#i keep seeing posts with hundred or thousands of notes

[originalaccountname]

there is so much art reposting (and subsequent reposted art sharing) in this fandom. Is that a topic that fell off the face of the earth in the late 2010s and no one took the time to explain to you why and how you shouldn't do it?

First, reposting art means saving or copying the art to create a new post and/or putting it on another platform yourself. On tumblr, reblogging (the two arrows 🔄) is not reposting, as the original poster is still directly linked to it.

Reposting art without asking the artist's permission is rude more often than not. Many artists even have a "do not repost" warning on their page.

Why is this rude? There are a vast range of reasons, and the first one is always because the artist, a person, expressed a wish, and that's on you to respect it.

Other reasons include, for example, fanartists wanting to see the fandom's feedback and be inspired to continue to share (shaking hands with the fanfic writers), artists needing the word-of-mouth advertising as they depend on commissions and/or independent shops income for living, and just generally wanting to keep their own stuff close.

As fellow fans and/or art enjoyers, not having clear credit and link back to the artist is also sad and frustrating. What if we wanted to see more? What if there was a whole collection of similar things and we'll never know?

I know you want to share the cute art you saw elsewhere specifically because you liked it, and it comes from a place of love. I get that. You could share it with your friends behind closed door (ex: private discord server), or post a link to the art and the artist instead of posting the piece on its own.

On a case-by-case basis, you can ask an artist if you can repost their art. Some will allow it under certain conditions! Your responsibility is to respect their wishes. That is a person sharing their creation. Be nice.

"credit to the artist" is not credit.

"I don't know who made this, if anyone knows tell me" is not credit.

"this was from pinterest" is not credit. (<- pinterest is 90% repost, not a source at all)

Posting art that isn't yours is so rude and sharing reposted art just as much.

This is frustrating. Stop reposting art without asking, and especially stop reposting art without credit. And stop sharing reposted art where clear consent wasn't given by the original artist.

[littleaipom]

Just curious, there doesnt have to be a reason for it either way

[goofyjelly]

I need to read more , but , alas , the Horrors (general life responsibilities)

[daincrediblegg]

no you know what I'm going to scream about the stuff I talked about in the tags of this post publicly

I'm tired of the well-meaning "don't feel bad if your work only gets 20 notes your genius is what counts and do it for you!" bullshit. I've had a good handful of friends who have straight up DEACTIVATED in recent months because their work was not getting reblogged AT ALL. No, it wasn't from lack of not being well-liked, no it wasn't from lack of trying to make sure it was getting out there to the people they knew would engage with it. It was because no matter how much they were praised privately for their work, when push came to shove, absolutely NOBODY reblogged it and gave it the audience that it was due, and I'm tired of people shoving the "unsung genius" narrative as an excuse for it. Nothing excuses that. And the boop event really proved that.

because I know given the opportunity, indiscriminately pressing a button (sometimes 10 thousand times, as I did) is not beyond this website's capability. y'all loved doing that. and look at what it wrought. nothing but love and affection and happiness. just from a couple of quick clicks of a little paw button. sure. nobody knew who you booped but the other person (which is how likes used to work on this website, btw). there was an element of anonymity to it. but that is kind of the core of this website that no other social media platform still has: the ability to be anonymous. and hyper-curating a blog on here like you might on twitter or instagram to project an image is simply not viable. and hey. you wanna know a secret: literally nobody cares what you post or whether it goes with the "theme" of your blog or not. yeah. I know. CRAZY concept in this day and age. but literally. I myself have reblogged things that have had nothing to do with whatever I am currently fixated by and you know what happened to my follower count? not a damn thing. in fact, I actively try to reblog things specifically BECAUSE it's my friends who made them (even though I'm not always good at KEEPING UP WITH HOW MUCH THEY POST @prismatica-the-strange will NEVER GO UNRECOGNIZED by me).

And you know what fucking sucks? I have to deal with this too. surprise right? you ever wonder why I reblog fics or art I post like 20 times the day that I post them? do you ever wonder why I ask about tag lists and beg for asks all the time? IT'S BECAUSE EVEN I GET LIKE. 5 LIKES ON THE THINGS I POST. AND THE REST OF THE REBLOGS ARE MINE SO I CAN MAKE SURE THAT PEOPLE WHO WANT TO SEE WHAT I MAKE GET TO SEE IT. and I say that knowing that I'm certainly not an unpopular blog, or an unpopular writer. I know that people love the stories that I create. Hell, half of the people that I've talked to about lady terror have told me that they consider her to be canon (AND EVEN SOME!! THOUGHT SHE WAS!!! WITHOUT EVEN HAVING WATCHED THE SHOW! WHICH IS STILL SO SO WILD TO ME!!!) But especially in the last 4 years (which really dates this phenomenon), my posts, no matter how well received they've been amongst people I've talked to about them directly, I still go into the notes and at least half (often more than half) are MY reblogs to make sure people saw what I posted. and it happens every single time, and I can't tell you how much it crushes me considering that it used to be that I would be able to post it only once, and people would reblog it sometimes even HUNDREDS of times.

