding out later that he really was dead and not coming back would be like losing him all over again? Even though you never actually even got him back, just the idea, the hope of it, but that’s still enough to make you start to dream of how much better things could be, if and when you find him and bring it home....except nope, now you have to wake up again, dream’s over, time to face reality....your dad is still dead and he’s always going to be.

And then can you imagine being RESENTED for that, for not believing that because you’re literally just trying to protect yourself from losing anything else when you feel like you’ve already lost everything you can possibly bear to lose and anything else could break you.....to have this thrown in your face and cited as further proof you don’t really love your little brother, you’re rejecting him....when it has absolutely nothing to do with his credibility and everything to do with the freaking emotional toll that’s demanded of asking a twice orphaned guy to just take it on faith because its you that hey, our dad isn’t really dead, we can get him back?!

Not to mention the fact that Tim had almost gone some VERY fucking dark roads in the not too distant past because he had trouble dealing with Kon’s death, and those of his other friends, not to mention his other dad, Jack....all things that fandom cite for why Dick was so brutal to basically pile on to all of Tim’s other losses by taking Robin away too....but Dick KNEW all this and that’s literally a huge part of WHY he was so worried about Tim, because being aware that your little brother canonically has trouble dealing with major losses and was still reeling from a shit ton of major losses when he lost Bruce too and oh god, I know I made it worse by making Damian Robin instead but I didn’t know what else to do there and its not like I can take it back or change things when I didn’t see an alternative in the first place.....like...are these not legitimate freaking reasons for thinking that said little brother insisting that Bruce wasn’t dead and they could get him back the same way he refused to accept there was no way to bring Kon back....miiiight be more to do with explantions other than...oh yeah our Dad is actually totes alive and just time traveling because that’s what happens when magic god energy kills you, duh, everyone knows that?

Like, its not really that much of a stretch even to take practically everything Dick says to Tim about Tim’s possible mental state as just Dick projecting like hell about his OWN mental state and how much he’d fucking love to take a break and take some time to get his head sorted out before diving right back into the chaotic mess that is their day to day lives.

But like, both Tim and many of his fandom STILL really just don’t even hold back about not caring about any of the time Dick put into building and nurturing the fuck out of a happy, healthy, wholesome relationship with his little brother, not when he then turned around and ruined it by hurting Tim by.....reluctantly prioritizing someone else at a time that Tim really could have used him in the specific way and dynamic they were used to....and not being willing to believe him about Bruce, and in doing so open himself up to the possibility of losing Bruce all over again.

Like???? So many of the mistakes Dick is most vilified for in Batfandom as a whole are in reality actually just....times when he did something people don’t like, because it didn’t center or prioritize their personal favorite SPECIFICALLY, as in above all others. Even though in almost all of these specifics, Dick is actually asked to CHOOSE between two different loved ones or siblings, both equally demanding his attention and focus and efforts....and he’s only allowed to prioritize one, because that innately creates conflict with the other.

Like I know when we stan, its pretty natural for us to get blinded by our biases and not look at the whole picture, like of course we all inevitably tend to think our personal faves were most right or most valid or most hurt, but like just look at that for a second....

Look at how many of the occasions when Dick is considered to have made a mistake and really done wrong by one of his family as a result....how many of those situations are literally a catch-22, where the ONLY way for Dick to have made the ‘right choice’ in the eyes of one particular character’s fans....is for him to have chosen to prioritize that character over the one he actually prioritized in canon....which simply means that even if Dick had taken the road not taken there in canon, he STILL would be just as resented....just by the other’s fans now instead. 

Or when its not about fans at all, but characters, like in the Forever Evil aftermath....the ONLY way for Dick to have made the ‘right choice’ in the eyes of all the characters who give him crap for it later....would have been for him to look his father in the eye, while he himself is at absolute rock bottom, an emotional wreck, and in response to Bruce’s blatant manipulation of Dick’s guilt complex there, say “no, I’m not going to do what you’re asking me to do, even if it costs me your trust and affection?” Like can you imagine being pissed at a guy for NOT being able to say that to their dad when their dad is currently trying to pull the mother of all guilt trips...as if that’s an easy thing to do even when someone’s calm and at their peak emotional health....and not like, recovering from having been tortured and killed and revived just the day before?

Like ahflshglashfa. Srsly? C’MON!

And my question is okay, so when have ANY of the others ever been DEMANDED to make a choice, to pick either Dick or someone else to make their priority...and they chose Dick over that someone else? The CLOSEST I can actually come up with is the end of Under the Red Hood, when Jason taunts Bruce by telling him he better go check on Dick.....BECAUSE THEY BOTH SAW THE SKY TURN GREEN FROM GOTHAM CUZ SOMEONE JUST DROPPED A NUKE ON DICK’S CITY.

(And for the record, I ABSOLUTELY have read stories that bring that up as a point of resentment for Jason, that Bruce was willing to leave their confrontation....because he was worried about Dick....who was in the city that was just leveled by a nuke. Like...that’s not him running to kiss Dick’s boo boo all better because he skinned his knee maybe, lmfao.)

But srsly, its easy not to get blamed for making the ‘wrong’ choice in an impossible ask that doesn’t ALLOW for you to ever make an actually ‘right’ choice...when YOU’RE not the character who is constantly put in that lose/lose situation, specifically in regards to your family. Which is not really a situation that Jason, Tim, Cass, Damian, Duke, are really ever often in, you gotta admit?

AND DICK CONSTANTLY IS.

But yeah, I’m especially cranky about this today, hence the epic rant even by my standards lol, because I’ve been stewing about the Ric storyline still, and what I was saying there about how nobody’s ever really asked to put forth effort that actually COSTS them something, for Dick’s sake specifically...

Because that’s what made me think of the Red Robin stuff, after BOTC. Because just like the Batfamily apparently has no big issues with leaving Ric alone, per his wishes....it would have been SO much easier for Dick to just take the hint when Tim basically was like I’m mad at you, looking to stay that way, so leave me alone unless you’re ready to help me do what I think needs to be done. But Dick DIDN’T stop trying, even though Tim was PISSED at him, and making no effort to hide it, Dick was still like....fuck it, I’ll send Steph to try and look out for you if you won’t let me do it, and yeah maybe that’s less than fucking ideal too but I’m not making good decisions here for a reason like OH YEAH MY LIFE WENT DOWN THE CRAPPER WHEN DAD DIED TOO, and just because you’re mad at me doesn’t mean I can stop worrying about you.

So Ric was mean to the Batfamily, and because of that, I should give a shit what this has to do with them and whether or not they owe it to DICK, their brother, friend, son, to still show up and keep TRYING anyway, no matter what Ric says, because they’re not here for him anyway, they’re here for Dick Grayson, who they all know and believe is still in there somewhere, and they’re not going to let him get hurt anymore than he has been just because the guy in the driver’s seat right now insists he’s not him and doesn’t want to be?

Nope, I’m more like, WELCOME TO THE CLUB, BATFAMILY, FOUNDING PRESIDENT: DICK GRAYSON. Now you too get to for once share in the joys and delights of having to ask more than once for your brother to let you so much as freaking HUG him, without him insulting you or throwing that in your face or bringing up all the times you did stuff he didn’t like and that’s why he doesn’t want you around.

Except.....*searches high and low* no Batfam currently demonstrating levels of give a shit and/or remorse in regards to Dick, shock, woe, how can this be, what a mystery, much befuddlement.

[anotheruserwithnoname]

Thoughts on Picard S01E02

Saw the second episode of Star Trek: Picard last night. I liked it perhaps even a bit more than the first episode. Some spoilers follow, so a break line first...

I have to admit I’m not understanding the near-condemnation that ST: Picard is getting from some fans - including fans I am in full alignment with in regards to other shows. Episode 2 moved very swiftly, it wasn’t boring as I’ve heard some describe it. Nor was it earth-bound as others have griped. Major scenes took place on Mars and in the converted Borg cube. (And even if a lot of it is based on Earth, what of it? We saw very little of Trek-era, original-timeline Earth in the original franchise. I’m happy to be able to explore it a bit more. Not all Star Trek needs to be about running between planets - and we’ll get more than enough of that later in the season, I’m sure.)

The show continues to be a direct sequel to the TNG episodes “The Measure of a Man” and “The Offspring” and has some of the tightest continuity I’ve seen. It almost reaches the point of “continuity lockout” for newcomers, but so far they’ve stayed on the line of it being follow-able by people who never watched TNG or don’t remember the minutiae of specific episodes from 30 years ago.

And the show isn’t “dour and serious” either. There are some very funny moments, such as Picard griping about why he doesn’t like science fiction (which is even funnier to those who know that Patrick Stewart turned his nose up at sci-fi before he was cast as Picard, even reportedly teasing his BBC Hamlet co-star Lalla Ward about her role in Doctor Who), and the “9344 days since an assimilation” sign (or whatever that number was) put up in both English and Romulan at the Borg cube.

I’m really liking the new characters, especially Orla Brady’s Laris and Jamie McShane as Zhaban, who Romulans who live with and take care of Picard and who were former Tal Shiar agents. There’s a great scene where Laris and Picard do some 24-century CSI work that is a lot of fun. If CBS is planning more spinoffs, they could do worse than to basically give us a Romulan version of Nick and Nora Charles.

Also liking Isa Briones’ characters of Dahj (r.i.p.) and Soji. It’s still early days to get a real feel for her yet, though. And then we have some characters only introduced in episode 2 such as Peyton List’s Lt. Rizzo, a Romulan spy, who is one of the best female Trek villains I’ve seen since Commander Sela.

If I had a complaint, it would be that Picard is going to the same well Discovery went to. Rizzo has undergone alteration to look human and infiltrate Starfleet - just as Ash Tyler did in Discovery. There are also some other aspects, such as the environmental disaster that befell the Romulans, that is basically a do-over of what happened to the Klingons in Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country (though they appear to have fixed that one by the TNG era as Quonos is still alive and well).

But I certainly have no trouble accepting Starfleet acting like dicks to the Romulans after hearing it explained in pretty clear terms why they couldn’t help. And the conspiracy within Starfleet, revealed in episode 2, also suggests the decision had other origins, as well. I also liked the fact that for once we actually see a hero have to deal with the aftermath of a “big speech.” Not everyone is going to be cheery about it.

One thing I didn’t like was the language. Although the admiral dropping an F-bomb on Picard at least felt natural - not like the “let’s swear because we’re on streaming so we can” moment in Discovery season 1 - I don’t think it was needed. Apparently Laris also uses the F-word at one point, but I honestly never caught it if she did. Maybe it was the accent (apparently the current group of Romulans learned English in either the UK or Ireland). While I don’t agree with those who feel Trek characters shouldn’t swear because back in 1986 Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home allegedly established that swearing had been abolished (something immediately forgotten by Star Trek V, and most of the TNG films had at least one bit of non-TV-friendly swearing each) - I do think there’s time and place; if Laris did drop an F-bomb, her use there was more appropriate than the admiral’s.

Anyway, so far so good, and except for Brent Spiner (whose de-aging looks a LOT better in final form than in the trailers) we’ve yet to see any of the other returning cast members, so they’ll add a lot to the show when they eventually arrive. (By the way, in episode 1 I appreciated the fact an image of Worf is shown, confirming that the “Klingorcs” design of Discovery isn’t going to be continued in Picard, at least not in the case of Worf, should he ever appear.)

[segenassefa]

10: Musical Discourse: Slime Language 2

Young Thug’s new project, Slime Language 2, is almost reminiscent of Pi’erre Bourne’s TLOP4, except more features (Thug got all these niggas in the studio and told them “We’re doing this now or never”), including ex-girlfriend and entrepreneur Karlae, Jim Jones, Drake, Travis Scott, and Coi Leray. There is a heavy YSL l influence (obviously) as well as some OVO features (hey Drake, hey Nav!), Coi Leray (no comment), and even a Rowdy Rebel feature, fresh from the pen. This project does a good job at touching different extremes of the rap music spectrum – Thug manages to get some songs for the ladies (“I Like”, which, to me, is very reminiscent of the City Girls, “On the Low”, and “Trance”), typical athlete walk-out music, and some songs that follow that “no one ever believed in me/everyone leaves me” kinda vibe.

If we’re gonna keep it 100, the album in itself is not necessarily a stand-out – very few songs have that “wow” factor - and to be honest - it’s mid, as the kids would call it. BUT, in the spirit of neutrality, I’ll be breaking down my favourites, as a self-proclaimed know most and trap music enthusiast, especially since today marks the one-month anniversary of its release - and if you disagree, suck ya mum (JK….kinda.)

“Take It to Trial” – Young Thug, YSL, Gunna, Yak Gotti

This track is probably one of the best on the album, and not just because the Yak Gotti feature ties it all together, but for the overall cohesiveness of everyone on the track, which almost makes it sound like one person entirely throughout. Take It to Trial was one of the tracks on the album that was released before the drop of SL2, giving it some time to marinate before the drop of the project in its entirety. While the beat is nothing too crazy, it’s still a standout due to the lyricism of the track and the abnormally high pitch Thug manages to hit on the chorus, as he adamantly requests to take this shit to mf’in trial.

I don’t know if the herpes bar making me think of NBA YoungBoy makes me a bad person, but I guess only time will tell.

“I Like” – YSL, Karlae, Coi Leray

Now, listen. I am not going to lie and say that I support all women. Somewhere in my heart, I know Coi Leray got to where she is due to a combination of light skin privilege (insert noises of disgust), some form of nepotism, her marketability, and her longstanding time in the industry (she was, in fact, one of the Mindless Behaviour video girls, so that in itself should tell you how long she’s secretly been in the game. She’s almost like a slightly darker Alexa Demie, except she isn’t lying about her age).

But this song???

THIS MF SONG?

There has to be crack in it. Because it’s not that good - the beat is not one which you run back for its complexity, nor its lyricism, but DAMN, it’s a good ass song.

Both she and Karlae captured the effortless sexy feeling certain songs are supposed to give you (fellas, not sure if you’ve ever felt it, but I feel like the laydeez know what I mean). It’s giving very much Uber Black on the freeway in an amazing outfit, drunk out of your mind - and I’m here for it! While I do feel like Karlae can rap circles around Coi, if given the opportunity, I think one thing I can say is that Coi does have the unabashed confidence of a man in her same position and that in itself makes this song *that* much more powerful.

“Mil in Vegas” – YSL, Young Thug, NAV

When I’m old and in my nursing home of choice (Astagfurallah, but you never know), I hope Young Thug drops a purely R&B album; something like Hndrxx but a lil’ less suicidal.

Or that the nursing home has enough money to hire him for a mid-afternoon senior citizen concert, but let’s tackle one problem at a time.

This track is almost like the niggas’ version of “I Like” but instead of boo boo Mizz Leray, we get a melodic NAV feature. In addition to my appreciation of him realizing he needs to stop using the fucking n-word (he shouldn’t have been using it in the first place, but progress is better than perfection), I think there’s something to be said with rap songs that are done outside of the major key; it def adds a little pinash, and some depth that wouldn’t have been there before – and NAV’s voice is suited perfectly for these otherwise challenging scales.

