#try and force that label on me again and I will fuck you up NOBODY is allowed to water my disabilities down but me

[anarkhebringer]

I got called it earlier and had to fume about it for a few hours. If your pasty ass tries to bring me into your White Autism Mom Speak(tm) TikToker censorship lexicon again I will do things to you that'd even get me nuked here for hate speech.

[foreingersgod]

Can you write about CC inspired by the song Nobody Gets Me by Sza

Like how your the only one she opens up to and completely trusts

Nobody gets me . CC

pairing: caitlin clark x reader

synopsis: nobody gets me by sza

A/N: avoided the angsty part of this song cause i feel like i’ve been in too much of an angsty mood LMAO! enjoy loves !

for a while, you and caitlin had an on and off relationship. sometimes you only got together just to hook up, at some point you tried being official for while, but nothing had ever really stuck and you just continued on with your normal back and forth routine. it worked well for the both of you, too busy with school and basketball that you didn’t want to pester each other with means of labeling your relationship. but you found comfort within each other and practically spent every waking moment with one another. to be completely transparent, you’d always had really intense feelings for her, but you didn’t want to ruin such a beautiful thing you had had with her already.

graduation was approaching swiftly, and you found that the two of you were hanging out much less often. cait was dealing with the championship and procrastinating saying her goodbyes to her team. and you were finishing up your studies and internships. when she did come over, though, she was extremely exhausted and distant.

you had sensed that something was bothering her, but you didn’t want to push it. knowing caitlin, she got stressed and overwhelmed about a lot of things and she hardly ever talked about it. when she did speak about what was on her mind she had to do it on her own terms.

on one particular wednesday night, however, she had shown up at your door in tears. a rare scene to behold. you’d never seen her cry unless it was after a huge loss for iow, but even then, it wasn’t like this. she was hiccuping from the sobs, with her face red from running her hands down her face.

“caitlin…hey what’s going on?” she said nothing as you immediately ushered her into your apartment. you got her situated on your couch, telling you’d be just a second and you were going to grab her some tissues and water.

“no!” she cried, grabbing your wrist as you attempted to leave “don’t leave me please”

you sat down next to her, extremely worried. “i won’t, im right here, are you sure you don’t want anything?”

she shook her head violently and collapsed into you. her face hidden somewhere between your neck and shoulder, trying to suppress her sobs. her whole body shook as she continued crying, you rubbed her back and smoothed her hair, trying to calm her down.

“cait, you’re making me nervous, what’s going on?” you urged again.

“i’m so scared, YN” you grabbed her shoulders and forced her to look at you.

“of what?”

“of this” you looked at her extremely confused. “of graduating, of moving on, of saying goodbye to the team…”

“cait those are very normal things to be upset about, you shouldn’t have to be scared to continue on this amazing path you’re-” wiping away some of her tears with your thumb, you tired to comfort her before she cut you off abruptly.

“but i’m scared of losing you” her eyes squeezed shut in frustration, so overwhelmed by with these feelings coming out all at once.

“me? what are you talking about?”

“i just-” she tried to steady her breathe “i’ve realized that i haven’t taken this thing we’ve had seriously enough. i-i’ve been thinking about what’s going to happen when we go our separate ways…and i don’t want that YN, i don’t think i can be without you.”

“hey,” you grabbed her hand “i’ll always be here, we’ll still call and text and when you’re in town we can grab lunch! i’m not just gonna stop being your friend, silly!”

“but i don’t want to be your friend!”

you were struck with shock at her statement, completely unaware of where this was all coming from.

“the closer we get to separating from each other, the more i’ve become of aware of how much i’m fucking in love with you”

her eyes were studying your facial features, trying to pull a reaction from you, but you stood completely starstruck.

“nobody gets me like you do,” her voice cracking, close to crying again. “i don’t think i can be away from you. im scared it’s too late and i don’t want to lose what’s left of you..of what we have. and, i’ll be honest, i don’t want to see you with anyone else but me. nobody gets me like you do, im serious. i only like myself when i’m with you”

you felt yourself about to cry too, you had no idea she felt this way.

“you’re the only one i can actually be myself with. and you’re the only person i want to be around every second of the day. and i know it sounds crazy, and i don’t expect you to put everything on hold just because i’m sitting here crying and dropping this huge love bomb on you but i-”

you cut her off, throwing your arms around her shoulders, and pulling her into a gentle kiss. you could feel your tears mix together as you desperately pulled her in closer. after wanting her all to yourself, your feeling were finally reciprocated and it felt like you were on cloud 9.

“i love you, caitlin” you pulled away, smiling “i’m not going to leave you”

“thank you,” she said with her tears finally dried “for loving me, for trusting me, and for staying. i don’t think i could make it without you”

she stayed the night at your place that night. she told you about all the stuff she had kept hidden away when she started becoming distant; she told you about the stress of classes and the team and the draft. everything. she felt like she could stay up all night with you and completely e open up to you because nobody gets her like you do.

[hollandorks]

haven

battinson! bruce wayne x f! reader

chapter nine

Summary: After the sudden deaths of your mother and grandmother, you’re forced to return home to Gotham…and to the man who broke your heart three years ago. Back in Bruce Wayne’s inescapable orbit, you vow to get to the bottom of your former best friend’s new cold personality. But Bruce’s secrets aren’t what you’re expecting. a

a/n: Nobody told me that chapter 8 was labeled chapter 7 again lmaooo (I fixed it). Anyways, thanks for reading and for the uptick in comments/ messages etc, I love it!!!! Slight NSFW themes at the very beginning of the chapter!

Series Masterlist

word count: 2.6k

He said something she didn’t catch on her way out. 

It sounded a lot like, “It’s always been my business to keep you safe.” 

But she knew those words weren’t true.

There was warmth against y/n’s back. She hummed and arched into the decidedly male body. There was a delicious hardness against her ass. A hand traced her hip and splayed against her bare stomach under her shirt. A mouth brushed against her neck, hot and wet and teasing. Everywhere he touched trailed fire. 

She pushed herself against him and gasped as the hand on her stomach dipped below her underwear. 

She rolled over, hands greedily reaching for the hardness that had been pressed against her, and Bruce’s eyes met hers. 

Y/n jerked awake. Her body was slick with sweat, her legs clenched tightly together to try and alleviate the ache between them. 

She rolled onto her stomach and groaned into her pillow. “Fuck.” 

It would be a lie to say she’d never had a sex dream starring Bruce Wayne. But it seemed like heartbreak had put a stop to it. Three years and her dreams about Bruce were usually more like nightmares, reliving the worst night of her life.  

Until now. 

She tried not to remember how it felt for him to look at her with desire, something that had never and would never happen in anything other than her dreams. 

“Stupid Bruce Wayne walking around shirtless,” she muttered into her pillow. She rolled back over and pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. She could see the barest hint of daylight behind her dark curtains. Her heart still raced. She took several deep breaths to no avail. Her hands fisted in the sheets. 

With nothing else to do, she got up to take a shower. It was already six in the morning, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep. The dream was already haunting her, and closing her eyes again would only make it worse.  

And haunt her it did. All day, the ghost of Bruce Wayne’s warmth followed her. Thankfully, she didn’t see him or Alfred and have to pretend to be normal. She was afraid, if she looked Bruce in the eyes, he’d be able to see straight through her. 

But she couldn’t stop remembering the dream. Wishing it was real. Aching with want. 

She had known staying in Wayne Tower was a mistake. There were too many memories. There was too much of Bruce’s presence, even when he wasn’t around. 

The dream that was the final straw that pushed her into insanity. 

Ten o’clock that night, and she had practically paced a hole in the floor of her bedroom, hallway, and library. Since she’d already spent a week straight deep in a research hole for the article, she really didn’t have much else to do. She couldn’t focus on reading or watching anything and she wanted to wait to hear from Gordon about the pub before digging into anything else. 

Every time she turned a corner she preemptively jumped, half-expecting Bruce to be there and able to see her sex dream written on her face. 

She glanced at the time on her phone. She had made the mistake of taking a nap earlier in the day and was wired all over again. She knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep and she had absolutely nothing else to do. And she didn’t want to wait around for Bruce to appear from thin air, which would only make matters worse. Besides, what if he was shirtless again? 

If she didn’t get away from Wayne Tower, she really would lose it. 

She called Gordon. 

He answered with a sigh and, “I’m looking into it.” 

She couldn’t help but smile. She stared at the study windows but was too afraid to go near them. Mobsters probably had snipers in their employ. “That’s not why I’m calling, but thank you. Do we just not say hello anymore?” 

“Hello. What can I do for you?” His voice was teasing. Poor Gordon had gotten the brunt of her boredom the past week, especially when Martinez was working and couldn’t send her memes. 

“If I don’t get out of Wayne Tower in the next five minutes I’m probably going to jump out of a window, or go outside with a neon sign inviting the Gallo family to tea.” She said it in one rushed breath. 

“Cooped up too long, huh?” Gordon said, a noise like a car door shutting in the background. “Surprised it took you this long to lose it.” 

“Yeah yeah, you’re a riot. I’m serious though. I really am losing it. I don’t care if you take me to the fucking corner store and back, I can’t be here another second.” Desperation bled into her voice. The walls felt like they were closing in on her like they had all day. 

All because Bruce Wayne had forgotten his fucking shirt. 

“I just got off a double shift with Martinez. Let me see if our other friend is nearby, alright? I’ll call you right back.” 

“Thank you,” she said, relieved that he was willing to send someone to get her out of there. Even if it was a guy who dressed like a bat. She probably would have preferred Martinez’s easy company, but at least if she met with the vigilante she could sate her unending curiosity. 

Gordon was calling back in two minutes. Y/n already had her shoes on, camera around her neck, and her pepper spray in one hand. 

“He’ll be there in five minutes. Do not go outside before he gets there. He’s going to text you when he arrives.” 

“Text me? Wow, I must be special.” She felt giddy. A vigilante was about to text her and take her…she didn’t know. Out of Wayne Tower. That’s all that mattered. She wondered if he’d let her take photos of him for her article, then imagined her camera being chucked off the top of the tower with the bat signal. 

