#bad-faith arguments give me hives

[oddmawd]

Hello! I just wanted some clarification as to why earning some income off of fanfiction is this horrible unethical act.

Do fanarts and zines also apply under this copyright infringement and if so, why are those works allowed to make some profits but not fanfiction? To me it seems like a double standard, especially because I seriously doubt anyone making either fanart or fanfic are claiming that the characters and story are their own original works. Blatant plagiarism and profiting from it is one thing but receiving some income because someone really likes a fan work is another.

I understand that in extreme cases, authors can sue, like you mentioned Anne Rice but in most cases, the authors tend to be chill with fanworks? They know it encourages engagement and hell, some of those big scary publishing companies that you seem to be wary of actually scout fan artists and writers to bring on board for their next projects.

And it's not brought up often in these arguments but Anne Rice herself became lenient towards fanfics of her original work in the last couple years before her death, even apologizing for her behavior then.

So while I understand the concern for lawsuits, I just don't see how writers and artists are "late stage capitalist dicks" for earning an income off fanworks that are clearly stated and implied to be the original works of the author and not their own.

typically i'm a "never assume malice where ignorance can serve as an explanation" kinda person, but YEESH, it's hard not to perceive hostility in this one boys, here's why:

1) i never called writers and artists "late stage capitalist dicks," and putting that phrase in quotes to make it seem like i did tells me you're not here for productive communication...that intentional misquote showcases either a blatant attempt at weaponizing intellectual dishonesty OR a lack of reading comprehension on your part, one i doubt i can correct through anonymous tumblr asks

2) "why are fanzines allowed but fanfics are not?" presupposes what you think my position on the matter must be, but i haven't expressed my opinion on fanzines, let alone voiced a double standard in favor of them...this is (once again) a blatant attempt at putting words in my mouth and/or a complete misread, intentional or otherwise, of what i actually stated...and in fact i said in a comment that fanart ALSO exists in a legal gray area, so you didn't do your research very thoroughly if those are the words you're trying to put in my mouth (solid attempt tho, 6/10)

3) i ALSO didn't call anything unethical, as you claimed in your comically hyperbolic opening line...i called selling fanwork illegal. morality and legality are not the same thing, so whether your mistake regarding the differences between legality and morality is the product of ignorance or malice, the fact remains that it's yet another blatant misread of what i said, good job there buddy, you're batting a thousand

i could dig further into the bad-faith rhetoric oozing from that ask (the sheer hyperbole and melodrama of it + the litany of loaded questions are an immediate sign it wasn't sent in good faith), but i think i've made my point LMAOOOOOO...but to sum up, i have very little interest in engaging with you when you're talking in SUCH bad faith and with such an antagonistic tone...you're misrepresenting SO MUCH so blatantly and with such confidence, it gives me zero confidence in your desire to actually learn or explore these very interesting issues...you just wanna argue and twist my words, and i'm not gonna enable that bad behavior by giving you more to twist

but look bruh, i get it: you're feeling insecure and defensive over a comment about being careful about monetizing your fanwork, and you took a post about the concept of capitalism and its impact on the arts so personally you confused comments made about capitalism itself for comments about you as a person...but this hostility is NOT a commensurate reaction to what i said and i'm shocked you think otherwise, and if you want to have this conversation, we can...but only once you learn to argue respectfully

TL;DR: i doubt your ability to engage in good faith so i'm not going to respond earnestly, as it'll be a waste of my time...reread my posts after you've had time to release this defensive energy...engage with what i said, not with what you THINK i said...have a nice night and best of luck to you

[flowers-of-io]

I like the theory, but i'm not sure i agree? Like the Light being more of a primal force, connected but distinct from the Gardener/Traveler is really great and how I like to think of it also. However, i feel like it's very possible that despite the Gardener's philosophy it may have killed Ghaul intentionally anyways, because of what he clearly wanted the light for. With how bad the warlords were during the dark age, I think it's safe to say the Traveler doesn't know everything about who it chooses, but it had to be very clear that Ghaul wanted the light purely for dominance, and to basically (even though he didn't know it) try to work towards the cabal becoming the Final Shape. Especially since the way that guardians use the Light to keep coming back has always seemed like an act of desperation that the traveler wouldn't have chosen otherwise, because in order to have the constantly flourishing multitude of life the gardener works for, some things have to come and go. Sorry i'm not really sending all this to disagree and argue or anything, i just have a lot of thoughts and feelings about this! And your post made me sort out some of my ideas that were kind of jumbled

Oooh this is such a neat analysis! Lore talk my beloved--

The root for my belief as to "the Traveler did not kill Ghaul" is the core difference between the Gardener and Winnower: the Gardener (Light) gives, the Winnower (Darkness) takes. This dichotomy was shown in Unveiling through the metaphor of the Gardener "[pushing] seeds down into the wet loam of the garden to see what they would become" and the Winnower "[reaping] the day's crop and separated what would flourish from what had failed". [x] The Winnower's main argument against the Gardener is that she gives recklessly:

Your new rule will only make great false cysts of horror full of things that should not exist that cannot withstand existence that will suffer and scream as their rich blisters fill with effluent and rot around them, and when they pop they will blight the whole garden. [x]

I think this is the faith the Gardener has in her creation: she gives, and can only hope the gift will be used for good. As the Winnower said:

That wandering refugee chose to make a stand, spend their power to say: "Here I prove myself right. Here I wager that, given power over physics and the trust of absolute freedom, people will choose to build and protect a gentle kingdom ringed in spears. And not fall to temptation. And not surrender to division. And never yield to the cynicism that says, everyone else is so good that I can afford to be a little evil." [x]

And of course the gift of Light bred both Guardians and Warlords, both Jaren Ward and Dredgen Yor; and I truly believe the Gardener/Traveler had no power over those whom it's chosen to gift with Light. I think if it did, it would have destroyed Yor long before he could kill Jaren, and rooted out all the Warlords before the Iron Lords had a chance to assemble. That's the Winnower's philosophy: eradicating that which has not flourished, the rotten fruit from among the healthy ones, the fallen and corrupted from the rightful and good. "In order to have the constantly flourishing multitude of life the gardener works for, some things have to come and go" - I agree, but I think it was precisely the Winnower's job to do that, separating wheat from chaff and what has flourished from what has withered. The Winnower argues that a world where the Gardener wins will be the world of suffering, because things that are rotten will not be winnowed from among those which are flourishing and good. That's the core difference between giving and taking, and the sorta Ulan-Tan-ish symmetry/balance between Light and Dark. It's a whole other argument what that balance is (and if it truly is symmetry), but generally I think the Winnower and Gardener are slaves to their nature ("Neither the gardener nor I know for certain that we're eternally, universally right. But we can be nothing except what we are. You have a choice." [x]), and so the Gardener--even if she wanted, even if she wept watching her Guardians go rogue and kill and destroy--cannot stop them once she's gifted them with Light. And similarly the Winnower can only winnow and take, even if the bent over backwards not to do that.

(That's also a whole other argument, but I'm pretty sure the worm would eat a Hive which would outright give something to someone: “No,” said Auryx, “you give nothing. Giving is for the Sky. You worship the Deep, which asks that we take what we need.” [x] and I'm pretty sure somewhere in the Books of Sorrow there is a line explaining that the worms' curse is the result of them being a gift to the sisters.)

Again, this is not a roast or anything! I also have so many thoughts about this and I love talking about the Light/Darkness thing in general.

[daydreamed-snippets]

Part One Part Two

Personnel in crisp cream uniforms walked the brightly lit hallway with a purpose; either conversing with each other, gazing at datapads, or rushing off to who knows where. Supervillain nodded to some in passing; taking the time to pause with others. Sidekick squeezed in closer, stepping on the back of their boots, grazing their shoulder against supervillain’s arm in a pathetic endeavor to just hide. No one warned them about the trepidation that tugged at their soul, nor did anyone prepare them for the general neurosis of it all. The lights overhead strained their eyes, and the cloister of people moved like an insect hive, an incursion on their senses. They could feel a headache forming. Their various cuts and scrapes burned. Their knees hurt too, body still twitching from electrocution.

And they were all staring at them.

Keeping their head lowered, eyes affixed elsewhere, sidekick could still see all of them through their peripheral. Supervillain’s ‘team’ consisted of far more people than the association originally thought. They tensed as each gaze befell them; probably taking in their tattered costume, unkempt hair, and the collar around their neck.

Eyes curious, judging, questioning.

Shame itched at the back of their neck, screaming to be scratched, but they kept their hands in front of them where they could be easily seen. At least the supervillain wasn’t parading them around, so there was that. The leash was lax and discrete enough so long as sidekick didn’t resist.

But who were they to resist now? They were powerless. It was done and over. Supervillain won. Teammates had no idea where they were if they were even looking for them at this point.

Cramming their eyes shut, they tried to hold onto those little ribbons of faith that gleamed at them through this emblematic darkness. Usefulness dictated importance, which in the Hero’s Association meant a role working with the team. Here it would be no doubt ensure their survival. Usefulness drawing the line between life and death.

They wanted to live, but being of use to the enemy churned their stomach. Policy made no room for turncoats. An informant maybe, but they had no mercy for traitors.

So be an informant.

What was the layout here? What were the dimensions of this hallway? How many doors did they pass? Count the number of people, sidekick. Gather information, no matter how scant. Be docile to the enemy, but pragmatic to the team.

Sixteen. They already passed sixteen people. Good. The Hero’s Association would see just how useful they were once teammates rescue them out of this sterilized hellhole. They will rescue them.

Sidekick bumped into supervillain again, a warm, solid presence, and supervillain turned, looking down. “I’ll let you hold your leash, puppy, if that would make you feel better. At any rate, you keep stepping on me and I don’t want my boot scuffed." They made a motion of unwinding the wire from their wrist and handing it over. But when sidekick moved to take it, the supervillain drew back. "But remember,” they said, voice holding a dark promise. “If you choose to bolt know that I have hundreds of people under my command in this annex alone.”

Sidekick gulped.

Hundreds? Hundreds? So this wasn’t just an assortment of random villains and a handful of henchmen? This was an organization in of itself. One that could rival the Hero’s Association.

Holy shit.

In dismay, sidekick nodded numbly and the wire was placed in their hands. They murmured a thank you before realizing it, and the supervillain started again, sidekick stumbling to follow.

Let it be knowledge to tuck away at a later time. No matter how small, knowledge always proves to be advantageous.

They walked a few more meters and when supervillain stopped again. This time sidekick followed suit keeping a healthy distance between them, shuffling a bit, and looking dubiously at supervillain. They keyed something in a pad—out of sight—and a door swished open.

Their breath caught and, sidekick raised their chin. Here was their cell. They’d probably rot in here, or spend a majority of their time recovering from torture and wondering when their next session would begin.

Hope against hope, they wished it would be clean at least. Were they ever? The association gave no indication on cell parameters, or any information really save for the unpleasantness of it all. Sidekick wasn't delicate but they were averse to pain in general. They were told it made for a bad hero.

Sidekick hesitated, realizing that they should say something smarting. Brave. What would teammates say if they were in this situation? Something wisecracking and sarcastic. But then again, whenever sidekick opened their mouth the supervillain always had some observant retort. Something comment to off-balance them, and set them on their toes.

They opened their mouth anyway.

A hand on the small of their back maneuvered them through the threshold.

Supervillain stepped in as well, and the door slipped back sealing shut, leaving them in complete darkness. Walking past them, their captor roused a computer interface with a verbal command, and the area rustled to life.

Sidekick’s eyes widened at the sight.

This wasn’t a cell. These weren’t even quarters. This was a well-furnished apartment with a full kitchen, dining room, and living area. A hallway split off to their right, where sidekick assumed the bathroom and bedroom lay. No windows, but large light therapy lamps joined regular ones behind traditional furniture and on end tables. A sudden contrast to the hard lines and surfaces of the garrison hallways, an apparent appeal to a softer aesthetic.

What the?

“It’s late,” supervillain called making their rounds, checking on something sidekick was unaware of in the adjacent room. “You will take a shower, and have something to eat before settling in for the night.” Their words held no room for argument.

What kind of game was this? Sidekick leaned back against the door willing for it to open. Policy stated all enemies would treat captors roughly. That they would have no regard for their corporeal needs. Unless this was all a ruse. To get sidekick to trust them, to get them to join the supervillain’s team.

"Don't worry, your collar won't zap you if it gets wet. Medic isn't that sadistic. Not without permission." They came back into the room, eyes sliding back to sidekick with a hidden glint. “I could always bathe you myself, puppy…”

Ducking their head, sidekick shook it vigorously at supervillain’s knowing chuckle. Directing them down the hall, supervillain steered them towards the bathroom: a single shower, sink, and toilet. Newly cleaned. Immaculately decorated. They turned on the shower, showed sidekick how to adjust the temperate then left after unknotting the wire, unleashing their collar. The door remained propped open, a subtle warning not to close it.

A glance down the hallway to assure themselves that the supervillain had indeed left, sidekick shed their costume, tearing a bigger hole in the sleeve in their haste to behind obscure glass and out of the open. Granted, it wasn't like there was much preventing supervillain from entering again.

Still, they glanced back before quickly stepped into the shower, relishing the hot water on their stiff muscles. Blood and grime pooled on the tile floor, circling the drain. It shouldn't have surprised them how much there was. The team called them in to act as a diversion as much as an escape route. Sidekick was hit, but not hard as the wires spread paper-thin cuts along their arms and legs. It was not really that bad if you compared it to broken bones and missing limbs.

It stung like hell though.

The only soap available was one held in a dark grey bottle. Uncapping it, the scent of muted fern and something like vanilla filled their sinuses. Fresh. Admittedly soothing. Bringing it to a good lather, they quickly scrubbed themselves, breathing in the aroma more and more until it clicked. This was the supervillain’s scent they were covering themselves in. In fact, everything smelled like this. Everything in this part of the garrison smelled like it the moment sidekick stepped into the room.

It was maddening.

It was intoxicating.