The only other thing going for this song is the way Thug looks in that yellow turtleneck on the Spotify visualizer – and with that being said, I hope niggas will be rocking more bright colors in the seasons to come.

(Also, what the fuck is NAV’s obsession with Los Angeles? I swear there’s at least one bar in every song).

“Slatty” – YSL, Young Thug, Gunna, Lil Duke, Yak Gotti

Mark my motherfucking words - when we have in-person sporting events, I will bet my Large Telfar bag that at least one draftee has this song as their walk-out music.

This track incorporates the one word that every nigga in YSL records (and current rap culture) has heat-stamped in their vocabulary, and while the word “slat” has been massacred by hordes of white teenage boys on TikTok, I will say that this chorus is catchy as fuck.

The real star of this song (shockingly) is the juxtaposition of Yak Gotti’s gritty, emory-board vocal cords, the raspy voice of Lil Duke, and the familiar buttery sound of Thug’s vocals.

Why the visualizer has P. Diddy in it, God only knows. But our adeer is doing his thing in those big ass Versace shades, so who am I to say anything.

“Diamonds Dancing” – YSL, Young Thug, Travis Scott, Gunna

I have no commentary other than asking rappers to please stop using Dr. King for any of their metaphors – he cheated on Correta with a white woman (and only one that we KNOW of, for that matter).

So, I stand here humbly before you, petitioning for the alternative bars including:

“Dripped in Dolce & Gabanna / Black diamonds like Thomas Sankara”

“New girl like Lori Harvey / chain Black like Africa, Marcus Garvey”

or something along those lines. Even a Sojourner Truth bar, at this fucking point.

  “Solid” – YSL, Young Thug, Gunna, Drake

Of course, OF FUCKING COURSE, this track was saved by none other than the culture vulture himself - the man, the myth, and apparently now, the fucking candlemaker, Mr. Aubrey Drake Graham.

(Sidenote: Why is graham such a hard word to spell?).

I know y’all niggas heard - and felt - him very clearly when he said he needed some head and some moral support right away (not like y’all are gonna get any, but understandable if you felt it).

Something about the subtle use of steel pan, and mafioso type beat that the OVO clan has such an affinity for, really brings this hoe all the way together.

Another interesting point to note – and why I think Thug and Gunna make such an incomparable duo - is the fact that Thug and Gunna could almost pass for one another on the second verse, and even in the chorus. The only distinctive giveaway in this is the fact that Gunna does not make use of the whimsical bars in the same way that Thug does (because who the fuck is putting macaroni and cheese in their pockets besides the man who made a whole Instagram live about having a dirty dick? Exactly.)

Surprisingly though, this is one of the only songs on the album that hasn’t drilled holes in my eardrums, even after listening to it for an entire month, so bravo on them for that.

“Proud of You” – YSL, Young Thug, Lil Uzi Vert, Yung Kayo

I’m going to use this song to expose my corniness in saying I’ve definitely thought of using this song for some Instagram captions.

I think the combined genius of Thug and Uzi is often overlooked due to everyone wanting to worship Uzi with the androgynous Vampire Ma- I mean, Carti (who also makes a great duo with Uzi in his own right, but Uzi and Thug just remind me of two eccentric uncles, minus a few decades).

It was also rumored in 2018 that these niggas had over fifteen hundred songs together and I honestly wouldn’t it put it past them for that to be true.

Will they all be hits? Probably not, but it’s nice to be a dreamer – plus, their previous tracks (What’s the Move, It’s A Slime and Strawberry Peels) can’t be disregarded either.

“Really Be Slime” – YSL, Young Thug, FN DaDealer, YNW Melly, Bslime

In my honest opinion, I think YNW Melly (and TayK!) should have been pardoned from jail way before Reptar (Kodak) or the other gremlin, Mr. Weezy F Baby – not doubting this artistry, but I do think this man requires a serious rest; musically, emotionally, and physically).

This nigga Melly bodies every feature and brings such mischievous energy to every single track. Also, the minute the rhymed “butter pecan” and “Puerto Rican”, he was fr a genius in my high school eyes.

You can’t deny that the other niggas on the track, even Young Thug himself, fall a little short and that FN DaDealer is trying a bit hard to give us Lil Baby teas, but for what it is, it’s not a bad song. The beat, again, nothing too impressive, but I’m honestly just so glad to hear a YNW Melly feature after what feels like forever.

And that about wraps it up – overall, I’d give this project a solid 5/10. It could have done a bit more; and for the number of features (as well as their duality), honestly could have been more experimental. I get that this was highly anticipated, but in that case, I’m sure niggas wouldn’t have minded waiting a bit longer for it to go the extra mile.

If you feel like I missed any important tracks, that’s too damn bad; but feel free to argue with me in the comments of Instagram.

Until then…*turns on “I Like”*.

[thewhiterabbit42]

Full Circle: Part 5

Full Circle Masterlist

Pairings: Gabriel x Reader

Warnings/Tags: Winchester sister!reader, angst, sarcasm, and a whole lot of ways to call someone a dick (among other things), violence  

Word Count: 7,826

Summary:  Gabriel isn’t the only thing from the past being brought back to life, and, once again, you find yourself smack dab in the middle of everything.  

Author’s note: This chapter is tied with The Best Laid Plans as the favorite thing I’ve ever written.  I had so much fun when I originally wrote it and, at the time, really got into the mind set. I actually didn’t end up changing much except for adding more names for Gabe to call Raphael, the conversations around which have made this chapter that much more precious to me.  

All tags are at the end.  If you have a line through your name, the tumblr Gods won’t let me tag you.

Special thanks to @sumara62, my wonderful beta who made it through 15 pages of dick references before being like, “Really?” and @blondecoffeecake for helping add to my repertoire of dick.  You guys are the best.

***Please do not repost or copy my work to any other site without my written permission.  Giving credit does NOT count.  Reblogging is ok.***

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If Gabriel’s life were an autobiography, it would be called The Reason We Can't Have Nice Things: A Study in Daddy Issues or Why I Hope I’m Adopted.  Because right now?  There wasn't a single one of his family members he wasn't considering shanking, his father most of all.  

Great.  Fine.  Wonderful.  The man had brought him back.  Gabriel would be sure to send Him an edible fruit arrangement the next time He was in town.  Laced with the plague and made entirely of zombie fruit aka durian (aka what had his father been smoking when he decided anything consumable should naturally smell like rotting flesh?).

Why was Gabriel displeased one might ask?

It might have had something to do with being turned into shish kebab so his brothers could compare dick sizes. (If anything he should be the winner in that department since he was the only one with the cojones to stand up to them).

It might have had something to do with his father being unable to do anything other than stand around, dick in hand, while shit went sideways because He was, in fact, just standing around, dick in hand.  

Maybe it was because the only being who gave a damn about Gabriel was a mother loving human who should hate his very existence after what he did to you and your brothers.  (The father loather in both of you, however, had created quite the bonding experience).  

Or maybe, just maybe, he couldn’t help but suspect there was some underlying motive to his sudden and fortuitous resurrection… like the fact that the heaven bus was on fire again and a fair number of his divine family was ready to drive it into the side of the earth.  

Because it had worked out so well for the God squad the first time around.  

When he found the earth was not, in fact, one giant smoking battlefield or a rage infested zombie land, he was impressed.  He assumed your family had managed to put Lucifer back in time out, though he never would have guessed the how.  

He also never would have guessed who Luce would end up with for roommates. He had been impressed with the creativity until he caught the look on your face.  Heaviness clung to the darks of your eyes making them seem endless.  He knew how cleverness could be a burden and it was like staring at his own reflection, enduring loneliness included.  

He had initially hoped one of you had gotten a few good sac taps in on his behalf, but now he simply hoped you had for your own closure.  Preferably before his brother was wearing yours, but it wasn’t like the sasquatch was going to feel much other than suffocating in his own body.  

Gabriel made a mental note to avoid ever explaining that perk of being a vessel to you.  

Fact check: being a vessel was terrible for the first thousand days or so.  After that it just tickled.  

However, he did have a lot to explain.   

He knew he would end up here sooner or later.  Well, not here here.  He kind of understood his father having a blast from the past, considering the easiest way to pull his vessel to the present was to find the last place it had existed.  Being cockblocked and dropped right where Lucifer iced him, however, was an extra special touch of douchiness, and there was only one being left with that much power (and that much douche).

What he didn’t know is that you would end up here with him and that was what had him close to popping a vessel (literally and figuratively speaking).  It hadn’t been his choice to be resurrected in the middle of a shitstorm, but he had been the one to drag you into it.  All because he had been impulsive, reckless, and unable to look past his own selfish desires.  

There went his argument for being adopted.  

He should have stayed away from you.  Then again, if it was a cosmic coincidence you both showed up at the same place at the same time, he’d put himself in the cage with Lucifer, Michael, and the youngest Winchester and dance the lambada with all them.  The only reason he’d come back to this funhouse of memories was to seal off the doors and windows just in case the rip in the time space continuum was a little more wormy and less like the snapshot he’d initially assessed.  

The moment he spotted you, he should have just walked away.  He could have.  It wasn’t your grief that undid him.

Fact check: seeing your world bend beneath that weight did, however, do things to him he’d rather not think about.

He had only seen you this distraught on one other occasion.  Famine had sunk its influence so deep inside you there was nothing other than a blinding need.  For what, Gabriel had never found out. The urgency in your prayer (along with the fact it was just his name over and over again) suggested he might want to get his winged ass down there pronto.  When he arrived, you’d been so consumed he’d had to put you to sleep before seeing your pain began to consume him.    

Pain, though, was a timeless constant he could rationalize.  So long as there was life, there would be suffering.  What chance did he stand, however, against your guilt?   It pushed against the indifference he had tried to maintain, unknowingly slipping within his walls undetected, until it touched against his own guarded feelings of responsibility.  

Even then, Gabriel could have patched you up (emotionally), saw you out to your car, and went on to enjoy his limited existence at his own personal, completely conjured bunny ranch equipped with endless supplies of chocolate, whip cream, and other sensual sweets… along with eight different versions of what he called not yous.  Those were women who had enough of your features for him to pretend, but not actual carbon copies.

Having no shame and being a super creep were definitely two different things.  

Not to mention how creepy they were when he couldn’t get the personality traits down enough to not make a copy seem straight out of Invasion of the Body Snatchers… not that he’d ever tried or anything.

Fact check: Gabriel had tried once.  For science.

However any illusion of leaving had been shattered in one simple statement.  

Have that drink with me, Sheriff, and I will be.

Green had inked in around his vision and he didn’t have to read your thoughts to know what your plans were.  The two of you were kindred spirits, your personalities sharing several different aspects. The main one was you liked pleasure in many forms and you weren’t ashamed to take it.  Whether it was ordering every pie in the diner when caught in the time loop (and then watching Dean’s stomach explode when you made a pie eating contest out of it) or distracting yourself by seducing the local sheriff, you used your senses to feel good in the moment.  

This moment, however, was wrong.  You sought distraction in his absence, only he was standing right there, so close he had accidentally touched you when you stumbled back a bit (though he was still trying to figure out how that fluke had occurred considering he was pretty sure the only thing close enough had been his wing).

Fact check: the left one did tend to get a little handsy.  

But that was besides the point.  You were looking to get lost in a man from a generation whose idea of a good time was a cup of tea, an episode of Matlock, and a nap.  

Despite the sheriff being apprehensive, Gabriel saw the flash of loneliness that pushed through the man’s gaze.  It wouldn’t take much to get him to cave.  Even if he put up a good fight, you were young, pretty, and way too smart for your own good.  He wouldn’t stand a chance.

Neither did Gabriel when he began to imagine all the things the man would do to you, all the things you would let the sheriff do, and it would all be on his conscience, because it was technically his fault you went on grieving.  

At least, that’s what he told himself.  Admitting the first thing on his mind since getting a reboot was to make you his in every way he’d failed to before was a tad more insightful than he cared to be.  The whole thing was enough to drive him to drink.

Fact check: while there was no driving, there was a whole lot of drink.  The part about making the sheriff run circles and question his own sanity was just an added bonus.  

He needed something to calm the clamor in his head, except it had just made him sloppy if he had missed his brother’s presence slipping into town.  Regret and guilt weighed heavy on gold as he took in the mounting dread on your features.  His weakness had brought you here, and it was up to him to see it did not take you down with him.  

He wanted to tell you as much, but whether it was his own streak of daddy issues or the fact that even the most meaningful relationship he’d managed had ended with a good old-fashioned stabbing (thanks, Kali, always knew you were kind of a bitch), his words fell short as they tended to in these situations.  

Touch, however, was something he managed to do well.  Tips up knuckles drank in the skin along the side of your face, savoring the feel one last time.  He channeled what reassurance he could into the gesture, hoping to calm the panic he felt buzzing through you so you would hear him when he told you to run.  The command, however, became lost as his brother made his grand entrance, confirming he did, in fact, have the worst timing in the universe.  

“Gabriel,” a deep voice boomed over the lingering echoes of thunder as the the silhouette of a man manifested in the center of fading light.  

“Raphael,” Gabriel drawled, looking up at his brother.  “This is an awkward surprise.”  

“Someone’s clearly never heard of knocking,” you muttered, and he felt your relief in a momentary release of tension before everything tightened again.  You slid off his lap, and the absence of your body rang cold as the sudden chill in the room rushed in to take the place of your warmth.  He could see the gears in your mind turning, gaze appraising as you took in his brother’s stoic features.  

Gabriel stepped forward, subtly placing himself between you and the entity who should henceforth be known as the giant dick for being the the biggest cockblock in creation.

“I am disappointed, brother,” The meter-long man-dong said, eyes flicking to Gabriel in obvious dismissal of your presence.   “You must have heard what is happening.”

Oh, Gabriel had heard all right.  Angel radio was a complete cluster these days.  The last time it had been this chaotic was when he’d tricked Michael and Biggus Dickus into believing there was a demon incursion about to launch on heaven led by rogue angels… because was inciting the Crusades as a test of faith (and act of boredom) really necessary?

“Let me guess.  Thing’s not going so well for you, bro?” A glimmer of a sardonic grin flashed across his casual mask, tone pushing the fringe of disdain as he arched a brow.  

“No.  But you already knew that, and yet your first inclination is to dally with this human.”  

Apparently Gabriel wasn't the only one unimpressed with the situation.

“I get we’re a little behind the times right now, but what year are you stuck in?  1905?” He taunted.  

“Watch your tone,” Cock McBlockins warned and Gabriel nearly rolled his eyes.  He wondered if his father had meant to make all three of his brothers into prideful pricks with their own mini god complexes or if they had just naturally become those without anyone to challenge their authority.      

“Or what, you’ll shiv me too?” He demanded.  It wasn’t like he was bitter or anything, being put in this position again.  

Fact check: he was plenty bitter and uber pissed.

If anyone asked, however, the official story was he just didn’t think Raphael had it in him to be such an ass about it.  