“Only because we need you alive. And before you even try it, he uses different burner phones.” Gordon paused, then added, “You sure you’re alright?” 

She almost laughed but bit her tongue. Because she had planned on looking up the phone number and seeing what she could find. How nice would it have been for the Batman to use his own personal cell phone? 

“I literally just told you I was about to jump out of a window or invite mobsters to tea. I’m not great.” She shrugged even though he couldn’t see it. “I…the tower is just too full of memories.” 

Gordon was silent for a long moment. “I get it. Just–don’t try to dig too much into who he is, okay? Respect that boundary. The city needs his anonymity.” 

She bit her lip because that was exactly what she had planned on doing. “Okay,” she finally said. 

“I mean it. I know the temptation for a reporter like you is going to be hard to resist, but he’s a good guy. There’s a reason I haven’t tried to find out who he is, even after three years.” Gordon was passionate about this, she realized. “Promise me.” 

The fire in her gut banked slightly. She felt the oily slickness of guilt in her stomach. Because now she was imagining the guy underneath the mask–the one so desperate to do good in Gotham. A guy willing to risk his life, night after night. Gordon’s words had suddenly humanized him. She swallowed hard. “I promise.” 

“Good. And don’t push his buttons too much.” 

She snorted. “Now you sound like a dad again. I can’t make any promises about that. Can’t just turn off this amazing personality.” 

Gordon chuckled. “Whatever you say. I’m going to bed. Don’t kill each other.” 

They hung up and her phone buzzed almost immediately.

A text from an unknown number. Outside. 

How do I know this isn’t a murderer? she sent back immediately. I’m not supposed to talk to strangers. 

She silently apologized to Gordon as she walked to the elevator. She just couldn’t help it. Something about a guy dressed up as a bat made her want to push his buttons. 

First alley to the left. 

She stuck her tongue out at the new text. Party pooper. It was no fun if she couldn’t get a rise out of him. 

After checking in with the security guy–Alfred had told her his name was Blake–y/n stepped outside and turned left. Blake seemed loath to let her go. She wondered if Alfred had threatened him. But she wasn’t a prisoner, even as much as she felt like it. 

The Batman materialized out of the shadows of the closest alley. She tried to hide her flinch. 

“You’re kind of a creep,” she said instead of hello. He stayed where he was and let her get closer to him. She could see him eyeballing her camera. 

“Where to?” 

“Wow, great service.” She ran a hand through her hair and glanced around. “Um. I don’t care. What were you going to do? Could I do, like, a ride along?” 

“A ride along?” he repeated skeptically. She thought that one of his eyebrows was probably raised, hidden behind the mask. “Don’t you need to…?” He seemed uncertain how to finish the question. 

“I told Gordon my options were to get out of Wayne Tower or I was going to jump out of a window. Or, if neither of those panned out, get a neon sign and stand out here inviting the Gallos to tea.” She shrugged and glanced around again. It wasn’t too late that the city had gone to sleep, but no one seemed to notice them in the darkness of the alley. She was jittery, nervous. She wondered if Bruce or Alfred knew she’d left. But she didn’t owe them an explanation. 

Batman frowned. “I was going to take a look at that pub. Maverick’s.” 

She perked up immediately. “A stakeout?” 

“That camera could help.” He nodded towards it. “But if there’s any hint of danger, I’m bringing you back immediately.” 

“I never thought I’d say this, but a stakeout sounds way better than what I had planned.” She was giddy. Gordon had given her the best gift without even knowing it. He’d given her a night out of Wayne Tower and a way to be involved in the investigation. 

Batman just grunted. “Come on,” he said in that low, low voice of his. She wondered if he was deepening it on purpose and had to bite down to keep the question from coming out. She made a promise to Gordon, after all. 

He led her further down the alley to…a motorcycle. 

“What if I refuse?” she asked, just to be difficult. 

“Then I guess I can walk you to the corner and back.” 

She sighed but had to press her lips together to keep from smiling. “Fine. Do you at least have an extra helmet?” 

“Here.” He held one out. 

She raised an eyebrow. “What about you?” 

He lightly knocked a fist against his mask, which was also basically a helmet. “Bulletproof. Probably safer.” 

Without waiting for her, he swung a leg over, the bike dipping under his weight, and turned a key in the ignition. It roared to life, the sound of it echoing down the alley and back. 

She slid the helmet over her head and gingerly got on behind him. 

“Alright?” he asked over his shoulder, his voice slightly muffled through the helmet. 

She nodded and accidentally thunked her head against his back. 

“Hang on,” he said, and that was all the warning she got. 

Her arms tightened around his waist, the armored pieces digging painfully into her. His cape was squished between them, providing a little bit of padding, but her thighs ground into the armor on his legs. 

He was like a cactus or something, she thought, then snorted to herself. Cold wind whipped through her clothes. She’d dressed warm on purpose but it was no match for the wind. 

The movement on the bike came naturally to her even though it had been years. 

Bruce had taught her how to ride and…when they were seventeen, they had ridden together, just like she was riding with Batman. They would sneak out, take the bike through Gotham’s streets or sometimes out into the suburbs. 

Tears pricked her eyes at the memory of Gotham at night speeding past them. She had felt alive, free. Bruce had laughed, so loudly she could hear it through the helmet. His skinny waist had been warm in her arms and she’d pressed herself as tightly to him as she’d dared. She had pretended to be scared just so she could cling to him. 

The tears fell and caught in the helmet padding. 

She couldn’t escape Bruce Wayne no matter what she did. 

When the bike slowed to a stop, she yanked the helmet off so she could breathe. She hastily wiped her eyes, but Batman noticed. 

“Are you alright?” he asked. Again something in the journalist part of her brain gave a quiet nudge at his voice, but she pushed it away. She had promised Gordon not to try to figure out his identity but it was hard to switch off that part of her. “Too fast?” 

She shook her head, then nodded. Better for him to think she was afraid than learn she was crying over a man she had never even dated. 

“I’m fine. Let’s go.”

Batman surprised her as he grabbed her waist and lifted one arm. 

“Hold on,” he said, his voice in her ear. There was an odd noise like a muffled gunshot and a distant clank from above.

She shouted as their feet lifted off of the ground. She left her stomach somewhere down by the motorcycle. 

Her feet touched solid ground seconds later. She stumbled away from the Batman and landed on her ass. They were on the roof of the building they’d just been standing under. 

“You fucking bat bastard,” she gasped. She was close to the edge, too close. Her gaze snagged on the motorcycle several stories below them, tucked into a hidden dead end of the alley. She groaned and put her head between her knees. “I thought we were going to switch to a car and have a normal stakeout. Fucker.” 

A low chuckle reached her ears. “Not a fan of heights?” 

“Or unexpectedly flying!” she snapped. She knew to keep her voice low, but it was hard. Her heart or maybe her stomach was trying to come out of her mouth. She swallowed thickly. If she barfed in front of Batman she was never going to forgive herself. Or him. 

“Sorry,” he said, but didn’t sound sorry at all. 

“I’m only forgiving you because you’re doing me a huge favor,” she muttered and got unsteadily to her feet. She stumbled and bounced right into his chest. 

“I won’t let you fall,” he murmured and the swoop of fear in her gut changed into something else entirely. 

She looked up at him. But he turned his face and stepped away. 

“Will you be able to take pictures?” he asked after a moment. “You’d have to be closer to the edge.” 

She pushed away the strange feeling he had unexpectedly created in her. 

“Yeah. I should be fine. Just–seriously, don’t let me fall.” 

A ghost of a smile then he was facing away from her again. 

Y/n cursed silently. She used every word she knew and made up a few. 

Because, for a moment, she had thought about kissing Batman. And her brain hadn’t immediately tossed the thought away because he wasn’t Bruce. 

For the first time, she wanted to kiss someone who wasn’t Bruce, and the thought didn’t make her ache.

Next Chapter

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@ktficworld @grunge-n-roses5 @anon-cat-posts @projectdreamwalker @warsaur @lachillona02 @crazyunsexycool @doetic @alexiris @that-girl-named-alex @harry-bowie-mercury @vaniasagitaa @widows-writings @missing-loki @exactlyelegantwizard @miriamnox

[fordtato]

From a Palestinian - I know this is long but read it anyways:

If any leftists on this fucking site are using antisemitism to further the Free Palestine movement, you're not fucking helping. Not just because there are Jewish Palestinians. Not just because it furthers the idea that the movement is rooted in antisemitism. And not just because the people who are ultimately going to be impacted by this "activism" are Palestinian families (like my own), who will be on the receiving end of the brunt of government retaliation. It simply isn't helpful and isn't right.

Gaza is an open-air prison, cut off from food and water and medicine and fuel. Even before this recent chapter of the conflict, its people are penned in and brutalized and kidnapped and imprisoned and murdered, without any true relief, and very often without mainstream attention. This is being carried out by the government of Israel (with US government support) and its military, and it is aimed at the ethnic cleansing of Palestinians, a people without any formal military or power. Palestinians in the country are being slaughtered, and Palestinians outside of the country are slowing losing their connection to their identity and homeland and need to watch as their brethren are unilaterally labeled as terrorists and "animals" and killed, raped and buried in rubble.

As a movement we need to acknowledge that Hamas is an antisemitic force. There is no justifying it or going around it. Internet leftists, you're so good at nitpicking at the past comments of online allies and finding the problematic thing someone said on twitter in 2018 and then never defending them again no matter what. But we can't do the same here with Hamas when leaders in the party are antisemitic and when people are dead? We need to defend Jewish people and that doesn't stop here. And nobody dare try to explain to me that this is what a revolution looks like. Those killed weren't all IDF soldiers. And don't explain to me that even colonization and occupation is violence (especially if you live in the US, a colonized nation stolen from indigenous people), because of course I understand that. Palestine has a right to defend itself against violence, but Hamas is explicitly antisemitic and we can't just stand against the ruthless killing of civilians only when it's Palestinian civilians.

