#and i wanted to make an entitled white man who would absolutely lose their minds over that bfjdbdjdndksnsk

[unexpectedbrickattack]

Bro your human pizzahead design is so good??? Like him also being an old man like Peppino makes more sense in my head? Idk but It's great! probably my new favorite human PH tbh

HEY THANKS 💖 obv human designs are whatever u want them to be but i like the fact that hes like silly guy w an old timey pipe for some reason? And a theme song sampling a very old timey song? I think its neat! Also i promised myself that if i was compelled to make a human design of a character a White Man, it could not be a 18-24 yr old blond hair blue eyed twink jffbjfbdkdndkdn so older greying silly businessman is what i was left with 😊

[brlankinney]

✨a long awaited michael hate list✨

last year during the first lockdown i decided to rewatch queer as folk again after a few years break from the show. michael has always been one of my least favourite characters and i just needed to rant about how annoying he is, so i have compiled a list of his worst moments. you’re welcome. i wrote all these in my notes app while watching and you will get them without any editing whatsoever. in chronological order: 

s01e03 when justin turns up at woodys to find brian and michael yells at brian because he doesn’t want to babysit. while justin is talking to debbie!!! justin is just a young gay teen trying to fit in and michael is go angy? fuck off you piece of shit 

s01e04 “this is about brian’s one night stand!” / “not just one” / “don’t bet on it”...... my dude.... my good dude michael..... i am pretty sure justin knows more about his own sex life than you do

s01e04 “unfortunately not this one” referring to justin when they were talking about the high suicide rates with gay teens.... michael was so jealous of a guy who had sex with brian that he was annoyed that he wasn’t feeling suicidal? cant relate 

s01e10 when justin moved in at debbie’s place, getting michael’s old bedroom. why was he so annoyed? you’re a grown man, just turned 30 and that bedroom still has all your childhood things in it? grow the fuck up you childish man baby!!!!! 

s01e17? when david and michael held the fundraiser for that senator and michael purposely didn’t invite any of his friends/family because he found them “embarrassing”, then porceeded to yell at his mum when they showed up anyway. the entire storyline of him feeling like he was sooo much better than all of them because he had been to france and got expensive stuff from david? horrible horrible man 

s02e06 saying the only reason brian spends time with justin is because he feels guilty that justin was attacked. it’s almost like he doesn’t know his best friend? what a surprise!!! 

s02e12? getting angry that brian and ben fucked at the white party long before michael even knew ben? brian had sex with everybody how did michael expect to find someone who hadnt fucked brian already? and why are you angry over your partner’s sexual history from before you even knew them? 

s03e01 getting angry at justin for breaking up with brian (which is what he wanted to happen since fucking day 1) and then telling him that he isn’t part of the friendgroup anymore, as if they only tolerated him as long as he was with brian. fuck youuuuuu!!!!! honestly just the ENTIRE episode? upset that justin came to mel and lindsay’s party and that he brought ethan? it’s not your party! you don’t decide who is invited! SAYING BRIAN SHOULD HAVE LEFT JUSTIN DYING ON THE GROUND? literally just scum of the earth!! even if it was just because he was upset on brian’s behalf that should have never even crossed his mind!!!! 

s03e04, he knew what kind of father brian was to gus so why was he so angry at the way melanie and lindsay wanted him to be a father to their next child? he would be the sperm donor and the child’s dad but he wouldn’t be part of the kid’s life more than brian was in gus’ life? how is that so hard to get? it’s not YOUR child? get your own if you want to be an actual dad???? 

s03e07? getting so pissed that ben didn’t want to include him in his HIV-positive life that he “threatened” to infect himself? show some support for your boyfriend instead maybe? what kind of weird move is it to almost stab yourself with a used needle? i totally get what he was trying to do but it’s a fucked up way of going about it 

s03e08, while i dont completely agree with ben taking in hunter from the start and letting him spend the night (which probably has more to do with me being a woman who would have trouble defending herself in case anything should happen), the way michael acted as if hunter didn’t deserve any compassion was.. really bad? he even rolled his eyes when ben gave hunter money and a contact number for them that he could keep. hunter was a CHILD on the street, selling his body for money!!! how are you not more concerned!!!

bouncing off of that s03e10 why is michael getting angry that ben wants to care for this child!! he was in the fucking hospital and i get that now it’s a money problem but you are not listening to your partner? you are talking over him and not trying to come up with another solution to help care for this child!!!! i am FURIOUS 

s04e08 convincing justin that they shouldnt mention to brian that they were aware that he had cancer and had the sugery, but then breaking down the first chance he gets and crying to brian about it? first of, this is NOT about you michael so sit your ass down!! and second of, i get that he was scared of losing brian but at least give justin a heads up that he told brian?? that’s the absolute least he could have done 

THE ENTIRE FIFTH SEASON!!!! michael needed to SHUT UP about melanie and lindsay’s relationship problems in relation to jr because guess what? you’re not the primary parent, this doesn’t concern you! you were the sperm donor who was lucky enough to still be called the dad and be part of jr’s life!!!! shut up about how the baby lives in a broken home and how you want the baby? she’s not yours!!!!!! what is your PROBLEM!!! i will fist fight you

both him and debbie kept saying “whatever goes on between you [mel and linds] it doesn’t matter, the baby comes first”. don’t you think parents living seperately are better than parents living together but fighing all the time? the entire thing makes me so ANGRY 

i MEAN the way michael thinks he is entitled to all information about lindsay and melanie’s relationship just because he was the sperm donor to their baby? insanity 

“why won’t you let me have her?” GOD SHUT THE FUCK UP MICHAEL 

s05e04 i get that michael might have been embarassed at the “housewarming” gift that brian got them and also at the word choices that brian makes but come on? monty and whoever started out by insulting not only the way brian chooses to live his own life but also his business? it’s a civil conversation and yeah brian could have used less harsh words but brian’s lifestyle isn’t new to other people? not even people outside of his small social group? let him live his own life and also let him defend his choices

e05e07 like i get it okay? brian came in late at night and shouted and blamed michael for his and justin’s breakup so of course michael would be annoyed but the way he said “he [justin] left because of YOU. who wouldn’t?” was completely uncalled for? it just really fucking bugs me? this is your best friend who is CLEARLY going through a bad breakup so maybe choose your words more carefully? MAYBE have some compassion just maybe? 

when hunter left in season 5 and michael said “who else would have taken him in? made him family?” WHY WOULD YOU EVER SAY THAT ABOUT YOUR CHILD!!! WHY ARE YOU SUCH A PIECE OF SHIT michael really thinks he is the absolute shit and deserves the world for doing the smallest thing? 

going through the show again really just fleshed out how fucking bad of a person he could be from time to time wow whats YOUR worst michael moment????

[aitarose]

YELLOW DAISIES (A. MIYA) pairing: miya atsumu x fem!reader

synopsis: atsumu miya, japan’s most entitled player, the person that strangers resented for unprecedented boasting and confidence—a facade as there was only one person who knew the real him.

word count: 1.6k

genre: established relationship, fluff, time skip

warnings: slight angst, asshole!atsumu?, hospital, mentions of death

notes: i’m only on episode two of season four so i’ve literally never heard this man speak a word, but i wrote this for some reason asjdfkl

↳ DIRECTORY

He was revolutionary—that was what flashed in bright lights in the media, magazines, and news when the name Miya Atsumu came into the picture. It was an honorable title, one that he’d earned from his years of experience, years of effort to become the best player he could possibly be. 

Fans of the game couldn’t help but admire his ambition, his confidence when it came to setting—when it came to being on the court. There was nowhere else he seemed to fit, no where else that deemed worthy of a man like him.

He was simply made to play volleyball, he was put on the planet to coordinate the team and help lead them to their respective victories. The drive he had was envious, admirable even to professionals that were years ahead of him in experience. 

But there was a catch, just as there always seemed to be a catch when things appear too perfect or other-worldly, as Miya Atsumu was considered the most egocentric man in all of Japan. 

Yes, his talent was astonishing and his looks trumped some of the most handsome men in the world, but he was a complete and utter narcissist to the public eye. A complete asshole in all senses of empathy. 

He was perhaps an enigma. A man that no one person could quite figure out. A total mystery to everyone but those close to him—to everyone but his twin-brother and the few teammates that he considered friends.

And it wasn’t that the public wanted to hate him, they wanted nothing more than to find a redeeming quality, something that would save his reputation—the ignorant reputation that he’d somehow managed to build himself over the course of his professional career.

Tabloids constantly had new headlines to publish, weekly reports on whatever star-born attitude Atsumu had acted on in public, during games, or even in the safety of the team’s after parties—parties that he’d rarely be found at.

The most common hate train would be the look he’d give the camera every time he so much as scored a point mid-match. The cocky, full of himself gaze to the viewers watching at home, as if to say that he was the real King of the Court. 

Holding up his hands in the shape of a heart, Atsumu would smile with a smug grin, teeth flashing white and sticking his tongue out dramatically. He’d hold the position for a few seconds, making sure that the camera got a good take of his face, before returning to the adrenaline rush of the game.

It was as if he became an even better player after his boastful routine, focusing on the game as if it was life or death, as if he would be ruined if they were to lose a single point—frightening the other team with one glance, one look forcing them to crumble underneath their own dead weight.

With his rare intimidating attitude, the Black Jackals had little to nothing to worry about when it came to their setter. He was reliable, always there to pick up the slack when all odds seemed to be against them—when the books refused to read in their favor.

And his teammates absolutely loved him, they knew him better than nearly anyone other than Osamu. When microphones and interviewers shoved misguided questions in their faces, they’d always defend him, as they were more than just players on the same side of the court—they were practically brothers.

So, when it’d be time to stay after the game to greet the fans, give them kisses on the cheek while the camera cemented their meeting in history, his friends paid no mind to how quickly Atsumu would rush out of the building. They’d pay no attention to how he’d refuse to entertain his fans, only stopping for one girl—one girl who’d offered him a bouquet of bright yellow daisies. 

“Thank you.” He’d mutter, nodding his head at the young girl before stalking off, ignoring how she fawned over the beauty of his facial features, obsessing over the way he’d just so much as acknowledged her existence. 

Pulling out of the stadium’s parking lot was always a big hassle, with the media and paparazzi awaiting his exit, video cameras taping his every move and step he took. There was zero privacy for him, every one of his secrets always seeming to be on film.

But Atsumu didn’t care, he didn’t mind running over a few parking cones, forcing the photographers to jump out of his car’s way, back onto the sidewalk where they belonged. He had absolutely no disregard for their safety according to the new’s titles.

As well as no respect to traffic laws. Speeding limits was a thing of the past in his mind, always going about twenty miles over, whether that was on a highway or neighborhood street. His life ran on double time, needing to be in a rush, a rush away from his duties.

His sports car headed north on the daily, never straying from its path, in pursuit of the same destination every day—every time he had the chance to escape the responsibilities of being a world-known athlete.

And though the world liked to act as if they knew everything about him, as if he was an open book whose chapters were updated every week, no one knew why Atsumu would spend so much time at the international hospital. Why he’d enter the building in the evenings and leave at dawn.

Even today, after the loss of a championship match, he wore the brightest smile on his face while holding a massive bouquet of yellow daisies—the flower that’d always accompany him through the blank grey walls of the healing center.

The grin would stay plastered, the expression reading ingenuity as he’d walk through the automatic doors, taking a final glance back to make sure that no one had followed him, before letting the facade crumble—before he let it dissolve into a somber frown. 

“Looking beautiful as always.” Atsumu laughed, waltzing up to the front desk, greeting his favorite worker as she rolled her eyes, passing him the check in sheet with a pointed look. “How’s my girl doing?”

The woman behind the counter took a deep breath, inspecting his signature to ensure that he hadn’t signed in the wrong place, before looking up to respond to his question—the same question that he asked her every day.

“Waiting for you.” She said, gesturing that everything was alright and he could proceed to the dual elevators that carried him to the top floor, the floor in which permanent residents stayed. “She’s up there waiting, just like she always is.”

Blowing the clerk a joking kiss, Atsumu carried on, holding the bouquet with a death grip, picking at the flowers to make sure that they looked their absolute best—that they deserved to be held in his favorite girl’s hands. 

Standing in the elevator, his heart dropped at each ding. It was a sound that he had never gotten used to, one that haunted him as he slept, taunting him as if to say that the minutes were counting down—the minutes losing their value, the minutes he had left with her decreasing. 

Despite how much he loathed the noise, how he wished he could shut it all off, make time stop just so he could have an infinite amount of moments by her side—he knew that life would come to the point in which he’d hear that sound one last time. A point in which he’d leave the building and never have a reason to return. 

As he approached the room he knew all too well, Atsumu brought his hand up to a light knock on the door, giving her a little heads up that he was there, that he didn’t forget about her even though he’d maintained his constant routine for months now. 

“Is that the famous Miya Atsumu I hear?” Y/N’s melodious voice called out, knowing all too well that her beloved boyfriend had arrived to harass her. Her already enlarged heart grew bigger at the sight of his brown eyes and golden hair that she’d always try to spot on the court.

While the world admired him for his physical beauty, she knew him for the beauty inside. The beauty that she was so blessed to see, the real personality that was reserved for her and her alone—not even Osamu had seen him so gentle, so caring. 

“Yer favorites,” he held out the bouquet to her in a regal manner, presenting it as if she were a queen and it was her crown. His dramatics sent her into a fit of giggles, accepting the flowers with a scoff as he rose up to press a soft kiss on her awaiting lips. 

“I saw you.” She whispered, pulling him down to meet her smile once more, relishing in the feeling of their love connecting. It was a feeling that she was addicted to, one that she longed for whenever he was away. “I saw you and the stupid little heart that you flash me on television.”

Atsumu helped her move over on the hospital bed, making enough room for him to lay down beside her as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder, his head resting on top of hers. “Stupid? You sound like the rest of ‘em.”

“No one would be calling it stupid if they knew what it meant.” He pinched her cheeks, puckering her lips to a pout and kissing her over and over again. “If they knew I only do it because I want my girl to be proud of me.”

He sighed, holding her as if she would disappear if he let go, his fear of losing her of greater importance than any public opinion or false story. His fears being valid and reasonable as neither of them knew how much time they had left—how much time they had left to be totally and completely in love. 

© aitarose.tumblr 2021. do not copy or claim my writing, works, themes, copy and paste my words, or headers as your own

[1dfangirls35]

The Language of Your Soul

An enemies to lovers Ballet AU in 5 Acts

Masterlist

Act I

A/N:

First of all, thank you so much to @booksncoffee for the absolutely gorgeous banner!

I am so excited to share this story with you all! Inspired in part by a night rewatching Center Stage on Netflix and from years of ballet classes, I hope this AU brings a new twist on Harry fics (and maybe even helps you gain a new appreciation for the world of ballet). Please note, while I have used my own 10+ years of classical ballet training in addition to research on this topic to hopefully make this as realistic as possible, this is still a work of fiction- and some details may have been changed to better fit the constraints of the story. The companies mentioned in this fic are real, however this story and its characters are entirely works of fiction. On a more personal note, while I have chosen to publish this story now and believe I will be able to maintain weekly updates to its entirety, I am preparing to take my boards in less than four weeks. Should I not update as scheduled- please be patient and know that an update is only a few weeks away! :) Thank you so much for reading!

Warnings: This story will contain language, mentions of emotional abuse from a parent and eating disorders. Please read at your own discretion.

Ten Weeks to Opening Night

Albert Einstein once said, "dancers are the athletes of God." Giselle Mason certainly doesn't feel like pne of God's athletes at the moment. Not with the way her muscles are screaming with every movement that she makes as she stretches before class, not with the way her right hip cracks as she lifts her leg onto the bar, and certainly not with the way her feet sting as she tapes up yet another blister on her toe before shoving her foot into her pointe shoes for another day full of torture.

Giselle stands, sticking one last bobby pin into the bun of her nearly ebony hair and finding her spot at the front of the barre in the center of the studio. She grasps the wooden cylinder with her left hand before releasing her body in a forward bend, taking a deep breath in and then a deep breath out. There is a familiar ache in her hamstrings as she begins to stretch, which loosens ever so slightly with every breath.

And so begins her daily morning routine in the studio. Fifteen minutes of stretching before company class begins. Relaxing each hamstring, hip flexor and spinal muscle until a sense of calm washes over her body. Letting her mind drift into a thoughtless focus, preparing itself for the waves of choreography that would be coming in minutes. Typically, this time is quiet; the only melody present the rhythmic breathing of company members preparing for class. But today, the studio seems to be filled with an underlying buzz. And Giselle doesn't have the slightest idea why.

"I heard he slept with the artistic director's wife, so they kicked him out of the Royal," she hears one of the new corps de ballet members murmur.

"I mean have you seen him, I don't blame her for getting her hands on a piece of him," another girl giggles.

"Did you hear, G?" Caleb, Giselle's friend, whispers as he slides into a spot on the barre behind her, adjusting the black bandana keeping his signature black curls in place across his forehead.

"Hear what?" Giselle asks, removing her leg from the bar before reaching down to adjust the black leg warmer that had fallen down her calf.

"They've hired Harry Styles- you know from the Royal," Caleb adds as if Giselle hasn't heard of Harry Styles. Everyone who was anyone in the ballet world had heard of Harry Styles. A good chunk of the non-ballet world might even be able to point him out as that 'sexy male ballet dancer' from the Sports Illustrated nude edition.

Harry Styles was a rare kind of natural talent. The type of person that was put on this earth to dance ballet. His talent had landed him the honor of being the youngest person to be named a principal in the history of the Royal Ballet. And if the rumors were true, that talent had also landed him the reputation of one of the ballet world's most arrogant. Giselle had heard several stories about how the male dancer had been a terror to work with- demanding, rude, uncooperative. Giselle didn't doubt it- people of that skill and fame rarely developed without some sense of entitlement.

"Why would we hire Harry Styles, we've already got Viktor?" Giselle questions. This isn't the first time a rumor has circulated through the American Ballet Theatre company, and it certainly won't be the last time. 

"Rumor is they want Viktor to retire," Caleb shrugged before stepping back to his place behind Giselle as Mistress Ivanova claps to gain the class's attention.

Giselle couldn't believe the rumors. Viktor Dmitri retiring from ABT? He was practically the face of the company. The man had been dancing for the American Ballet Theatre for over a decade. He'd been the principal ever since Giselle had joined the company as a corps de ballet member five years ago. 

Giselle knew that retirement came early for a ballet dancer. Her own mother, the famous Natalia Korsakova, had retired at the age of 33 after a knee injury. Viktor had just turned 35, but he'd shown no signs of slowing down. She refused to believe that he was calling it quits. Or to believe that the board would be stupid enough to bring in someone with Harry Styles's toxic reputation into the company.

She shoves the thought aside. Viktor is in his usual place at the back of the studio and Harry Styles is nowhere to be seen. This was simply another piece of gossip threatening to distract everyone from the Swan Lake auditions tomorrow afternoon, and Giselle won't lose her focus. The auditions are too important.

Giselle Mason has dreamed of playing the role of Odette/Odile ever since she first watched her mother on stage at the age of four. It was one of her earliest memories of the theater- her mother twirling about in a bright white tutu that at that time Giselle could only dream of wearing. In fact, Giselle wasn't sure there had ever been a moment where her dream hadn't been to be a principal dancer at ABT, like her mother. She'd been in ballet shoes from the second she could walk, wore a leotard and tights more often than she'd worn pajamas, and didn't recognize herself in the mirror if her hair wasn't pulled back into a bun. She'd ate, slept and breathed the art form. But she supposed that all came with having a prima ballerina as a mother.

Natalia Korsakova was a ballet sensation. "One of the greatest to have ever danced," according to the New York Times  at the time of her retirement. The world had come to watch her dance and she'd traveled it performing: Russia, Australia, London, Paris. You name the location and Natalia Korsakova had danced there.

When Giselle was growing up, she was constantly told how lucky she was to have Natalia as a mother. To have seen the shows she's seen, to have met ballet royalty, to have traveled the world. But Giselle never felt lucky. Not when she was the accident that put her mother's career on hold for almost a year. Not when her mother was gone for months at a time performing, missing recitals, parent days and school concerts. And certainly not when an injury forced her mother into retirement, shifting her focus from her own artistic talents to turning her daughter into her next protegee.

Much to her mother's dismay, Giselle was not the younger version of her mother. She was good, great even, but she was no sensation. Giselle made soloist in her fourth year at ABT, which was a feat all on its own, unless you compared it to her mother's two. Giselle lacked the raw, natural talent that her mother possessed. Instead of her mother's high arches, she had her father's averagely flat feet. Instead of her mother's uncanny ability to match the music, Giselle had spent hours counting eights in her head to get down a rhythm. Instead of looking effortless the first time she ran through a routine, Giselle spent hours in the studio after rehearsal, running through the choreography until it wasn't possible for her to get it wrong. Giselle had gotten to where she was because of her hard work, not her natural talent- something her mother would never let her forget. To Natalia Korsakova, Giselle would never measure up.