Sidekick finished up quickly, shutting off the valve, and stepped out, wrapping a towel hanging on a large ring around themselves. It shouldn’t be intoxicating. It should be revolting, or at least off-putting.

Their costume was missing, they soon realized a little too late. In its place a crisp cream uniform, the same as the ones they’d seen everyone else don. Supervillain did sneak in when they were showering, probably when their back was turned. Color filled their face again, as they caught the reflection of themselves in the mirror. Neck red from maltreatment, and a bit too pale.

Taking no chances for their captor to return, and truly appreciate the view, they pulled on the uniform quickly, combed fingers through their shoulder-length hair, and called it a day. What did it matter how they appeared? They couldn’t go home. The team abandoned them, and the supervillain was being… odd. Nothing mattered and all the rules were bent.

They padded out and took a seat in the dining area where a chair had been pulled out for them.

“This will be soft on your stomach,” supervillain said, placing a plate before them before easing into the other chair. “I don’t want you vomiting on my carpet, puppy.”

“I don’t—” sidekick glanced up, searching the plains of their sharp face. The circles under the supervillain's eyes were more than noticeable, in the temperate light they were etched in stone. Supervillain made a noise for them to continue. “I don’t like being called puppy.”

“Give me your real name, and if I like it better than puppy, I’ll stop.”

Their already clenched jaw ground tighter; a compromise they were unwilling to make. Picking up the spoon, supervillain held it aloft, food tucked neatly on it, and directed it to sidekick’s lips. “I need you to eat puppy, so I can go to bed. I don’t want to your pathetic mewling in the night.”

Sidekick’s teeth ground together.

“Have you ever used your portals to injure anyone?” The change in subject was sudden, and sidekick’s lips slackened. “Have you ever cut someone in half before, or even just a limb?” Sidekick looked away, nervous fingers playing with their sleeve. They couldn’t help but tremble. The answer was a resounding no, but they be damned to articulate it.

“Have you ever killed anyone with your portals?” The question brought the sidekick’s attention back, and they tried to fix the supervillain with a dead stare.

They should have known by now it was impossible to win a battle of wills when they looked into the supervillain’s eyes. There was a darkness there so deep, it moved. It took shape. Haunting. Plotting. Sidekick could practically see the desire to devour them completely reflected in those stirring pools.

“I’ll take your silence as a no,” they said evenly, after a beat. “Have you been given combat training?”

Yes, the basics, sidekick thought, but nothing which could defend against a supervillain.

“Have they given you any training besides making you housebroken?”

“I’m not—!” The opportunity supervillain had been waiting for came, and they shoved the spoonful into sidekick’s mouth with a look that dared them to spit it out. They chew slowly, stomach in knots but it was good.

“Let me guess, you’re not a dog,” supervillain supplied lazily. “Eat.”

“I have had training. In multiple areas,” they picked up the spoon with a shaky hand, stomach rumbling. “But I’m not going to answer your questions. If captured, policy states that I am not to give out anything besides my affiliation to the Hero’s Association. I am not going to give you any information," they let out a shaky breath, a spoonful of food in their cheeks, "not even under extreme coercion. Teammates would never forgive me, and the Hero's Association has a zero-tolerance policy."

“What kind of ‘heroes’ organization punishes you for breaking under torture?”

Sidekick’s voice squeaked. “That’s not what I said. They’ve… been good to me.”

“In what way?”

“I-I’m not answering that.”

Supervillain relented, and sidekick ate in tense silence.

Once finished, the supervillain led them to the living room. A small cot pulled out from one of the couches. After dressing it, supervillain pulled out a chain from one of the end table drawers and clipped it to a ring recently drilled into the wall. They then handed sidekick a glass of water and tucked a small pill into their hand.

“No, I—”

“It’s melatonin, and it will help you sleep. It won’t put you to sleep.” They poured several into their hand and tossed it into their mouth as they wandered to find water. “You’ll need it," they called. "You’ve been shaking since you got out of the shower. Get some rest.” Their footsteps became more distant as they went down the hallway to the bedroom, bed creaking as they entered it.

The lights clicked off and the sidekick was left in darkness.

They shrugged into bed, pulling the light sheets over themselves while kicking off the comforter. A cold sweat claimed them, and they stared at the ceiling for the better part of three hours, thoughts churning, churning, churning.

So what if they’d never hurt anyone with their powers before, that didn’t mean they weren’t a threat. That didn’t mean that the supervillain could treat them like a patsy. It didn't mean that they were incapable.

They could do it if they wanted to.

They could do it to supervillain if they wanted to.

Why, they were just sleeping in the next room. Sidekick could hear deep breathing and the stutter of a dream-filled sigh. There was no need to use their full power to slip a link in the chain or to silently creep over to the room. They could make a sliver of a portal for half a second, and endure the buzz from their collar.

Sidekick set their plan in motion.

After the mini-portal, they blacked out for a second and woke with a gasp. Part one done. They were free, chain hewn in two. They probably had moments before anyone noticed, so they needed to move quickly.

Have you ever used your portals to injure anyone?

Supervillain's words came back to them, as they wandered the hallway, honing in on the dark bedroom. They stepped through the threshold, a thought sparking of how they were invading. How a bedroom spoke of intimacy, a cozy and solitary space.

A single red light blinked from the ceiling corner. Sidekick's eyes were already well adjusted to the dark that they could see supervillain's outline on the bed, lying on their back, arms spread out defenselessly.

They could picture it now. Sidekick fails the demon supervillain. Sure they might die in the process, but it would serve the association. It would cement them in the annals of heroic feats.

Have you ever killed anyone with your portals?

Moving to the side of the bed, sidekick’s hands hovered, not yet touching. Faltering in their pursuit. Where was that rage their felt earlier? Where was that appetite for vengeance? It was there, they could feel it under the surface, but it was a poor substitute for bloodlust. A poor replacement for the mindset needed to end a life.

Could they do it?

"Why don't you go back to bed like a good little labradoodle? You don't have to stomach for this."

Sidekick almost jumped at the sound. Hands reached up to boldly clamp onto their wrists.

"Let me go!"

"I warned you, puppy."

They lunged for the supervillain's throat, the heat back again. Volatile, it roared to life. Erupting, unpredictable, but sidekick was grateful for its presence now. It wasn't bloodlust, but it possibly could be damaging enough.

Supervillain pulled them on top of them, and sidekick's legs swung around their body, hoping to get a better angle to grip their neck. "You think I'm going to cooperate with you? I will fight you at every turn. You will regret keeping me alive. I will gather enough intel that once I escape, teammates will be able to take you down."

"If they want you back."

The statement made sidekick pause. "What did you just say?"

"If," the repeated, slowly, the next words in a rhythmic manner. "If they want you back."

"What do you mean if?"

Supervillain's eyes drift up to the red light winking steadily at them.

Blood drained from sidekick's face.

"It records video, but no sound. Makes it easier to edit, I'm told. And I have people in my employment that can edit anything. They can and will make this little tussle we've having look like a lover's tryst." They let go of sidekick's wrists and trailed a pitying hand down their cheek. "What would teammates think of you once I send them this video of us in bed together? Would they jump to the conclusion that we've been joined this whole time? That our affair was the reason why you closed the portal? Did you choose to stay with me? Or would they assume that since you have such a weak constitution, that it only took one day for me to seduce you?"

"This was a trap. You knew," sidekick licked their lips, and supervillain's eyes followed the movement. "You set this up from the beginning."

"I set up fail-safes in case you chose this path."

"You tricked me."

"You disobeyed me," they said, voice hardening and a chill crept down sidekick's spine. They sat up, moving sidekick to their lap, and gripped their chin roughly, face inches from theirs. "I was nice before, and you squandered my kindness. Now you will face the punishment."

Wire detached from the ceiling like vines, wrapping themselves around sidekick before they had a chance to scramble off the bed and bolt. Their feet lifted off the ground. Once again they were suspended, drawn tightly to the four corners of the room. Supervillain didn't spare a glance at them as they got out of bed, and left the room, all but ignoring sidekick's screams.

[mymoonagedaydream]

Only the Good Die Young (Part 4)

Summary: You tried hard to believe that Bucky was a changed man, but he made it difficult

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x y/n

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Language, anti-religious sentiment throughout, harmful relationship with parents

Author's Note: Alright, I’ve flaked. My different-song-per-part ambitions were too high, I flew too close to the sun. I’m so sorry Billy.

---

You buried your face in his neck.

Everything he’d said was spiralling through your mind. You knew your parents well enough to know that staying with Bucky for much longer meant losing them forever. You didn’t want to go back but, if you stayed away and things didn’t work out, there was a chance you’d end up completely alone.

Bucky was a risk, a huge one. You wanted to trust him. You wanted so badly to believe that he was everything he appeared to be.

So you did.

A leap of faith. You were good at faith.

You pulled your head up, coming face to face with him. ‘I would like to get very, very drunk.’

‘Me too.’ He went to get up, but stopped suddenly and looked back at you. ‘You ever been hammered before?’

You shrugged with one shoulder, reluctant to admit further inexperience. ‘Communion wine is pretty strong stuff.’

‘Jesus. I almost feel bad, enabling sin like this.’ He sauntered to the kitchen and rifled through the cupboards, grinning in your direction when he found a half-empty bottle of tequila. ‘Almost.’

The golden liquid burned your throat as you took shot after shot, the warm glow in your chest getting stronger with every sip. This was fucking brilliant, why had you never tried it before?

‘So, here’s the plan.’ You could see that Bucky was at least a little tipsy, he’d been matching every one of your shots with three of his own. ‘I make enough money fixing bikes to keep the flat and feed us, so you can quit that fucking college course and find something you actually want to do.’

You paused for a second, processing his words. ‘Are you asking me to move in with you?’

‘Are you turning me down?’

You grinned and shook your head, making a mental note to reconfirm that in the morning when he was sober. You had hoped that he’d at least let you stay with him for the summer, but knowing that he was willing to put up with you more long-term quelled some deep anxiety you’d been harbouring for days.

You shifted your tone, trying your best to look as sober and sincere as possible. ‘Buck. You said you just want someone to talk to, right?’ He nodded, half-smirking and pushing some hair behind your ear. ‘So talk. You know so much about me, I want to know about you.’

‘What you wanna know?’

‘Tell me about your parents.’

His eyes wandered away from yours and he dropped his hand to your shoulder, wincing a little while he strung his words together. ‘Well you’ve met my dad, he’s no different now than he always was. The only time I ever hear from my ma is when she needs money. God knows what for, I don’t ask.’

‘I’m really sorry, I can’t imagine what they put you through.’

You’d never seen him so subdued. You almost felt bad for putting a damper on the evening, but you got the impression that Bucky had never spoken to anyone about this stuff before, drunk or sober.

‘Fucked me up for a long time, I did a lot of bad stuff.’ You reached out and squeezed his free hand as he was speaking, prompting his gaze to fix back on you. ‘But I don’t want to be that person anymore.’

‘You’re a good guy Buck.’ You gave him a wide smile. ‘Plus, after all those Sundays at church, the big guy owes me a couple favours. I can get that slate of yours wiped clean, no problem.’

He narrowed his eyes at you, the warm glow returning to your chest as you watched his mouth curl back into that familiar smirk. ‘You’re buzzed, ain’t ya?’

‘Should I slow down?’

‘Nope.’ He poured you both another drink. ‘Speed up.’

You didn’t ask about the things he’d done, you didn’t need to know. It was in the past, and he regretted it. That’s all that mattered to you.

The tequila was gone far too quickly. Both of you raided the cupboards again, finding a nearly empty bottle of triple sec, three cans of cider and a bottle with Russian writing that contained something resembling paint stripper.

A few hours and all that booze later, you and Bucky found yourselves tangled around each other on the bed, nursing your slowly developing headaches.

‘You’re a terrible influence, Barnes.’ You croaked into his chest.

‘I’m barely even getting started darlin.’

---

The first thing you felt in the morning was dizziness. Even before you’d opened your eyes, you knew the room was spinning around you. You adjusted yourself a little, relieved when you felt Bucky’s arms still wrapped around you and his chest against your cheek. Scooching upwards, eyes still screwed shut, you brought your face level with his.

He stirred, croaking faintly. ‘Still here. Haven’t run away yet.'

‘I feel like there’s a bee hive inside my head.’

‘Your first hangover.’ He chuckled. ‘We should celebrate. Breakfast?’

‘I’m never eating again. Or drinking. Or… moving.’

He started wriggling. ‘Well, either you move or I piss the bed.’

You flopped onto your back, the movement making your brain rattle inside your head, as Bucky scuttled to the bathroom. You started drifting back to sleep, only to be unceremoniously woken when you were hoisted off the bed and carried you through to the front room. He made breakfast while you lay on the couch, feeling sorry for yourself. You managed a few reluctant mouthfuls and a pint of water.

‘I’ve been thinking.’ Bucky piped up whilst washing the dishes. ‘When you feel a bit better we should go back to the flat. I know it’s close to your parents, but at least my dad doesn’t have keys to it.’

You considered for a second, weighing up whether you were more intimidated by your parents or his. ‘That’s fine with me. Whatever you think is best, Buck.’

---

The two of you left the trailer the next morning. You were still feeling pretty ropey, but you were at least able to walk six feet without getting dizzy. In truth, you were pretty happy to be getting away from the trailer. Aside from the stained walls and crappy shower, you hadn’t felt safe there since Bucky’s dad had burst in the other night. Christ knows what else that man was capable of.

Somehow, at some point during your first day back at the flat, Bucky had convinced you it’d be a good idea for the two of you to go out that night. He suggested his usual haunt, a bar you’d never heard of despite living in that town all your life.

It was a dive bar. You’d never been to a dive bar before, you weren’t even really sure what it meant, but as soon as you saw the outside of this place you knew. There was a flickering neon sign advertising Miller High Life above the door and bikes as far as the eye could see.

Some extremely intimidating clientele eyed the two of you as you approached, giving a gruff chuckle when you brushed past them to get to the entrance. Bucky enthusiastically greeted a few guys who were already inside. One of them you vaguely recognised from school, but the others looked quite a bit older.