Yes, it's complicated. YES this violence and the power vacuums that allow groups like Hamas to take power are very often the response to brutality, and a long-term symptom in the aftermath of European imperialism. We can acknowledge that and understand that and even be sympathetic to the historical context that allows this to unfold while still condemning the death of civilians. After all, being against the death of civilians is at the core of the Free Palestine movement.

Defending Jewish people does NOT mean dismissing the slaughter and literal genocide of Palestinians in Gaza. Defending Jewish people does not mean defending the actions of the Israeli government. And standing with Palestine and freeing it from brutality does NOT mean ignoring that antisemitism is fraught in the world to this day. One part of why Israel is able to garner civilian support despite the atrocities of its government is because not many other countries are taking in refugees of antisemitism, and historically most countries have never protected Jewish people EVER. That is something we need to acknowledge. And acknowledging that does not mean we justify the actions of the government of Israel, and it does not mean we are turning a blind eye to the occupation or the slaughter and ethnic cleansing of Palestinian civilians.

BTW, tone-policing Palestinians about how they talk about Israel while we are in mourning, and collectively witnessing the brutality our loved ones are facing, and literally watching our homeland get destroyed IS HORRIBLE. IT IS UNHELPFUL. IT IS INSENSITIVE AND TONE DEAF. Do not bring up Hamas in my fucking inbox, MY PEOPLE ARE BEING SLAUGHTERED AND LIKENED TO ANIMALS AND I AM FORCED TO WATCH.

The same applies to tone-policing Jewish people when they are getting death threats at synagogues and JCCs and/or are mourning loved ones in Israel. Yelling "but what about Palestine" whenever a Jewish person in America (who has literally nothing to do with the heinous acts of a foreign government entity) mentions they are grieving or afraid or getting death threats doesn't fucking do anything. This isn't activism.

We are all tired. We are all traumatized. We will feel this for generations.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

you’ve been soo inactive lately. r u okay? 😭

tl;dr: I'm not dead.

I have been busy, yes, and also I realized I needed to take time away from the blog to think about things. I care a lot about writing, I care about my relationship to writing, and I care a lot about BTS as human beings with real feelings who are well aware of what people are writing on the internet. It's pretty clear when fanfiction reduces them to cheap thrills, and I'm not about that. Don't think you all want that from me either. I'm also not one to pursue numbers or perceived notoriety.

I've taken a pause in posting for various reasons. One of many was that I wanted to crave again. It might not seem like it, but fanfiction is creatively limiting, which can be both a good and bad thing. Could detail my perspective on fanfiction into a whole essay lol but I'll spare you. I'll just add that sometimes I need to force myself to stop doing something so that I can have to chance to reflect and think about it without being in it.

I mean, I'm sure if you've been here any length of time, you've probably figured out I've got more than a few screws loose. Hey, to everyone else, I'm high-functioning so nobody needs to know specifics. The list is probably longer than I'd like to admit. XD I rarely mention or associate myself with labels since I don't think it's healthy for me or you. I'm not trying to be an example or martyr. I'm just very eccentric.

Unfortunately.

(lol)

I'm not gonna say I'm doing the right thing (who knows what the right thing is, anyway?) but I don't want to half-ass anything. I don't know if anyone will be waiting when I post again, not because I think people don't care, rather that I know it's the nature of the world to more along quickly. Still, when you run for a very long time, you need to stop sometimes otherwise you end up collapsing in a heap, unable to go on and wishing you never started the race to begin with. I don't like accepting that, but I also know it's true... annnnnnnd that's so Jungkook and Yoongi-coded at the same time... fuck.

[randomvarious]

Today's compilation:

Monsters of Rock 1998 Hair Metal / Hard Rock / Arena Rock /Heavy Metal / Pop-Metal

Good lord, this had to have been one of the most heavily advertised albums of all time, man. I don't know how much ad money the Razor & Tie label shelled out for all of their 'As Seen on TV' comps back in the day, but the commercials for Monsters of Rock and Monster Ballads were fucking inescapable throughout the late 90s and early 2000s, especially. Like, you'd be watching something on cable, and the commercial for this album would come on, so then you'd change the channel, and the same commercial would be playing on there too! And then you'd just force yourself to sit through it, and eventually, through repetition, the entire sequence of little song snippets that gets played throughout the ad would become a permanently etched medley inside of your goddamn mind, destined to haunt your soul for the rest of eternity:

🎶Cum on feel the noize, girls rock ya boys…my, my, my, I'm once bitten, twice shy, babe…poison!…*synths from Europe's "The Final Countdown"*…round and round, what comes around goes around, I'll tell you why…she's my cherry pie, cool drink of water, such a sweet surprise…we're not gonna take it, no! we ain't gonna take it…she's only seventeen, seventeen…here I go again on my own…I'm no fool, nobody's fool, nobody's fool…so hold on loosely…🎶

Now, the hair metal era may have been the dumbest and most ridiculous period of mainstream rock that we've ever borne witness to—and it's very difficult for me to think of another commercially successful subgenre in which rank stupidity has been such an inherently defining trait—but thanks to a combination of my own nostalgia for these damn Razor & Tie ads and my sometimes weird and ironic affinity for bad shit, after listening to this album, there is really nothing more that I want to do than hitch a ride back to 1990 so I can live out a super corny fantasy as a badass suburban high school senior who cruises through town in a boxy, red sedan with the windows down as these silly songs blare out of my speakers 😎.

But like I said, I am also under no illusion here; I'm fully cognizant of just how patently absurd so much of this music was. And when it comes to the pinnacle of pure trash, I really don't think anything ever quite managed to top Warrant's signature 1990 anthem, "Cherry Pie," which is obviously on this album. Like, have you heard or thought about this tune recently? It really might be the single-dumbest song that's ever been recorded in human history. And as the single-dumbest song that's ever been recorded in human history, it has thankfully and, I guess quite fittingly, been memorialized in some way, since…*checks notes*…you can currently go see the pizza box that its lyrics were originally transcribed on at the Hard Rock Cafe in Destin, Florida… 😭.

🎶I scream, you scream, we all scream for her Don't even try, 'cuz you can't ignore her!🎶

Also, Winger's "Seventeen." Yikes; you can probably guess what that one's about! Talk about songs that haven't aged well at all 😩:

🎶She's only seventeen (seventeen) Daddy says she's too young, but she's old enough for me🎶

Yeah… This one's catchy and all, but, um…no. 👎👎👎👎👎👎👎👎👎👎👎👎👎👎👎👎👎 Really glad we've finally realized as a society that, at the very least, fully-grown adults singing lustily about minors is a very unacceptable thing to do. I mean, it took way too long for us to get here, but at least we've finally made it to this point, right? And I think "Cherry Pie" is probably about a minor too, by the way, but that's also up for debate 😑.

To be clear, though, not every song on this album is embarrassingly dumb and/or skeevy hair metal. I happen to think Living Colour's alt metal classic, "Cult of Personality," is a genuinely great banger. And I also dig the southern rock smoothness of a song like .38 Special's "Hold On Loosely" too; but most of the rest of these are just pure dunderheaded hair metal classics, and a key, overarching feature of this stuff was just how fucking maximally mindless it all was. It's hard to put a finger on what exactly allowed this madness to spread so widely and flourish for nearly a whole-ass decade in the first place, but thank goodness grunge came along when it did and dethroned this stuff from its perch as rock music's top subgenre in the early 90s, because, seriously, this shit was so excessive and outrageous.

All that being said though, and as good and necessary as grunge was back then, I can't help but imagine what a kick-ass time it would probably be to have almost any one of these Monsters of Rock songs come on at the bar while you and everyone else around you are in a highly intoxicated stupor; like, "Black Hole Sun," "Man in the Box," "Interstate Love Song," "Even Flow," etc., might be total jams in and of themselves, but songs like those are probably not gonna do the same trick as something like Alice Cooper's "Poison" can in that type of situation. I mean, when you're fully committed to annihilating some brain cells, it's good to have music that's way ahead of you in order to accompany your experience, right? 😅

Highlights:

Quiet Riot - "Cum On Feel the Noize" Great White - "Once Bitten Twice Shy" Alice Cooper - "Poison" Europe - "The Final Countdown" Ratt - "Round and Round" Warrant - "Cherry Pie" Whitesnake - "Here I Go Again" Winger - "Seventeen" Living Colour - "Cult of Personality" Twisted Sister - "We're Not Gonna Take It" Judas Priest - "You've Got Another Thing Coming" Cinderella - "Nobody's Fool" .38 Special - "Hold On Loosely" Autograph - "Turn Up the Radio"

[alanshee-keeper-of-realms]

Nazi dumbfuck

I know you're trying to goad me but let me explain something about my family history

My ancestors name was Julia Levy, she immigrated to America in the year 1848, Levy is another version of Levi my family comes from the Levite tribe, I had family not directly but I had cousins in the Holocaust my main family tree is burnt to the ground and only really my branch has survived as a result nobody in my family can figure out before Julia who belongs in our tree because all the records have been burned by actual Nazi's

Did you know a majority of my family laid dead in Ukraine as Ukraine had another term for their Holocaust the Holocaust of Bullets. A majority of my family probably lie in Mass Graves out there

Also, if this is about Palestine, let me explain something to you the Is Not Real state is breaking every single rule in the Torah when it comes to being Jewish

I was not raised Jewish religiously because my family left the faith after a couple of generations because of hatred but I do know the Torah and it's rules

There is a line that says only King David can lead the Jewish people anyone else is blasphemous and trying to bring about the End of Days because the only reason King David would be bringing the people together into Israel is if Revelations was happening

Again nobody else let alone the Ten Commandments coveting what is not theirs what is their neighbors murdering to get that

Is Not Real is a Zionist Colonizing Settler State,

I'm not anti-semitic I'm anti-zionist and anti nazi if I find out anybody is a Nazi around me I don't care if I go to jail they'll be finding themselves facing Yeshua for judgment because I personally sent them to him

Because I'm Jewish in blood but Nordic pagan in religion, and we have been busy cleaning out the muck that is those white supremacists that have tried to touch this religion the Nazis that tried claiming it as their own once again I will send them to their maker

Fucking try me, I do not stand for hatred I do not stand for genocide, I stand for a diversified world where there are no borders where there are no walls and there are no slaves being forced to work for other countries even if it meant I had to give up what comfortabilities I have! If it meant another could have warmth love and something to look forward to in the future a stable amazing life.