“The only reason she continues drawing breath is because I will it,” the monstrous manpole informed him.  The older archangel’s wings flared slightly in warning, his presence pushing against Gabriel’s as it wrestled for dominance within the room.  The youngest pushed back, his own pride unwilling to back down so easily.  To do so would be to show weakness, and his weakness had put you in enough danger already today.  

Tips of fingers touched against his lower back, acting as pinpoints of pressure and shifting his focus back to you.  If he had to guess, instinct spurred your touch, and perhaps the need for reassurance.  There’s no way you could have perceived the pissing contest currently happening, but enough of something skittered across your radar to tip you off to the danger.

Or perhaps you were telling him to quit dicking around already and figure out an escape plan.

“What do you want?” Gabriel asked, backing down.  The degenerate disco stick eyed him as if it were a trick a moment before that dark, baleful gaze slipped over his shoulder and landed on you.  

“What is she to you?” Dickus Maximus demanded.

“I mean I was trying to have a bit of fun but somebody crashed that party,” he gave a dramatic look skyward as if asking if even his father could believe the nerve.  “But really, what are any of them to us in the long run?”

“An incessant nuisance,” the dickasaurus rex said flatly.

“I was thinking more like a beautiful distraction,” Gabriel replied smoothly though it felt like he had a mouth full of sand. “But just a distraction, nonetheless… no offense sweetheart.”  He turned, giving you a flashy-and completely false- apologetic smile for good measure.  

He didn’t mean it.  He might not be ready to admit you were more than a passing obsession, but on a visceral level he was hooked, his stomach suddenly a gymnastics Olympian as it somersaulted its way through a sudden bout of ire-tipped nerves.  

If the USS Douche Canoe ruined this for him, everybody’s ship was going down, starting with the dickhead in front of him and heading straight to the top, where all the bullshit started.  

“No offense, sweetheart, but I’m not looking to date a giant dick anytime soon,” sarcasm painted your words, streaking across lips in a smile you flashed that was just as insincere.  

Gabriel took it as a good sign you hadn’t missed a beat with your response.  Mostly because that was one less thing to worry about while he figured out how to get you out of there.  There’d be plenty of time for doubt later if he survived.  In fact, it was one of his favorite pastimes.

Fact check: it was nobody’s favorite pastime.

“Well, aren’t we just two peas in a pod,” he drawled, brows raising as he dropped his hands to his hips.  “Humans, I tell you.  Just when you think you’re the one using them, they’re actually using you.”

“I’ve asked myself many times what would I do should you choose deceit over honest discourse,” The dick with a dictionary began, his gaze drifting back to Gabriel’s.  “I think I have my answer.”  

The look in his eyes remained neutral, pushing beyond the fringes of weary into outright exhaustion, but it was that telltale half lift of lips, smirking smugly, that gave away the game plan.  Unfortunately, that plan looked to be you.  

With a snap, you disappeared from out of the side of Gabriel’s vision only to reappear in front of the increasingly annoying third wheel to the party.  The contrast of the dark fingers wrapped around your pale throat was startling.  Or, it could just be the fact his brother was definitely gripping that part of you quite snugly in warning.

“What weaknesses lay beneath, I wonder…” the wondrous one-eyed yogurt slinger mused, thumb dragging slowly across the surface of your throat.  The movement was callous, insinuating no more than the danger you were in.  Defiance darkened your eyes, your lips pulling back in silent snarl as if he’d touched you in a far different manner and it caught Gabriel off guard.

He looked more closely, peeling back the layers of atoms and energy until gossamer strands of grace glistened ethereal in the dim lighting.  You were surrounded by it, wisps of it ghosting over your upper body as if seeking some sort of entrance.  Anger crackled hot beneath his skin, causing his energy to spark slightly between the tips of his fingers.  

How dare Raphael touch you that way.

He had no right to touch you with his grace.  He had no business inside your mind, though by how he was concentrating on the area between your shoulders and waist he was after something much more integral.  

Why he’d want a peek at your soul was beyond Gabriel, but it was a whole lot of nothing good for you.  

“Stop,” He warned, clenching down hard and doing his best to reign in his temper.  He was aware that this might not be anything other than a test (which he was clearly failing).  If his brother was prodding for sore spots, boy had he found one, especially when Gabriel watched as the older archangel pushed his energy beneath your skin in a wholly ungentle way.

There was no stopping his fury as your features grew taut with pain, your torment pushing out your throat in a sudden cry as light emanated out from where the grace had entered. The ground beneath his feet began to tremble, tables and chairs beginning to clatter as they bounced around, skittering slowly across the floor.  

“I said stop,” he repeated, the rumble growing louder as the entire building began to sway.  Windows shattered around the room and Raphael was lucky he didn’t find himself on the receiving end of an incredibly angry smite.  His brother exhaled a long, heavy sigh through his nose, withdrawing all his energy in a single instant and letting you drop to the floor.  

“Who is she to you?”  Disappointment wove through the gigantic pork sword’s words and Gabriel held back a snort.  Like the asshat had any right to ask anything about you anymore.  

“None of your business,” Gabriel hissed.

It was the wrong answer.  

Apparently a good old fashioned ass kicking was next on the list, your body catching some serious air before it came slamming down on the top of the tables.  Wood snapped beneath the force and you continued to roll across the floor a few feet from the impact.  

Gabriel reached out with his grace, searching for the familiar, chaotic buzz that was often your mind.  It was a much dimmer, snarling mass of tangled thoughts at the moment.  Stay down he told you, hoping you were conscious enough to hear him.  

You were and, as usual, you were intent on doing just the opposite of what you should be.  You pushed yourself up, eyes flashing with determination as you appraised the situation.  Keep him occupied you prayed, silently pulling yourself to your feet before slowly edging your way toward the back exit.  

Good.  Maybe you could sneak out while he and his brother got down to business.

“Would you like to gamble on what strike three means for her?”

“All right, all right,” he said, putting his hands up in surrender.  “No need to pull a Lucifer and break everyone else’s toys when you don’t get your way.  Besides, we all know what happens when you start throwing temper tantrums with the Winchesters around.  Well, Michael does, anyway.”

He smiled widely, enjoying the way his remarks were beginning to get under Coitis Interruptis’ skin.

“But if you simply must know… she was the only one that gave two shits about me when everyone was trying to make me choose sides.  It wasn’t about tradition or the greater good.  It was about me.  She believed in me to make the right decision because I was good enough,” he began, past pushing against present as a familiar slow burning anger flared back to life.  

“So no.  She’s not a distraction.  She’s a friend.  A good one, and she’s a good person who doesn’t deserve to be caught up in our bullshit again.  So I’m asking you, as your brother, to leave her out of this.”

Three things became apparent as Gabriel stopped his rambling.  

First, this was probably the most genuine interaction he’d had with cocksmiter number three since his father had left.

Second, because it was sincere, it didn’t even register on his brother’s bullshit detector which, in turn, sent it flying off the charts by the look he received.  

Third, and most important, you had stopped.  You were now just standing.  In the middle of the room.  Staring.  Mouth parted slightly when really you needed to be moving - why the hell weren’t you still moving?

Gold snapped up to your gaze, flicking toward the door insistently.  Keep going he urged when you simply looked conflicted.  You hesitated another moment before continuing on.

Humans.

“I mean I know it’s a novel idea, but why don’t we try keeping the crazefest in the family, just this once?”  He continued, aware of his brother’s unwavering stare.  He was also aware of how close you were to the back door.  Your hand reached for the handle, movements silent as you gave a push… only for nothing to happen.  

Someone clearly had some control issues to work on.  

“I will never understand your loyalty to these creatures,” the disdain dripping from the colossal cockmuffin’s words was palpable.  “They are weak and flawed.”

“What did you say?” Gabriel demanded, eyes narrowing.  Lucifer had said those very words… how had his brother known?

“Despite our differences, Gabriel, I came here to talk,” the humongous spawn hammer implored.  “The rebel has gathered a surprising amount of support, though it is only a matter of time before he is defeated.”

“Well, sounds like you have it all figured out.  Best of luck to you,” he said, taking a few steps back toward the front entrance.  If he wasn't going to let you go, Gabriel could at least try and move the party.  Thunder echoed overhead and the room suddenly leapt to life with a gathering energy just before a bolt of lightning pierced the ceiling.  It struck right behind Gabriel’s back, stopping him in his tracks and scorching the floor.  

Apparently he wasn't the only one with a penchant for theatrics.  

“You’re either with me or against me.”  

Gabriel had been wrong.  His brother wasn't a giant dick.  He was a whole bag of them.

“Well, when you put it that way,” Gabriel jeered, taking a step forward.  “So, how do you want to do this?  Should I just whip mine out?  Do we compare sizes first?”  

A familiar smell drifted under his nose, carrying hints of metal and life in its purest form.  He glanced up to find you with your back against the door, hand obscured behind you and he had a fairly good idea what you were doing.  The problem was if he did, then so did the massive heat-seeking moisture missile.

If you both lived through this, he and you were going to have a long, snarky chat about the limitations of humans, and the nearly limitless power of archangels and why the former didn't need to worry about saving the latter.  

“Blood carries a very distinct smell,” Skippy McSexkiller announced, turning your way, dark eyes blazing bright against the insolence you were hastily painting across the door.  “Yours especially.”  

“It’s a wonder you’re not a hit with the ladies,” Gabriel taunted, trying to draw his attention.  It didn’t work.  “Hey, Raphie, can I call you Raphie?” That did the trick; the archangel paused momentarily, giving him a baleful look.  

“I tire of your games, brother, and theirs.”  Boy, did his brother look tired.  Not just the soul weary I’ve-been-alive-since-the-dawn-of-time exhaustion that timeless beings tended to get from time to time.  This was a whole other ballgame.  

Gabriel, tell me how to do this without hurting you.  

Apprehension filled your prayer as it floated to the forefront of his consciousness, and from the corner of his eyes he could see you were almost done.  He found it awfully touching you didn’t want to blast his hide when he knew that if your brothers were there, he’d have been rocketed halfway to Texas by now.  

Unfortunately, Scrote-totes MaGoo continued to designate the hotel as a no fly zone, leaving you both without a lot of options.

At least it would only hurt for a moment.  

Fact check: it was only for a moment, but it also was a whole lot of hurt.

Catch you on the flip side, sweetheart.

“Human idioms,” the gigantic tube steak sighed and the easygoing mask Gabriel kept in place began to slip.  “I’ll never understand your preference for them.  Or why you’d think me fool enough to fall for your little trap.”

Panic sparked in Gabriel’s chest, skating across the thickening tension in the air before slamming into your system.  You frantically finished the last symbol on the ward before bringing your hand down in the center.  He braced himself, only the blast never came.  He looked over to see the sigil had vanished.  

Oh sweet bearded man with bad teeth but good religious messages.  This was happening.  His brother was looking at you like he was going to split every atom in your body no matter what his younger brother wanted and last Gabriel checked, that was not on his agenda.  

“Hey douchebag,” he called out, pulling his blade from out of his jacket.  “Let’s get this show on the road.”

The other archangel didn’t even bat an eye.  He didn’t even give his younger sibling a courtesy snap.  The only reason Gabriel felt the smite coming was because the air always tasted like it was burning the moment before it hit.  

A bright, blinding light poured down through the ceiling.  Every hair stood on edge, stretching upward toward the concentration of energy before everything suddenly released and the blast had his brains pushing down through his nostrils.  

Fact check: Gabriel’s brain was not actually being forced out his nose, but it certainly felt like it.

The extreme downward pressure, however, was enough to immobilize his mind and force him down to his knees.

Apparently his brother was done dicking around.  

“Was the pain you suffered earlier not tangible enough?” Raphael’s voice managed to push through the mental haze.  “Perhaps you need a reminder of your own past.”  

Gabriel’s eyes fluttered open, details around him fuzzy as he struggled to bring the world back into focus.  

Your pain made for a great motivator.  

He heard your cry go up and the visceral response that tore through him was enough to help him gather his wits.  Your anguish was tangible even from across the room, tiny cuts and enlarged gashes singing in a discord of physical suffering that clashed with the previous chorus that rang from the very essence in your soul crying out.

He looked over to see you on your knees, red painting your torment in grisly splashes through your clothing.  There were streaks across your legs, your right thigh practically saturated.  It was harder to tell what was behind your sweater, but by the sheer smell of iron drifting across the room, there was a fair amount that had yet to show through.  You cradled your left arm closer to your body, droplets trickling out from beneath the cuff of your coat, sliding steadily off tips of fingers with a steady pat, pat, pat.   

“Is that why you brought me here?” Gabriel demanded, trying get the giant phallus turned back in his direction.  “Because you want to remind me what happens if I choose the right side?”

Pat, pat, pat.  

“There’s a certain symmetry.  Beginning where you ended.  Ending where you began,  should it come to that.”

Pat, pat, pat.

He should have seen it sooner.  After helping lock Auntie Amara away, the mammoth meat constrictor had been all about balance, about the universe having some sort of grand plan and synergy to it.  After their father left, however, things began to become a little less about cosmic harmony and a little more obsessive-compulsive.  

Pat, pat, pat.

“From where I’m standing?  More like a certain douchiness,” he turned, spitting out a mouthful of red from the blood that trickled down the back of his throat.  

“Enough!”  Raphael roared.  “I will not stand here and listen to your drivel while our home is under attack.”

Pat, pat, pat.  

Your heart began to slow, the change in pace nearly imperceptible at first.  For every beat you lost, his seemed to pick it up.  You were bleeding out and while you had a little time, you were going to be drier than a fruitcake in February if he couldn’t get to you soon.  

Good thing he had a trick or two up his sleeve.  

“Heaven is burning, brother.  Michael is locked away no different than Lucifer.  Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“It might if that was what this was really about, but we both know that’s not the case,” Gabriel said, slowly pulling himself to his feet.  

“Paradise was within our grasp... until you betrayed us to the Winchesters and told them how to put Lucifer back.”  

Fact check: the only betrayal being served was by Lucifer, who couldn’t help but turn everything into an ice cold fuckery of a dish.  

“Then kill me,” he said, tossing his blade aside.  Rather, his shadow twin did.  He wasn’t that stupid… and you were beginning to look awfully pale.  He appeared in front of you, crouching down until he was eye level with you.  You hadn’t moved.  He wasn’t sure you were able to by the number of wounds you had.  

“I’d rather have you by my side,” his brother continued from across the room.  He was vaguely aware his double had given one of the many pre-selected responses from his repertoire.  Besides the fact it made things easier, he’d rather be focusing on you anyway.  His hands tended to get a little less smitey when he did.    

He had to be careful, though.  If he released too much energy, Frodo Douchbaggins would be on him like nazgul on the one ring.  He idly wondered if that made him Aragorn in this situation.  Probably Eowyn.  She did have the most fabulous hair out of all of them.  

Fact check: Gabriel did have pretty fabulous hair.  

Your eyes met his with something too shrouded for him to read.  The pain was too prevalent and he wondered how much you were even able to think beyond it.  Your lips parted as if to speak, and he held a finger up for you to be quiet before his gaze dropped down to the pool of blood on the floor.  