The Swan Lake auditions are Giselle's first real shot at landing a lead, especially with principal dancer Anna Elliot out with a back injury for the foreseeable future. Giselle wants this role more than anything. To prove to herself that she is capable of  following in her mother's footsteps. And to prove to her mother that she is just as capable a dancer as she. For once in her life, she wants to hear her mother say not that she'd lost her spot or forgot to point her toes, but that she was proud of Giselle. Four words- that's all Giselle really wants.

"And will start first position, demi, demi, grand, demi and port de bra. Repeat in 2nd, 4th and 5th and then balance in fifth position arms in fifth," Mistress Ivanova barks, before gesturing to the pianist to begin.

Giselle focuses on her movements as the music begins. She tightens her core, elongates her neck and reaches her fingertips to the edges of her silhouette. Her legs quiver slightly as she bends her knees into the first grand plié, her mind focusing on maintaining her turnout.

"Relax that face Giselle," Mistress Ivanova corrects, as she makes her way around the room. "I don't want to see that this is work."

Giselle takes another deep breath, this time releasing her lips from their concentrated place and focusing on her breath. She lets the downtown Manhattan studio disappear from the background. Gone is the distant honking of impatient taxi drivers maneuvering their way through the New York City traffic. Gone is the light shining in from the full-length windows looking out at the city skyline- well what you could see of the skyline behind the crumbly brick building neighboring the school. There was nothing but the dancer, the barre and the music flowing gently through her veins.

"Beautiful lines Teagan, thank you," Giselle hears Mistress Ivanova say from across the room and she fights the urge to roll her eyes. Giselle has known Teagan Davidson since she was fourteen years old, when Teagan had moved from California to New York to join the ABT school. Over the course of a decade of competing for roles, partners and teacher's praises, the two had developed quite a rivalry. To Giselle, there was almost no better feeling than snagging a role that she knew Teagan also had her eyes on.

Giselle uses Teagan's praise as motivation to work harder, feeling the burn in her inner thighs as she pushes further into her grand plié in second. The role of Odette/Odile was hers, Teagan would have to settle for understudy.

The class is in the middle of their balance, Giselle's focus locked in on a spot just at the edge of the window at the rear of the studio when a loud bang reverberates through the room. Dancers drop their balance and turn their heads, looking to see who has caused such a commotion with their entrance.

"Mr. Styles, you're late," Mistress Ivanova snaps.

He is taller than Giselle imagined, and even from this distance she can see the definition in his arms through the black tank top that clings to his body. His hair is slightly disheveled, curling at the top. His face plastered into some cheeky grin, dimples present on both cheeks, like he knows exactly what he's doing, interrupting class like this. Almost like he's enjoying the attention. He throws his black messenger bag to the side before grabbing his ballet shoes and scurrying over to an open spot at the barre near the front of the studio.

"My apologies," he replies in a thick British accent. His tone sounds anything but apologetic.

"Damn, he's even better-looking in person than he is in magazines," Caleb mutters under his breath, eliciting an eye roll from Giselle.

"Well, I suppose after that entrance," Mistress Ivanova sighs, stepping to the front of the class. "Now is as good of time as any to announce that Mr. Styles will be joining our company as a principal dancer."

Gasps fill the room, and Giselle turns her head to look at Viktor, whose face is stoic after Harry's entrance. A low chatter fills the studio, everyone trying to figure out exactly what is going on. Would he get the lead in Swan Lake? Would he be understudying Viktor?

"Silence!" Mistress Ivanova shouts. "This chatter can wait until after class is over!" She turns to face Harry, her lips turned into a stern frown. "If you'll find a place at the barre Mr. Styles, we will continue our class."

Giselle watches as he slides into a spot at the front of the room, shooting a grin at the young company member behind him. Giselle rolls her eyes, returning her focus to the mirror in front of her. Two minutes with the company and she was sure Harry Styles was exactly who she thought he would be.

Giselle tries to forget Harry Styles is in class with them. Instead she focuses on her breathing, her turnout, the rhythm that comes from the pianist in the corner of the room. She watches the early morning New York City sunrise reflect off of the mirrors, leaving little spots of sunlight over the gray Marley floor. Everyone else in the company could focus on Harry Styles all they want, but she is only focusing on one thing- and that is landing the role of her dreams tomorrow.

But Harry Styles wasn't the type of person whose presence could be forgotten so easily.

********

Harry Styles isn't scared of a little attention. In fact, he typically thrives on it. That's why he is a performer after all. To Harry, there is no better feeling than knowing all eyes are upon you, that you are the center of attention, the focus of the room. Maybe that is a prideful and egotistical thing to say, but it is true. Everyone wants to feel important, valued, admired- and anyone who says otherwise is a liar.

But the attention Harry has been getting since he walked into the American Ballet Theatre studio a little over twelve hours ago has not been the type of attention he necessarily sought out. He knew there would be rumors, leaving the only company he had ever been a part of during his dance career was sure to draw up the best of them, but something about this felt different. It was the whispers. The stares. The way some members of the room were staring at Harry as if he was a god and a few wouldn't dare look in his direction.

Harry doesn't know what's come over him- this wavering self-confidence. Maybe it's this new place. This new country. Or maybe it's the fact that in the words of his agent, if he "doesn't get his act together" he will never dance at this level again. And if he's not dancing on the world's biggest stages, well, Harry might as well not be dancing at all.

Harry grabs his phone from the side pocket of his black messenger bag, connecting it to the Bluetooth speaker he found in the corner of the studio and presses play on his hip hop playlist. He needs something to drown out his thoughts, and classical music just doesn't cut it. As the beat begins to fill the studio, Harry lets the music take over his body and begins to dance.

Giselle tries to focus on her music, but there's the noise of a pounding bass in the background interfering with concentration. She's always the only one at the studio this late at night- that's why she comes- to be alone and without distractions.

She tries to ignore it, focusing on the one and two of the music as she fouettés. One and two, three and four, five and... a boom from somewhere in the building breaks her concentration and she falls out of her turn, letting out a groan. This could not be happening to her the night before auditions, and if she found out that Teagan was here trying to interfere with her practice...

Giselle makes her way down the hall, guided by the incessant bass that sounds like it belongs in the backseat of a teenager's car and not one of the most prestigious ballet studios in the world. When she turns the corner to enter the studio, it's not Teagan she sees but Harry Styles.

But he's not dancing. He's laying on the floor, wearing nothing but a pair of black athletic shorts that show off the god-like definition of his thighs. His signature butterfly tattoo stands out on the middle of his chest, beads of sweat dripping towards the center of his stomach, the bass vibrating the mirrors around him. He doesn't notice her at first. How could he with the music so loud?

"Excuse me," Giselle says loudly in an effort to get his attention. His body doesn't even flinch.

"Excuse me!" she yells this time. 

Harry looks up. In the corner of the studio, towards the door stands a girl. Her almost black hair is pulled tightly back into a bun. Her thin arms are crossed like she's about to lecture him, and her lips are held in a tight line that looks anything but happy. The corners of Harry's mouth curve upwards in a grin, entertained by the fury that was seeming to come from her tiny body.

She taps her foot impatiently, like she's waiting for something. Harry realizes that she is- she's waiting for him to turn off his music.

He sighs, reaching over to his phone beside him and sliding one sweaty finger across the screen to bring the rhythm to a halt.

"Yes?" he asks expectantly, not bothering to move his body from his reclining position.

"Other people in this studio are trying to practice, you know. It's kinda hard to do that with this," she gestures into the air, as if trying to find an appropriate adjective to describe the torture that had been gracing her ears over the past half hour.

"Not a fan of my music?" Harry smirked.

"I'm not a fan of someone disrupting my rehearsal." Giselle spit back.

"Rehearsal? It's bloody 11pm."

"I know what time it is, and like I said, your music is interfering with my ability to practice." Giselle stares Harry right in the eyes. He doesn't intimidate her, and she's not going to back down until he agrees to turn down his music.

"Wasn't aware you were the owner of this studio," Harry taunts.

"I could say the same about you." Giselle moves her hands to her hips. Just agree to turn off the damn music, she thinks to herself, even though she knows at this point, it's not worth the time it will take to warm back up to continue practicing.

Harry sits up, grabbing a blue towel from inside his bag and wiping the sweat that remains off his forehead. "Fine, music's off. Continue your rehearsal. I'm too jet lagged for this shit," he stands, wrapping the towel around his neck.

"Thanks," Giselle says under her breath, before making her way back to her studio, where she knew she would be gathering her own belongings.

Harry groans, grabbing his bag from the floor and sliding it over his shoulder. You could travel halfway across the world and still run into the same entitled ballet brats who thought they ran the place. It's those type of people, company members and otherwise, that were precisely the reason he had left the Royal. Well, not that he had necessarily had a say in that scenario, but they had been the cause of all of his problems.

You just have to dance, Harry, he tries to tell himself. But Harry knows that as much as he tries, there's a lot more too it than that.

**********

“Gi!" Caleb exclaims, bounding down the hallway towards her without concern for anyone in his way. "Cast list is up."

Giselle gulps. She isn't sure that she is ready for this. The look of disappointment on her mother's face if she doesn't land the part. The list of corrections that her mother has come up with from watching Giselle's audition. "Now you see there, you've lost your center. You're never going to make that triple if you don't hold your center Giselle." The reminder that "you only have so many opportunities to prove your worth, before they move onto the younger, better version of you." It didn't matter to her mother if Giselle was the youngest soloist at ABT by five years. It didn't matter if nearly every other soloist had previously understudied for the role. Everything but a lead was a disappointment to Natalia Korsakova.

"C'mon," Caleb exclaims, and before Giselle has a moment to collect herself she's being pulled down the hallway by her arm.

And there it is. The thin, white piece of paper that holds the fate of her next ten weeks in its hands. When she looks at it at first, she thinks she must be dreaming. Because her name has never been on that spot on the list before. Not since she officially joined the company five years ago.

Odette/Odile- Giselle Mason

Sigfried - Harry Styles

She feels frozen. Like she's in a dream and she's paralyzed. It's what she's always wanted-this role and yet, suddenly it feels like a whole lot of pressure.

"You did it Gi," Caleb exclaims, lifting her up and spinning her around before Giselle even has a moment to look any further down the list. Giselle laughs, giddy with excitement. "New York will have never seen a more beautiful Odette."

Giselle rolls her eyes at his comment. Caleb, her friend since joining the American Ballet School at the age of six and partner for many years had always been her biggest cheerleader. In a way, he made up for what she didn't have in her mother.

"And you Caleb?" Giselle asks, realizing in her excitement that she had forgotten that her best friend also had a role in the this ballet.

"You're looking at the newest Benno," Caleb says with a grin. Giselle often wondered what it would be like to be like Caleb. To be happy with any role. To not care about his place in the company. To simply want to dance. Caleb had always been like that- relaxed, calm- the antithesis to Giselle who was always high strung and anxious. Perhaps that's why they'd always been such good friends, because they balanced each other perfectly. Giselle pushed Caleb when he needed some extra motivation and Caleb- albeit not always successful- tried his best to keep Giselle out of her own head.

Giselle watches as Teagan makes her way over to the board, her long black hair swinging from the ponytail at the crown of her head. She grins in slight satisfaction as she sees Teagan's face turn into a frown. Giselle turns and gives Caleb her best, "what did she get?" eyes. He exaggeratedly mouths, "UNDERSTUDY".

As if sensing that she is the topic of conversation, Teagan looks over at the two. "Congrats Giselle," she says, her face moving in a way that makes it seem like the words taste disgusting leaving her mouth.

"You as well," Giselle responds, to which Teagan only scoffs and storms off.

"You know she's going to make your life living hell as your understudy don't you?" Caleb said with a laugh.

"Ugh, I know," Giselle groaned.

"It will be worth it though. You are going to be dancing the role you've always dreamed of." Giselle smiled. "Plus," Caleb begins, leaning down so his mouth is next to Giselle's ear. "You get to dance with the greatest male dancer of our generation. Think of all the hours you're gonna get to spend looking at that GORGEOUS body."

Giselle groans. Her perfect moment temporarily ruined by the realization that she would have to dance with Harry Styles. Sure, he may be talented, a great dancer, and likely a great partner. But his entrance yesterday and their encounter last night told her everything she needed to know about Harry Styles. And she was sure that working with him would be anything but easy.

"That GORGEOUS body," Giselle imitates Caleb with an exaggeration of the word, "Doesn't make up for the fact that the guy's an asshole."

"Okay, okay, point taken. Now can we go get some lunch?"

Giselle nods, but she already knows she's not hungry. Instead, all she can think about is how she's going to get through the next ten weeks of rehearsals with a man she already loathes.

**********

Giselle slides into the rehearsal studio with extra joy in her step later that afternoon. She's so on Cloud 9 that she doesn't even realize Harry standing at the barre doing pliés as she hums the opening notes of Swan Lake aloud.

"Sorry didn't know anyone else was in here already," she apologizes quickly, standing and stretching out her feet.

Harry looks at her, his face hard and eyes sharp. If he recognized her as the girl who interrupted his jam session last night his face didn't show it. "And who are you?" Harry asks, his voice laced with condescendence.

"Odette," Giselle smiles, the words feeling foreign leaving her mouth.

"Obviously," Harry scoffs, and Giselle feels her confidence waver. "Who are you?"

"Giselle Mason, soloist."

"Doesn't ring a bell," the corners of Harry's mouth turn up at his comment, like he gets satisfaction out of reminding others that they aren't the household name that he is.

Giselle wants to say something back. Something sharp and witty to show him that just because he was one of the greatest dancers in the world and she was still trying to make her way into the spotlight didn't mean that he could treat her like a nobody. She was going to be his partner after all- whether he liked it or not. But then Gregory Alexander, ABT's Artistic Director, enters the room, clapping his hands and tells them they are about to begin on the Act II Pas de Deux and Giselle doesn't have a chance to say otherwise.

"As new partners you will need to put in the time to understand each other. Build trust. Anticipate the other's movement. Portray to the audience that you are a swan and a prince in love." Gregory moves his arms in the air theatrically, as if he isn't wearing a designer suit.

"Now I understand that the ten weeks we have to prepare before our season debut isn't an ideal amount of time to form a relationship with a new partner. But in this case, it simply must do." Gregory's face turned serious, the wrinkles on his forehead more defined as he furrows his eyebrows. "I expect that the two of you will put in the time outside of your scheduled rehearsals to work on this chemistry. Anna and Viktor will also be assisting with rehearsals and my hope is that they will also be able to assist the two of you with this transition."

"Gregory," Harry interrupts, then as if realizing he'd made a mistake, he corrects himself. "Sir."

Gregory nods.

"I'm not sure what the concern is. I've danced with hundreds of partners in my career, I'm not sure how the other principal's would have much more experience than me?" Giselle thinks Harry is meaning this as a question but it comes out more like a statement.

Giselle watches as Gregory's eyes narrow again. He looked irritated, and why wouldn't he be? Harry had been here all but forty-eight hours and was already questioning the artistic director's decisions. 

"That may be the case, Mr. Styles," Gregory paused. "But when the two of you step onto Metropolitan Opera House stage in ten weeks, I expect the audience to believe that you two have been dancing together for years. Have I made myself clear?"

Harry nods, this time remaining quiet.

"Now then, I'd like us to start with the Act II Pas de Deux. The very beginning- with your entrance Harry."

It's an hour into rehearsals when Giselle hears the echo of heels clicking down the wooden hallways. She doesn't even have to look up when the steps stop as they reach the studio floor. She could recognize that walk anywhere.

"Aahh, Natalia!" Gregory exclaims. "So glad you could stop by," Gregory reaches over to embrace Giselle's mother, his grey hair brushing the sides of her face as he kisses each cheek.

"Mr. Styles, I'd like to introduce you to Natalia Korsakova, former ABT principal and member of our board."

Natalia Korsakova looks as put together as always. Her dark brown hair pulled tightly into a neat French twist. Her tight black dress and coordinating pumps show off every bit of the dancer's body that she still maintained. Giselle watches as her mother's mouth curves to form a polite smile.

"A ballet legend. It's an honor to meet you Madame," Harry says offering his hand.

"The pleasure is all mine. I'm so glad you are joining us here at ABT. And what a joy it will be to watch you next to my daughter," Natalia gestures towards Giselle, with a polite smile plastered on her face that was generally reserved for generous donors and patrons of the ballet. It is all a show. That's all Giselle's mother ever did was put on a production. She was a performer after all, how could anyone expect her life to be anything but a crowd-pleasing performance?

"Your daughter?" Harry turns to look at Giselle, raising an eyebrow. His eyes narrow, as if he's caught Giselle in a lie. As if she'd snuck her way into this position and was just hoping that someone wouldn't notice she wasn't the real deal. "Why that makes this even more special."

Giselle fights every urge to roll her eyes from across the room. It is clear that Harry Styles is every bit as much of a performer as her mother. Just minutes before he was looking at her as if he had been paired with an amateur and suddenly working with her is 'something special'?

"I'm going to watch rehearsal for a bit," Natalia announces, making her way over to a stool next to the pianist. "Carry on." The pit in the bottom of Giselle's stomach grows as her mother takes a seat next to Gregory in front of the mirror.

"Odette makes sense to me now," Harry whispers into Giselle's ear, as he slides behind her to resume practice. It takes everything in her to keep her face stoic as Harry's hands settle once again on her waist.

Rehearsal goes badly. Giselle can't seem to get her leg into the attitude position that Gregory wants, she losing her balance on her penchés, and Harry almost drops her on several promenades. Giselle says almost, because someone as experienced as Harry Styles would never let his partner hit the ground, but she should have, because she surely wasn't holding her weight quite right. And then there's the fact that Gregory pronounced that Giselle "looks at Harry as if he is the villain of the story instead of the prince she's fallen in love with". 

Giselle wants to say that's because he is the villain. The villain of her story anyways, the person that is somehow going to turn her dream role into somewhat of a nightmare. Why couldn't she be dancing with Viktor? He was so patient and kind and he would never look at his partner as if she deserved to be in the audience instead of on stage with him.

After yet another failed run through of the first half of the pas de deux, Gregory announces that they are done for the day, but that he expects to see them in the studio bright and early tomorrow morning to work on their timing. Giselle's never been so thankful for a rehearsal to be over, and as she sits down to remove her pointe shoes, running her hands over her swollen feet, she watches Harry leave the studio without saying a word.

"I hope you realize how big of an opportunity this is Giselle. It's not one you should take lightly," her mother's voice startles her, as Giselle had almost forgotten she was there. Almost.

Natalia stands above Giselle, one hand on her hips and the other on her forehead, as if watching today's rehearsal had been exhausting for her. It probably was exhausting for her, keeping tally of all the things that Giselle had done wrong for the past two hours. Natalia's voice is shrill as she speaks again. "There are thousands of ballerinas around the world that could only dream of getting to dance with Harry Styles. And here you are dancing with him in his first show with ABT. That's an enormous responsibility, darling. This performance with him will set the stage for his entire career with our company. One that the board is hoping will last until his retirement."

Giselle nods. That's all she can do when her mother begins one of her lectures- nod. She thought maybe this would be the time that her mother told her congratulations. The time that her mother did what she'd watched countless other mother's do during her time as a dancer, wrap their arms around their daughter and express their pride to them. But instead, today is like any other day, and even with a lead role in an ABT production, Giselle still hasn't done enough to make her mother proud.

Giselle shoves her shoes into her bag, slinging it over her shoulder as she stands.

"And Giselle?" her mother adds, as she makes her way towards the door.

"Yes mom?" 

"Might want to hit a few more cardio classes this week too, my dear. Got to make sure you are going to be an easy dancer to partner with." 

And with that comment Natalia Korsakova clicks away, leaving Giselle standing in the middle of studio wondering if her biggest dream has suddenly become her biggest nightmare.

[tokyoghoose]

something that never was

pairing: daisuke kambe x reader

playlist: even if it's a lie - matt maltese*, a soulmate who wasn't meant to be - jessica benko, the less i know the better - tame impala, id rather go blind - beyonce ( cadillac records ), the house we never built - gabrielle aplin*, i cant make you love me - dave thomas junior, i go crazy - orla gartland, blow my brains out - tikkle me, hidden in the sand - tally hall

warnings: angst, mentions of cheating,

summary: the coldness he radiates gets the best of you, ultimately leading to the end.

announcements!

i dont really see daisuke cheating unless it was a misunderstanding or smth, but i liked the idea of this fic. Let me know what you think!

you can tell i didnt write this in a sitting lol. Im vv sorry if it's hard to follow!

feedback is welcome and appreciated! requests are open!

There's a warm body beside you, yet the bed feels cold. The arm around your waist feels almost as foreign as the face in front of you. It hurts to look at him, to feel him. It hurts to even be around him. He's so beautiful but he feels like half the man he once was. It's disheartening.