Because right now children in the Congo they're busy mining for the Cobalt needed to make our Electronics

Right now Palestine is the most noticed and recognized genocide occurring happening, but there are four other genocides going on right now. Can you label them, dear reader, the Uyghurs Muslims, Myanmar, Congo Sudan

And yes I dare say North Korea because while those in the city live in relative comfort outside millions of Koreans are dying of starvation and being offed by a government that is tyrannical.

And yet our governments stand by, our people go after each other making false claimants like this while Millions possibly upwards of a billion people are having their lives brutally cut short for only being who they are.

[nosolaceofastraightanswer]

hello everyone!! i'm the person who ran the TUA color polls for each of the seven siblings over the last few weeks. sorry it took so long but i'm here with results! i'm going to have charts first because they are flashy, easy to look at an understand, and also won't make the post too long above the keep reading :DD without further ado, the results of the poll: "Which color do you associate with [Hargreeves]?" !!

[keep in mind that the labels are above the charts, and viktor's may be hard to read because the chart maker i used only had a white background- same if you're on dark mode i apologize]

analysis and words under here if you're interested lol :D it’s basically me just rambling for WAY TOO LONG about analysis lmao

okay so going into this, my hypothesis was that everyone’s colors were more or less determined by their s2 outfits. the fashion was iconic and stood out a lot, so it was very likely to stick in people’s brains.

my personal choices in order of siblings are: blue, orange, yellow, pink, green, red, and blue again. i chose green for five because of like.. chalkboards? i feel like he gives the green vibes y’a know? for the rest it was mostly determined by outfits and vibes etc.

but i’m sure nobody wants to hear me talk about my own opinions for too long [afterall, i didn’t even vote in the polls to keep them unbiased as possible] so here’s my analysis of YOUR choices

blue green and yellow were all the top choices for luther, which makes sense to me. blue ended up winning. they’re all generally cooler colors. when i think of luther i think of less stand-out colors, something solid and steady. blue is the most popular favorite color. it has a lot of range, just like luther. he wears it a lot throughout the seasons. blue is associated (not to bring color theory onto the color theory website or anything) with a feeling of sadness, and also responsibility. i really see him as a very tragic character tbh, à la s1 characterization.

diego was surprising to me, because even though my prediction of orange was correct there was a large amount of black in play. red was third after that. i don’t see it as that surprising considering his outfit from s1 lmao. let’s be honest they’re all emo anyways. red and orange are both associated with fire. diego probably would do arson if he thought he was doing the right thing. red is very agressive of a color, but orange is seen as a little less in your face. it can represent change too. but all in all, i think that it was chosen most often because of his orange and black polka dot shirt from s2. slay ig

allison was surprising to me at first, because i didn’t expect so much purple. i think that the pink might be because she’s a girl though. the red is what confused me the most. i would love to hear anyone else’s thoughts because i’m honestly not sure. @creepy-not-crawly (❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️) was talking with me about the polls, and said this about allison having yellow win:

purple is associated with royalty and we all know she’s a queen. ofc, yellow won. we ALL remember that dress from s2. she’s also fairly optimistic for the first two seasons, and s3 largely revolves around her trying to force herself to be happy. yellow is associated with happy, and she was happy when she was with ray and trying to get it back s3. i have a post about the whole tone fuck up from s2/s3 here X so read that if you want!!

alright klaus. green came out (haha get it) in first and i think this one was essentially due to the association of ghosts and supernatural things in general with green. it’s SPOOOOOKY you know? it’s represents change and growth. the guy is trying. also the military is associated with green uniforms (at least in the US), so it can be easily linked back to the vietnam war incident from s1 and his connection to dave.

five had the most votes and it ended up with the closest results to one color taking half the pie. blue won, and red and black followed. i think for the red, it might be because of the metaphorical and literal blood on his hands. as far as i can tell, his powers- some of the most distinctly colored in the show- were a major factor: (credit to @dead-peppermint and @the-time-travelers-admirer in that order)

and his iconic uniform is mentioned as well. (thank god the old man got a change of clothes in s3, manifesting for s4) blue represents responsibility and we all know he has so much on his shoulders (insert joke about how hunched over he was s3 because aiden gallagher has been aging over these past 5 crazy years but he’s supposed to be playing a 13 y o boy). blue is also associated with calm- the man needs some calm in his life, à la that one part of s3. and last of all, sadness. i think most of us remember “HE’S LOVED THEM FOR LONGER THAN THEY’VE BEEN ALIVE” (link post cus i can’t find it) and he spent so long mourning his family, and is probably still mourning them.

og ben is probably the most underrated character imo, so i was excited for this one. i predicted red because of that one scene (UGHHH SO TRAGIC) when he was a kid and covered in blood like “can i go home now” (🥺). my dear mutual @/deadpeppermint from before left these thoughts:

blue and purple tied for first, with red and black in second. honestly the leather jacket? hoodie? thing? and generally emo vibe really lent itself to that lmao. i think purple and blue are also really good colors for him, because he is a king and also responsible as heck (or at least, he tries in comparison). i’m still crying over how he left in s2 ISTG BRING HIM BACKKKK (srsly tho line i want to make a post about his absence affected s3 ughfhfhfhfhfhh) but that brings us back to blue meaning sadness, and oh my lord does this boy represent grief!!! he’s soooooo <3

and finally omg we are at viktor! this graph is fucking hilarious to look at because it just looks empty. the white violin had an association with color, and you could NEVER GUESS which one (sarcasm). i actually forgot about this next was blue, and i think it’s cute that blue was on top three, even top two for 5 6 7. and the. @/deadpeppermint once again with thoughts:

SO TRUE!!

sorry for all of the errors i'm losing my mind.

anyways if anyone (unlikely lmao) has actually read this, or even scrolled down- hi! also goddamn! i hope someone enjoys this post because i have literally postponed so many projects for this weird little side thing. MMMMM DATA. i would make some kind of conclusion, but i'm damn tired and i think that my whole hypothesis kind of worked out! TYSM TO EVERYONE WHO VOTED!! and the people who left thing in the tags or talked to me about it? A MILLION LOVE FOREVER

i plan on doing more analysis in the future, but this is kind of dipping my toe in with a more fandom centered analysis. also! shameless self promotion! this whole thing started because i made a little animatic? thing? and started wondering about the colors because i ended up assigning them. CHECK IT OUT HERE X SUBSCRIBE TO MY YOUTUBE CHANNEL SMASH THAT LIKE BUTTON MR BEAST TIKTOK FORTNITE. anyway. i literally have two other things that have been done for a while which i'll be posting in due time. if anyone is wondering why i haven't been posting art (idk, maybe?) it's because i was holding off on this crazy monster of a post! i'm really excited to make animatics because the music bro it's got me ITS GOT ME THIS DAMN SHOW. i am a self taught beginner artist tho, so i mean be ready for that. (that makes me sound so pretentious STOPP) anyways here! 🎩👑👒🧢 swaggy hats and a 🦉🦋🐞🐠🪿🦜🐁🦔 lil guy to go with it! 🥰🫵 see ya besties ily. i am so ill.

[localcryptic]

3, 5, n 20 for Ripley and Tal :)

3. Ask them to describe their love interest.

(this is fun since both tal and ripley romance ortega, except tal is romancing julia while ripley is romancing ricardo)

Tal: "She's confident. Strong, in so many ways. So much smarter than anybody gives her credit for. Acts without thinking. She's a force of nature. Stubborn as hell. Too good to me."

Ripley: "Ugh. Stupid sexy asshole who's too charming for his own good. That goddamn idiot with the stupid fucking mustache. Doesn't know when to quit. He's careless, has no sense of self preservation, is a shameless flirt and he's somehow completely oblivious. He keeps dragging me back into his life and I fall for it every fucking time."

5. Speech! Speech! Speech! Speech! Will they give one, and what about?

Tal: they would hate giving a speech </3 having all those eyes on them is the nightmare scenario and they're relatively quiet on a good day. they might have the confidence for public speaking when they're acting as their puppet, Eden, but generally i think they'd rather fake their death again than have to talk in front of a crowd. (that being said, i think they have a well rehearsed monologue of things they would love to say to Director Siepen if given the chance. does that count?)

Ripley: certified yapper. i got an achievement on his run of Rebirth because ripley would do a villain monologue literally every chance he got. he like, wrote his thesis on Not Shutting The Fuck Up. as himself, he would shut down if expected to give a speech, but behind the mask of Ruin, he looooves to be a dramatic little fucker and give many, many speeches on the inadequacy of heroes, detailing their failures, verbally decimating them. (this doesn't count as a speech, but it's also very easy to get him infodumping about his interests. ask him a pointed question about musical theater at your own risk, he will talk your ear off for an hour.)

20. What do they like that nobody else does?

Tal: Burnt toast and cheap coffee. Electronic music that sounds like a computer trying to kill itself. Meticulous, boring, repetitive programming work. The shitty mullet they've been growing.

Ripley: The kinds of dogs that the animal shelter labels as "difficult". Shitty punk bands you've never heard of. Cargo pants. Stupid, impractical novelty lighters. Ricardo's stupid mustache </3.

(thank you for askingggg :3 the ask game/question list can be found here)

[nurchantiqa-adifa]

It's been 2 years since I wrote anything here. How exactly am I feeling right now? I don't even know what or how to respond to that, my life feels a lot like a comedy show right now. Nobody truly knows who I am, even the man I was with for 2 years. I've spewed up lies after lies of who I am, afraid to be labelled or stereotyped as the usual minahs who got pregnant at 15 and left by their boyfriends to raise her children alone. That was not my case.

