#or UNTIL it needs to be done in a post-forced-poverty world

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: JoDavi

Published: Oct 29, 2023

It has been reported that the Israeli Defense Force is now on the ground in the Gaza strip, beginning what will probably be a long operation to rescue the over 200 Israeli and other foreign hostages from Hamas.

As this is happening, I want to remind you of a few things:

1. The bombs dropped on Gaza was not for revenge, nor was it punishment for the Israeli hostages.

Within the first 48 hours of Hamas’ invasion into Israel on October 7th, Hamas fired over 5000 rockets into Israel. This rocket attack began before the invasion began, and continued until just a couple of days ago. The bombs being dropped from Israel was to neutralize Hamas, who continuously barraged Israel with rockets. Can’t really ceasefire when the other side keeps firing.

2. Israel does everything it can to avoid killing civilians. Hamas does everything it can to get them killed, including kill the civilians themselves.

Israel drops notes, sends text messages, and even hacks television sets to tell the people of Gaza to evacuate, and the fastest routes to take to do so. Hamas routinely blocks the roads. If a Palestinian tries to leave on foot, Hamas threatens to kill them. Hamas shoots bullets at the people, and tells them if they try to leave, Hamas will kill them.

3. Hamas has every capability to provide for its own people, but it chooses to keep them poor.

The only job opportunities in Gaza are working for Hamas. The ones who do are paid extremely well. The ones who don’t are stuck in poverty.

4. Hamas controls speech in Gaza.

For Gazans, it's forbidden to even say that you don’t want war. Journalists are tortured, beaten, and killed if they report anything other than what Hamas tells them to report. Any Palestinian outside of Gaza who calls attention to it, if they have friends or family in Gaza, Hamas threatens and tortures them.

5. Hamas controls speech in Gaza.

No, that repeat isn’t an accident. It is a reminder for those who are unwilling to connect the dots to do so. If Hamas is so incredibly strict on the press and opinions of the general public, there is much to be said about the messaging that does freely come out of Gaza.

For example: Hamas has many people—young people—on their payroll to tell the Hamas narrative and nothing else. And for an organization worth billions of dollars, this is a well-oiled, propaganda machine.

6. Every single civilian casualty in this war is Hamas’ fault.

Based on everything provided in this article, it would be difficult, dishonest even, to conclude otherwise.

7. Every single gruesome and grotesque thing Hamas did to Israelis on October 7th, they’ve done to the people of Gaza since 2007.

Hamas executes homosexuals. They use their vehicles to drag the bodies of dissenters in the streets. They rape their women. They kill their children. Their top leaders have mansions in Gaza and other homes in Qatar where they flee to while wars they instigate wages. And they do all this while feeding disinformation to the world about why and how their people are suffering.

Since I’ve written these past 15 articles, and have been posting on this issue, I’ve been accused of hating Palestinians. Not only is that not the case, I think whoever dons the Free Palestine hashtag, posts the Palestinian flag, and chooses to make noise about this and ignore these seven unfortunate truths, does not care for Palestinians at all. Your goal is not true justice. Your goal is comfort. You’re speaking out because the issue has infiltrated your space, and now you feel you have to. You are unwilling to truly go against the grain if need be for your cause. You’d rather stay in the framework given to you.

That’s pretty selfish.

The people of Gaza who have been posting videos lambasting Hamas with their faces shown fully are the true heroes. They are the Martin Luther Kings and Nelson Mandelas of our time. They deserve to have their voices amplified by those who claim to speak for them. If you claim to be for the Palestinian people, but will not, you are hurting them.

Change comes from the people. And change, like peace, and like true justice, must be rooted in truth.

Follow Center for Peace Communications for more on the following video.

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==

If you're condemning Israel, you've sided with the Hamas terrorist regime. If you're calling for a "ceasefire," you're calling for nothing to change, and for Hamas to be given an opportunity to regroup, recharge, re-arm and come up with even worse atrocities. Something they've already promised to do.

You also would have sided with the Iranian Islamic Regime against the Iranian protesters, and with the Taliban against the Afghans.

Hamas will not surrender. Hamas will not negotiate. A truce benefits only Hamas. Israel needs to be allowed to hunt down and exterminate Hamas, just as the Gazans themselves want.

[chargetheintruder]

The second biggest threat in 2024.

Short version: lots of Americans in general and lots of Democrats in particular are feeling poorer than we were, thanks to lapsed and betrayed benefits. Meaning: yes, having the corrupt and back-biting Supreme Court push people off of a cliff with regards to student loan relief didn't help, but it runs deeper than this.

It's that AND the engineered expiring of Trump's "tax breaks" for the middle class during Biden's term, and also this:

Meaning people feel like they're losing money hand over fist, regardless of how well people might be doing in the workplace.

And yes, it's the Second Biggest issue since it isn't about a) putting Trump behind bars and disqualifying him from further political office (remember the 14th Amendment) and also stuffing the Supreme Court until it gets back on the damned team again, OR b) doing whatever it takes to keep World War III, As Usual, from breaking out in the Middle East over Israeli business (and yes, it's complicated and a mess, but the short of it is (i) Israel has no business even remotely looking or sounding fascist at any given time, while (ii) Hamas and Palestinians really could learn how to be a civil society and NOT just constantly attack and kill people like the REST OF the Middle Fucking East).

What I'm saying is: I can wrap my tired brain around the Second Biggest Issue. I can imagine our doing something about it. Trump's not going to go to or stay in prison until or unless we stuff the Supreme Court and also throw the entire book at him, 14th Amendment and all. And we've all, as human beings, completely blown the last three good chances we had at peace between Israel and anyone else? Yeah.

So, here's the deal with the Second Biggest Issue. Congress in general and the Traitor Party in the House in particular just needs to get rolled the fuck over. It's that simple: everyone needs to be grabbed roughly as fuck by their shortest short hairs and brought back ON the team already, if only because the rest of the world is so fucked up that WE have to be a rational neighbor if not role model for them.

And in the medium-term this means finding ways (without engineering a new pandemic, mind you) to force the issues on a) Student Loan Debt Relief, wherever possible, since it was promised until Harlan Crow's sleeper muppets on that "Supreme Court" decided to be fucking traitors, and b) rreforming and funding the hell out of expanding Social Security until people on it are no longer in abject poverty. Yes, two high-risk and high-profile goals at once, I get it.

But to be candid, I can't think of much else that would give President Joe Is Still Biden some honest-to-God, "sit down and SHUT UP" Points to use against whatever Trump Muppet he faces in 2024. And as for having those points already, versus Congress? There's already plenty of blackmail material that can be coughed up against ANY Congressman, it's just a question of how willing you have to be to go IN on everyone as roughly as possible.

And there's the issue: is there the will and manpower to actually put a gun to everybody's head in Congress until actual good work and budgeting gets done? I doubt it. But to be candid? We had two solid years of control of the Congress and they STILL didn't deliver the goods. They still didn't act aggressively in the best interests of this Union and her people. Nope, not even post-January 6th.

What I'm saying is: it's not just corruption. It's not just the unfettered psychosis of the Reich Wingers in the House.

It's that the people who say they represent the actual majority of this nation literally refuse to act like it time and again even when they can. At this point I'm assuming your average Democratic Congressman has some form of Stockholm Syndrome and literally will not act in the best interest of the American People who voted for them, nope, not until or unless they can "get brownie points" by sucking Traitor Party off somehow. It's appalling and ridiculous.

It is. It's appalling and ridiculous that I have to cyberbully and threaten folks and demand a coup'd'etat, of all things, just to get anything to work properly? Yeah. But here we are now, and the Media's looking for excuses, any excuses, to betray the President and to let the Head Traitor out of the cage before he's even in it.

[gatheringbones]

[“While people from England, Spain, Portugal, France, Scotland, Sweden, and Holland had all colonized parts of America by the late 1600s, it was the English who controlled nearly all the colonized territories in what would become the United States in 1776.

The 1500s and 1600s in England were anything but gentle times. People were routinely burned at the stake for heresy, a practice that began in the twelfth century and continued through 1612. Torture was an official instrument of the English government until 1640. The famous Tower of London was, in part, a huge torture chamber. One of many torture devices in the Tower, the rack, was used to stretch human bodies and pull them apart. Here is a description of the apparatus at work:

This caused terrible pain for the victim as well as increasing physical damage as the torture continued. Tendons were ripped, joints separated and bones fractured. The sounds of muscles and tendons tearing and snapping provided audible signs of the damage being done.

During much of the Middle Ages in England, torture wasn’t just wildly popular; it was a spectator sport. In his essay “Violence and the Law in Medieval England,” historian Sean McGlynn puts it this way:

Throughout the whole medieval period there was popular demand for malefactors to receive punishment that was both harsh and purposefully terrifying. This reflected people’s enthusiasm and the desire to see justice being done. There was even an executions transfer market: bids were made to stage the executions of condemned men in front of home crowds…. Mutilations sent out a message of warning and deterrence; executions offered the ultimate guarantee against repeat offenders … with few prisons and no police force, severe punishment was deemed invaluable as a deterrent to crime.

In her book A Distant Mirror, Barbara Tuchman offers this parallel description of everyday life in medieval England:

The tortures and punishments of civil justice customarily cut off hands and ears, racked, burned, flayed, and pulled apart people’s bodies. In everyday life, passers-by saw some criminal flogged with a knotted rope or chained upright in an iron collar. They passed corpses hanging on the gibbet and decapitated heads and quartered bodies impaled on stakes on the city walls.

It is not hard to understand why so many people from England fled to the American colonies. (Fleeing is, of course, a survival response.) Many of the English who colonized America had been brutalized, or had witnessed great brutality first-hand. Others were the children and grandchildren of people who had experienced such savagery in England.

Barbarism was not the only reason to flee England. The Great Plague raged through much of the country in 1665 and 1666, killing an estimated 100,000 people in London alone—almost a quarter of the city’s population. In the village of Eyam, the Plague killed four out of five residents over fourteen months. Many English immigrants were desperately trying to get away from poverty, starvation, and overcrowding.

For all their talk of the new Jerusalem, the Pilgrims and Puritans were not explorers. They were refugees fleeing imprisonment, torture, and mutilation. In England, one Puritan writer, William Prynne, had his ears cut off and his forehead branded (burned with a red-hot iron) with the letters SL, which stood for seditious libeler. Another Puritan, John Lilburne, was flogged with a whip, dragged by an oxcart through London, and forced into a pillory. Others had their noses split or their tongues bored with hot irons.

In Post Traumatic Slave Syndrome, DeGruy asks, “Isn’t it likely that many slaves were severely traumatized? Furthermore, did the trauma and the effects of such horrific abuse end with the abolition of slavery?” We need to ask these same questions about the English colonists who made their way to America. Isn’t it likely that many of them were traumatized by the time they arrived here? Did over ten centuries of medieval brutality, which was inflicted on white bodies by other white bodies, begin to look like culture? Did this intergenerational trauma and its effects end with European immigrants’ arrival in the New World?”]

Resmaa Menakem, My Grandmother’s Hands: Racialized Trauma and Healing our Hearts and Bodies

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 300: Days of Our Todorokis

Previously on BnHA: Hawks was all “hey Jeanist, wanna go on a road trip with me to my mom’s house?” Jeanist was all “you know it,” and so they hopped into Jeanist’s jercedes and took off. Hawks took a nap and had a flashback to his Dickensian childhood living in a abject poverty with his jerk mom and jerk dad, thinking heroes were make-believe until one day Endeavor arrested his dad and Baby Hawks was all “OH SHIT.” And then he saved a bunch of people, and the HPSC was all “what do we have here,” and blah blah blah, you know the rest. Back in the present, Hawks was all “well my life is currently in shambles, but on the plus side there’s no one bossing me around anymore so that’s pretty cool,” and then decided he was going to talk to Endeavor. Fandom was all “I can’t believe Hawks would side with his childhood hero over the man who burned his wings off and posted a video calling him a violent murderer who took after his abusive dad,” so that was fun and stuff. I can’t wait to see what piping fresh takes this new chapter will bring.

Today on BnHA: Our old friend Carbonation Carl tries to loot a Starbucks and gets his ass kicked by a senior citizen. Society is all “YEAH, WE’RE REALLY STARTING TO GET SICK OF THIS SHIT.” Old Man Samurai is all “this room won’t stop me because I can’t read it” and abruptly decides to retire, which, fun fact, is literally THE LEAST HELPFUL THING ANYONE HAS EVER DONE. Anyway so then a bunch of other punkasses follow suit, and while I won’t say that I’m actually starting to root for Stain to kill some peeps, just for the record I’m not not saying that either. Back in the hospital, Endeavor cries some tears because his life sucks, and then is confronted by his entire family, LED BY QUEEN REI, FIRST OF HER NAME, BACK IN BUSINESS AND LARGE AND IN CHARGE. Rei is all “fuck feeling sorry for yourself, we have a rogue Murder Son on the loose” and I swear to god I have never felt so alive.

so here we go! and just for the record, even though the last two chapters have been phenomenal, I don’t necessarily have any sky-high expectations for chapter 300, mostly because chapters 100 and 200 consisted of Mei Boobs, and Toadette and her horrific quirk lmao. so go ahead Horikoshi, what are you gonna pull out of your hat for this one

oh, back to this stuff again. sob

I guess there was only so much time we could spend having hospital antics and exploring Hawks’s past before we got back to dealing with the whole “the world has gone to absolute shit” issue huh, lol

omg

what’s with these bizarrely cute Noumus. why do I want to pet them

so the narrative text is going on about how people have been super paranoid about the Noumu ever since the USJ incident a year ago. so yeah, I guess the fact that there are now a bunch of them confirmed to be running around is really freaking people out even on top of everything else

wtf is happening here

what did this poor lil glass ever do to anyone. r.i.p.

OH MY FUCKING GOD

SODA SAM IS BACK ON THE LAM

tsk tsk tsk. my man has graduated from snatching purses to raiding cafes. going after that big money. this man has no business sense whatsoever lmao

OH BUT WATCH IT NOW!!

OH SNAP THE PEOPLE ARE FIGHTING BACK. WHATCHA GONNA DO NOW SAM

THIS MAN IS 172 YEARS OLD AND HE’S NOT HERE TO PLAY GAMES!!

WTF IS HE LIGHTING THIS THING ON FIRE OR SOME SHIT. GETTEM GRANDPA YEAHHHH HE’S CHARGING AT EM YEAHHHHHH

lmao so that was fun. and now we’re cutting to Wash!! omg. look at him

he’s so dedicated. too bad you don’t have a car like Best Jeanist. probably takes a while when you’re just running everywhere

you see?? you were too slow!!

NOOOO, GRANDPA. he defeated Pepsi Pete, but lost his life in the process. this is too tragic

anyway so the good news is that the cafe has been saved! but the bad news is, there really isn’t much of a cafe left. huh. I guess that’s one of the reasons why people are supposed to get a license to use their quirks like this

oh snap and now everyone is coming outside, and they’re none too happy to see poor old Wash over here

seriously Wash, get a bicycle or something. also the way this guy is gesturing so dramatically with his hand in this sort of “YOU SEE!! YOU SEE WHAT HAPPENS!!” manner is sending me

OH MY GOD

HE SPEAKS. DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS. IT MEANS JEANS PUNS ARE YESTERDAY’S NEWS, FOLKS!! MAKE WAY FOR THE LAUNDRY PUNS. CAN’T WAIT TO WATCH THIS ALL... UNFOLD

“the heroes had dwindled away” okay real talk you guys, it is literally only a matter of time before they press-gang the children into picking up their slack. I still don’t know how to feel about that, but it is happening one way or the other regardless. Child Soldiers 2 Electric Boogaloo. wonder if we’ll see a rise in vigilante action as well

OHO WHAT’S THIS? THIS IS A CHAPTER OF GRANDPAS HUH

-- no fucking way

WOW. WOW. WOWWWWWW

wow. so he didn’t do a fucking thing while the rest of the top ten were being turned into red mist in the previous arc, and now that it’s all over and they need his help more than ever, he decides... THAT IT’S TIME TO RETIRE. holy shit. “fuck you” doesn’t even begin to cover it my guy. you stand there and soak up those boos you coward

ohhhhhhh shiiiiit you guys. oh shit

the “I am not here” breaks my fucking heart for real though y’all. oh man. everything he worked for is gone just like that

(ETA: okay so a couple of the takes I’ve seen on this make it seem like All Might is somehow the bad guy here?? “this is what happens when society puts a bunch of glorified cops on a pedestal”, “finally the cracks in hero society are showing”, etc. etc. so, just a friendly reminder that this isn’t happening because of too much trust and a lack of critical thinking; this is happening because the villains killed all the heroes and broke a bunch of murderers out of jail. it’s happening because an organized league of terrorists succeeded in terrorizing, and so society is now understandably awash in fear and panic. like, it’s just wild to me that AFO is RIGHT FUCKING THERE, and yet week after week fandom still has their “IT’S ALL THE HEROES’ FAULT” signs still up on their lawns. BUT WHATEVER, MOVING ON.)

also though, so exactly how much time is passing here now? I wanted to go straight back to the hospital and see what happens with Deku and the Todorokis. please don’t tell me we’re jumping ahead sob. my aaaaangst

OH SHIT

STAIN. LISTEN UP BUDDY. I KNOW WE’VE HAD OUR DIFFERENCES, AND I STILL DESPISE YOU FOR CRIPPLING TENSEI AND TRYING TO KILL MY BEST BOY TENYA. BUT AS IT HAPPENS, THERE ARE ONE OR TWO OTHER HEROES OUT THERE NOW WHO I WOULDN’T MIND YOU PAYING A VISIT I’M JUST SAYING

LOL BUT IT ACTUALLY ISN’T THIS MAN, FFFFFF

sob. yeah I was talking about Old Man Samurai actually but YEAH. HEY THERE ENJI

also is this entire hospital actually run by characters from Super Mario Bros though. first Yoshi and now this guy, come the fuck on that is not a coincidence

lmao they stuck him in another one of these cavernous creepy hospital rooms

wtf is it with Horikoshi and these giant fucking rooms lately. Kacchan’s in chapter 298, then Tomie’s colossal house furnished with like one table and a TV, and now this. and the weirdest thing about it though is that “huge space with nothing to fill it up” is like the exact opposite of what you’ll usually find in Japanese homes lol

so now Enji is just sitting there thinking things like “my head is fuzzy” and “I’m alive” lmao okay. not quite all there yet, huh. I’ll give you a minute

I’m so fucking curious as to who his first visitor is going to be omg. either way it’s going to be interesting af, and either way fandom is probably going to feel some way about it but OH WELL

okay now his thoughts are getting more coherent! and he’s remembering Touya, and feeling regret for freezing up and forcing Shouto to deal with everything instead

!!! OH HERE GOES BRACE YOURSELVES Y’ALL IT’S ABOUT TO GET SPICY

NO TOUYA PLEASE DON’T CRY HONEY NO PLEASE

ohhhhhhh man

okay, I mean I didn’t expect you to, but so instead then you’re just going to do... what? lie there and wallow in regret and self-pity for the rest of your life? son you know that’s not how we deal with our problems here in Shounen

though also, I totally do get it though. honestly, thinking on it, I probably would have been disappointed with any other response. but so this is where the rest of his family (including his adopted son) come into play now though, because like it or not they’re all in this thing together. and so friends, I am once again asking you WHO IS GOING TO BE THE ONE TO VISIT ENJI FIRST

AHHHHHHH

KRANCH!!!! OMG AND THE OTHERS ARE SO TINY NEXT TO HIM THAT I ALMOST DIDN’T SEE THEM AT FIRST. IT’S BECAUSE THEY’RE TWENTY MILES AWAY ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THIS REGULATION HOCKEY RINK OF A ROOM

holy shit I’m so excited lkjlklhlglkasdsjldfk

SDKFJLSKHLKJL

the way she has him by his collar lmaoooo. “lol nah you’re not going anywhere pal.” damn straight, siblings have to be ride or die in situations like this. banding together for survival. strength in numbers

OH MY STARS I’M JUST WARNING YOU NOW THAT I’M ABOUT TO DISSECT EVERY LAST REMAINING PANEL OF THIS CHAPTER PROBABLY YOU GUYS. WE COULD BE HERE A WHILE

love how Fuyu has absolutely no idea how to segue into THE SINGLE MOST AWKWARD CONVERSATION SHE’S EVER HAD, so she just GOES FOR IT in pure small talk mode like they’re meeting up for brunch somewhere

I KNOW IT’S A SMALL THING, BUT I APPRECIATE THAT THE FIRST THING ENJI ASKS IS WHETHER THEY’RE OKAY

lastly while I can’t wait for more of this delicious Natsu angst, I also just have to say that Enji has as much reason to cry right now as anyone on the planet. you can’t deny that being confronted by your not-dead-but-you-thought-he-was-dead son who’s all “SURPRISE DAD I GREW UP TO BE A MASS MURDERER AND I HATE YOU AND EVERYTHING IS ALL YOUR FAULT AND NOW I’M GONNA MAIM YOUR OTHER KID” with a side order of “EVERYONE HATES YOU AND SOCIETY IS CRUMBLING AND NOTHING WILL EVER BE GOOD EVER AGAIN” is enough to bum pretty much anyone out. there’s a Pagliacci the Clown joke here somewhere. BUT DOCTOR, I AM THE NUMBER ONE HERO

oh man lol he is seriously falling apart

damn. like you guys, I’m sorry, go ahead and cancel me, but I do feel compassion for the man. it’s therapeutic for me to see an abuser actually feel remorse and be truly sorry and want to change and want to make it up to his family. and it’s also compelling as fuck to read a narrative about a family that’s trying to grapple with that, because let me tell you straight up, as someone who’s done a version of that song and dance -- it is exhausting. it is a piping hot mess. it’s a gigantic mishmosh of extremely volatile emotions that all somehow all contradict one another. love, hurt, hope, anger, betrayal, resentment, attachment, longing. it’s something you can both be desperate for and also want nothing at all to do with. and attempting to portray all of that and write about it is a monumental task, and one which Horikoshi has done so, so delicately thus far, and damn but I appreciate it. anyway, so I’m here and I’m ready for my latest helping of Todoroki Fam Feels you guys

GASP

oh man. OHMANOHMANOHMAN. CAN IT REALLY BE. IS THIS THE REDEMPTION ARC OF CHAPTERS 100 AND 200???

LMAO SHE’S ALL “WE ALL FEEL BAD YOU JACKASS STOP CRYING ABOUT IT”

LAY INTO HIM REI!! SORRY ENJI YOUR PITY PARTY HAS BEEN CANCELLED IN FAVOR OF A “SO WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU GONNA DO ABOUT IT” PARTY COURTESY OF QUEEN ELSA OVER HERE. THE PEOPLE TOOK A VOTE AND WE WANT LESS WHINING AND MORE ACTION

oh my god look at this lady folks

NOTE THE HAIR BLOWING IN THE NONEXISTENT WIND. NOW WE KNOW WHERE SHOUTO GOT THIS POWER FROM

(ETA: btw guys, seeing Rei handle this crisis like an absolute champ despite everything she’s been through is everything, though. I’m reminded of Hawks’s line last week about people sometimes unexpectedly finding liberation when they’re backed into a corner. like things may be shit but goddammit her kiddos need her.)

THE CHAPTER IS ALREADY ENDING SOB, IT’S ONLY A 17-PAGER THIS WEEK, BUT GODDAMN WHAT A WAY TO CLOSE

oh my god. oh my god oh my god. AND FUCK YOU HORIKOSHI FOR CUTTING IT OFF THERE sob. it’s like each week the wait for the next chapter becomes more painful. the Todofam is about to get real, and on top of that Hawks is gonna crash the party at some point down the line, and on top of that we’re still waiting for Kacchan to have his own heartfelt discussion about What The Fuck Are We Supposed To Do Next with his best friend who’s currently in a coma. all I want to do with my life is read about these three things, and all I can do is simply wait as they are portioned out in agonizing, addicting little installments every week

anyway! tune in next time as we answer the question of whether or not fandom will finally run its train of logic all the way through to its natural conclusion and somehow manage to cancel Noted Abuse Apologist Todoroki Fucking Rei. don’t act like it can’t happen. you all know nothing is sacred lol. anyways but I’m ready for anything lol, bring it

[unknownzapy]

Author’s Note: Here’s another AU of mine that I have recently made and, of course, making a separate post for canon characters. That doesn’t, however, mean I’m not working on any requests as of yet; I certainly am, mostly working out with Matchups 👍🏼. Please do not steal, repost, and/or claim this Undertale/Deltarune AU as yours on any platform whatsoever; what you can do is give either questions, praise, or constructive criticism on this AU.