Maybe the saying, what you don't know can't hurt you is correct because you were feeling the repercussions right about now. Curiosity really did kill the cat, and at this point, you don't even know how to get satisfaction from it. How does one bring up cheating to their partner? Especially when the partner is like Daisuke.

He likes to brush things off without paying a price except for whatever was in his bank account, the type to hand you a card and say 'go get yourself something pretty.' And it wasn't like he was a bad lover, in fact, it was very easy to fall in love with him. He has a charm about him that's magnetic, one glance and suddenly it's impossible to look away. Or at least that was your experience.

With the final confirmation that closing your eyes will do nothing other than bringing pictures into your head, you turn your back to him and try and distance your body from his. It doesn't do anything to help when he pulls you closer subconsciously, except for maybe it makes you want to cry.

You'd confront him tomorrow, you decided.

If you need to.

———

The pace you set is leisure and if kt wasn't for the poor nail bed quickly coming to nothing, it'd seem like you weren't completely losing your head. It's all you can think about. Daisuke out with some girl—who you know for a fact isn't his sister, and who is all over him. He didn't even make a move to push her off! He hates that kind of attention so if he didn't object it, then he was asking for it. He wanted the girl on his side. In fact, for someone who insists the other person sits across from him at a restaurant- he looked quite comfortable with her nearly in his lap.

Maybe you're overthinking this, y/n.

The door clicks open and your ears strain to hear the sound of Daisuke's dress shoes. He's rather indulgent when it comes to dressing wear and the shoes were practically silent, even with the short heel on the back.

"I'm home." He says to no one particular, taking off his trenchcoat and hanging it on the rack beside the door. He stops his path to the bedroom when he sees you frozen in place and staring in the living room. He merely quirks a brow, going to take off his suit and tie.

Suddenly you can't speak and you have tunnel vision. It's unfair how calm he always looks—it's almost smug like he knows everything about you and more. Like he can read your mind and tell you your darkest thoughts and when you'll die because let's be honest, it'll probably be by his hand. Maybe you should back out now before you can say anything. Forget it all because what if you're mistaken? The more you think, the more weight is added onto your shoulders and the more it pushes you down, down further into the hole you want to crawl into. Maybe you should let it because all you want to do now is escape his piercing gaze. His eyes are studying you, taking in your form and the cogs in his brain are turning to find an explanation as to why you are standing there like a psychopath and not welcoming him home like you usually do.

You feel like you're drowning. Is the light getting dimmer? The black around your vision only seems to close in around Daisuke and you try to look anywhere else but his face. There's water in your ears, the popping of them only intensifies until you can feel it pounding into your head with faint static.

Am I going to pass out?

It's not until his hand comes down gently on your shoulder that the closing circle of vision widens out and suddenly all the imaginary water rushes from your ears. You glance down at his rings before back up him, barely catching the end of his words.

"Are you alright?"

He's never been one to beg, so you would have to answer now or he'll leave it be for the rest of the night and probably months after until you're like this again.

"I-can we talk?"

He eyes you suspiciously, narrowing his eyes and keeping his brow raised before nodding, slipping his tie off around his neck, folding it neatly into the palm of his hand. He gestures for you to start the conversation, going to the minibar curving around the kitchen and living area.

When you don't reply he urges you on, "Why so tense? Did something happen, darling?"

It'd seem like he didn't really care from how cold his voice was, but you've grown accustomed to the monotone to know that he truly is concerned for your health. He genuinely wants to know why you're acting so odd. It only makes this so much harder? You're wrong- you have to be. This must be a sick trick your brain has played on you. Or he must be playing some sick trick.

Anxiety settles itself into your gut and it seems like it won't leave anytime soon.

"Daisuke, are...- are you cheating on me?"

His eyebrows finally go lax but he doesn't look up from unbuttoning the cuffs of his white button-down. His fingers fidget at the buttons and instead of the previous loose form, his hand forms a fist.

"I- "

"Why—exactly, are you accusing me of this?"

His gaze sends chills down your spine. He's offended but he doesn't offer a defense. Suddenly your mouth is dry and you lose all your words? How exactly were you going to tell him you stumbled across him and some woman in a restaurant and practically stared them down for fifteen minutes.

You decide the bear it and swallow a lump that has formed in your throat.

"You were with a woman earlier this week snd well, the displays of affection that I saw were not very like you. You've been gone for long hours and even if you blamed it on the new job, Daisuke—you never tell me anything. Is she for a case? Are you using her for information? Go on, tell me about it. Give me a reason not to accuse you."

You regain your confidence but it falters when you meet his indifferent expression. You'd prefer it if he looked angry and the silence that fills the room is deafening and the tension suffocating.

"I can't tell you anything about our cases-"

"I'm your partner! What am I going to do? Rat you out to whoever is breaking the law? Why would I even how those connections, Daisuke?"

Daisuke inhales deeply through his nose like this whole conversation is a burden on him and you can't help but feel like a burden too. Was this relationship not worth the time to talk this out? One hand grips the bar and the other pinches the bridge of his nose.

"You aren't my partner, you're my fiance. My partner and I work together. So, no. I can't tell you about the cases."

You want to rip out your hair. This isn't about his stupid job or his stupid partner. This is about the dumb fucking restaurant and the dumb fucking woman who was hanging off him.

He can't actually be this dense!

"It's not about that! Either you aren't getting the point or you keep changing the subject because it's true!" Your voice rises in pitch, your confidence failing and turning more so into desperation. But you aren't crying yet. There are no tears and your eyes are dry and you absolutely refuse to cry in front of a Kambe.

It's like the beginning of your relationship all over again. A protective barrier around yourself so you don't get hurt and offended by his cold shoulder. Was it so bad to think you've moved on from that feeling? Why is it so difficult for him to just comfort you and push back those fears? Is he that emotionally stunted? You may not know much about his past and his family, but damn— at least you're trying to work through it with him. Can he put out a little more effort?

All he does is pour himself a glass. All he does... is pour himself a glass.

"You know what- forget it. If you're so entitled and so emotionally reserved that you can't even talk to me without a drink first, then I guess we'll talk about it another time—when you don't look like my voice gives you a headache."

Daisuke actually looks taken back by your words and you suddenly feel bad for hitting a sore spot. He may not have shown it often, but he doesn't particularly like not being able to show his true emotions; no matter the reason being.

"Y/N, wait.."

But you're back on adrenaline just as soon as he felt a drop, pushing past him to get to your coat. You just needed to calm down before you said something you'd truly regret. Words tended to stay in his mind much longer than they were intended to.

"I'm staying at my mother's. Don't call me, don't text me, don't come near me until you're ready to tell me what the hell you were doing with her. "

When he doesn't say anything more and you can practically hear the cogs in his head turn, you make your way out there door, making sure to slam it shut.

You slip on the coat angrily, slamming open the door without sparing him a glance but waiting for him to say something. Anything. Were you being too rash? You shake your head and scold yourself, mentally. You can't just turn around now, not after an outburst like that. He has to learn something from this.

Irrational or not, hopefully, his true colors would show.

[calacuspr]

This England team has shown us all what the power of sport really means

There have been a few times in recent years where the entire nation has appeared united and optimistic – and almost all of them have been connected to sport.

The World Cup in Italy in 1990, the EURO 96 in England and the London 2012 Olympic Games all come to mind as moments that will endure as epochs that transcend everything else going on in the world.

England has been particularly divided in recent years as the Leave and Remain factions argue; the challenges facing the nation during the COVID-19 pandemic; and the economic struggles that so many have encountered pretty much since the financial collapse a decade ago.

At Calacus, we work with organisations who see the value of sport to positively transform society and the England team has shown that throughout the build-up to EURO 2020 and beyond, they have brought the nation together in a way little else can.

Granted, it helped that England did so well, reaching the final of the tournament. It is hardly a new phenomenon that the squad is so multi-cultural, with players with family heritage from around the world.

While the aftermath of the defeat to Italy has shown the unpalatable side of society, the way in which the England manager and players have conducted themselves has been a masterclass in authentic communications.

STAY TRUE TO YOUR VALUES

Taking the knee has been part of football tradition in England for more than a year now, highlighting inequality and promoting diversity.

The England team have been criticised by many, with the Conservative MP for Ashfield, Lee Anderson, announcing that he would not watch “his beloved England team” while the players took the knee; Home Secretary Priti Patel suggesting that it was nothing more than “gesture politics.” and Prime Minister Boris Johnson refusing to criticise those who booed the team.

Given the racism that the likes of Marcus Rashford, Bukayo Saka, Raheem Sterling and others have suffered, particularly from online trolls, it’s remarkable that politicians sought to condemn them and accuse the team of Marxist tendencies and BLM affiliation rather than a compassionate plea for solidarity and equality over division.

England defender Tyrone Mings said: “Everyone’s entitled to their opinions. The home secretary is one of many, many people who oppose us taking the knee or refuse to defend it . . . we [have tried] to educate and inform the minority who refuse to acknowledge why we take the knee and want to boo it.”

Notably, the boos faded as the EURO 2020 tournament progressed and the team got to the later stages and it speaks volumes that many of those politicians who criticised the team then tried to associate themselves with them through staged photography that fooled no one.

CELEBRATE INCLUSION

This England team are no strangers to speaking up for those who don’t have a voice.

Marcus Rashford has campaigned for an end to child hunger and has twice forced the government to make u-turns over free school meals.

Raheem Sterling, one of the stars of the tournament for England and who has been vilified himself by media and fans alike, has fought hard to call out bigotry in the fight against racism.

EURO 2020 started during Pride month and saw players wear rainbow laces and captains use rainbow armbands, despite some mixed messaging from UEFA.

When England played Germany in the round of 16, captain Harry Kane joined his counterpart Manuel Neuer in wearing a rainbow armband with England's official Twitter account saying: “@HKane will join @DFB_Team 's Manuel Neuer in wearing a rainbow captain’s armband for tomorrow’s game at @wembleystadium to mark the end of Pride month, as the #ThreeLions stand in allyship with LGBTQ+ communities around the world.”

Kane himself explained: “From our point of view, it is a show of solidarity with the German national team from all of us at the England national team to be united in trying to kick out all inequalities there are. We’re on a huge platform on a big stage so it is obviously a great opportunity to do so.”

Jordan Henderson has shown himself to be a captain on and off the field, supporting local charities during lockdown as well as leading his Liverpool team to success over recent years.

He is thought to be one of the main drivers behind the team planning to donate its EURO 2020 prize money to good causes.

Their donation – which could be in the millions – will be made to NHS charities now that the football tournament has concluded.

The team made a statement last May which said: “Following positive discussions with the FA, the England senior men's squad are pleased to confirm that a significant donation from their international match fees will be made to NHS Charities Together via the #PlayersTogether initiative.

“This contribution will be taken from a fund already set aside to support a variety of worthy causes using all match fees collated since September 2018.”

While England supporters still let themselves down by booing national anthems at times during the tournament, it shows the progress that this England team has prompted that Joe White, an England fan who co-chairs Gay Gooners, Arsenal’s LGBT+ supporters group, attended the England v Germany match at Wembley Stadium “in full makeup.”

They wore red lipstick, shimmery eyeshadow and mascara along with a rainbow flag and England flag painted on their face to complete the look.

They tweeted: “This is a really small and personal point but today was my first game at Wembley in full makeup and overtly queer (as opposed to just camp). Absolutely no issues from fans and some lovely chats.

“Despite being absolutely petrified pre game, really proud of our fans”

Henderson responded: “Hi Joe great to hear you enjoyed the game as you should. No one should be afraid to go and support their club or country because football is for everyone no matter what. Thanks for your support, enjoy the rest of the Euros.”

How refreshing that the LGBTQ+ community can now support the national team with no fear of abuse or intimidation and that the Three Lions Pride can display positive banners – understandably celebrating Henderson’s goal against Ukraine.

ENCOURAGE TEAMWORK

England manager Gareth Southgate arguably had one of the most talented England squads in recent memory.

The team’s headquarters at St George’s Park became a centre of fun with photocalls featuring the likes of Bukayo Saka jumping into a pool on a flying unicorn inflatable and Ed Sheeran playing a special concert for the team not to mention a preview showing of Top Gun Maverick and call with its star Tom Cruise.

While early on, there was uproar among fans over players who had been left out of the starting XI or even the squad, with flair giving way to pragmatism, Southgate showed how much the team ethic mattered to him.

After the 4-0 victory over Ukraine, Southgate paid tribute to the members of his squad who had not featured much during the tournament.

He said: “I am thinking about the players who I had to leave out of the 23 because they have been such a massive part of what we’re doing. It is so difficult to keep a group of this size feeling valued and yet those guys have been phenomenal about how they have sacrificed themselves for the group.

"I feel the responsibility keenly. But it is these challenges that make us."

Not once during the tournament did any stories leak of disgruntled players, while the players reflected the afore-mentioned values by resisting well-trodden paths of nationalism that previous encounters with the likes of Germany may have engendered.

In fact, this England team have shown dignity in the face of criticism and the very definition of what it means to be a team – there are no egos, no vested interests.

Where once supporting England meant violence and xenophobia, this England team has inspired a new identity with a commitment to diversity, inclusion and a more tolerant society, which is a credit to them all.

SHOW REAL LEADERSHIP

It was quite telling when, during the celebrations following England’s win over Denmark, former international Gary Neville said: “The standard of the leaders in the past couple of years in this country has been poor but look at that man there... he’s everything a leader should be: respectful, humble, tells the truth, genuine. He’s fantastic, Gareth Southgate.”

Southgate has been humble, engaging, honest and resolute that he knew what he wanted to do and would not waver, even when senior politicians criticised some of the decisions made by him and his management team.

Ahead of the tournament, in an essay on patriotism, titled Dear England, Southgate linked football and national identity and underlined why the game means so much more than just sporting excellence.

“I have a responsibility to the wider community to use my voice, and so do the players. It’s their duty to continue to interact with the public on matters such as equality, inclusivity and racial injustice, while using the power of their voices to help put debates on the table, raise awareness and educate.

“On this island, we have a desire to protect our values and traditions – as we should – but that shouldn’t come at the expense of introspection and progress.”

Southgate has been calm and assured throughout his tenure, ensuring that he and the team are consistent in their focus, messaging and conduct. There have been no scandals, no drama and every press conference or media opportunity has been assured and engaging.

FACE ADVERSITY HEAD-ON

Losing on penalties is part of football, but it’s also something that England have encountered at a number of major tournaments.

The backlash after England’s defeat was brutal, with the three players who missed penalties, Jadon Sancho, Marcus Rashford and Bukayo Saka all targets of racist abuse.

Some MPs also used the defeat as an opportunity to tell players to keep out of politics, such as Andrew Rosindell, who tweeted: “We are all proud of our England team, who have had the support of the whole country over recent weeks, but please focus of football, not politics. If you win for England, you win for everyone!”

Home Secretary Priti Patel expressed her outrage at the racism, prompting Mings to again address her double standards.

He said: “You don’t get to stoke the fire at the beginning of the tournament by labelling our anti-racism message as ‘Gesture Politics’ & then pretend to be disgusted when the very thing we’re campaigning against, happens.”

Soon after the game, the mural in tribute to Rashford was vandalised, prompting hundreds of positive messages and fans voicing their support for the Manchester United forward.

Rashford tweeted: ““I’ve grown into a sport where I expected to read things written about myself. Whether it be the colour of my skin, where I grew up, or, most recently, how I decide to spend my time off the pitch.

“I dreamt of days like this. The messages I’ve received today have been positively overwhelming and seeing the response in Withington had me on the verge of tears. The communities that always wrapped their arms around me continue to hold me up.

“I’m Marcus Rashford, 23-year-old black man from Withington and Wythenshawe, South Manchester. If I have nothing else I have that. For all the kind messages thank you. I’ll be back stronger. We’ll be back stronger.”

CONCLUSION

The England team have shown without doubt the power of sport to unify – and while EURO 2020 is now over, we have the Olympic Games coming up where athletes will come together in the spirit of competition and camaraderie.

As Southgate put it: “The reality is that the result is just a small part of it. When England play, there’s much more at stake than that.

“It’s about how we conduct ourselves on and off the pitch, how we bring people together, how we inspire and unite, how we create memories that last beyond the 90 minutes. That last beyond the summer. That last forever.”

While the positivity has proved to be a brief moment in time, the England squad showed society how to empathise, respect and engage in a way that has been in short supply for so long.

[gofancyninjaworld]

OPM Manga Chapter 137 Review: Resonance

I cannot lie, I am a cover fiend and this chapter’s cover is literally the second time we’ve seen Bang and Bomb featured on a cover. Once again looking mighty spry.  And also Fubuki, I guess.  When I see similarly-themed covers, I always like to look for any resonance within the chapters they front.

Chapter 108 (and whatever chapter it actually ends up being) fronted the ever-writhing heart of evil that is Orochi fighting Saitama in what turned out to be a vain attempt.   This chapter fronts the ever-shifting hearts of evil that are Orochi and Psykos struggling mightily against the S-Class heroes who have it hard-pressed.  Nice!

It’s a chapter as twisty as the monster it features and there’s lots under the cut!

Story

Speaking of Bang, the story wastes no time reintegrating him into the gathering gaggle of heroes as he comes out of hiding with Bomb and Fubuki in tow.

He confronts Child Emperor -- which puts the boy in a bit of a pickle as he told the others a lie to stop them asking too many pointed questions -- but is awesome enough to acknowledge that under the circumstances he could well understand why Child Emperor didn’t want him there.

Fubuki wastes no time in asking the other heroes to help Tatsumaki in some way, offering to help with whatever decision they make.  She can tell that her sister is barely hanging on. 

And she’s right.  Tatsumaki is no longer flying over the battlefield, but has come to kneel on the top of the tower and is fading out of consciousness.   Psykos-Orochi wastes no time trying to shoot her, but Drive Knight intercepts most of the missiles in his Bishop form (very handy having a large, heavily-armored form), but one slips through,  which Genos comes and intercepts instead.  Psykos-Orochi gives up on that idea and peels off to try losing Drive Knight.

While she’s knelt there, we get the most detailed flashback to the day Blast rescued her in any version.   The heartlessness with which the research director instructed that Tatsumaki be abandoned to her fate is heartbreaking in its inhumanity.

The monster kicks its way into Tatsumaki’s cell, she shuts her eyes, and then...

...she opens them again to find herself still alive, the monster dead, and a strange man holding cube addressing her.   And like that we get our first proper look at Blast, who introduces himself as a guy with a proper job who does hero-work as a hobby.   He asks her why she didn’t use her powers and she says that there’s no point, with even her parents having rejected her, there’s nothing to escape to.  He reminds her that she still does have a family, a little sister (there’s a lively debate ongoing on whether Blast read Tatsumaki’s mind or just did something more prosaic, like learn what subjects were imprisoned at the facility) who is worth protecting.  He tells her too, that for someone with great powers like her own, expecting others to come to her rescue is unrealistic.

While that’s going on, Drive Knight chases Psykos-Orochi through into a road tunnel in a wonderfully cinematic sequence (won’t post -- just go see and enjoy!).    Tatsumaki comes round sufficiently to try pinching the monster against the walls of the tunnel, but it shifts effortlessly between biological and mechanical forms to evade them all before flying out of the tunnel and along the road.

what a slippery customer!  The will to survive of this monster is incredible

The monster thinks its in the clear, but what’s this, running alongside?  It’s Genos!  Once Tatsumaki came round, he came off the tower and caught up on foot -- damn, how *fast* is this guy?   He jumps onto its back and digs in.   It tries to shoot him off, but Drive Knight comes barrelling out of the tunnel and joins in.

The chapter ends on a cliffhanger that sounds like the punchline for a bad joke: What’s the only thing worse than an angry cyborg on your back?  Two angry cyborgs on your back! 

Come back soon Murata!  We need to know how this ends!

Meta

Pesky, pesky cyborgs

I bet Psykos is developing a Demon Cyborg complex around now.

Consider that two days ago, one of her top monsters reported that he’d killed Demon Cyborg.  That monster is found dead.  Demon Cyborg shows up alive and well the next day.  Then she sends another of her top monsters, a guaranteed S-Class killer... that monster is found dead.  Demon Cyborg shows up today. And has the nonsense to rob her of her prey, not once, not twice, but three times.  She thinks he’s finally spent,  so how is it possible that he’s now digging white-hot claws into her back and preparing to burn her from very close range?  Sorry bitch, the relentlessness of this guy is legendary. 

Even saying that, Genos has developed a tenacity that is on an entirely different level from that he has to date in the webcomic and this chapter just takes it up another rung.  I’d noted his will to keep driving forward despite his body suffering (link), which I’ll quote in part:

Kuseno was as good as his word -- ten seconds was all he could go all out for. The True Incineration Cannon has really taken a brutal toll on his body.  What can Genos do?  He doesn’t have his super long-range beams any longer.  He can’t fly any longer.  His wonderful curving beams which would have been so useful to chase down the monster with are gone.  The blue dragon is quenched and launching another core attack is out of the question.  What to do?  Climb up there and strafe the monster anyway. 