As a teen, I was the rebellious one compared to my brother. I excelled academically, he didn't. But he never gave problems to my parents, while I was always running away from home, making my dad search for me on his bicycle. I was just always searching for attention from all the wrong people, at all the wrong places. Until one day, I was r*ped. I tell people that I don't remember what happened, that I was dr*gged and didn't know whatever was happening. But I lied. I remember so vividly how 5 grown up men was slapping me and thrusting me so roughly that bl00d started pouring down my thighs. At that point I could only cry and beg for god to make everything end. I still feel the pain whenever I think about that. 28 April 2015 will always remain etched as a black patch in my memory.

Then I moved on like nothing happened - I was always so good at that. Carrying on like everything was okay while I wanted to desperately kms every single day. Suddenly at one point, I felt movements in my tummy. A strong, tugging feeling. At that moment , I knew I had another life in me. I stressed so much, thinking what to do. Can you imagine what me, a 14 year old girl went through at that time? It was such a painful ordeal, I ordered ab**tion pills from the web, worked my ass off doing banquet jobs just to pay for the pills. But none of them worked, I just recall bleeding heavily during my A Maths lesson. The cramps were horrible, I was in so much pain yet I couldn't tell anyone. I fainted then for about 30 minutes. Woke up, cleaned myself and joined my PE lesson like nothing happened. This's why I never let anyone make me feel like im weak or worthless, I've been through so much with myself and I have nothing but love and utmost respect for myself and how much I managed to put through with the toughest trials life has thrown at me, I went through the next few months with a growing tummy while still championing my Netball squad, getting gold for NAPFA. how did I do that.. I have no idea. I avoided thinking of my pregnancy, I just pushed through the days trying to distract everyone from my tummy. I started eating so much so that people would think Im just fat instead of pregnant. But how long can you hide a pregnancy? Eventually one day, mama found out from the way I walked. The rest is history, I gave birth to a beautiful boy on 1st January 2016 and I've been counting my blessings ever since.

But I was never the same after that. I lost myself completely, I hated everyone and I was angry at the world. I did whatever I could to make my parents angry, I got myself expelled from school, I started drinking, I did dr*gs, I smoked. I wanted so badly for someone to save me from the mess that was in my head. I just needed a safe space at that moment. I was only 15, forced to mother a child I never intended to have. I love him, and my whole world was focused on him, yet I hated the situation and what I could never provide for him.

And then it happened all over again, I was beaten almost to death by 3 guys.

Yes, that was me. The assault left me with a hairline fracture on my spine, a fucking messed up PTSD, BPD, Major Depressive Disorder and scars on both side of my face. None of this ever left me, it stuck with me till today. I still dream of the assault some days, and I wake up wanting to end my life. Im still living in constant fear over everything that has happened. I blame myself, everyone blamed me too. Just so sick and tired of it.

Doesn't mean there's no good parts to my life though. After what happened, I spent years trying to be a better person, better mother and better daughter. I can finally say im proud of myself, I built myself up from scratch. I found ways on how to climb my way to being an Engineer. The road was long and winding, I got rejected by a lot of companies. But I only had my son at the back of my mind, everything I did from that day on was for him. I want so badly to replace the times I lost with him, to replace whatever that I couldn't give him years back.

Im still battling my mental disorders silently. I don't go to therapy - my dad deems that im just a compulsive liar who uses mental disorders as a way out to every problems in life. I wish he knew better, I wish everyone knew better. But I can't be egoistic and expect everyone to keep filling my cup, so this is me, the raw, unedited, unfiltered version of my life story. I don't know where my life will go from hereon, but I know I'll continue to kick ass no matter what. Im as strong women like that, and nobody will ever be able to convince me otherwise. 🖤

x,

Dee

[xprojectrpg]

Moment of Awesome - Maya Lincoln-Lopez/Echo:In the wake of Behold A Pale Horse, Gabriel Cohuelo checks up on Maya and they talk about the unmentionable - the betrayal by Wade Wilson

“I got shot,” Maya agreed, her accompanying sign almost a dismissive flick. “I’m not dead. You’re not dead. It’s a win.”

"Stop it," Gabriel frowned. "It's not a win." He couldn't believe she would be pretending otherwise. "You got shot, and you needed days to recover. And..." He didn't even want to have to say it, and he was starting to get annoyed that she was going to make him.

“After the man I think of as an uncle was just lucid enough to shoot me in the foot.”

Maya said it matter of factly, the snap of the words harsh as she picked up her can of soda and looked down at the label.

“He didn’t kill me, Gabe. He was crazy enough to, he tried to kill Clarice. But not me. Me he recognised. Why do you think that’s a loss?”

"Because he's a fucking lunatic who fucking shot you!" He would not, ordinarily, have been so furious in front of her. Not because he thought she needed to see him maintain composure — they knew each other too well at this point — but because he didn't like to lose it in front of anyone. "That's not — it's not okay, Maya. Do you know how lucky you were? You don't think he and Clarice were close too? I mean, what the actual fuck!"

Maya launched the can of soda at his head with a furious scream, on her feet before she remembered and then collapsing downward as she got tangled in pillow, chair and the sheer agony of having put weight on a gunshot wound that wasn’t ready for it.

Gabriel, grateful for his powers, caught the can. He wordlessly went to her bathroom, pulled a bottle of over-the-counter painkillers from the medicine cabinet and tossed it in her direction before returning to his seat.

Maya swore viciously in Spanish, calling Gabriel’s parentage into question and telling him exactly what he could do with his painkillers as she struggled back up into her chair and settled in again.

She took several deep breaths, and then glared.

“What good does it do, mi hermano? I can’t do anything about it.”

"No," Gabriel acknowledged. "You can't." He refused to break eye contact with her. "But don't pretend it's fine. It's not." He kept calm, because he'd already lost his cool once, and it clearly hadn't served him. "You're not supposed to be fine. None of this is fine. And you're not stronger for pretending it is."

“Speaking from personal experience?”

Maya dry swallowed both pills and sat back into her chair, allowing the headrest to cradle her suddenly exhausted self.

“Why is it that people only offer advice when it’s someone else doing the same thing they were just doing not months ago, like nobody will call them on their bullshit.”

He bristled slightly at that, but he refused to let it fluster him. He'd been dealing with Maya for years; he knew how she operated, and he knew she wanted to get a rise out of him. "There's so much you think you know," he said after a second. "But yes, I am speaking from personal experience, actually." He wanted to tell her that he had been trying to deal with his shit, recently. But that would mean explaining just what his shit is, and he didn't owe her anything.

But he'd give her something small. "M-Day was one of the five worst days of my life," he said, standing and moving to the kitchen, because he refused to look at her while he told her this. "And I would probably be dead by now if Wade had not dragged me back here and forced me to deal with my shit instead of drinking myself to death." He opened the fridge, peering inside. "I was barely holding it together. You think I'm a mess now? You have no idea."

“I don’t.”

It was tired, and sad but it was honest. It was a concession. She stared into the middle distance, wondering when she’d ever felt more tired.

“You leave all the time. You don’t talk to me, except about easy things. It makes me crazy. You want me to say things but you never say them either. Don’t I get to care too?”

[boyakishantriage]

SCP - 001

Class: N/A

“Triage”

Description: SCP-001 appears to be a woman of Chinese Malaysian descent. She does not require sleep or food but prefers to have so, seemingly out of habit. SCP - 001 behaves in a sarcastic, “helpfully unhelpful” behaviour.

SCP - 001 has “magic” , a reality bender, of sorts. Samples and papers given by SCP - 001 indicate her abilities to be within our understanding of reality, using the same rules anyone can supposedly do similar acts however according to the subject. “The barrier ain’t opened yet”.

This registration is written in mocking of the SCP foundation by SCP - 001, the following are various data points by record of SCP - 001.

Addendum -01:

Dr Andrews:

[console initiated by user 0.]

[set metadata to “narrative” by user 0]

[override control by user 0 from order O1]

[console deinitiated]

My name is Nathan Andrews. Class 3 designated researcher of the SCP foundation. I have been assigned a desk by one "Black" a "operative" or "agent" of the "Wolves". This is due to my request for a way to communicate with the O1. For the most bizarre of reasons, the device provided does not accept the standards of the SCP foundation, rather a strange mix between personal and impersonal talk.

I've been granted a keyboard, mouse and monitor. Sitting in what appears to be Black's cubicle, various photos and memorabilia from his personal life. But beside the point.

Skimming the files, cloaked in shadows to the camera. 01 taps the recording. Three disks, each with a sticky note labelling them 1-5. The first one began to play as he skimmed reports.

"A decade ago."

Australian. Western side, mix of Chinese and Malay dialect. Female.

"One Nathan Andrews vanished from the SCP foundation campus. I am the result. Mr Michael."

He froze, the recording beginning to laugh.

"Made you pause huh? Pansy little fuckwit. This is a recording Mr Michaels. And your organisation is a speck. I am Triage. Rank. Corporal. Your organisation works to keep normalcy, your. Administrator. They're one of my agents. Or maybe that's a lie? Who knows. The following files and other two CDs are... a kind of message. We are the Wolves. And you sir. Are welcome to try to Secure. Contain. Protect. I'll see you in Hell."

Click.

The CD dropped out of the player, grasping his papers. As he picked the CD.

Pardoning that. I guess I'll try to explain what occured.

It'd happen again. At this point. Nobody was surprised. SCP - 682 had breached containment. Unfortunately a meteor falling towards the earth had begun it's descent faster and faster as it changed directory. Anaesthetics immediately deployed to all civilians in the near vicinity as Nathan Andrews ran from the enraged monster.

Frankly speaking, he was surprised he even got that far. A researcher in the organisation who worked his way upwards simply by acting as a safe guard for every upper position, the track runner sprinting for his life as the hateful lizard roared at the human.

BOOM

The earth exploded, throwing him over himself as something tackled the lizard to the ground. Roaring in outrage and anger, the flaming figure began to. Beat down against the lizard? Slamming fists harder and harder, her hands burning bright orange as she smashed the reptile's head in.

"- I SAID QUIT IT YOU LANKY FUCKER! I DON'T GIVE A FLYING FUCK IF THATS YOUR PREY. STAY DOWN YOU CHEEKY LITTLE... Oh."

The Australian accented thing looked at the human, dagger in one hand, riding the dead corpse as the top of her ears perked. Black haired, Asian looking, the rumbling of a truck echoing towards him.