Alternate Universe Created By…

@unknownzapy.

Alternate Universe Name

Tempest Yonder

Name of Universe by @unknownzapy.

Theme Song

Honey, I’m Home by Ghost

Plot

In this universe, everything and everyone is made to be “perfect” and “flawless,” forcing the inhabitants to pretend that there is nothing wrong. However, everyone at least has one problem which clashes to their day-to-day lives (i.e. LGBT+ Discrimination, Mental Illnesses, Racial Stereotypes/Discrimination). Some of these people try to “fix” and/or support each other until said problem(s) is said and done, even if it risks their lives for equality and better support sets, or by letting it consume them until they die.

Despite their efforts, nothing is achieved. An omnipotent individual, named ‘Player’, at first, is believed to be “God '' in this world, having a religious group following close behind, whether it be in cults, simple worshippers, and so on. They eventually do come to this world in the form of their vessel that they created. They act like an ideal friend or even a parental figure, a deity from these mythical stories even, and live up to their religious expectations, bringing an end to many, many social complications, promising to bring those with a pure heart to “Heaven” when they die and send those who did wrongdoings to “Hell.”

They bring a false hope of harmony, although underneath this façade of hopes and dreams lies sinister intentions and malicious ideals—-Whether it be slaughtering both the guilty and the innocent, corrupting others until they are a husk of their former self, or something else entirely—-This “God” simply does this purely for their own amusement and entertainment. Their ultimate goal in all of this is to cause a post apocalyptic world, even so, before they can achieve such a thing, will anyone be willing to stand up to such a powerful being?

Religious Information/Hierarchy

Name of Religion is called Xojagar (pronounced as “Yo Yay grr”).

Seven Divinities (no pronunciation needed) - Praise and provide for God and represent their most valued traits in anyone and everyone, such as, but not limited to: Prudence, Justice, Temperance, Fortitude, Faith, Hope, and Charity. They are the ones closest to God and spread goodness and awareness of God’s presence to everyone and anyone.

Cropid (pronounced as “Crow Pid”) - Assigned to protect special places and items from either God themself or from The Seven Divinities.

Anara (pronounced as “Ah Nara”) - Spread God’s Prowess and Judgement to anyone. They bring special messages to any part of the world, including Lightner and Darkner worlds which includes when someone is going to die (to Heaven or Hell).

Valame (pronounced as “Vala may”) - They are trained to be warriors and fight in Wars opted out from God. They fight against Sinners or anyone who deviates from God and/or their religion and Sinners who act hostile towards each other and worshippers of God.

Perydra (pronounced as “Perry draw”) - They are tasked with watching over Parenthood and helping abused children/young adults. They also assist with anyone who is struggling to become a parent themselves in some way.

Sigriff (pronounced as “see griff”) - They bring healthy harvests, food, and animals. They also protect others from famine, poverty, and diseases.

Dhienost (pronounced as “Die Honest”) - They are personal helpers to both God and Sinners, They guide Sinners towards redemption by any means possible so they can reach Heaven. They also assist God in choosing who is deemed necessary to join God’s Holy Ranks and who to kill, whether the person is a Sinner or Offending God in some form, deeming them cold and murderous and known as “Exterminators of Winter” because of it and the fact that they are more active in the winter season for an unknown reason.

Chizo (pronounced as “chee so”) - While the Chizo are more on the peaceful and aloof side than others, they don’t necessarily care about everything around them and don't involve themselves in anyone's affairs. However, they represent Celebrations and Feasts, including celebrating the Sins of Sinners and Non Believers, keeping their opinions and personal emotions completely and utterly Neutral and Nonchalant towards God, Worshippers, Sinners, and Non Believers all together.

Iza (pronounced as “eye saw”) - They are the farthest from God, but still retain most holiness. They are Guardians set to protect Humans, Monsters, and the majority of people from Sin. Like Dhienost, They also try to make Sinners repent before being officially sent to Hell if they fail to feel remorse for their actions.

Canon Characters

List of Characters

Tag list

@breadaton , @0beetle-legs0 , @chill4ccin0z , @blueemberthefox

[helion-ism]

let’s talk about elucien

there are so many reasons why I love elain x lucien and why I think these two would not only be amazing together, but also why they belong together. one of those reasons is lucien’s sassy personality, which we already got a glimpse of in acotar (and that I miss terribly btw), and which is, in my opinion, exactly what elain needs in her life. we’re talking about lucien “your eyes are like stars, and your hair like burnished gold” vanserra. we know he’s got quite a big mouth, that’s how we got to know him, but we also know that mouth is exactly what’s gotten him into trouble before. case in point: the eye incident. lucien doesn’t mince his words and yes, that is one of the reasons why elain really needs to spend some more time with him. 

she has been coddled by not only her father, nesta, feyre, but also the entire inner circle, which has allowed her to live her life passively. yes, she killed the king of hybern, and good for her, but she did it because nobody else could have done it at that point in time. ever since the war ended, elain has not actively contributed to any plot matters, whether by choice or because someone else took the choice from her. azriel said in acosf, “there is an innate darkness to the dread trove that elain should not be exposed to.” even amren pointed out that elain is capable of defending herself, but for some reason, nobody let her even though elain said she would try to find it: “then I will find it. I might require some time to … reacquaint myself with my powers, but I could start today.” and yet,  by the end of the book, elain’s been barely in it and has not contributed at all. (I know some people claim there’s certain things already happening in the background, but honestly, I’m not satisfied with that development happening off page, so I can’t wait to finally go on her journey and actually see her do stuff)

this moment is crucial:

does it look like she is happy with the way the others treat her? not really. when nesta snapped at her, elain started laughing. that signals relief to me because nesta, the one who has always tried to protect elain the most (nesta baby Ilysm), is the one who suddenly lost her patience. elain needs somebody like lucien, somebody with a big mouth and sassy attitude, who can coax her out of that paralysis she’s been stuck in, a bit like nesta in this scene. additionally, the banter would be top tier. I want another “if I offer you the moon on a string, will you give me a kiss, too?” moment, please. god please. (elain blinks. “and where would you like that kiss?” — and lucien just loses his mind.)

another thing that lives in my head rent free is the fact that lucien has travelled almost everywhere and could introduce elain, who wishes to see more of the world (see: “elain had always wanted to visit the continent to study the tulips and other famed flowers”), to the different courts and the continent. I refuse to accept that we will not get to learn more about the other courts, for my sake, but also for elain’s sake. I want her to see the spring court at least once. I want her to go and see those tulips she’s dreamt of. I want her and lucien to discover the day court as a new home, which brings me to the next point. 

elain has been craving sunshine for some time now. there’s several quotes that emphasise her connection to sunshine/light, here are a few of my favourites: 

I marveled at it, actually — that those years of poverty hadn‘t stripped away that light from elain.

the suite was filled with sunlight. every curtain shoved back as far as it could go, to let in as much sun as possible. as if any bit of darkness was abhorrent.

she had been always so full of light. perhaps that was why she now kept all the curtains open. to fill the void that existed where all of that light had once been. and now nothing remained.

what can I get you, elain? — sunshine.

elain doesn’t belong into the night court. feyre has found her family there, with rhys and the inner circle. nesta has found (or should I say accepted) cassian and found gwyn and emerie, her chosen sisters. but elain?

elain is somewhere in the background hiding with the twins and tending to gardens of the citizens of velaris. you can’t tell me that is satisfactory to you. she is currently ignoring her seer abilities, and the members of the inner circle are basically encouraging her to do so. the only time she’s been confronted lately was during that conversation with nesta and her reaction was not exactly what any of us readers would have expected, was it? that tells me there’s much more about her we don’t know yet, and I’m convinced we won’t know until she finally leaves and finds her own people, finds herself again and start dealing with everything that happened to her. elain must leave the night court, i.e. the darkness, behind in order to grow.

the same goes to lucien: he’s not at a place where he can just jump into a relationship or mating bond. he’s got so much stuff going on. lucien was forced to abandon his home and his abusive family, his “father” killed the fae he loved in front of his eyes, his best friend is an abusive pos who never appreciated him anyway, and neither has anyone in the night court. lucien is used because of his connections and because of the mating bond that ties him to elain, whether he wanted it or not. feyre knows he would never turn away from elain unless she explicitly wishes him to, and so she and rhys and the others use that to their advantage. it is smart, of course, but at the same time, they also keep important information about his own life from him that could change many, many things. so he’s spending his time with mortals in the human lands — a place where he as a fae really does not belong. 

lucien being the heir to the day court, well, to me, it feels like sjm is practically screaming it into our face: how could he find a home in the night court, the literal opposite to the day? darkness vs. light. and what about elain “he’d never once in the two years he’d known her found elain to be plain, but wearing black, no matter how much she claimed to be part of this court … it sucked the life from her” archeron? just looking at the symbolism, not only do the quotes from above indicate that the night court cannot possibly be her home, but also very recent quotes from the latest book. elain is a side character in the night court. and so is lucien. they both need to leave in order to become main characters — and it doesn’t even matter that both are already crucial to the further plot of the series because how can they possibly contribute to it in a place where they are both kept down? 

mor said in acofas: “stay out of it. she’s not ready, and neither is he, no matter how many presents he brings.” and “let him figure out where he wants to be. who he wants to be. the same goes with her.” mor’s power is “truth”, whatever that means. but there you have it. they’re not ready to be with each other yet, and that’s okay. 

[elain and lucien are also connected not only because of the mating bond, but also because of the plot. lucien must know quite a lot about her and her sisters simply because of all the time he spent with their father. the father who made a bargain with koschei. koschei who put a spell on vassa. lucien is therefore tied to both papa archeron as well as koschei and vassa. elain, we know, is a seer, despite her not using her abilities (or is she, and we simply don’t know?). elain is (obviously) connected to her father, but also to koschei and vassa (remember those visions she had).]

now let’s get to the mating bond stuff, and I need to say this loud and clear:��elain has always had and will always have one (1) true mate. there’s no such thing as “false mate” or even multiple mates. there has been no indication whatsoever. lucien is the mate the cauldron had given her when she was born. and elain is the mate the cauldron had given him when he was born. even when she was still human, they already belonged together — tied together by strings of fate. absolutely nothing will change this fact. should elain reject the bond, lucien will remain a part of her life/her soul forever. should lucien reject the bond, elain will remain a part of his life/his soul forever.

when she was still human, lucien had already felt a pull between them and tried to save and protect her from hybern. when elain was already fae, when it came to protecting her, azriel clapped cassian’s shoulder and left (is this the true mate they’re all talking about?). it’s unfair to lucien, elain, AND azriel and this comparison alone is enough to disprove this theory.

the thing is, lucien has been nothing but respectful, kind and caring towards elain. when he arrived in velaris in acowar, he could immediately sense what she needed and said, “she needs fresh air” (vs. the response “we’ll judge what she needs”) and “take her to the sea. take her to some garden. but get her out of this house for an hour or two.” (I’m gonna make another post about this because I have a few thoughts on this)

of course, she doesn’t owe him anything, but elain herself doesn’t wish to be treated like a child, she maybe she should start acting like an adult because although she doesn’t owe lucien an apology or explanation, she has to have a conversation with him, like two responsible adults. there is no way feyre or anyone in the inner circle hasn’t told her that she can reject the bond and move on with her life. but just like her powers, this is another thing she chooses to ignore. I’m not blaming her because I know she has to work through her trauma first and heal, but by the end of the series, she has to acknowledge that at least.

in acosf, elain says “I am not a child to be fought over” when they discuss the dread trove. I wonder what she would say about the fact azriel threatens to challenge lucien to the blood duel because of her? based on literally everything we know about lucien, I can say with certainty that he would not physically fight over elain. if she only had a conversation with him and told him to move on and leave her alone, lucien would do just that. he would leave her alone and try to move on as best as he could (which we know is difficult for males). but he would never act as entitled to her as to demand a blood duel and fight to death. it goes against his principles. 

to finish this off, sjm summing up everything I just said:

[bring-it-all-down]

Capitalism & Racism in Black Sails

In order to properly understand the individual and collective responses to England’s empire in Black Sails, it is necessary to understand capitalism and its relationship to racism. What follows are my thoughts on the relationship between capitalism and racism (focusing on the late 1600s/the development of capitalist England), and how those things relate to the show. It’s a long post, but by no means is it an exhaustive analysis of either capitalism or Black Sails, so I look forward to what others have to say on the subject!

First, what is meant by “capitalism”?

Capitalism describes an economic system in which private businesses own the means of production––the materials and tools used in the production of goods. This system creates distinct classes within society: the bourgeoisie who own the corporations and the proletariat who must work at these corporations and thereby become subservient to the bourgeoisie. 

Explained in Ellen Meiksins Wood’s The Origin of Capitalism, capitalism emerged most specifically in England as a result of the agrarian feudal creation of the landlord-tenant relationship, in which the landlord rented land to the tennant, who was incentivized to produce as many goods as possible. This system led to the complete privatization of land and the creation of wage-laborers who could not produce enough goods to themselves become part of the bourgeoisie. Over time, as these wage-laborers became more numerous, society shifted from being agrarian-centered to revolving around the creation of cities to facilitate the mass production of goods.

How is capitalism tied to racism?

The spread of early capitalism throughout Europe was facilitated by improvements in technology allowing for the mass production of goods from raw materials. Capitalist countries thus turned outward in search of raw goods to power their economies. As Marx explains in Capital:

The discovery of gold and silver in America, the extirpation, enslavement and entombment in mines of the indigenous population of that continent, the beginnings of the conquest and plunder of India, and the conversion of Africa into a preserve for the commercial hunting of blackskins, are all things which characterise the dawn of the era of capitalist production. These idyllic proceedings are the chief momenta of primitive accumulation. On their heels treads the commercial war of the European nations, with the globe for a theatre (Chapter 31).

Capitalism thus rests on the idea of “primitive accumulation,” that being the initial expropriation of the individual from the land, achieved through feudalism domestically and chattel slavery internationally. Because capitalism demands the constant mass production of goods, it requires increasing volumes of raw goods––sugarcane, cotton, coffee beans, etc.––which are obtained through the extension of colonialist enterprises in order to keep parts of the world in a continuous state of underdevelopment. 

Although pre-capitalist societies had slaves, the advent of capitalism necessitated slavery on a mass scale, produced through the Trans-Atlantic slave trade, in which indigenous populations were wiped out and replaced with slave laborers. This system resulted in complete alienation of labor as white laborers in the “New World” were replaced by the early 1700s with more ‘cost-effective’ enslaved Africans who had no ties to their owners or to the land they worked. As former Trinidadian Prime Minister Eric Williams put it: 

Here, then, is the origin of Negro slavery. The reason was economic, not racial; it had to do not with the color of the laborer, but the cheapness of the labor. [The planter] would have gone to the moon, if necessary, for labor. Africa was nearer than the moon, nearer too than the more populous countries of India and China. But their turn would soon come” (14).

Racism, then, is indistinguishable from the power structures of capitalism. The desire of the bourgeoisie to increase their capital led to the creation of the slave trade in order to accumulate mass volumes of raw goods so their proletariat workers could transform them into goods to then be sold back to the workers for profit. 

This system thus creates two types of exploitation: the exploitation of the enslaved people and colonized lands, as well as the exploitation of the domestic working class. The need to keep this system in place demanded capitalist societies craft the false belief in white supremacy in order to justify the enslavement of Africans, Indians, and various Indigenous peoples in Asia and Latin America.

So, how does piracy come into the picture?

In the mid-late 1600s, England began its industrial revolution, propelling the island to increase its Atlantic trade. This desire to trade created a new merchant class, expanded the number of laborers in American colonies, and launched England into various wars with competing European powers. In Villains of All Nations: Atlantic Pirates in the Golden Age, Marcus Rediker describes the social conditions of this era thusly:

By 1716, big planters drove armies of servants and slaves as they expanded their power from their own lands to colonial and finally national legislatures. Atlantic empires mobilized labor power on a new and unprecedented scale, largely through the strategic use of violence––the violence of land seizure, of expropriating agrarian workers, of the Middle Passage, of exploitation through labor discipline, and of punishment (often in the form of death) against those who dared resist the colonial order of things. By all accounts, by 1713, the Atlantic economy had reached a new stage of maturity, stability, and profitability. The growing riches of the few depended on the growing misery of the many.

Piracy emerged from this poverty in England and in its colonies, as poor people who knew how to sail figured they had little to lose and much to gain in turning to piracy. Moreover, piracy offered an alternative to the oppressive nature of living under England’s empire. Pirate ships “limited the authority of the captain, resisted many of the practices of capitalist merchant shipping industry, and maintained a multicultural, multiracial, and multinational social order.” On these ships, pirates learned “the importance of equality…[their] core values were collectivism, anti-authoritarianism, and egalitarianism, all of which were summarized in the sentence frequently uttered by rebellious sailors: “they were one & all resolved to stand by one another.” In Marxist terms, pirates retained control over the means of production and their labor, producing a more egalitarian division of profit in which all received the same share.

The Golden Age of Piracy, then, emerged in response to England’s adoption of capitalism. Despite the threat of death, exploited workers turned to piracy out of desperation and the quest for securing immediate wealth. Although piracy was often violent, it nonetheless embodied a system of labor in stark contrast to that of capitalism, based not on unequal acquisition of goods but on the fundamental equality of human beings.

How does this capitalist context enrich our understanding of Black Sails?

England’s capitalist-driven empire provides the system under which all of our characters struggle and thus informs their every decision. The characters’ backstories we are given all pertain to their desire to either escape from capitalism or assimilate with it. As this post is quite lengthy, I won’t go into detail about every single character, only the ones who most illustrate the manner in which capitalism operates.

First, James Flint’s backstory is not simply that of a man who experienced homophobia and wants revenge for it. We learn of him that his father was a carpenter and he was raised by his grandfather in Padstow, a working-class fishing town in north Cornwall. Because of this, he was barred from receiving a formal education and likely joined the navy because it offered him the opportunity for some sort of upward mobility, though it’s clear in his interactions with his peers that they will never see him as an equal due to his lower-class status. The manner in which James’s peers treat him very likely plays a role in his decision to support Thomas’s plan for Nassau. Despite the plan still being colonialist, it did seek to undermine a key component of capitalism: the dehumanization of the working force. This dehumanization is a fundamental element of capitalism (and this empire) because if laborers believe they have inherent worth, they are more likely to challenge the bourgeoisie. Thus, James’s exile from England was not because he was gay, but because he sought to undercut the foundations of England’s wealth, a choice driven by his love for Thomas and his own relationship to capitalism.

Connected to Flint’s backstory is Billy’s, as it also involves the navy. From the mid-1600s to the early 1800s, Britain relied on the practice of impressment––forcing people to serve in the navy––to advance its colonial aims. Billy’s parents were levellers, people who opposed impressment. As punishment for this, Billy was taken as a child and forced into “press gangs” and served in the Navy for three years as a bonded laborer (the naval equivalent of debtors’ prison) until his ship was captured by Flint and he was given the opportunity to join the crew after killing his captor. Like Flint, then, Billy became a pirate as a direct result of the violence done to him by capitalist-imperialist England.

Likewise, Jack became a pirate as a consequence of English capitalist industrialization. His family had for generations owned a tailoring business, but it was driven out of business by the creation of a massive textile mill. After his father died, Jack was forced to assume responsibility for his father’s debts, which he would work off as an indentured servant at the very textile mill responsible for the debt. Jack, then, turns to piracy to escape capitalism.

To understand the backstories of Flint, Billy, and Jack, you must understand the process by which England assumed a capitalist economy and how that shift from feudalism to capitalism affected both domestic and international practices in the early 1700s. The introduction of distinct classes based on relationships to labor mandated strict inequality and the valuation of mass production at the expense of individual lives.

How does Black Sails depict the relationship between racism and capitalism?

The most obvious answer here is the show’s involvement of Madi and the Maroons, who exist solely as a result of the trans-Atlantic slave trade. Because this is already a lengthy post, I would like to set Madi aside in order to talk about Max, who I think offers a less overt critique of what Cedric Robinson calls “racial capitalism.”

Max, rather than seeking to run from capitalism, wants to become a member of the bourgeoisie. Her enslavement is, of course, the result of French colonialism in the Caribbean, but rather than recoil from civilization, her enslavement propels her to want to join it. As she tells Anne:

“When I was very small, I would sneak out of the slave quarters at night to the main house. I would stand outside the window to the parlor. I would stand amongst the heat and the bugs and the filth on my toes to see inside. Inside that house was a little girl my age… With the most beautiful skin. I watched her dance while her father played music and her mother sewed. I watched her read and eat and sing and sleep, kept safe and warm and clean by her father. My father. The things it took to make that room possible, they were awful things. But inside that room was peace. That is what home is to me” (3.3).

She reiterates this understanding of society to Marion Guthrie when she states that “progress cannot begin and suffering will not end until someone has the courage to go out into the woods and drown the damned cat” (4.07). While she recognizes the evils of civilization, she also believes that it offers comforts for the select few, and she wants to be one among the few. 

Max, indeed, is successful in assimilating into capitalist society. She works her way out of sex work until she owns most of Nassau, not once but twice. This achievement initially seems like a massive success and proof in the viability of Max’s methods, but in subtle ways, the show demonstrates that assimilation is not liberation.

Because, as Ibram X. Kendi stated, “The life of racism cannot be separated from the life of capitalism,” Max’s attempts to assimilate come with the betrayal of the rest of the enslaved people. Although she herself refuses to use slave labor, her treaty with Mrs. Guthrie, Silver, and the Maroons requires the Maroons to return escaped Black people into slavery. Moreover, she has won herself power in a system that refuses to recognize her presence, forcing her to pretend that Featherstone is the real governor of Nassau. 

Further, her assimilation into the capitalist system alienates her from other Black people. The two characters with whom she is most closely associated with are Anne and Eleanor, white women whose whiteness affords them a certain level of protection not offered to Max. She never interacts with Madi or any of Madi’s people and she therefore cannot comprehend any other path but assimilation. 

For all of Max’s efforts to learn from Eleanor and do better than Eleanor in running Nassau, she ends up in virtually the same place as Eleanor, but even more hidden. The Guthrie family still holds financial control of Nassau, Woodes Rogers still looms in the distance, and though piracy exists, it is even less acceptable. Thus, while Max is often credited as the person who most “sees life as it is,” her alienation under capitalism prevents her from seeing life “as it should be.”

Conclusion

As capitalism emerged as the dominant economic and political system beginning in the early 1700s, it came to define all aspects of global society, down to the very relationships people had with each other. It is impossible, then, to truly understand the motivations of anyone in the show without discussing their relationship to capitalism. This is by no means an exhaustive account of Black Sails’ commentary on capitalism and racism (I didn’t even mention Vane’s conversation with the Spanish soldier), but it hopefully underscores the idea that knowledge of capitalism (and therefore imperialism) is essential for fully comprehending the show.

[theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin]

Why do you think Tomarry would work? I see a lot of people hating on it and the only response I ever see is that they come from similar backgrounds or people just like enemies to lovers. Also which horcrux do you think Harry would go best with (including Voldemort)

So, this is probably a more complicated question than you intended, but that’s because I live in bizarre head canon lands that few ever dare venture towards.

With that, let’s get started.

But What Do You Really Ship, Muffin?

First, it probably bears saying that I’m not really a Tomarry shipper. I know, I’ve written more than one Tomarry story, so if that’s not Tomarry what is? Well, remember that those Tomarry pairing tags are a filthy lie. October I committed the grievous sin of breaking up the Tomarry and throwing Tom at Harry’s mother. Lily and the Art of Being Sisyphus is barely a Harry Potter fic in any capacity, and while the ship is the driving force of the fic, it’s also this nebulous, distant, thing that really shows up only in strange side stories where I try to make people laugh. When Harry Met Tom is probably the closest that I take seriously, but I also intentionally subvert all your typical Tomarry tropes for my own enjoyment. 

The only Tomarry story I’d say I’ve ever actually written is “The Burning Taste of Fire Whisky”. It’s a very popular story, sadly perhaps my most popular on Ao3, but I actually loathe it entirely. 

A lot of the time I feel like I just happen to have a Tomarry shirt on and then I suddenly became a subject matter expert. If you want the Tomarry opinions from real Tomarry people, I’m probably not the best person to ask. In fact, if you want really any standard answer about Harry Potter anything, I’m not the best person to ask.