You were so far out of your comfort zone in this place, every muscle in your body felt tense and you were convinced that dozens of dirty looks were being thrown your way.

‘What’ll it be then sweetheart?’ Your eyes followed the voice to a tall, brawny blonde with freakishly wide shoulders and a crooked smile.

Your mouth opened slightly as you scurried around trying to figure out what kind of alcohol was sold in a place like this, before Bucky piped up. ‘She’ll have my usual.’

You just nodded, keeping quiet for fear of coming across as the naïve religious freak in front of his friends. A few seconds later you found yourself with a pint of beer in one hand and a shot of whiskey in the other.

‘Boilermaker.’ Bucky whispered, close to your ear. ‘Proper booze, gotta make up for all that shit the other night.’

One of the friends led you towards a cramped booth with a sticky table. You found yourself tucked in between Bucky and the blonde, the former’s arm circled tight around your waist, hand resting possessively on your thigh. You didn’t speak much, only when spoken to- that was until the blonde started cross-examining you.

‘No offence, but you weren’t exactly what I was expecting.’

Great. This shit again.

‘Leave it, yeah?’ Bucky’s tone was friendly, but you could sense a hint of warning.

‘Like I said, no offence.’ He smirked. ‘She just looks a little suburban, y’know.’

Bucky got more agitated. ‘What the hell’s that s’posed to mean?’

‘Jesus, chill out Barnes. She’s not bothered, are ya?’ He nudged you hard, pushing you into Bucky’s side. You just smiled politely, a pathetic attempt to diffuse.

Progressively more irate words were thrown back and forth between them, but everyone else around the table was seemingly unfazed by the argument. It escalated quickly, resulting in blonde reaching over to yank Bucky up by the lapels, spilling a pint of beer all over you in the process. Buck shoved him off and helped you out of the booth, apologising as he ushered you towards the door.

Blonde was shouting after you, following you to the door. Just as you thought the two of you might make it out of there intact, Bucky wheeled round and punched him square in the mouth. He got a swift jab to the stomach in return and the two of them crashed into the bar, arms and legs flying in every direction.

Finally, after intervention by a couple huge biker guys, you managed to pull Bucky away. As you pushed open the front door, flashing blue lights flooded the bar. You squinted, waiting for your eyes to adjust. Cops. One of them approached you and Bucky, the same one who came to the flat after your parents reported you kidnapped.

‘Told you your time would come, boy.’ He smirked. ‘James Barnes, you’re under arrest on suspicion of assault.’

Everything said after that was drowned out by a high pitched whining that started in your ears. Buck was dragged away and shoved into the back of a car, he shouted something in your direction before the door closed but you didn’t catch it. You were reeling with shock. They pulled away, lights fading as they disappeared down the street.

There you were, completely alone. Standing in the gutter outside a dive bar, trembling and covered in beer, playing perfectly into your parents’ predictions.

What the fuck were you supposed do? Go sleep on Bucky’s doorstep, hoping he’d get released before morning? How many more times were you going to have to do that?

You couldn’t help but feel so, so stupid. You’d leapt, fallen and landed flat on your face. Maybe your mother wasn’t exaggerating, maybe she was right all along. Christ, maybe you were just some naïve, sheltered Christian kid in way over your head.

You had no choice. You went home.

---

Waking up back in your bed sent a wave of depression crashing over you. You could still smell stale beer and cigarettes, making you feel even worse.

Only your father had been awake when you timidly knocked on the door the night before. He’d stepped aside and let you in without much more than a stern look, but you were dreading having to face your mother this morning.

You sat up, the motion kick-starting yet another hangover, and walked to the bathroom. Switching on the light, you stared into the mirror and were greeted with someone you barely recognised. Your eyes were dark, bloodshot and puffy, your hair was wild from days of washing it with shower gel in the trailer’s crappy shower, your clothes from the night before were still hanging off you, stained and reeking- but you looked alive. And you felt it.

The doorbell rang.

You ran to the top of the stairs, only to see your mother standing in the doorway, face to face with Bucky. He looked awful, cuts and bruises littering his face. You stepped back slightly to hide yourself from his view.

‘Get off my property or I’m calling the police.’ Well she hadn’t changed while you’d been gone.

‘Is she here?’

Silence. You peeked round the corner to see your mother whip her phone from her pocket. Bucky shouted your name. Fuck, so much of you wanted to just run down the stairs and throw your arms round him, but you knew there was a good chance you’d just end up here again a week or so down the line.

‘Fine.’ He backed away, holding his arms out. ‘Y’know, sooner or later, it comes down to faith. Someone’s gonna help her see through all your bullshit, I might as well be the one.’

He limped down the steps and was gone from your view. Dragging yourself back into your room, you looked at your phone for the first time that morning. Twenty-five texts and eight missed calls from Bucky. Taking a deep breath, you typed a message to him.

Meet me on the bench at noon tomorrow.

---

As you turned into the park, you saw him sitting there. He looked tense, elbows resting on his thighs while he ran his fingers through his hair. As soon as he spotted you approaching he stood up, but you couldn’t bring yourself to hug him, so you just perched on the other end of the bench silently. He obviously didn’t take the hint, moving closer and sitting right next to you.

You heard him chuckle. ‘Blink twice if we’re being bugged.’

You lifted your eyes, scanning them over his wounds. His knuckles weren’t even fully healed from the fight with his father. He was just cuts upon bruises upon scars and you weren’t sure if he’d ever stop adding to them.

His face dropped when he saw your obvious distress. ‘I’m really sorry y/n. I fucked up, bad.’

You just nodded, taking deep breaths in an attempt to keep your thoughts straight.

‘I know I struggle to control my anger sometimes, but you gotta believe I’m getting better. I’m not the person I used to be.’

‘You keep saying that.’ You couldn’t meet his eyes, too scared to see the hurt your words would cause him. ‘Then you do shit like this? I’m really struggling here, I-’

‘I know I’m not perfect, but I’m trying, now more than ever. Because of you.’

‘What happened the other night... I was so scared, Buck. I barely even made it out of the house to get here today.’ Tears were clouding your vision as you felt his hands grasp your firmly. ‘I can’t do that again.’

---

Part Five

---

@shawnie--jo @brilliantbellesoares @noiralei @bebeyeni @kingkassam @newyorkgoddess  @livingoffsavvyillusions 

I’ve bolded the names that wouldn’t let me tag, sorry guys

---

[incarnateirony]

So now I’m gonna be that butch bitch.

Socially relevant wide topics is not a specific sub blog of anyone that happens to hold an opinion in that topic. I barely even touch my home tab because of how insufferable this fandom dialogue tends to be beyond scrolling through entire vats of whatever the hell is going on and addressing it in general address in a wide host of conversational points. Which literally anyone can see with how few blogs I engage and how rare a burst of gif reblogging even is. Did you tag me directly and land in my notification stream, no, then I probably have no idea what you’re saying. This isn’t hard.

This, on the other hand, is a petty gay sub blog.

Please note there’s a very distinct difference between these and LGBT cinema discussion someone may or may not take offense to.

I’ll give you a hint: my sub blogs are short, pointed, sassy, generally include a random media reference like a video game video or this little piece of art, and are doused in sarcasm. They’re the fandom version of “ok, boomer”. Sure, I do sub blog. We all do. Let’s be real dears. But nah fam. That ain’t it.

Anyone that insists on projecting themselves into a set of shoes left on the floor is free to do so, but they need to recognize that’s what they’re doing with general discussion. No, picking a fight with me on a different social media platform and then pretending any other conversation is targeting you isn’t how it works. I can’t stop anyone from recoiling to the content. And I’ve been EXTREMELY forward on where the door is if they want to continue using regressive angles or taking personal offense to general conversation points. This isn’t new.

Jesus fucking christ.

And for the love of fuck stop treating me like I’m some big name fan. I don’t do conventions, events, actors, I don’t give a shit about shipping culture, I don’t do FB groups, I’m literally not *here* for any of that bullshit. Respectively having a few thousand followers isn’t *shit* on a platform where the big blogs range 8-14,000. I am not. Here. For this clout. Chasing. Bullshit. And I don’t want it anywhere near me. And I didn’t ask to be any kind of leader, or want to be any kind of leader, and magically, this BNF leader that I am had a grand total of 0 fucking people coming at anybody. Just a few telling them to stop escalating their own internalized issues against someone else. If you think that’s unreasonable, I don’t know what to fucking tell you.

If you’re here for fandom drama or personal validation, please, leave me the *fuck* alone. I am not here to be the mother to 2000 grown assed people. Thankfully many of you are reasonable, but for whatever 1% is out there getting *mad* that I’m not conforming, I swear to god, leave me the FUCK ALONE.

I have never been a proper agent of fandom. I have never obligated myself to washes of fandom yelling regardless of if it’s “my lane” or “my friend.” And no, I’m not due to “self reflect” just because *somebody else chose to think I was talking about them.* That’s not how that WORKS. I can’t self-reflect to magically engineer intentions or thoughts somebody else put in their head and projected my way, holy shit balls man.

You wanna know why people talk bullshit about Destiel fandom? This narcissistic manipulative bullshit, this false extremization of talking points, all of it. And no, not every Destiel fan does that before someone warps that. But there’s a reason so many people are hiding from this shit in tag commentary, and it’s THIS. You can deadass say “While I agree we should aspire for better representation we should also make sure to not trample on the work of what people ARE fighting for right now” and SOME FUCKER, SOME WHERE, will turn that into “You’re telling us to settle and stop fighting! You’re a homophobe!” even though it says the opposite JUST ABOVE WHATEVER THEY’RE EXAGGERATING, and yet SOMEONE, SOMEWHERE, will be like “You know what, this resonates with my current feelings, now I’m going to make it dictate this real person’s reality even though that is clearly NOT WHAT THEY’RE FUCKING SAYING.”

I have. ALWAYS. Said. I am not here. For fandom bullshit. This 0 to 100, all or nothing, black or white, Fall In With The Hoard Or Perish By Us Lying And Footstomping And Demanding People Unfollow The Person Who Won’t Fite Me Nao *bullshit.* No, taking a strong stance or having a strong opinion contrary to the Borg is not hArAsSmEnt. What’s fucking harassment is intentionally stalking down people’s materials to pick fights across multiple SM platforms and trying to make it all about YOU while they’re minding their bullshit on their own walls. CHECK YOURSELVES. What’s ~~bullying~~ is trying to incite hive mind attacks. What’s abuse is demanding anyone else tolerate it, much less warping “them or me” choices just because someone *disagrees* with you. 

Nobody sent anybody at the person in question. In fact, they sent themselves, and continued to double down that it had to all be about them, then directed friends to engage and continue it afterwards. The only person that outted them was them, and they fucking @’ed me, so I don’t know what the *fuck* you expected from me. Even if I WAS sub blogging them -- which 1000% not -- not a soul on the fucking planet would have known them until they threw themselves out into the field because IT WAS ADDRESSING MULTIPLE FANDOM TOPICS; and even when they threw themselves out, nobody actually came at them. They just told them to stop. ... And then after that when their friends were told I won’t judge them? ESCALATION! YOU MUST COME ATTACK ME! uh, no. That’s not how this works. Maybe that’s how you’re all used to this working, but that’s not how this works. I can very well say “Kay, whatever you wanna do with yourself” and leave it there.

I don’t ask anybody to come to my wall. I don’t ask you to come pick fights with me. I don’t ask you to troll across multiple media platforms looking for an opening just to get mad when I’m already too exhausted to deal with you. 

I can tell you the one thing you probably shouldn’t do though, and that’s follow a fandom commentary opinion blog and head nod and bobble to it and go “YEAH, YEAH!!” until your own general behavior crops up into the discussion and then turn into a bunch of rabid bobcats and start saying you had a problem with that blog the whOEL tiEM. So, what, you... agreed when it suited you while having a problem with my methods? They’re only a problem if they apply to someone you prefer? 

Get out. I literally do not have the time and energy for this bullshit. I am literally in the middle of my second legal battle in a year while dealing with crippling pain, I can BARELY make my own content BEYOND this conversation, I haven’t even been able to edit for like two weeks,  my game and my projects are all indefinitely paused, I fucking PROMISE YOU that randomopinion dot tumblr dot com is not the highlight of what I’m just out here to inspire shit for, holy shit. Like sure fam, I can barely walk into dollar general to buy a pizza for dinner right now, my house is in limbo, I’m trying to work side jobs while my hip is literally falling apart and my spine is disconnecting from my ribs intermitantly, I might puncture a lung with the effort of sitting down, but you know what I want to do? Stick it to some random FUCKER on tumblr (who can’t keep themselves off of my content while pretending I’m coming at them.) 

If you’d like, with the magic Clap On Clap Off Gay TV invention, if we can also come up with “disability trade” for a feature to live one day in the life of someone, I would gladly invite you to deal with the pain of your anatomy trying to casually rearrange itself. I mean, if we’re all about shoving ourselves into random shoes, go ahead and try mine on. See if you have the patience for this kind of fandom bullshit, let alone to methodically do whatever the fuck a segment of fandom decided I did as some sort of machiavellian plan to sub blog someone I didn’t know fucking existed beyond some other random name account trolling into the middle of an existing conversation on a whole other social media platform.

Is it absolute bullshit to kick into the middle of a conversation, not catch up on the conversation, assume the worst of a conversation because you heard something applicable to you, and to start yelling at people having a conversation that had NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU? Yes, yes it fucking is. No, I don’t care you think I’m holding some grudge from when you farted wrong in the room earlier today, your self consciousness on that front is yours, not mine, fart the fuck away.

Is it even more bullshit to say you aren’t obligated to catch up to the conversation you entered with this angle to and pretend it’s everybody else’s fault? Sure the fuck is. Is it bullshit to @ someone and make literally famously socially abusive demands and then pretend anyone came at *you* after you superman jumped one, two, and five assumptions that it was ABOUT YOU? To just double down because someone’s your *friend* even when the barest application of logic would show they walked in yelling at someone unrelated to them before they set up their drama with a whole ass bass boosting entertainment boom box for everybody? Why yes, yes that is a huge pile of bull shit. I’m not sure why this is a hard thing to grok.