"... Hmm. Can't exactly leave this here- mortal did see me... OI. FUCK OFF YOU CUNT!"

Throwing the dagger into a tree, seemingly nothing as the anomaly ripped the dagger back to her hand.

Spitting onto the corpse, she walked towards the researcher.

CLICK.

Pistol aimed at her head, the humanoid looked down at the gun.

"... what's your plan here?"

BANG.

What birds were frozen in fear flapped off, mobile forces glancing up at the mass of birds. The researcher's borrowed pistol firing multiple more times into the air with a hint of red vanishing as it flew into the heavens.

BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG-

BFFT.

Holding the gun's muzzle in her hand, an eyebrow raised as she picked the bullets out her body.

"Ow."

Sarcastically, she flung the pistol onto the reptile. It snorting as she shouted back at it.

"NEMEN POSWI LACKA YOU HORINI. LOVNAJSUYA HEWMI THOSE FUCKS YOU NEMEN!"

Kicking the regenerating corpse, seeming to spur the lizard into a scowl as it started towards the trucks.

Dragging himself away, something ripping into his back, pain coursing through his body as the sound of ripping played behind him. Throwing him out into, something. The reality behind him left far behind.

[wannaberp]

— WHO IS PARK AHYOUNG?

she’s a TWENTY year old wannabe, born DECEMBER 9, 2002. she’s currently undecided regarding companies and lives by the words “you cannot kill me in a way that matters.”

maybe you should learn more or ask her a question.

▶ PLAY THE CLIP [ harsh_critique.mp4 ]

the chair outside the principal's office is comfortable. ahyoung thinks they should probably do something about that, if they want her to sit here less. they could learn something from the bleachers in the gym that always make her ass hurt after about 20 minutes.

instead, she waits, legs crossed, humming the melody of somin's newest song quietly to herself.

eventually, the door opens, and ahyoung flashes a smile to a man with a disappointed expression that may very well rival her mother's. the amount of times she's seen it might rival the amount of times she's seen her mother, too. (not really.)

"principal fisher," she greets him, far more pleasantly than she should, considering the situation.

"annabelle park," he grumbles in return, and ahyoung's smile evaporates, replaced with a scowl.

"if you want me to quit calling you that then maybe you should considering following the rules so you quit ending up here," he suggests.

"maybe if you call me amy i'll quit coming because i won't have to remind you anymore," she argues.

principal fisher lets out a long sigh, ushers her into his office, and motions to the chair wordlessly. they both know ahyoung knows what to do.

as soon as he sits down, he looks her straight in the eyes and says, "do you want to get expelled?"

ahyoung knows it's a rhetorical question. honestly, she doesn't even know the answer, if principal fisher did expect one. she doesn't really know what the fuck she would do if she couldn't go to school anymore, but at the same time, there's a ton of stuff that has to be better than this. maybe she can make a living waiting tables, and keep working on music until a label signs her and she can make some money that way. then she'll make it big and nobody will give a shit whether she finished high school or not. or maybe she'll just be a stripper. who knows? wouldn't finding out be kind of fun? to find out how disappointing she's truly capable of being?

"what are my charges?" she asks, with the slightest quirk of her lips.

principal fisher sighs again. "continual breaking of the dress code. smoking on school grounds. possession of alcohol. smashing shelby king's face into her desk?"

"i didn't do that."

"there were eight witnesses, annabelle!"

she shrugs. worth a try.

"i honestly don't know what to do anymore. you clearly don't care about your education, your future, this institution, or any of your classmates. you don't treat anyone with any respect, you lie for fun, your work ethic is abysmal. what will it take for this behavior to change?"

fair question. she just shrugs again.

she's always been like this. her mom has been making her go to therapy, but she just lies to her therapist until their session is over. she has a feeling her therapist knows, but she hasn't found a way to force her to tell the truth. ahyoung doubts she even cares that much. at least she's getting paid, right?

they're all just doing it because it's their job. principal fisher, too. none of them actually care about her life and future. she's sure they'd all love to get rid of her, actually. that's nothing new to her, either. might as well make sure they remember her before she goes.

"this is your final warning. you're being suspended for a week. i'll call your mother to come pick you up."

"i got my license, actually, so you don't have to waste your time––"

"i'm calling your mother to come pick you up."

ahyoung sighs. whatever. she hopes her mom cries in the car on their way home this time, too.

he does as promised, and instructs her mom to come meet them at his office, because he clearly doesn't trust ahyoung not to run off and do something he disapproves of if her mom just waits for her in the parking lot.

her mom takes too long to show up, as far as she's concerned, but once she does, ahyoung pops out of her chair.

"i'm so sorry about this, principal fisher, i'm really trying, i hope you know––" her mother says as soon as she sees him.

"week long vacation! let's gooooo," ahyoung cheers, slinking toward the door to the office. "maybe i'll use this time to write a song about you, principal f," she calls over her shoulder, raising one hand in a rock on gesture. she slips through the door and charges down the hallway to the sound of more apologies spilling from her mother's lips.

[c-is-for-circinate]

The story creates the story tells itself. That's it, that's what this is, it's the thing I always end up saying when Critical Role hits me right in the solar plexus, because stories are how we make sense of events after they've already happened. The story is not a thing in the moment it is created, it is a thing you can only know the shape of once it's over with, and then you look at it and you say, yes, of COURSE, it only ever could have been this from the first, couldn't it?

Seven miserable loners and outcasts and reckless illegitimate rebels meet in a tavern with no desire whatsoever for heroism. Their morals are quickfire and slapdash, casual and arbitrary, we'll help out these people, those people aren't our problem, we dislike those fucks over there. There is a war brewing and they want nothing to do with it. Fuck fame, fuck fortune, we'll keep to ourselves and play fast and loose with crime and take care of our own and maybe some lucky randoms we meet along the way. We'll fight and scrap and tussle amongst ourselves because none of us even entirely understand our own morals, let alone how to reconcile them with any of these other half-assed motherfuckers we apparently have to care about now.

They fuck up. One of their own dies.

They drown in rage and fury for just long enough, until they can stop gasping and growling for vengeance to take a breath. Then they run.

They run, because they do not care to stand and fight: not against evil or dragons or tyrant kings, not against their own grief. They flee the country. Nobody is chasing them, but they flee anyway, to avoid shackles, to avoid control, to avoid being set to anyone else's purpose, to avoid their own loss and their own sins. They run to the sea. (They find danger, and shackles, and control, and somebody else's purpose there again. The world is full of shackles and those who would wield them.)

They grieve. They avoid their grief. They sanctify their fallen comrade. They do not aim to be anything, this ragtag group of miserable loners and outcasts. The only thing they know themselves to be is each other's. They do not know themselves at all, but this grief, this loss--they know it, at least, know it together, an iron band binding them all heart to heart. It is the first truth they have to hold on to, the thing that lets them see each other as the only thing that matters, the only thing that's really real.

They face down a cult and win, because the other option is shackles or death. They face a demigod and flee, again, again, again. Always they flee.

They flee towards home and home is burned. They have seen loss and they have seen death and it finds them no matter how they run away, so maybe it's time to change direction. Maybe it's time to run towards. It's still running, still half-mindless directionality, it's still familiar. They are not heroes, they are not somebodies, they have never wanted to be somebody. This group has never wanted to be anybody, not as a group, not when they're whole. They're nobodies, trying to take care of themselves, take care of their own, to grow past their grief that they pretend they're gone from now, mostly, most days, when they can. (Pretend it's not the grief that made them each other's in the first place, like none of the fighting and scrapping and scrabbling along beside one another ever had in the first place.)

They bulldoze and trip and stumble and run towards instead of away, for once, just this once, the very first time they've run towards a thing since that last time, the only time, when they temporarily lost three of their own and then broke themselves trying to chase them (trying to chase vengeance). Towards is so much more dangerous than away. Run towards something hard enough, you might actually find it. You might have to become somebody when you get there, instead of just not-being somebody else.

They're somebody now. This rag-tag, broken, mismatched knot of nobodies, not even mercenaries because they're too skittish to even really look for paid work, they're somebodies now, or so Someone Important says. It fits like an ill-tailored coat that they've been forced into without ever making a choice. Without ever realizing, entirely, how much they never made a choice. The world said congrats, you're heroes now, and these killers and thieves went, well, fuck.

And then they tried to be heroes anyway. Not because it fit, not because they knew what to do, but because the mess of them, the seven of them, barely knew who they were to begin with. If the world was shouting HEROES! YOU'RE HEROES! BE HEROES! at them this very loudly--then don't they have to wear the coat that's being given to them? Don't they have to be, have to find some way to become, the heroes they've tripped and stumbled into appearing?

They don't know themselves. All they've done so far is run from themselves--from parents and children and their own crimes, from chains and challenges, limits and labels. They only barely know who they're not. They couldn't know who they are. How do they know they aren't heroes? The one thing they know, the only thing they have, the only thing they've ever run towards, is each other. The one thing they know for absolute sure and certain that defines and binds them is that steel band of grief, that first loss, the thing that broke and forged them to begin with.

So they look for answers in their grief, in what they've lost, because if it's the first true thing about them as a group, them as a whole, then it must be able to tell them who they have to be now. They sanctify their fallen, twist meaning and moral out of conversational confrontational casualness, make a mission statement out of leave every place better than you found it. They forget who he was, petty and venal and mortal and flawed. (They try to convince themselves that they don't have to be petty and venal and mortal and flawed.) They cling to what he meant.

And they fail. God, looking back on it all, with the shape of the story and the shape it's become, is it any wonder they failed? Petty and venal and moral and flawed, these rough-edged rabble-rousers, not even mercenaries because they don't even know how to take orders besides their own. Trying to be heroes. Trying to stop a war, because that's their job, right? It has to be. That's the shape of the coat they're trying to wear, that's the shape of leave every place better than you found it, that's the thing they crashed straight into while they were running, running, running the way they've always run, run, run. So they look for answers everywhere, because they have to have the answers to everything, and they scry and they spy and they play sides. They meet with queens. They turn to each other on the streets on the way out of the palace and ask in horror, "What did we just do?"