Now, I’m not just saying this to be a hipster but to sort of give some background for why I’m going to give the answer I’m going to give and why it’s going to be 100% different from everyone else’s and yes, sometimes, I do think I came from Mars.

Will the Real Tomarry Please Stand Up?

So with that, the bottom line is: taking canon as JKR intended, completely at face value, Tomarry doesn’t work at all. This is because JKR fully intends a very flat, one-dimensional, and frankly quite boring Tom Riddle. Tom Riddle’s evil, Tom Riddle was born evil, Tom Riddle was evil in the womb because of rape. He is completely and utterly irredeemable and understands nothing of love.

Well, that sort of sinks the ship right out of the harbor, doesn’t it? A Tom Riddle incapable of love is one incapable of growth, especially in a romantic focused story. If you try to write it you just get weird sociopathic whump porn where Tom probably whips Harry in a closet somewhere.

Added onto this we get that, despite what she put down on paper, Harry is supposed to be a straight man. That aside, he’s also a righteous man whose understanding of things like love and friendship mean he’d never sully himself with gross Tom Riddle. Ew, what are you people thinking?

Well, what if we take canon just mostly as JKR intended? What if we just look at the characters the way she actually wrote them versus what she was trying to do? Still no dice.

Tom might now be capable of love, be a far more engaging character who can go somewhere, and be pulled out of a pit of rage and despair by someone but that someone ain’t Harry.

First, while I firmly believe Harry is gay (gay, not bisexual, compare his descriptions of Cho/Ginny to Tom Riddle/Sirius Balck/Cedric Diggory/Charlie Weasley, that boy pants after Tom Riddle and Cho’s kiss is “wet”) he’s also a much worse person and much dumber character than JKR intended. It’s really the first that damns the pairing.

I have a whole giant post on how Harry’s a little yikes but the long and short of it is that while Harry thinks he understands friendship and love he’s also someone who will cut out his friends at a moment’s notice if he feels remotely slighted, uses and sacrifices them for his own ends, gleefully uses unforgiveable curses when given the opportunity, and is the kind of guy who would cut someone up in the bathroom, leave them to bleed to death, and only really feel bad about it when it seems he might get in trouble for it.

This Harry ending up even with a Tom who could potentially be redeemed would more likely lead to, well, weird psychopathic whump porn where Harry tortures Tom in his basement to make him pay for all the horrible things he’s done while Harry claims he’s the most moral person ever because his mother loved him.

So, yeah, no Tomarry for you.

But Wait, Didn’t You Say You Believed in Tomarry?

What I believe in are archetypes.

Remove what Harry’s supposed to be, remove what I think he actually is (one maladjusted, violent, dude with a whole lot of anger issues), let’s make Harry what perhaps JKR didn’t even know she wanted: one of those rare fundamentally good heroes who warps an entire story with the strength of their inner nobility.

Harry Potter is meant to be a story about love and friendship. Now, it’s not actually, and we sort of end with Harry being Jesus and none of us are sure why. Except that he apparently forgives Dumbledore and Snape for brainwashing him to be a kamikaze agent. They’re the bravest men he knows. But let’s pretend it actually is a story about love and friendship.

To me, the strongest story of love we could possibly have had in this world is the redemption of Tom Riddle. Here is a man who was supposed to have been irredeemable since birth, he has done many horrific and unforgiveable things, grew up in extreme hardship in a society that spits on everything he ever was, and is mired in bitterness, despair, and rage. Beneath all that, Tom Riddle has given up hope in the world and is now content to burn it down himself.

Harry, through the nobility of his spirit and integrity of his character, somehow managing to redeem Tom Riddle is not only a fascinating story but a very good one at its core. The fact that they are tied together by destiny as well as tragedy, that Harry houses a shard of Tom’s soul (and I do so love horcruxes), only makes it more so.

This is the kind of story that carries epics, and that is why I gravitate towards it.

Now, do I change Harry up to do so? Good god, yes. I wouldn’t say any Harry Potter I have written is anything close to the Harry we know from canon. Some are closer than others, but they always in some way deviate. That said, from what I’ve seen almost nobody writes the actual Harry we remember from canon, so this is a very standard practice I can get away with, without too many people calling foul.

Ultimately ending in tragedy or in the full redemption of Tom: either works with these base characterizations and the world is your oyster.

What About All Those Other Arguments?

I’m not going to get into this too much except that I wouldn’t argue Tomarry works for the reasons you list. At all.

On the similar backgrounds, the fact is Harry and Tom don’t have similar backgrounds, JKR just says they do because she likes that trope (and so do many of the readers).

Harry and Tom have dark hair, they both came from abusive homes, but that’s where the similarities start and end. Upon entering the wizarding world Harry is treated very very very differently from Tom Riddle.

Harry, grows up in this weird sort of pseudo poverty where he dresses in rags because the Dursley’s hate him but he never actually has to worry about money. When he gets to the wizarding world he can afford everything he wants. He can buy a new wand, he can buy new supplies, he can buy all the candy off the trolly cart. Money’s not an object to Harry, is barely even a concept.

Tom Riddle is presumably on scholarship and money is everything to him. He buys a new wand but likely all his clothes and books are second hand. He can’t buy whatever candy he wants, probably can’t afford gifts for his peers, Tom is very aware of the haves and have nots.

Harry similarly never has to worry about a career. He never gets that far, fearing for his life so much, but the fact is that Harry has enough money that he doesn’t actually need to work. More, who would turn down the great Harry Potter? He wants to be an auror, is afraid he might not qualify, but it’s not really desperate.

Tom Riddle is to the world an impoverished muggle born. He tries for the Defense position and is turned down mostly because Dumbledore threw shade. Dumbledore tries to make it seem like Tom desperately wanted to work in this weird shop in London’s magical back alley, but probably that was the only position Tom could get (everything Dumbledore ever says, especially in those pensieve lessons, must be taken with a large grain of salt). Everything else goes to friends, family, and purebloods.

Adding to this, Harry has this glowing reputation. Now, Harry might not like it, he might want to be just Harry but the fact is that everyone has heard of him and most people worship the ground he walks on. Doors are open to him everywhere. His first introduction to the wizarding world is from a man who loves him and gushes about Harry as a baby.

Tom Riddle is someone with a muggle last name, who comes from a muggle orphanage, in other words he is nobody from nowhere. (For reasons I won’t get into here I find it very doubtful Tom ever revealed he was the heir of Slytherin until he became Voldemort and let Tom Riddle fade into obscurity). His first introduction to the wizarding world is some asshole lighting all his stuff on fire because the matron talked shit about him.

Harry wants to stay at Hogwarts because the Dursleys are abusive. Yes, this is terrible, but Tom wants to stay because Nazis are bombing London and Dippet says, “So sorry, Tom, no exceptions. Enjoy those luffas!” Harry’s concerns are never treated with the same disdain.

To make a long story short, they do not have similar backgrounds, at all. To say they do is utterly laughable and not much better than saying “they both have dark hair, they have so much in common!”

They both came from abusive homes, yes, but even the nature of those homes were very different and when they went to Hogwarts they were worlds apart.

... So much for not getting into it, eh?

As for Enemies to Lovers, well, it’s a trope and people enjoy it but it’s not my jam. I could go into why, but I think I’ve said enough.

Which Horcrux Do You Think Harry Would Go Best With?

We see so little of the individual horcruxes I’m not sure I can really take a stab at this. I sort of just make up their personalities as it suits me every time I write them.

With that I suppose I’m partial to the one in Harry’s head? Given that he has a front row seat to Harry, has seen Voldemort’s tragic demise, I think he’s in the best position to end up with Harry in a meaningful manner.

Especially as, if you think about it, he could represent the very last of Tom Riddle’s humanity. The single shard of humanity that remained in him until the bitter end.

[theculturedmarxist]

[lots of useful graphs and images omitted]

These notes were based on an interview with me by Swiss-based journalist Thomas Schneider in German in early May.

https://www.facebook.com/klaus.klamm.9235/

A sugar rush or economic recovery?

The IMF foresees a strong economic recovery. The assumption is that the virus can be controlled to such an extent that lockdowns and social distancing are no longer necessary. This is mainly due to the vaccination campaigns.

It looks like an upswing, at least in the G7 countries, this year most major economies, at least in advanced countries, are likely to (more or less) reach the real GDP level of the end of 2019 by the end of this year. Europe is forecast to lag slightly behind, while the US is developing more strongly.  However, the situation in the so-called Global South, or ‘emerging economies’, is different.  India and other countries are in a terrible situation.

The US, along with China, is one of the countries that seems to be recovering most quickly. That’s partly because of the Biden administration’s big fiscal packages, which have reduced income losses and provided money to companies. The big question, however, is how effective and sustainable this will be.

If the IMF now says that we will have strong growth, it is mainly due to economies opening up.  If a substantial part of an economy has been closed and can now reopen, there will obviously be a strong bounce back. But this pace will not be sustainable.  It is really like a sugar rush and as you know, once the sugar is consumed, you feel a little sleepy and down afterwards.

The Biden administration is passing a huge infrastructure program through the US Congress to boost the economy and create jobs. Two trillion dollars sounds like a lot of money at first glance, but if you spread it over five to ten years, the stimulus then amounts to just half a percent of US economic output each year.

So Biden’s package will give the US economy an early rush, but it’s not enough to boost long-term growth. The low pre-pandemic growth rate will resume; and with it, productivity-boosting investment will be weak, wages will not grow much and jobs will remain precarious for a large part of wage-earners.

The scarring

The pandemic slump has been over two years in which there have been huge losses in production, resources, income and jobs, many gone forever.  Globally, the slump has pushed some 150 million people further into the most abject poverty, who were otherwise seeing some improvement.  These two years have been a huge disaster. The loss of the two years will never be made up again. It’s like an abyss, down one side and up the other, but the abyss is still left behind. 

Profitability and growth

The global economy was already growing very weakly in 2019, which is likely to be the case again after the rapid recovery in 2021.  That’s because capitalism grows sustainably and strongly only if profitability increases. However, average profitability was already very low before the pandemic, and in some countries, it was at the lowest level since the end of the Second World War.

The investments now being made to boost employment and income will not restore this profitability. Profitability will improve compared to the bottom of the pandemic, but it will not go above the rates of previous years. That means that investment and growth will not improve in the longer term. In capitalism, profitability determines economic development. Investments must pay off accordingly. If we had a different economy, we wouldn’t have to worry about that.

At the moment, we see in that around 15 percent of GDP is productively invested by the capitalist sector, ie not in property (4-5%) and financial speculation. By contrast, public investment is low: it contributes just 3 percent of GDP a year to productive investment, and Biden’s packages will increase that by only 0.5 percent, as above.

This will not be decisive for economic development over the long term.  Indeed, even the U.S. Congressional Budget Office expects long-term average real GDP growth of only 1.8 percent per year in the US for the rest of this decade, based on its forecasts of productivity and employment growth.  That rate is even lower than in the last decade.

Zombie companies and debt

Profitability would only increase if some rotten layers of capital were removed. There are, for example, the so-called zombie companies, which make little profit and can only just cover their debts. In the advanced economies, we are now talking about 15 to 20 percent of the companies that are struggling in this situation.  These companies keep overall productivity low, hindering the more efficient parts of the economy from expanding and growing.

The zombies reflect in the enormous increase in debt, especially in corporate debt, globally. Debt levels are the highest since World War II in most developed economies. Interest rates are at historic lows, but the sheer mass of debt is still weighing on firms’ ability to invest productively.

The immense debt also gnaws at profitability. When profitability falls in the productive sector, capital flees into financial speculation to make more profits.  In the COVID slump, the super-rich have done so well! 

When there is a financial crisis, there are defaults and devaluations, but there is no economic downturn if the productive sector is healthy.  But the financial crisis can trigger a production crisis if it is combined with low profitability in the productive sector, as we saw in 2008.

Creative destruction

The burden of debt and low profitability can be overcome through so-called “creative destruction”, as Austrian economist Joseph Schumpeter called it.  This is also the perspective of Marxian economic criticism, which Schumpeter had read very carefully. Through the devaluation (writing off) of capital and, in particular, the liquidation of inefficient, indebted companies, profitability can be raised. But that means a huge devaluation, in order to create the conditions for a new upswing.

So far, there has not yet been much destruction of capital because it is a grisly thought for governments and decision-makers – instead, bankruptcies of weak firms have been very low. Governments fear the political consequences and so are forced to continue with the big credit/money glut to keep companies running even if their productivity and profitability growth

Inflation

Many people have suffered severe hardship in the pandemic slump, but others have also saved money that could now be spent as economies open up. This will lead to a sharp increase in demand for all kinds of goods and services. Probably the supply side will not be able to keep up with that. So there could be stronger inflation over the next six to 12 months, especially in import prices, as international supply chains are still weakened. We could therefore see a rise in prices over a period of time.Inflation in the late 1980s was immense. In most advanced countries, it was in the double-digit percentage range. Over the last two decades, inflation in these countries has, broadly speaking, been around 2%.  But perhaps we will see inflation for the next 12 months until production can catch up with increased demand.slows.

The monetarist theory that an increased money supply must lead to inflation has been proven wrong. Central banks have spent vast amounts of money and supported banks and firms without prices rising.  While the sum of money has increased, its orbital speed has decreased.  Instead, it was parked at the banks, which did not lend it onto companies. The big firms often did not need the money, the smaller ones were cautious about borrowing even at low interest rates. So the banks put the money into financial speculation.  There was also an unprecedented rise in the price of financial assets. But will it continue?

The answer is complex, but there are certainly two factors that are decisive. On the one hand, how much value is present in economies, how much flows to the capitalists as profit, and how much goes in wages to the workers. The development of these variables determines demand. The capitalists drive the demand for capital goods, the wage-earners for consumer goods. The level of wages and profits is therefore central, but the supply of money also plays a major role, because this is intended to compensate for weak profits and thus to stimulate demand.

In Marxist theory, there is a strong argument for a long-term decline in inflation. Rising productivity means that less investment is made in labour power and more in means of production, which also leads to an increasing organic composition of capital. As a result, both sources of demand are undermined: wages and profits (new value) growth slows. Capitalism therefore has a tendency towards disinflation when there are no counter-measures involved. Central banks have been trying to reverse the disinflation trend with money injections for about 30 years, but with little success.

The Keynesian notion that higher wages drive inflation is not supported by the evidence. Marx had once conducted a discussion with Thomas Weston, a trade union socialist of the Ricardian school. Weston claimed that the fight for higher wages must also lead to higher prices. Marx replied that this did not have to be the case, since the higher wages would likely come at the expense of profits. Inflation only needs to occur when wages and profits rise at the same time and then demand increases, while investment remains relatively low due to low profitability.  It depends on the combination of these factors.

Golden Years and neoliberalism

The golden years of post-World War II capitalism were an exception, at least for the advanced economies: near full employment, rising living standards, high profits in advanced economies, and expansion of trade. If you look at the history of capitalism, you don’t find many such periods. The closest is probably the “Belle Epoque” from the 1890s to the 1910s. The big question is: why didn’t these phases last?

Neither mainstream economists nor most left-wing theories have an answer to this question. The latter claim that the post-World War II phase was over because of the departure from Keynesianism – because governments stopped spending enough money and stopped managing the economy. The follow-up question arises: why did they stop? The answer is found in economic development itself, the declining profitability of large capitals. This led to a decline in investment, to which Keynesian macro management did not find an answer. Thus the big capitals put pressure on governments to take a neoliberal path.

The law of value and profit

The central argument of Marxian criticism is based on the law of value. This roughly means that companies only invest if they can make a profit. Profit is the centre of their actions and not the needs of the people. These are only considered important so that the products can be purchased.  Profit, however, comes from the exploitation of the labour force in the production process. Labour produces goods and services that can be sold but in constant competition with other capitalists. This means that companies are constantly looking for better methods of exploitation, new technologies and new methods.

For mainstream economists, profit simply does not matter. But even among the left-wing Keynesians, profit hardly appears. For them it is all about ‘demand’, about ‘speculation’ or about ‘financialisation’. These things all play a major role, but profit is the key category for understanding the capitalist process of production and accumulation. And it is important to put it in relation to a company’s investments: the rate of profit is the key to understanding how healthy an economy is. And profitability has tended to fall over the last 50 years, not linearly, but in a wave-like movement.

The high profits of tech companies such as Amazon, Apple or Alphabet are hiding the problem of profitability across the whole capitalist economy. There are a lot of unprofitable zombie companies and for most profit rates have fallen. We need to look at how this has affected investment. This is the central aspect that Marxian economic criticism can bring to the debate on the world economy.  

Empirical evidence supports Marx’s law of the tendency to fall in the rate of profit. There are the counteracting factors to this law, but the law is the dominant factor. As far as we can measure the data, they suggest that there is a long-term trend towards falling rates of profit in the major economies. Every eight to ten years, capitalism plunges into crisis. We must continue to learn why these crises take place and what the political consequences.  

[purplesurveys]

842

have you ever violated school dress code? My Catholic school had us on a very tight leash and we’d have to be crazy to dare to break the dress code over there. My university doesn’t have a dress code though and anyone entering the campus can dress up any way they want, which I’ve always been grateful for. if you are listening to music, is the singer male/female? They are five dudes. what, if anything, do you give up for Lent? I never observed Lent; and as much of a religious fanatic my mother is, I’m glad she never forced me to fast or abstain from something I liked. what phrase leads your mind directly to the gutter? 69, even though it’s childish. when you feel like giving up, how do you convince yourself not to? I just tell myself that things will get better because that seems to be the pattern all the time with me, which is a really good thing.

what are your opinions on immigration? I don’t know much about the issues and its intricacies but as an Asian, I really admire fellow Asians who don’t speak a word of English, end up in the States or somewhere similar and build themselves a better life there. It’s fucking metal. would you tell an actual immigrant your views? Sure, if the topic is raised. what was the subject of the last list you made? There was a tweet asking people to list down which YouTubers practically ~raised them~ growing up, so I joined in the fun and gave my own names. If I remember correctly I listed down Pewdiepie, Smosh, Grace Helbig, Hannah Hart, and the entire Brit crew. do you ever get nervous before interviews/important meetings? Only if it’s supposed to be crucial. Like I imagine I’d be sweating bullets for my first job interview. who pays for the majority of your belongings? My parents. would you ever willingly shop in a thrift store? Of course. There are always some great finds in them. what is the most that you would ever spend on an outfit? Assuming I’m earning my own money, I’m willing to spend around ₱5000 to ₱10,000 on a top or bottom but I can widen my wallet a lot more if we’re talking shoes, because I like them more haha. is there anything you do that just outrages your parents? I know my mom hates it whenever she pulls us for online mass and I visibly grumble. I don’t know if my dad is annoyed with anything I do; and if he feels that way he’ll tell me. I respect him a lot more so if that’s the case, I’ll actually stop whatever it is I’m doing. when was the last time you were embarrassed in public? Probably when I was brought to the hospital a month ago and the nurse was explaining to me how to take a urine test.  have you ever won an award you were actually proud of? If Latin honors count, then yes. That was my only goal when I started college, and I reached it, so I’m allowing myself to be proud of, well, myself. the importance of education, rate it from 1-10, 10 as most important? 12. --- explain your choice to rate it as such? It’s different when you come from a third-world country. Education is realistically your only way out. what is the coolest science experiment you've ever done? I liked the ones that we did that involved chemicals and powders. are you experiencing difficulties with any friends right now? Not really. There’s a chance JM has been irritated with me because I always turn really grumpy when he messages me about work stuff, but if he is, at this point I don’t really care anymore because I’ve been detached from org work for a while now. I busted my ass for the org for three years so I think I’m entitled to feel detached now haha. how do you deal with a fight between yourself and a friend? I haven’t been in an argument with one of them in a while but I would prefer to talk it out. when you apologize to someone after a fight, how do you go about saying that you are sorry? I apologize and I mention the thing I did that they were hurt by, so that they feel acknowledged. In the end, I tell them that I’ll be better and if there’s anything I can do to make them feel better or to make the situation better, that they shouldn’t hesitate to let me know. have you ever played around with "dry ice"? No. Isn’t that dangerous lol? do you think parents are responsible for the actions of their children? For the most part, yes. But I know there are still some instances where parents can try and try to be understanding and be the best influences, but their kids will still end up going down the wrong path. There isn’t one answer to this, I think. should the military draft take both men AND women? why/why not? I don’t know, it’s a little complicated. I’m definitely all about equality and providing the same opportunities for men and women, but I know there’s a lot of issues on sexual harassment and assault in the military that have yet to be fixed. Until that’s ironed out and I hear change taking place, it seems a little shady to randomly pick out women to join the military.  when was the last time that you corrected someone? My mom had a grammatical error in her Facebook post from yesterday so I told her what the right word to use was. when was the last time you were corrected? I set the table for breakfast today and apparently it wasn’t enough for my mom, who liked her plate to be set in a certain way. when did you last say "i told you so"? Maybe when Kate told me she had broken up with the guy she was having a thing with, lol. is there any celebrity you like to "keep up with"? Not really. I think I’m over that phase now. I’ll check up my faves from time to time, but otherwise I don’t feel the need to read daily updates on them anymore. celebrity gossip: YAY or BOO? Yay if it has substance or if it’s controversial, like a celebrity being exposed for sexual harassment; boo if it’s something stupid like “Kendall Jenner spotted eating pasta today.” what is the most life-changing book you have read? I haven’t encountered it yet. have you had a negative impact on anyone's life? I would say so. I wasn’t always the nicest kid; and I also did a shitty job handling my friendship with Sofie when we were off to college. has anyone had a negative impact on yours? who/why? Yeah. Some relatives, some teachers who didn’t know how to act like teachers, and some people I distinctly remember that bullied me when I was a kid. how will you know when you are ready to get married? I guess when I’m no longer nervous thinking about it and when I’m already 100% sure that I’m independent and capable of looking out for myself. I don’t wanna be married and still be slightly dependent on my parents, which is what a lot of young Filipino married couples end up doing. how much time have you spent contemplating your own death? A very, very good amount. is there a joke that you just can't stand? Ones that you just can’t defend and are just simply offensive, like slavery or poverty. I’ve seen a few shows where they’d refer to the Philippines being poor or being a source of child labor for laughs, and they’ve never been funny to me. have you ever read any self-help books? No, I don’t really trust those lol since they’re usually written by people from other countries who most likely have different experiences and perspectives. If I need some help I’d rather figure it out myself and hear from people that I trust, like my friends. what's your take on the obesity problem in america? It’s a serious problem, obviously. I don’t know much about it other than the fact that Americans are crazy about their fast food and that their serving sizes are ginormous. I really hope they find more ways to address it. what is something you used to love, but now greatly dislike? Journalism. what is something you used to dislike, but now like? Chicken curry, and I think spicy food in general haha. when/if you become a parent, what will you do differently, compared to how your parents raised you? I’ll be more involved. I’ll compliment them more, not invalidate their feelings, and I’ll let them talk when I do something that upsets them, and I’ll apologize to them for it.

do you equate spanking with physical abuse? would you spank a child? The way Filipino parents do it, yeah especially. They don’t just do it with their hands - spanking kids here usually involve slippers and belts. My mom forbade anyone to spank me and my siblings, but nonetheless I watched it happen to my cousins and that alone was traumatic enough for me. How much more for them?