To which I need to add: chase the damn jet down on foot anyway!  It looks like he’s going to attack the monster with his long-suffering core anyway... please Genos, have some sense of self-preservation!

It’s just as well Drive Knight came in to literally have Genos’s back.  We need to have some words about  Drive Knight!  Drive Knight’s philosophy has been that enlightened self-interest is the best altruism.  That we’ve had little quarrel with -- if he’s not getting anything out of the deal, he’s not doing it, but if he is, he’ll be very professional and efficient.  Now that he’s recharged, we’ve seen him doggedly chasing Psyko-Jet, never giving the monster a moment’s rest, all while doing his best to look out for the others.

But, Drive Knight is here for a reason.  Him looking round at the dead remains of Monster King Orochi littering the tunnels and feeling annoyance that Tatsumaki has thus made his job of gathering a sample that much more difficult reminds us that he has never let go of his original Agenda.  Once he gets the sample he wants, he’s unlikely to stick around unless his exits are blocked.

The Refutation of Blast’s Philosophy

Blast’s words to a despairing Tatsumaki gave her the motivation to help herself and impressed deeply on her a need for absolute self-sufficiency.   On one hand, it’s been one of the things that has driven her to be the incredible hero she is.  On the other, it’s also meant that she’s found it extremely difficult to forge bonds, has contributed to her toxic relationship with her sister, and has even been counter-productive to her hero work.

This arc,  Tatsumaki has been both the unwitting and witting beneficiary of life-saving interventions (by Saitama and Genos respectively).

This chapter, when she passes out, we see Fubuki reaching out to her telepathically to ask her to hang on as Fubuki herself looks to be trying some means of physically reaching her  (is she planning to levitate Puri Puri?).

And yet again, Genos is there for her, stopping Psykos from being able to shoot her, at least until Tatsumaki regains consciousness, when he goes to chase down the monster jet.

It is not that we are entitled to be saved. That we are not.  Rather, it should be that we are able to ford the greatest of perils if we are willing to reach out to one another.  There is no inconsistency between striving to do our utmost for ourselves and grasping a hand reached out to us: that’s how we’ve triumphed as human beings.

[officialleotolstoy]

Oh Anatole Brainrot* We’re Really In It Now, aka Anatole playlist annotations!

*I only have brainrot about him in terms of his relationships with Hélène and Dolokhov idc about him on his own 🤢

This playlist is infuriating because it has so many good songs on it and he does NOT deserve to have a playlist that slaps so hard :/

My Type - Saint Motel

“You’re just my type; you’ve got a pulse and you are breathing”

The lyrics are literally just I Will Have Sex With Anything That Breathes which is Anatole’s only personality trait. It just is.

Fool For Love - Lord Huron

“I’m asking her to be my bride, I know there’s another man but he ain’t gonna delay my plans”

This song is about eloping with a girl who already has a boyfriend, it is THE Comet section Anatole song. Which angers me because it’s such a good song, it doesn’t deserve to be associated with him in my head.

The Cult of Dionysus - The Orion Experience

“Wine and women and wonderful vices”

HEDONISM BABEY!!! Also the phrase “wine and women” with “he spends his money on women and wine” in Comet...makes ya think.

Everybody Loves Me - OneRepublic

“Look so good I might die, all I know is everybody loves me”

You know that quote that’s like “[Anatole] cultivated an air of superiority blah blah blah whatever” (paraphrased)? This is that in song form.

Bedroom Hymns - Florence + The Machine

“The wine and the women and the bedroom hymns”

Thottery AND the phrase “wine and women”? Anatolecore.

Talk - Hozier

“I’ll try to talk refined for fear that you find out how I’m imagining you”

I think if he needs to, Anatole can sugarcoat carnal desire with pretty words. It kind of comes down to “I’m pretending to be eloquently and romantically interested in you but I really just want to have s*x with you”. He might not have that much self-control, but the bottom line is that this song is horny and so is he.

Someone New - Hozier

“I wake at the first cringe of morning and my heart’s already sinned”

All my notes say is “commitment issues thot anthem” which is fair. I think it’s physically impossible for him not to fall in love with someone new every week, which is the entire point of this song. Also “you knew who I was with every step that I ran to you” tracks, Anatole doesn’t really try to hide it.

Paradise City - Guns N’ Roses

“Take me down to the paradise city where the grass is green and the girls are pretty”

I won’t lie, I’m not sure if this is what the song is actually about but that bit at least has hedonism energy. Also this came up on genius lyrics and it feels like something Anatole would do:

Hallelujah - Panic! At The Disco

“I got caught under the covers with secondhand lovers”

Ok whore. But also the vibes of knowing you’re a sinner and reveling in it feels like Anatole. It’s the complete lack of shame for me.

Why Should I Worry - Billy Joel

“Why should I worry? Why should I care?”

Has he ever actually cared about anything other than his own personal wellbeing? Jury’s still out. This song implies he has street smarts which may not be true but not every lyric is gonna work 😔✌🏻

Only The Good Die Young - Billy Joel

“I’d rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints, the sinners are much more fun”

The entire song is just seducing a devoutly Catholic girl, and it doesnt exactly work but I always assign this in my head to that time he tried to marry Marya B. But just in general, the reckless seduction vibes work.

Mambo No. 5 - Lou Bega

“To me flirting is just like a sport”

Unironically this is such an Anatole song. Listing off all his different lovers and their attributes is absolutely something he’s done. This is just a carefree thot song which is his vibe.

Ex’s and Oh’s - Elle King

“Ex’s and oh’s they haunt me like ghosts”

This is also on the Hélène playlist but this time the ex messing things up is his wife (not that any of that was her fault). I also think the general vibes of “I’m gonna make you want me so much and then leave you” are Anatoleish

Rasputin - Boney M.

“Russia’s greatest love machine”

LOOK ME IN THE EYES AND TELL ME THIS DOESN’T WORK. It’s about the seduction of upper-class Russian women come ON

I’m Born To Run - American Authors

“I’m gonna live my life like I’m gonna die young”

This is almost a more wholesome version of his careless hedonism, more skewed toward seeing the world rather than just having drunken fun but the energy is still there

Don’t Stop Me Now - Queen

“Tonight I’m gonna have myself a real good time”

It’s the “having fun is the only thing that matters” mindset. He doesn’t deserve this song 😔

Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy - Queen

I don’t have a lyric for this one, it’s just like. Yes I am a professional flirter! He is not this into commitment but i imagine he tells a new person this every week.

Oops!...I Did It Again - Britney Spears

“But to lose all my senses, that is just so typically me”

The lack of commitment and not treating relationships seriously is very Anatole, and so is the refusal to take responsibility for the heartbreak you directly caused.

How Bad Can I Be? - The Lorax

“How bad can I be? I’m just doing what comes naturally”

I KNOW I KNOW. HEAR ME OUT. This is pretty much Tolstoy’s “defense” of him verbatim. It’s the idea that he’s just so naturally like this it has never occurred to him to be any other way or to think about other people’s wellbeing. Anatole is the Onceler and Natasha is a straight girl on tumblr circa 2012.

Runaway Baby - Bruno Mars

“When I play, I never stay”

He would never be this self-aware, but otherwise it fits. The whole thing is about an inability to commit and a propensity for causing heartbreak. Also, I’ve had a grudge against this song for years and the blind rage it fills me with is reminiscent of the blind rage Anatole fills me with.

California Girls - The Beach Boys

“I’ve been all around this great big world and I’ve seen all kinds of girls”

This song is like, “What if we objectified every woman ever but made it a bop?” which is massive Anatole energy I think.

Girls, Girls, Girls - Motley Crüe

“I just need a new toy”

Literally the exact same justification as California Girls

It’s Raining Men - The Weather Girls

If I’m gonna add songs about objectifying women, I’m gonna add songs about objectifying men too. Equal opportunity whorery.

Parental Guidance - Judas Priest

“You say I waste my life away but I live it to the full”

This is just him to Vassily. Refusing to be controlled by your parents’ expectations and just going off to have fun is Vassily’s whole gripe with him and also the point of this song.

How To Be A Heartbreaker - MARINA

“You gotta have fun, but baby when you’re done you gotta be the first to run”

The bits about not getting close to anyone because you’re afraid of getting hurt don’t really apply but the “here’s how to make people like you and also we are for sure not staying together this is just for fun” definitely fit.

The STD Song - Top Memes

“Sinning with your naked bod is evil and atrocious”

I uh. I forgot this was on here but I was RIGHT when I added it. This is the lecture Vassily gives him after his Polish wife debacle-

Do It All The Time - I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME

“I’m only doing anything I want to do because I do it all the time”

He literally just does whatever he wants without thinking about the consequences. It’s just got huge entitled kid thot energy which is Anatole’s whole character. And the line “I’m taking your girl and I’m making her mine” is deeply Anatoleish.

Until The Night Turns - Lord Huron

“I got a helluva view for the end of the world, I've got a bottle of booze and a beautiful girl”

This doesn’t fit into any particular situation but I do think if the world was ending and Anatole was drunk with a pretty lady he would have this exact reaction. Also the repetition of the word sunrise (which is what the name Anatole means) is just a fun little extra bit.

Girls - The 1975

“What’s the fun in doing what you’re told?”

Rebellious kid energy! Also “she can’t be what you need if she’s 17” is everyone with morals @ him about Natasha (I know she was 19 at the time shh it’s about the energy).

Pretty Fly (For A White Guy) - The Offspring

“In his own mind he’s the dopest trip”

This man is The Worst but he really thinks he’s all that and a bag of chips huh! Literally everyone can tell he’s not the brightest bulb in the bunch EXCEPT HIM. Smh.

[frostsong]

9—14: commend.

rating: T

characters: original characters, douceline de dansereau, jannequinard de durendaire, aymeric de borel, lucia goe junius

tags: 4.0, msq: ‘stormblood’, post-ala mhigo, sappy janne, i always leave aym in the corner sweetie i’m so sorry

summary: nothing but the highest praise for halone incarnate.

wordcount: 1446

“My dear, you’ve done it again!”

In the blinding heat she thinks she’s dreaming, until his arms are around her and she realizes she--he--and all of this--is real.

Behind him the Lord Commander beams, as bright as the Gyr Abanian sun will allow him, and his second-in-command stands astride, an evident crease in her smile meant for the man holding the Hero of Eorzea in a tight embrace.

“--Oh, not that I ever lacked faith in you--” A quick, strong kiss on her sweat-matted forehead, then another on her rosy cheek, enough for her to giggle in spite of how worn she was from all that had transpired, from storming Ala Mhigo to the death of the Imperial Prince.

“Nor did I--”

“J-Janne, what are you doing here?” She finally manages to speak, her voice still trembling with laughter while one hand of his cradles the delicate line of her jaw with the utmost care. A realization settles in and she gasps, eyes widening and smile giving way into an open-mouthed gape.

“Y--you were with us--”

“Oh NO! Heavens, no.” His thumbs brush her loose curls to the side, and by the look in his eyes she knows he’s using all of his power to keep from kissing her right then and there.

“Not with you in the fighting, I mean. I just happened to arrive not too long ago, really. Much of our forces were away and there was hardly anyone left to receive me. Not that I minded, of course--I’d rather they were all at your side.” As I wish I had been, his eyes said. But Dou shook her head and grinned, her gloved hands falling atop his own.

“I’m so happy you’re here, Janne.” 

“Perhaps I’ll leave a proper congratulations for another time,” Aymeric let out a subtle cough masquerading a chuckle, and already the knights that accompanied him began to snicker at the sight of Count Durendaire’s nephew being so unabashedly affectionate in the presence of the Savior of Ishgard. The man had plenty of rumors even before Douceline became a known figure in their city, though his involvement with her had propelled his infamy to greater heights than any of his countrymen could have ever imagined.

Lucia nodded in confirmation and sent her a cool smile.

“Indeed. Such efforts on your part could never be understated.” A bow, and Douceline was left once again in shaky laughter as the other knights followed suit.

“I--I couldn’t’ve done it without any of you there with me...”

“Dearest, you are far too modest. Even with such talented individuals could such a feat not have been accomplished without your guiding star to lead us!” The astrologian still holding her ‘round the waist chided playfully, before placing another kiss on the opposite cheek, and the Lord Commander made his leave with the rest of his retinue, leaving her and Jannequinard to venture into the shade of the city walls. 

“Now then, should we retire to your chambers—er, where is it that you’re spending the night, dearest? I can have my things brought wherever—that is, if the page I handed them to didn’t lose them—”

“A tent.” She didn’t see why her temporary lodgings should be grander than those of the warriors she fought alongside.

“A tent! Splendid...though I suppose you wouldn’t mind switching to somewhere with a roof?” Now inside the reclaimed city, Dou could tell he wasn’t ecstatic about sleeping outdoors, though she still had her doubts about requesting such a thing that sounded so entitled. So she simply shook her head and smiled.

“Just a tent, Janne.” He smiled back—though thinner in the way she knew he smiled when he wasn’t sure about something.

“Splendid...I see. Though if ever you have the opportunity for a longer respite, I heard word of a quaint little bath house in Porta Praetoria. I heard the weather there is positively balmy.” At his suggestion she failed to hide a giggle.

“I think it’d be rude of me not to see how the others are doing...there are casualties, s-so.” At this he seemed to concede, albeit reluctantly. And Douceline could understand it a little. He had come all this way to see her, only for her attention to be as divided as it was beyond the confines of his office at the Astrologicum, or behind closed doors at his chambers in the Belfry.

Already in the corner of her eye Douceline could see one, two, five familiar faces, which were quick to catch her recognizable visage--and even more recognizable it would become, for all she had accomplished, for all she had come to symbolize.

And his heart sinks to think that, with each and every step she took, he felt further and further left behind.

Right where they started.

When she finally tears herself away from friends, comrades, and all above, below, or in-between, he was quick to weave his gloved fingers snug around her own, lurching past the varied palette of robe, chainmail, and metal to find his way back at her side once more, the very place where he wanted so desperately to feel like he truly belonged.

Fortunately, she turned her gaze to him and smiled--smiled in that weary way he remembers the meaning of: the wish of wanting to leave, of wanting no one’s company but his own.

And he was more than happy to acquiesce, sending the hungry, growing crowd a cocky smirk as he led her away into the coming night. 

━━━━━━━━ ━━━━━━━━ ━━━━━━━━ ━━━━━━━━

“--and that one stands for Rhalgr. Lyse told me.” 

He watched idly as her index finger drew a line connecting one distant speck to the other, into the shape of something--someone--he could care less about. Selfish as it was not to pay attention to the words she was saying, he simply missed her too much to care for all that Gyr Abania and the Far East had to offer her; at least, at this very moment. 

“...You’re not listening.” Her voice sank as he smiled, lazily drawing up his bare forearm to brush the back of his fingers against her rosy cheek. Fury, how wonderful it felt to feel her again. Neither his memories nor his own imagination could conjure anything close to the actual thing.

“Forgive me, dearest, I--can’t find it in myself to focus on more than one thing tonight.” Dulcet words in an equally smooth cadence did nothing to stop her from puffing her cheeks in outright frustration, her rosy-gold hair dimmed to a dulled purple tint under the mountain sky.

“And so my body and my voice are two different things?” At her words he grinned, teeth striking white in the dark of the late evening hours, naught but the moon, stars, and dying flicker of the campfire to give them light.

“They are indeed. They adjoin to comprise you as a whole. Much like...er. The heavens and the earth?” She crossed her arms (she had gained more taut muscle, much to his delight) and waited, muted-rose eyes sharp and glowing in the nearby firelight. Clearly his one example wasn’t enough of an argument.

“Like...the sun and the moon. Without one of them we could never complete an entire day!” In desperation his grin widens in the hopes he’d done better, but to his dismay her head sank with a paired sigh.

“...I suppose.” Accepted? Forgiven? While the back of his head hit the tassled pillow-roll in relief, he took her hands into his own to bring her back atop his chest, the meager sheets pooling at her waistline. 

“Listen. I love the sound of your voice and the words that come with it--truly, I do, But what little of you I can have from linkpearls and letters can only--” He stopped with a sudden, shaky breath. Something feels lodged in his throat and whatever it is makes his words falter, his streamline of thoughts unravel. It’s the feeling he gets when he knows he’s said too much, and he’s ashamed that even now, it has him in such a vice grip. Even now with the woman who professed and proved her love to him for reasons he could never truly comprehend.

“...I think I understand.” Her knuckles lie relaxed against his collarbone, and the scent of her breath is sweet. He closes his eyes to take it all in. Her and him, skin to skin and nothing and no one between them. Loathe he was to admit it, this moment wouldn’t last, and come morning they will be parted once again.

But for now, they’re together, and he has no choice but to make the absolute most of it.

[givemearmstopraywith]

ugh the thing about joker that makes me the most angry is the whole “he has a mental illness and this is such important representation” thing because it’s actually terrible representation of mental illness??? the “mental illness” is never named or explored??? and putting this violent character under the vague umbrella of ~mental illness~ is super harmful to people who actually have mental illnesses. like, ur not raising any type of awareness, ur perpetuating a lazy and dangerous stereotype, thx

this response ended up being extremely long because i really want to make it clear that joker is not a movie about someone who is mentally ill. im sorry in advance.

content warning because i talk about a couple of serial killers and the colorado mass shooting. 

this is EXACTLY what i’m talking about. everyone’s like “oh he has a mental illness”, but where is the mental illness? what is it called? where is he getting treatment for it? his seven medications that we’re never made further aware of? i’m guessing it’s implied that he developed his condition from a brain injury after being abused by his mother’s boyfriend, but if that’s the case then we have some very disturbing implications:

this movie is not only perpetuating stereotypes about mental illness, it’s also perpetuating stereotypes about disabilities, and vilifying someone because of a physical disability with psychological effects

this movie inherently blames his mother, a mentally ill battered woman, for both fleck’s disability and his later moral demise

both of these points are designed to inherently absolve fleck of any moral culpability for his behaviour. and this becomes problematic, because the behaviour displayed in joker is not the behaviour of an abuse survivor, someone who has a disability, or someone with a mental illness: it is the behaviour of at best a psychopath, something which does not develop from any of those things, but at worst- and, i would venture, in reality- the behaviour of someone who isn’t mentally ill at all, but is simply cognizant and entitled: an incel, a white cishet man in the same vein as brock turner or james holmes. 

the james holmes parallel i find especially obvious and disturbing, considering that shooting took place during a batman screening, and i don’t doubt that todd howard based his joker on holmes specifically. if you read about holmes’ personal life prior to the shooting there are some very stark, very undeniable similarities to fleck’s life as it’s portrayed in joker, which is very, very fucked up.

and think about charles manson, who was neglected by his mother and whose killing spree was most likely inspired by his failed career as a singer; edmund kemper, who murdered his abusive mother in addition to (iirc) about a dozen other women; ed gein, who prior to his murders exhibited bizarre symptoms like laughing to himself without warning. obviously aspects of these men made it into the portrayal of arthur fleck: but if there is one thing i have figured out through the years i’ve spent trying to discover why there is such a huge discrepency in the number of male serial killers versus serial killers, it’s this: white cishet men who turn to violence do so because they have a social space in which to do that. even if they are mentally ill and that mental illness is let down by the system, they still have a space- a taboo space, it’s true, but still a space which other people who are not white, cishet, and male simply do not have- they can go to to proverbially “lose their minds”. 

it is understandable and even acceptable that white, cishet men can be violent if they want to. this is the same logic that leads to domestic violence not being prosecuted, rapists not being charged, and cops being able to brutalize or murder black people without consequences. the absolute extremity of those behaviours is mass or spree killing. so what then? can we blame the system, like todd howard wants us to do in joker? do we absolve white, cishet men of taking advantage of something the system allowed to do in the first place? or do we hold them to the same standard we hold women, trans people, and people of colour: a standard where you simply do not behave like that, because you do not have an allotted space in your society in which take out your feelings on other people? 

yes! society does let down white cishet men. society continually tells them that they are entitled to sex, or women, or people laughing at their jokes, or making them feel smart, or getting to the front of the line, or incessant understanding, or the ability to do whatever they want, whenever they want, because they are white cishet men in a society where white cishet maleness is both the exception and the rule. except the reality is that no one is entitled to any of that even if society tells you this. it is in this discrepancy that we find incels, and it is there we find joker. it’s not a movie about someone who’s mentally ill. it’s not even a movie about fucking the system. it’s just a bad movie, and it’s made by someone who is entitled, for people who feel entitled. 

(side note: if you don’t know the type of white cishet men i’m talking about and assume im generalizing every single white man on the planet, then i really can’t help you.)

[theunderdogwrites]

2020: The Year I Lost My Ass

Well, we reached the end of that toilet roll only to start another one, because that is what we do for as long as we are allowed to continue revolutions around the sun – we keep going.