So sure, now I’m sub blogging you. Because somewhere, in the midst of me blogging on every platform about people’s application of bad faith arguments, you decided to bad faithedly attach some sort of fucking motivation to my posts that made it all about *you*. The irony is fucking mind blowing.

I’m so. Done. With this shit.

[awfully-sadistic]

Having a holly, jolly Christmas

Because it’s the best time of the year!

I don’t know if there’ll be snow,

But have a cup of cheer!

Silent Night Vector Hyllus did not know what Christmas was and even less about what it stood for. Coming from a time where the galaxy and everything that happened in it happened a very “long time ago” and “far, far away” one could argue that he didn’t have to. It wasn’t like it was celebrated in any of the planets he had known and it made less sense to try to understand it since joining the hive mind and becoming Dawn Herald for an alien race that looked like giant ants known as Killiks. It just seemed so insignificant given the race had no use for human holidays and thus, Vector remained in ignorance for a very long time as he remained as one with the hive. 

Each and every Killik were in mental contact with one another, however, far away from the hive mind now, far away from any duties where he had nearly nothing to do but learn about different cultures and customs, Vector had gotten curious. The Haushold provided so many new experiences, rich, that he thought even exploring the galaxy couldn’t prepare him for the things he had seen in the Family. He was a silent observer, noting things, taking in everything with those seemingly lifeless blackened eyes and almost stoic expression.

Right now, those black eyes were trained on Dot. She was opening a gift that had been offered to her despite sitting in a wealth of presents from others who have known her longer, more intimately.

Yet, she was opening a gift from him.

The concept of gift exchanging was not as foreign as the concept of Christmas. Killiks had their own customs but he didn’t think she’d appreciate rubbing their forearms together. Or appreciate what others had called his “bug milk”, he hadn’t wanted to make a bad impression on her.

“We had hoped you liked it.” Vector finally spoke in that peculiar way that he does; when he speaks, he speaks in a soothing tone and for the hive he has joined with. Even far away.

Dot pulled an intricately designed necklace from the box, stunned by the exotic beauty of something she knew had to come from another galaxy. There were stones on it she’s never seen before and couldn’t even begin to describe. “It’s... beautiful,” she admired, unable to take her eyes off the way the gems glittered, shifted, twinkled. It sounds like a song, almost.

“We are glad.” Vector replied. It might have sounded like an ordinary statement but the way his shoulders relaxed showed Dot he had been holding onto tension based on her reaction. “We think the sound reminds us of The Song of the Universe; more specifically, we think it reminds us of your part.”

“Song?” Dot asked, looking up in a startled expression. “My? Wait, what does that mean?”

And Vector smiled softly, anxious in his own way to talk to her about this mysterious melody that was created by all living things with a part to play. He especially wanted to share what he thought about hers.

God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen

“Your name is Carol. How can you not know Christmas carols?”

“I’m going to give you ten seconds to get out of my face before I send you to another dimension like I did with Tony.” 

Carol Danvers and Jason Todd were staring down at each other; both with big personalities and headstrong stubbornness that could out-mule any jackass in the Haus. This wasn’t anything mean-spirited but more that everyone had a lot to drink and manners were becoming unhinged.

Unfortunately, with huge personalities and clashing egos, a lot of manners would be unhinged. It was also an interesting mix considering the Marvel side and the DC side mingled quite well with one another. Too many people were like two sides on the same coin. It was nuts but it would also take a charging rhino to break up anyone (or these two) when they got going. 

Most of the time, it would end up with Carol as the victor because... she really was incredibly stronger than Jason (or nearly anyone else for that matter). Yet Jason was as stubborn as Ripley had been during the first merging month with Atamu, trying to get the jump on him.

Dot sat in her booth staring at the two with her mouth posed around a straw. She was drinking a milkshake and there was no way she was going to be stepping into that argument.

Well, at least until Carol made the first attempt to send Jason Todd bam, pow, straight to the moon. So, she decided to step in with a harmless statement.

“What carols do you know, Jason?” she smiled around the straw as Jason’s head whipped around, searching the crowd before they settled on Dot. Immediately, he got a lazy grin on his face and it seemed like he forgot he was talking to Carol. He came strolling over, sliding into the booth next to her.

Unfortunately for him, Carol followed. She slid in on Dot’s other side, effectively trapping the girl between the two; something... she really didn’t think through despite only a few moments ago deciding not to... be in the middle of them.

“I know lots,” he boasted.

Carol wasn’t buying it. “You do, do ya? Then how come you were makin’ a big fucking stink about me singing carols?” she asked, wrapping an arm around Dot’s shoulders and tugging her onto her side (of the argument). “Why didn’t you just sing somethin’?”

Jason’s expression deadpanned; one, he knew what Carol was doing and two, who invited her?! But as Jason was going to find out, no one invited Carol. She came because she wanted to, IF she wanted to. And Dot was around so duh, of course she was here.

“JARVIS, give me a Christmas carol.” Jason stated before the A.I. asked, “And what would you like to listen to, sir?”

Carol wasn’t even trying to hide the grin splitting her face. It was apparent Jason had just expected JARVIS to just play a carol over the loud speaker. Dot was trying to be a lot more polite though, clearing her throat and glancing up at her Mommy.

“...Any... one of them,” Jason said through grit teeth.

“Yeah, but which one?” Carol asked before JARVIS could play something, thus bailing Jason out. She was giving Dot a wink, one that Jason caught and Dot giggled at. They both knew he was more or less had--Jason didn’t know a damn carol even if it bit him in the butt... or sent him into another dimension.

“SOMETHING SOMETHING, OUR LORD AND SAVIOR JESUS, DAMN.”

Carol burst out laughing and Dot found herself doing the same. JARVIS, sounding like an unappreciated Alfred sighed and played a random carol that did, in fact, talk about Jesus.

O Come All Ye Faithful

“He’s... where and doing what?” Dot asked, unbelieving but at the same time, not surprised. It was a weird combination considering she had tried to be optimistic about it and figured it would be the one time Wesker wasn’t hiding down in the lab basements missing all the festivities and mingling with Family on Christmas. He’s been with everyone for HOW long and he’s still acting like an anti-social butthead?!

Jake rubbed a hand on his closely shaven head; at least he had been in the festive mood, wearing an “ugly” sweater that matched with his younger siblings; notably Flash, Petey, and Miles. He was grinning and looking down at his Ma, before his hand dropped to his side and then back towards the general direction of the Lab entrance.

“You know how that old bastard is. It’s probably better without him, scowling at everyone. Being the Grinch while we’re all trying to have a good time.”

“He’s still part of this Family!” she said though she knew Jake wasn’t the one who needed to hear this. She sighed and reached up--which still wasn’t enough and Jake, used to the gesture, bent his large frame so that Dot could cup his cheek. “Thank you for telling me. Now I’m going to give your father a piece of my mind and you can expect him to be up here, wearing a sweater of his own.”

Jake grinned again, leaning into his Ma’s hand. “I can’t wait to see that,” he said, pressing a kiss to the center of her palm. “That’d be a merry fucking Christmas for me!”

Dot had did her best to assure Jake that Wesker wasn’t going to get away with just an ugly sweater but he was going to give each and every one he usually hassled a Christmas present--with love, and personally delivered. Even if she had to lead him by the ear to do it.

The lab doors opened to its elevator and Dot stepped in, jabbing her thumb at the console, hitting the Basement sublevels. She had her arms crossed and ready to go OFF--

But then the elevator doors opened and the scenery before her stole her breath away. The lights were dimmed as she stepped out of the elevator and hanging above her head were strings of lights with a delicate lighting setting. It cast the usually harsh fluorescent scene of the labs in a soft glow reminiscent of a snow fall during the night. Quiet, serene, personal, private.

Standing at the other end of the hallway was Wesker. By now, Dot figured she was... set up. Jake working with Wesker? Well, she never expected that. And that was probably how she was lured to the labs without a second thought about being set up and all worked up about it, too.

Now the air was let out of her balloon and she felt entirely aware of walking towards the mastermind behind.. whatever this was.

It took her a little bit to actually reach Wesker considering she was still admiring the time and effort it took to string up the lights. Sure, the servants must have done it but the thought had been no doubt Wesker’s own. When she stood in front of him, he was already staring down at her. That stupid smug grin on his face was in place and the sensation flared up to smack the glasses off his face. But he surprised her by presenting her with a small box.

Slowly, she took it, giving him a quizzical glance. “Why couldn’t you have given this to me upstairs. You know, with everyone else?” she jabbed, only half-serious. It was more so being a brat out of anything.

“That is precisely the reason,” Wesker replied with a sigh, slightly only serious himself. “there were too many people.” Dot was going to further push it by mentioning that was the point of being Family but Wesker cut her off and added, “It’s not a crime to steal a little of your time. Everyone else does it.”

Dot didn’t point out that he has, on more than one occasion, has committed crimes on securing some quality time well spent with Dot but dropped it as soon as the lid to the box had been pulled off. She wasn’t aware that Wesker had placed his hands over hers, helping her open her present in an attempt to steer her attention away from scolding him or otherwise giving him a “hard” time. Hardly a hard time; he loved their little verbal spars. It kept him sharp and on his toes--but he didn’t want to sully this, their, moment with something like that. He wanted to show her that she was special.

“...This is...” 

“Mm hm. It is.”

Dot laughed a little, staring down at the gigantic heart shaped diamond. “...You’re surprisingly sentimental.”

Wesker made a thoughtful sound at the back of his throat. He looked a little uncomfortable, perhaps having to share more than a thimble of emotion. But he managed to do it because Dot was worth much more than that and she had the right to know and had all his attempts on ...opening up. Despite how hard it was for someone like Wesker to. 

“Only with the right person.” Wesker replied, “and you are the right person.” He enclosed the giant jewel in Dot’s tiny little hand. It didn’t even fit but it felt like a good example of how his heart was held in her small hand. It might be a little cold and harder than any precious metal on earth but it was precious to her and she would keep it safe.

[* I’m sorry there’s not a lot! I wrote until I had to sleep for tomorrow and this was all I managed to get done! @.@;  ]

[mrneighbourlove]

Constricting Souls: Ch 8. Family Intervention

Ralnor had not seen much of Leere lately. Then again, he had not seen her the entire week. Where was she? He wondered if she left again...

A messenger hawk cawed loudly suddenly, flying into the palace very angrily, squawking at the prince.

"Who put a firecracker on your tail feathers?" Ralnor huffed at the bird as he took the message. Reading over the note’s symbol, the prince sighed heavily, a dark cloud forming over his head. "That... stupid snake..."

The note was simply two words written in blood. "Meet me." Signed from a 'Pluto'.

Ralnor wondered what was going on now for the lynel to message him of all the Hive members. So, the prince went to their usual meeting spot to wait for Hades.

At the edge of the catacombs, Sheer-Khan galloped into view, glaring down at the prince. His main was stained with red wine and he smelled of something Blue had concocted. "About time. If you had not shown in ten more minutes, you would have never seen your sister again."

"If that snake has hurt her, I'll flood the tunnels with gas and light it aflame." Ralnor growled. "What is it?"

"It's her that's the issue."

"...? What?" Ralnor gestured for Hades to be more specific, rolling his wrist. "Well, spit it out?"

"Watch your tongue Gerudo." Sheer-Khan was not in any mood to be pleasant. Usually he played in delicate conversation with the prince, but all his patience had been diminished. "She’s been nothing but trouble since arriving. The first thing they did was summon a demon from her body. It destroyed a wing of the catacombs, some sort of infection still left over. After that she seduced White, Blue, and finally Bonegrinder himself. I thought she'd leave after getting what she wanted in the temple she came for, but after entering, she refuses to leave. At this moment, she's drunk off her ass, having the sisters and friend join her. Bonegrinder insists its no issue, but he's gone soft on her. I and the rest of the hive are on overtime. Blue is behind on making her supplies. You need to go into that mess and pull your horrible sister out. Before I do by my jaw line."

"... so you're telling me that my sister has been partying with those two insects for nearly a whole week?" Ralnor could understand why Hades wanted her out of the catacombs. When Leere partied, it did not stop for days. "... take me to her. I'll bring her home."

"They’re arachnids. She's a bad influence on Bonegrinder as well."

As they walked down, they found Bonegrinder listening peacefully to the music Leere was singing. She had just finished shredding a guitar solo. "FUCK YEAH!!!"

With a grin she slammed more of Ralnor's wine down, followed by pouring the rest of the bottle of a very, very drunk Blue and White's breasts. “To my greatest fans! Give me some sugar babies~”

"... oh sweet goddesses, I think I went temporarily blind there for a moment." Ralnor felt bile rise in his throat at the sight of his sister dancing naked while enticing the sisters into more fun.

"Pretty prince? What are you doing here?" Bonegrinder asked Ralnor as Leere continued to make out with Blue and White. "He didn't think you liked to watch."

"I'm here to collect my sister due to Hades informing me of her bad influences as well as your business suffering because of it." Ralnor grumbled under his breath. "If you suffer, I suffer, I'm simply watching out for the both of us." Walking over to Leere, he threw his cloak around her shoulders. "Come home now, sis, time to go home." With that, he threw Leere over his shoulder and went in the direction of the exit.

"Hey, hey, hey, what the fuck?!" She elbowed Ralnor in the eye, being dropped to the floor. Drunkenly about to fight, she paused seeing her brother. "Oh, hey bro. W-w-what's uuuuup? I'm in the middle of a *burp* concert."

"OW! Leere, stop fidgeting!!!" Ralnor did not mean to drop her, but the blow to his head hurt. "No, you're going home." He attempted to pick her back up over his shoulder.

Leere kneed him in the stomach, apparently a master of drunk kung-fu. "Fuck off Ralnor. I'm not going back. I-I'm where I belong now."