The thing is that it can’t be assumed that kids are able to process why they’re being punished, so I think that any physical punishment to them will just drive them away from their parents, which to me makes it physical abuse. I would never spank my own kids. what's the most ridiculous thing you've done this week? Skipping out the rest of my shower because a moth came into the bathroom and started flying around me lmaoooo eugh. --- did you regret it/love it/hate it/want to do it again/etc? I fucking hated it. if your bf/gf wanted to wait until marriage for sex, would you be willing? Yes. Sex honestly isn’t really a big deal to me. when you look at the sunset, what do you think about/feel? I don’t really think when I look at the sunset. I just admire how pretty it looks and savor the quick few seconds of the sun going down. is there someone you wish you could trust/you wish was trustworthy? No? I don’t wait on people to be trustworthy, if that’s what you mean. I’m grateful for the people who are already around me that I can trust. is there anyone that you no longer want in you life? who/why? There are times I wish I could get rid of my mom so that I don’t get yelled at as much anymore and so that I don’t have anyone watching my every move so much so that I’m cautious to walk around in my own house.

how has your outlook on life changed in the past few years? I’m a lot happier and more stable this time around. I’m glad I stayed around to see the change happen. have you ever walked out of a boring movie (in theaters)? Absolutely not. Even if the movie was bad, I’d watch it through the end. Ticket prices are not to be fucked with lol. how open are you with people you know online? ...What do you think? what do you think of athletes that take steroids? Idk about other sports but that’s a big fuck no in wrestling, after it’s led to addiction, overdoses, and a lot of deaths especially in the 80s and 90s. if a celebrity is involved in scandal after scandal, is that likely to affect how you view him/her & his/her work? Depends on the scandal. I don’t mind when nudes or videos get leaked because honestly, the leakers are the assholes in that situation. But if the scandal is something like people speaking out to accuse a celebrity of racism, abuse, or harassment, then I can very much turn against that person. what is one celebrity that you have zero respect for? Amber Heard. have you ever driven under the influence of alcohol/drugs? Just slightly tipsy, but I’ve always made sure that I’m super super super aware of my surroundings in those times. I won’t drive – and I know my friends won’t allow me to – if I was even just a little dizzy. I’m always the first to start sobering up when I go out to drink because I’m usually the only one with a car and thus responsible for bringing my friends home. are you overly attached to your material possessions? For the most part, yeah. have you ever ridiculed anyone for their clothing choices? Not to their faces. living in poverty: what do you think it'd be like? I already live in a country wallowing in it. My family isn’t poor, but I see poverty on a daily basis nonetheless. No documentary or article can best explain it to anyone who has never lived in a poverty-stricken country. Pretty insensitive question btw. what is one "diet" that you think is just utterly worthless? I’m not familiar with any of them. what advice would you give someone that is uncomfortable with his or her body/appearance? I prefer not to give advice because some people don’t wanna hear it and just wanna hear reassurances and boosters. That said, I’ll just keep encouraging them and telling them that they look really good in their outfit and just making them feel valid and seen. what advice would you give someone about to start high school? Don’t be scared to make mistakes and while you should always study hard and do your best, don’t take everything seriously. It’s high school and won’t matter on your professional resume.   what foreign food are you NOT interested in trying? Uhhhh this question makes no sense to me ahahaha I’m always down to try anything. what foreign country do you believe is misunderstood? I can’t speak for other countries but I know mine is pretty misunderstood. I’ve read countless testimonies of Filipinos getting condescendingly told “You speak good English for a Filipino” by white Americans, not knowing that their country conquered mine for 40ish years. That’s just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to misconceptons about my country and its people.    have you ever felt entirely unwanted and alone? Of course. in your eyes, which is worse: rape or murder? Both are equally bad and disgusting but I’ll have to go with rape, because 1) the victim has to live with the trauma and fear for the rest of their life, 2) victims are usually too scared to speak out for fear of being judged or not being believed, and 3) victim-blaming is still a big problem today. do you understand/read shakespeare? No. When we took up Shakespeare in high school I bought the No Fear versions. would you feel comfortable living with someone that owned a gun? No. do you know anyone that lives in a foreign country? Tons.

[littlemisssquiggles]

Hello! So, I read your last musing, about Oscar's most powerfuls spell, and it made me realise one thing: in the old Remnant, everyone could cast magic from their hands, but Ozma used a cane for it. Do you think that he may have been handicapped? Maybe he wasn't as connected to the world magic as much as others and he needed to use a medium. We know that he used a cane because he didn't believe in aggression, but what if it was also a sort of magic prosthesis?

Hey Yellow. Ironically that’s something I noticed too to after I finished posting my last Pinehead headcanon. Thus far, Ozma and essentially all of his successors are the only ones who used an object as a conduit to channel their magic

As to why, I’m not sure. I do like your concept of Ozma originally being magically handicapped than other magi from First Remnant. But since you also mentioned the tidbit about Ozma (and technically all the Wizards) preferring to use a sceptre/cane as their weapon of choice as it’s less lethal, it’s making me consider a different new headcanon about Ozma. Here me out:

What if…in his youth, Ozma was a completely different person.

When we were first introduced to his character, he was described as man who fought for righteousness and the people. But what if …this wasn’t always Ozma’s personality? What if …Ozma used to be the complete opposite of who we met him as during his younger teenaged years? Probably when he was roughly around the same age as Oscar is presently.

Since First Remnant was described to be home to kings and queens, what if… Ozma was possibly a young prince in his time. This could be a small little nod to his Oz counterpart of the same name who was a princess. But despite being of noble blood, imagine if…Ozma was rather spoilt and selfish in his youth, caring very little for others which was inclusive of the very people who lived within his family’s kingdom.

And because of this lack of empathy towards his fellow man, Ozma would often abuse his powers. Let’s say…rather than being magically handicapped, Ozma was quite talented in the mystical arts but lacked proper disciple as well as the patience to learn how to properly control it.

Since ‘arrogant’ was a word once used by Cinder Fall (as propagated by Salem) when describing Ozpin; as Ozpin is the current version of Ozma’s soul, perhaps in his past Ozma was very supercilious to a detrimental fault.

Picture…a fourteen-year-old Ozma, crowned prince of a kingdom devastated by poverty and ruled by greed, being the type of cocky adolescent whose vanity was only outmatched by his lack of self-control in using his own abilities.Like imagine Young Ozma being the type to walk around proclaiming that he was the greatest magi in all the land because of his abilities, having come from along line of powerful witches and wizards on both sides of his family.

Picture…Ozma being the type to cockily challenge others to a duel of might and magic since he’s arrogant enough in his abilities to know that he’s strong enough to wipe the floor with any opponent (or so he believes) whether his opponent was willing to participate or not. As a matter of fact, picture a scene where Ozma is training with his royal tutor using servants as his sparring partners. However Ozma keeps disobeying his master’s orders and going overboard with his magic to easily win his matches since the boy is fully aware that his lesser magically incompetent servants can’t put up much of a fight against.

Pretty soon the easy wins start to bore Ozma and he demands a proper challenge; to which one servant responds that there are no more servants for Ozma to fight since he’s beaten most of them while the rest were to scared to face him. Ozma then challenges his tutor to a duel claiming that since he was such a so-called powerful warlock then he’d be provide the challenge Ozma craved. At the first the tutor refused Ozma’s challenge after acknowledging the destruction and pain he had caused he past targets. However when Ozma begins mocking his tutor and belittling his abilities, he finally conceded for a chance to teach Ozma a much needed lesson.

Long story short, the tutor, of course, wipes the floor with Ozma much to the astonishment of the feeble spectators who all rushed to help their beaten prince. However Ozma wasn’t finished. Despite the tutor voicing that the match was won in his favour, the humiliating defeat angers Ozma to the point that he loses control of his magic, unintentionally summoning a much darker power which he unfortunately unleashes upon his tutor.

Of course the tutor masterfully dodges Ozma’s attack only for it to collide with the ceiling of the training room, causing debris to cave down on top a pair of servants caught in the crossfire.  

This of course badly wounds both of them and Ozma is genuinely stunned at what he had done. You ever noticed how Salem is mostly the only magic we’ve seen to use dark magic whereas Ozma (and the Wizards) don’t? I’d like to think that dark magic by RWBY terms stems from the power of destruction derived from the God of Darkness. 

I’d also like to think that in his youth, Ozma learned just how devastating such type of magic could prove in the wrong hands, in more ways than one. 

Anyways, as the injured servants are whisked away and as Ozma was still recovering from the shock of using the forbidden dark magic, his astonishment is short-lived as he was suddenly pulled aside to be scolded by his tutor, infuriated for his behaviour and his sudden misuse of the dark arts.

This in turn only serves to further annoy Ozma as he claps back at the older warlock, threatening to have his father—the king—behead the man for so much as daring to speak back to him in such a manner. As a bold reminder, Ozma even tells the tutor wizard that he was a servant of his kingdom and as a servant of his kingdom, he bows down to Ozma. And as you might expect, this threat causes the tutor wizard to resign as both Ozma’s mentor and a servant of his kingdom; joining the rest that came before him.

I’d like to think of Ozma being such a poor student that he racks up mentors faster than the servants can find one willing enough to take the job. Beside I like the satire of Ozma formerly being a pretty terrible student in his first life as compared the humble teacher he comes to be in later lives. 

Both as Professor Ozpin and his predecessor—the King of Vale since he founded the huntsmen academies and I’m still holding onto my hunch that the Warrior King—King Phadrig as I dubbed him—trained the very people who fought under him during the First Great War; including Great-Grandpappi Arc ( Jaune’s ancestor) according to my theories.

I know these theories more or less paint a different and less likeable version of the Ozma we know, but again hear me out again. To me, I find characters who start off being one way and slowly evolving into another way kind of fascinating to follow.

Like for example, a story about a timorous street cop, who desired to be promoted to detective but was a pushover for most of his career, slowly transforming to become the most intimidating crime bosses in the city; using his previous experience and knowledge from working in the force to outsmart his previous peers. It was originally meant to be an undercover gig that the cop wanted to use as means to rise in the ranks and finally achieve respect from his fellow cops who would look down on him. But what it leads into is a narrative that makes the audience question whose side this cop character really is many times throughout his arc as he does shady things that makes you wonder where his loyalty lies. Is he still the good cop working to stop the criminals or has hereally switched sides finding the life of a vicious crime lord his true calling since it brought him the satisfaction and respect he always craved?  Doesn’t thatsound like a compelling character to follow?

Or, in the case of my small theory here, picture a hero’s journey  about anarrogant little prince who cared very little for others outside the family thatspoiled him rotten ultimately growing up to become one of the most virtuousheroes in all the land whose chivalry and devotion to protecting mankind endsup transcending time and history.

The beginning and end stories are such a stark contrast that you’re left wondering how on earth did said character come to be so different in the end, thus lending to the ongoing intrigue of watching the chapters that contributed to this change. You’re left interested in following along to see how the storyreaches this ending in a sense, if you get what I mean.

That and I also like the juxtaposition of Ozma formerly being one of the worse students imaginable in the younger years of his first life but ultimately growing to become a humble man who now passes down his years of knowledge to guide others.

Anyways, let’s continue with the theory idea:

So Ozma is boy who desires to be great like his family but lacks the patience to be one as well as earn the respect of a mentor willing to teach him to be the person he desires to be. At least, not until Ozma meets someone— an old, wise nomadic wizard hailing from a faraway land unknown who ultimately became theperson who changed Ozma’s life forever. For the sake of this headcanon of mine, I’m going to dub this old wizard as Merlin; and going off the name alone you can probably tell or ready where I’m going with this.

Now let’s say, in a land of powerful magi blessed by the Gods there was one fabled to be the most powerful wizard in all of First Remnant—believed to have descended from the First Man created by the Brother Gods.

But in spite of being this legendary mage, no one knew anything of this true identity. Each legend spoke differently but they all shared one common detail—a mystical staff that was said to be the weapon of the legendary mage believed to have been bestowed him by the Gods themselves. Or something like that.

There was not a single child born into First Remnant who didn’t grow up hearing the legendary stories of the nameless great and powerful wizard. Among them was Ozma but he always believed the tales were all hogwash. Glamourous fairy tales of one powerful wizard who travelled the world using his magic to aid others in need yet no one has ever seen him before? How ridiculous, were the thoughts of a teenage Ozma.

And the fact about him fighting with a staff when magic is available by the mere snap of one’s finger just made the stories even less enticing to the boy’s ear ears.

Now in Ozma’s kingdom, like I said, there was this bum—as Ozma referred to him. He wasn’t actually a bum. He was in fact a humble nomad proclaiming to hail from a land far away—a land of light as he described and his travels eventually brought him to Ozma’s kingdom.

The only reason Ozma addressed him as a bum was because the strange newcomer’s attire matched the lower class that lined the streets of his kingdom in droves making the stranger blend right in.

Let’s say…poverty was quite rampart in Ozma’s kingdom since the kingdom royals—his family— did very little to help its citizens and they raised their son to do the same. But this bum—the nomad— peeked Ozma’s interest.

From his home, Ozma would always observe the man.  Each day the bum would perform the same routine—come into the kingdom from his temporary abode outside in the forest, sit in the same spot, pretend to accidentally drop a couple of lien into the hands of the starving poor folk who needed it (or perform some other type of good deed) and when the day was done, he would return quietly to the forest from whence he crawled out of only to return again the next day.He was a strange one, as Ozma would often say to himself but in a strange way, Ozma couldn’t help but be oddly fascinated by said man. 

Who was he anyways? 

The most interesting thing about the man is that he carried a strange sceptre. Ozma always found the sceptre to be the most outlandish thing about the bum since it contradicted with everything else about him.

To fast-forward this idea a bit, let’s say—one day, another kingdom attacked Ozma’s under the pursuit of conquering his throne. 

Unfortunately they succeeded. In the span of a single night, Ozma lost everything he once knew. His family. His home. His crown and dignity as the royal heir. He almost even lost his life when the assailants came after him. In spite of fleeing into the forest, Ozma eventually found himself cornered on a lonely bridge suspended over a deep canyon. 

Outnumbered, injured and outmatched, Ozma was like a rat trapped in a maze and it’s not like his magic was enough to help him this time. His lack of trainingin control of his powers came back to haunt him as he was easily overpowered by the more experienced assailants.

One of the attackers even resorted to using dark magic to restrain Ozma, twisting his body with the malicious intent of killing him slowly. But in his moments of pain, to the young boy’s astonishment he is rescued by an unlikely saviour.

It was the bum who arrived to protect Ozma from the assailants. And that’s not even the most surprising part, the bum was also a magi. But not just any magi. He was the great and powerful wizard of legend: Merlin the Myth.

I know that Merlin is the legendary sorcerer derived from Arthurian Legend. So imagine if there was a RWBY character inspired by him who played a pinnacle role in Ozma’s Origin story and was the man who made him into the champion of justice we know he came to be?

I know it’d probably be more in character to have Ozma start off as the type of eager hero archetype willing to fight for the people, as we saw with our main RWBY heroine: Ruby Rose.

However, as I;ll say again I like the contrast of Ozma coming from privilegedbeginnings governed by greed and selfishness only to ultimately change to become a better man  as a result of all the life changing experiences he endured during his youth while attaining the companionship and guidance of an old soul who left a lasting impression on him.

I like the idea of Ozma formerly being a spoiled prince who initially started to go down a path of revenge when his family is murdered by another kingdom that conquered his own. I like the idea of Ozma being taken under the wing by a legendary yet kind wizard who genuinely saw good and greatness in him and wanted to help him in some way.

Using this idea, imagine young Ozma practically begging Merlin to be his mentor upon learning that the legends about him were real. Picture Ozma boldly demanding that Merlin teach him how to become a powerful magi like him for the sake of returning to his conquered kingdom and slaughtering the people who took it from him out of revenge for what they did to him and his family.

Unfortunately Merlin wasn’t having any of that and refused to teach Ozma at all if his intentions were to use his teachings for harming others. It is only when Ozma agreed to Merlin’s way that the old sage took him in with a smile.

(Side Note: If I also had to depict Merlin the Myth, I’d picture him something like this image above while sometimes adopting an animal form in the shape of a brown owl or white owl. A lot of the images and art I find on Merlin have him featured with an owl of some kind.  

Since we know magic in RWBY can be used to turn people into animals, perhaps Merlin used his to shape-shift into an owl and that’s how he traveled from place to place and explains why no one could ever saw his face. He’d always transform and fly off before they could. Just an idea).

Resuming: Since Ozma was desperate for Merlin to teach him, he agrees to temporarily abandon his vendetta for the sake of learning from Merlin. However, truth be told Ozma had merely lied to Merlin so that he would provide him what he needed.

The boy still hungered for vengeance and when Merlin learnt this, he told Ozma that if revenge was his path then there was nothing he could teach him that will be of benefit to him. Enraged by the old wizard’s words, Ozma storms off and attempts his vendetta anyways.

Using what little he had learnt from Merlin, he returned to his kingdom and tried to stage a one-man attack. Ozma had planned to singlehandedly take back his throne by killing the new king and his family just like what he had done to him and his.

However, what made Ozma stop in his tracks is when he soon realized that the new conquerors had young children—four innocent little princesses who were absolutely oblivious to what their father—the king—had done.

In order for Ozma to enact his revenge, it would mean taking the lives of these four girls. In spite of his anger clouding his judgement. In spite of every fibre in his body screaming at him to defend his family’s honour, Ozma…couldn’t do it.

So basically Ozma fails in his vendetta. He believes he is done for when he is caught by the new king. But to Ozma’s surprise, Merlin appears and comes to his aid a second time.

In a nutshell, Merlin protects Ozma and when questioned by the young boy about why he came back for him, Merlin simply replied that despite his impulsive, bratty behaviour—the old soul could still tell that there was a kind heart behind it. In spite of only knowing Ozma for a short time, Merlin was willing to place his fate in the more honest soul he saw in him. 

In Merlin’s eyes, he believed that Ozma was destined for greatness. All he needed was proper guidance. Sure he was more than a little rough around the edges but in time, Ozma could be great if he was willing to put in the work to becoming a better person. Perhaps even the type that others could even call a hero.

Ozma scoffs at the very thought of it .Him? A hero? Impossible. He wasn’t even a prince anymore. He had no crown. No kingdom. His own people didn’t even miss him, not like he had ever given them reason to. Ozma was a nobody now and from here, where was he supposed to go? Who was he supposed to be now moving forward?

That’s when Merlin would prompt him with the statement, “Well that’s what you get to figure out. This is your chance to decide your path, young Oz. Your future. You think you lost everything but in actuality, you’ve been given a tremendous opportunity.”

“For what?” Ozma would ask.  

“To start over,” Merlin replied optimistically, “begin a new leaf. Before you believed you had to abide by a destiny that was handed to you from birth. Now, you get to decide it for yourself. To forge your own path and decide the type of man you want to be in time.”

 “But how am I supposed to do that?” Ozma would then inquire, “I am a prince without a crown or kingdom and a child without a family. I’m just…a boy. How am I supposed to do anything now?

 “…Well I never said you have to figure it out right now,” Merlin would reply casually, “and I never said you would be going forward alone either.”

Basically in a nutshell, Merlin agrees to give Ozma a second chance. He agrees to stay by his side and continue training him as his mentor; so long as Ozma gives up his vendetta entirely and devote himself to

And this time, Ozma agrees after realizing finally, that regaining his kingdom was a lost cause.What would even be more interesting is if the reason why Ozma came to this conclusion is because he came to the startling realization that he and his family were in fact the bad guys in all of this. Ozma’s family were tyrants who treated their people like garbage. Ozma used to notice it but at the time, he never cared much for it since at the time he was raised to turn a blind eye to these things. It would be an interesting twist if the new conquerors were good people. Another kingdom who learnt of Ozma’s family tyranny and decide to conquer it in order to help the people who were suffering. Now the people were happy with its new rulers.

Consider it a stained victory—one where neither side is black nor white.  They’re each right and wrong in their actions and their reactions to the given circumstance. A starving kingdom was finally freed and living in prosperity under the reign of better, compassionate rulers. However at the same time, an innocent child lost his family in cold blood shed and has his life nearly taken by these same people.

I dunno if that makes a lick of sense at all. I just like the idea of it. I kind of like the idea of Ozma abandoning his title as prince upon learning the truth about his kingdom and what his family used to really do. After that, he was taken in by Merlin who practically raised him like a surrogate father. Together, the two travelled Remnant Merlin mentoring young Ozma on the ways and disciples of how to be a proper powerful magi through righteous rather than sheer talent alone or something like that.

It is through Merlin’s teachings where Ozma learnt the reason as to why he chooses to fight with a sceptre. RWBY has described the Long Memory as being very special to Ozma and essentially all the Wizards that came after him. Through the Lost Fable, we got a sense this is the case since as fans saw from the episode, the sceptre has been with Ozma since his first lifetime.

What was even more interesting is that even after he died the first time, even Salem still held onto the staff. I’d like to think that during their time together, Ozma must’ve told Salem the history behind his signature staff and why he held onto it for so long which in turn contributed to Salem cherishing it after Ozma’s death since it was the last thing she had of him.

I also found it pretty interesting how Salem even held onto the staff after humanity had been restored, after she had become corrupted by the Grimm Pools of Darkness. Not only has the Long Memory sustained time with Ozma (and essentially his descendants) but also with Salem pre-Ozma reincarnation. Wouldn’t been interesting if this somehow lent to the magic within the sceptre. 

Like imagine if…the Long Memory was a mystical archive that secretly stored memories from Ozma and all of his lifetimes which is inclusive even of the time he spent with Salem—from the time he met her, to their travels, to the day he died to even before when Salem had the sceptre in her possession and Ozma was able to learn from the cane of Salem’s loneliness, depression and anger after losing him. Or…something like that. Mostly spit balling here.

Once upon a time, I shared a theory about the Long Memory being Ozma’s cherished weapon because it was a gift to him by someone very important from his past. At first, I pegged it had been given to him by the original Four Maidens during his lifetime as the Hermit.

Mind you, this was pre-V6. Eventually I settled on the theory that the weaponwas given to Ozma by an old relative/ mentor who helped him become the man he was.

I figured the Long Memory was either made for Ozma by his old mentor or passed down to him after he set out to start his own journey. To add an extra layer of sentimentality to the Long Memory, I thought it would be nice if the weapon originally belonged to Ozma’s past mentor who then gave it to him upon completing his training as a sign that he was ready. For me, I kind of like the concept of Ozma inheriting his master’s weapon as a symbol of his growth into an outstanding magi, not to mention the everlasting bond he shared with his mentor.

A passing of the torch, so to speak.

Plus it’ll add more significance to the weapon being called the Long Memory having been passed down from Ozma’s former mentor him to him and eventually he passed it on to his next incarnates. This is where I going with the idea of a Merlin-character in RWBY for Ozma’s Origins.

Resuming my theory concept, if a Merlin-inspired character did exist in Ozma’s past, then I like the thought of this character training Ozma fromsince he was a very young teenager; fulfilling the role of the gentle sagewhose wisdom and guidance aided Ozma throughout his life well into his adultyears.

And even after Ozma was forced to depressingly part ways with said mentor (like perhaps he passed away by the time Ozma was older), the lessons and fond memories he shared with his man stayed with and still continue to guide him in some sense after all this centuries.

I like the idea of Ozma transforming from the snobbish boy he used to be to becoming a righteous soul by the time he was a man all through the teachings of the old soul who never lost fate in him and stood with him through thick and thin.

I really like the idea of a Merlin-esque wise old mentor character raising and loving Ozma like a son. And by the time Ozma was finally ready tostart his own journey, Merlin was ready to live this world on the peace of mindthat he had lived long enough to see Ozma grow up into a great young man.

Then following his mentor’s death, Ozma inherited his iconic weapon choosing to fight with it as a means of carrying on his mentor’s legacy in a way. This could add another layer as to why the Long Memory is special to Ozma. Not only was it his weapon but it was also the weapon shared by the kind-hearted old soul who shaped him into the champion he became. I like the idea of the Long Memory not only being symbolic of the memories Ozma shared with his fellow Wizards during their lifetimes. It’s not even symbolic of the years he spent with Salem.

No I’d to think that in addition to these memories, the Long Memory additionally chronicles the memories Ozma shared with the man who trained him. It is a memoir of the times they shared together, journeying, training, living, laughing. More than that, the Long Memory is also a remnant of that mentor since he has wielded it since it he was around Ozma’s age. It was the weapon that Merlin’s mentor trained him with and it is also the same weapon that Merlin used to pass his lessons onto Ozma.

The Long Memory is special to Ozma since it’s something he shares not just with his successors but also the man who was essentially like a second father to him. His hero and it’s his way of remembering him always no matter how many lives he’s lived.

Or…y’know, something to that liking XD This doesn’t necessarily need to happen for Ozma’s story. I mean, Ozma doesn’t really need to have his own mentor. However, since part of his reincarnation cycle does involve his past self imparting guidance onto his present self, it’d be interesting if that ties back to Ozma’s history. I dunno. It’s just an idea XD

And…yeah, I believe that’s all folks. That’s my answer. Sorry if this response turned out longer and took longer than usual to edit and submit. Nevertheless, I hope it was at least enough to actually answer your question, Yellow. I know I deviated from what you originally asked me but let me know what you think if you can. Until then, as always, take care.

~LittleMissSquiggles (2019)  

[writing-prompts-for-friends]

Notes from Robert McKee’s “Story” 09: Genre and Expectations

The majority of this section defines genres and sub-genres of story. I’ll provide a summary of them at the end of the post. I think that we all as writers know what genre our works tend to lean toward, so I instead want to focus on what McKee has to say about what is expected of writers as dictated by genre and by the audience. 