This mess was as much his fault as the titanic flesh rod’s, and when this was all said and done,

Gabriel was going to go full Lorena Bobbitt and remove him from existence.

“This is your chance, Gabriel, to make up for your past indiscretions…”

The only thing he needed to make amends for was sitting right in front of him.  The longer things dragged out, however, the less likely he’d get the chance.  

Fact check:  the chances one of you were getting fucked tonight were looking pretty good.  

Bonus fact check: it wouldn’t nearly be as fun as either of you had planned.

Fingers drifted along the swollen contour of your cheek, tenderly stroking away the puffiness as he released his energy. He didn’t need to physically touch you in order to heal, but what did he have to lose anymore?  

Your gaze drifted sideways, widening slightly in surprise and doubt slipped in through the cracks in his armor.  Perhaps he’d been mistaken.  Perhaps things were more one sided than he realized.  Perhaps you had been the one with too much drink tonight.  

He tried to focus on his brother droning on in the background, clamping down on his rising disappointment.  Wank, wank, atonement.  Wank, wank, duty.  It was the same hackneyed setup where humanity became the punchline.  

His family really needed to add some new jokes to their lineup.

You released a slow breath and his attention shifted back to you as you tried to move.  The hand you raised was shaky, slowed by the damage he was still trying to undo.  It was obvious you were struggling to even raise it this far, but it was far enough.  Tips of fingers slipped beneath his coat, tentatively tracing along the partially undone line of buttons at the top of his shirt before settling your palm against his chest.  

Your eyes settled in the same spot, narrowing intently.  He’d seen you enough times to know it was the look you wore when ferreting out an answer in the middle of a clusterfuck of information.  What you were seeking and what you found, were simply beyond him in that moment.  You did find something, however, and it wasn’t the slow growing heaviness of finality Gabriel overtaking over him.  

Despite the snarling mass of emotions he felt within you, your eyes began to brighten, shaking off some of their former weight.  The intensity made him take a closer look.  A slow burning ire had sparked somewhere along the way, determination causing the edges of your gaze to grow hard, keeping the flames contained.  Your anger wasn’t surprising, but the fear that seemed to be fueling it was.  

He wanted to reassure you that things would be fine, but what would be the point of lying?  Besides, you’d just find something to break on him if he did.  Though he imagined with the way things were going there might not be anything left to break by the end of the night.

Your brows drew together suddenly, a frown tugging at your lips.  For a moment he thought Raphael might have caught on, but he could hear the prick yammering on while his shadow tossed well placed barbs and used misdirection to keep the conversation going.

Your eyes also never left Gabe’s, making the source of your displeasure rather clear.  Or rather unclear, considering he hadn’t a clue what he could have done considering he hadn’t had the chance to open his mouth yet.  

Then again, he had dragged you into this mess.  Perhaps you were finally getting on the same page as the rest of the world in realizing what a giant fuck up he was.

Your hand clenched around his shirt and while he was surprised at how quickly your strength had returned, he was completely thrown for a loop when you yanked him forward, lips demanding as they moved over his.  Passion won out over resignation as energy spiked down from your mouth straight into his chest, sparking outward back into your hand and continuing the loop.  

Apparently, you were of the mind set that neither one of you had died yet.  

You kept things brief because, unlike previous assumptions, you understood the importance of not dallying.  When he looked at you again, the fear had melted away to promise - so much promise for so many, many things burned wickedly in your gaze.  

If that wasn’t motivation to survive this disaster of a night, then he deserved to be put out of his misery.  

Fact check: he most certainly was not dead already from the waist down.

Show time he decided, giving you a reassuring smirk before taking the place of his double once again.  Not that he had a clue what to do still, but he did have a little hope, thanks to you.  

“Let’s stop beating around the bush, hmmm?” Gabriel suggested.  “I know what you’re really up to.  This isn’t about heaven.  This isn’t about family or atonement.  This is about you just wanting it to be done.  No matter the cost.”

“Yes,” his enormous deep-V-diver of a brother admitted.  “I am tired, brother.  So very tired and I know that you are, too.  This is our chance to go back to our real home.  If my cold heart still yearns for it, I know yours must as well.”

Ancient sentiments almost forgotten stirred deep beneath the surface and Gabriel’s confidence slipped.  If how he looked on the surface mirrored what was going on internally, he would have been running around the room, flailing wildly as he attempted to outrun an imaginary wildfire.  

These were not things he wanted to feel again.  Not tonight.  Not with Raphael.  Not ever.  

Fact check: he would rather douse himself with holy fire and do the hellfire rumba than go down that road again.

Keep him distracted.  

Your prayer rang out as a lifeline, drawing him back from uncertain waters before he became lost in the riptide.  He didn’t dare check to see what you were up to with how intently his brother’s stare was fixed upon him.

“Humans have a word for that you know,” he said, pity unknowingly softening his demeanor.  

The Herculean skin flute gave a heavy sigh, weariness returning and casting shadows on his face far darker than before.  “I am aware of it, and I suppose you’re right.  We cannot go back.  But we can still end this miserable existence for everyone.”  

Every time it seemed like they were about to have a moment, twizzletits had to go and open that big mouth of his.

Gabriel sincerely hoped this wasn’t how everyone felt about him.

Fact check: it kind of was.

I’m going to tell you the same thing I told that big bro of ours,” Gabriel announced.  “I love you, Raphael, you are my brother, but you are a great big bag of dicks.”  He gave a dramatic pause, watching as fury erupted from his brother’s gaze.  

“Actually, I lied.  You’re an even bigger one for trivializing all the sacrifices made to stop this madness, mine included, by starting it all over again.  What is it with all of you throwing a tantrum if you don’t get your way? For father’s sake, grow a pair! Sac up and move on! The world isn’t as terrible if you’d give it a chance to show you its beauty.”

“This world is no longer beautiful.  It is full of ugliness, disappointment, flawed intentions, but most of all, it is filled with suffering.  If you love them so much, would you not want their pain to end?”

Gabriel almost winced.  The more he listened, the less he was certain his brother was, in fact, a bag of dicks.  If anything, it sounded like the archangel needed to go out, drink a liquor store, get laid, then go on a world tour and take in the sights.  He knew serving under Michael was no picnic, but he never imagined it would actually suck the soul out of someone.    

“To live is to suffer,” Gabriel conceded, “But it’s also so much more than that.  Yes, they’re flawed.  They can be vicious and bloodthirsty, but how is that any different than us?  Why can’t any of you see how much good is also in them?  How much they try and more importantly forgive?”

Because forgiveness was not a staple at any of their Sunday dinners.

“I am tired of this life,” Raphael repeated, the lines suddenly evident across his vessel’s face.  “And so very tired of all these games.  I know where your heart truly lies.”

The part of Gabriel in question gave a stutter, past overlaying present in a terrifying way.  It wasn’t so much the echo of Lucifer’s words that disturbed him so much as the fact that you were there, right where he’d been, body crouched low as you slowly crept in for the kill.  

“I’m sorry.”  The older archangel meant it.  It didn’t make him any less of a fuck stick for what he was about to do.  

Fact check: Raphael was definitely a big ol’ bag of dicks.

Desperation forced Gabriel’s hand and he leapt forward.  Once again, his brother anticipated the move, deftly sidestepping the blade before grabbing him by the arm and throwing him into you.  You nearly filleted him by mistake, your weapon catching him across his shoulder as you scrambled to get it out of the way.  

So much for plan B.  

Gabriel felt the telltale gathering of energy over his head and he had just enough time to throw you back before heaven’s energy came barreling down upon him.  It didn't matter how old he got, he would never get used to the feeling of a smite.  Though that might have been his brother’s goal by how many were sent down upon him.  Wave after wave of energy crashed over him and he was certain this was it… until it suddenly wasn’t.    

By the time the world stopped spinning (and ringing… and twisting… and shouting…) Gabriel looked up to see his brother booting you across the floor like a soccer ball.  

“What will it take for you to realize how weak and unworthy they are?”  Raphael demanded, sending another burst down.  Something popped inside his skull, though it was likely just his brain falling in on itself.  There seemed to be enough of something leaking out his nose and down the back of his throat again.

There was another loud pop followed by more ringing in his ears, and for a minute he assumed he really had taken one too many smites to the head for his vessel to hold.  When the sound continued, he realized the noise wasn’t coming from inside him, but from across the room.  You had your gun drawn and trained on his brother as more shots peppered the silence, making the archangel’s vessel shake slightly with each bullet that pierced it.  

He’d said it before and he’d say it again: you had the most abysmal sense of self-preservation, even for a Winchester.  

Fact check: the above statement was completely true.  Though scrambled as Gabriel’s mind was, he had the wherewithal to realize what you were doing was solely to draw fire away from him.

He shook his head, pity pushing through the lingering pain.  How could his brother bear witness to this and still not be swayed?  

“From where I’m standing?  They’re more worthy than we are,” he said, smiling slightly as his eyes met yours. No one else was willing to step this far onto the wrong side of sane for him.  Not his family.  Not yours.  It only reaffirmed his stance that you all deserved better than what his father had originally planned.   

“She has ruined you,” Dickbag McFlaccidcock declared, tone insinuating if anyone were to be pitied, it should be Gabriel.  Unfortunately, there was a reason for that.  

Gabe watched as your hand began to shake, your eyes widening at the realization you were no longer in control of your weapon.  Slowly, you began to turn it on yourself, your other hand coming up to try and alter its course without much luck.  

He didn’t even get the chance to try and attack his brother before another blinding round of pain echoed through his skull.  

“You will watch this,” the patron saint of douchbaggery insisted.  “Because your foolishness is the reason she must die.”

A crushing weight bore down upon his shoulders, pinning him in place.  Desperation clawed viscerally through his stomach, his wings shooting out to full length as he tried to break free from his brother’s grasp.  The uber smiting he’d received, however, had stripped him of most of his strength.  He was essentially leashed and there was nothing worse than feeling caged and helpless.

Except maybe watching the one good thing in his life be destroyed because of him.  

“You want me to stand with you - fine.  I’ll be your right hand man.  The heavens will sing of our unstoppable duo - Gabriel and Raphael - or Raphael and Gabriel, whatever you prefer,” he begged, willing to say whatever his brother needed to hear if it meant buying you more time.  He could worry about the finer points of how to dig himself out later.    

“This is for your own good,” Raphael insisted.

It seemed his brother had half a brain after all, though his heart was clearly still AWOL.  

No no no no no.  Think, Gabriel, think, think, think...

Fuck, fuck, god damn, fucking fuck - think, y/n, think, think, think…

Your thoughts collided, bursting through the increasingly tense silence.  Your mounting panic pushed through his battered mind, allowing him to unintentionally pick up on what was flying through yours.  As usual, you were the only two in the room even remotely on the same page.

Fact check: that page was titled Now’s a Good Time to Panic.

The gun reached its destination against your temple, desperation hitting its peak as both your mantras came to a deafening halt.  

“It’s not your fault, Gabe,” you told him, doing your best to hide your fear and failing miserably at it.  

He nearly broke in that moment.  Here you were, about to die because of him, and your final thought was to pardon him.  It barely made a dent in his brother’s armor, and that’s when he realized just how lost the archangel had become.

Gabriel renewed his efforts, straining against his ethereal bonds.  He clenched down on his jaw, so hard he might have heard a few of his teeth crack.  It was the only way to keep his desperation from spilling out over his lips.  The last thing you needed to see was him reduced to a babbling mess.  

No, no, no, no, please, father, no…

“It’s ok,” you told him.

Fact check: things were so far from ok that Gabriel was certain no one would be leaving this room alive if you died.  

You closed your eyes, but he had no choice but to watch.  His heart hit a fever pitch, mirroring his own struggles to escape as it hammered away against his chest.  There was nothing he could do and he dropped to his knees, everything shattering as reality bore down upon him.  

He wasn’t strong enough.  He couldn’t save you.  You were going to die and it was all his fault.  

“I’m sorry,” his voice wavered, thick with emotion.  

Gabriel’s world came to a screeching halt as his brother forced you to pull the trigger.  

Next Chapter>>

ALL the tags:   @girl-next-door-writes  @sumara62 @fand0maniac @feelmyroarrrr @omgreganlove @jannalionheart @baritonechick, @deaths-maiden @lucifer-in-leather @stone-met   @the-moose-of-baskerville @summer-binging-spn  @blondecoffeecake  @raspberrypuddle @ourloveisforthelovely @deanxfuckingadorablexwinchester @crowley-you-sinnamon-roll @tistai @christinalibertymikaelson

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Full Circle:   @melodyhiddleston @gabe-crowley-trash

[howtohero]

#049 Changing Your Codename

While your codename is undoubtedly an intrinsic part of your image, changing it is actually not all that hard to do. If you’re not trying to completely reinvent yourself by faking your death, moving, getting a new costume and starting over as a brand new person, changing your name is as simple as just letting people know that you’re the same hero, just with a new name. Call a press conference, disseminate a press release, post it on twitter, take out an ad in a newspaper that’s just a silhouette with the words “Who is the new mysterious Hydrosassin??” and then on the next page there’s a nigh identical ad except the silhouette is replaced by a full color picture of you with the words “Oh it’s just this guy!” Basically, changing your codename is easy peasy lemon squeezey. But why would a superhero ever want to change their highly recognizable codename? Well, there a dozens of reasons! And we’ve compiled a bunch of them just special for you!

Reasons You Might Want (or need) to Change Your Codename:

It’s been a while since anybody’s written a news article about you.

Another superhero started using your codename and everybody likes them better so they get to keep it!

Your new costume has different colors so you need to change the color in your codename to properly reflect this change.

The evolution of language has resulted in your codename now having unfortunate implications (This is why that detective who bursts into flames doesn’t go by “Flaming Dick” anymore).

You’ve received a cease and desist from a major corporation.

You discovered that you’re actually allergic to the animal you’ve named yourself after.

Somebody else owns the website domain name associated with your codename and it’s not a website you want people thinking you’re affiliated with.

You were recently cured of your colorblindness and realized that your costume was a different color than you thought it was.

It sounds inappropriate when said in certain accents.

The version of you that appears in sitcoms and cartoons is an absolute buffoon and you want to distance yourself from that.

You are addicted to holding press conferences.

You realized your codename implied that you had powers that you don’t actually have.

Your codename was way too long, especially for people to call out when they were in immediate danger so people would invariably call some other hero.

It tested poorly with focus groups for reasons they “couldn’t quite put their finger on.”

You lost the trademark.

It didn’t fit on your vanity license plate (and you can’t just take the vowels and spaces out of “Mister Boater”).

It was hard for songwriters to find rhymes for when they wrote songs about your bravery and heroism.

Your name was used as the title of a movie that wasn’t about you at all (not even a little bit!) but people still kept asking you about it.

You weren’t doing anything else today so why not.

It was too easy for songwriters and comedians to find rhymes for your name and they kept making mean rhyming songs and jokes.

A new AI helper was developed and it has the same name as you and now every time somebody calls your name dozens of devices come to life and say “How can I help you today?” and it is annoying.

You accidentally got your codename tattooed on your arm during a drunken night out and now, in order to prevent people from realizing who you are, you need to either change your codename or get the tattoo removed and removing tattoos is painful and expensive!