2020 was a terrible year for so many. My brain is incapable of processing the number of losses suffered on a global scale. Be it jobs, security, rights, sanity, relationships or life. My brain is not just incapable of these calculations, it has plain refused to entertain those thoughts on behalf of my heart. My heart, that sensitive little blood pumping work horse who not once allows itself to stop. Thank goodness.

I don’t believe the majority of people are willing and able to bring themselves to fully comprehend what was lost in 2020.

Here is a list of a few more losses suffered last year:

- People lost their shit. And over the most ridiculous things like toilet paper, having to wear a mask to secure toilet paper and being held to the consequences resulting from not wearing a mask when asked to while attempting to purchase toilet paper. Pause for a moment and let that last sentence hang around in your mind. 2020 made that happen. I didn’t make it up! Recently I saw a news piece showing a man (40’s) lying down on the floor in a Costco to protest being asked to wear a mask. He spoke loudly, he beat his hands at his sides and wildly kicked his legs when an employee asked him to get up. Now, I am not judging for I too have participated in such behaviour MANY times. Granted I was three, but hey… some of us mature faster than others.

 - People lost their damn minds. 2020 should be dubbed “The Year of The Karen”. For those of you not in the know about the Karen phenomenon, here is a description courtesy of Urban Dictionary:

 “Karen is a pejorative term used in the United States and other English-speaking countries for a woman perceived as entitled or demanding beyond the scope of what is appropriate or necessary. A common stereotype is that of a white woman who uses her privilege to demand her own way at the expense of others.’

 Basically, a Karen is a I WANT TO SPEAK TO YOUR MANAGER type person (There is a male equivalent, but it seems no one can agree on the name… Chad, Terry, Kyle, Kevin, Steve). You can often find a Karen on her cellphone calling the police to report a black man who lives in her neighborhood, simply living his life in her neighbourhood. I didn’t make that up either.

 More recently a Karen was videoed in a UPS store claiming that she didn’t have to wear a mask because that space was government property and not a private business. Would it be safe to say that most Karen types suffer from a lack of oxygen to their brain? Possibly. But that would involve science and Karen types DO NOT enjoy hard facts.

 As always when I download my thoughts into reality, I must go within and search myself. Am I a Karen? My immediate answer is: no fucking way. I can honestly say I’ve never once asked to see a manager or called the police to report someone eating their lunch on a park bench. I do not enjoy confrontation. Unless there is a bully involved. Then I will drag that person to hell with me. I much prefer discussion over going straight to the ‘I triple dog dare you!’ approach to the world. (If you got that reference, you are my new favourite) Because that is who a Karen really is… someone who jumps right to the most extreme action in order to satisfy their need to be superior. Truly, we should feel sorry for these people because instead of engaging they’re raging. And how awful must their insides feel… always full of anger, fear and self doubt. I say instead of judging these Karen types or putting them on blast on social media, we should hug the shit out of them. Just grab them and squeeze as hard as you fucking can until they stop talking. Peaceful solutions my friends, peaceful solutions.

 - Pets lost their faith in us. Children a close second. If you are a proud owner of a pet or a child, you know exactly what I’m talking about.

I’ve always operated under the notion that my cat loves it when I’m home and hates it when I leave. 2020 has taught me it might be the other way around. Because our animals are, well, animals we just believe our presence is the greatest gift in their lives. Remember when you were old enough to be left alone by your parents and once you had the taste of that kind of freedom, you just wanted more of it and couldn’t wait for them to go out? I feel it’s like that with our pets now. We might not think animals have a routine or preferences or enjoy some alone time, but we’d be wrong.

I think at first our pets were thrilled. If we are home more it means more time for prolonged petting, walks and the opportunity to ritualistically train us to respond to their caterwauls for more food and treats than normal. But then as the weeks of lockdown and working from home increased, so did our pets desire to kill us in our sleep.

 I’m pretty sure my cat has asked me several times using her feline glare: “why the fuck won’t you just leave?”. It would be naïve of us to assume we don’t disrupt their day with our constant noise making and snacking and scotch drinking that leads to a good buzz that leads to showing too much affection to our pets. To the point where they run and hide when they see us coming. Please tell me I didn’t describe just my own experience.

 There is such a thing as everything in moderation, we know this, so I think it can be applied here. People, get away from your pets. Give them the space you often desire from human beings. Because if you don’t, that random turd in your shoe could be pointing to a much larger, more alarming problem you’re about to encounter.

 I had the absolute blessing of being able to assist in caring for and raising of my three nephews (12,9,6) for the last 11 years. So, when I say: ‘children are always watching us’, I feel I know what I’m talking about. I’ve been mimicked so often by these young boys that I’ve had to pause due to mortification. Children will hold you accountable without even knowing it. I’ve had some behaviours of mine corrected by a 5-year-old and let me tell you, it stings like hell.

 As adults, when our world was thrown into turmoil because of Covid-19, we looked to our medical health professionals and our politicians for guidance. Basically, we searched for those who would lead us. The children – looked to us. And while many adults handled this responsibility the best they possibly could, many more failed miserably and displayed attitudes I can only describe as juvenile, damaging and pathetic. I suppose it doesn’t help if the people the adults are looking to for help are themselves - juvenile, damaging and pathetic.

 When I say we still have not grasped just how much has been lost over the past year, I’m hinting at integrity, compassion and creditability. Three vital qualities you’d hope people want to instill into their children. But if they themselves are unable to display such valuable traits, what does this say for the children who are looking up to them as an example on how to act when life gets challenging?

 For myself in 2020, I gained by losing.

When they locked our gyms down for four months last spring, I came close to being one of those people who lost their shit. While people were moaning about wearing a mask for 20 minutes in the grocery store, I was contemplating if murdering those people could be considered a cardio exercise and would that hold up in a court of law.

To reflect on that time period now (especially since our gyms are closed AGAIN at the moment) the loss of the gyms brought me the knowledge of how important the routine of going to and being in the gym is to my mental health. I won’t launch into how I feel about shopping malls being open and gyms being closed despite their proven benefit to one’s overall health because then I really will lose my shit.

People always say getting to the gym is the hardest part and once they’re there it’s easy to workout. And for many that is the truth, but for me it’s all a part of the workout. Getting to the gym is the psychological effort. Putting in the work at the gym is the physical. You can’t have one without the other. I became so pathetic that I’d often walk to the closed gym from my house, stare at the closed doors and then walk home. 1.5 hour round trip. True story.

Remember a few years back everyone became obsessed with that Netflix show ‘Tidying Up with Marie Kondo’? It is the show where that lovely woman from Japan showed us all how to declutter our homes by getting rid of anything that didn’t bring us joy. Those acid wash jeans from 1989… sit with them… hold them close to your chest… if they don’t make you happy, remove them from your space. Well, the same idea can be applied to people and ideas and even feelings. And 2020 was a great year for simplifying our lives. I’ve heard so many people talk about how they can’t wait to get back to ‘normal’… not me. I’ve already started my ‘new normal’.

The loss of drama has gained me peace and a better understanding of the importance of remaining true to who I am instead of trying to please others in hopes it wins me points. Because it doesn’t. Because its inauthentic and only brings you more loss and more drama. And anxiety. And sleepless nights. And an overall sense of hatred for everyone. 2020 gave me the option to no longer care about the things that don’t make me happy and to embrace the process of letting all that stupid bullshit fade away.

It was a year of gained focus.

It was a year of gained appreciation.

It was a year of gained gratitude.

It was a year of gained love for myself.

 I’m going to leave you now, but not before I share one of my favorite songs by the Tragically Hip:

In A World Possessed by The Human Mind

Just give me the news

It can all be lies

Exciting over fair or the right thing at the right time

Everything is clear

Just how you described

The way it appears, "A world possessed by the human mind"

 Then I think I smiled

Then I think you said, "it's fine"

And quietly I dressed, in a world completely possessed by the human mind

 We're in awe of no one

We've none of their fear

Fighting's goin' nowhere and we stay right here

Where everything is quiet

A little super dangerous

"In the shadow of the law and with colours of justice"

 Then I hope I smiled

Then I'm sure you said, "It's fine"

They got no interest in a world completely possessed by the human mind

 Everything is quiet

A little super dangerous

Quiet enough to hear God rustlin' around in the bushes

Oh, but it was you

Girl, I was so afraid

You said, "You shoulda seen the look on your face"

 Then I hope I laughed

Then I hope I said, "it's fine"

And quietly undressed in a world completely possessed by the human mind

 Oh it was you

Girl, I was so afraid

You said, "You shoulda seen the look on your face"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mgXphurrsE0

[jinmukangwrites]

Nightwing BTHB: Surrender

Smiley/Done // Eyes/Next // Clock/Requested

Summary: (Prompt) Dick Grayson has only been Batman for a few weeks, and already he knows he would do anything for his Robin. Even if that’s giving himself up.

Warnings: Whump, description of injury, blood, canon typical violence

-o-o-o-o-

It's an ambush. Of course it's an ambush. It was too easy, so simple, Dick didn't even think the drug traffickers would purposely leave a trail for him to follow. He let his guard down, and now Robin and he are fighting alone against a small army of mercenaries with no backup or contingency plan.

Bruce would be disappointed. He'd tell Dick that he failed and he didn't prepare for the worst and look where it got them. 

And he would be right. It's Dick's fault.

Dick got to used to considering Blüdhaven the worst, got too used to going to Gotham and feeling like it's an almost vacation. He forgot that Gotham criminals are sometimes just as bad as Blüdhaven, sometimes just as corrupt and evil and smart. He forgot that they plan, that they don't ask themselves "what if Batman comes?". No, Batman coming is always apart of the plan. If you want to be successful in Gotham you have to be just as prepared for the worst as Batman himself is. 

Dick forgot all of that. He didn't expect the trap, he thought the drug dealers were just lazy and ill prepared and bad at covering their tracks. Dick followed those tracks. Lead him and his partner right into an ambush. 

Dammit. 

He thought he could handle being Batman, but every day he pulls on the cowl he is reminded of why he never wanted it. 

God. He never wanted it. 

And as he dodges to the side of a sword aiming right at his gut, he bitterly thinks about how much he hates this. He hates how heavy the costume is. He hates the weight the symbol holds. He hates how Gordon looks at him like he's pitying him, hates how bad guy's are starting to laugh and say Batman's lost his touch, hates hates hates that he's supposed to run the company and raise the son Bruce left behind. 

He never wanted this. He hates this. He's not ready to keep doing this but he doesn't have a fucking choice. 

Gotham… the world needs a Batman more than Blüdhaven needs Nightwing. And it's not like he can ask Jason or Tim to take over. Jason is too wild, only following the rules because Dick leaves him alone, and Dick can't ask Jason to become the thing he loathes most. Tim is too young. Plus, he's pretty pissed at Dick for ripping away the title of Robin and giving it to a child who thinks he's entitled to it, and for not believing Bruce is still alive somewhere. 

And Dick can't believe that. He doesn't have the strength to. If he does and it turns out Tim's hope is wrong… it will destroy Dick. 

And Damian doesn't need that. Damian doesn't need that disappointment. Damian needs someone to raise him and train him, someone permanent. He needs a father, and Dick has to be that now, he can't let Damian believe this is all temporary and that his real father will return from the grave, because it might just destroy him more than it will Dick. 

He swings a fist out, connecting hard into the jaw of one of his attackers. There's a snapping noise and Dick winces from the feeling of the breaking jaw against his knuckles, but he turns to face another attacker as they fall unconscious.

There's eight more. Ten in total, with the one Dick just knocked down and the one Damian��s taken out earlier.

The battle is slow going. The mercenaries are skilled with the weapons they use. It's not league training as the swords and bows would leave one to assume, they're too forceful and blunt compared to the gracefulness and sharpness of an assassin, but it's still skilled and dangerous to anyone on the wrong side of their sword. Which is currently Batman and Robin, but they totally have it handled…

Yup. 

He rushes forwards, fighting off the twitch in his hands to reach towards his back and maybe slightly wondering if it would confuse criminals too much if Batman were to suddenly be using escrima sticks, he engages the next closest merc. Robin is across the room, flipping across another enemy with a fluidity Dick never had and whacking a blunted version of his sword across the back of the enemies neck, making them stumble. Dick doesn't think about that if that weapon was sharp like Damian insists it should be, that man would be without a head. 

Dick focuses his fighting on the merc in front of him and throws a punch before they can loose an arrow. He knocks the bow out of their hands and lands a solid blow in their gut, making them grunt and expel all the air they had in their lungs. Before they could recover, Dick shoves a taser into their now bruised stomach and they fall to the ground twitching. 

Suddenly, Dick is tugged backwards by the neck and he only has enough time to think about how much he agrees with Edna Mode in the fact that he fucking hates capes before he's spinning around and delivering a vicious roundhouse kick and tugging the stupid cape out of his attackers hands. The next merc goes down. Time to move on towards-

"Batman!" 

His blood runs cold as Damian's voice reaches his ears. He spins around and his eyes land on a startling scene. 

Damian is being restrained by three separate holds on him. One on each arm and the other holding harshly onto his neck, a sword pressing dangerously onto the child's throat. There's a fourth merc standing a bit off to the side, leveling Dick with a mean glare and an even meaner nocked arrow. 

Damian looks frustrated beyond belief, his face red and cheeks slightly puffed out, as he struggles in the hold. Dick realizes that even though the battle lasted quickly, the man that grabbed his cape was just a distraction as the rest of the mercs teamed up on Damian. 

Which, is in complete honesty, an impressive thing to do. Dick himself hasn't lost a sparring match against the kid yet, but it's always a very difficult battle to finally pin the vicious brat down. His eyes land on the rumpled cape around Damian's shoulder and he fights off a sigh. They clearly got ahold of his cape too. Fighting with a cape has its pros and cons, and when you fight with it long enough, you learn how to avoid the cons. 

Damian has been fighting with a cape for just a few months. He doesn't quite know how to avoid having it be used against him. Letting him have a cape was definitely a bad idea, dammit. 

Seriously. Fuck capes.

"Stand down and we won't hurt the kid," the one holding the sword against Damian's neck growls. 

Damian snarls and Dick forces himself to not go narrow minded, not to focus on the grimace Damian makes when one of his arms is yanked back too roughly in response. Instead of listening to every fiber of his being telling him to run forward and risk everything to save his little brother, instead of putting his life above the mission, he does what Batman would do. 

What Bruce would do.

What Bruce did when it was Dick in the hands of the enemy throughout their career. 

He studies. Takes in as much information as he can in a half second glance. The bow man is leaning slightly on his left leg, his right one dripping with blood from what appears to be a stabbing would. Damian's sword is laying on the ground, covered with red and Dick wonders how much force Damian had to spend to impale a blunted weapon into flesh. If Dick were to rush him, he would definitely be able to avoid any arrows being shot his way, but if the man holding the sword against Damian's neck was willing to harm a child then Damian's neck would be slit before any rescue could be made.

The two mercs holding Damian's arms look well enough. If not a few bruises here and there. They would not be easy to take down, but if Dick were to run at them and get at least one to lessen their hold on Damian, then they both can continue the fight. Then again, the man making the threats will still have time to kill Damian. Before Dick could get halfway towards them. It also will leave both Dick and Damian open for a speeding arrow. 

All in all, there isn't much he can do without risking Damian's life. 

He forces his shoulders to relax. "Leave him alone," he grinds out. 

"I will if you lose the belt right now," the man replies.

Dick tries to not look too eager to give himself up but he can't stop how quickly his hands go to his belt when the man pressed the sword ever so slightly against Damian's neck. 

"Batman don't-" Damian growls, and Dick cuts off whatever he's going to say with a hardened glare. 

The utility belt drops to the ground and he lifts his hands. "Let him go. He's just a kid."

Damian scowls at that but doesn't say anything, thank Jesus. The man loses his hold ever so slightly and there's a small thin line of irritated, thankfully not cut, skin on Damian's neck. "I don't want to hurt any kid, Bats."

Suddenly, the world flashes and tilts and the back of his head explodes in agony. He didn't think that any of the men he had taken out would get up, but one definitely has and definitely just smashed the hit of their sword against his head. He stumbles and Damian's almost panicked voice calls out for him, but everything goes white and fuzzy when his head is hit again and he blinks and finds himself on the cemented floor of the loading docs they have been fighting in. 

He forces himself to focus for just a second more, just a second more to see Damian's arms forced behind him and a needle jammed into his neck. Something churns in his stomach, and the voice of Bruce tells him he's just made a huge mistake. His vision lasts just long enough to watch Damian go limp. 

And then the black welcomes him.

-o-o-o-o-

Dick feels like shit. Waking up after forcibly being put unconscious is always the absolute worst. Especially if the method to knock him out was a few good whacks to the back of his head. 

His thoughts are jumbled, but he thankfully can remember what happened, he just can't focus on the details, but the details aren't important. The bare bones are just enough for him to remember to take advantage of his seemingly sleeping status. 

First thing he notices? His head hurts. No surprise there. Don't need to think about that much, probably has a goose egg and maybe a good concussion that he'll have to worry about later, but he can move on from that. Next thing is that his shoulders hurt and his hands are numb, and the back of his neck is killing him. 

He's hanging by his hands, rough chains wrapped tightly around his wrists and connected to something above him. 

Besides his own breaths, he can both thankfully and not-so-thankfully hear another, smaller person a little while directly ahead of him. He supposes he was hoping that the mercenaries would let Robin go if he surrendered himself, but at least he knows that whatever they injected the kid with it didn't kill him. 

For now. 

The man holding the sword against Damian's neck didn't sound like he wanted to kill a kid, but Gotham villains, even hired ones, don't usually tell the truth. 

Besides the breathing, Dick can't hear anything else. His feet aren't touching the ground so he can't check for vibrations of any kind, so the only thing to do for now is to open his eyes and hope Batman's cowl (which is thankfully still on, thank you Bruce for thinking to electrify it) would cover his eye motions more than Nightwing's mask did. 

He slowly blinks his eyes open, still keeping his neck lowered, and luckily the lighting is dim so it doesn't hurt too much, just pounds against the back of his skull a bit. It takes him a few seconds to take in what's in front of him. First thing he sees is most important. Damian is strung up from his wrists much the same way Dick is. He appears to still be unconscious but relatively unharmed, if not a little green around the gills. Dick wonders what they gave him and what kind of side effects Damian will feel once he wakes up. If he's actually asleep or pretending to be like Dick is. 

They're both in a metal shipping crate. Gotham has no shortage of them and Dick's been inside plenty to recognize it. He can't look up but he's pretty sure that the dim lighting is coming from a single bulb placed in the center of the crate, between Dick and his partner, and that there are two separate hooks screwed into the ceiling to keep the two hostages hanging. 

After a tense minute of waiting with no other sights or sounds to reach him, he decides to risk it and lift his head. His neck smarts from it's previous and rather uncomfortable resting position but he pushes the aching to the side as he stretches his toes downwards. Thankfully the tips of his toes can reach the floor, so it takes off some of the weight from his shoulders. 

"Robin," he risks, his voice scratchy and dry. Man, what he would do for a glass of water right now. He doesn't want to think about how thirsty Dami will be from waking up after being drugged. "C'mon, Robin."

Damian doesn't move and a spike of worry rises at the forefront of his mind. What did they give him?!

"Little bird, can you wake up for me?" He asks, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible. 

The kid's eyebrows simply twitch a bit, but nothing else happens. 

Dick purses his lips and looks up at his chained hands. The gloves are off, and glancing at Damian he's very much the same, and the chains are wrapped so tightly around his wrists that his fingers are pale and the skin that's pinched between the chain links are an angry red. Already, dark bruises are starting to form under the harsh bits of metal. There's a padlock keeping it all together so it's hostage can hang from an eye hook—just as he suspected—that's been screwed into the ceiling. 

He thinks that maybe he can lift himself up and grab the lockpick his boot, it will definitely strain his shoulders that are already in a dangerous way, but he could do it. Risk snapping a wrist by putting all the strain on them, but he's been through worse. He's jumped over rooftops and fought people like the Joker with worse. 

He's just about to curl up into the most painful version of a lift when a harsh clang fills the metal container. Dick considers for a second to continue what he was doing, but he figured it would take him longer to even work his leg to his hands than it would be for the door to their prison to open. In fact, with a glance behind him, he saw it was already opening. 

He thinks that maybe he should pretend to be back asleep, but then his eyes catch on a camera wired into the corner of the container, just above the door now sliding open. He curses himself, Bruce wouldn't have missed that. 

Four bodies file into the room and Dick's eyes instantly narrow on the man who had just some time ago held a sword to a kid's neck. He doesn't exactly recognize who the other three are; just that they are three out of the other eight mercenaries they fought. The last six were nowhere to be seen. 