Mastery of Genre

As life-long consumers of media, we have ingrained expectations of a story once we hear the genre. A rom-com? Well then, we’re in for a light-hearted comedy with a happy ending for the love interests. High fantasy? There’s gonna be lore and magic and elves and dwarfs, and a massive conflict that will probably span multiple novels or films. 

“The genre sophistication of filmgoers presents the writer with this critical challenge: He must not only fulfill audience anticipations, or risk their confusion and disappointment, but he must lead their expectations to fresh, unexpected moments, or risk boring them. This two-handed trick is impossible without a knowledge of genre that surpasses the audience’s.”

As writers, it is our job to identify our genre and research it thoroughly. In the previous section about setting, McKee explains how the setting of the story gives the writer both limitations and inspiration. 

Genre is, in a certain way, the frame in which the setting and story sit. Depending on the genre, the frame can be pliable or it can be rather fixed. Here you need to study your own genre deeply to find out exactly how flexible it is. For example, the genre of “Comedy” is much more pliable than that of the “Crime” genre. There are sub-genres, of course. But under the vast umbrella of “Comedy” almost anything goes as long as we can get a laugh out of it. “Crime” on the other hand, generally involves a struggle between a criminal and a justice-seeker (with the justice-seeker most commonly being the protagonist) and culminates in one triumphing over the other. 

How to Master Your Genre

“Never assume that because you’ve seen films in your genre you know it. This is like assuming you could compose a symphony because you have heard all nine of Beethoven’s.”

McKee states that genre study is best done in the following way:

List all the works that feel similar to yours, both successes and failures. Studying works that are similar to yours but were failures can lead to great insights.

Study each of these works from page to page, breaking each one down into elements of setting, role, event, and value. 

Stack these analyses on top of each other and look down through them all and ask yourself, “What do the stories in my genre always do? What are its conventions of time, place, character, and action?

Until you find these answers, the audience will always be one step ahead of you. 

Personally, that sounds like a lot of work lol. But doing case studies like he describes would certainly help me to better understand my genre. Idk when I’ll have time for it, but...well. I’ll work on it. 

Creative Limitations

This section really echoes what McKee had to say about setting, in that both setting and genre create boundaries for you to work within, but having boundaries pushes you to be more creative. 

Until now, I’ve always started writing a story on a whim, based on a single scene in my head that grows into some 300 page monstrosity. I resisted plotting and just wrote what I wanted to write that day. I enjoyed the freedom that came with having no specific plans and not thinking much about my genre. 

However, McKee uses a brilliant example to illustrate the beneficial aspects of understanding and working within the bounds of your genre:

“Robert Frost said that writing free verse is like playing tennis with the net down, for it’s the self-imposed, indeed artificial demands of poetic conventions that stir the imagination. Let’s say a poet arbitrarily imposes this limit: He decides to write in six-line stanzas, rhyming every other line. After rhyming the fourth line with the second line he reaches the end of a stanza. Backed into this corner, his struggle to rhyme the sixth line with the fourth and second may inspire him to imagine a word that has no relationship to his poem whatsoever--it just happens to rhyme--but this random word then springs loose a phrase that in turn brings an imagine to mind, an image that in turn resonates back through the first five lines, triggering a whole new sense of feeling, twisting and driving the poem to a richer meaning and emotion.

Thanks to the poet’s Creative Limitation of this rhyme scheme, the poem achieves an intensity it would have lacked had the poet allowed himself the freedom to choose any word he wished.

The principle of Creative Limitation calls for freedom within a circle of obstacles. Talent is like a muscle: without something to push against, it atrophies.”

So one of our first steps as writers is to identify our genre or combination of genres, and then learn the genre conventions. 

Genre conventions are the expected aspects of a certain genre. In a “Boy Meets Girl” romance genre, an obvious convention is that a boy and a girl must meet. It isn’t a cliche--it’s a necessary part of the equation. These conventions force us to use our imagination to reinvent the paradigms our genres and audiences demand, and if we can do it right, we fulfill their expectations while giving them something they had never dreamed of before.

Mixing and Reinventing Genres

What better way to sum up this section than Run DMC’s “Walk This Way,” which was the first hip hop hybrid video every played in heavy rotation on MTV? 

Generally, a work tends to be a mix of two or more genres. For example, there is a Love Story subplot in just about EVERYTHING nowadays, for better or for worse. By mixing genres we as writers have a chance to give the world something that has never been seen before. 

Something that McKee stresses is that genres are not static. He says:

“Genres are simply windows on reality, various ways for the writer to look at life. When the reality outside the window undergoes change, the genres alter with it.”

Social attitudes change. This means that what may have been a compelling story 50 years ago may not be as compelling when looked at once again today. The example McKee uses is the 1950′s film FALLING IN LOVE, which was about a man and woman who fell in love with each other but were already married and in unhappy relationships. Nowadays, in mainstream America, divorce isn’t a big deal. If an audience in 2020 watched this film, they’d just say, “You’re married to people you hate--just get a divorce already!”

“The audience wants to know how it feels to be alive on the knife edge of the now. What does it mean to be a human being today?

Innovative writers are not only contemporary, they are visionary. They have their ear to the wall of history, and as things change, they can sense the way society is leaning toward the future. They then produce works that break convention and take the genres into the next generation.

The finest writers are not only visionary, they create classics.”

McKee’s List of Genres

McKee states that there are many different ways to break genres down, and his is neither the best nor the most complete. Also, keep in mind that this book is actually focused around storytelling through film, so the references he uses are not books, but films. 

LOVE STORY. It’s sub-genre, Buddy Salvation, substitutes friendship for romantic love. 

HORROR FILM. This genre devices into three sub-genres: the Uncanny, in which the source of horror is astounding but subject to “rational” explanation, such as beings from outer space, science-made monsters, or a maniac; the Supernatural, in which the source of horror is an “irrational” phenomenon from the spirit realm; and the Super-Uncanny, in which the audience is kept guessing between the other two possibilities. 

MODERN EPIC (the individual versus the state).

WESTERN. 

WAR GENRE. Although war is often the setting for another genre, such as the Love Story, the WAR GENRE is specifically about combat. Pro-war versus Antiwar are its primary sub-genres. 

MATURATION PLOT or the coming of age story

REDEMPTION PLOT. Here the film arcs on a moral change within the protagonist from bad to good. 

PUNITIVE PLOT. In these, the good guy turns bad and is punished. 

TESTING PLOT. Stories of willpower versus temptation to surrender.

EDUCATION PLOT. This genre arcs on a deep change within the protagonist’s view of life, people, or self from the negative (naive, distrustful, fatalistic, self-hating) to the positive (wise, trusting, optimistic, self-possessed)

DISILLUSIONMENT PLOT. A deep change of worldview from the positive to the negative.

COMEDY. Subgenres range from Parody to Satire to Sitcom to Romantic to Screwball to Farce to Black Comedy, all differing by the focus of comic attack (bureaucratic folly, upper-class manners, teenage courtship. etc.) and the degree of ridicule (casual, caustic, lethal).

CRIME. Subgenres vary chiefly by the answer to this question: From whose point of view do we regard the crime? Murder Mystery (master detective’s POV); Caper (master criminal’s POV), Detective (cop’s POV), Gangster (crook’s POV), Thriller or Revenge Tale (victim’s POV); Courtroom (lawyer’s POV); Newspaper (reporter’s POV); Espionage (spy’s POV), Prison Drama (inmate’s POV); Film Noir (POV of a protagnoist who may be part criminal, part detective, part victime of a femme fatale). 

SOCIAL DRAMA. This genre identifies problems in society--poverty, the education system, communicable diseases, the disadvantaged, antisocial rebellion, and the like--then constructs a story demonstrating a cure. It has a number of sharply focused sub-genres: Domestic Drama (problems within the family), the Women’s Film (dilemmas such as career versus family, lover versus children), Political Drama (corruption in politics), Eco-Drama (battles to save the environment), Medical Drama (struggles with physical illness), and Psycho-Drama (struggles with mental illness). 

ACTION/ADVENTURE. This often borrows aspects from other genres such as War or Political Drama to use as motivation for explosive action and derring-do. If ACTION/ADVENTURE incorporates ideas such as destiny, hubris, or the spirtual, it becomes the sub-genre High Adventure. If Mother Nature is the source of the antagonism, it’s a Disaster/Survival work.

HISTORICAL DRAMA. The treasure chest of history is sealed with this warning: What is past must be present. He must find an audience today. Therefore, the best use of history, and the only legitimate excuse to set a film in the past and thereby add untold millions to a budget, is anachronism--to use the past as a clear glass through which you show us the present. 

BIOGRAPHY. This cousin to Historical Drama focuses on a person rather than an era. BIOGRAPHY, however, must never become a simple chronicle. That someone lived, died, and did interesting things in between is of scholarly interest and no more. The biographer must interpret facts as if they were fiction, find the meaning of the subject’s life, and then cast him as the protagonist of his life’s genre. These caveats also apply to the sub-genre Autobiography.

DOCU-DRAMA. A second cousin to Historical Drama, DOCU-DRAMA centers on recent rather than past events. 

MOCKUMENTARY. This genre pretends to be rooted in actuality or memory, behaves like documentary or autobiography, but is utter fiction. It subverts fact-based filmmaking to satirize hypocritical institutions.

MUSICAL. I would love to see a musical novel lol.

SCIENCE FICTION. In hypothetical futures that are typically technological dystopias of tyranny and chaos, the SCIENCE FICTION writer often marries the man-against-state Modern Epic with Action/Adventure. But, like history, the future is a setting in which any genre may play. 

SPORTS GENRE. Sport is a crucible for character change. This genre is a natural home for the Maturation Plot, the Redemption Plot, the Education Plot, the Punitive Plot, the Testing Plot, the Disillusionment Plot, Buddy Salvation, and Social Drama.

FANTASY. Here the writer plays with time, space, and the physical, bending and mixing the laws of nature and the supernatural. The extra-realties of FANTASY attract the Action genres but also welcome others such as the Love Story, Political Drama/Allegory, Social Drama, and/or Maturation Plot.

ANIMATION. I guess you could equate this to graphic novels, comics, and manga. 

Source: McKee, Robert. Story: Substance, Structure, Style, and the Principles of Screenwriting. York: Methuen, 1998. Print

[danfanciesphil]

too high (can’t come down) by @danfanciesphil

Suspending himself 7,000 feet above the rest of the world seems likely to be a sure-fire way for Dan to escape normality, and isolate himself for the foreseeable future. The Secret of the Alps, a small hotel tucked into the side of the Swiss mountains is too niche for most avid adventurers to have heard of, making it the perfect place for Dan to work as he sorts through his problems. Unfortunately, privacy is a coveted thing, and as Dan soon finds out, the hotel harbours one guest who values it more than most.

Rating: Explicit Tags: Enemies to lovers, snow, mountains, skiing, hostility, slow burn, secrecy, longing, repression, nobility, classism, cheating, eventual sex

Ao3 Link

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty (Final Chapter!) *NSFW*

[Three Months Later]

‘...on Friday, Philip Lester (formerly Novokoric) spoke at the Refuge Centre for Domestic Abuse Victims, where he opened up about his own experience with emotional marital abuse. Since his scandalous divorce from Sir Nikolai Novokoric of Switzerland, Lester has become a dedicated philanthropist, using his notoriety which arose during the controversial coverage of the split to spread awareness about domestic abuse, LGBTQ+ discrimination, homelessness, poverty, and many other important global issues. This Tuesday, Lester is expected to appear at the United Nations conference to discuss Third World Poverty…’

The folding seat beside Dan’s is wrenched down, and a young woman with badly-dyed pink hair plops into it, holding a Starbucks cup and an Urban Outfitters tote bag stuffed with books and papers. Dan lowers the lid of his laptop to shift some of his stuff out of the way of her feet.

“Is it just me or does it get more rammed in here every week?” the girl says. Dan stares at her in mild dismay; usually he projects such a cold, unfriendly aura that nobody dares sit within two seats of him. He’s seen this girl in a few classes before, but he can only barely remember her name. It’s something like Ramona, or Rowena... Or maybe it’s neither. She turns to Dan, brandishing a strong, confident smile. “I’m Roshina.” Ah. Neither. “You’re Dan, right? The guy who dropped out and then... dropped in again.”

She tips her head back and cackles for a second, then begins pulling various things out of the tote bag. Dan grimaces, staring at the little cacti prints decorating the bag. What is it with hipster girls and succulents? 

Whilst he’s not thrilled that he’s apparently earned a reputation amongst the student body as the notorious failed quitter, he hasn’t the energy to challenge her on it.

“Guess so,” he replies in a mutter. 

He opens his laptop again, hoping it might signal to her that he’s busy, and not up for a conversation. Of course, every line of the article is like having someone plunge a fresh, thin needle into his chest, slowly stitching the word ‘fool’ into his skin. But his need for information about Phil is as urgent as his need for water. He can’t look away. 

“Ooh, I love that guy,” Roshina says, leaning in towards Dan to read the article as well. She leans her elbow on the back of his seat, the coffee in her hand hovering close to Dan’s nose; it’s something chai-spiced. Dan recoils as subtly as he can, pressing himself into the opposite edge of the chair. 

The article includes a photo of Phil behind a podium, his glasses on, wearing an impassioned expression, mouth open halfway through some dramatic statement or other. 

“If I were as famous as him and I’d just, like, lost my hot rich husband,” Roshina says, loudly, right into Dan’s ear, “I’d have no shame. I’d be applying to Big Brother or Love Island. Just shows there are some blokes willing to do the decent thing after all!”  

Dan cannot imagine why Roshina thinks he’d care what she might hypothetically get up to in her fantasy version of Phil’s life. He imagines Phil sneering at this girl’s audacity, saying something snippy and derisive like: ‘And if I were as vapid as you, I’d perhaps rethink my decision to pursue a career in the legal field, as it’s highly unlikely anyone’s going to hire a solicitor with bubblegum pink hair.’ It makes Dan smile, just a bit, and then in the next second, he’s back to being a bitter old maid. 

“I wouldn’t give him too much credit,” Dan grumbles, eyes stuck to the photo of Phil, spewing some boring line about domestic abuse like he didn’t need to be practically dragged to his own divorce settlement by the cuff of his ear. “He’s probably getting a buttload for all these appearances.”

She snorts at him, rather loudly and obnoxiously considering this is, as far as Dan remembers, their first conversation. “Don’t you read Perez Hilton? He keeps zilch. All profits from his public appearances go to the charity he’s promoting at the time.”

Dan throat suddenly feels very dry. All profits? What’s he living on? He scrolls down the page a bit more; Roshina jabs at his screen suddenly with a short, green fingernail. She’s pointing to another article advertised at the side of this one, with the headline: ‘Give and Thou Shalt Receive: Phil Lester spotted with Possible New Man’.

“Click that one!” Roshina squeals excitedly. “It was just posted!”

Dan is about to tell Roshina in a clipped, irritable tone that he would rather pick up her fluffy pen and drive it into his eye, but she’s already batting his hand away, apparently oblivious to social etiquette. He’s trapped in his seat, forced to watch as she clicks the baiting link. A photo pops up at once, taken through an open car door, of Phil crammed into the back seat with Martyn and a ‘mystery’ person. Except it’s not a mystery-person. Not to Dan, and not to the author of this article, who has, to their credit, obviously done their homework. 

Dan shifts uncomfortably as Roshina laps up the photo, eyes round and gleaming. He feels nauseous, and the smell wafting from her latte is not helping. Not that anything helps the sickness that sits at the bottom of his belly perpetually nowadays. Ever since he re-enrolled, courtesy of his doting and quietly ecstatic parents, Dan has been off food, off socialising, off anything much except sitting in his room scrolling through the endless media cycle of Phil-related articles. 

“Says here this dude used to be Nikolai’s photographer!” Roshina exclaims. Dan says nothing. He doesn’t want to entertain speculative notions that just because PJ, who used to work for Nikolai, has been papped in Phil’s proximity, that it means they’re dating. Even the idea of it has Dan gripping the hard plastic of his armrest to staunch his wave of paranoia. “PJ Ligouri is a UK-based photographer that jumped ship from Nikolai’s press team alongside his former PA Cornelia Dahlgren. The latter is currently dating Martyn Lester, Phil’s older brother. Suspicions of PJ’s involvement with the younger Lester were first aroused when he was noticed photographing Phil’s appearance at last month’s Climate Change Festival-”

Dan slams the lid of the laptop closed so suddenly that Roshina squeaks, yanking her fingers away just in time. “Battery’s low,” he mutters, folding his arms across his chest. He sinks down in his seat, intending to stay that way until the lecture starts, letting the white noise of Roshina’s indignant voice keep his intrusive and unpleasant thoughts of Phil and PJ, and all the things they might be doing, at bay. 

*

“Hey,” Martyn says, “it’s Corn for you. She wants a private word.”

Phil frowns, not looking up. “Tell her I’m the wrong brother to call for that sort of thing.”

“She says it’s pretty serious,” Martyn says, ignoring him. 

Phil lets out a frustrated sigh, letting the open file he’s been reading fall to the couch cushion beside him. The Red Cross have sent him a buttload of information that he needs to know inside out before his address at the United Nations conference later today. He’s been back and forth with the Red Cross for weeks through phone calls and emails trying to get up to speed, but there’s so much to know in such a short space of time. He has to look like he’s dedicated to this project, and he is, but the UN invited him last minute - he hasn’t had a lot of time to prepare. 

He’ll have even less time if Cornelia keeps pestering him about schedules and meetings or whatever this is about. Of course, despite her constant bothering, Phil would lick the soles of her comfortable-but-cool sneakers to keep her around. She’s a scarily good Press Agent, Phil has no idea how Martyn ever took her on back when they were rivals. They work much better as a team, sharing the role for Phil on a voluntary basis, whilst working a few other part-time jobs. 

“Something about a girl with blue hair?” Martyn prompts, and Phil’s heart skips. 

“Hand it over.”

“Say please to your big brother,” PJ scolds from the other end of the couch, though he doesn’t look away from his phone screen, which he’s been Skyping his girlfriend on for the past half hour. He angles the phone at Phil, pulling his headphones out of the jack; Sophie’s round, sweet face fills the screen. “Soph, tell him to use his manners. You’re a lady.”  

“Use manners,” Sophie says, then pulls up her nostrils to look like a snout. “But I’m no lady.”

Phil smiles at her, but his heart is pounding too violently to give her a proper response. He holds his hand out for the phone in Martyn’s hand instead. PJ plugs his headphones back in, voice lowering. 

“Hey, Corn,” Phil says as soon as the phone is against his ear. “What’s up?”

“Hey,” Cornelia says, then clears her throat. She’s not diving straight in to whatever she has to say, so Phil immediately knows this is a sensitive topic. He stands from the uncomfortable sofa he’s sat on, moving over to the window, as far away from Martyn and PJ as he can get in this tiny room. “So, Mona Kemp just contacted me. You remember her? From The Secret of the Alps hotel.”

Phil rolls his eyes. “Yes, I remember the manager of my prison cell, funnily enough.”

She clears her throat again. “Right. Yeah. Well, apparently they’ve just rented out your suite for the first time since you left.”

Phil waits, but Cornelia seems to need prompting. “Uh huh…”

“And the new guests, um, found something.”

The tiny workers controlling Phil’s brain are suddenly thrown into uproar, frantically combing through his memory for any inkling of what incriminating item he might have left in that godforsaken place. His jaw clenches so hard he can feel a twitch, but he stoically stares through the glass pane to hide his panic from the other people in the room.

“Oh?”

“It was like a… recording device?” Cornelia says, and Phil wishes he could see her in the flesh, read her expression to know how bad it is. 

Although they’re both technically in the same building, the United Nations Headquarters are impossibly huge. She’s downstairs somewhere amongst the thousands of behind-the-scenes worker bees, making arrangements with press and security for the conference. It’ll be hours before she finds her way back up to this bare, lifeless green room they’ve been given use of. 

His eyes flutter closed, picturing Dan, stood defiantly at the foot of a four-poster bed in his wrongly-buttoned shirt, his soft cheeks pink from exertion, spewing garbled information about a thieving girl with blue hair, and how she’d recorded him arguing on the phone. 

“Mona seemed to know who’d put it there somehow, I don’t know,” Cornelia continues in a harried voice. “She said it was the daughter of some family that won a holiday up there. Anyway, obviously this device is a serious breach of privacy, and I’m sure that if you wanted to press charges-”

“What’s on it?”

“Hm?”

Phil pinches the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb, conscious of saying too much in case he alerts Martyn, who is already at maximum stress level, and probably listening right behind him. The seams of Phil’s head are bursting, still crammed with straggles of information about water filtration systems and monthly overseas school supplies. He can’t take this in right now, can’t be bothered to give an annoying fangirl brat with an inflated ego the time of day. And on top of that, he cannot listen to Cornelia pretend she hasn’t already listened to that recording, whatever it is, from start to finish. 

“What’s on it, Cornelia? Don’t play dumb.”

There’s a pause; Phil looks over his shoulder and catches Martyn’s eye. He immediately tries to busy himself with meaningless tasks, neatening files and shoving PJ’s lighting equipment into the corner of the room. Phil turns back to the window, shaking his head. Martyn is just as much of a dirty snoop as his fiancé is. They’re made for each other.

At last, Cornelia speaks. She sounds like she’s moved somewhere with less people in the background. “There’s a few. They’re… mostly x-rated.”

A deep, dizzying flush sweeps down Phil’s body, and he feels his mind threatening to fold inwards on itself. Thanks to a herd of mediation and personal response trainers that Nikolai had him spend weeks with years prior, Phil is able to keep himself relatively calm. He breathes in through his nose, out through his mouth, and stays quiet for a minute whilst he thinks of something to say that will help the situation.

“Send the recordings to me,” Phil instructs after a moment. He keeps expecting a sudden surge of anger to well up inside of him - at the blue-haired girl, at Nikolai, at Dan, at himself even - but all that floods through him is a deep, swirling melancholy, dappled with peaks of intense regret. “And for the love of God don’t show anyone else. Especially my brother.”

“Okay, boss.”

“And tell Mona thank you for… being discreet.”

He doesn’t need to check that Mona had quickly and quietly taken the recording device down with a crisp, dismissive explanation to the new guests. He also doesn’t need to check that she hadn’t listened to them herself; Mona is an honest, rule-abiding woman, and would never dream of such a thing. He should send her a fruit basket one day. ...When he can afford fruit baskets again. 

“I will,” Cornelia assures him. “What do you want to do about the girl?”

“What girl?”

“The blue-haired girl. She could have really messed things up-”

“Don’t do anything,” Phil says sternly. “She wants attention. Notoriety. Don’t give her any.”

“Got it.”

“Just send me those recordings. Then get rid of any copies you or anyone else has, for God’s sake.” He hesitates. “Perv.”

She giggles. “Sounds to me like you’re the perv, mate. Not sure I’d have let someone blindfold me on the first shag, he must’ve been really into you-”

“Fuck off, Corn,” Phil says tiredly, no venom in his voice, then hangs up. 

He goes back to his case files with a weight in his chest. They’re suddenly a lot harder to take in. 

*

The bed Phil currently calls his own is far less luxurious than the one he used to sprawl out in when he was a resident of The Secret of the Alps hotel. It’s barely even a bed, really, as it pulls out from a couch, but Phil never bothers folding it away, as he’s only ever in here to sleep. Sleep is what he should be doing right now, in fact, but there’s no way he could drift off right now, not after hearing what he’s just heard.

Phil stares at the battered play button on the audio player window that’s open on his laptop, which balances on his knee. If he clicks it again, it will be the fifth time he’s heard the final recording Cornelia sent over, which is far too many times to be reasonable. She certainly hadn’t been wrong in her description of the audio. X-rated is possibly even a little demure. 

He worries his lower lip between his teeth, hand long ago having reached beneath the covers to ease some of the intense pressure between his legs. He shouldn’t click play again. The other person in this recording is long gone, and his quick exit was more than enough of a message that he doesn’t want to be found. There’s no point in torturing himself with Dan’s ghost. His... incredibly hot ghost. His fingers press more insistently against his crotch. 

Just then, an email from Cornelia pings up in the corner of Phil’s screen. He whips his hand away from his pyjama trousers, feeling very weird about doing any such thing whilst his sister-in-law-to-be is contacting him. To distract himself from the urgent pulses of arousal coming from beneath the covers, he clicks the email.