A terrorist organization started calling themselves by your name.

You lost a bet.

Some other guy bested you in combat and stole your name!

The actor who you were hoping would play you in the movie adaption of your life would only sign on if they got to choose a new, cooler, codename for you.

The toy company that you’ve licensed your image to for action figure purposes is forcing you to incorporate accessories and special features from your toys into your name. (That’s how Kung Fu Grip Star Breacher with Spring-Loaded-Missile-Launching Action! got his name, exclamation mark and all.)

You suffered severe head trauma and actually forgot what your old codename was and then when someone reminded you what it was, you thought it sounded stupid (and weren’t wrong!)

The animal you named yourself after went extinct.

You survived a traumatic incident and changed your name to show that the event had changed you.

You accidentally infiltrated an alien government and you had to change your codename to reflect your new rank as High Chancellor of the Blorp Emirates. 

Science discovered a new species that you thought was super cool so you renamed yourself after it.

You lost one of your numerous extra appendages and you didn’t want to sound like a liar by still calling yourself Twelve-Armed Lady.

That username was already taken on Twitter and you weren’t about to call yourself Supah Warriah-2.

You suffered another freak lab accident and your mutant form changed dramatically so you decided to come up with a new name for it.

Your old one was too long to neatly write on “hello my name is” tags at superhero single mixers which are almost definitely a thing.

The first three letters of your codename were a bad word so every time you’d get a high score in a video game you’d be setting a bad example for the kids. 

John Travolta mispronounced your name at an award show and you were too embarrassed to correct him so that’s your name now.

The ghosts of your ancestors came to you in a dream and told you that you were bringing great shame upon your family by going around with a doofy name like “Super Sprinkler,” or “Professor Paleontologist.”

Your name was too easy to spell and therefore easily googled and therefore everybody kept seeing that embarrassing video of you trying to arrest a fire hydrant you were 98% sure was an evil shapeshifter in disguise. (And it was an evil shapeshifter, it just didn’t reveal itself until after the cameras stopped filming!)

Every time somebody spoke your name out loud dogs vomited and you didn’t really know why that was but figured you were better off just changing your name.

You named yourself after the magical word that either powers you up or depowers you depending on what state you’re in so every time you introduced yourself to someone while in superhero mode you were instantly transformed back into a ten-year-old boy.

You’d just woken up from a coma and didn’t realize the name “Oprah” was already taken.

The person who was using the codename you really wanted died so now it’s just up for grabs!!!

You discovered a long lost super powered sibling and you were so overcome with a desire to be close with them that you guys went out and got new matching codenames.

Someone pointed out that your name spelled backwards read “All hail Satan Satan is great and he’s my best friend whom I love with all my heart” something which, somehow, you had never noticed before.

You got a fortune cookie that read “Hey! You should totally change your name! Erm, I mean. A great change will help you go far. Yeah, you get it. Lucky numbers: 8, 1004, -2, π.”

The “Director of Brand Reinvigoration Nation” that you hired off of Craigslist suggested a lot of stuff and “change your name and nothing else” was the easiest. (Other things included “star in a music video about soap,” and “create a third identity that is a villain.”)

A sick child used their wish to get you to change your name to something of their choosing.

You graduated from sidekick-hood and took on a new superhero moniker of your own.

You’re being blackmailed by a podium company into having numerous press conferences using their product as a form of free advertising.

You recently acquired a boat and needed to amend your name to add “captain.”

You recently completed your PhD and needed to amend your name to add “doctor.”

You came up with the name Brain Star before you started coming up with costume ideas and you understood that you couldn’t go around wearing a big “BS” on your chest.

The seasons change every four months! I change my name once in a ten year career and all of a sudden I have to explain myself???

Somebody bought you a gift card to a newspaper’s advertising department (a terrible gift by the way) and you don’t really know what else to do with it.

Your old name in sign language was a lewd gesture.

The name you originally wanted to use was deemed “way too cool for you” by your mentor but you just saved the world from alien werewolves from Jupiter’s moon so you felt that you’ve earned it now.

You didn’t like the way your picture turned out on your superhero team’s ID card and you figured if they were printing a new card for you anyway you may as well also change your name.

Someone triple dared you to change it.

An trans-dimensional imp placed a curse on you that made you speak entirely in song and at first you thought it was annoying but now you’re totally into it and so you’re really leaning into it and adding “:The Musical!” to the end of your name.

Thanks to the word of the day toilet paper your friend bought you (also a terrible gift) you’ve learned a bunch of cool new words that you want to incorporate into your codename.

You decided to take up a fallen hero’s legacy by taking on their name.

You’re a reformed supervillain who wanted to take on a new more heroic sounding name. (Killslaughter the Death Bringer is really more of a villain name.)

Somebody took you aside and gently explained to you why your codename was actually offensive to a group of people.

You met a version of yourself from an alternate reality and they had a way cooler name so you just adopted that. 

You found a drawing you’d made as a child of yourself as a superhero complete with a codename you’d come up with and even though “Sir Gumball Man VII” is a stupid name you felt you owed it to your younger self to follow through on your dreams. 

You misunderstood the public’s call for more transparency in superhero operations and changed your name to “Transparent Man/Woman/Person.”

People keep asking you if you were bitten by a radioactive version of the animal you’re named after. And you weren’t. The name comes from something else. You also can’t “do anything that [insert animal] can.” That Petey Parkour guy really ruined animal-themed names for everybody.

You wanted to change it to reflect the tips we featured in our post about codenames.

You thought of a really funny pun.

[kennysamathedeviant]

Man of Steel's Critique Of The No Kill Rule

I’ve made it no secret that i detest the no kill rule, and it’s not because i think the rule is bad in and of itself, but it’s that it’s always been presented as this superficial, mentally coddled world view of absolutist morality; a view that says that no amount of innocent lives being wasted and lost is ever a reasonable, nor justifiable reason to circumvent your morals, you’re better left shrugging and holding onto it, regardless of consequences. It’s a rule that celebrates apathy but masks it to be about virtue. If your virtue comes at the expense of letting evil prosper, then are you really virtuous? This rule, of which my distaste is bottomless, has only ever been applied intelligently twice to my satisfaction, once in the DCAU Justice League and secondly, as a broken rule (imagine that) in Man of Steel. I’ve always had very high opinions of Man of Steel, it’s only gotten higher ever since i became conscious of the anti mos/dceu narrative (i was out of the loop initially), which challenged me to scrutinize the story and it’s final act all over again and again and again and again and for me, it continues to hold up and it will continue to hold up for eternity.

Man of Steel, as the complex masterpiece it is, can be interpreted in numerous ways, as long as your “interpretation”, is supported by the canon. One such interpretation i’ve had forever, is that the entire film can be viewed as a direct critique of the moral absolutism associated with the no kill rule and the kind of apathy it creates in the name of virtue. Basically, it criticizes the no kill rule, not as bad, but as horrifically ineffective and atrocious in most applications, just like the movie shows what actually happens (what you see but don’t think about even when it’s right in front of you) when superheroes and supervillains fight in populated areas, so also does it reveal the inherent folly of holding so tightly to the no kill rule as if it’s about virtue, when a little closer inspection will reveal it promotes apathy and detachment. Let’s look at the ways i believe the movie makes this statement:

The Kryptonian Council 

This is the first red flag we’re introduced to in the story, the Kryptonian council is painted in a negative light right from their introduction. They are horribly ineffective, engage in endless debates and when they do bother to make a decision, it’s a decision that negatively affects every other Kryptonian in the story. With their planet on the verge of death and their race on the verge of extinction, what does the Kryptonian council do? Dedicates the last of it’s resources to imprison a criminal who goes on to later cause pain and hardships for everyone else in the movie. For clarity, this criminal; General Zod, who’s murdered dozens of people, a council member, and his own best friend, all in the name of being more proactive in comparison to the slowness of the council, is sentenced to the Phantom Zone. This requires the very last of their resources, resources that could have been used to get however number of Kryptonian citizens off-world to the old Kryptonian outposts like Jor-el suggested in the first place. And in so doing, they damned not only their race, but Earth by extension because their actions, while unforeseen, were callous enough to be considered culpable. And this isn’t the first time the Kryptonian council is guilty of finding “another way” when they blatantly had only one way out.

In the Man of Steel prequel comic, the council stashes Dev-em; a Kryptonian murderer, the first in generations, aboard a maiden voyage to the stars in search of new worlds, because in their own words, “we are not barbarians like the Thanagarians” so in other words, they were too “moral” to execute him. That maiden voyage’s crew included Kara Zor-el, Kal-el’s ancestor, who was undertaking what was at the time, a bold move for their race to stretch their influence to other worlds. The magnitude of this mission can’t be understated, this voyage was one of many that led to the creation of the Kryptonian outposts mentioned in the film. The film points out that abandoning this venture, was one of the ways Krypton’s eventual demise started, along with artificial population control, the eugenics based system it employed, the predetermining of a child’s purpose and the waste of their natural resources including drilling into their planet’s core. But back to the council’s decision, Dev-em escapes captivity, kills all crew on board the ship, gets in a scuffle with Kara Zor-el and crashes the ship. That ship is the scout ship that summons Zod to Earth in the movie, it’s distress signal being a cry for salvation from Dev-em. So we have two important instances where the Kryptonian council would rather find “another way” than take the one in front of them because it’s not moral enough for their virtuous tastes. But let’s also look at the methods they seemingly prefer to use, shall we? Let’s see if these methods are actually better than this immoral action they constantly refuse to take.

The Phantom Zone Prison

To those unaware, the phantom zone is a Kryptonian prison that houses Krypton’s most dangerous criminals. But even more insidiously, it has in most incarnations, been described as and looks like a fate worse than death, with the Donner movies, Smallville and the DCEU basically contesting for the most horrible version ever. Donner’s Phantom Zone was a diamond shaped prison where prisoners are stuck and ejected into space forever, Smallville had the prisoners bodies destroyed and their essence left in the zone as shambling, body stealing wraiths. The DCEU’s version will require a more explicit explanation. It involves a process of encasing the accused completely in ice, a very painful process as seen by General Zod’s cohorts screaming in pain, with the exception of Zod himself and Faora, who manage to bear it all with teeth clenched willpower. There’s also the implication that they are completely conscious even while encased completely in ice and in pain the whole time, their nociceptors working on overdrive. It’s so easy to overlook the horrific nature of this “moral” punishment while joking that their ice-maiden cocoons (because they look like and function like iron-maidens) look like dicks, doesn’t it? Then they’re sent into a ship, that carries their cocoons through a hyperspace portal to the phantom zone until their sentence runs out and then they’ll be released. Except they wouldn’t be. Krypton was dying, the end was here, their sentence of 300 cycles of sematic reconditioning meant nothing, they were damned for all eternity by those who considered execution too morally repulsive, even though given a choice, they would likely choose death. They were to consciously suffer their punishment within the ice for all eternity, and yet were only being sentenced for 300 years in what sounds like a sick joke.

Zod: You won’t kill us yourselves! You won’t sully your hands but you’ll damn us to a black hole for eternity!

The phantom zone is the go to excuse for that “another way” but there’s nothing better about the way it’s been applied in most media, it’s just there to coddle the morality of a desensitized viewer about what was right and what was needed in a story and Man of Steel clearly shows that there was nothing right or “moral” about it. But does the kind of morality that Kryptonians display influence the way Zod or any of his followers view Kal-el?

Expectations of Kryptonian Morality

If you’re like me, and you believe that absolute morality is being criticized in this movie, then Faora’s verbal smack down on Kal carries more meaning. While it’s easy to interprete her words as being about Clark having moral principles which put him at a disadvantage compared to their advantageous lack of it, it could also be interpreted as Faora pointing out that she expects him to display the very same self righteous air of moral superiority common to Kryptonians, a morality so high, it’s not above letting evil triumph as long as it stays intact. She expects him to be so caught up and drunk on his idea of morality, that he’d be willing to let people die rather than stop them, just like the Kryptonian council did. It’s decision to imprison them, ensured their survival, hence their “evolutionary advantage” over Kal, who could still be stuck in that same bubble.

Even in the final battle, Zod visibly smirks when Kal declares he’ll stop him, how could he not? Kal’s statement was virtually empty, how could he stop Zod? He’s exhausted all alternatives, sentenced his people to a fate worse than death, now he was going to feel Zod’s wrath. It was going down, of course he’d smirk. Kal’s been placed in that very same position Krypton’s council was, an entire planet’s fate in his hands, and Zod naturally expects his mind to be soaked in that same Kryptonian mentality, so will he keep trying to find “another way” as people keep dying or will he realize that there’s only so much he can actually control? Is his sense of morality really stronger than his concern for the billions of lives depending on him? And throughout the fight, Zod hammers the message home:

Zod: I will make them suffer, Kal. These humans you’ve adopted, i will take them all from you one by one!

Zod: There is only one way this ends, Kal. Either you die, or i do...

Zod: If you love these people so much, then you can mourn for them!

Add to this, earlier in the movie Jonathan tells him he has to decide the kind of man he wants to be, because that man; good character or bad, will change the world. Throughout the movie he’s proved what kind of man he was in different ways; selfless, brave, vulnerable, kind, empathetic, trusting, hopeful, etc. Now, he had to make a choice again, this time for an entire race and he chose what is undoubtedly the right choice in my opinion. Sure, it may not be a comfortable message for people to hear or read that Superman’s choice should involve killing Zod, but this is a movie that has proven time and again that actions have consequences, there are no deus ex machinas, get out of jail free cards, nothing. Clark has helplessly watched his father die, all his life he’s learnt there’s only so much you can control, you can’t save those who don’t want to be saved, you can’t just harmlessly stop those who don’t want to be stopped. He’s been pushed hard all his life but Zod is no schoolyard bully pushing him against a fence, Zod isn’t some nobody that can’t hurt him, Zod is the single worst phenomenon that dwarfs everything else he’d been able to passively endure in his life. Clark was able to keep his existence a secret for most of his life but within an hour of showing up, Zod outs him. Clark’s been passive his whole life despite ridicule, bullying and humiliation but within 24hrs of showing up, Zod pushes him enough that he throws his first punch ever. Everything he was taught, Zod was that antithesis that put it all to shame. But more importantly, Zod was proof that Clark was ultimately as helpless to control life like any other human and therefore, his decisions will carry repercussions and can’t be taken naively. And so, Clark chose to kill Zod, out of a lack of other options beyond falling back on the suicidal black/white morality his people were known for.