The door rolls shut behind the captors  and Dick tenses when he notices not only the swords against their backs, but the wooden baseball bat in the leader's hands. It is almost ironic that it's a bat, Dick was beat with one of those in his first year of Robin. He guesses it's only fitting he'll have to face one of those things within his first year of being Batman too.

Jason has his thing with crowbars. Dick has his with baseball bats. 

"Little bird, huh?" The leader asks, grinning. Dick feels his whole body go even more tense. They wouldn't.

"Leave Robin alone," he barks and God he almost sounds like Bruce. Roy and Wally have told him he has a glare that could rival Batman's, so he makes sure to throw that at them too. 

It works. One of them even flinch. 

The leader only frowns a bit. "We don't want to hurt the kid. We said we wouldn't if you gave yourself up."

"And Gotham's criminals have a streak for keeping to their word," Dick replies dryly. 

The leader sighs. "Look, we were hired to take you out and you alone. Rough you up, break some bones, and make sure you can't follow. Your little bird is only here to make sure you cooperate."

"Stop calling him that."

A flash of irritation streaks across the leader's face and another hired sword lifts a hand to her lips and hides a smirk. Good to see someone is enjoying this. 

And then, Dick is winded. 

Jason has an issue with crowbars. Dick knows this because he's seen criminals try to hit him with one and if they actually land a hit Jason goes a bit more ham than normal on them. He'll drop the guns and the rubber bullets, rip the crowbar from their hands, and beat them instead, deathly silent and he'll keep silent until the next week, lips turned down in a barely contained rage. 

Dick can't hope to compare his own issues with Jason's, but it's hard to not go back to that courthouse all those years ago as the wooden bat is whacked against his side, snapping a bone. It's hard to not see that half handsome, half ugly face of Two-Face, the purple and yellow suit, the gallows, Batman watching. When the bat hits against his jaw, it's even harder to keep himself in the present, even harder to not smell the rotten stench that follows Two-Face wherever he goes. 

He has to remind himself that he's Batman now. Two-Face is in Arkham. It's Damian that's Robin and he should be just behind him, unconscious, blissfully unaware of the sharp snapping that fills the air when the bat hits his left shin just right. Dick can barely contain a scream, grinding his teeth and choking the noise with his own tongue. He can't imagine where Jason goes when he's hit with a crowbar. He can't imagine. If Dick goes back to a courthouse, Jason must go back to hell.

The beating stops after a few more hits to his chest and abdomen, and Dick's thankfully able to hold back any screams that Nightwing would probably have let out. The cape hanging on his shoulders and the cowl pulled over his face is too heavy, too important for him to show these assholes any weakness besides a clenched jaw and a glare sharper than their swords. His leg is pulsing and he definitely has a couple broken ribs that are currently screaming out in pain. It could be worse. The Kevlar on the suit's remarkable, definitely better than what Dick wore when he was nine years old. It's really just the pressure of his entire body weight on his wrists and his struggles to make purchases on his toes that's inflaming the smarting of his newest injuries. 

The leader is breathing hard, his hair now out of place, but his face is calm, cool, and collected. Normally, a beating like that would involve some sort of grudge or angry yelling, but this guy is literally just doing his job. He could care less how injured Batman gets, as long as he gets paid. 

Dick spit at him, a glob of blood, phlegm, and a broken tooth hitting him in the face. One of the grunts smirked and another oohed. 

Not the smartest move. Definitely not the smartest move.  Batman would have remained silent, glaring, maybe demand answers, but Dick can feel his temper flaring up beneath his skin and he acted before he could think about it. All the frustration and anger that's been bubbling under the surface is almost impossible to control in situations like this. 

"I don't want to hurt you anymore than what I have to," the leader says in a deadly calm voice, wiping the thick blood off his face and brushing the tooth off from his shoulder. "But keep that up, it won't be only you getting the beating."

"If you touch Robin I'll tear you to shreds," Dick snarls back, jerking forward in his restraints, almost losing his balance and pulling at his wounds. "Robin has nothing to do with this. He's just following orders. Your issues are with me, jackass."

The leader sighs and hands the bat to the woman merc next to him. "Clearly, you still need to be broken."

She smiles wickedly and Dick tenses, preparing himself for another beating, and she lifts the bat above her head and is about to bring it down with brutal force upon his head, but suddenly, a flash of red, green, and yellow and the woman is calling out as a steel toed boot kicks in her face. 

The others hardly even have time to react before Robin continues his miraculous attack. Dick is left staring wide eyed at his partner and Robin kick the legs out from the leader and then punches another right in the sweet spot of their gut, knocking out all air. There's a viciousness to Robin's movements, something Dick has scolded him over and over about, but right now he can't find it in himself to care that Robin's doing a bit more damage than necessary. 

As Robin works on one of the grunts, he doesn't notice the leader angrily scrambling to his feet and pulling out a dagger. Batman grinds his jaw, ignoring how much this is gonna hurt, and kicks his legs up, wrapping his thighs around his neck and squeezing. 

The leader is shocked by the attack from behind but is aware enough to plunge his dagger into Dick's leg. Dick bites back a cry and tightens his hold, ignoring the warmth now dripping down his thigh. 

A couple seconds pass, and finally the leader slumps and Dick releases, returning to his feet and wincing at the blood trailing down his shredded wrists thanks to his entire body weight being hung on them. His chest is tight with pain and his broken leg is pulsing, his impaled thigh still housing the knife. 

"Batman-" Damian says, punching the lights out of the last merc and running over to Dick. Dick flashes a smile but Damian ignores it as he studies the chains locked around Dick's wrists. 

Damian is looking a little green around the gills, and that worries Dick a tiny bit.

"You alright?" Dick asks and Damian clicks his tongue irritably and walks over to the leader of the mercenaries. He digs his coat pocket and pulls out a key to the deadlock to the chains and then starts dragging the leaders unconscious body closer to Dick's feet. 

Damian steps on the leader like a step ladder and reaches up to the deadlock with his arms outstretched. Dick winces when he catches sight of Damian's hands. 

So that's how he got out.

"Can you land on your feet?" Damian asks before Dick can confront him. Dick swallows and chooses to not mention his two injured legs and simply nods. Damian clicks his tongue again, huffing in exasperation, before shoving the key into the lock. With a turn and a little bit of fiddling, the support of the chains are gone and Dick is suddenly falling down onto his ass rather harshly. Every single one of his wounds smart and he winces as a sharp bolt of pain travels up his spine, but he pushes that to the side as Damian bends down to help Dick to his feet. 

"No," Dick says, and he holds out his hands, wrists bloodied and torn but it's nothing compared to Damian's hands. 

Damian looks nervous for a second before he slowly gives Dick his own hands. Dick sighs as he gently turns Damian's bare hands over in his own. The thumbs are swollen and bent at the wrong angle. His skin is practically shredded around his wrists and up the back of his hands. Somehow, Damian has managed to break his thumbs and violently squeeze out the chains without anyone noticing. 

"Robin…" Dick says. 

"I'm fine."

Dick sighs because he's clearly not fine. His eyebrows are pulled together slightly in barely contained agony. The chains were too tight to simply dislocate the joints of the thumbs. Breaking thumbs is dangerous and could easily go very, very wrong. Damian has just fought with them, has just helped Dick escape with them. He needs them splinted and looked at by a professional quickly. 

If he had his damn belt, he would be able to slip on a couple splints onto Damian, but he has no clue where their belts went. 

"We need to get your hands looked at," he says and Damian huffs. 

"You're the one whose severely injured. I know how to break my thumbs safely. I'm not the one who we should be worrying about."

Dick sighs, gently letting go on Damian's hands and Damian instantly brings then both to his chest. He doesn't want to think about the kind of training Damian has gone through to know how to "safely" shatter his thumbs. 

"We need to get out of here," Dick says and Damian nods and scoots closer. He grabs Dick's arm (thankfully careful with his broken joints) and helps Dick stand up. His broken leg wants to give out and his stabbed one is shaking like a leaf, but with the help of Robin clinging to his waist they both manage to open the container and stumble out into the ocean and exhaust fume tinted air of Gotham's docks. 

The rest is an almost pain filled blur. There isn't anyone else at the docks, probably all left towards the real location of the deal, and Dick doesn't even let Damian suggest he goes to find them. Dick is perfectly content with chalking this up as a loss for the night and he'd rather wait a few days to get more information and to heal than try to take out the bad guy's that night and possibly just get captured again. They find there belts and gloves stuffed inside a Jeep parked a bit away from the container used to imprison them (which now is locked with the mercenaries all inside, waiting for the cops Dick's about to call) and Dick pings for the Batmobile to their location after they do some basic first aid on their wounds. 

By the time Dick and Damian return to the cave, Dick's falling asleep on his feet, and he vaguely recognizes the symptoms of a concussion and of shock, but he forces himself to stay awake and doesn't even let Leslie give him any pain meds until he sees Alfred slipping sturdy braces on Damian's hands with the worst of the cuts cleaned and stitched up. 

Only after his Robin is safe does Dick let himself fall asleep. 

-o-o-o-o-

Damian sits next to Dick quietly, spinning his spoon around in his partly melted bowl of ice cream. He's just been put in the clear after much therapy on his thumbs a few days prior and they both are celebrating finally taking out the drug bust the night before. Dick sets his empty bowl to the side and leans back further into the cushions of the couch, mentally patting himself on the back. 

But then Damian speaks. 

"Father wouldn't have let us get captured."

Dick stiffens. He almost forgot how insistent Damian is with comparing Dick's "inepitcy" to Bruce's perfection. 

"D…"

"He would have found a way to get the criminals," Damian continues and each word is like a blow, a blow ringing with truth, as he too puts his ice cream bowl aside. Bruce probably would have found a way out of that. He most likely wouldn't even had fallen for the tricks Dick did. "And we would have taken them all down, together. Returned home with minimal injury."

Silence. A beat. Dick's heart is in his throat with shame.

"That's… what I keep trying to tell myself," Damian says, his voice going soft and quiet, whispered so Dick can hardly even hear what was said. 

"What… do you mean, Dami?"

"… It's my fault. I got us captured."

Dick leans forward and turns down the TV, resting his elbows on his knees and bending sideways to get the best look he can at his Robin. "What are you talking about?"

"If I hadn't…" Damian stops and licks his lips, nervous energy making him clasp his hands in front of him. Dick feels a pang of worry, he's never seen Damian like this. "If I hadn't gotten grabbed, you would have been able to take them all out. I should have been your support, not your burden. Robin protects Batman. It's my fault."

"Oh… Dami..." 

He almost expects Damian to resist when he brings his arms forward to embrace him, and tears almost fill his eyes the second when notices that Damian is already leaning towards his touch. He pulls Damian to his chest and holds him close, one hand slipping into Damian's hair and cradling his head into the crook of Dick's neck. He feels a tiny fist grab onto his shirt and he forces the sadness and worry and anger aside just to hold Damian, a kid who's only known his father for a few weeks, as tight as he dares.

Which is very tight. 

"It's not your fault," Dick says, conviction in his voice. "It's not Robin's job to protect Batman, it's exactly the other way around."

Dick didn't realize that himself until he became Batman. He always agreed with Robin's current standpoint. Jason agreed. Tim agreed. Steph did too. The point of Robin was to make sure Batman didn't go insane.

But once he pulled on the cowl, he finally saw how small a ten year old really is. He can only imagine how small nine year old Dick looked to Batman all those years ago. He can only imagine the pain in Bruce's heart whenever Dick proudly said that it's his job to protect him. 

Well, nevermind, right now he doesn't really need to imagine the pain. He's feeling it now. It's agonizing.

Children shouldn't fight wars. 

Unfortunately, they live in a world where they must.

"It's my job to make sure you're safe, Damian,  and I'm so… so proud of how you handled that night, broken thumbs and all. I'm proud of you. Your father would be too, if he was here."

Damian doesn't cry. Doesn't hiccup a sob. But Dick can feel his fist clench just a bit tighter around his shirt. So Dick holds him a bit closer, and hopes Damian believes him.

Then… very softly that Dick isn't even sure he heard it. 

"Father would be proud of you too, Grayson."

[amirosebooks]

Dean’s Old Yeller Principle

“He made me so mad at first that I wanted to kill him. Then, later, when I had to kill him, it was like having to shoot some of my own folks. That’s how much I’d come to think of the big yeller dog.”

— Fred Gipson, Old Yeller, Chapter 1 (Published in 1942)

When I was twelve or thirteen my English teacher passed out copies of Old Yeller as assigned reading. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the book, the quote above from the opening chapter tells you most everything you need to know for the context of this meta post. And for those of us who are still emotionally scarred from the damned book, I’m sorry for dredging up those memories.

Now, before I go any further, a disclaimer: Blah, blah, blah, this meta and interpretation of canon is my own. I’m not trying to “preach” to anyone about why Dean “is allowed” to be an asshole while he’s grieving or going through some shit. Or any other argument that consistently gets thrown back in the face of meta posts like this whenever Dean is being an emotional dick. You’re entitled to your interpretations, feelings and reactions, as am I. I’m merely offering this meta to 1) get it out of my mind 2) point and wave about the nods to this classic book that’s traumatized generations of American children 3) cheer Dean on for turning yet another teaching from the “older, wiser generation” John came from on its head.

Groovy? Okay, now we can move on.

I’m gonna throw the rest of this under the cut for length and to keep people who are sensitive to pets / animals dying in really sad ways from having their days ruined by talking more about the book unless they’re good with having that happen.

Now, as I said in my disclaimer bit, Old Yeller is largely considered classic literature here in the states. My memories of it are a weird mix of vague on the details and strong on the emotions it evoked. From what I remember, the main character was a young teenager when his family brought home Yeller. For whatever reason, our main character hated this dog. I don’t remember the details and they’re honestly not important to this meta. The hate he felt toward the dog is important. So is the fact that the hate slowly turned into love and devotion to the dog. Which made it even more gutting when, on a hunting trip (if I remember correctly) Yeller was bitten by a rabid animal and contracted rabies.

At the end of the novel, the Coates family are once again attacked by a wild animal, a wolf, and saved by Yeller’s bravery. Yeller is bit during the attack and becomes infected with rabies. Travis knows that despite his connection to Yeller and Yeller’s protection of his family, the dog must be killed before it becomes fully rabid and does any harm to him and his family. As the man of the house while his father is gone, Travis takes it upon himself to put Yeller out of his misery with his hunting rifle. Travis is heartbroken by what he has done, but knows that it was the right thing to do for his family. (From here.)

Sound familiar? Good. That’s what I thought too when we got the shot above in the graveyard in 14x20.

[Obviously, rabies, once there are symptoms like Yeller had, is incurrable, so putting him down was literally the only option. And we are talking here about Supernatural, which operates on soap opera rules so anything goes, but let’s just roll with the similarities for the sake of argument.]

I remember telling my husband while we were watching it “Dude, they’re really going to Old Yeller Jack, omg.” (I even made fanart of the moment.)

And then, something incredible happened.

Dean threw out the script yet again and set off season 15 with the dull thud of a gun being tossed into the grass.

Now, I hear you. “That’s great, Ami. Why should we care?”

Lemme tell you a thing, friend.

In order to tell you thing thing, I want to take a trip way back to season 4. Back when the brothers were still nose deep into John Winchester’s gospel of Monster = Evil = Kill The Thing.

(Screencaps are all from Home of the Nutty.)

4x21 - When the Levee Breaks

Sam: Stop bossing me around, Dean. Look. My whole life, you take the wheel, you call the shots, and I trust you because you are my brother. Now I’m asking you, for once, trust me.

Dean: No. You don’t know what you’re doing, Sam.

Sam: Yes, I do.

Dean: Then that’s worse.

Sam: Why? Look, I’m telling you-

Dean: Because it’s not something that you’re doing, it’s what you are! It means- Dean cuts himself off.

Sam: What? No. Say it. (Sam has tears in his eyes.)

Dean: It means you’re a monster. (Transcript from here.)

I remember the first time I watched the show and I got to this episode. That fucking line was such a gut punching moment. And it was such an effective and emotional moment that Ruby was able to extend it later to further manipulate Sam.

Now, the screencap I grabbed for this moment is of Dean in tears (well, that single man tear he’s known for) after labelling Sam a monster for a reason. I want to remind all of us of just how much it killed Dean to have to use that label for Sam. To have to try to rationalize that the boy he raised, his brother, the guy who has been there forever and has always been Dean’s charge to take care of is now the thing that Dean is going to have to put down because he falls under the label of monster.

You know what, let’s go back a little farther, to the first episode of season 2. To this moment:

Remember this look? The one we later learned was thanks to John telling Dean that Dean was going to need to put Sam down? That Sam was going to become a monster? Yeah, ouch.

I added the year Old Yeller was published (1942) to the quote at the top of this meta to help give some context about the time it was written and the world it was released into. I’d also like to make note that in 1957 (or about a year before Henry Winchester jumped forward in time to meet the brothers in season 8 and give them keys to the bunker and had to choose to abandon John when John was still a fairly young boy) Disney released a movie version of the book. It’s absolutely, if the movie exists in the SPN world, the kind of thing young John would have watched and taken some kind of black and white moral guidance from.

It’s the kind of book/movie that John would have probably (note, this is where we start diving into my own headcanons for a moment) made sure the boys were aware of when he started thinking about bringing them on hunts to keep them from freezing because the “person” on the other end of their shotgun is someone’s mom. I could see it being the kind of thing he’d use as a way to show them both that, yes, shit is hard but you have to do the right thing and sometimes that means killing the thing you love. At least, I could picture him thinking that way. (Also, this still makes me wonder about exactly how early John started suspecting there was something different about Sam, but that’s a whoooole other post.)

Moving on and forward to season 6.

6x20 - The Man Who Would Be King

Castiel: The angel-proofing Bobby put up on the house – he got a few things wrong.

Dean: Well, it’s too bad we got to angel-proof in the first place, isn’t it? Why are you here?

Castiel: I want you to understand.

Dean: Oh, believe me, I get it. Blah, blah, Raphael, right?

Castiel: I’m doing this for you, Dean. I’m doing this because of you.

Dean: Because of me. Yeah. You got to be kidding me.

Castiel: You’re the one who taught me that freedom and free will –

Dean: You’re a freakin’ child, you know that? Just because you can do what you want doesn’t mean that you get to do whatever you want!

Castiel: I know what I’m doing, Dean.

Dean: I’m not gonna logic you, okay? I’m saying don’t… Just ‘cause. I’m asking you not to. That’s it.

Castiel: I don’t understand.

Dean: Look, next to Sam, you and Bobby are the closest things I have to family – that you are like a brother to me. So, if I’m asking you not to do something… You got to trust me, man.

Castiel: Or what?

Dean: Or I’ll have to do what I have to do to stop you.

Castiel: You can’t, Dean. You’re just a man. I’m an angel.

Dean: I don’t know. I’ve taken some pretty big fish. (Transcript from here.)

This was after two seasons of Cas fighting by their side. Two seasons of Cas giving heaven the middle finger on behalf of the Winchesters. It was enough time for Dean’s first reaction in a time of confusion on a hunt was to call Cas for help. And it was enough time for Dean to go from assuming Cas was a demon summoned with “bad mojo” to drag him out of hell on behalf of Sam to genuinely starting to care about Cas.

Dean did threaten to take Cas out here if he persisted down the path he was on, but you can tell by the rest of the conversation and just how hard it was to convince Dean that Cas was lying to them that Dean was hoping talking would work and he wouldn’t be forced to put Cas down.

Unfortunately…

6x22 - The Man Who Knew Too Much

Castiel: You doubted me, fought against me, but I was right all along.

Dean: Okay, Cas, you were. We’re sorry. Now let’s just defuse you, okay?

Castiel: What do you mean?

Dean: You’re full of nuke. It’s not safe. So, before the eclipse ends, let’s get them souls back to where they belong.

Castiel: Oh no, they belong with me.

Dean: No, Cas, it’s it-it’s scrambling your brain.

Castiel: No, I’m not finished yet. Raphael had many followers, and I must punish them all severely.

Dean: Listen to me. Listen, I know there’s a lot of bad water under the bridge, but we were family once. I’d have died for you. I almost did a few times. So if that means anything to you… Please. I’ve lost Lisa, I’ve lost Ben, and now I’ve lost Sam. Don’t make me lose you too. You don’t need this kind of juice anymore, Cas. Get rid of it before it kills us all.

Castiel: You’re just saying that because I won. Because you’re afraid. (Behind him, Sam picks up the angel killing sword.) You’re not my family, Dean. I have no family. (Sam stabs Castiel in the back with the angel killing sword. Sam groans. Nothing happens. Castiel pulls the sword out. There’s no blood on it. He puts it down.) I’m glad you made it, Sam. But the angel blade won’t work, because I’m not an angel anymore. I’m your new God. A better one. So you will bow down and profess your love unto me, your Lord. Or I shall destroy you. (Transcript from here.)

Again, Dean tried to argue with the overpowered angel, he tried bargaining, pleading, and appealing to Cas’s fondness for them, but it didn’t work. Sam was the one who was forced to try stabbing Cas and it… also didn’t work.