"Ooof!" Ralnor stumbled in his steps but did not let go, clamping his arms over her legs and keeping a good grip around her waist. "You're coming home, Leere." His voice was stern. "We've all been worried about you. Do you think it's a good thing to just suddenly disappear? Mama and Papa have been worried sick! Covarog has been looking for you in the towns! You even missed Tebanam, and he was only here for a couple of days! What is wrong with you? You're coming home, and that is that!"

"Fuck OFF!" Leere used her magic to summon some hands to grab Ralnor by the ankles and trip him. As they tumbled, she got up to drink more wine. "I-I'm a curse to my friends. Fucking dying all the time. My only friends are monsters, because they can't die being linked to me. Aaaaaand guess what. It's only a matter of time before I hurt my family. And I’ll k-k-kill myself before that happens. So why don't you go back to Mama and Papa. You're j-j-j-just a prince. A p-p-pussy ass prince. You can't even take a woman half your size. Oh shit... bottles empty. Fuck it. It's your wine. I’m gonna get some more and party even harder. Biiiiiiitch."

"Damn it, Leere!" Ralnor had to fight to get the skeletal hands off of him, kicking the bones apart. "Do you think we give a shit?! We're your family, we love you! We don't give a second thought about curses!" He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her slightly. "Look at what all we have survived in these past few years! Hyrule was attacked, we almost lost our family, the castle in ruins, history lost, and we had to rebuild! But we had each other and pulled through! Do you think that you're the only one who's had it tough?! Get that pathetic nonsense out of your head and come home, right fucking now!!!"

Leere felt her anger rise, smashing the wine bottle in her drunk defiance. "I've had it tougher than ANY OF YOU! FUCK! YOU! RALNOR!" She pushed him back, something deep in her bleeding and hurt. She didn't even notice the tears started to well up. "You ever been raped? You ever watch birth parents been torn apart by that bastard Klinge? You ever find out that said parents wanted you to be a human sacrifice? You ever, in all your spoiled, privileged life, have to deal with the things I've had to see?" She gave a small insane chuckle to herself, bugged eyed. "So what, you were possessed briefly? Sounds like FUN! I have something I can't even describe as a demon living inside my body. I attract evil. I've lost friends to abominations of darkness and hell because they associated themselves with me. Carlos would never have died to the Beacon had I not encouraged his work. Silvia would never been devoured by the snake had I just said no to helping her exploration. And that's just two examples! You think Teb would find Shadow temples? You think your precious wife could stumble upon a cursed jewel that gives you night terrors, than makes those night terrors real!? I am a fucked up person to be around! And than, the cherry on the fucking cake! I w-w-was stupid enough to go into the temple of time. I think I saw my future.  When I die, all of you are going down shortly after! I won't allow that. I'm a fucking monster, so I'm staying with the rest of the monsters. So tell me again how tough you have it! TELL ME AGAIN YOU DUMB-hic-BASTARD!" Leere stumbled back onto a chair, rubbing her eyes to not cry. "It doesn't matter that you love me. I'm dangerous. S-s-so get the fuck out of here…"

Ralnor let Leere have her tirade. There was obvious anger in his eyes, but his expression was tired. For the first time in his life, the secondborn prince threw up his hands. He released a frustrated sigh and then shook his head.

"I'm tired of fighting you, Leere. I'm tired of you leaving and coming back." Ralnor knew how she truly felt, so now he was going to tell her exactly what she needed. "Sometimes, when you leave, we wonder if you're ever coming back. You call yourself a princess of Hyrule, but you're not. You're really just a wandering nomad, looking for answers that will never satisfy you in the first place." He scoffed. "If you want to stay with the damn monsters, then go ahead! I won't stop you. Evidently, you trust an ancient snake you met just a few days ago more than you do your own brother." He then turned to leave, but stopped and looked at Hades. "Bonegrinder got her this way, he can fix it his damn self."

Hades growled. "No. She's already messed up operations enough. Club her on the head and take her if you have to. Or I'll just kill her now."

Leere looked down at the bottle, sniffing to herself. Ralnor’s words had cut deep into her psyche. "I-I... I don't know what I'm doing. I'm not good to anyone. I mess up things here or on the surface. I pretend to be princess when it suits me. But I'm not. I'm not like Rinku. I'm not like you Ralnor. I almost got Bonegrinder trapped seeing his own family. Than I persuaded him into fucking me, drinking all his wine, and smoking his drugs to try and not feel so pained.... And than you said it yourself. You wonder if I'm dead.... Leere looked up from the bottle, almost in a haze. "I feel dead. On the inside. It gets worse every die. Did you know I was named 'Emptiness'? How funny is that? You think I'm empty on the inside?” Leere was tired. So tired of just wandering.

"Tiny princess," Bonegrinder's voice interjected in the argument. "It is time for you to go home with your brother. You need to get some help, my porcelain doll." He fixed the cloak around her shoulders. "Sometimes, the deep, pit in one's soul feels like it can never be filled. It keeps taking and taking, bottomless. Though what you have to do, is keep faith in those around you. If not for this snake's children, he would be aimless. You must not give up, Leere... everyone will have their day in the sunlight."

"What help? What possible help?"

"... okay, for once, just listen to the old snake, Leere. Come with me. We're going to see a doctor and get you some help." Ralnor stated firmly. "Now."

She looked up to Ralnor, her head killing her. "I'm a terrible sister Ralnor. I don't... I'm not as good as Orana or Kanisa. What doctor can analyze me?"

"A psychiatrist... but first, Doctor Boveir. Now let's go, right now."

Leere nodded, shaking her head. "O-ok. Can I have my clothes. Or do you want to carry me again..."

"Go with your brother, tiny princess." Bonegrinder urged her. "He will be able to get you aid that you need, more so than you know. Put your faith in family, yes? This Anagari will be here if you need him too. You've had your fun... now you need to get better."

"Are you going to kick me again?"

"....No….”

"I don't hit women unless I have to, and I'm not going to hit you. Don't kick me again or I'll drop you on purpose this time." Ralnor hefted Leere onto his back, piggyback style. "We'll get you some new clothes. Yours smell like ass."

"Bonegrinder will come and check in on the tiny princess later, pretty prince."

"Joy."

"Do make sure she gets some proper rest."

[djinmer4]

First Impressions (Evil Wizard AU)

“I don’t think there’s anything else to do,” reported Doug Ramsay.  “We’ve exhausted all our leads.”

Logan shifted uncomfortably behind his desk.  “I think I’ve got one more contact who might know something useful for you.  Not sure if letting you talk to him is the best idea.”

“Wolverine,” Brian Braddock, leader of Excalibur, took up the thread of the argument.  “We know the Hellfire Club is also after this artifact, and they’ve got a lot more resources than we do.  This isn’t a case of we can hope someone else gets it first.  If we don’t find and destroy it, they’ll get it and will use it.  If you know anything, anything at all we’ll take it.”

“Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“First thing you should know, the guy’s a necromancer.”

“Like Jude?”

“No.  Jude may be a necromancer, but he specializes in calming the restless dead, fulfilling last requests and generally protecting people from vengeful spirits.  Jude’s a good guy.  The guy I’m sending you to, this is the guy could give lessons to all the evil wizards and sorcerous overlords and dark archmages that you’ve ever heard of.”

The first clue that they were in the right place was that the circus they found was nearly dead silent.  Most encampments of this size were a hive of activity.  People would be shouting orders, animals would be sounding off in displeasure, things would topple over and crash.  This place, none of that occurred.  The animals made no noise and stood stock still to be handled.  People didn’t speak to each other, and every move they made slid past each other as if choreographed.  Nothing fell out of place or was put down too hard or off-balance.  “Well this is creepy,” said Doug.  “I thought Logan said this guy had a few living minions mixed with the corpses.”

“He sometimes has human minions,” corrected Brian.  “But not always, and when he’s out in the woods like this, I guess he doesn’t feel the need to pretend.”

A voice called out from one of the dark wagons.  “Are you the people Logan wanted me to talk to?  Bitte komm rein.”

The rest of Excalibur looked to Doug.  “Er, he said, come in.”

“Second, this guy looks like a demon.  Think like Nocturne and Salamander, but much worse.  Don’t freak out too much when you see him, or he’ll get offended.”

The man in the wagon certainly lived up to his reputation.  He had blue skin, waist-length white hair, and beard, and was covered in scarification patterns. His eyes were completely gold, with no pupil or iris to be seen.  His hands were malformed, with only two fingers and a thumb on each.  He had pointed ears that peeked through his hair, pointed fangs that flashed when he smiled at each of them, and a pointed tail that he used to pour tea for all of them.

The sorcerer half disappeared in the gloom of the wagon.  Behind him, gold eyes reflected the light and shifted about, indicating many somethings watching them in the dark.  The low light made it difficult to see anything around them, and the members of Excalibur huddled together, afraid of bumping into anything.

“So Logan told me you’re searching for an artifact of doom of some sort?”

“That’s right,” Brian once again took the lead on the conversation.  “Logan said you might be able to help us retrieve it or at least know it’s location.”

“That might be possible.  Do you know what the name of the artifact is?”

“The name is another thing we’re missing.  But we do have a description of what it is and what it does.”  The blond gestured to Kitty, and she reached over to pass a copy of the description to the sorcerer.

“Third, this guy is very expensive.  You might not be able to afford his help.”

“He seems pretty mercenary in that case.  What happens if you can’t afford it, does he take your soul?”

“Nah, he’s upfront about it.  No payment, no information, help or goods.”

“What does he do if people are asking for help with a plague or a war?”

“He’s not all bad.  If someone asks for help because of a natural disaster or a plague, he’ll actually work for free.  Everything else though, you pay through the nose.”

“Even a war against a tyrant or trying to find an artifact for safekeeping?”

“Yeah.  He’s said he’s seen too many revolutions become worse than the old regimes when they win and too many well-intentioned heroes become monsters to have any faith in people.”

“Geez, how old is this guy to be that bitter?”

“Oh yes, I made this one.  Xian ran off with it years ago, not that it did him any good.”  The sorcerer turned the paper over and conjured a quill to write with.  “Before we go any further, here’s how much it will cost you.”  He wrote out a list on the back then handed the sheet over to Brian.  The head of Excalibur checked it over and went dead white.

“The good news is, the guy’s a lech.  Since you do have several pretty women as part of Excalibur-”

“I’m not whoring my people out just to get some information!”

“Hey bub, you’re the one who said he’s desperate.  And it’s not like the guy will rape anyone, he just wants something pretty to look at.  Tell him you’re not interested and he’ll back off.  But he might be willing to reduce the price for a date.”

Brian swallowed then passed the price list to the rest of Excalibur.  When Kitty received it she could see why the blond had panicked.  They definitely could not afford this.

“I’m open for negotiation.”

“Well we don’t need the name, and we’re planning to get it ourselves so we don’t need your help either.  As for the location . . . I don’t suppose you’d be willing to take a partial payment and receive the rest later?”

“I only accept credit if I know the party well or will be going with them on their mission.  Otherwise, it’s too much work to chase them down.”  The blue man turned towards the other members of Excalibur.

Rachel frowned at him.  “Isn’t it a little rude to start hitting on people when you haven’t even given your name?”

One hand waved in a desultory fashion.  “I’ve had so many names over the eons, it hardly matters to me what you use.  Kemmler, Captain Bluetail, Darkholme, take your pick.”

“Who’s Kemmler?”

“Wasn’t Captain Bluetail a hero?”

“I’ve heard of Darkholme.  He was a master assassin several decades ago.”

“You know what, you can just call me Kurt.  No one’s used that name in a while.”

“Kurt,” Kitty tested it out.  “You sure you don’t want something like Numair Salmalin?  Or Elminster?”

The sorcerer smiled and leaned forward to rest his chin on his hands.  “Kurt’s short and easy to remember  And what are the names of the lovely ladies here?.”

Brian cleared his throat.  “Fine, Kurt, if anyone’s actually interested . . . “

To the surprise of no one except Cerise, gold eyes turned to Meggan first.  She bristled.  “I’m Meggan and I’m engaged.”

“Whoever you’re engaged to is a lucky man, fraulein.”

“That would be me.”  Brian quickly took Meggan’s hand and frowned at him.  Kurt just smiled and turned to Rachel next.  She looked him up and down, then sneered.  “Rachel.  And I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong parts to attract my interest.”

“But fraulein I have extra ones!”  His tail waved to attract attention.  He turned to the last member of their party.  “And what’s your name, fraulein?”

“Cerise, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” Brian reminded her.

The Shi’ar refugee just shrugged.  “Why not?  This sounds like the type of thing you humans do for fun.  I might as well try it out once.”

“Wunderbar,” Kurt grabbed the paper and scribbled a new number beside the middle line.  When Brian looked at it, he gave a sigh of relief.  “Now, are you in a hurry or shall we take the evening off?”

“We’re in a hurry,” Brian insisted.  While Kurt gave the details of where and how to gain the artifact, Doug leaned over to whisper in Kitty’s ear.  “Jeez, so what are we, chopped liver?  He didn’t even ask for our names!”

[beinglibertarian]

Civilized Society: On the Death of Civility

One of the most influential questions I’ve ever encountered came not from a great philosopher or writer, nor from any inspiring conversation or work. Rather it came from a black comedy at the end of a rant about people throwing used tampons at each other and ripping on American Idol.

The movie (and I highly suggested giving it a watch) was called “God Bless America” and was a story of a man who decided to address the idiocy and (un)culture of the U.S. Of A.

The question: “Why have a civilization if we are no longer interested in being civilized?”

The weight of that question has stayed with me for many years. In all aspects of our lives, we see a continuous shift towards not just tolerating but accepting and rejoicing at the de-evolution of our moral and normative standards.

Before this gets misinterpreted, I am not attempting to start the “objective/subjective” morality debate. Rather I want to touch on this trend, the damage it has and will continue to do, and its effects on not just discourse but human interaction at large.

For the purposes of this piece, I feel that I need to define what I mean by “civilized” in this context.

I am referring here to a standard. A level of culture, of self-betterment, and of social advancement. I am referring to refinement, tact, principles, and all of the other things we have allowed to be eroded from our social norms. The very things that made us as advanced as we are as a civilization are the things that we are allowing to disappear, and it’s primarily due to either apathy, intellectual laziness, or the false belief that these cornerstones of our society are mere relics compared to our own decay.