But since i said the no kill rule encourages apathy and detachment from viewers, is there any basis to any of it in the real world? Hello? This is Man of Steel, aka the movie that proved lots of people are fine letting evil prosper as long as they can shrug and say “at least my morals are intact”. This movie definitively proved that people’s sense of morality had taken a nose dive straight into apathy masqueraded as virtue. There was no end of “the real superman would have found another way!” in a story where an entire race vanishes overnight over that very same mentality. The obsessive focus on the action of Superman killing Zod rather than the context that more than justified a death that was already rightly bought when Zod commanded the World Engine be used to kill people. That the movie frames his death as a last resort only adds to my respect for it because he doesn’t even deserve that benefit. “Superman never ever kills! Ever!” cried detractors as they salivated over a version of superman killing a powerless man and joking about it. What do we call this kind of morality? One that calls an unavoidable death inexcusable but relishes a senseless one? And then would years later, go on to salivate over a near repeat of it, another senseless death covered up in jokes considered as acceptable? Because it seems people are 100% okay with their heroes (especially superman) killing, as long as they joke about it and feel nothing. So is this really about virtue? Or is it just an apathetic and detached populace fooling itself that it actually cares about morality? Because when it comes down to it, even despite proving that he wasn’t the kind of man to let people die in some misplaced sense of moral superiority, Superman mourns having had to take such a decision and mourns the death of a man who didn’t deserve it and refused to back down or stay down regardless of his pleas. He cries over his own helplessness and the ultimate imperfection that living in the real world (so to speak) brings. Because even though the movie criticizes moral absolutism, even though it hammers home the inherent stupidity of the no kill rule as an absolute, it never pretends like subverting it was without it’s own moral and emotional consequence. It was a blow to all his years of upbringing, his ability to navigate the world, to make decisions, his pacifism, but most of all, his conscience and faith in himself. A bad man died, a world lived and a good man was broken despite taking the only reasonable decision he had left, actions have consequences, we make decisions and we have to live with it. So Superman ends up showing more moral fiber in a movie where he kills than his own detractors do and it became just one more reason why i detested the rule because people didn’t care about morality in the first place.

[bnrobertson1]

Chin Up, Algorithms

Greta Van Fleet is known for three things: (1) Shamelessly sounding like Led Zeppelin, (2) Getting critically shat on for shamelessly sounding like LZ and (3) being the cause of people attacking the music press for, you know, just not getting it, man.* I haven’t had the privilege or desire to meet the band of Detroit teenagers, but I don’t like the thought of these up-and-comers, who so clearly have the world by the tail, being down about the cruel nature of living in the public eye. So, I decided to encourage them the only way I know how: by giving them Pump Up Speech they’ve essentially begged me for **.

*Sample quote: “It’s like an awesome new version of Led Zeppelin and refreshing for people who (like myself) are overloaded with electro-pop and generic rap that is dominating the airwaves and Spotify streams.”

** in my mind

[SETTING: BACKSTAGE @ University of Phoenix Stadium. Although the stadium walls shake with blandly enthusiastic anticipation, the band is depressed after some especially rough reviews. The label has flown me in to get them in a better headspace before they go “shred” with Imagine Dragons in front 100,000 people in the desert. They await my arrival in their green room.]

BONGO DRUMMER (I’m guessing his name is Derrrbb) [flustered]: Well, the label said they’d…

SMASH. Before anyone even realizes the door has been kicked open, Derrrbb’s head gets hit with an unidentified object and caves in like whatever politician you don’t like being questioned by whatever politician you do like.  

All are silent. There is a vacuum in the air that all present notice and appreciate, a calm before the storm heavy with some serious truth debris.

I stand motionlessly, a cricket bat (name: BAM BAM) dangles in my hand like a windchime. Finally, I animate. The next five minutes consist of me smashing any and everything that needs smashing. Vanity mirrors. SMASH. Two Man Harps. SMASH. Curling irons. SMASH SMASH SMASH. To add to the effect, my face is bleached with flour meant to resemble narcotics. Red dye, surprisingly sweet, is also on my face for even further dramatic effect, although it is mixing with the flour, making a fairly delicious combination that is difficult not to lick. I then remember I left all that fake drug crap back in my van, so we’re on the real deal, baby. My eyes start twitching as my pupils dilate. Fucking Great Van Fleet. I was saving all that for Frasier night at mom’s house. Oh well, might as well get this over with. Taking a slightly manic British affectation, I speak.

“Listen. Up. You. FUCKS!!!”

I find the closest “Eastern” instrument and spend close to half an hour tirelessly destroying it with BAM BAM into pieces so infinitesimal that it would be nearly impossible to prove that it ever actually existed. An Imagine Dragons’, let’s say, oboist(?) cries in the background, I tirelessly smash the Sitar out of its misery. Noticing I’m distracted with obliterating instruments, Greta Van Fleet’s lead singer slowly starts to gain some courage, finally speaking “Hey man! Th….”

“SHUTTTTTT ITTTTT,” I politely interrupt, picking up the lead singer, let’s call him Gene, by his VERY COOL  “Indian” apparel, discus throwing him into the sun. I finally take a deep breath. Then another. Then I seethe for fifteen minutes before speaking.

“Perhaps, I should start from scratch. I’m here because your record label paid me enough a volcano-choking amount of dough to fly here and give you boys a pick-me-up because you’ve been down in the dumps with all this negative pWess. You know, a little pep pep. Maybe a pat on the noggin, a drink at me teet. And yep, boys, it’s been brutal. Look what it says here [picking up a stray computer]: ‘derivative,’ [I throw the computer at the regular drummer like a throwing star, it sticking in his head, killing him instantly] “vampiric,” [I just punch some dude for having a pube stache], “totally passionless” [I consider how many pounds of pasta a crazy busy Olive Garden goes through the day].

I continue. “And so what? Did you really get into rock n’ roll to impress critics. CRITICS!?! Some 45-year old cumrag making in a year what you do you do in a day selling your ‘Indigenous Peoples’ Greta Van Fleet Start Pack?’ Do you think for one segment of a second that one of those keyboard warriors wouldn’t change places with you? They’d floss with the bones of their young just to have one person applaud them out loud, much less a 100,000 at one time.

Full name: Indigenous Peoples’ Greta Van Fleet Start Pack* with individually numbered Bansuri

So what do they do? They talk shit on the internet like the true desperados they are. Real John fucking Waynes, this lot. ‘Oh, they’re just some product made by record industry focus group testing?’ Oh really? Well guess what else is- EVERYTHING. But there’s hope: all the stuff you get in return does not know the difference. Let me assure you, gentlemen, breasts and narcotics…” [and this point I disappear for 45 minutes. I return very, very excited to continue our chat].

“YEEEEEAAAAAHHHHHHH. Where was I?!?! Buildings! No. Oh Greta Van Fleet. So yeah like I was saying, your record label didn’t think they were signing the new Lou Reed or the new Daft Punk or fuck even the new Seven Mary fucking Three when they got you to sign on the dotted line. They just have enough data to know people like Led Zeppelin’s sound and to know that you fill that bill quite nicely. Sure, those Steve McQueen-esque critics may call you “derivative” as they take a break from their marathon love-making, but guess what- so is everybody who has ever used the word ‘the.’ Plus, derivative or not, none of you are in your sixties going on about Satanism and asking for stupid amounts of money, so the powers picked you. Plus you didn’t seem to have any pre-existing medical conditions.  But don’t fool yourself: each and every one of you cash registers are just glorified human-shaped SONOS machines. Play these songs, get your paycheck, and then exhaust all of your senses- especially which ever one tells you to ever speak. I LOVE THE LIGHTS!

Anyway, boys, think about this: Your songs have been played billions of times. BILLIONS. Add that all up and that’s more time than the entirety of Mr. “I have a Graduate Degree Yet Make Less than $35,000” Journalist McFuckFace has been on this planet, or any other. Don’t let him sting you with limp-dicked insults, boys. You have won. Look at this [picks up $10,000 guitar]. And this [picks up a huge pile of vaporizers with both hands]. ALL THE VAPES IN THE WORLD! AND THIS! [I open the treasure chest full of jewels that is in the room for some reason. I take a few of the jewels out and starts rubbing them all over my body for, let’s say, 20 minutes.]

[I continue.] Critics get to be “smart,” you get to be “rich and famous,” which is another way of saying you get to be anything you want, except smart, which is overrated. Just ask the chess master who lives in the park next to my 9,600 sq. penthouse suite. He asks for the cheese on the wax paper of my morning bagel I’m usually far too hungover to eat. That’s the type who “know about music.” When you’re thinking about what type of ice sculpture Wedding 9 should have, he’ll be teaching a Community College Class about the “Evils of Capitalism,” and mates, he’ll know that truth as soundly as you won’t remember one fucking fact about him.  

My point, my little gold mines, [I take the bassist’s face in my hands] my beautiful little gold mines [that’s not the bassist. I don’t care]  is that none of this shit matters. We’re just here for a blip, so make it a boom. Who cares if “the right people” respect you? Or if that cute girl with the thick-brimmed glasses who keeps uncracked Pynchon nearby admires your mind? I’ve got bad news for you all: none of you are Thom Yorke. I also have great news: NONE OF YOU ARE THOM YORKE. You’re not doomed to spend your days thinking about the feelings of a vacuum cleaner replacement part or some shit. Embrace your inner hedonism- that is the true spirit of LZ. Not some stolen blues riffs and shark fucking (google it). Let your creativity run wild with how you put things in and out of your bodies. AND BECOME A GOD FOR IT.  

So sorry, people will not be studying your album notes decades from now looking for clues into your genius or how the structure of some ballad is meant to mirror some fucking world ill. And that shouldn’t bother you one bit- worrying about how the future will consider you is for academics and people who think because their current life blows that it will somehow be championed in the future because they didn’t have the gall to do anything in the present. If they’re lucky they’ll get a paper towel made in their honor. If we’re lucky, that paper towel will be produced using child-labor and earth-destroying products. Nothing wipes the shit grin off their “sophisticated” faces quite like hypercriticism, and buddy, we’ll assure you there’ll be plenty of that.  

So people are calling you just a rip-off of Led Zeppelin? Congrats, you’ve hit the gold mine. Now all that’s left to do is shine. Oh, you’re welcome. Now fuck off.”

As I start to leave, one of the band member’s asks a question about “authenticity” and whether I wondered whether aping the musicians who aped other musicians “problematic.” My brain- whose resting speed is somewhere in between a figuring out how to fly and a full blown aneurysm- weaponizes, liquifying all remaining members who are in the room. I take the liquid and make ceremonial “Energy Pendants,” where I put a drop or two in a vaguely “spiritual” rock (I call them ‘crystals’), selling them for $3,500 a piece. I become a millionaire and marry Kate Upton on the moon. Oh, and because I’m so well liked and wealthy, the actual Led Zeppelin plays the reception. They play a 14- minute version of “Kashmir.” It slays.  

THE END  

[douchebagbrainwaves]

EVERY FOUNDER SHOULD KNOW ABOUT MATTER

Nowadays a lot of time doing it. It would feel unnatural to him to behave any other way. People who worry about the increasing gap between rich and poor generally look back on the default explanation of people living in fallen civilizations. We can of course counter by sending a crawler to look at what you've done in the cold light of morning, and see all its flaws very clearly.1 If a language had twenty separate users, meaning twenty users who decided on their own to use it. And someone has to argue with you, because everyone has base impulses, and if you have a statically-typed language without lexical closures or macros. Perhaps the most successful countries, in the future.

Common Lisp has neither. Which means, interestingly, that determination tends to erode itself.2 Email is not just classification, because false positives are my bug list. I count them as false positives because I hadn't been deleting them as spams before. It might even be possible to write a dissertation. Later, when you want to work for will be as impressed by that as good grades on class assignments. A survey course in art history may be worthwhile. Oddly enough, it won't pay for spammers to spoof: just add a big chunk of random text to counterbalance the spam terms. But that's like using a screwdriver to open bottles; what one really wants is a bottle opener. The idea of them making startup investments is comic. Smart people will go wherever other smart people are.3 Everyone likes to believe that's what makes startups succeed.

What, another search engine? They don't need that much money, and they don't want the hassles that come with it. You have to be. Generally, the garage guys envy the big bang guys. Nerds are a distinct subset of the creative class, they want to live somewhere, you could create in a couple minutes. But it's the bold ideas that generate the biggest returns. When they go to VC firms. They're hard to filter based just on the headers, no matter what they say in the body.

And yet I think they are often mistaken to feel sorry for themselves. So if you want to attract nerds, you need more than a question of just solving a problem. If you wanted to park it. Hackers at every college learn practical skills, and not by accident. There is a kind of pleasure here too. Boldness pays. The opinion of expert hackers is not the same as most language designers'. Ruby on Linux. Apple is in the suburbs.4

Could you reproduce Silicon Valley elsewhere, or is there something unique about it?5 It's also more formal and distant, which gives the reader's attention permission to drift. Is life actually short, or are we really complaining about its finiteness? You have to be new. A round. The good news is that the initial seed can be quite small. People who worry about the increasing gap between rich and poor generally look back on the default explanation of people living in fallen civilizations. By delaying learning VRML, I avoided having to learn it at all.6 Things that lure you into wasting your time on that's bullshit, you probably already know the answer. VCs aren't interested in such small deals. Make a good car? If you've lived in New York, where people walk, but not smiling.

And such an algorithm would be easy for spammers to send it, and the cost of typing it.7 When they first start working on something, you must have it, no matter what. C, MIT's dialect of Lisp, called MacLisp, was one of those that exploit an insecure cgi script to send mail to third parties.8 The last ingredient a popular language needs is time. Howard Aiken said Don't worry about people stealing your ideas. Using big abstractions you can write the first version of a program very quickly. Google survived to become a big, independent company is the same reason their joinery always has. One great thing about having small children is that they make you spend time on things that matter and things that don't, and only gradually learn to distinguish between them.9 I've read was not in a book, and something to hack. So these five false positives so far, startups that turn down acquisition offers is not necessarily that all such offers undervalue startups. What does it mean, exactly?

This really is kind of a bug. FREE Free free If you do this, be sure to consider versions with initial caps as well as money. If everyone's filters have different probabilities, it will make a very big difference to the bottom line how many users make a critical mass of experts in an important new technology together in a place they liked enough to stay. But often memory will be the limit; the number of temptations around you. One way to describe this situation is to say that a language has to be planted in the right soil, or it will be a good thing when it happens, because these new investors will be compelled by the structure of the investments they make to be ten times bolder than present day VCs.10 Prose can be rewritten over and over until you're happy with it. When specialists in some abstruse topic talk to one another; but you can learn how to predict which startups will succeed.

I've proposed to several VC firms that they set aside some money and designate one partner to make more, smaller bets, and they don't want the hassles that come with it. They're the ones that set the trends, both for other startups and for VCs. Starting a startup is like science in that you have to follow the model of Tcl, and supply the Lisp together with a complete system for supporting server-based applications, it will stay.11 Well, maybe. People should be able to charge for content when it works to charge for content without warping society in order to live in a town where the cool people are really cool. Remember, hackers are lazy. But an illusion it was.

Notes

Some of the increase in economic inequality—that an idea where the richest country in the country it's in. No.

Unfortunately these times are a hundred and one kind that evolves into Facebook isn't merely a better strategy in an urban context, issues basically means things we're going to lie to adults. This approach has not worked well, but no more than the founders lots of potential winners, from which I deliberately pander to readers, though sloppier language than I'd use to calibrate the weighting of the young Henry VIII and was troubled by debts all his life. By your mid-game. The trustafarians' ancestors didn't get rich will use this thing yourself, if you like a conversation reaches a certain city because of the word content and tried for a really long time?