7x01 - Meet the New Boss

Sam: Dean, look, I know you think that Cas is gone –

Dean: It’s 'cause he is.

Sam: He’s not! He’s in there somewhere, Dean. I know it.

Dean: No, you don’t.

Sam: No, I don’t. But, look, I was pretty far gone sometimes myself, and never gave up on me.

Dean: Yeah, and it turns out that you’re about the Same open book as you’ve always been. Hallucinations? Really? I got to find out from Death?

Sam: What was I supposed to do?

Dean: How about not lie? How about tell me that you’ve got crazy crap climbing those walls?

Sam: Why? You can’t help. You got a lot of pretty severe crap swinging your way lately, and – and I thought –what? I thought why burst the one good bubble you had left? It’s under control.

Dean: What? What, exactly, is under control?

Sam: I know what’s real and what’s not.

Dean: Sam –

Sam: Dean, look, we can debate this once we deal with Cas.

Dean: Yeah, you know how I’m gonna deal? I’m gonna stuff my piehole, I’m gonna drink, and I’m gonna watch some Asian cartoon p**n and act like the world’s about to explode because it is. Hey. You got to be kidding me. “Massacre at the campaign office of an incumbent Senator by a trench-coated man.” There’s security footage. Well, I think reaching Cas is, uh… out of the cards. (Transcript from here. And hopefully my slight censoring the last paragraph keeps tumblr from blacklisting this post into the aether…)

Here’s a sad thought for you, how often do you think–while Cas was terrorizing the country as Godstiel and, later, after he walked into the lake and exploded into Leviathan goo–Dean thought about how he should have listened to Bobby and Sam and taken Cas out before he had the chance to swallow the Leviathans and become super powered? Probably a lot, I’d guess.

This moment, as much as I, personally, hate seasons 6 and 7, went pretty damn far to reinforce this Old Yeller principle in Dean’s moral code.

He had to sit back and watch, literally, while someone he cared about went out of their goddamn mind with power while killing and terrorizing people. He had to do that knowing that there was a moment when he could have done something to prevent it. He could have killed Cas when he had him locked up in the ring of holy fire and they were having one of their many breakup moments.

Dean felt like he could have stopped all of this, but he’d been weak and tried talking it out first instead. And you can’t convince me that he didn’t check the news and every drop of blood Godstiel brought about to the blood on his own hands because of that choice to give Cas a chance to see reason.

10x09 - The Things We Left Behind

CASTIEL: How are you, Dean?

DEAN: Fine. [Cas gives him a look.] I’m great!

CASTIEL: No, you’re not.

DEAN: Yeah, well, I lost the black eyes, so that’s a plus. But I still have this. [Dean reaches over and gently slaps the Mark on his arm.]

CASTIEL: Is the Mark of Cain still affecting you?

[Dean flashes back to his dream from earlier, of the blood covering him, the dead bodies lying around him.]

CASTIEL: Dean?

[Dean blinks hard, coming back to the present.]

DEAN: Cas, I need you to promise me something.

CASTIEL: Of course.

DEAN: If I do go dark side, you got to take me out.

CASTIEL: What do you mean?

DEAN: Knife me. Smite me. Throw me into the freakin’ sun, whatever. And don’t let Sam get in the way, because he’ll try. I can’t go down that road again, man. I can’t be that thing again.

(Transcript from here.)

I may hate seasons 6 and 7, but holy damn do I love season 10. I know it’s not a favorite among many people in the fandom, but it’s one of mine.

This moment, this burger date of sadness and pain, is a big favorite for me. Dean sees the writing on the wall. He’s been a Knight of Hell now. He’s been as darkside as he can get. He’s, likely, being reminded daily of his time in Hell in the last ten years of his stay there where he was torturing souls. And he’s begging Cas to keep him from returning to that place. He’s begging Cas to adopt the Old Yeller principle because he sees it as the only option left if the mark consumed him again. And that kills me.

Let’s take another jump forward to season 13, where Dabb & Co really started putting Dean’s Old Yeller principle into text in a heavy, purposeful way.

13x02 - The Rising Son

SAM Dean, wait a second. (Sighs) The kid came through for us today. Jack saved us.

DEAN No. No, whatever that was, that was a reflex. It was a sneeze. Maybe next time he sneezes, he kills us. Good night.

[DEAN hears a clacking sound coming from a distance. He follows the noise to JACK’s room.] JACK Ah!

[DEAN finds JACK trying to stab himself with a blade. The wounds immediately heal.]

DEAN Okay. What the hell?  (he gets in the room) Give me that. You—Don’t be an idiot. Look, A, this is not gonna do anything to you, okay? And B, you… What the hell?

JACK Exactly. What the hell am I? I can’t control… whatever this is. I will hurt someone.

DEAN You know, my brother thinks you can be saved.

JACK You don’t believe that.

DEAN No, I don’t.

JACK So… if you’re right?

DEAN If I’m right… and it comes to killing you… I’ll be the one to do it.

[DEAN leaves.]

(Transcript from here.)

Can I just bask in the glory of the grieving widow!Dean arc from the beginning of 13 for a moment? I’d also like to take a moment to 🙌 Jack for being a wonderful Team Free Will mirror (and mimic) from the word go.

Ahhh…

Okay, moving on.

I loved this bit in 13x02 so much. Partially because it’s such a heavy handed foreshadow to 14x20, but also because it shows so clearly how good Jack is at reading the emotions in the room. He’s, like, three days old at that point, but he’s already having an existential crisis about whether or not he’s evil. He already understands (yes, thanks to jackass grieving widow!Dean…) the whole Monster = Evil = Kill The Thing.

He also shows that he understands the Old Yeller principle. And, for better or worse, he and Dean reach an unspoken agreement here about it. (Again, this is my reading. Your mileage may vary.)

13x04 - The Big Empty

JACK I’m afraid.

MIA/KELLY Why? Why are you afraid?

JACK Sam thinks you were right, that—that I’m good. He wants me to believe it, and I wanna believe it, too. It’s just, I… I’ve hurt people. I didn’t mean to. It was an accident. And I know I should feel bad, and I say I feel bad, but most of the time, I mostly… I don’t feel anything. And that’s why I think maybe… Maybe I’m a monster.

MIA/KELLY Jack. It doesn’t matter what you are. It matters what you do. And even monsters can do good in this world.

JACK You really believe that?

MIA/KELLY I have to. I have to.

[MIA hugs JACK again.]

(Trancript from here.)

Killing me would be kinder than subjecting me to these feelings so soon after being introduced to this fucking character. Omg. Poor Jack.

Now, yes, a huuuuge part of Jack’s opinion of monsters and the whole “What do we do with monsters children? That’s RIGHT, we kill them.” thing is because Dean is an asshole when he’s emotional and grieving and deep into survival mode.

But, that doesn’t change the fact that Jack is still worried about the fact that he doesn’t feel things the way that everyone else seems to. That he has powers no one, including him, can understand. And that he’s killed people without meaning to. He’s afraid of himself just like Dean was afraid of what he was capable of if the mark took him over again.

13x23 - Let The Good Times Roll

(Sam continues down the hallway while Dean turns to another hallway and approaches his bedroom door. He stops as if to listen to something and then continues down the hall, away from his bedroom door. He enters Jack’s room, where Jack is sleeping and talking in his sleep)

JACK Stop! No!

DEAN Jack? (Dean touches Jack’s shoulder to wake him) Hey. (Jack jumps up, anxious and disoriented. Dean holds out his hand towards Jack to calm him) Hey, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Easy. You’re just having a bad dream.

JACK (breathing heavily) Sorry.

DEAN It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize. I have 'em, too. All the time.

JACK You do?

DEAN Sure.

JACK You, um… What do you see?

DEAN Well, depends. Mostly…mostly people I couldn’t save.

JACK Me, too. Over there in the other world, I said I’d protect those people. But…I saw so many of them die. And…I tried to save them. I…I tried, but… I’m sorry. I wasn’t strong enough.

DEAN Jack… (Dean sits on the edge of Jack’s bed) it’s not about being strong. I mean… Look, I don’t know what you saw over there, and I don’t know what you went through. I know it was bad. But I also know that you came out the other side because you are strong. But even when we’re strong, man, things are gonna happen. We’re gonna make mistakes. Nobody’s perfect. Right? But we can get better. Every day, we can get better. So whatever you’re dealing with, you know, whatever…whatever comes at us, we’ll figure out a way to deal with it, together. You’re family, kid, and we look after our own.

(Transcript from here.)

It’s not about being strong. IT’S NOT ABOUT BEING STRONG.

This is where we veer away from Old Yeller a tiny bit because, again, in the book Yeller had rabies which they could do nothing about.

The moments I’ve highlighted in this post all come back to one motivation. The overpowered person/angel/asshole in question was trying to gain enough strength through supernatural (lol) means in order to have the power to destroy a (perceived) bigger threat than whatever the cost was to get that power.

Sam’s demon blood drinking was supposed to give him the power to destroy Lucifer and get revenge for Mary and John and their lost childhood. It went badly and earned Sam the label of monster and falling, at least temporarily, into the territory of the Old Yeller principle.

Cas started lying to the brothers and working with Crowley so they could gain the power to stop heaven from starting yet another apaocalypse. Cas wanted to keep the Winchesters (Dean) safe from being destroyed in a holy war after being forced to fight his brother to the death. Again, this did not go well and lead to Cas succumbing to the Leviathans’s power and dying front of Dean after losing the Winchester’s trust.

Dean took on the Mark of Cain to defeat Abaddon, the evil that made John grow up without a father. It left him torn between going on a, essentially, soulless killing spree or becoming a Knight of Hell… again.

Hell, even the way Jack came into the world was fraught with Sam lying to Dean about working with the BMoL to have the power and strength to defeat Lucifer/the nephilim. Not to mention the months of lying Cas did after he decided that Jack’s power and strength was the only way they could destroy Lucifer once and for all. Again, this ended with Cas dying in front of Dean and the BMoL trying to exterminate everyone including the American hunters.

That’s the lesson Dean is trying to instill (hypocritically, let’s be honest) to Jack here. Strength and power come at a terrible cost and if you can solve a problem without resorting to that level of fuckery that things will be better.

And, also, that if things do go bad, that Jack is family and “we look after our own.” To Dean, this is where the Old Yeller principle kicks in. It is, in a rather fucked up but well earned way, the best option he knows for making sure another one of his loved ones doesn’t fall under that monster label. That none of them end up with more blood on their hands or bringing about the end of the world, again, because of their soap opera problems.

13x23 - Let The Good Times Roll

JACK I’m sorry.

(Jack walks towards the exit and Castiel goes to follow him)

CASTIEL Jack!

(Dean grabs Castiel’s arm)

DEAN No, hey, just – just let him go.

(Jack is walking through the woods, banging a closed fist into his hand and punching his shoulder)

JACK You keep hurting people! You keep… (Jack flashes back to all the people he has hurt with his powers – Nate, Sam, Dean, the female police officer) hurting… (flash to the male sheriff) (yelling) Why do you keep hurting people?!

(Transcript from here.)

This lesson, the lesson of power and strength not being the best answer because of the cost it comes with is not an easy one to learn. Especially when you were born as a superpowered, emotional Winchester by adoption. Life is scary when that’s the hand you’ve been dealt and using the power you have is an appealing balm to combat that fear.

13x23 - Let The Good Times Roll

JACK (moving towards Lucifer, eyes glowing and hand outstretched)Tell me the truth!

(Lucifer’s eyes start to glow, his head tilts to the side and he starts speaking)

LUCIFER She saw me when I was scouting out the bunker. She saw me and she screamed, and then…so I crushed her skull with my bare hands. And it was warm and wet, and I liked it.

(Lucifer’s eyes return to normal and he looks confused)

JACK You’re not my father. You’re a monster.

LUCIFER (yelling) Come on, man! (Lucifer bellows so forcibly that Sam and Dean cover their ears, his eyes glowing red) Okay. I tried with you. I really tried with you.

JACK Everything you told me was a lie.

LUCIFER Because I told you what you wanted to hear, man. So what?! I killed the girl! Big deal! She’s a – she’s a human! She doesn’t matter!

JACK So am I!

LUCIFER Yeah? And that’s your problem. (pointing at Jack) You’re too much like your mother.

(Transcript from here.)

To me, this moment reads as Jack embracing that black and white Winchester thinking. He has yet (even now that’s he’s currently dead in season 15) to grasp the concept of people being morally gray. He sees himself as either embracing the monster side of himself from his bio dad or rejecting that side of himself to embrace Kelly’s human side. The side that can’t hurt people on accident. The side that makes him more like the Winchesters. Because he doesn’t want to fall under than monster label. He doesn’t want to fall under that Old Yeller principle. He doesn’t want to hurt so many people that he will have to die because neither he or anyone else can control him.

Yes, this moment is FAR more complicated than just that, but it’s definitely part of it.

14x10 - Nihilism

DEAN Sam said that one of your reapers really came through with the assist. I’m thinking that was probably you.

BILLIE Don’t tell anyone.

DEAN You broke the rules.

BILLIE I took a calculated risk. I warned you about the dangers of jumping from world to world. But you ignored me, didn’t you?

DEAN Rescuing Mom and Jack, helping out those other folks – I’d say it was worth it.

BILLIE And just look at you now. Do you remember visiting my reading room? The shelves and shelves of notebooks describing the ways you might die?

DEAN Yeah. Upbeat classics.

BILLIE Well, it’s the funniest thing, but they’ve all been rewritten. They all end the same way now – with the archangel Michael escaping your mind and using you as his vessel to burn down this world.

DEAN All of them?

BILLIE All of them. Except one.

(Billie hands Dean a book. He opens it and then looks at her, stunned)

DEAN What am I supposed to do with this?

BILLIE That’s up to you.

(Dean looks at the book again and when he looks up, Billie is gone. He looks back at the book and then looks around, a mixture of fear and confusion on his face)

(Transcript from here.)

Remember what I said about Dean being well aware of the price that has to be paid in exchange for the power and strength to defeat supposedly unbeatable enemies?

Yeah… Dean “knows” that the time has come for him to call his own bluff. The one from all the way back in 10x09 (not that he was bluffing then, but he didn’t have to take action on it then) when he asked Cas to take him out. “Knife me. Smite me. Throw me into the freakin’ sun, whatever.”

We didn’t know that was what this moment was until the next episode. But this is the moment when the Old Yeller principle went into effect again. And you can see how much it hurts Dean, how resigned and heartbroken he is over it.

14x11 - Damaged Goods

DEAN It’s a Ma’lak box. [DEAN closes the door to the box. He and SAM are standing over it.] Secured and warded. Once inside… nothing gets out, not even an archangel. Especially an archangel.

SAM Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ve – I’ve read about these, but – but no one’s ever – they’re impossible to build.

DEAN Yeah, well, not so much.

SAM That’s your plan? You want to be buried alive?

DEAN Buried’s not safe enough. Plan is, pay a little hush money, charter a boat to take me out to the Pacific. Splash.

SAM You and Michael, trapped together – for eternity?

DEAN Yeah.

SAM You do realize how insane this is, right?

DEAN It’s the only sane play I’ve got. Michael gets out, that’s it for this world. And he will get out.

SAM Well, how do you know that for sure?

DEAN Because I do. Because I can feel him in my head. That door is giving. I can feel it giving.

SAM But there has to be another way.

DEAN There’s not, okay? There – Sam you’ve tried. Cas has tried. Jack… And I love you for trying. But none of it’s gonna work.

SAM We don’t know that.

DEAN Yeah, we do.

SAM What?

DEAN Billie.

SAM Billie?

DEAN She paid me a little visit. She said that there’s only one way this ends right. And this is it. This, right here, this box. So, she gave up the special recipe, and all I had to do was the work. It’s fate.

SAM Since when do we believe in fate?

DEAN Now, Sam. Since now.

(Transcript from here.)

Here is the moment. The one where Dean was at his absolute lowest. When he hit that point where resignation about his fate met having to act on his principles. 

14x12 - Prophet and Loss

DEAN Well, I will call this a win. Kinda nice. Going out on a high. SAM “Going out” being the operative phrase. DEAN Sorry. SAM “Sorry.” How sorry are you? Sorry that you fight to keep Donatello alive, but when it comes to you, you just throw in the towel? Or are you sorry that, after all these years, our entire lives, a-after I’ve looked up to you, after I’ve learned from you, I-I-I’ve copied you, I followed you to Hell and back… are you sorry that all of that it – it – it means nothing now? DEAN Who’s saying that? SAM You are, when you tell me I have to kill you. When you’re telling me that I have to just throw away everything we stand for, throw away faith, throw away family. We’re the guys who saved the world. We don’t just check out of it! [SAM pushes DEAN.] DEAN Sam, I have tried everything. Everything! I got one card left to play and I have to play it. SAM You have one card today! But we’ll find another tomorrow. But if you quit on us today, there will be no tomorrow! You tell me, uh, you don’t know what else to do. I don’t either, Dean. Not yet. But what you’re doing now, i-it’s – it’s wrong! It’s quitting! I mean, l-look what just happened. Donatello never quit fighting. So we could help him because he never gave up. [SAM moves closer to DEAN.] I believe in us, Dean. [DEAN doesn’t say anything. SAM gets angry and punches DEAN in the face.] I believe in us. [SAM tries to punch DEAN again, but he stops him.] DEAN Hey, hey, hey, hey! [SAM hugs DEAN.] SAM Why don’t you believe in us, too? DEAN Okay, Sam. Let’s go home. SAM What? [SAM pulls away from the hug.] DEAN Let’s go home. Maybe Billie’s wrong. Maybe. But I do believe in us.

(Transcript from here.)

And just like Dean predicted in 10x09, Sam was able to talk him out of sacrificing himself. How was he able to do that? By reminding Dean that they were the fucking Winchesters. They fucked with the cosmic balance constantly and always, always found another way. A way to avoid the Old Yeller principle. A way to live and fight again.

Which, they totally did, but the price of not throwing Dean into the ocean for an eternity of alone time with alt!Michael banging away in his head was their adopted child.

14x20 - Moriah

JACK: You’re not gonna lock me up again, are you?

DEAN: No.

(Dean raises the gun, aims at Jack and exhales deeply. Jack kneels down and bows his head. Dean, looking puzzled, lowers the gun and walks closer towards Jack. When he’s right in front of Jack, he aims the gun directly at his head. At this moment Sam comes speeding into the cemetery, car tires screeching. He gets out of the car and starts running towards Dean and Jack)

SAM: Dean? Dean!

JACK: (to Dean) I understand.

(Sam is still running, yelling for Dean. The music is getting more suspenseful as Dean holds his aim steady at Jack)

SAM: Dean, don’t! Dean? Dean!

JACK: I know what I’ve done.

SAM: No, no, no, no, no, no, no, Dean! Hey, hey, hey! Dean!

DEAN: Stay back, Sam!

SAM: (Panting)

JACK: And you were right all along. (Chuck comes up alongside Sam) I am a monster.

SAM: (to Chuck) Do something. … You’re enjoying this.

CHUCK: Shh.

(Dramatic music plays)

(Dean cocks the gun. He looks Jack in the eye for several seconds and then slowly lowers the gun. At this point, Castiel also comes running towards the area)

(Dean uncocks the gun and tosses it to the side)

(Transcript from here.)

I have yet to rewatch this episode, but from what I remember I don’t think it had completely sunk in to Dean in that moment of choice that Chuck was there revealing that he was invested in the outcome of this showdown between Dean and Jack. In that moment, that split second of choice between following through with what he’d believed for so long for following through with an extension of the order John gave him about Sam back in the hospital back in 2x01, Dean made a choice for himself. And that choice was to believe that they’d find another way. He decided that when it came right down to it, he couldn’t kill his child for making the same bargain for power and strength that he himself had made multiple times over the last 14 seasons.

He was also directly confronted with a similar situation to that from the end of season 6 and beginning of 7 with Cas and the Leviathans, in that when it really came down to it, he wasn’t capable of murdering someone he considered family.

And then Chuck had to go and erase any chance they had in following up on that. He killed Jack so that they didn’t have a chance to find a way to help Jack balance the power he’d absorbed from destroying Michael or living without his soul.

So yeah, from where we sit now with only one episode of season 15 under our belts waiting with baited breath to see where the rest of this end of the road season takes us, it makes sense that Dean, of all people, would be in the middle of an emotional fucking collapse. And that he would be a huge, whiny, pissbaby douchebag about it because that’s the Dean Winchester way.

Does that make his behavior okay? No, of course not. But does that turn any of the rest of them into saints? Nope, of course not. And I, personally, wouldn’t have it any other way. I like that they’re flawed and fucked up and keep getting back up and going back to each other and keep trying. That’s why we’ve had 15 goddamn seasons of this. Because it’s what they do.