Make Politics Civilized Again

When we talk about politics we usually end up discussing how terrible one politician is compared to another (which I’ll touch on later). Worse still is attempting to engage with people themselves. Moreso than our politicians, people in general need to be more civilized when discussing these topics.

God forbid one disagrees with someone these days! Outline the belief in an opposed idea and you will be beset by the tribalistic howler monkeys hungry for the flesh of the heretic.

To many, it has become as if the mere existence of opposition is equal to a personal affront or attack.

If one believes or is thinking something different than the hive they are implying that the other is somehow mentally deficient.

Everything gets couched in false dichotomies of us/them, yes/no, right/wrong, all when the world of political ideologies are far more convoluted and nuanced than that. I may disagree with someone’s views on a topic like gun control, but that doesn’t mean that that alone is justification for me to start screeching “Statist!” the second someone suggests some form of restrictions. Just the same I would hope that my opposition wouldn’t immediately jump into saying I support the deaths of children or some other absurdity simply because my stance remains unchanged after a school shooting.

The purpose of debate and civil discourse is to present and challenge ideas; not to pontificate and organize pissing contests.

I find it odd that people will demand to have their voices heard, then squander the opportunities to shift hearts and minds to their cause through empty vulgarities.

Despite millennia of evolution, we still allow ourselves to be put into the little boxes of our self-designed tribes. Even those of us who preach for individualism can be found guilty of this.

Not all is lost here though. I’ve found that much of it lies in approach. If one approaches a discussion from a good faith position with a true willingness to objectively debate and review ideas you will eventually find those on the opposition that are the same. Even the ones that aren’t can eventually be swung into a proper discussion with the right levels of tact and respect.

Obviously, there will be those that are simply there to screech, but that doesn’t grant a license to debase one’s self and do the same. Ideologies can and ought to be discussed on an ideological level. Any lower and one may as well not speak at all.

The Death of Nuance

By and large, this might be the biggest contributing factor to the issues spelled out above and below.

Even those that maintain the ability to discuss, debate and create tend to have lost this necessary skill. The ability to understand and look for the nuance in things.

We design things around simplicity rather than quality. Whether it’s our political arguments or our art, we are constantly aiming to accomplish some form of streamlining that in turn means the frills need to be trimmed.

Arguments are reduced to dichotomies and art reduced to the most easily packaged thing. We see this with our politics especially. We will ignore the nuances of arguments that have vastly different implications because they are outside of our tribes.

There is a massive difference between saying “I’m against the existence of unions” and saying “I’m against government empowerment of unions.” Supporters of unions will treat these as the same thing, even if the latter statement came from a supporter of unions themselves, or if the opposition is some form of left-libertarian. Logical consistency and honest review of the details of their opponent’s arguments are thrown aside for the sake of their tribe.

As I mentioned above, we try to reduce all things into “yes/no” categories and trap ourselves within them. This does far more harm than simply amputating the civilized tones political discourse once held. It also kills our ability to think outside of these dichotomies.

If what one has to say can’t be reduced to a tautology or syllogism then it isn’t worth hearing in the eyes of our generation of pundits and keyboard warriors. As a society, we have stopped our exploration of philosophy and the arts and moved into a phase of rearrangement. We no longer strive to make something wholly new, but simply remix and argue over what has already come before us.

Most of our media and ideas are not our own anymore. They are remixes of ideas and arguments from before.

While it is worth understanding and appreciating what came before us, we should strive to move past it. We should strive to improve rather than regurgitate the ideas that came before us. We should take the time to learn the subtleties of what we engage ourselves in. I brought it up in one of my podcast episodes where I talked about the human habit of overcomplication, yet I am equally astounded by the amounts of those complications and nuances that we add to our interests that we then summarily ignore.

We will spend all of this time debating philosophy, politics and economics, but we won’t take an equal amount of time to review the basis for the arguments our opponents use, or in some cases ourselves. Instead, we will defer to the basics of what we encounter and fight from there.

In art, we will accept a lower quality of music lyrically because we’ve reduced our listening experience to the beat. We examine our world from generalizations rather than attempting to view things as a whole. We discard the whole once we’ve decided what is in front of us. There are some out there reading this that likely saw the repetition of the word “we” and got their backs up. It should be easily understood that the usage of the word here is in a generalized form and thus should receive no contention from those this critique doesn’t apply to. The fact that this likely needs to be explained further illustrates my point.

“It’s Art”

It is saddening when people say this in defense of baseless vulgarity or unoriginal pieces of “art.”

Through the postmodernist lens, we’ve come to accept anything as art so long as it was made in expression of whatever the “artist” whips up as a reason after the fact.

While some pieces can indeed be interesting, on the whole, much of the talent the art world use to hold has been replaced with expression for the sake of expression; no actual skill required. We’ve turned the study of the aesthetic into a scatological field.

The truest shame of this is the amount of true talent that gets passed over in place of these works of “art.” The amount of technical skill and artistic vision that likely went into your phone’s background or those random “cool art” Facebook page posts you’ve seen massively outweighs anything I’ve seen from the “performance art” crowd in recent years.

Outside of the regular talentless hacks that throw the term “avant-garde” around like they actually know what it means, there’s the overpackaged side of this decline as well.

Now it needs to be stated first: I understand that most television, movies, and pop hits aren’t designed to be masterwork expressions of the craft. They’re designed to be popular. The problem is twofold here.

First, we are a very systematic species. We’ve devoted thousands of man hours and resources into the study of what makes certain music or shows popular and reduced these fields to a science rather than the art it ought to be.

Not every TV show needs to be some high-level journey of wonderment, but at least they could stop redoing the Three’s Company formula every time they need a new hit. Even some of the better works that have come out in recent years like Game of Thrones or Breaking Bad, while refreshing, ended up doing little more than creating a new system for companies to flood the market with.

With every repetition of the model, it becomes weaker and more deformed.

Pop music has always suffered this, but the emphasis on it has eroded the usefulness of the media form.

Even older pop hits still had to reach a certain level of quality before we would begin to eat it up. Instead of keeping up with that trend, we’re fed things that are scientifically designed to be appealing; rather than being appealing on its own artistic merits.

Luckily there are definitely acts out there that bring that higher level of quality, but sadly they simply aren’t as big or on the same level of reach as the cookie-cutter ensembles that I’m referring to.

I’m not suggesting we need to go back to some idyllic civilized high society that only listens to classical and jazz (though I wouldn’t really oppose that either), but rather that we pay more attention to the art we consume and demand more than a catchy tune with an appropriate level of compression.

The Pursuit of Knowledge

As of the beginning of this sentence, this article was already at 1795 words. For most of those that read web articles, I’m already over the average attention span by about 1000 words.

Even in libertarian circles, there are tons of people that will fight you to the death on an economic or philosophical concept, yet they’ve never read the source material these ideas came from.

They’ll have gotten their arguments from watching others debate online or by parroting whichever YouTuber they happen to follow.

They’ll attack commies for their ideological views, but have never picked up a copy of anything by Proudhon, Marx, or Kropotkin. This isn’t a libertarian issue alone though as those same commies are just as likely to have never read the material either.

We’ve bred a social order that values the products of knowledge, but not it’s acquisition. Sure, we push our youth to run off and get their degrees, but we do that for the sake of them gaining better  employment rather than to actually learn.

Shows like “Are you smarter than a 5th grader” are only possible in a society where we treat the civilized pursuit of knowledge as a means rather than an end in and of itself.

Even when we do pursue knowledge, we aim for summaries. In order to stand for something one first needs the legs that true knowledge grants you. After reading a single Wikipedia article or listicle people consider themselves educated enough to discuss the finer points of Spinoza. And that’s if they even read non-fiction to begin with.

The average person reportedly reads twelve books per year, though this is largely believed to be inflated with the actual average closer to four. This is out of the nearly one million books published every year. Obviously, it would be physically impossible to read that much per year, but even when we do read the quality is suspect.

Look at the explosion of YA novels. Most of it is average, slightly above dime store level tropes repackaged in slightly different arrangements. These sell millions of copies and get turned into blockbuster movies.

Even “Adult” (no, not that kind) novels tend to follow the same path of repetitive swill. The bulk of the variety ends up coming from the types of characters rather than the plot itself, or the authors will predictably try to over M. Night Shyamalan their works with more twists than a 50‘s sock hop.

All of this may sound like some form of intellectual elitism, but rather it is a call for standards. We can enjoy the odd bit of trite every once in a while (one of my favorite films is still “The Room”), however, we cannot sustain ourselves on it.

Civilization and culture around the world has been built on the backs of the thinkers and the dreamers. If we only feed our brains garbage then we will produce the same. To make society more civilized we need to start by making ourselves more informed and demand of others and ourselves the higher standards that would grant us.

Psuedos: A Cancer on Culture

In listing all of this I feel it is important to list the worst offenders of those that erode all that is civilized: Psuedo-intellectuals.

These are the types that list their IQ and pedigree within the first 5 facts you learn about them. They learned all they need to know about being successful from reading 7 habits of successful people and a handful of Malcolm Gladwell books. They took not one, but two CrossFit classes and are ready to become personal trainers and dietitians. They are plebs in Armani.

The reason I think they are contributing to the uncivilized trend that we have been experiencing is that they steal the limelight from real thinkers in the name of egotistical desire.

They speak less for the purposes of sharing any real knowledge they might, by chance, have gathered, but solely to express that they are the ones that know it. They are not agents of enlightenment, but rather of sophistry.

They make compelling arguments completely devoid of any nuance that could show true thought behind their ideas, and become excessively defensive should their supposed superiority be questioned.

They’re willing to show how civilized they are in a discussion right up until any of their ideas are challenged. In their eyes, to challenge them is to say they are wrong which is tantamount to blasphemy.

Their involvement in a conversation sullies it, which in turn turns people away from engaging in the material at all.

Worst still, it can lead to people quietly settling into their little tribes on the topic.

A true thinker should want people to engage in their material. Critiques help people hone their ideas, add to their knowledge base, and offer perspectives that may previously have been unconsidered. A Psuedo-intellectual wants none of that.

The Psuedo just wants to be right from the start, and acknowledged for it. Most painfully, they are likely to self-victimize. They will claim they argue purely from facts and reasoning, but they will also be offended on a personal level if they are sufficiently challenged.

Most commonly this results in pedantic commentary, condescending remarks and stances, and a transition of the discussion from the topic at hand to an emptier game of linguistics. If one dares stoop to their level they’ll immediately decry that they’re being attacked and turn the discussion towards tone and words to gain some level of superiority out of the exchange.

This erodes not only civilized and intellectually honest discussion, but also the foundations of knowledge in the public sphere. Discussion gets driven not by the wisest voices, but rather the loudest.

I think the best example of this committed to film was in the movie “Good Will Hunting.” In the famous bar scene where the pretentious grad student attempts to browbeat Ben Afflick’s character solely for the purposes of browbeating him and making a spectacle. Matt Damon’s character (Will) comes forward and begins to pick him apart for the ideas stolen from entry-level books, generic stances, and walks him through what his academic and general future will encompass being that way.

He quotes the authors he’s stealing from (and even the damn page number), and generally summarizes all of the issues with this breed of person; all through a thick Boston accent.

I highlight this scene because it perfectly encapsulates what I’m referring to. Unfettered pedantry by those that overvalue their own knowledge and capabilities.

Now, I’m not lacking in self-awareness to the degree to not notice that one might think the same of me for writing such a lengthy piece as this attacking all of these aspects of discussion and society as if I am somehow above it all.

I am the first to acknowledge if and when I slip up on the things listed here, and truly without pretense welcome it when others notice so that I can course correct and improve. Noticing these traits and taking the time to improve upon them is what separates us from those that are simply in it to put on a show. True learning and development start with a real hunger for the knowledge, and a humble willingness to be wrong.

Civilized Office Starts With Civility

Look at the news. Just look at it and weep. People have always gotten heated and thrown mud in the political arena, but it had generally been understood that there are levels to which one simply does not stoop.

As time progresses that notion has been eroded.

Even during the infamous Watergate fiasco, we could still see a level of civility in the commentary and discussions on Nixon’s actions, and what should follow. I doubt that reporters from most MSM outlets could sit down through an interview with Trump and remain as civilized yet to the point as Frost could.

Even amongst the general public, we’ve seen this shift. After Clinton and that little blue dress, the respect for the presidency as an office plummeted as seen with the open hostility towards Bush, the baseless attacks against Obama (which tended to ignore the large list of factual reasons to criticize him), and the circus around this current presidency.

I welcome the reduction in the worship of the office as much as the next libertarian, however, I cannot support the lack of civilized discourse regarding it.

One doesn’t need to pretend these politicians are good people (generally they aren’t), but debasing one’s self for the sake of attacking them is unnecessary and pointlessly negative as well.

Civilized discourse is built around maintaining a level of decorum and mustering enough respect to effectively and fairly engage an opponent. As we remove our respect and decorum we also erode our expectations.

You don’t get a Trump (or a Hillary, or Bernie) in office if you actually demand a higher quality from these offices. While one may be on the anarchist side and against the existence of the offices themselves, that doesn’t mean we should treat the offices so poorly as to turn them into a joke. When we do that we don’t reduce the power these offices currently hold; we only reduce the quality of those who hold them.

Put another way, one can question the legitimacy of these offices and want them abolished, but simply treating them sloppily only results in lower quality people hold these positions of power, making them that much more dangerous. Conflating that these offices ought to be removed or reduced with the idea that they hold no power is a root cause of the continuous degrade in the quality of people that hold them.

Conclusion

This also needs to be said: I’m not dictating that we need to make these changes by force. That’s an important detail that is likely to be missed by some on first glance.

Cultural direction works the same as markets in the sense that changes only happen three ways. They happen by environmental factors (abundance of a resource in one area, natural disaster, etc), by the force of an interloper (such as the government), or by the sum of the actions of the individuals of society.