From: Mona Kemp To: Cornelia Dahlgren

Fwd: Phil Lester

Dear Ms Dahlgren,

On my first attempt to send over the recordings, it appears the hotel’s rather dated computer system failed to include this final, rather short one. I’ve attached it in this email. Once I’ve confirmed you have received it, I shall dispose of the recordings altogether.

Please send Mr Lester my sincerest apologies again for the atrocious breach of privacy. I no longer have his contact information, but he is welcome to get in touch with me for a formal apology, and we would be more than happy to compensate him with a free stay whenever he might choose to return.

Sincerely,

Mona Kemp Hotel Manager of The Secret of the Alps

Upon reading the line ‘free stay whenever he might choose to return’, Phil lets out a loud snort. Poor Mona. He’ll never tell her, but he’d have to be dragged back onto that cable car kicking and screaming. Even then, he’d probably beg Kaspar to hurl him out of it before they reached the summit. He’ll see how he feels about another trip up there in a few years, perhaps with time his stint there won’t feel as traumatising. 

He clicks the attached recording, readying himself for yet another auditory reminder of his sordid, expletive-riddled, excruciatingly hot fling with Dan. There’s a crackle as it begins playing, and Phil turns up the volume, straining to hear anything more than a few vague rustles. This doesn’t sound like the other recordings. Perhaps the device had just picked up Phil talking in his sleep or something.

And then, he hears Dan’s voice. “Phil?” It’s quiet, but clear as a bell. “Phil.”

Phil sucks in a breath. It’s not that three months have wiped the memory of Dan’s voice from his mind, but when he hears it echo through his eardrums, it’s usually the words he spat in that last argument, when he’d announced he was leaving, as if Phil wouldn’t give a damn. He hasn’t thought of Dan’s softer, sweeter voice in some time. He’d forgotten how Dan could sound, at times, without the strain of lust or fury warping his vocal chords. 

Then there comes a muffled ‘thump’, followed by a grunt of pain.

“Wha?” Phil’s voice says.

Phil clicks pause and checks the timestamp for the recording. It reads 02:01am on 14th April. That’s the day Dan left. Early in the morning. How come he can’t remember this?

His heart thuds, coming to the gradual realisation that he’s listening to a conversation he’s never heard before. One he never even knew had taken place. Had Dan come to say goodbye to him after all? Has Phil been living under the impression that Dan had snubbed him, ran off without a word, when really…

Phil sits up straighter, turning the volume up to the highest level. He clicks play again. 

*

“Did you watch the stream of your fave giving his rousing speech at the UN?” Roshina asks as she settles herself into the seat beside Dan’s again.

Silently, Dan begs her to sit literally anywhere else, but her mind is apparently closed to telepathy. He wonders if she’d believe he’s suddenly been struck totally deaf. Unlikely, but it might be worth a try if it meant he didn’t have to talk about Phil again today; he’s only just stopped crying for long enough intervals to make it to class.

“Yeah, uh, think I saw some clips on Twitter,” Dan replies, aiming for the sweet spot between vague and already-up-to-speed. 

In truth, he watched it start to finish, at 1am because of the time difference, hunkered over his laptop in bed, tears streaming down his face. 

“God, wasn’t he marvellous?” she sighs, hauling a load of books and pens she won’t use out of her tote again. Yes, he was. “He can hold a room for sure. I think it’s ‘cause you can tell he’s passionate about this. ” She grins at him. “Or maybe it’s because of his deep, sexy voice. D’you think?” 

Dan stares back at her, wondering if she genuinely expects him to respond with words. “Uh...” 

Luckily, she doesn’t seem too bothered about Dan agreeing. She pulls out her phone and begins cycling through her social media apps with the concentration of an atomic physicist. “Oh look,” Roshina exclaims just when Dan thought he might get a moment of peace, “our man is trending.”

Dan digs his fingernails into his palm. Don’t look. Just don’t look. “Can I see?” he asks, hating himself.

She angles her phone at him. There are two hashtags pertaining to Phil. The first is #AmazingPhil. The second is #PhilsUNSpeech. Roshina clicks the first, and scrolls slowly down a timeline of people enthusing about Phil’s fiery yet intelligent speech which he gave at the United Nations headquarters yesterday afternoon, about the poverty crisis in several African countries. He seems to have really knocked it out of the park, judging by the response he’s getting. Dan drinks the raining compliments down greedily, trying to glean, selfish though it may be, what Phil’s mental state might be right now, in reaction to all the sudden attention directed his way. One particular tweet catches his attention. 

@nikolaischmikolai: saw #amazingphil at the airport after the conference! such a cool guy, didnt get a selfie cos he was in a hurry to get his flight but he signed my ticket with a Muse quote! #inspiration

Back at the airport, Dan notes. Already jet-setting off to his next glamorous public appearance. It won’t take long until people start throwing money at him for all this ‘charity work’. They’ll give him a Netflix documentary series, or a book deal, or any of the other wank that just gets handed to celebrities. 

“Lucky guy, seeing him IRL. I wonder what he’s like in person,” Roshina ponders, scrolling through more tweets. 

“An emotionally stunted, obnoxious adrenaline junkie with no filter on the silver spoon stuck in his gob,” Dan mutters, before realising he said that slightly too loud. Roshina is staring at him oddly. He shrugs, pinkening. “I imagine, anyway.”

Thankfully, before Roshina can respond, Professor Warren calls the class to attention, flicking the PowerPoint to the title page, which reads, ‘Marital Dissolution: The Litigation of Separation and Divorce’. The irony is stifling.

*

Sleep is closing in on Dan from all sides. He’s trying to resist the urge to slip into blissful unconsciousness, but Professor Warren’s baritone voice is making it so difficult to stay alert. His eyelids sag, then shut entirely. It’s just as the waves of promised unconsciousness are beginning to draw him out into that sweet, deep void that the door of the lecture hall opens with its hideous squeak. Dan frowns, inching down further in his uncomfortable chair to try and get away from the noise.

“Excuse me,” a loud, plummy voice calls, interrupting Professor Warren mid-flow. Dan frowns harder; the voice is instantly grating, as if it knows to burrow straight beneath Dan’s skin. It skims along the shores of his half-dream, splashing through the shallows in the distance, but Dan is too far out to be reached. “Is Dan Howell in this class?”

Dan’s eyes snap open.

“Young man, I am in the middle of a lecture!” Professor Warren replies in his gruff, incredulous voice, the one he uses in seminars to pick on students who haven’t done the reading. Dan’s been on the receiving end of this voice rather too often. “I must insist that you wait outside until-”

“I’m sorry, Professor, but this can’t wait,” the voice says, even louder. “Dan Howell? Dan, are you in here?”

A slight Northern tinge is detectable beneath the upper-class overtones. Chills course down Dan’s arms. This cannot be happening. He sneaks a glance at Roshina; her mouth is a round, pink circle, eyes bugged out so far it looks almost cartoonish. He looks left and right, noting that several people are also turning his way, alight with excitable intrigue. It’s no use. He’s going to have to confront this... situation. Dan sits up just enough that he can peer through the shoulders of the people in front of him, to the short flight of stairs that lead up to the lecture hall door.

It’s beyond surreal, to take in the sight of Phil, here, in this dingy light-less hall, looking exactly the same as ever, but somehow startlingly different. He feels as though the image of him has smacked sharply into the back of his head. In the next moment, Dan realises that Roshina has literally smacked him.

“You know him?!” she hisses, incensed. “Why didn’t you say?”

Phil lets out a suffering sigh that makes Dan’s teeth grit together. He’s gazing out across the rows of students as if he were surveying his Kingdom. Dan hunches over, trying to hide. There must be a hundred people in here, thank heavens. Suddenly, Roshina has her green-taloned claw on his upper arm; she hauls him up with surprising strength, though he does his best to struggle free. 

“Dan,” Phil calls out a second time to the general room, ignoring the fact that Professor Warren looks to be on the verge of spontaneous combustion, “I kind of know you’re in here. Could you just… I need to talk to you.”

Dan swallows, feeling the back of his neck prickle from how many eyes are on him now. Phil isn’t wearing his glasses; perhaps he’s blinder than Dan assumed he was, as Roshina now has him in a vice grip, ensuring he stays bolt upright in the chair. 

“It’s just dawned on me who you are, young man,” Professor Warren says then, cold, “and I’m sure in your world this kind of disruptive behaviour is tolerated. But this is an academic setting, not a press interview. Please leave my lecture. You may speak with whomever you like in an hour.”

“Dan, I know you’re in love with me,” Phil says, with a sweet, butter-wouldn’t-melt smile. “I think we should talk about that, maybe.”

Cheeks furiously flaming, Dan looks down at his folding desk covered in meagre study tools for some kind of murder weapon. The best he has is a laptop charger, which he might be able to fashion into some kind of lasso and choke Phil from afar if he really tried. Stifled snickers erupt behind people’s hands, and practically everyone is staring at him now. With little other option, Dan shoots to his feet, stuffing everything in his bag. He doesn’t give Phil the satisfaction of meeting his eye, but as he’s finally shut his gob, Dan reckons the dickhead has spotted him at last.

Bag slung over one shoulder, Dan forces his way past Roshina’s fishnet-wrapped knees, then past a few other amused students to the aisle. He stalks down the stairs as quickly as possible, head down. He can sense Professor Warren’s disapproving glare on him; this little stunt will not earn him any favours, and he’s already on the Prof’s list of ne’er-do-wells. Once he begins the climb of stairs towards the hall doors, Dan finally lifts his head to aim his icy expression at the infuriating human that has inexplicably decided to saunter in and humiliate Dan like no time at all has passed. The corner of Phil’s mouth is lifted just a tad. Dan had honestly forgotten, what with all the heartache, just how punchable he is.

He says nothing, just grabs Phil by the upper arm and marches him up the remainder of stairs, then through the doors. Once they’re outside the lecture hall, which opens directly onto the main outdoor campus, Dan lets go of Phil like he’s burning, and strides across the tarmac, feeling the burn of mortification stinging him from all sides. Of course it’s raining, Dan thinks as he walks, the scent of rain-soaked concrete misting the air.

It’s not long before he hears footsteps hurrying after him. “Dan, wait!”

Furious, Dan stops in his tracks and whirls around. “What are you doing here?”

Phil comes to an abrupt halt in front of him, eyes round. He blinks at Dan, mouth parted; for a moment, Dan is equally dumbstruck. Seeing him so close, after months of only glimpsing him through a screen, is disconcerting. Was he always this stunning? Did Dan really somehow grow used to the vivid, swirling blue of his eyes? 

“I… could ask you the same question,” Phil says after a while. 

The annoying non-answer immediately slaps Dan back from gooey-ville. He gives Phil a withering look. “I’m a student here.”

“Thought you dropped out.”

Dan grits his teeth again. How is it that Phil always knows to pick at the very knots Dan doesn’t want to unravel? 

“Well, I dropped in again.” He folds his arms across his chest. To his utter dismay, a smattering of the students milling around the campus plaza have begun to look up from their phones and tablets. There’s a lot of pointing and murmuring going on, presumably because ‘Amazing Phil’ has appeared out of the blue to fight with some normie. “Why’d you have to announce to the entire hall that I’m ‘in love’ with you?” Dan demands, pointedly using air quotes to convey the ridiculousness of that concept. “I have to finish out the year with the people in there.”

“Actually, you don’t have to do that.”

“Don’t start.”

“What?”

“Don’t start with the whole ‘you gave up on giving up’ thing. I know, okay? I’m back exactly where I was before we met, hating every aspect of my life. But we can’t all be famous charitable heartthrobs.”

Phil smirks, his lowered eyelashes catching tiny droplets of rain. “Heartthrob?”

“Oh my God,” Dan says, one hand coming to his damp forehead, “what do you want?”

An actual crowd of people is forming around them, seemingly oblivious to the fact they’re all steadily getting soaked. Dan wants rather badly to bolt far away from this spot. But that would mean leaving Phil behind, again, and annoyed though he is, he just can’t wrench himself away a second time, not when he’s only just reappeared. Phil shifts, pulling his smart jacket tighter, eyeing the people gathering around them. Several of them have unsubtly pulled out their phones to film this exchange. 

“I had this dream,” Phil says, inexplicably.

“That’s great, Martin Luther King,” Dan says dryly, “I’m sure your doting fans would love to hear all about it, so just look into one of these nice people’s lenses and remember to speak clearly-”

“I had this dream that you crawled into bed with me,” Phil interrupts, continuing as if Dan hadn’t spoken. An eruption of titters spills from their group of onlookers; Dan has to close his eyes and breathe to stop himself from stepping forwards and kicking Phil in the kneecap. “In the middle of the night. And you asked me to give you a reason to stay with me.” 

Immediately, the backs of Dan’s eyes strain and ache, pushing tears into his ducts. He wills the rain to fall harder, to disguise his reaction in case he can’t keep the tears from spilling over. 

“And in my dream,” Phil continues, “I couldn’t think of a reason. I just thought... you must already know how much I like you. I’d told you so many times that you were constantly on my mind. I’d done stupid, reckless things to be with you for just a few hours. I’d left my husband. But there you were, in my dream, asking me for something more. I couldn’t understand what it was you wanted me to say. I didn’t have anything left. Nothing I could think of that might stop you leaving.”

The rain is soaking through Dan’s t-shirt, sticking it to his skin. He shivers, trying to let the alien words fold into his drizzled, muddy mind. 

“It’s too late for this,” Dan points out, toeing the tarmac with the tip of his trainer, watching the light grey slabs slowly pinpricking with dark circles. “And it was just a dream, like you said.”

“I’ve thought of a reason, though.”

Dan’s eyes lift. He wants to say he doesn’t care, that their brief attempt to grasp at the wisp of some connection that sparked between them was doomed from the start. The chance has passed them by - they’re no longer up a mountain with only each other for company, they’re back in the gritty rainy reality of their starkly different lives. 

But he also aches, body and soul, to know that reason. The thing Phil never said, that Dan has imagined him saying every day since. God help him, he yearns to hear it more than he yearns for oxygen in his next breath. So he says nothing, lips pressing tight. 

“I was really lonely,” Phil says, grimacing as a fat raindrop strikes his pale cheek. “I spent three years in a far off retreat nobody knew about, cut off from everything I’d known. The cold of that place, along with the isolation... I think it seeped into my bones. I just went numb. I forgot how to feel anything.”

Dan looks away, casting his gaze around the people on the periphery of this strange conversation, all of them listening intently, so ready for some dramatic story to add to their social media timeline.

“And then you came,” Phil says, apparently oblivious to the entourage. “Like you’d been flung up the mountain by mistake. You had no more clue why you were there than anyone else. And you were so…” he heaves a sigh, running fingers through damp, dark hair. “So fucking annoying.”

A ripple of laughter goes up around them; Dan chokes out a cough of indignation. “Isn’t this supposed to be a reason you wanted me to stay?”

Phil smiles, showing the barest hint of teeth. “You got on every single one of my nerves. It was like you’d specifically been planted there to piss me off. Everything about you was just… so frustrating.”

Dan cocks a suggestive eyebrow, because it’s decidedly his turn to embarrass Phil after the many things he’s inferred about Dan so far. On camera. “There were occasions where Louise had to pull me aside and cool me off so I wouldn’t beat you with your ski pole. So don’t think it was one-sided.”

“But that’s just it,” Phil says, taking a teensy step closer. Dan’s backpack strap is sodden, and his face is misted with moisture, but he can’t seem to make himself move an inch, because Phil - god damn him - looks fucking incredible all wet, in a Mr Darcy-emerging-from-the-lake sort of way. “You made me feel things again. Sure, most of the feelings were anger and exasperation, but it was still better than the void that was there before.”

“Wow. I don’t know what to say. This is all so romantic,” Dan says scornfully; their audience titters, and Dan feels a small surge of pride that this time they’re laughing with him. “Are you getting to some kind of point?”

“Yeah,” Phil says, laughing. “I was so alone, and I owe you so much.”

Dan snorts, turning on his heel. Enough. “That’s a line from Sherlock, you dick-”

“Hey, I’m fucking about, I can do better,” Phil pleads, grabbing his arm. Dan thinks about pulling away, but he settles for just turning to glare some more, very aware of Phil’s touch, how his warm, wet fingers feel even through the soggy material of his t-shirt. “How about…” 

Phil is really close to him now, his deep thinking cutting a crease between his brows. The rain has deflated his quiff, making it stick to his forehead. Somehow, even with a makeshift emo fringe, he looks infinitely radiant. Dan imagines that in comparison, he resembles a drowned rat, his hair frizzed and unattractive, and it’s all being caught on film, which is fantastic. Phil drops his voice to a murmur, presumably so it can’t be picked up by people’s shitty phone mics. 

“Arguing with you every day, up in the heavens of fucking nowhere…” Phil shrugs, smiling. “That was the most fun I’ve ever had.”

A droplet spills from Dan’s left eye, and he wipes it away, furious with himself for allowing it to leak out. “Wow,” he chokes out. “You must have been really bored up there.”

Phil nods, eyes trained on Dan’s traitorous smile. “Is that... your way of saying you don’t hate my guts?” 

Dan feels himself tense. Phil’s hand is still on his arm, and his thumb strokes gently over the damp skin just below his sleeve. “You know I can’t provide you with, like, champagne or- or um, suites in fancy hotels or…” 

He trails off, because he’s allowed himself to look into Phil’s eyes properly for the first time; they really are so many separate shades of blue. There must be dozens of colours in their depths. He’d have a job naming them all.  

“I’ll settle for the occasional kiss between battles,” Phil replies. 

Dan splutters softly, cheeks warm against the shivering rest of his body. His eyes flit to their audience, several of whom have their hands over their hearts and mouths.

“Not here,” Dan replies, taking a hasty step backwards. “Let’s, uh,” he glances around for a break in the crowd, “let’s go somewhere… less here.”

He turns before Phil can answer, pushing through a throng of camera-faced people, letting Phil find his way to catch up. They get halfway across the campus main square before Phil says coolly, “not to ruin the theatricality of this moment, but where are we going?”

Dan looks at him, then stops in his tracks. Crap. “Y-you can’t come back to mine.” He blushes, fidgeting. “I’m… living with my parents. At the moment.”

“Hmm,” Phil says, dithering. “Not ideal.” 

“Where are you staying?” 

Phil hesitates, and Dan has to prod him in his damp ribs to make him answer aloud. He sighs eventually. “Susan.”

Dan’s eyebrows shoot towards the rainclouds above them. “Your plane?”

“Yeah. S’all I’ve got to my name right now, pretty much.”

Dan nods, considering this for all of about five seconds. He can already sense that they’re beginning to be followed. Dan grabs Phil by the wrist. “She’ll do.”

*

Considering what a smooth, relaxed pilot Phil is, Dan is genuinely baffled by how terrifying he is as a driver. Phil has parked Susan on some farmland about two miles from campus; the owner of the plot had recognised Phil’s plane when he’d landed it in the local airport and practically jumped at the chance to offer him a place to stow it - presumably to earn himself some bragging rights for bestowing his hospitality on a semi-celebrity.

This suspiciously good samaritan also gave Phil use of his truck for the day, as the farm is in the middle of nowhere, and Phil needed a way to get to Dan’s university campus. The truck is an old, squeaky thing caked in mud; as far as keeping a low profile goes it does a grand job, but it doesn’t reek of safety. For most of the journey, Dan is clutching the ceiling handle, shrieking whenever another car comes the other way as Phil careers them down narrow country lanes at sixty miles per hour.

Eventually, after Dan has come worryingly close to crapping his pants, they reach the field where Phil’s plane is sat, less shiny than Dan remembers her, but just as intimidating. The rain is easing up, but it’s left the green countryside dripping and muddy; Dan is not particularly looking forward to trekking across the wet grass. 

“I’m literally never getting in a car with you again,” Dan states vehemently, legs shaking as he steps out of the truck.

“Wimp,” Phil says dismissively, slamming his door closed. The sound echoes around them, bouncing off the trees that fringe the field. “I’m just a little rusty. There’s less traffic in the sky.”

As his heart settles back into its normal rhythm, Dan shuts his own door and follows Phil across the grass to the plane. Phil presses a button as they approach and a short set of steps protrude in a neat glide from Susan’s door.

“Missed you, babe,” Phil says, hopping onto the first step before it’s completely extended.

Dan blanches, nearly slipping on a patch of wet grass. “Uh, what?”

Phil looks over his shoulder, amusement coating his expression. “I’m talking to Susan.”

“Oh. Yeah. I- I know.”

Phil laughs and ducks inside the plane. Dan looks around at the vast, endless fields that surround them, startlingly green and lush from the burst of rainfall. There’s nothing for miles aside from a tiny farmhouse in the distance; they’re alone together again. It’s a different kind of deserted expanse to the snow-covered mountains, but a familiar sense of isolation hovers in the air. 

Susan’s sleek interior has changed since Dan saw it last. For one thing, what little floor space had been at the back of the plane has been largely taken up by a pull-out bed. It’s unmade, the covers rucked and creased, which in the cramped area makes the whole place look messy. Phil shimmies around the bed to a what looks like the counter of a small bar, opening a neat pull-out contraption that reveals a sink. There’s a kettle too, which Phil holds under the faucet.

“Uh, so you live here? Permanently?”

Phil nods.

“Jesus,” Dan mutters, toeing the empty red bull can on the floor near the bed. “Quite the fall from grace. How are you coping without 24-hour maid service?”

“S’not so bad,” Phil says with no apparent hint at insincerity. He kneels on the bed and leans over to grab the red bull can, which he then throws into the bin, rather stylishly. “At least here I’m not in debt to anyone.”

“So you own the plane, then?”

Dan sits gingerly on the bed, mainly because there is nowhere else to sit apart from the two seats in the cockpit, and he can’t even look in that direction without blushing. It seems both long ago and entirely too recent that he was sat there with Phil knelt before him, high above the peaks of the Swiss mountains. He seems to remember, from his last visit, more seating in the back here, but as he studies the bed he’s perched on, he realises that this is the seating, folded out into a small double bed.

“Yeah,” Phil replies, pouring boiling water into mugs. “Nikolai let me have this and the ring.”

Dan’s eyebrows raise. “You’d think he could’ve spared a couple of… million.”

“I’m glad he didn’t, actually. It would’ve detracted from my trustworthiness, I think.”

“You mean about all the charity stuff you’re doing?”

“Exactly,” Phil affirms, lifting both mugs and carefully sitting on the bed beside Dan. He hands one over, and Dan takes it. He doesn’t particularly feel like tea, but then he is wet and slightly chilly from the rain, so it will probably help chase the cold from his bones. “So.”

“So,” Dan echoes.

They lapse into silence, blowing on their scorching drinks. Eventually, Dan abandons his, knowing it will be too hot to drink for some time. He places it carefully on the shelf beside the bed. “I need to ask you something,” Dan says.

“Yes, the theories are right, I am naturally ginger.”

“What?”

“What?”

Dan shakes his head. “Not... what I was gonna ask. It’s about that dream you mentioned.” He hesitates, heart squeezing tightly. “Did you... remember anything else about it?”  

Strangely, Phil shifts away from him. It’s a telling movement, and even though Dan’s not been around him for some time, he’s ninety percent sure that the expression Phil’s features are forming is something like ‘sheepishness’. He squints at the older man as a gut feeling blooms that he’s going to want to throttle him within the next few minutes.

Phil swallows tightly, placing his own mug on the floor. “Well. I don’t really need to, um. Remember.” 

“What d’you mean?”

Phil grimaces, seeming wary of Dan’s reaction, then reaches beneath the bed, drawing out a Macbook. “This is Martyn’s old one,” Phil says when he catches Dan’s raised eyebrow. “Nik kept mine.”

A wave of sympathy washes over Dan from head to toe, swiftly followed by a surge of anger for Nikolai Novokoric. Phil opens the Mac and clicks around a bit, then turns to Dan, clear concern dressing his face.

“So, you remember that girl? With the blue hair?”

*

Ten minutes later, Dan is sat in gobsmacked silence, his own confession of love reverberating through the air. No use denying it now. “That little fucker.”

Phil winces. “Yeah. Well, anyway, Mona and Cornelia destroyed all the copies.”

Dan’s eyes bulge. “Except this one!”

“Well yeah,” Phil says. His mouth twitches, and Dan zeroes in on it. “But… I reckon I’m allowed to have one.”

“Oh, do you?”

“It’s sweet.” Phil nudges him with his elbow. “And, y’know…”

“No, please enlighten me.”

“It’s… pretty hot.”

Dan’s frown deepens. “That’s a strange choice of adjective.”