They run and they run and they trip and they fall and they unleash more evil than there was to start with. They lose one of their own, again. They sit in shattered shards, and what just happened? How could we have seen this coming? What did we just do?

They don't know themselves. They've been running from themselves, trying to run towards misty shapes they can't define in a too-big coat and too-small shoes, without any real practice in running towards to begin with. They don't know themselves, but they need to move forwards. They need to be whole again, the six, the seven (the eight, the nein). How can they do that if they don't know themselves?

And--finally, finally, they learn.

They learn. They throw a sword in a volcano and forge a sword anew. They rediscover their own mind, their own heart, covered in blood with each other's blood on their hands. They walk into their abusers' homes and then walk back out again alive and un-alone and unchained. They recover bodies. They recover families. They find themselves.

(And the selves they find are mortal and flawed, because they have always been mortal and flawed, because they are built to be mortal and flawed, because they are still the same misbegotten messes they have ever been. But they are stronger for having sought themselves out, for what they have found. They are the stronger for those threads of heroism they tried to, managed to keep.)

They stop a war, incidentally. In the end it's not even all that much due to them. They sit, nobodies on a ship in the middle of the ocean, and watch in silence. It chafes a little, not to be in the center of things, to be able to be the heroes it felt like the world told them they had to be. (It feels a little like relief.)

They find themselves. They find themselves, and they find another lost and broken man, miserable outcast loner, petty and venal and mortal and flawed. They only start to realize how they know themselves now when they see how much he doesn't.

(The peace treaty happens, happened, is/was/will be happening, because they tripped and trembled and tried their way into it, but in the end a thousand chess pieces moved to make it so, and it is signed on a boat where we do not even set foot. The culmination, the crowning glory, the true victory of that whole middle story, is a perfectly-dressed man in chains in the hold of a boat, admitting to his own sins. It is secret and it is individual, and it is the concrete proof above all proofs that our nobody unknowns are finally their own very-known selves. Because they were Essek, once--but know they know their own mirrors well enough to look at him and recognize that.)

They know so much, now, about who they are and who they are to become. They have looked at their pasts and, yes, flinched away, but they've seen, and they know, now, as much as they can handle. In the end, the one thing they don't know the true shape of, the one thing left to seek that must be sought, is of course (of course, of course) that very first thing they thought they knew to begin with. The one thing left to face is their grief. The one thing left to discover is what shaped it from the very start.

So they run, like they have always run. In amongst the snow it is the very distillation of running, towards and away, away and towards, chasing and fleeing and fleeing and chasing, are we in front or are they? It's every mistake they ever made all over again. It's every new lesson they've ever learned.

They don't ask any more, what's the right thing to do. They don't need to ask. They know, already, swift and sure and confident as they once stumbled and dodged. This is a thing that must be stopped. It is ours to stop it. Yes, it is a heavy, clumsy coat to wear, but it fits us out here in the snows where we're not trying to prove our heroism to anybody any more, for good or for evil. Yes, it weighs on our backs and tangles our legs, but it fits as well as any role we've ever tried to wear. It fits us more than it could ever fit anybody else. It's our role. It's our coat. It was forged of our choices, our pieces, our fights. It was forged of our grief.

Nobody else is here with us, to watch, to know. Just like when we were seven shiftless, aimless, worthless nobodies wandering through a circus tent on the way to nowhere (everywhere) else. There's us and the demon born from our grief, the demon who sprang up and died and is the only reason we any of us ever met. Just us, just the nine of us, three and three and three. The three who were dragged off in chains and gave us something to run towards, that very first time. The three who chased, and watched their companion fall, and faced their grief head on, and ran. And Lucien, and Caduceus, and Essek, beginning and middle and end: The man whose demise allowed us to come together, reborn from the loss that bound us. The man who found us and told us that grief is inevitable and passing, that we must continue with it, that we still had such a long way to go. The man who we found like a reflection in an aging mirror, reflecting our own progress back at us, showing us how far we've come and what we've learned how to be.

Of course it had to end this way. (There were so very many other ways it could have ended, once. Of course there were none at all.) Of course it would be nine and nine in the end. Of course it would be this final perfect marriage of heroism and anonymity, for this group that's finally figured out their selves, past and future and right-the-fuck-now, saviors and heroes and petty nobody fucks. Of course it would be this.

And of course, of course, of course it had to go like this. Of course, after everything, the first six of them would try to reverse that grief that forged and tied them. Of course they couldn't. Of course they couldn't, of course, of course--(and was it fate, that 1-in-20 chance, that 5% chance, that 1 on a die? was it fate like the dice are always fate in every game, rolling out poetry with every throw, because all the rolls that aren't quite poetic enough get forgotten?) Of course it was a 1, not some other number, not some sheepish failure of a 4. Of course the universe itself would speak to say no.

No, says the universe, that is not how this story goes--because the road is full of shattered shards, and our heroes only learned to be heroes by discovering how bloodily bad at it they were, by nearly causing the apocalypse before wrestling it back again. Of course the universe itself says that after all this time, after changing so far and discovering so much, this the inciting thing from the very beginning that bound this group in steel must not be changed. Of course, with all their pleas, the six people who knew him cannot bring him back.

Of course that's how the story would go. And of course there's Essek, the man who met this party so long after their throes of mourning that it had sunk into their bones and grown quiet before they ever knew him, who cannot accept this outcome. Of course it's Essek, who never met and has barely heard of this man, this grief--Essek who has not yet grown into the quiet acceptance of his own grief, who does not yet know his own mirror, who has only just barely begun to understand running to instead of from and still doesn't know the shape of what he might eventually choose to chase--who seethes in rage. Who cries about not fair.

Of course it's Caduceus who takes the inspiration of that anger, that grief, and changes it all. Of course it's Caduceus, who the group only even found out of their grief. (They tracked him down to beg to know if he could raise the dead in the first place. Do you remember? One, two, three, Caleb and Beau and Nott, finding him in his graveyard to beg him to help.) Of course it's Caduceus, created to serve and to heal and to make so, so very sure that everyone understood that death could be necessary and final. Of course it's Caduceus, who stood over Mollymauk's grave by the roadside and put a hand in the dirt and cast decompose, because what is dead should be allowed to stay that way until it grows into something else. Of course it is. Because Caduceus has learned his own shape by now, too--and it is still full of devotion, of dedication to the dead remaining dead, but it is steadfast and selfish sometimes too, forged in friendship, full enough of love to try, just this once.

Of course Caduceus gave the diamond but didn't try to perform the ritual, at first, at first. Of course he's spent so very long so very gently urging his friends to reconcile themselves to their loss, to letting their loved one sleep. Of course, in the end, in the very end, he weighed all his faith that once held so firm and final and without exceptions, with this grief before him, and found just this once, maybe, within it.

Of course when he tried, the man who lives to put things in the ground (to put Molly in the ground), even after the fates and the gods and the universe had spoken--when, just this once, against the will of the natural order and the universe and the power of destiny, he asked, just once, for the path of things to reverse--of course. Of course he was the voice that needed to speak for the story to listen.

Of course Molly would end the campaign. Of course this had to be the finale of it all. Of course this ritual--not this fight, not this mission, not even this apocalypse, but this ritual, this resurrection--must be the end of things. Of course it's the end of the story. You can't go any farther than this.

There can never be nine of us. It won't be ironic any more. But irony, after all, is just a way of running from sincerity, sometimes running away from sincerity so hard and fast you crash back into it from the other side. Like running from being a person, from being that person, from letting things matter, from mattering. Like running so far and fast from being found that eventually you have no choice but to find yourself. Irony's a shield against having to know the truth.

There's nine of them. It's not ironic. It's perfect, but it's not ironic. It's just the truth. They know who they are, now. Not who they were running away from being. Not who they tried to be for the sake of anyone else. Who they always are. Always were.

This story could have been a hundred thousand different things, when it started. Of course it was always fated to end with nine.

[readyforthegarden]

“I just wanted to say thank you for protecting me” for Sam? Pleaseee🥺

Here’s another cute pic of Sam 😍

Warnings: Drinking, swearing, mentions of drug use, being accosted by a drunk, slight physical assault (being grabbed)

A/N: this is the first thing that came to me, I hope you like it!

You tapped the tips of your manicured fingers against the champagne flute you held, looking around the swanky club. This wasn’t your usual vibe. Your band has been nominated for an award, and your label had forced you to go. Then they forced you to go to one of the fancy after parties too. You’d been separated from your band mates a few hours ago, and dragged into some conversation about monetary figures and how the charts made or broke musicians.

Tossing back the last dregs of your bubbly, you excused yourself from the group, making your way towards a hallway with restroom signs. The short, sparkling, gold dress the label had sent you was tight, and you wondered if you could even hike it up far enough to pee, since there was no way you could reach the zipper. As you weaved through the crowd, a hand landed on your shoulder.

“Hey there girlie.” You turned to see an older man standing there. He was dressed in a suit, more business than formal, but there was a stain on his tie that you were sure came from the brown liquid in his tumbler that sloshed around. “My my, look at you. All golden like a true trophy. What I wouldn’t do to put you on my mantle.”

“Excuse me?” You squint at the man. He’s clearly drunk, and you shrug his hand off your shoulder. “Fuck off.” Turning to walk away, you only get a few steps before your arm is roughly grabbed and your pulled harshly around.

“I was talking to you, you little bitch.” The man was inches from your face, his breath hot, the stench of whiskey burning in your nostrils. Your body shook, nerves overcoming you as tears pricked the corners of your eyes while panic set in. Nobody at this party seemed to notice this man bothering you and as you tried to twist your arm free from his grip, you were giving up hope. Your eyes scanned around the room, trying to find one of your band mates, you drummer for sure would knock this creep out. As you desperately searched for a familiar face, a pair of brown eyes came into view. He was wearing a vintage inspired suit, tailored perfectly to his slender figure, various symbols embroidered on it. The tall young mans brows were furrowed as he regarding you.

“Help.” You mouthed and in a flash, he was moving towards you.

“Hey, what’s going on here?” he asked, looking between you and the man.