The environmental influence on civilized societies are mostly immutable (note: mostly), and, while there are those that attempt to enforce their cultural views via force and law (From the Puritans of old to the archetypical SJWs of today) I am attempting neither.

I write this in an attempt to get people on a different track and to change how the sum of our culture will look. Between these three factors, I personally will always bet on the individual as being the greatest genesis of change. It’s the individual I seek to showcase this to, and to engage. At the very least I hope this sparks a discussion and consideration of the points herein.

The Dalai Lama had a book titled “How to see yourself as you really are” that I think is apt to mention here. The book discusses the concept of self-knowledge, and removing the biases that attribute to both false negative and false positive interpretations of yourself.

The goal of the exercises and philosophy presented is to direct the reader towards being able to see the reality of themselves, and act accordingly rather than from empty pretenses they might have of themselves.

While I most definitely am nowhere near his levels of understanding or wisdom, my intentions here are the same.

It is my hope that those that read this will aim for more civilized heights than they had before, and will look for opportunities to improve the way we function.

I hope that you will self-reflect and take something away from all of this. It is my hope that we can answer the question of whether to have a civilization anymore with a resounding yes, but that will only be possible if we as individuals are willing to fulfill our parts.

* Killian Hobbs is a writer for Think Liberty.

The post Civilized Society: On the Death of Civility appeared first on Being Libertarian.

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[braindamageforbeginners]

Bad Religion

I usually pride myself on honest reporting and accounting of my situation, and I usually do my best; however, careful readers may have caught on that this narrative stars me, with some guest appearances by various physicians and technicians. This is because I try not to tell other peoples’ stories, and because I don’t want to burn any bridges while I’m still financially and immunologically vulnerable. However, I’ve reached the point where I feel the potential need of the next bunch of cancer patients outweighs any risk of pissing people off. I’ll give full warning that this post will be hefty, but filled with useful information.

Folks, your relationships - of all sorts - are going to start to fray around the edges. And that’s not just cancer; that’s every medical condition you can imagine. Patients are going to be sleep-deprived, in pain, and away from home. Your sex life is going to suffer. Cancer just magnifies that by bringing inconclusive outcomes and lengthy weighting periods into the mix. I know of one brain cancer survivor who was divorced after her diagnosis. I’m sure there are a lot of married couples looking at each other and saying, “’Til death do us part;” and I wish you best of luck. I would caution everyone, however, that you would be amazed at how you react in an unimaginably awful situation (and I would like to point out that, by definition, if you can imagine it, it is not unimaginable). I, for example, would not have thought myself capable of harming anyone; however, if someone told me they could cure my disease if I stabbed a toddler... well, I probably still wouldn’t do it, but I might have write out a pro/con list to arrive at that point (and, in the interests of honesty, I’ve been on a few cross-country flights with toddlers that I would have stabbed for free). So, yeah, you can probably expect some degree of tension between you and your friends and family (future cancer patients, I’ll let you know the second I figure this one out; I sucked at the whole “relationship” thing even when I was healthy). I, myself, am grumpy, exhausted, and have a nasty headache all the time (and I’m single, ladies), so, kudos to my parents for not strangling me. However, both parents have gotten a little squirrelly, let us say. I still have enough IQ points to recognize it’s no a coincidence that it’s not three days after my doctors tell me it’ll be a 48-week investment before I get any results, and there are no guarantees. So, everyone’s going back to their standard coping mechanisms, which is bad because those mechanisms involve micromanaging (you can’t flinch when playing chicken with a disease). At the moment, there is little-to-no tension in the household, but when agency is removed, we have a nasty tendency to clamp down on what we have left, and that’s always a difficult concept for people.

Which brings up a point on the importance of faith. Which is a very, very weird thing for someone of my rather loose interpretation of the concept to bring up (and organized religion gives me hives). However, there will be vast swathes of time where you, the patient, will be forced to sit and wait. It’s not pleasant, I’ll admit it; but you have to kind of enjoy it, because there’s a good chance that when you hear back, it’s bad news. That’s how I make the most of it, anyway, is, “Well, that’s six months before things go completely to Hell.” This ties into the concept of faith because you will spend a lot of time going places, doing things, and being injected with questionable substances without seeing any results, and, often, without any guarantees about results. I realize that an argument could be made that my situation is not the same as  inshallah, because I have some statistics and established medical standards working in my favor - that’s true, but it’s also true that, for significant portions of this whole thing, not only will I have no confirmation any of these treatments are working; there would be no way to accurately test it. Again, I’ll be giving blood samples on a weekly basis and getting lots of other tests, but there’s not much difference - to my admittedly untutored, disbelieving eye - between that and tithing. Before everyone starts writing to me about how wrong I am; I will admit that I’m kind of painting things in broad strokes and criminally simplifying many ideas. But, for everyone out there planning on getting a dangerous disease; there will be many, many moments when you have to decide whether to double-down or leave the table (yes, I just compared organized religion to gambling, in the off-chance that there isn’t group out there I haven’t pissed off). I can’t really offer any advice to future cancer patients about what to do, just that you should be aware - because no one warned me - that you’re going to spend more time waiting for results than actually doing something to get results.

[nonrebloggingviewerswillbeshot]

A Shameless Rant (Alistair/Cullen)

How far has our society come when we can argue and bicker over such trivial things that have no bearings on life and simply serve to aide someone through a time of distress or something similar?

Games offer something to someone that could be completely different to what it offers another person. An npc in that game could be a source of comfort for a person when another could just as easily hate the same npc and have a strong desire to kill them.

When did going to the people who like that npc and bashing them suddenly become something that was common or normal and vice versa? Since when did we all walk down a tunnel in life or have a hive mind where we all had the same thoughts, the same struggles, the same insecurities and mentality?

Let’s get specific, let’s talk about Alistair and Cullen shall we.

First of all if you hate these npc’s then good for you, that is well within your right, but the minute you decide to bash people for their love of these characters is when you cross a line.

Now let’s get personal.

I love Alistair okay get over it, and I also love Cullen for similar but different and specific reasons.

Alistair is a gentlemen through and through and quite frankly I would take this make up of polygons over what is considered a man in this day and age where ‘being a man’ is doing drugs, boozing up, sleeping with everything on two legs, cheating on your girlfriend, going around beating others up, being obsessed with the taking of steroids, and being the stereotypical version of a bad boy among other things.

Plus I want a man to treat me with respect and it says something about society when it takes a 3D model in a computer game to find it. I’m sick of games nowadays that have romance options being “Let’s bang because we can, not necessarily because we love eachother.” and if you don’t like my opinion, leave, we’re all different and this is who I am.

The argument is that Alistair is too dumb to function but honestly I think we can give that award to Goku who doesn’t know what kissing is despite having kids and other various nonsense that makes no sense.

If Alistair was too dumb to function he wouldn’t even be a grey warden in the first place, he faces down dark spawn, and fights an endless battle with a darkness that will never be ridden from the world until the arch demons are gone. He has the possibility to be a king or just remain a grey warden, either way he has very important roles regardless of what you choose so let’s get rid of that stupid misconception immediately.

(Spoilers Ahead)

As we know Alistair is the son of Fiona and King Maric Theirin, and if you have paid attention to anything he says in Origins you’ll know that he was hated by Isolde and treated poorly because of her suspicion that he was her husbands son.

His moments of hesitation come from talking to a female grey warden, and perhaps other women and I just don’t remember that part, although he has no qualms about raising his voice at Anora so I’m going to refer to my previous statement of it being the female warden.

I’m not going to say Alistair had the hardest life but it wasn’t the easiest either if we consider his age, and he was eventually dropped off at the chantry because of Isolde. Honestly if people hate how shy he is and how much of a gentleman he is at this point whatever, I don’t care but people like that exist, deal with it.

We could argue that his treatment from Isolde aids his fear of talking to the warden which I am personally going with. Let’s look at how hesitant he was to tell you he was a bastard in the first place, he didn’t want to tell you as explained by himself because people either coddle him because of it or treat him badly.

At his young and impressionable age it would have left psychological marks on him that he perhaps fears being treated like this and is thus hesitant when it comes to talking to women let alone those he has feelings for. It would be hard in the least which it is for his character and that is actually realistic.

Origins is a dark fantasy game in the first place so let’s not forget that either, considering the city elf wardens backstory is her getting kidnapped along with several other women to be raped by the Arl’s son and his friends.(yes I played a city elf)

Also if you meet Alistair in Inquisition, gone is his happy-go-lucky attitude he has a cold seriousness about him that breaks your heart when you realize he has become a man that get’s the job done instead of being his usual goofball self.

So essentially if you don’t like a touch of realism in your gaming then gtfo because that’s how life works. Events in our lives leave their marks on us regardless of if we want them too or not.

Which brings me to my second point being Cullen.

Cullen has had a far worse time than Alistair has and that has definitely left their marks on him as a person. If you played a circle mage which I have you will see his rather cute and shy interactions with the warden, and I’m not sure if it’s intended but after you talk to him he sprints off in the other direction.

Moving on to the annulment of the circle at Calenhad we find Cullen trapped in a magical barrier and he’s rambling on about how the demons are using you to haunt him again. The man actually cries when you meet him begging for an end to all this misery, he is a broken human being. And if you bring Leliana with you she will comment on how he had been denied food and water for a few days as well and attempts to give him some.

Afterwards he explains that his friends were killed and tortured some were turned and he was tortured as well as I explained earlier. After finally realizing that you are real he asks you to kill all the mages in the tower including Irving and all the mages who never turned.

You can either choose to go along with his request and kill everyone or not and save the mages, but either way the damage on his mind is already done and he has a fear that would not easily go away considering he still has nightmares in Inquisition.

This in no way supports the slaughter that he suggested because realistically no amount of trauma excuses the harm caused to other people because of it but it is understandable given that fear is a powerful force able to make people do many things they thought they would never do.

Moving along to Dragon Age 2 when he was sent to Kirkwall because Greagoir sent him away because Cullen was no longer allowed to be around the mages in the tower and he needed to be away from the place that caused him so much pain.

So now at Kirkwall; Knight-Commander Meredith has been fostering his hate for mages and so he treated them as less that human stating to Hawke “They are not people like you and me.” I played a mage in DA2 but I always understood the importance of the circle so that we didn’t end up with another Imperium.

I understood why he treated them like this because he was never given a chance to see mages as anything other than evil abominations and blood mages such as what was in Fereldan’s circle. And since I can only assume Meredith was filling his head full of stuff that would make him remain loyal to her and her ideals alone it makes sense.

Moving through the acts you see him questioning her despite his own distaste for mages and I think that is progress because despite his mental scars he is able to see that this is not right, and he has regrets already. He understands that Meredith is going crazy as revealed in Act 3 I believe, but what options does he have when the only safety he has is to cling to the order that controls the mages.

He needs to feel that control over them so that he can in some way be assured that what happened at Calenhad can never happen again. It does however as seen when Anders blows up the chantry but still my point remains. Cullen has a fear that causes him to both hate what the Templars get away with and hate what mages get away with at the same time. Leaving him between a rock and a hard place.

If you tried to face your biggest fear I could see you standing their questioning everything multiple times because it’s not easy to step out from that metaphorical blanket of security you think you have. Cullen turning on Meredith at the end of Act 3 proves he is taking a leap of faith, his convictions strong enough to ignore his fear for a moment and do what is right.

If you aid the Templar's in saving Kirkwall, several mages will surrender to you and Meredith demands their death, but Cullen is expressing his opinion against what she wants, saying that it is not what the order stands for. Hawke ultimately has the choice and they can be saved much to Meredith's displeasure. Fighting against Meredith at the very end proves that he has made a choice and it was the right one.

Moving on to Inquisition, his desire to leave the Templar's is perfectly expected, he has had enough of people like Meredith he’s tired of dealing with mages, and he doesn’t want to be tied to his past life anymore. His ‘whining’ about the mages joining them is still justified even if he get’s over it for the greater good because he realizes that it is your choice to make as the Inquisitor. 

Why would anyone who has been tortured by a certain group want more of them walking freely around them, it’s a panic attack waiting to happen. 

Being someone who has been through some pretty horrific stuff in my life I can understand these characters on a deeper level than most, there are many psychological factors behind the actions and reactions from these 2 characters.

Honestly I could touch up more on this whole thing but I think I have said my peace and this post is already long enough. so thank you for listening to my spiel and have a nice day.

[junker-town]

The ‘Bachelorette’ finale: I can't believe how bad that was

Peter broke Rachel’s heart so she ended up with Bryan and everything is awful.

Welcome back, Sports Bachelor Nation. This is it — our Super Bowl, our World Series, our NBA Finals, our NHL Playoffs.

THIS IS: THE BACHELORETTE FINALE!

I’m usually pretty excited about the final episode, if only because it means I’ll get my Monday nights back once the damn thing is over. But the show hasn’t been super fun this season. The producers used racism as a main source of drama throughout the doldrums (which is what I call episodes 3-7, where no one really cares that much), and Rachel is clearly more into Peter than she is into any of the other guys. However: The last time we left them, Peter couldn’t tell Rachel he would, with 100% certainty, be able to propose to her, so things are looking precarious for him.

I still think Peter wins, but I’m not super excited about it. Because he’s not, like, the best (he is very attractive, but he has dabbled in casual racism, and he does speak like a midwestern robot). However: the other option is that Bryan wins, and Bryan wore an ombre outfit in public where humans with eyes could ACTUALLY SEE HIM.

I’m serious:

Is it Monday yet?? #hometowns #miami #305 #thebachelorette

A post shared by Dr. Bryan Abasolo (@thebryanabasolo) on Jul 14, 2017 at 12:21pm PDT

That’s a crime against humanity.

With all that said, let’s do the damn thing.

WAIT, THEY’RE MAKING HER LIVE-TWEET THE SHOW, BUT WITH HER WORDS ON A STAGE IN REAL LIFE?