“Well, maybe not the part where you bear your soul to me in a largely embarrassing midnight confession,” Phil says, so Dan hits him in the arm, “but the other recordings-”

“Other recordings?!”

Phil pauses, caught out. “Oh. Uh, yeah. From what I can gather the recording device began recording any time it picked up noise, so there are a few…”

He trails off, and Dan buries his face in his hands for a few seconds, then takes a deep inhale, straightening up. “Show me.”

“Not sure this is the best time-”

“Phil, that’s a recording of me doing a variety of explicit deeds. Fucking play it to me.”

Phil hesitates, scanning Dan’s face, then shrugs, pulls up a different recording, moves the play bar to the middle, and hits the space key.

“Kiss me,” Dan’s voice says, husky and breathless. “Kiss me and then fuck me.”

Regret, regret, regret- Dan lunges for the laptop, slamming the space bar. Unfortunately, he manages to press another key as well, and a different recording pops up. Before either he or Phil can do anything to stop it, Nikolai’s voice is pouring from the speaker.

“...my God, don’t tell me you actually top in this-”

Phil slams the lid of his laptop shut smartly, two pink spots appearing on his high cheeks. “I’ll delete these, I think.”

Dan’s fingers push into his temple, massaging the spot. “So good of you to hang onto them until now, you wanker.”

Silence falls, and for a moment the tension is taut to the point of being unbearable. Then, Dan hears a quiet, barely audible giggle. He looks at Phil, incredulous, and immediately upon seeing the creases of laughter around his glinting eyes, feels a swell of laughter bubbling up in his own chest. The tension snaps, and they let their streams of laughter spill out. Phil cards a hand through his hair, reaching for his tea again.

“Y’know,” Dan says, eyes glazed as he watches Phil’s plump, pink lips seal over the rim of his mug, “you’ve already lured me into your…” he gestures to the plane interior. “Den. Kind of redundant at this point to play it cool.”

Phil looks at him quizzically, sipping. “What do you mean?”

“Well, as you have clear, recorded evidence of my unfortunate attachment to you right there,” Dan says, stretching out on the bed a little more, settling into the familiar atmosphere of mildly absurd, irritation-fuelled hysteria, “and I willingly endured your death-defying driving skills, then followed you into your plane in the middle of nowhere, it might be a reasonable assumption that I’m, like,” Dan waves a hand in the air between them, “D.T.F.”

Phil chokes around a mouthful of tea. He places the mug down sharply, eyes wide. It makes Dan laugh, and he leans back onto his hands. As it turns out, having every last scrap of his dignity laid out before them both is rather empowering. He has nothing left to hide, no reason to be coy, and it’s now up to Phil whether he takes advantage or not. Dan really hasn’t anything else to lose, at this point, sad though that thought might be.

“I didn’t want to assume,” Phil objects, scandalised, “I’m trying to be a gentleman!”

Dan nods gravely. “By playing me audio recordings of me asking you to ‘kiss and fuck me’?”

Phil’s mouth opens, as if he’s about to retort, but at the sight of Dan’s smirk, he closes it again, a laugh escaping. “If I do one of those things now, can you pretend I waited until, y’know, a respectable amount of time had passed?”

“I could pretend I had a sudden urge to shuck off my wet clothes,” Dan suggests with a hand thrown across his forehead for emphasis; he’s enjoying the unusual sensation of having the power over this situation, and as usual when he feels even a lick of power, his theatric flair rears its head. It doesn’t matter that his heart doubled in speed as soon as Phil hinted at physical contact. “And then,” Dan continues, voice as dramatic as if he were addressing a theatre-ful of patrons, “as you’re finding me a spare shirt to cover my immodesty, you can’t help your gaze lingering on my bare skin - you try to stop yourself, but your hand reaches out of its own accord to stroke across my chest - my breath hitches, and-”

Phil dives across the bed, pinning Dan to the mattress and kissing him. “Hmm,” he mumbles into the seam of Dan’s lips, “I forgot you never shut up.”

Dan’s arms come up to wind around Phil’s neck, a zing of pure joy ricocheting through his body as his familiar weight settles on top of him. 

“I haven’t forgotten that you’re ten times more tolerable to listen to when you’re naked,” Dan says, turning his head to urge Phil to kiss along his jaw. “Please comply.”

Phil chuckles, leaning up to pull his shirt off. “Better?”

A punch of air leaves Dan’s chest; his hands spread themselves over Phil’s toned stomach, re-learning the crevices either side of his belly, the smooth curvature of his hips. 

“Much.” His index fingers trace the line of hair that leads from Phil’s tummy button beneath the waistband of his trousers. He pulls at the waistband impatiently. “Even better without these though, I reckon.”

Phil sits back on his haunches, positioning himself on top of Dan’s thighs. “Yeah?” he asks, already sliding the zipper down. Dan’s cock pulses, still trapped by his jeans. Phil is putting on a show, but Dan no longer has the ability to call him out on it. His eyes won’t unstick themselves from the sight of Phil shimmying his trousers down his thighs, revealing a pair of black boxer briefs so tight that they might as well be nonexistent for all they manage to conceal. “How’s this?”

Dan shoots him what he intends to be a withering look that probably doesn’t come across very menacing. “I don’t remember you being this vocal.”

Phil smiles, using Dan’s shoulder to steady himself as he peels the trousers off entirely. “Shut me up, then.”

Not needing to be told twice, Dan grabs the backs of Phil’s thighs and manoeuvres him back until he’s sprawled on his back. He pulls off his own t-shirt, getting more impatient by the minute to entwine himself in Phil as deeply as possible; he’s been starving himself of this, for months, and now he wants to feast. As soon as he’s free of his t-shirt, Dan begins pushing his lips against the miles of bare skin covering Phil’s upper body. Phil’s breathing goes strange and stuttery, and his hand loses itself in Dan’s hair.

“Fuck,” he whispers as Dan seals his mouth over a nipple, “I’ve missed you.”

“Still talking to Susan?” Dan asks with a snort, and Phil smacks him lightly in the back of the head.

“Susan doesn’t talk back nearly as much.”

In response, Dan chooses to trail a line of kisses downwards, through the valley of Phil’s pectoral muscles, over the plane of his stomach, nipping gently at that tantalising rivulet of hair slicing through his pelvic region. When he gets to the boxer briefs, he pauses, lifting his gaze as he tucks his fingertips into the waistband.

Phil makes a sort of choking noise as their eyes meet, which is pleasant to hear. “Lift,” Dan tells him, and when his hips rise, pulls them off in a flourish. Dan had thought the thick, gorgeous shape of Phil’s cock was deeply ingrained into his memory, but even the image he’d conjured up in the dead of night, when he couldn’t stop himself from indulging in nostalgia, had been lacking in the exquisite detail of reality. He takes hold of the base in one hand, letting the warm, pulsing flesh push all thought from his mind. “I missed you too,” he says, and Phil whimpers.

Dan takes his time blowing Phil, letting him glide in and out of his mouth as he lifts his head and sinks down again and again. Phil’s body slackens, sinking into the hard mattress so totally that it’s as if he hasn’t relaxed once in all the time that’s passed since they last did this. The sensation of Phil atop Dan’s tongue is comforting in its thickness, stretching his lips wide, reminding him of how it feels to be so open. He would like for Phil to know this, wants to share the intoxicating power of utter vulnerability. He pulls off, suddenly alight with an idea, and sits up, crawling over Phil’s spread body until his face hovers above Phil’s. 

“You know what Nikolai mentioned,” Dan begins, testing the waters. 

Instantly, Phil’s hands stop wandering over his back. “Are you seriously bringing up my ex-husband right now?”

Dan chuckles, then sweeps a tongue over his lower lip, tasting Phil there, salty and sour; Phil’s eyes fall to the movement with obvious interest. 

“I’ve just been thinking,” Dan continues, determined to persevere with the thought if it could lead where he hopes it might. To soften the blow of blindsiding Phil with Nikolai’s name, Dan dots a few light kisses over his jaw. “When we… did things before. Were you just indulging me, because I suggested we try it a certain way, and it was my first time?”

Phil arches his head backwards, wordlessly encouraging Dan to move his lips to his neck. “W-what do you mean? It was always amazing with you.”

“Hmm,” Dan says, sucking gently at the spot right below Phil’s ear. “So you never wanted to do it a different way? Like…” His hand, which has been resting on Phil’s hip, trickles over his thigh, dipping into the cavern between Phil’s legs. He lets his fingers wander even lower, past the swell of his balls. He watches Phil’s face intently, trying to gauge the reaction, and presses the tip of one finger to the tight, puckered entrance at his rear. “This way?”

For the first time, Dan is able to witness the crystal blue of Phil’s irises thinning and nearly disappearing entirely, swallowed up by the black holes widening in their centres. It’s not until Dan removes his finger that Phil is able to summon a response.

“I- I don’t have much of a preference,” he whispers, stammering. “Is… is that something you’d want to try, or-”

“Phil,” Dan interrupts, feeling the smile teasing the corner of his mouth as he sees through Phil’s poor attempt at nonchalance, “do you want me to fuck you?”

Phil is quiet for a moment, but Dan holds his gaze, one eyebrow cocked, hopefully looking far more in control of himself than he feels. The elbow he’s using to hold himself up begins to tremble, threatening to give way, but he holds steady, needing to hear Phil speak the words.

Then, Phil nods, just once. “Yes.”

Dan smiles, leaning in to seal their mouths together. The eagerness with which Phil responds conveys his excitement, and Dan lets him twine their tongues together, allows Phil’s arms to draw him in around the neck. After a few minutes however, Dan’s self-control is reaching its very peak, what with Phil’s cock trapped between their bodies still, and the anticipation of what it might be like to slip inside of him lurking so tantalisingly on the horizon.

Dan unwinds himself carefully, sitting up and reaching for the button of his own jeans. “Do you have, um, stuff?”

His question prompts Phil into immediate action; he sits up, peeling himself off the bed in order to stagger over to an overhead cupboard, which he reaches up to open. Dan’s fingers stumble on the zipper of his jeans, attention ensnared by the sight of the lean, naked body in front of him, stretched out in a delicious long line of pale, pure skin, hiding terrains of thick muscle, tightened by years of diligent workouts. His cock strains against the fly of his trousers, imagining what it might be like to bury himself inside of such a temple; his fingers work frantically to open the zip. Eventually, Phil finds what he’s looking for, and throws a bottle of lube and a four condom packets onto the bed.

Dan picks a few of the foil packets up, eyebrows raised. “I’m flattered that you presume so highly of my stamina, but-”

Phil shuts him up using the method he seems to be realising is the most effective - jumping back on the bed and kissing him hard. “Thought we could take it in turns,” Phil growls into Dan’s mouth, because obviously he’s intent on driving Dan to the brink of insanity. 

A strangled noise escapes Dan’s throat, and he pushes Phil backwards until he’s astride him again, back to pulling off his jeans, which thankfully goes a lot more smoothly this time. He slides his underwear off too, then reaches for the condom packet, ten steps ahead of himself; Phil’s hand on his arm makes him pause.

“Woah, uh, it’s not my first rodeo but I’m probably gonna need a little prep before-”

“Shit,” Dan mutters, throwing the condom aside for a moment. He shakes his head, blood thrumming in his ears, and smooths his hands up Phil’s gorgeous thighs. “Sorry. Okay, what do I do?”

Phil sits up, reaching for the lube, and un-pops the cap. “Want me to do it?”

Dan snatches the bottle from him. “Fuck right off.”

He pours some of the gloop onto his fingers, remembering how, when they’d done this before, Phil had warmed the substance before letting it touch his skin. He copies the action, coating his hands with it, then looking to Phil for further instruction. Phil opens his legs wider, allowing Dan to fit himself between them.

“Have you ever done this to yourself?”

“Only since you did it to me,” Dan admits before he can stop himself.

Phil grins, unsubtly conveying his thoughts around this, and Dan only barely resists the urge to flick him in the balls. “Same thing, then,” Phil says.

“Will it hurt?”

Phil eases himself back down onto his elbows. “Doubt it,” Phil answers in a soft sigh. He lets out a little moan as Dan’s fingertips press against him. “Fuck. No, I don’t think this is gonna hurt at all.”

Dan’s fingers slide into Phil as easily as if he were pushing them into warm bread dough. The walls of hot, soft muscle close in around him, drawing each finger deeper as he adds them one at a time. Phil murmurs vaguely bossy commands, telling him to scissor and stretch, but half the words are lost to his groans of bliss, each one making Dan shudder more violently than the last.

“Ugh, Dan,” he says, voice desperate despite it seeming like barely any time has passed. He has one hand wrapped around the back of his right thigh, holding it up to allow Dan better access. Dan moves closer, brushes Phil’s hand away and lets the crook of Phil’s knee drape over his shoulder. “Fuck,” Phil mutters, but doesn’t protest. “Y-you can stop now,” he urges, but Dan keeps on, wanting to be totally sure. Phil seems so tight, so impossibly tight, and whilst it is maddening to picture thrusting inside of such tightness, the thought of hurting Phil without meaning to is terrible enough to keep Dan stretching with his fingers, just in case. He changes the angle just slightly when his wrist threatens to cramp, and Phil swears, louder than he has so far. “Fff-uck. Do that again.”

Dan does do it again. He does it many more times, pressing the pads of his fingers to that same spot until Phil is writhing against the covers, until his gasps sound more like gurgles, until his hands are scrabbling at Dan’s wrist to pull his fingers free.

“Fuck, Dan please, I’m ready, I’m ready,” he garbles.

For a long moment, Dan is too hypnotised by the wrecked, flushed mess that’s become of the Adonis-like man sprawled out naked before him to react. He stares at Phil’s reddened, slick lips, puffy from where he’s been biting them. 

“Dan,” Phil chokes out, desperate.

The sound of his name slaps Dan back into coherence. He pats the space around him, searching for the condom packet he’d thrown aside before. It seems to elude him for a while, but eventually he finds it, and rips the packet with his teeth. Thankfully, condoms are a part of sexual experience that he is not out of his depth with, as Beth had insisted on him using at least one, sometimes more, whenever they slept together.

He rolls it on with ease, thankful for the many opportunities he’s had to practice for this moment, and takes hold of Phil by the hips, dragging him forwards with a sharp tug, until the head of his cock is aligned with Phil’s slick opening. Phil is staring at him in amazement, and Dan doesn’t blame him - he’s exuding a confidence born purely of adrenaline, and it’s making him into someone unrecognisable, someone composed and assertive. Someone hot. 

“Ready?” he asks; his shaky voice somewhat shatters the illusion.

“God, yes,” Phil replies, apparently not noticing. 

Dan inches his hips forwards, letting the head of his cock press past the outer rim; Phil’s head tips backwards, a sigh of ecstasy spilling from his throat. His hand releases its grip on the covers, and he brings his long fingers to wrap around his cock.

Even the sight is intoxicating. Ignoring all other sensation for now, Phil looks maddeningly good this way; Dan’s hips almost lock in place, just watching him feel. The thin branches of Phil’s neck bones are protruding beneath the skin, mottled from where Dan has nipped and bitten. His puffed chest is rising and falling rapidly, his shoulders trembling, misted with a sheen of rainwater and sweat. He ducks his head again, meeting Dan’s eyes, and Dan remembers he’s supposed to be moving, that he is supposed to be the one in control of this. He doesn’t feel very in control, suddenly, too shaken by the onslaught of sensation attacking from all angles.

As if he’s gleaned these concerns from Dan’s mind through osmosis, Phil says, “wait,” and Dan pauses, terrified he’s done something wrong. Phil sits up, glazed and sluggish, then pushes Dan backwards with a hand against his shoulder.

“What’s wr-”

Dan lands back on his tailbone, and suddenly Phil is astride him, piled in his lap like a huge, gorgeous, naked gift. He angles himself without needing to look, keeping his eyes locked on Dan’s the whole time, and sinks himself back down onto Dan’s cock, lips parted, eyes fluttering. A moan pours out of Dan’s throat as the unexpected bliss crashes over him, as the sensation of slick, hot, closeness grips him by the soul. He is buried inside of Phil’s pure, angelic body, as far as he can get. It’s agony, because Phil has gone still, letting himself adjust to the intrusion. Dan’s head falls against Phil’s chest, trying to keep calm when he wants so badly to shout at Phil to move even slightly, would trade everything he owns for the relief of it.

And then, miraculously, Phil does.

“Fuck,” Dan whispers, brokenly, as Phil’s hips begin rolling forwards.

His fingers dig themselves into Phil’s arms, and he buries his face deeper into Phil’s chest. Phil’s arms wind around his shoulders. He lifts his hips up until Dan almost slips out of him entirely, then spears himself back down with a shudder.

“God, Dan,” Phil groans, speeding up the pace. He uses his grip on Dan’s shoulders to keep steady, bouncing up and down in Dan’s lap faster and faster, barely letting Dan gasp even a snatch of air. “Dan- Dan, would you touch me?”

Delirious, Dan mentally berates himself for not having the common sense to do this before now. He reaches clumsily between their bodies, barely holding himself together, and closes a fist around Phil’s cock, which is hot and rigid to the touch. He pumps his hand in time with the thrust of Phil’s hips, and in less than a minute Phil is crying out, biting down on Dan’s neck so hard that Dan wonders if he might bleed. Phil’s come splashes Dan’s chest and stomach, coating his hand, and all Dan can think is how he wishes he could taste it.

Dan doesn’t last much longer after that, as Phil doesn’t so much as stutter in his rhythm. He manages to push his hips upwards a few times, to make the most of this miraculous moment, locked together with Phil in the most intimate possible way. As the tip of his cock presses once again into that spot that makes Phil weak, Phil jerks and gasps in his arms. That’s the moment that Dan is unable to hold on any longer. He squeezes Phil’s arm, groaning into the crook of his neck as he feels his own release fill the condom, a hundred white-hot stars scorching over his skin in a brilliant, blinding shower.

For a minute after, they don’t move, draped over one another in various ways, just reorienting themselves as they float back to this dimension. Dan pushes his lips against Phil’s damp skin in a way that doesn’t feel chaste enough to be kisses. Eventually, Phil leans backwards, slowly lifting himself off Dan’s lap, letting him slip out. With a shaky, fumbling hand, Dan pulls off the condom, putting it carefully on the floor because he’s too spent to dispose of it properly just yet.

In the next moment, he feels damp fingers around his wrist, and then Dan is being pulled, until he’s flat on his back, Phil’s arm stretched out beneath his neck. They both stare at the ceiling, listening to the sound of their own gradually slowing breaths.

Dan rolls onto his side towards Phil, trailing fingers up his ribs, then into the cavern of his underarm, twisting the snatch of hair there between his fingers. He’s sweaty, and it’s still confusing to Dan that it doesn’t gross him out; instead, the musky, heavy scent of Phil’s perspiration is intoxicating, makes him want to bury his face in Phil’s shoulder and lick the moisture from his skin. So he does.

Phil turns to peer at him, amusedly. “Perv.” 

Dan smiles, not caring that it seems peculiar, because he knows Phil doesn’t really care. “Was it okay?” Dan asks, as if he isn’t fully aware of how beyond incredible the last half hour had been for both of them. 

“Amazing,” Phil replies, rolling onto his side to kiss him. 

“I don’t think I’m as good as you at… that.”

Phil’s mouth twitches, and he leans back to stare into Dan’s eyes. His pupils are returning to a more even size, though they’re still taking up most of the space in Phil’s irises. The ring of azure around them glimmers brightly.

“Wouldn’t sell yourself short, mate,” Phil says. “I had a very good time.”

Dan snorts, mostly at Phil’s use of the word ‘mate’. “So you prefer it, then? Being like… the one who�� um.”

“Bottoms?”

Dan’s only response is a mortifyingly quick blush.

Phil laughs, prodding Dan’s red cheek with his finger-tip. “I mean it. I don’t have a strong preference for either way.”

“It’s just Nikolai seemed so, like, surprised when he found out-”

“Dan,” Phil says, already grimacing, “I’m only gonna address this once with you, because I don’t particularly want you thinking about this in detail, but having sex with Nikolai is a very different experience to having sex with you. And not in a good way. Could you ever imagine him being as considerate of my preferences as you’re being right now?”

Dan’s nose wrinkles. “You have a point. So… you’re good with either? Top or bottom?”

The flame in Dan’s cheeks is fanned even saying the words. “Hmm,” Phil says, then leans in to kiss Dan again, harder this time, knocking him backwards until he’s on his back again. “Think I might need a reminder of what it’s like to top again. Y’know, just so I have all the evidence before I make up my mind.”

“Jesus, you’re more of a horn-dog than I remember,” Dan laughs, though he’s already winding a leg around Phil’s to pull him closer.

*

They’ve been holed up in Phil’s tiny living space, at the back of a stationary plane, mostly naked, for almost twelve hours. They’d napped for a while, but now they’re awake, watching an episode of Parks and Recreation because Phil has never seen it and Dan simply cannot allow anyone he associates with to not get his references to the show.

Somewhere in the middle of one of Leslie’s rousing speeches, Phil’s phone beeps. It’s not the first beep they’ve both pretended not to hear, and it’s perhaps for this reason that now Phil sighs and reaches for it, his other arm around Dan’s shoulders, fingers tickling idly across his upper arm. He frowns at the many messages filling the screen, scrolling through a few, then placing the phone upside down on the bedside shelf again. The amusing dialogue of the show loses its potency; Dan waits, breath held, for the inevitable.

“I’m gonna have to get back to work soon,” Phil says, just as Dan predicted. “I kind of… ran off on Martyn and Cornelia and PJ after the UN thing.”

“I figured,” Dan says, already resigned. “It’s okay. It was, um. Good to see you, and stuff. Weird without all the snow and altitude. But good.”

“Come with me,” Phil says. From the way he has the offer so readily at hand, Dan knows he’s been holding it back for a while. He pretends he hasn’t heard, instead focusing on the screen, where Leslie has just fallen into a giant pit. Relatable. Phil nudges him beneath the blanket with one foot. “Dan, did you hear me?”

Dan sighs, struggling out of Phil’s embrace. They should have talked about this sooner. Now they’re going to fight, and one of them’s going to hurt the other, and then they’ll split apart again for an indeterminably long bout of miserable, awful separation.

“I heard you.”

Dan runs a hand through his still-damp hair. They’d had showers a while ago in Phil’s tiny closet-shower. Though it would have been extremely nice to have stood beneath the spray together, there was no possible way they could both fit, so they took it in turns. Dan had gone first, and when he’d emerged, Phil had made more tea, and produced a packet of biscuits. He’d given Dan a robe - stolen from The Secret of the Alps, he noticed - for him to dry off and set him up with the laptop to watch Parks and Rec until he’d cleaned himself of the evidence of their debauchery too. It had been wholesome and unusually soft behaviour; entirely too easy to fall into, and forget that their circumstances didn’t allow for such kind, sweet interludes without a price.

“You don’t even want to be a lawyer,” Phil says, like it’s as simple as that. “Just think it over a bit more-”

“I did that,” Dan snaps, then checks himself, breathing deeply. If he can avoid getting upset and defensive, that would be ideal. “I already did the freaking out and running off to re-evaluate my choices. It didn’t work. You were there, you know it didn’t work.”

Phil shuts the laptop, cutting off the peppy American voices of the Parks and Rec cast. “What exactly didn’t work, though? What did you expect to happen up there?”

Dan laughs humourlessly, gesturing between them. “Not this.” He winces. It came out meaner than he intended it to. “I mean, obviously I’m glad I met you and we dragged each other into a destructive pattern of secretly bonking behind closed doors...”

“Heartfelt,” Phil replies; even though it’s sarcasm, Dan can tell without looking over at him that he’s smiling.

“..but, even you have to admit it probably wasn’t the smartest decision on my part. Or yours, come to that.” Dan picks at the thin, messy bedclothes, frowning. “I don’t think I’m very good at the self-reflective stuff. S’just better if I crack on, stop fantasising that there’s some dream career waiting in the wings somewhere.”

“Having a job that makes you happy isn’t a crazy fantasy, Dan,” Phil says. He makes everything sound so easy. Dan kind of misses that about him, dangerous and seductive though it is. “You could come with me. We could work it out together.”

“Come with you where?” Dan asks, turning to him incredulously. “No offence, mate, but you’ve got no more clue than I have right now. You have no money or plans, you said it yourself. It’s very admirable, all the charity stuff, but what’re you gonna do when the public grow bored of you without all the divorce drama? How are you gonna fund your humanitarian schemes?”