[pyreo]

A Bioshock Retrospective

‘Cause I just finished replaying. I’ve attempted replays a bunch of times since I first installed it in 2009 (started this one on its to-the-day 10 year anniversary). Every other time since the first I just ran out of steam around the Farmer’s Market so I am mind-numbingly familiar with Neptune’s Bounty and didn’t remember a single thing about Apollo Square. 

Andrew Ryan is as good a villain as ever, and Fontaine is not. Ryan believes himself to be principled and spouts off libertarian phrases to that effect but in essence is a dictator who will only allow his creation to prosper under his rules with him at its head. He knows his death is inevitable and maintains that he, and not you, remains in control of his choices. He chooses to put up no resistance, then allows you to kill him to point out you have no choice in the matter, and chooses to destroy Rapture rather than let it exist without him. 

Is it about ideology? Or is it about a single person being so perfectionist about what they create that they cannot allow it to prosper under anyone else’s contribution? One of the most relevant aspects is Ryan’s refusal to govern the populace he actually has, who go through the process of destroying themselves thanks to lawless capitalism. He prefers to rule the populace he wants, and assures himself he will have, if only they conform to all his rules. 

It’s been said many times that the game should really end with Ryan’s death, in a cutscene with no input from the player. That is its strongest point. The inability of choice exists in gameplay where he demonstrates that he is a man and you a slave, and he’s beaten to a pulp while you can only watch. The story that comes after that is weak, a kind of behind-the-curtain set of chapters where you see the full extremes of Ryan’s brutality, public hangings even before the entire population genetically modified themselves into insanity. You visit the homes of the major characters to round off the backstories of the cast, almost all of whom are dead. But the twist is over, you’ve discovered that your crash into Rapture was planned, your murderous rampage predestined, and your actions (except for Little Sisters) were plotted by design of other characters. You aren’t an outsider landing in fantastical chaos, but an agent created out of that chaos returning home. 

To continue the story after Ryan I think the best route would be to let Jack start becoming a character. He starts to talk. He communicates on the radio. After being a silent protagonist until the mind control is removed, let him actually be a character. Let him take part in the story and make decisions that the player does not have input on. Continue that plot point that Jack was unable to control himself, give him agency, and actually reduce the player themselves to the role of his mental conditioning. We are Fontaine’s agent in his mind, and let him move past us. The final boss battle is unimpressive in its conformity. It adds nothing. It dampens the subversion that attempts to define the game. A bolder theme would be for the player’s character to receive agency and become a talking, opinionated person. 

Another aspect I don’t remember seeing much about, but Rapture absolutely belongs to the men. Its sexism is a clear forerunner to Bioshock Infinite’s blunt-force racism. Two men fight politically for the future of a city; a boy arrives to end the stalemate. The lead scientist is male, the lead entertainer is male, the business owners are male, hulking Big Daddies fill the tunnels. Women get to be daughters to protect, or redeemed via motherhood, or dead. Julie Langford is killed in front of you to lengthen the game, Anna Culpepper was killed for making fun of Ryan, Jasmine Jolene is more of a plot point than a sex worker whose corpse you can find after seeing a vision of Ryan personally murdering her, Diane McClintock is our innocent POV of the past who is betrayed by both Ryan AND Fontaine to demonstrate their ruthlessness. The stories of women all end in an illustrative death unless they are Tenenbaum, who’s absolved of human experimentation by discovering her maternal instinct and because someone needs to hand you instructions after Atlas’s facade falls. Fontaine references this:

‘Has Mother Goose really got her hooks into you? You can knock Ryan all you want, but the old man was bingo on one point of fact: you won't even walk till somebody says "go"!’

Which calls out the contradictory continuation: you go through the trouble of removing your mental shackles, but with no agency, you just keep doing whatever the person on the radio tells you to do. I think the unsatisfactory takeaway from the last 1/3rd of the game comes from the disconnect of a revelation in the story having no bearing on the way it’s played. 

It’s a good thematic premise, though. You see yourself as an outsider, lowered into a post-fall closed society, only able to infer the majesty of its glory days before it was leaking and covered in blood, the uninitiated arriving to survey the damage of a system gone wrong. But the reveal shows us you are not an outsider, you were born and conceived (logistically) in Rapture and to it you must return. You existence is not apart from the upheaval, but an intrinsic part of it. You find your mother’s corpse, killed by your father, who you then also murder. You’re part of the system. And to escape out of the other side you have to immerse yourself to the fullest, by becoming a Big Daddy and taking the only thing from Rapture that deserves to be saved - the little children. 

I remembered the slow transformation sequence into a Big Daddy as thoroughly unpleasant and it kind of is. It’s implied that you don’t do it ‘properly’, as you’re able to reverse the process on the surface later. But this major change in the story actually influences how you play. Your footfalls become huge clomps, your vocal lines of shock or pain are guttural nonsense. You lose most of your field of view completely, seeing through a porthole with distortions. That is your endgame self and it’s thoroughly uncomfortable, and rightly so. It’s a sacrifice of your humanity you make in several small stages as you interact with the parts of the suit around the world. And once the suit is complete, the game changes in a permanent way - you have a complete disguise and nothing is hostile to you. 

I actually went back and explored the previous levels as a Big Daddy and the change is profound. You can walk up to splicers and watch them search refuse piles and talk to themselves. You don’t have to focus your mind on killing anything that moves. The submersion in the environment is complete, it has enveloped you and you’re a part of it - it accepts you. You’re one of them. Then in the final sequence the chirpy calls of a Little Sister you’ve been enduring for the entire game are, suddenly, directed at you, telling you to keep up, as you quickly forage the area for more mines to defend this completely deluded, innocent girl. There’s not even any real reason you have to become a Big Daddy. Tenenbaum’s rescued Sisters are conscious and can open doors for you at will so it makes no sense. But thematically it’s an ideal end, up until the superfluously predictable Big Final Boss. There’s such a finality in the endgame where every enemy drops so much money, it becomes meaningless, you can’t hold any more ammo, and you could invent more stuff than you could ever use. Your former resource management mentality hits a wall hard and must be discarded. The money you used to scrounge doesn’t matter. None of this matters, the game is nearly done. 

Favourite character: Bill McDonagh, the most intelligent person in Rapture, the one with the most pleasant accent/performance, and the pretty much sole voice of reason, a working class hero in a cesspit of entitled objectivism. 

Favourite moment: Anything Sander Cohen did. His mannequins suspended from the ceiling with falling petals. His concert hall and the unique musical sting if you revisit it. The entire part where you can ‘release’ silent white plaster splicers who move when you’re not looking and crawl backwards on the ceiling. The fact you don’t actually have to kill him. That if you do attack him in his apartment he appears yelling, “I’m Sander fucking Cohen!”

[prorevenge]

Power hungry president sucks the joy out of a local artist collective, ends up having to leave town.

A warning and an apology: this is long.

For background, my older sister, who I'll call Beth, is married to her high school sweetheart, who I'll call Craig. Beth is a pretty laid-back person, but she has one hot button trigger that causes her to have zero chill: anyone treating her beloved Craig poorly. Craig is very quiet and kind, just in general a mild-mannered, good-natured guy who's not great at standing up for himself, so he often attracts bad actors who view him as an easy mark, and because he alwaysassumes that other people have good intentions, he's not great at realizing when he's being mistreated. Beth is usually pretty relaxed about things, but she will basically turn into a howling, vengence-seeking banshee if anyone takes advantage of Craig.

Which brings us to ~2-3 years ago. Craig works a white collar job remotely, but he's an amateur artist/craftsman as a hobby. He does wood carving, a little bit of light metalwork, and 2-D art (mainly pencil sketches and pen-and-ink illustrations). He joined an artist's collective/makerspace where he could work on these hobbies around likeminded people, and he absolutely loved it. Whenever I hung out with him and Beth around this time, Craig would excitedly talk about the space and his projects there with infectious enthusiasm. His eyes were practically beaming out of his head whenever it came up. Beth joined too to learn/improve on her own hobby of fiber arts (mainly weaving and dyeing), but she was way less into it than Craig.

Some time after this, the president of the makerspace stepped down. It was essentially a volunteer position, though it came with a small (mostly symbolic) stipend. Since the makerspace had no actual staff, being president of the makerspace was a huge undertaking that involved being a one-man show for everything--for a start, coordinating with the board, keeping day-to-day operations going, and chasing the grants that kept the lights on. The current president just couldn't do it anymore with his full-time job, and announced his intention to vacate the role. Craig had come to love the makerspace, and he figured he had the resources to be an effective president. His job is entirely remote and deliverables-based (he can work whatever hours he wants as long as he's meeting his objectives), so he figured he could work out of the makerspace on his laptop and be available there if anyone needed him, and then do the heavy lifting of the role outside work hours. So he threw his hat in the ring.

Enter Jamie, a recent industrial design grad. Jamie was known to be flaky and very dramatic, but he'd been a member of the makerspace for a couple of years, almost as long as it had existed, and he felt entitled to be handed the presidency because he had seniority. He lost his damn mind when he heard that Craig had the audacity to go for the same role and complained to several members about how Craig was massively overstepping. This got back to Craig, who didn't really take it seriously, and it also got back to Beth, who, of course, was already irritated that Jamie was shit-stirring, but kept it to herself.

Long story short: Jamie won the member vote by a small margin, which Craig was very gracious about. Craig congratulated Jamie on the victory, then settled back into business as usual. Jamie... was not so gracious. He was enraged that Craig had gotten so many votes, and made it known to everyone that he was trying to figure out who had voted for Craig, and that they "would pay." Many of the members who had voted for Jamie passively because he'd been around forever and they didn't really know Craig were shocked by this behavior and started privately expressing regret to each other. But it gets worse. The makerspace had always offered members the perk of sponsoring workshops, meetups, and classes that anyone, members or non-members, could attend; all you had to do was sign up for the space on a first-come, first-served basis and kick up 20% of any profits to the makerspace if you charged a fee. Jamie started preemptively cancelling classes and workshops sponsored by anyone on his shit list by blocking off all available reservations during the regular times certain classes would be held. So Craig had traditionally sponsored a popular casting workshop on Wednesday evenings, and suddenly all Wednesday evenings were booked solid before the sign-up sheet was even available. He tried switching to Thursday, but after just one rescheduled workshop, suddenly Thursday evenings were out too. He tried Tuesdays, but because it was so early in the week, no one could come. Craig was bummed, but was still too good-natured to realize Jamie was intentionally sabotaging him out of spite, despite a righteously angry Beth trying to paint the picture for him of what was going on.

Beth. Was. Pissed. But she wasn't banshee pissed yet. Not until...Jamie selectively told the people on his shit list that member fees were going up. By almost double. He presented this as a makerspace-wide policy, but he made one crucial error. Somehow, Jamie never picked up on Craig and Beth being married, probably because he was never around both of them at the same time. So Beth flew under his radar, and he didn't raise her member fees, just Craig's and some of Craig's known friends, which confirmed to her that he was intentionally retaliating against Craig.

At this point, Beth had steam coming out of her ears and went to go talk to the board, since they have the power to cite or even throw out the president. They were uneasy about what she told them, but they said the president was technically allowed to set member fees, and they'd keep an eye on things.

Beth didn't really believe the board that they'd be keeping an eye on things, because Jamie was already dropping the ball all over the place, and the board wasn't making a peep over it. He wanted to be president because of the prestige, but he was never willing to do the work, so he just--didn't do it, and things were falling apart. The makerspace was getting late notices on unpaid bills, basic maintenance of the space wasn't getting done, materials weren't being restocked as they ran out, and the record keeping was nonexistent. It got so bad that the previous president who had stepped down because he couldn't handle the time commitment anymore (who had run the makerspace from its inception) quit as a member altogether because he was so saddened and disgusted by how bad things had gotten. He'd put his blood, sweat, and tears into this place, and stepped down from a role he treasured because he believed it was in the best interest of the organization, and now he had to watch Jamie run this place he loved into the ground out of sheer laziness. Craig was also losing his excitement over the makerspace, because he no longer had the space or resources to do the things he enjoyed there.

Beth, at this point, had gone from furiously angry to strategically angry. Suspecting that Jamie was being shady in more ways than one, she spent a few days being friendly to Jamie and sucking up to him, and then sprung on him the offer to help with the organization's bookkeeping and records. Still not realizing that she was Craig's wife, but knowing that she worked as a project manager in her day job, Jamie saw a chance to get some skilled work done at zero effort to himself, and he happily agreed, and gave her access to the makerspace's Google Sheets (not the most high-tech operation). For a little while, Beth bided her time, bringing the financial accounts up to date and continuing to be diabolically friendly to Jamie.

After a while of this, she calmly pulled together six copies of documents comparing the official organizational income that Jamie was reporting to her with the actual income, which Jamie was completely unaware she was tracking. These documents proved that Jamie was not only skimming money off the top of class and workshop fees, but was actively stealing money from the grants the makerspace was receiving, which is highly illegal. Beth gave the six board members her impeccably compiled proof of what was happening.

Almost immediately, the board "fired" Jamie and issued a lifetime ban from the makerspace. They were afraid of losing their grants if news came out about the gross misappropriation, so they didn't report Jamie to the authorities, but instead gave him 48 hours to return the stolen funds, the implication being that they would report him if he didn't. He panicked and complied, selling his car quickly to do it and scrounging up the difference in a ton of quick loans from friends, many of whom were makerspace members not aware of what was going on (no, he never paid them back). He's now persona non grata with all of his former friends, and while he still has a clean criminal record, word traveled pretty far in the local artist community, which means he was black listed from most of the industrial design jobs in the area and couldn't use his degree if he wanted to stay in town. As far as Beth and Craig knew, he moved away about six months after all this went down, but they haven't kept up with him, and don't know where he is.

The makerspace board realized their setup was bad, so instead of a single president, they restructured to have a panel of volunteer officers running the operation. Craig is one of them, and has happily thrown himself back into wood working and metal casting. Beth still helps out with the books.

TL;DR: Power hungry industrial designer tries to sabotage my brother-in-law's hobby; gets his life destroyed by my protective sister, who reveals that he's embezzling.

(source) (story by SisterSist)

[mythicallore]

The Strange Case of the Hammersmith Ghost

All over the world there are supposed hauntings, and while very interesting these cases seem to come and go, creeping up into the public consciousness only to fade away into history. Yet some of these alleged hauntings have gone on to become far more than what they began as, and actually reach out to change the world as we know it to some extent. One such case happened in England in the 1800s, and it is a weird case that has managed to change the course of British law, and remains a fascinating look into another time and place.

In November of 1803, a very strange visitor seemed to have emerged at the Hammersmith District of West London, in England. Reports began to come in of some sort of supernatural entity lurking within the dark Hammersmith Churchyard and cemetery, which most often appeared as a tall male figure that emitted an eerie white glow, but also on occasion as dressed in a calfskin garment with horns and large glass eyes, and it showed some very aggressive behavior. In addition to the typical ghostly behavior of shambling about, moaning and generally freaking people out, the sinister ghost was also said to actively chase anyone who came near the area, and that if it actually caught up to the victim would physically assault them.

This happened on one occasion when a woman was passing through the churchyard only to encounter the notorious ghost, which grabbed her in a vice-like grip and caused the terrified woman to lose consciousness and die a few days later. In another infamous report at the time, a man named Brewer Thomas Groom claimed that the ghost had roughly grabbed him by the throat and that he had barely managed to fight the apparition off, and he would say “I saw nothing; I gave a bit of a push out with my fist, and felt something soft, like a great coat.” One elderly woman also reported having been knocked to the ground by the wraith, and another younger pregnant woman was also attacked, with both instances allegedly proving so utterly horrifying that the victims allegedly later died from pure fright. There was another case in which the ghost stepped out of the night to stop a horse driven coach and caused the driver to flee in a desperate panic. On yet another occasion a night-watchman named William Girdler actually reversed the roles and chased the ghost, only to have it vanish before his eyes.

Rumors began to swirl that this was the restless and vengeful spirit of a local man who had had committed suicide and then been buried on consecrated ground, which was believed to have been against church policy and had turned the poor man into a wandering revenant. Whatever the origin of this strange specter, the sightings and terrifying encounters with it increased in number and intensity until no one was brave enough to walk through the narrow lanes of the area at night, and certainly no one went near the cemetery itself. It got so bad that at one point businesses were worried because no one would even pass by the area to make deliveries, and there was a general haze of panic hanging over the whole neighborhood.

This climate of fear and terror spurred the forming of armed groups of locals, who took the law into their own hands to go out and patrol the area in the hopes of finding out more or chasing the intruder away. It is unclear what they hoped to do with their weapons against a supernatural entity, but many of them believed they were actually dealing with a normal criminal who was terrorizing people and running amok. One of these patrolmen was a man named Francis Smith, who on the evening of January 3, 1804 was patrolling a dark street called Black Lion Lane when he would have an encounter with what he thought was the notorious ghost.

As Smith walked along in the quiet night there was movement ahead, a flash of white, a figure that bloomed from the dark to make its way down a row of hedges towards him. It is unknown whether Smith himself really had believed there was an actual ghost in the area, but at point he certainly did, and after a call out for the figure to halt went unanswered he is said to have exclaimed “Damn you. Who are you and what do you want?” before firing his shotgun at the intruder with a thunderous boom. Strangely, for a ghost, the shadowy figure stumbled and fell upon the road, and this is because it has not been a ghost at all.

Residents of the area came running, and when the body was examined it was found to be a man, dressed in the traditional white clothes of a bricklayer, and he was very dead. The man was soon found to have been a local bricklayer named Thomas Millwood. Francis Smith was promptly arrested on the charges of murder. By all accounts Smith was a rather decent man and completely shocked by the fact that he had killed someone, and he proclaimed as he was taken away to Newgate Prison that he had thought he had fired at the Hammersmith Ghost, but these pleas fell on deaf ears and he would go to trial for the murder of Millwood.

As Smith was awaiting trial several interesting details came to light. One was that the fatal incident had not been the first time that Millwood had been mistaken for the ghost, and he had startled a few people who had passed by, keyed up by all of the talk of wandering specters, to the point that his wife had begged him to change his attire. Another was that Millwood wasn’t even the “real” Hammersmith ghost, but that this honor rather belonged to a local shoemaker named John Graham, who came forward to admit that he had been dressing up as a ghost at night as a prank to scare his apprentice, who had been absolutely terrifying Graham’s children with spooky ghost stories at night. It is unclear if this twisted prank had any connection with all of the many ghost attacks and sightings around Hammersmith, but at the time it was considered case closed, except for Smith, who faced execution for his crime.

In the ensuing trial Smith was found guilty, and despite many testimonies to his good character and the fact that he had not meant to kill Millwood, he was condemned to the sentence of death by hanging and dissection. Luckily for him, the sentence was later commuted to a far lesser punishment of 1 year of hard labor. Through it all, the case presented a legal conundrum for the courts and UK law as a whole, in that it posed the question of whether acting on a mistaken belief, in this case that Millwood was a ghost, was a sufficient defense for a criminal charge, and whether someone could actually be held liable for their criminal actions under this false belief.

While it may seem at first glance like a simple question, and that guilty is guilty, it presented quite a tricky legal precedent, and would actually be argued and debated for nearly two centuries, until 1983 when the issue would be legally resolved with a Court of Appeal case concerning a man by the name of Gladstone Williams, who had attacked a man he thought had been assaulting another when he had actually been in the process of apprehending a thief. Williams was charged but the ruling was later successfully appealed in a groundbreaking decision by using the defense that he had misunderstood the situation under a mistaken belief, in a case now known as “ R. v Williams (Gladstone),” and this precedent was successfully written into law in 2008. At the time, Lord Chief Justice Lane would say of all of this:

In a case of self-defence, where self-defence or the prevention of crime is concerned, if the jury came to the conclusion that the defendant believed, or may have believed, that he was being attacked or that a crime was being committed, and that force was necessary to protect himself or to prevent the crime, then the prosecution have not proved their case. If however the defendant’s alleged belief was mistaken and if the mistake was an unreasonable one, that may be a peaceful reason for coming to the conclusion that the belief was not honestly held and should be rejected. Even if the jury come to the conclusion that the mistake was an unreasonable one, if the defendant may genuinely have been labouring under it, he is entitled to rely upon it.

The decision has changed the landscape of the law in the UK, and it was all thanks to the “Hammersmith Ghost.” In a strange twist of fate, although the ghost was eventually deemed to have been the doings of pranks and mischief, the area truly would seemingly take up a ghostly resident in the form of a supposedly real haunting by none other than the ghost of Thomas Millwood, which supposedly hangs about the Black Lion Lane and a pub located there, spooking patrons with strange noises and manifestations. This presents the rather odd situation of a fake ghost causing a death of a man who was mistaken for a ghost, leading to a real ghost originating with the victim of that crime. Mind blown. The case of the Hammersmith Ghost has gone on to become a rather curious historical oddity, and a landmark instance in which the paranormal, or at least the belief in it, changed the law as we know it.