Oh my god. This is a level of uncomfortable I have seldom seen in all my three seasons as a Bachelor/ette sportswriter: they’re making Rachel watch the finale in front of a live studio audience. She has to talk to Chris “Crest White Strips” Harrison about what’s happening as it happens. The questions he poses sound like he just read Therapy for Dummies and wants to give psychoanalysis a try (“And how did that make you feel, Rachel?”).

This reminds me of the time they ambushed her with four of her suitors on live television at the beginning of her season. She’s like, “Why do you keep doing this to me?” and Chris “Airbrush Makeup” Harrison is like, “Because you’re so good.”

So the lesson here, folks, is: if you’re the Bachelorette, be boring and not cool. Because if you’re charismatic and charming on live TV, then they make you do shit like having your ex-boyfriends in the room as you re-watch yourself break up with them.

PETER KEEPS MESSING THINGS UP

We’re still in Spain. We left Rachel and Peter on their fantasy suite date, a.k.a. the first time they’re allowed to bang. Rachel is crying because Peter says he isn’t sure he can propose, and Peter is sad because he can’t tell her he could propose after two months of dating. This feels like the beginning stage of the merry-go-round ride that is an unsolvable arguments with a significant other. You know those ones? Where you talk and talk and talk and argue and argue and argue about the same thing endlessly in a horrendous circle of sameness until one of you pulls the level, hops off the ride, and pukes from dizziness?

“I hate Peter,” says my roommate, who has walked in and sat down on the couch after never having seen an episode of this show.

Peter says he’s still fighting for this, and Rachel says she is, too. She cries. He says that her crying and showing emotion about his not wanting to propose makes him feel like he’s closer to being able to propose. I think that seems a little manipulative. Rachel gives Peter the fantasy suite key because she clearly wants to sleep with him. He accepts. The morning after, they’re both like, “Yeah, that was a step forward,” and it seems like Peter is still in this. Which I take to mean the sex was good.

“How can he say nothing in so many words?” my roommate asks. I tell him that’s a dish known as Bachelorette Word Salad and it’s best served cold. He shakes his head.

I still think Peter wins.

Just another beautiful good morning in Spain! #TheBacheloretteFinale http://pic.twitter.com/2zDqeXEUey

— The Bachelorette (@BacheloretteABC) August 8, 2017

BRYAN’S FANTASY SUITE DATE

Rachel is clearly super into Peter, because she phones it in with Bryan on this date. Bryan is wearing a henley that’s too big for him, because of course he is.

My roommate is confused. He only just figured out that Bryan and Peter aren't the same person. On the TV, Bryan is like, “Why are you being weird?” and Rachel says something that I miss completely because I’m too busy telling my roommate that Bryan and Peter aren’t the same person.

Bryan says, as they head into the fantasy suite, that he’s excited about “that last wall to break down,” which is a weird way to describe sex.

The trouble with awkward...#TheBacheloretteFinale http://pic.twitter.com/ru5p6lvrEQ

— The Bachelorette (@BacheloretteABC) August 8, 2017

ROSE CEREMONY

Rachel sends Eric home, which sucks, because Eric is a better dude than both of these jabronis. But we all knew this would happen, mostly because we forgot about Eric while all of this drama with Peter and smarminess with Bryan was going down.

They bring Eric out on live TV. He looks great! He tells Rachel that he’s grateful she helped him open up to the possibility of love. She says he’s a beautiful person. I agree. Good luck out there, Eric.

"Take a moment. Say your goodbyes." Eric is pure class. #TheBacheloretteFinale http://pic.twitter.com/c4zg0YISCi

— The Bachelorette (@BacheloretteABC) August 8, 2017

We cut back to the rose ceremony, where Bryan and Rachel and Peter are all drinking wine and looking depressed. Bryan, to the camera, is like “Now I have to win her heart,” and appears as though he would like to murder Peter. Peter doesn’t really seem that threatened by Bryan, because Bryan is a sleazy chiropractor, and Peter is a hot personal trainer. What if Bryan just takes out a knife and stabs Peter at the rose ceremony? That would be so wild.

THE LAST TWO DATES BEFORE THE REST OF RACHEL’S LIFE

Rachel rides horses and goes on a hot air balloon ride for her last date with Bryan before the Big Decision. I don’t understand how hot air balloons work. How do you land these things?

Huh. Interesting! But I digress.

Bryan’s kisses are gross. He’s trying to swallow Rachel’s whole face. He’s wearing that watch she bought him in Geneva as they make out in the air. Hmm, okay, maybe Bryan wins.

Ugh, what if Bryan wins!?

“I would spend the rest of my life loving you,” Bryan says. He’s laying it on pretty thick — he gives Rachel a Spanish dictionary full of words like, “wife,” “forever,” and “leap of faith.” I’d be breaking out in hives if someone gave me that, but Rachel so badly wants a ring after all of this that she seems into it.

Bryan tells her she’d be making a mistake if she didn’t choose him. I hate when men say that — it’s like, uh, that’s not your call to make, dude. You’d be making a mistake if you weren’t cool enough to make me want to stay.

This show is bananas. My roommate shakes his head and leaves the house.

PETER ROYALLY SCREWS THE POOCH ON THIS ONE

Rachel and Peter go to a monastery for their date, which seems unfair, given that Bryan got to go on a hot air balloon ride. A monk says, “It is very important not to give importance to things that are not important.”

The wires in my brain get so crossed as I try to figure out if this means anything or not that my head explodes and this recap is over.

JUST KIDDING, I’M STILL ALIVE, LET’S KEEP GOING

Peter goes into a tailspin after the monk date. He tells Rachel that he didn’t expect to truly care about someone when he went on this show and that it’s all happening really fast. He says he’s serious about her but he just can’t commit that fully yet, though he hopes to someday. Rachel is crying — she’s like, “You talk about a dog, and what kind of bed we’re going to get, this future with a wife, but when it comes to the reality of this and where we are right now, it’s like you don’t want to face it. It’s like steps are skipped.”

This really may be the most dramatic moment in Bachelorette history. #TheBacheloreteFinale http://pic.twitter.com/XRT8fQBYFr

— The Bachelorette (@BacheloretteABC) August 8, 2017

“I do, I want to make those steps, but in time,” says Peter. Rachel says she can’t trust this because all of her past relationships have ended when the guy couldn’t full commit. I think this is a bit different, though — I know the point of the show is to go on it and propose, but if you don’t truly think that’ll happen, the way Peter didn’t, I can’t fault you for balking when you realize how real it gets at the end. I mostly say this because I can see myself totally freaking out if I went on the show as a joke and then accidentally made it to the point where there was a good chance I’d win the whole thing.

On the other hand, if Peter really does want to keep Rachel, he should’ve figured out that an engagement is what it would take. They could sort out the details later and just pretend they’re dating for a few years, except she’s wearing a ring. Because that’s how the show works, and Rachel has proved that she follows the rules of the show.

THEN PETER STARTS BEING A MANIPULATIVE DICK

My sympathy flies out the window when Peter tells Rachel that if she can’t accept that he can’t propose, she can “go find someone to have a mediocre life with.” This may be true, given that her other option is Bryan, who has an embarrassing Instagram account and mommy issues. But still — that’s a mean thing to say, and Rachel is sobbing, and Peter is making this seem like her fault. It’s not. She has the weight of a narrative arc on her back. It’s everyone’s fault. It’s America’s fault. It’s the producer’s fault. It’s my damn fault.

Things escalate. They’re both sobbing. Rachel leaves and Peter goes, “What is wrong with me?” She walks down the street in Spain in the pouring rain and I’m pretty sure this is it for Peter.

"What is wrong with me." ⛈#TheBacheloretteFinale http://pic.twitter.com/4CP4ktqR4g

— The Bachelorette (@BacheloretteABC) August 8, 2017

NOOOOOOOOOO does this mean Dr. Bryan With-a-Y wins the show!?

Oh my god.

No.

This can’t be happening.

Bryan can’t win.

Peter’s not great but, oh my god, Bryan can’t win.

Back on the live stage, Chris “Tailored Within an Inch of His Life” Harrison is like, welp, you guys had a weird breakup, huh? And Rachel, who looks shell-shocked, is like.... yeah.

The cameras cut to Peter, who’s sitting backstage crying, and NOW THEY’RE BRINGING HIM OUT, OH MY GOD, I CAN'T BELIEVE THEY'RE ABOUT TO MAKE RACHEL AND PETER TALK TO EACH OTHER ON LIVE TELEVISION FOR THE FIRST TIME AFTER THAT BREAKUP, THIS IS A NEW LEVEL OF CRUEL.

Is there a chance there’s a huge plot twist and Rachel ends up choosing Peter after all? I’m stress eating so much granola, which is very stale, because I’ve been on vacation for two weeks and haven’t had a chance to buy food yet.

PETER AND RACHEL TALK TO EACH OTHER FOR THE FIRST TIME ON LIVE TELEVISION AND I WANT TO DIE

“It was incredibly difficult,” says Peter, when Chris “Let’s Use ‘I’ Statements” Harrison asks him what it was like to watch that. “I knew this was going to be a hard experience. To go from the way that we parted to complete silence was hard. It brought me all back into it, full go. I’m shaking like a leaf right now. I’m terrified.”

Peter apologizes for saying he hopes Rachel has a mediocre life. Rachel says, “I’m living my best life,” but she looks miserable. The color has drained from Peter’s face, and I’m reminded of this tweet:

i feel bad for our country. But this is tremendous content.

— Darren Rovell (@darrenrovell) October 20, 2016

Rachel tells Peter she was frustrated with him, and it seems like they’re about to hop back on that pointless argument merry-go-round, but then Peter tells Rachel that he felt attacked when she told him just now that she was frustrated. I’m like, WTF dude? He keeps trying to turn the argument around on Rachel, who’s being very prickly, because of course she is, because this must be extremely painful for both of them.

Peter also says that he had to step over the false eyelashes that she cried off in his room for two days before he could leave Spain because the producers wouldn’t clean them up, and “he wasn’t about to.” I hope he means that he didn’t want to part with them, sentimentally, rather than just not bending down to pick something up.

Somehow, he's managed to turn "I'm not ready to marry someone I've known for two months" into an indefensible position.

— Jeff Weiner (@JeffWeinerOS) August 8, 2017

BLAH

We leave the live set and we’re back in Spain, where Rachel is getting ready to tell Bryan she wants him to propose to her to day after her devastating breakup with Peter. She’s like, “This feels a little soon off the heels of that break-up with Peter,” and I’m like YA THINK!?

Bryan proposes and spews some smarmy garbage. Rachel acts like she’s happy but there’s no real light in her eyes, and it seems more like she won a sports game than just made a huge life decision that she feels truly joyful about.

After seeing those super real feelings with Peter, this feels SO FAKE.

— Lindsay Gibbs (@linzsports) August 8, 2017

I can’t believe that Rachel has to pick Bryan just because Peter won’t agree to marry her immediately. She clearly wants Peter more than she wants Dr. Miami, but she also says this:

“It’s the damaged connections that have offered me the chance to always run away. When I met you it seemed too perfect. And I was trying to find cracks in what seemed like the perfect foundation. I really, really had to do some soul-searching, deeper than I ever have before to find the courage to challenge myself.”

I get that. But I refuse to believe that relationships exists on a binary scale where your options are someone you’re super into who’s unavailable vs. someone who’s fine, you guess, but dependable. I think that there are people out there who you will be crazy about, and who will be crazy about you in equal measure without being dicks.

Maybe that’s overly hopeful. But while there may only be two fish in this reality show pond, there are many fish in the big world sea. In other words: RACHEL THERE IS STILL TIME, YOU DON’T HAVE TO DO THIS!

Which is why this show is so stupid — the woman ends up feeling cornered and like she must come away with a ring, even if none of the guys are truly a good option, because that’s how these things work. If she doesn’t, she won’t get to be on the cover of People Magazine and put up the sappy post-Bachelorette Instagram posts (which, as of Tuesday morning, Bryan has done, but Rachel still hasn’t). This might be entertainment, and they might “know what they’re getting into,” but it’s also people’s real lives, and that will always feel strange to me.

On cloud 9 ☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️ #NY #CT #DAL #MIA #✌

A post shared by Dr. Bryan Abasolo (@thebryanabasolo) on Aug 7, 2017 at 10:45pm PDT

The comments on this are pretty good:

Rachel has said “journey” enough times this season to prove that she totally drank the Bachelorette Kool Aid (her Instagram bio even says “Kool Aid in a wine glass”), so I guess we lost her to the madness a while ago. It’s like watching someone get brainwashed.

Also you can tell he's not in the culture of #TheBachelorette as deep as she is. She calls it a journey and he calls it a process.

— Jonquilyn Hill (@jonquilynhill) August 8, 2017

SOME QUESTIONS

What about her family who hated Bryan and what about Bryan’s mom who hates any woman who comes close to him?

Is Bryan’s mom hiding behind the couch with a knife held between her teeth right now?

Ugh.

THE BOTTOM LINE

This made me sad. I had such high hopes for Rachel’s season; I was thrilled they’d finally cast a black lead, and I loved Rachel’s sense of humor and her charisma. But the producers went for cheap drama using racism, and she ended up getting sucked into the vortex of the mind-meld of the show, believing that this is real because you don’t have a phone, you don’t have a job, and you don’t have a life other than figuring out who to marry.

Rachel — an intelligent lawyer — chose Bryan by process of elimination. He’s smarmy and doesn’t seem particularly smart or funny. This feels like our heroine lost the game. Like our team blew a 25-point lead in the Super Bowl. I hope that if she wakes up one day and is like, “Oh, god, what have I done?” she leaves him.

It’s even sadder when you look at Peter’s Instagrams over the past few months knowing he was posting these without being able to talk to Rachel, and she just had to see them, like some social media torture machine:

Au Revoir Genève!! It's time to head on back home ✈️ I'll let ya know when we're there Rach, don't worry;)

A post shared by Peter J Kraus (@peterkrauswi) on Jul 16, 2017 at 8:32am PDT

On the flip side, if I’m being cynical and terrible and Rachel and Bryan are truly happy: Mazel tov.

And good luck, Rachel, dealing with your mother-in-law.