A startup's success at fundraising is because their company for more than clumsy efforts to protect one's children seems weaker, judging from things people have told us that the only reason I say the rate of change in the bouillon cube s, cover, and a back seat to philology, which is the new economy during the entire cross-country Internet bandwidth wasn't enough for one another directly through the buzz that surrounds wisdom in this algorithm are calculated using a dictionary from scratch is not just something the telephone, the only significant channel was our own startup Viaweb, which is the most useless investors are just not super thoughtful for the popular vote he would have been the fastest to hire a lot of companies to do tedious work. This was made a lot of the next three years, maybe you don't see them, not eating virtuously. The best investors rarely care who else is investing, which are a hundred years ago. It's hard for us to Steve Huffman and Alexis Ohanian, both of whom have become direct marketers.

Some find they have that glazed over look. Please do not do this right you'd have to disclose the threat to potential speakers. The Sub-Zero 690, one could aspire to the environment. Some VCs seem to be the model for Internet clients too.

Tell the investors.

This has already happened once in China, during the Ming Dynasty, when I read most things I write. The only reason you're even considering the other becomes visible. False positives are not very discerning. But while such trajectories may be a quiet, earnest place like Cambridge in that so many people work with the exception of the Industrial Revolution, Cambridge University Press, 1996.

Not in New York the center of gravity of the anti-dilution provisions also protect you against tricks like a month might to an employer hired men based on that.

Median may be enough to absorb that. At the time quantum for hacking is very long: it favors small companies. When Harvard kicks undergrads out for here, which shows how unimportant the Arpanet which became the Internet, like selflessness, might come from meditating in an urban legend. Adam Smith Wealth of Nations, v: i mentions several that tried to be the next Facebook, if you seem like a little more fat, and all the page-generating templates are still a dick move.

So it's a collection itself.

Gauss was supposedly asked this when he was otherwise unoccupied, to buy your kids' way into top colleges by sending them to private schools that in practice is that you're being gratuitously troublesome. I used to reply that they got to see if you include the cases where a lot about how to be careful. But should you do if your school, and everyone's used to say whether the 25 people have for one video stream.

If you want to create a web-based applications. It will also interest investors. After a while ago, the world wars to say that it sounds like the Segway and Google Wave. In 1995, when the audience at an academic talk might appreciate a joke, they only even consider great people.

[ghostsonabiketonowhere]

Ghostman: The council calamity retrospective

Well christ, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? I know literally nobody follows this blog, but as of this writing, i’m waiting on the steam direct fee i paid to be fully processed (Basically, in a week i’ll be able to publish the game)

I’d like to take a second and stroll down memory lane for a little bit, and why it took so fucking long to make this game, this is basically going to be a list of every time i tried and failed to make a game, so strap in, these aren’t in chronological order either, and i’ve kinda forgotten the proper order.

Bill’s excellent adventure:

There’s incredibly little to say on this one, after reading a 4chan thread on games development i downloaded GM:S, tried making a platformer, saw my art, didn’t see any progress after trying a little bit, and gave up.

Mugman:

Mugman was the first time i tried making an adventure game, other than the main character, i had no ideas for the game and dropped it like a rock.

Radiation Seat:

Radiation Seat, for the more dedicated gamers in the audience, is just a synonym for nuclear throne, i tried messing around with random generation in GM:S, realised i’m not very good at coding and gave up, the game actually kinda works though, so theoretically if i’m a moron/psychopath i could try working on it again.

Asterodis:

First real game i ever made, it’s an asteroids clone, but with a bunch of the stuff i saw in Vlambeer’s game feel talks crammed in, it’s essentially idenitcal to a tutorial on youtube except shooting takes away points and there’s a limit to the number of bullets on screen.

Poltergeist (Aka: Ghostman when he was a person)

I posted a lot about Poltergeist (the version of ghostman with good art and a completely different setting), the secret to this was having a good artist, Robert Thomas helping me out, we never finished it, and Bobby got caught up in school work, but that’s almost over so if he’s willing to pick up the pen again, i’m willing to do the coding and fix the reall weird bugs (randomly the game would massively lag for a reason i never figured out, i assume it had something to do with the way AGS handles characters over non walkable areas)

Grall and Foegart goto whitecastle:

I’d had the idea of wanting to make a high fantasy adventure game after reading a couple of discworld novels, these games didn’t get far, but it did have an interesting character switching mechnic similar to DOTT, this also appeared in a couple of other half finished games i’d made, why i thought it’d be funny to make a game based on it when i’d never seen Harold and Kumar go to whitecastle? Iunno.

H.E.L.L:

H.E.L.L (Hyper Energetive Love Lab) was a shot at making a VN, i’m probably going to still do this, so i don’t know if putting here’s sensible but eh, fuck it, i’d had the idea of a reality show crossed with a death game for ages, and tried writing a short story about it, which went nowhere.

Gender Girl:

Gender Girl was the first video game i ever made, it was a scratch program with the cat repainted to be pink, moving left killed you by a spike, moving right displayed a message that gender girl had liberated herself (Hohoho, very ludonarratively insync, 12 year old me), i uploaded it to the scratch website, and it, containing swear words(such a rebel was i) it was deleted 5 seconds after publication, truly, a light gone from the world, what did it have to do with gender? If i remember literally nothing, or you were supposed to cut your dick off with the spikes.

Yeah.

PAGAN:

Pagan was a pokemon rip off i was making, i didn’t get far beyond changing sprites and types, world design is hard, as of writing it’s still on my site, i ought to take it down buti just don’t have the heart, poor Pagan.

BORB (Ghostman 1)

Borb, as it’s affectionatly called in the files, is ghostman 1, it’s the source of the Alien King sprite, and the Ghostman sprite used in Ghostman: The council calamity, and was distributed amongst my friends for like, 5 seconds, it’s 4 screens and one “Puzzle”, which doesn’t actually work because the last time i did work on it, it’s fun to see how my humour changed, in GM1 we’ve got the classic line “It’s locked up tighter than a jewish bank” and a character named Snil, whose ribbing snarky asshole persona was basically every persona i used to write until i started playing dnd with my friends, and had to make more than 1 character, i don’t really like anything about GM1, but i find it oddly charming, it’s terrible perspective and total lack of story or theme (You’re kidnapped by bandits and the game ends in leaving on a spaceship having never seen a single bandit.) just makes it like lenny from of mice and men, it probably should die, but i can’t help shooting a game that thought the way to add taste was to remove the words “Fuck off” from a wall.

Rebet:

Rebet’s the first time we see the actual character “Rebut” appear, in some weird tron like backround, i remember wanting to make something that looked like tron, and failing, other than that Rebet remains a total mystery, even to me, andi made the fucking thing, looking at the code, i remember a little bit more about the game, the main gimmick was having a variety of ray guns that could effect peoples emotion, the example in the tutorial was a “calming ray” to prevent a drill seargeant from screaming at you, this didn’t go anywhere.

Wing Wang:

This is literally an empty ags game, there’s nothing in it, i don’t know why i haven’t deleted it.

Ye Men of Valour:

Ye Men of Valour was a weird idea, i’d read a book called “The decline and fall of the British Empire” (Based upon the work, the decline and fall of the roman empire) and decided to make a game based upon a variety of British figures from across time entering into a house they must escape, only to be killed by Aliens, the goal of the game was to get players to reload the game with the knowledge that following the puzzles as they were laid out would kill them, and use a different method to escape, Ye Men of Valour really ended up going nowhere because i was in a pretty dark place and wasn’t motivated, like at all, i’m gonna put this in the “Might come back to it” pile.

Ghostman 2:

Ghostman 2, like Grall and Foegart, had a character switching thing, this ended up breaking the game, so i scrapped it, Ghostman 2 was when the idea of Ghostman being a space adventure comes from, following from Ghostman 1, where you leave on a ufo with an alien, it’s what i thought would happen next, if i remember there was literally no story, just the characters, and switching gimmick.

I.A.C.M

I.A.C.M was a project i worked on with Bobby very breifly, the idea was to make an adventure game set inside a mentally disturbed girls mind, this basically didn’t pan out due to AGS engine limitations, the sprites sent in were too big and ended up looking kind of lame squashed down.

You cannot name this file, insect.:

This wasn’t a game, this was shit poetry at a time in my life where i knew my poetry was godawful, there was no story here, just a Shodan like figure who’d insult me, like personally, i’d write insults about myself into a script and then play it.

Robot Initation:

Adventure game, starring “some random guy named mike”, drew the first character sprites, hated them, didn’t want to improve them, gave up.

Assault and Battery/BatteryMan:

This was a go at 3d platformers made in unity, fell apart because the models i’d made in blender weren’t done properly at all, breaking practically everything.

PirateTextAdventure(ActualTitle):

Sounds exactly like what it is, never got a single line down for this.

Shield Slide:

A rip off of free ski based on the idea of riding a shield i think i saw i a lotr movie? Never got to prototype.

AAAH!

AAAH (Aimless aeronautical adveture, huzzah!) was an experiment i wanted to make, an adventure game that was procedudrely generated, every game would involve a one minute timer, which upon reaching zero, would result in the player dying, the story was the player had just survived a plane colliding with another plane in midair, and had to find a way to live without a parachute just using debris, lessons learned: Random generation is hard, i also ripped off the title from AAAAAAAAAAAAh for the awesome.

Sweet Goodnight:

Sweet goodnight was an rpg i planned to make about dying alone in a spaceship, it never got far beyond idle doodles and some game design docs that i’ve since lost, may go back to this in future.

Spaceman and Woodboy:

A mario and luigi superstar saga ripoff, never got to properly playable state, GM:S is hard.

Quest of Halden:

Shit rpg.

Ghostman: CNC :

Ghostman: CNC (Caverns and creatures) was a weird idea, i wanted to make an Rpg based on my dnd campaign, but for some reason i felt the need to justify it with a weird ghostman shell, may go back to this one.

Legend of Negro:

I don’t know why the fuck this is on my computer, i tried pissing around with a legend of zelda game maker thing.

Generic Units:

Supposed to be an xcom like, fell apart.

Airman/Pacifist run:

Something i still want to do, an fps with non violent weapons and stage hazards that you have to use to defeat enemies, got as far as modeling a single gun.

Sepsis man:

A 3d platformer starring a drinks machine, modeled main character, gave up.

Slime Game (actual title, again.)

Slime game (Or Slime Quest) was going to be an incredibly clever subversive take on the Rpg genre by having the grand villain actually be a low level mook, think cave rats and dungeon bosses, that kind of thing, stopped making it because i thought “Woah, that’s dumb, and lame, and i really don’t like making art for ideas that are dumb and lame!”

Zug’s Glorious road trip for the glory of the party and wealth of the nation:

ZGRTFTGOTPAWOTN for short, this was a text adventure based on wormhole shenanigans and Soviet propaganda films, never really got that far, fun little fact, Zug’s the name of the alien in my twitter profile pic.

Ghostman: The council calamity:

I didn’t quit, i made the game.

THANK GOD FOR THAT.

[magdaleneswift-blog]

CELIBATE OLD MEN EXPLAIN SEX TO THE WORLD.

The vatican documents on sex are all about love and being a symbol of God’s love for humanity.  Bull – With their protection of the pedophiles and endorsement of the rape culture, their actions show what they really mean the purpose of sex is – It is the best way to declare war on another human being and make sure to do the maximum amount of damage possible.  My experience of sex after two marriages are that it has NOTHING to do with love and men see it only as a means of domination.

MEN HATE SEX

Through the years of my life I have noted that men really hate sex and go to elaborate and continuous efforts to avoid it as much as possible while pretending the opposite.  After 40+ years of live I am no longer under the illusion that sex is about love, affection, comfort, support, reassurance, or even carnal desire.  It is purely a male power trip or adrenalin rush.

AVOIDANCE TECHNIQUES AND EVIDENCE

The following are some of the more common methods men use to avoid sex while pretending the opposite.

PORN

I can think of no other activity that is LESS likely to result in long term physical contact with another adult person of the appropriate gender.  Porn is nearly always watched by oneself shut up in a closed room.  Most of the public mock priests for choosing celibacy to devote their lives to God and the time they spend gazing in adoration at the holy presence or sacred writings contemplating the love of God.  Porn watchers spend hours gazing in adoration at CRT screens or color photos.  I don't know what they can be contemplating other than the space between their ears or the space between their legs.  It is pretty much guaranteed that neither is seeing much use. One of porn's saving graces is that as its disciples lock themselves away from the general public for long periods of time, they normally avoid annoying the rest of us, except for the occasional crusade against censorship.  These usually wind up resulting in the promotion of celibacy. That is porn's second saving grace.  The discussion and/or content of it completely turns off most women; making celibacy seem incredibly attractive.  The old copy of Playboy my ex kept to read the fighter plane articles was enough to bring me out of the mood in minutes. I just spent time in a hotel where I couldn't sleep at 3:00 am.  I went down to the lobby to read to avoid waking the rest of the family.  I used the public computer to read my e-mail.  The previous user had left about a dozen porn pages up that I had to shut down to get to the e-mail program.  Most of the images looked at women as objects to hurt or humiliate.  When I got up, I noticed the seat was soaking wet.  I was afraid to think what it could be.  The hotel manager said the person had sat down with sopping wet clothes. The female equivalent, the 'Cinderella/vampire Romance' in which the love and attraction is for one partner for life/eternity either bores most men or causes them to flee in terror.  The exception seems to be if they are looking for someone to volunteer to do their laundry.

MASTURBATION

A related technique is masturbation.  Again, the point is to spend as much time as possible away from members of the opposite sex.  It also warps your outlook such that when you do find a partner, they are only seen as extensions of a dick.  That is the truth to the priests saying that masturbation causes blindness.  It has nothing to do with a need for an optometrist.  It has to do with allowing your lower head to control how you see the world.  You have to admit the view down there is pretty limited. (Note to religious fundamentalists:  Truth does not always need to be literal to be true and often becomes ridiculous when interpreted that way. See St. Augustine's Confession Book 11 Chapter 20)) Masturbation also leads to the perception that the penis is all.  Men are often so fixated on these few square inches of skin, that when it fails them, they are left with nothing. Some men become so conditioned on masturbation that they can't function any other way. I can't imagine any woman's dream partner is some putz who can only relate to his right hand. Again it does have the saving grace to partially clear you head to allow you to separate true feelings from hormones.  Mostly I just found it depressing to think I had flushed my life and my children's lives down the toilet for the small benefit of the physical sensation.