Phil shrugs, a composed, slightly amused smile gracing his features. He looks entirely unbothered by these questions, and Dan is suddenly so envious of his ability to shrug off anxiety that it makes a spurt of anger shoot through his chest. He rolls his eyes, throwing the covers off his legs. He’s about to get up, to find his clothes and put an end to this brief day-cation from reality, when Phil’s hand on his arm, gentle and cautious, gives him pause.

He waits, the warmth of Phil’s fingers draining the frustration from his bones, easing the tension in his body. Phil shuffles closer, hands sliding to rest on Dan’s shoulders, then rubbing gently, thumbs digging into the knots of taut muscle. It's so glorious that Dan sinks back into him, immediately slackening, his mind abruptly washed of every concern that had just been plaguing it.

“Has anyone ever told you that you think too much?” Phil murmurs into his ear.

“I get the feeling you’re about to,” Dan retorts, then feels a satisfied sigh slip out as Phil digs his clever fingers in deeper.

“I’m going to Africa,” he says in a low, soothing voice that Dan knows is probably one he’s been trained to use in stressful situations, but works so well that he can’t be bothered to protest. “There’s a cluster of villages in Kenya that need a lot of help. Installing water filtration systems, building schools, that sort of thing. That’s where I’m going next.”

“Oh. Right.” Dan’s shoulders tense up again. Africa. Could he be jetting off further? “How long f-”

“You should come with me,” Phil says for the third time. His hands become still on Dan’s shoulders. “I’m serious. We could use you out there.”

Dan rolls his eyes, though Phil is behind him and can’t see. “As convincing as that is, we both know I have the muscles of a cooked noodle, so I doubt I’d be much use to you-”

“It’s not always about physical labour,” Phil interrupts, like he’s prepared this argument months in advance. He’s too good at debating, that’s the trouble. Dan’s never stood a chance trying to last in the ring with him. “You’ve got other hugely beneficial skills, I’ve seen it myself. You can fix pretty much anything you put your mind to. That’s kind of extraordinary.”

Dan blinks, not sure how to react to the unexpected praise. “Well... I don’t know about ‘anything I put my mind to’-”

“Even so, you’d probably have a hell of a lot more clue than I would,” Phil points out, and Dan has to admit, although he’s never witnessed Phil attempt to repair or even patch up anything beyond his own fragile ego, he doubts very much that he’d be particularly skilled at it. He tries to imagine Phil with a spanner in his hand, tightening the joins in the municipal pipe under the blaring, scorching African sun. He has to hide his bubble of absurd laughter.

“I’m not a fan of the heat,” Dan protests, weakly. 

Whilst this is true, and he’d deliberately chosen the destination of his last runaway attempt to be the opposite of somewhere hot, Dan can feel his soul yearning for the adventure. For being with Phil, daily, their perpetual bickering exacerbated by the blazing sun, and then soothed by the cool night air, locked away in some dark room they’d built together, free to kiss each other’s sun-blistered skin all night long. His fingers itch for the fantasy, and he clenches them into fists, knowing he shouldn’t dare to so much as want it.

Phil places a kiss to his shoulder, then leans away. “Yeah, you’re right,” Phil says, making Dan’s heart sink. “I mean, when you’re so passionate about law, a little sunshine seems laughable doesn’t it?”

Dan rolls his eyes, but a laugh escapes anyway, so he turns to whack Phil in the arm. Phil lets him, then catches him by the wrists, holding Dan’s gaze. “I think you could be happy. I think we could make each other happy.”

One of Dan’s eyebrows arches. “I think we’d drive each other bonkers.”

Phil smiles. “Same thing, I reckon.”

Dan shakes his head, knowing in every cell of his being that this is completely mental, to abandon his life again for a man who infuriates him daily. But he also knows, perhaps even more strongly, that he’s as in love with Phil as he is exasperated with him. “If I leave again… I won’t be able to come back.”

Phil squeezes his hands around Dan’s. “No,” he agrees. “Me neither.”

Dan chews his lip, though his resistance has more or less melted away. “Are you only offering to take me with you because you feel sorry for me?”

“Yeah,” Phil says, teasingly. “I’m rescuing you from a life of paperwork and office parties.” A smile breaks across his gorgeous face, making his eyes soften, crinkle at the sides. His voice drops into its rare tone of sincerity. “Dan, I’m asking you if you’d come with me. Because I watched you attempt to ski away from me up a hill and fall straight down it, and somehow managed to fall tragically, pathetically in love with you in the same instant. I want you to come. Because don’t really fancy trying to stay away from you anymore.”

*

Dan’s not sure how it happens really. One minute, he’s in a lecture hall with the most annoying girl on the planet talking his ear off about succulents and her hot personal tutor, and the next he’s in the front seat of a fully-fuelled plane, beside a stunningly handsome philanthropist-slash-ski-enthusiast-slash-pilot, headed for a continent halfway around the world. He hasn’t told his parents where they’re going yet. Phil hasn’t told the public, or Pj or Cornelia or Martyn. It’s all a bit ‘up in the air’. They’ll tell anyone who needs to know when they land again, when the intense rays of sun are soaking into their pale skin, flooding their veins with Vitamin D.

Dan reaches across the chasm between his and Phil’s seats, letting his hand dangle invitingly until Phil notices and takes it, rolling his eyes and telling Dan he’s a “right sap”. But he threads their fingers together anyway, angling the yoke towards the sky, and Dan leans back in his chair as the clouds zoom closer, welcoming the oncoming oblivion. A wild thought swims at him from nowhere, as if it fell straight out of the Heavens: 

He’d be just fine if they never had to come down.

The End.

(Yes, there will be an epilogue. Stay tuned for updates about that!)

[livelovemusic0996]

This is not my typical post. I usually don't do this but I am literally disgusted but some people on this site.

Don't get me wrong I am not on a specific side of Bluelives matter or blacklives matter. Both sides have done wrong. Both sides have their good and bad. But to say law-enforcment lives don't matter wtf are you people saying. Cops risk their lives Every day to do one of the hardest jobs out there. First responders have it rough and hardly get any pay for it. I know there's bad. I know, but they aren't ALL bad.

It's easy to see all the bad cops out there. It's easy to see the bad situations and brutality that come from the select few officers who are shitty people and a disgrace to the badge. That's all they play on the news. It's all we see in media. We've got the homophobes. The natzi. The macho power hungry pricks. The men who harass black people for looking suspicious the trigger happy fools who shot to soon or to fast. I get it. However those select few are not the rule they are the exception.

They don't show the officers picking up children from the trunk of a car who got kidnapped. They don't show a mother sobbing over the killer of their child finally being arrested while the officer hugs her. They don't show an officer stepping in to break up a beating on the street or helping find the old man with alztimers who wandered outside while his very concerned loving daughter or son made dinner.

They don't show a shoot out over a simple traffic stop or the hate spewed in the faces of so many officers who never once did anything to anyone just simply wore the uniform. They don't show a gun being pulled by all races or the white cops pleading for the black man to put the weapon down that they dont want to shoot. (Which has happened don't believe me go on YouTube and watch bodycam footage.)

They don't show after a shooting the cops who just had a loaded gun pointed at their face running to apply gauze packs and quick clot to the gunshot wounds until ems arrives. They don't show the white cop saving the pregnant black woman who's husband was working and a man broke in her house and held her hostage. They don't show the cops looking through snow rain and storms for the little boys and girls who went missing from their homes. They don't show them rushing to the scene where three young children are holed up inside their bathroom and the child is begging officers to get there to help because their daddy came home drunk and is trying to kill mommy. They don't show them rushing to a scene to help someone when just earlier they had let loose a nasty string of hate at them for previously doing there jobs.

They don't show the emotional break downs when you loose a partner or close freind on the force or find the body of a child you searched weeks for. They don't show the nightmares and therapy sessions over finding broken mangled bodies of men women and worst of all children. They dont show the backlash and hate you get for having to shoot the "innocent" black, white, Hispanic, Asian man who previously held up a gas station, shot the worker and wouldnt drop their weapon. They don't show broken battered bodies of officers after a riled up mob, drugged individual or someone three times their size gets a hold of them.

They don't show the multiple different cops all of different race, sexual orientation, and faith standing side by side doing the job right.

No sir. The media is all about showing every cop who did it wrong. They are all about division and past mistakes. Brutality toward color, queer, low income families. Thats all theu show. Dont get me wrong it happens. We know. It's a disgrace our brothers and sisters act that way. Disgusting. And sometime it is covered up. Disgraceful. Totally understandable to why there is hate toward those selected ones.

The truth is there are bad cops. They are asshole racist homophobic peice of shits who don't deserve the badge. They need to be snuffed out and extingushed but only from the job. They are out there we all know it however they don't deserve to die for it. Their partners or fellow cops shouldn't be blamed for it either.

And I can guarantee this no one is willing to see it this way right here: Not every black man or mexican on the street is a gang banger correct? Not every Christian is a judgmental asshole. Not every Muslim/Arab is a terrorist. Not every person who doesn't support LGBT is a homophobe. Not every person who owns a gun will be a murderer. Not all kids on the street become drug dealers. Not all black boys in low poverty areas with no daddy around will turn to gangs. Not all stereotypes are real. There are plenty of people who are a exception to the bad stereotypes out there and cops are no different.

They have families who love them. They have children they tuck in at night and read stories to. They have husbands and wives who pray to whatever higher power you believe in they return home safe. They have fears and favorite foods and shows and movies. They have backyard barbeques and birthday partys and hobbies. They have parents who begged them to make a safer career choice while they told them if they are gonna go out of this world then atleaste it's protecting people.

They freinds who worry everytime there's a report over the radio who will come home tonight. They have brothers and sisters on the force who just like them are good and kind and want to nake a difference not be there for a power trip and gun. They went through extensive training being tazed tear gassed and hardass testing to get where they are.

They are black, white, Hispanic ,Asian multirace, Christians, Catholic, Muslim, Jewish, atheist, Gay, Straight, Bisexual. They love movies and shows and junk food. They love vacations and their kids school plays. They love holidays and their families. They are human too and instead of hate and horrible stereotyping teach your children everyone on this earth is human. They deserve respect. They deserve love. They deserve appreciation. We all do. Every single life on this earth matters. Stand up against cops who do their jobs wrong. Stand up for stricter laws and regulations for cops who are on the bad end. They are out there I won't deny that. But Stand up for what's right. Do your research before accusing a cop on the street. Look up body cam footage. Don't look at cell phone videos who dont show the whole thing. Don't harass the officers who have done nothing but serve and protect like the oath requires. Don't make art of slitting cops throats and burning poliece cruisers. Don't spread the hate further. Be the exception. Stand for what's right. Maybe if everyone was more concerned with that than the hate things would be a hell of a lot better.

[gutsymmetry]

okay here we go. ready?

regina:

neutral evil with lawful qualities, progressing to chaotic neutral and then to good over the course of her character development.

"neutral evil with lawful qualities” is the condition of the evil queen. at this point in her character development, she is profoundly self-interested, consumed by her trauma, and lashing out in any direction she can. hence, the “neutral evil” dimension of her personality: she wants to cause harm, and she does not care about using that harm for the purposes of order; it’s about her own satisfaction. her “lawful qualities” come into play because she is, at heart, actually a strong administrator and bureaucrat who does desire to create prosperity and safety in the place she rules, and she will exercise her authority to that end, sometimes and indifferently through harm.

chaotic neutral/good is the condition of regina in season 2 and onward. she is, especially at first, once again self-interested, with her interest extending to henry and very few other people. she is not interested in "good” as such, nor in abstract morality, evidenced by her rejection of “regret” during the neverland storyline--she has no use for rhapsodizing on what-ifs or vague concepts of good and evil. as she progresses through various post-curse-breaking events, she is interested in preserving safety and well-being, and will put her own life on the line for that cause, but it’s not about a ~higher morality~ and wanting to be a do-gooder hero uwu, it’s about doing what will keep people safe and minimize harm as much as possible, and because that does extend to people outside her immediate group, hence her progress to “good.”

hela: lawful/neutral evil cusp.

this is the best way i can think of to describe hela’s mixture of purely self-interested, self-obsessed violence with her extreme authoritarianism. on one level, she is the daughter of a king and a long-time military leader who highly values regulation and structure, and demands utmost obedience to that structure, because it is the path to success. much of the destruction of asgard that happens in thor: ragnarok would not have happened if the aesir bowed to her and accepted her authority, and her decimation of the asgardian armed forces, etc. only comes about specifically because they denied her that obedience.

the “neutral” dimension of her personality comes through in the above-mentioned self-obsessed violence. hela does what she does in t:r primarily because she is hurt and angry, and has had her value system destroyed. she doesn’t need to conquer asgard or any other realm, and simply put, the military structure she is a part of doesn’t require constant conquest--that is hela’s own personal goal, her personal hunger to make meaning out of what is a hollow, violent, and ultimately fruitless way of life. constant acquisition balms the ache of being totally emotionally and spiritually empty, and ditto the violence she exerts on odin (in the murder of odin deleted scene), thor, and loki.

scathach: chaotic evil.

need i say more? scathach is an incredibly dangerous person, and this is why. she has a near-total indifference for the stuff of life and the systems of order which maintain life, except for when she can exploit them--whether to reap their fruits, or to destroy them for her own sadistic pleasure. she is primarily interested in that pleasure, as well as in her own freedom; the more psychological dimensions of her character, involving a powerful desire for connection and love, conflict with her central goals, and no doubt this is directly the reason her love affairs end in violent tragedy: because the world into which she drags her love-objects is at its core designed to destroy them, and scathach is an agent of that destruction. having a truly positive, beneficial relationship with another person would require scathach to reorganize her entire moral scheme and develop a sense of the value of human life, which she is not interested in doing.

seward: chaotic good.

i’m not sure i need to explain the “good” part, except to say that she is and always has been interested in the betterment of other people and the care and caretaking of disenfranchised and struggling people. from her earliest work among the poor of new york city, to those she treats later in life after her transition to alienism, she focuses primarily on the uplifting of those who have been dragged down by institutionalized oppression and the internalization of social harms. as to “chaotic”: seward, i would argue, is a chaotic person who is contained by organized structures, rather than a lawful person who inflicts chaos here and there. what rules she lives by are those she herself has set, or those she has chosen, for the time being, not to violate. when she does need to violate rules, she does so in a deliberately explosive way, ranging from the level of non-violent (becoming, through sheer force of will, one of the first women in america to receive a medical degree) to the violent (murdering her abusive husband, forcibly drugging renfield, killing vampires), which imo implies a kind of indifference to law for its own sake, that she was just tolerating its control over her until the time came she no longer wanted to tolerate it.

raine: chaotic good with chaotic neutral qualities.

raine is interesting. of the chaotic good characters i have here, she is actually the one with an expressed personal code, and an investment in a hierarchical order, as she is the leader of her faction and interested in maintaining control. however, i would argue that this does not change her chaotic position in relation to the society at large, particularly because her values are so explosively damaging to that society, and so indifferent to its values. she seeks the rescue of women from a structurally violent culture which attacks the root of their selves, and wants to rehabilitate women from that violence into wholeness and relief, rather than degradation. for this reason she is opposed to all participation in the society of men, from the level of intimate relations to the nuclear family structure to getting a job in a man’s business. particularly in the victorian era and through to today, this is, in the dominant culture, a fundamentally, aggressively antisocial position.

the very fact, however, that for as much good as she does and as strenuously as she works to help women, that raine is also on many levels hypocritical speaks to both various psychological qualities (born especially out of the persistent trauma of poverty) and to her chaotic neutral traits. raine is very willing to violate her own sense of good in order to get what she wants, and she’s going to do that whether people agree with her or not, whether she can live with herself after or not. her indifference to the lives of the men she’s kidnapped and her desire to not only torture but kill them, her violence against susan when challenged, etc. are explicit violations of her own moral code, done primarily with the goal of self-satisfaction--hence, not only chaotic (indifferent to or destructive of laws) but neutral (primarily self-interested).

karen: true neutral with lawful qualities.

this was an interesting conclusion because it doesn’t really have room for good in it, when karen is generally speaking quite a nice person who’d prefer to think of herself as good.

the truth is that while karen does care about other people on an individual level and has a moral code, she is not the kind of person whose day-to-day living expresses that code in any profound way, and upholding that code is not the main goal or central guidance of her life. she is primarily interested in keeping herself alive, with a minimum of harm to others, and without seeking to cause harm to anyone--but also without seeking to create good. this speaks to her deep dissociation from human society and her sense of absolute aloneness in the world, that after roughly a hundred years of life (having been born in the 1910s), she no longer feels a need, a duty, even a want to create good for other people.

her “lawful qualities” come in in the sense that she is... well, she’s a librarian: she needs her rules. she also is not a great challenger of social codes and doesn’t feel the need to openly flaunt, dismiss, or violate norms in any way; in fact she would prefer that they remain followed in order to keep herself comfortable and life from being any more difficult than it is. she’s not an aggressor against or even a quiet disapprover of those who do break norms, she just has enough problems and would like waves to not be made, thank you. her neutrality is a good quality in that she by and large accepts everyone as they come, but makes her very difficult to negotiate with because she prefers not to--indeed will not--make an overt stand.

averyl: chaotic good with chaotic neutral qualities.

raine and averyl make an interesting comparison because they’re both “chaotic good with chaotic neutral qualities.” where raine’s chaotic good comes from a stance of being fundamentally anti-social in the sense of against society, wanting to destroy its structures, averyl’s comes from a stance of wanting to transform those structures, in a way that to a lot of people probably looks like destruction. she takes over exclusively male forms of rulership (chieftaincy in her asoiaf verse, kingship in her orig. verse) and bends them by force to her own goals, promoting prosperity and equality, and strongly challenging social norms simply by existing where and how she does.

the trouble enters in her chaotic qualities, and it’s part of why she is ultimately an unsuccessful hero in her orig. verse. averyl can survive in systems, but ultimately begins to chafe against them; she’s a restless individual who is prone to challenge even the structures that support her the most, simply because she can or wants to, not even because they pose problems for her morals or ethics--just because they’re there. this is a self-interested quality that it’s on her to control, and she doesn’t always, hence the negative consequences she brings on herself. she is prone to acting in her own self-interest this way, regardless of how it may affect others--hence the “neutrality” aspect.

[bossbyname-blog]

Growth Hack

Blogging is one of the best ways to get your message out as a small business. I have known this for some time, yet it is a frontier I have yet till now. My head starts to spin on this subject, and though I have read how to and what makes a successful blog, I have come to the realization that just starting is the best way to develop one's skills. Easier said than done. The fear of sounding well no other way to say it "Dumb!" about sums it up. 

So for me, I think I'll start where it began.  In a strange, probably algorithmic way, I began to find what would-be mentors, and here is where my dreams of business started.

I have always had dreams but lacked vision and inspiration to reach for the stars. It started on social media and with Bill Gates, and his story spoke to me.  It was Bill and Melinda Gates, and it didn't begin with  Microsoft; it started with the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation.

I learned about their story and how the richest man in the world became a philanthropist and how he had given seventy billion dollars if memory serves me correct. What struck me was not the money but the causes that they were committed to global health care, poverty, and education. Later I would learn about Melinda Gates and her pioneering work for global equality. 

I could go on, but the moment struck me, and my eyes were open. I want to say that I was off to the races and touting insider information that, in a sense, was true but not how my mind conceived it. What it did do is lay a foundation to where I wanted to take my dreams as malformed as they were at the time the fire of imagination exploded. 

I would later find gatesnotes.com, and I began to see the world, and though I think thinking globally though was always in my DNA, I now had just dipped if even a finger into global awareness, and I loved it!

I was on twitter one night, not my best showing by far, and I remember what Malinda Gates said, and I may be paraphrasing, "Until we are blue in the face, we believe poverty is curable." That has stuck with me, and even in the most doubtful hours, it rang true in my heart.

I would later learn that much hard work lay ahead, and that brings me a quote by Bill Gates 'I choose a lazy person to do a hard job. Because a lazy person will find an easy way to do it.' Now that spoke to me, not for a reason cited but that it would become evident that a dream without action is just an idea without depth and weight.

The point I am getting at is I had the lazy part down. Somehow in my mind, I thought I could figure it out, and it should work. Wrong! That laid a long road and dismal learning curve. I don't recall that anything was attached to that quote that said unskilled dreamer and yes lazy would be his choice but I in the distorted reasoning in my mind not so much conscious or deliberate but never the less a long road was to follow. Yes, I have learned a lot, but mostly what not to do is the take-a-way.

Mentors are the driving force of what brought me to an awakened state. I need to say that I am a believer in faith and God, who does some of the greatest miracles through people. This is one of many attempts at blogging. Yes, in the past, I have blogged in it's most primitive terms but now is about how I see and how I came to this point and time.

 I think its important to show how you tripped and fell to finally be able to write about what you are finding the keys to success. 

Mentors is a great way to start! Now a word of advice, it does no good to find a mentor that ignites passion and dares you to dream what was once impossible but currently somehow reachable if you don't listen and apply the insight and knowledge.

With that being said, my first action, and still I'm guilty of it is oh-okay like, follow everything and anyone of success. Now you are talking total overload, and for me, that underpinned the big elephant in my mind. All go, and no know! What I would eventually learn is that all my mentor's men and women's common identifiers that I found intriguing and would later learn that if I want what they have and I'm not talking from a material standpoint.

Yes, it is good to find attributes that identify characteristics, but what I found s that the most critical fact that I overlooked was that again, yes, they were big picture people most are visionary but that they had discipline over the details as well. A quality I was lacking. This, I believe, unconsciously is what I was really seeking or and desperately needed. 

So here we are, and to become aware of this is vital in addressing the problem. Now the solution is known as the key to success but only if you use it. So again, my blog is in a very realtime scenario, and I wish I were spewing forth pearls of wisdom, but in reality, it is how not to utilize your mentor. Never the less no need to cry over spilled milk that would indeed be a sob story but rather to inform others the mind fields we set for ourselves.

If you have experienced any level of what I am conveying, then know the more essential and crucial lesson is never to give up! I've tried that too. The problem with that is you are always starting over instead of building upon, and if you are like me, you know you're not going to quit, but it costs you time. I got stuck in a cycle where I ended up in a perpetual state of starting and stopping but never complete anything. 

Today I'm trying not to finish what I start, and if I need to revamp better, that then has nothing to show for your effort. My mindset is that I would rather have completed failures than having nothing ever finished. I can fix the failure, but the unfinished work seems to just lye there and stagnate until I decide time and time again to start over. 

The five questions I ask myself about why I choose this person as a mentor.

What attracts me to this person and do they inspire me to be better. 

Am I willing to take action, or is it simple admiration?

What specifically is it that I hope to learn?

Am I in alignment with there goals and values?

Am I openminded to suggestions even if I don't understand why?

For me, these are key questions that I have asked myself, were usually in retrospect. Now I try to keep these questions at the forefront of my mind when looking to learn from someone.

I have many mentors, and each represents what I call an unrealized aspect of self that I hope to become.

So here is the abstract version of people (mentors) that what I hope to one day aspire to.

The mind-Bill and Melinda Gates through philanthropy has brought global solutions through a scientific approach to healthcare, vaccinations, education, and gender equality.

 Funnybone-Ellen Degeneres her humor yes, of course, but she is by far my favorite! She gives in a way that is, by definition, the heart of a cheerful giver. She taught me about finding acceptance in who I am and not being ashamed, and the sickness is in keeping the secrete.

Spiritual-Oprah Winfrey is a truth seeker and a light bearer, and she, with a host of others when I was barely sober and still not in my right mind, opened the door back to God and life.

Charisma, leadership, family values-President and First Lady Barack and Michelle Obama has all of the mentioned aspects of personality rolled into one. If there is one thing they taught me is empathy! I could list many attributes, but this quality above all and to say anything else would diminish the importance.

The power of faith and God-Joel Olsteen-and to live in the promise. Here is where I learned how to approach God and to believe in my dreams.

Attitude-Steve Harvey, I simply get his story and his answer and how he made his dreams come true.

Never Give Up-Larry Kims blog and posts are my favorite and always helped me never to give up!

Speaker of truth-Dr. Martin Luther Kings' words speaks to the humanity of man and has the strength of God in his words. To not stand in silence even at the risk of losing one's life.

The whole purpose of mentors to me is that I want to become the best version of myself, and I look outside myself to grow beyond the current version of self. It doesn't remove the work but points you in the right direction. The rest is up to me and a lot of hard work. 

I certainly have a long way to go, but at least I know I am going in the right direction.