“Fuck off, kid.” The man snarled. “I’m just trying to have some fun with my new girlfriend.” The young man looked to you again.

“Are you having fun? Is he your friend?” you shook your head, still trying to yank your arm free.

“No, he just grabbed me and won’t let me go.” you answered.

“I think you should let her go.” The young man glared at the older man. “Now.”

“And what are you gonna do about it if I don’t?” The older man glared right back. Three other men came up behind the taller one, all stone faced, seething at the older man.

“Four on one seems a little unfair, doesn’t it?” The tall man smirked. The older drunk looked between all four and roughly let go of you, nearly throwing your arm away and you stumbled back from the force. The man walked off muttering as you rubbed the newly sore spot in your forearm, glaring at his back.

“Are you okay?” The tall man stepped forward, his eyes regarding you softly, concern lacing his voice. “Did he hurt you?”

“I’m okay.” you sighed, rolling back your shoulders and trying to put up your tough side again, though your body was still trembling on the inside. “I’m just going to go to the restroom. Try and find a stall where someone isn’t snorting coke and have a good cry. It’ll be fine.” The tall man snickered and nodded.

“Okay, well if that creep finds you again, we’ll kick his ass.” You laughed and nodded, then awkwardly stepped away with a small wave. Turning around, you groaned at yourself for being so awkward. After taking care of business, you dabbed your under eyes, making sure the hard work of the makeup artist from that morning didn’t go to waste. When you exited the bathroom, you tried to find your band mates again, but spotted the tall man from earlier at the bar, leaning on the counter.

“He ignoring you?” You asked. The man whipped his head around, surprise turning to a glad smile when he saw you.

“Yeah, I’ve tried flagging down the damn bartender but he keeps ignoring me.” he said. “Just want a vodka soda.”

“I got it.” You leaned over the bar, smiling and made eye contact with the bartender. He smiled and came back over.

“What can I get you?”

“Two vodka sodas, please?”

“Of course.” Within minute, the drinks were sat in front of you and you slid one to the man.

“Thank you.” He said, raising his glass toward you in salute.

“I realize I never said thank you for earlier.” you blushed. “So, I just wanted to say thank you for protecting me. And introduce myself, I’m-“

“I know who you are.” he smiled, naming your band to really drive it home. “I’m Sam.”

“Well Sam, since it’s an open bar and I can’t buy your drink, how do you feel about getting out of here and finding some real food?” He smirked. “My treat.”

“I’m in.”

[hintsofhoney]

alright, *cracks fingers*. so. I’ve written up a transcript just to lay it all out for myself and get the most important parts. listen, everyone. for all intents and purposes and legal reasons, THIS WAS A DREAM. alright? I dreamt this. and he is literally the nicest human being ever so I don’t want to just like... put our whole convo out there like that, but I think he said some stuff that was important for people to hear so... here we go

my *dreamt* zoom call with thee crowley below the cut

The first five minutes (of my dream) was just a bunch of introduction stuff and talking about my favorite Supernatural seasons which eventually led to him telling me how they filmed the Season 8 finale (which they did over the span of three days, and in between takes the crew members were like dead silent, as to keep the moment going, which Mark thought was really cool. Said it was one of his favorite things they did on Supernatural.) Anyways, he eventually asked me if I had any questions, so, I’ll start there.

MARK: So, do you have any questions you want to ask me about aaaaaannyyyythingggg? 

ME: Um, I guess the number one thing I wanna know… um, so, I know you can’t speak for Dean and I don’t want to talk about Dean because you’re not Jensen, but, there’s like a lot of questions I guess or subtext or whatever concerning Dean’s sexuality and what not, but I want to know about demon Dean and Crowley’s relationship and if there was, I don’t know, anything like, any implied –

MARK: Well I think – I think you’re talking about… there’s a massive difference between sex and love. There’s a massive difference between, um, well, they can intertwine perfectly, that’s not the issue, but I mean you would believe with all the things that Crowley did for the Winchesters, that he was – that he very much loved Sam and Dean or loved who they are or what they are. To reduce it to, you know, a crush, or to something that – I mean, I don’t know, I think Crowley is very probably pansexual more than anything else; I don’t think anything phased him. I think, that’s why the whole stuff with Lucifer and licking the floor was kind of really stupidly boring for me because Crowley did weirder and crazier things on his own. I mean, it became this joke of trying to humiliate somebody who can’t be humiliated. There’s nothing you can humiliate Crowley with. So, that never sort of made sense, that was just a sort of writer’s glitch of thinking, “oooh, this would be funny to knock him down into subservience” and that’s what he does on a Wednesday, I mean it’s like the most un-inspiring thing. I think so much is projected onto the relationship between, certainly the four main characters, um, and, you know, look, getting comfortable with one’s sexuality and one’s identity is a massively complicated things, and if you want to live vicariously through what you believe people’s identity is and you can relate to that, great!  Who cares? I mean, can I be absolutely honest? Apart from – what I do care about, you know, don’t ever take this and piece me or misquote it, because it’s very, very specific – um, somebody stopping somebody being able to express their own identity or whatever is an issue for me. That will always be an issue for me. Um, we should all be treated equally, and we all have the rights to believe and follow those things that we wish to follow, but to project relationships onto characters is an odd thing to do. I mean, it’s wishful thinking in a lot of ways, I mean, actually it’s quite… it’s quite reasonable because in the past if you think about it, if you ask your parents or anyone else, the only way sexuality was used was to, uh, literally demonize somebody. It was only ever used to say somebody was bad because this who they’re in love with. You know, that’s, that’s the thing. And it’s a massive change in the world that we’re moving towards, I should say, uh – a lack of consequence for who one loves, apart from the obvious consequences of human nature. You know, political consequences for who one loves – I’ve just watched Pete Butteigieg being, you know, sitting in congress with his husband there with him; that’s the first time that’s ever happened in United States congress and I’m so proud of that. Not just because the man is gay and happily married – that’s not even the issue for me, it’s because he’s the best man for the job and one of the smartest people on the planet. You know, it’s like using sexual templates, as they were, or gender templates as they are, or orientation templates as they are, we always use to disclude people from things. They were always used to discriminate. You know, labeling somebody was a way of discrimination. And where as labels are very important, to ones self, and they’re very important politically and they’re very important socio-economically and they’re very important in all those aspects, I yearn for a time when nobody gives a damn. I really do. But I mean, we have to go through so much to get there. I mean, let’s be honest, you can’t, you know, right the wrongs of hundreds of years of oppression in 20 minutes by saying, “let’s all move forward”. It just doesn’t work that way, it never has. But there’s a responsibility there, that if you’re going to represent, that you represent all. That you don’t just represent you. So, one has to be careful with a television program or, or, you know, Misha or myself, or, not speaking for the boys, but just generally, um, you have to be careful that what you advocate is inclusive, not disinclusive. Not excluding people... and it’s so hard to frame these conversations, that they’re equitable, it’s so hard to do that. And so, you know, we spend years pointing out the inequity and the injustice and the unfairness of the whole situation, and… I don’t know if the trick is to rise above, or, uh, maybe it’s as simple as love and coming together as a human race and make it very difficult for people to discriminate and exclude based on gender, race, color, religion, any of the subsets of humanity that we’ve decided we have. So, I think personal responsibility is the most important thing, but if one is in a position of power on a TV show, you got to remember what you’re representing, that you have a, you know, you have to cover all or cover none. So, you know, but if you stick to a story and you have a story about a person or two people and their journey, that’s shining light on things. If you try to advocate for all, I think it becomes a little more complicated. Does that make sense?

so, i just feel like he said some important things there, but like I also don’t really understand what he’s getting at really, y’know? oh! also, he didn’t watch the finale lmao 

also! there’s this:

MARK: Because if you come down on one side or another, you’re admitting the sides, and that has its own political ramifications. If you push the ball up in the air and say, “you decide”, I don’t think that’s copping out. I think that’s, maybe not fulfilling everybody’s expectations, or not fulfilling everybody’s hopes, but at least you’re getting the question asked. You know, at least you’re getting the question asked. At least people are relating to it and going, “well, what if?”. Because it’s all “what if”, I mean, it’s a TV show, so it’s “what if”, you know? It’s not Misha being in love with Jensen, I mean as much as he loves Jensen, I don’t think that’s his thing – I mean you never know – but I’m saying yet again, I don’t exclude anything from anybody (I LITERALLY CAN’T BELIEVE HE SAID THIS LMAO). But to force my opinion or my identity belief upon a situation has a cost. It may be right, it may be absolutely right, and it may be necessary in many, many cases. But, in that circumstance, I think… there are a lot of people in the world that say that Jesus, for example, was anti-homosexual and that he was – and none of that is true, and none of that is provable in the New Testament, and I’m not talking about Leviticus and I’m not talking about early Bible and I’m not talking about the fact that more than 25,000 words have been changed in the King James edition and all of this stuff, but these things that people hold so sacred, the confusion that arises from that is being told that a man loving a man or a woman loving a woman or a man loving a man and a woman or whatever combination being there is either right or wrong because you’re being told by a pastor or the leaders of your church, is a very difficult thing to break down. I think what you have to do is at least put it out there so it’s visible, and so it becomes less and less deniable. And you know, people change over years, that’s the trouble with youth, is shit doesn’t move fast enough. “I need a decision now!”, and unfortunately, when you’re dealing with centuries of prejudice and centuries of un-enlightenment, I think that sometimes the best thing to do is reach as many people as possible and pose the question. And sometimes it’s essential to make a statement, absolutely, no question. It is essential to make a stand, in some circumstances. But to polarize a TV show, can be very disingenuous to those who need to go ask their own questions, who need to go say, “well, where does Jesus say this is wrong?” you know, if that’s your beliefs.

he also said, when we went off on a tangent about doom patrol:

MARK: There are issues that are being addressed here [on Doom Patrol] that are not being addressed on other shows, and yet again, we have the format, and I don’t know that Supernatural ever had the format because it was on the CW.

anywho, in conclusion, fuck the cw.

also, again, for all intents and purposes this was a dream I had :)))))))