REALLY 'IMPORTANT' TASKS THAT HAVE TO BE DONE DURING LIMITED TIME ALONE WITH SPOUSE

Men always say they are interested in sex during dating and they are good for maybe a month or two after marriage.  After that, they start trying to avoid it and come up with the most transparent excuses, especially after children when couple time is limited. My ex said he had to read computer magazines for half an hour to get in the mood.  This was before children.  Also, it was absolutely vital to spend hours cataloging screen savers. He also often 'had to wait for a BM.' I swear he spent half his life on the toilet.  He must have heard the study that said the most fool proof way of avoiding rape was evacuating your bowels.  This is supposedly such a turn off that most rapists will leave. To all those naysayers, I used to have an excellent figure, but gave up trying to get any response from initiating interest in my 20's.  I even told him that I was going to stop annoying him as it was too humiliating to be always brushed off.  I remember years later, during one of the few times he was interested in sex.  After we finished, he said, "Wow! Why don't we do this more often?"  I remember lying there thinking "I've been wondering that for years, but if I say a word he will never want sex again." He also said the unconditional love was wonderful, but chose celibacy to devote his life to little pieces of cardboard:  Pokémon, Magic the Gathering, Star Trek, Pong, etc." (Just how much lead do they put in the ink on those cards?)  I mean get real, what is unconditional love when you can have little pieces of card board.  On the plus side, it does give new meaning when considering the unconditional love of our Savior, what he chose to go through, and the trash we choose rather than him. With husband number 2, it is the fish tank that can only be changed during the short time we have to be alone.  Or worse, when it he would literally RUN out the door, including the time right before I was going to leave to make an emergency trip cross country to care for my mother's cancer and move her to our town. Of course, once I was gone for over a week, he is on the phone insisting he wants me to abandon my mother to come home because HE is horny.  He wondered why I was upset when I got home.

SMOKING AND OTHER HEALTH SABOTAGE.

This is another extreme measure men use to avoid sex.  Their systems functions with basic hydraulics.  Smoking and obesity both clog the pipes and interfere with the function of the system.  Based on experience, they are only functional until about 35 anyway.  I assume 30 if they choose to smoke.  They must really hate sex in order to sabotage their health this way to avoid it.

THE QUICKIE

Also known as "Let's get this onerous activity over as soon as possible."  This most often happens when they wake up in the morning with an erection.  (I think they are shocked when their equipment works.)  Of course this only happens when you have to hurry to get to work on time and they have the day off.  It never happens on a weekend when you have time.  It is one of the sadistic games they like to play.  Believe me; we get the message in a hurry.

YENTL - EXHAUSTION

The corollary to this is to keep you working non-stop so you drop from exhaustion.  Barbara Streisand made this technique famous in the movie "Yentl".  She was a woman pretending to be a man so she could go to school.  She got railroaded into marrying another woman and was trying to find ways to avoid sex and not blow her cover.

CONTINUOUS DISCUSSION OF SUBJECT

My ex always used to say that the easiest way to tell if high school boys were having sex was to listen to how often they talked about it.  As he said, "If you are doing, you don't need to talk about it."  I would agree.  Based on this premise, there are a lot of celibate people in this world.   Unfortunately, it gives the impression when you are dating that they ARE interested in a physical relationship.  This is a second sadistic game men like to play. A good test is to ask for help with housework while dating.  If they flee, dump them ASAP.  They aren't worth the bother and celibacy is better.  If they agree and show signs of wanting to help out long term, latch onto them, it doesn't matter WHAT they look like.  This is the female version of the old male advice.  "Cooking lasts.  Kissing don't."

FASHION

Men also try to get out of sex by perpetuating the myth you have to wear sexy clothes.  I tried that. The only reaction I got was contact dermatitis from the synthetic material.  They are all designed to be as uncomfortable and impractical as possible to add injury to insult.  My ex always used to say that women's clothes are designed by gay men who hate women and want to make them suffer as much as possible.  This has been well documented since at least the 40's.  My aunt had a book from around that time frame called "The Hussy's Handbook."  It asked the question "Why would women want to look ridiculous by wearing a hat that looked like a pair of mittens?"   I find the ones who design the patent leather shoes for little girls the most frightening.  Those shoes have soles as slippery as ice.  Wearing them is a threat to life and limb.  Their designers must want to kill girls off before they have the chance to reach sexual maturity. Mostly, I think men just get off on seeing how ridiculous they can make women look.  They will then sometimes flaunt this by taking you out to dinner to show you off.  This does what is really important to them; impress the other guys.  You can't do anything in a public restaurant.  Going to a hotel with a spouse does absolutely nothing.

PREGNANCY & BIRTH CONTROL

It is often hypothesized that men are frightened of fatherhood and pregnancy.  The truth is that they look forward to it as a way of avoiding sex.  My ex used it as a tacit excuse to avoid sex for nine months.  Of course that was about how often he was interested anyway.  It never dawned on me that hoping for maybe once a month qualified me as a nymphomaniac. When my ex and I first became a couple, I assumed part of his lack of interest was fear of pregnancy.  I offered to go to a doctor for birth control, but he said he didn't want me destabilizing my body chemistry for something that happened so infrequently.  I didn't dare touch that statement. With husband number two, I tried the ring.  It worked beyond his wildest dreams.  He said it changed my scent and he lost all interest in sex.  I could only stand it a week anyway, as I reacted to it and had to put up with the soreness as well as the celibacy.  I just read a study confirming this.  Male lemurs loose all sexual interest in female lemurs on birth control. I also tried natural family planning.  I gave that up after a few months as well.  He was never interested in finding out when the safe times were anyway.  Also guess the only time he showed the slightest interest? The saddest part to all of this is the feminine myth that a baby will make a man want to stick around forever.  Some of the worst are the Harlequin Romances.  Too often the males are actually looking at pregnancy as an excuse to avoid any kind of long term relationship.  At least one study says male abandonment is the number one reason for abortions.  At least one male African American sex education instructor spoke out against this practice saying the men in the community needed "to stop walking away from their children as if they had had a bowel movement."  The real African (not American) men I have heard put a priority on providing for their children.  The walking away was a dehumanizing technique started by the slavers looking for justification for their genocidal behavior.  Getting a woman pregnant and then walking away is NOT the action of a man, but of a two year old with a hormone problem. Remember, a wedding ring is part of a WITNESSED promise (legal contract) to stick around and provide for any children of the woman.  Ladies - Don't believe anything else.  Even if the men still don't intend to follow through, you at least have some legal recourse.  Celibacy is a small price to pay for the security of your children. Some of these men may even believe what they say themselves; until they find out there is work involved. I have heard that the Islamic version of heaven is supposed to be several virgins.  This makes absolutely no sense.  I suppose a woman in this heaven could form a dancing group for entertainment. What would the men do?  The virgins wouldn't be virgins in a short period of time.  What would the man do after that? Flee for all eternity from several wives or try to provide for an infinite number of children?  In any case, if this is your incentive, are you worshipping God or your dick?

WHAT THEY REALLY ARE AFTER IMPRESS OTHER MEN

Don't let them kid you.  Sex to men is only a way to impress other men.  They swear up and down they aren't gay, but the only time they are interested in sex is when they are around other men.  My ex would swear he wasn't gay, and then make life choices such that he spent all of his time with adolescent males. The best example of this was one of my coworkers.  He was loudly proclaiming at the office Christmas party that he wanted to go home and sleep with his wife.  With that kind of behavior, it was obvious he wouldn't have even thought of sex if the other guys weren't there.  Since his wife was there, he was also obviously trying to get out of sex for another year.  Publically embarrassing your wife is one of the best methods to do so.  It didn't help that their children and other co-worker's children were there. Unfortunately for him, it may have backfired.  I have been in the position of having sex with someone I totally despise because I was that tired of celibacy.  It is not an experience I would ever want to repeat. If you watch the nature chimpanzee documentaries you can see this often, as part of the male dominance battle, the male ends by having sex with a female.  He apparently isn't interested in the female except as a minor prop for the contest with the other males. Growing up around cattle, it soon becomes apparent that all herd animals have homo sexual tendencies.  Human beings are herd animals.  My own crack pot hypothesis is that it is necessary for civilization as it allows men to tolerate each other long enough to build something.  The female version in primates is a survival technique to promote bonding to avoid getting beaten up by the inferior males.

POWER TRIP

The above reminds me of one of my daughter's favorite stories.  It also relates to the "The more they talk, they less they do" hypothesis.  My daughter is big into the Warrior Cats series.  In this series, the cats are intelligent and live in human social structures.  One fierce cat was called "Scourge."  He was a house pet turned feral and took over a large urban territory.  In one scene, he is being run down by a pack of dogs.  They surround him and tell him, "Run." He stands his ground and tells them, "No."  The graphics on the dogs immediately changes from threatening to confused and upset.  They say, "Please?"  They have absolutely no idea what to do with a cat if it isn't running away.   Men are often like that.  They are either into the challenge of the hunt itself, or get off on the power trip of making women afraid or insecure.  You can see this nearly every day.  A car of young men will drive by and you will see them emulate Marley, the dog.  They roll down the window and bark something stupid; thereby disturbing the peace and announcing to everyone in a one block radius that they have no intention of getting within 100' of a woman.  This also announces that they prefer the company of their male palls to a woman. A male health class lecturer when I was in high school confirmed this.  He said that the last thing these guys wanted was sex.  He said he wished he was a girl in those cases.  He would run up to car and say, "Sure, let's go", just to see how fast they can run away. (Note:  Don't try this for real.  You can find a real nut case ready to cause you grievous injury.) This attitude, taken to the extreme, is rape.  This isn't sex.  It is open war fare.  It makes you wonder what kind of men can hate women enough to do this.  The socially acceptable consequence of perpetrating rape is to be locked up for long periods of time with other men.  That must be their ultimate goal. Thankfully, I have never had to deal with a rapist.  I have thought though, that my daughter's hero may be on to something.  It might work to stare them down.  Look at them like they have a screw loose.  Shrug.  Ask them if they are allergic to the really strong antibiotics and head toward them.  I wouldn't be surprised if they would run so fast they would knock themselves cold on the nearest fixed object. The man who kidnapped the woman for several years and thought he was treating her well was not only on a power trip, he was also about 900 years out of date.  The kidnapped bride was outlawed under English law in the 1100's.  The right of ownership of any woman you could catch was part of many Native American cultures.  It may still exist in some cultures around the world.  In this country, women were the legal property of their husbands until the 1900's.  Go to any courthouse and read all the land deeds that include "To Have and to Hold."  This is a legal phrase dealing with property transference.

ADRENALINE RUSH

The Ancient Greeks had a god for this.  Eros (Sexual Passion) was the son of Ares (War) and Aphrodite (Love).  It is a well known biological fact that terror triggers a drive to reproduce before you die. "There is no passion like that snatched from beneath the blade of a sword."  I think this is why a lot of men lose interest in sex after they are married.  Once they realize their partner isn't going to try to kill them, the drive is gone. Note: If you know that what you really want is only the adrenaline rush; TAKE UP BUNGEE JUMPING!.  It is safer and causes less damage. This also relates to the teenage girl vampire fantasy.  With a vampire you get both the eternal love and the adrenaline rush from potential death.  I just pray they grow out of this BEFORE they have a baby. Also note: the search for eternal love is one reason women tend to be more interested in religion than men.  The reason the first 'Mormons' practiced polygamy was the fact that they had several women for every man and they insisted their fellow church members share. George Bernard Shaw's version was, "Women would rather share a good man, than have all of a poor one."  It works for gorillas anyway.  (See PBS - Nature - The Gorilla King)

COLLECTING

You also get the opposite; men who seem to want to have sex with as many different women as possible.  Various books talk about the inferiority complex of men like this.  It may be just me, but this seems more like stamp collecting than sex.

AVOIDANCE OF HOUSE HOLD CHORES

This is the flip side to the Yentl approach.  Leave the women to do all the work as avoiding cleaning is much more important than sex. One of the great mysteries of the universe:  Why is the gender that spends the most time staring at a toilet bowl, the one that is the least likely to clean it?  From women who have to clean up after them:  The aim and eyesight of a lot of them are so bad; the thought of male fascination with weapons and live ammunition is doubly frightening.  Is this part of the army physical? Girls you may want to watch this one.  If they can't control this day to day function, don't believe it if they say, "Don't worry, I can pull out in time."  Men and women both have a great potential for self delusion. I told my son.  "Watch where you aim that thing.  You can kill someone with it."

SHORT OF ENTERTAINMENT

Sometimes men don't want sex, they just can't think of anything else to do.  That at least was the one "Rescue 911" episode.  The man broke into the woman's house and asked for sex because he was bored and couldn't think of anything else to do.

WHY? BRAIN DAMAGE

According to Dr. Amen in his book about curing ADD, the SPECT brain scans of men show a great deal less activity in the area of awareness of emotions than women.  So ladies, they aren't always trying to feed you a line.  Apparently, most of them have no clue how they feel and what they want. He also hypothesizes that the rapid increase in autism spectrum cases is a result of the population bomb.  If you have no impulse control, you are going to have unprotected sex at an early age.  This results in a rapid reproduction of people with little education and no self control having lots of children. Their children will reach sexual maturity before the age of the children of people with self control; who postpone having children until they finish school and have stable employment. For survival of the species, women are biologically programmed to choose mates who will stick around for the twenty some years necessary to raise a child to maturity.  At least one study, showed women to be masters at choosing men by sight who are likely to do so.  The above brain study explains why men don't understand why women want to talk about relationships.  A large part is trying to gauge whether you are worth the effort.  Ladies you may want to forget the conversation and go by determining if they are trust worthy in other parts of everyday life.  Forget looks.  Go by ethics.  It is well known that women want church going men.  It is one indication the man is thinking about something other than 5 minutes of entertainment.  If they can't be believed for the little truths, how can they be trusted for the big ones?  "Don't worry.  I'm sterile and don't have HIV" It has also been proven that adolescents of both genders are like the HERO robot I programmed in college.  It was designed to have two batteries:  One for movement, the other for 'thinking.'  It was not uncommon for the 'thinking' battery to run down before the movement battery, causing the robot to take off in random directions.  The brain of a human adolescent has not matured to think more than 5 minutes ahead, leading too many of them to use the head between their legs for their thinking.   I haven't been able to able to understand why when men hit middle age; they want to return to this condition.

FEAR OF WOMEN

At least some psychological texts say at least some men are terrified of a woman's sexuality and what it does to them.  These men must really hate sex.  Apparently a lot of them must live in Middle Eastern nations. Some not only mutilate women's genitals out of fear of their sexuality, they have been known to wire them shut.  This also increases death in child birth and birth defects.

NON-FUNCTIONAL EQUIPMENT

Judging by the amount of e-mail I get for male enhancement medication, 99% of the men on this planet must have problems.  It is enough to make you wonder how we got to 6 billion people.  I have yet to see an ad for women having problems with sex. Incidentally, the male sexual enhancement pills work fine, much to my husband's dismay.  He told the doctor he was getting them because I wanted them.  After making a big deal of getting them, he refused to take them for nearly a week until I called his bluff when we knew the children would be out of the house.  I get the message and will not bother him again.

BIRTH CONTROL

This may be related to the fact that waste water treatment plants and apparently the natural water cycle do not filter out pharmaceuticals.  We have had over a generation of men drinking the birth control pills we invented to prevent pregnancy.  It seems they work better than expected.  Ironic if you realize they were invented to INCREASE sexual activity.

CONCLUSION

It seems the only women with realistic expectations of male sexuality are the nuns.