It's not about popularity. it never has been. it's not about anxiety. or shifting website cultures. even if you lurk, the simple fact is, that if you want people to keep making what you love. you have to reblog. your theme won't suffer because you reblogged a fanfiction that you really admire. your posting won't be ruined because you reblogged some fanart from someone in a different fandom. really. I promise. and if people do unfollow you for that? who needs em. followers come and go but you should NEVER have to cater to them. on this website it has ALWAYS been the other way around. lean into it. make it yours. put stuff you ACTUALLY WANT to be seen and that you love and appreciate on your blog. no matter how old it is, how new it is, no matter how niche or off-theme it is.

so please. if you really want to show your appreciation for someone's work? you reblog. it's really as easy as that. check the tags. add some when you reblog if you like. but please for the love of god reblog. it's as easy as booping and even more rewarding for the people who you reblog from. if you want to let someone know that their work is genius and appreciate it? show it. reblog. then DM them if you're too nervous to say what you want to say but not in a public forum. but for christ's sake. REBLOG.

[viennakarma]

Something you paid for

Fernando Alonso x Reader

Summary: Two years into the best relationship of your life, you find out that Fernando thinks you don't love him. But it get worse and you realize the whole world think of you as gold digger.

Word count: 5.7k

Tags: female!reader, established relationship, slut shaming, reader is confused, fernando is even more confused, miscommunication, cursing, a bit angsty, hurt/comfort, soft smut (almost not there), happy ending, not beta read

Relationship: Fernando Alonso x Reader

Note: I'm honestly not 100% sure about this story, a had another ending planned but I wanted it to be HEA. I don't know. :(

I'm sorry if it's rushed or full of mistakes. Feedback and opinions are appreciated xx

Find me on Twitter!

It was supposed to be just a pause in your studies. Something quick since your brain was already mushy from studying and writing your research for too long.

So when you picked up your phone, to aimlessly scroll through social media, you didn’t expect to see a new, sudden rush of comments on your instagram page. There were thousands of comments in your last post, calling you a gold digger, and much, much worse. Ever since you started dating Fernando, you had been getting these comments, and in the beginning they were worse but slowed down with time. Now they were on a new high again. Confused more than anything, you went on to try and find out what happened for this to happen all of a sudden. You and Fernando hadn’t gone out together for more than two weeks and you hadn’t been to a race week for a month.

After digging you eventually found out what happened. Deuxmoi posted something that made everyone quickly think it was you.

A lady who’s 12 years younger than her famous Spanish Formula One driver boyfriend, is known for being with him for his money. Many tried to warn him, but it seems like he doesn’t believe or doesn’t care.

Confused, you stared at the post, scrolling through hundreds of nasty, poisonous comments. That wasn’t true. Fernando did give you lots of presents and spoiled you a lot but he did this out of his own want, not because you asked for or demanded it. He was constantly giving you things, especially clothes, shoes and bags, and loved seeing you wearing them. He also gave you an Aston Martin car on your last birthday. He even went as far as getting you a credit card attached to his, for whenever you needed to buy books or go on a shopping spree. You never minded it because you knew he liked it, instead of refusing you were just grateful for his generosity.

You wondered if you should talk about it with him, but deep down you knew Fernando was never one to care for gossip of any kind. And this probably wasn’t even true to begin with, just someone trying to stir the pot. So you just limited the comments in your posts and went on about your day.

A week later you went to the race, it was Silverstone, and the last before summer break. You decided to dress your best, wearing clothes that were pretty and elegant and had been given to you by Fernando.

He always treated you like a princess, he was kind and patient, and always found a way to align your schedules to spend time together. He liked taking you on trips during summer break and to ski trips during winter break. Fernando adored having you around in race weeks, you could see in his face that he was radiant with your presence. And you loved all the gifts and the trips but you especially loved staying home with him, lazing around, making love on the sofa and taking walks hand in hand in his hometown. You loved helping him cook, trying your best to follow his orders and not mess up his recipes. 

You walked into the paddock hand in hand, and you kept him company whenever you could. He would keep you around the most, only letting you go when he had meetings or media duties. During that time, you would go back to his room and do a little more of your research, writing your thesis.

You left his room so you could grab a snack and a coffee at the hospitality, but as you passed by a hallway, you heard someone saying your name in conversation. You stopped, leaning against the wall to hear, with a glance, you saw two mechanics talking.

“Seems like everyone tried to warn him, man. But it’s like he doesn’t mind dating a gold digger.”

“Is she a gold digger, really?”

“Man, she doesn’t do anything! She doesn't even work.”

“Has anyone warned Fernando?”

“Everyone.”

You went back inside his driver’s room, sitting down, completely shocked. So that’s what people thought of you? You knew people on the internet talked about it, but they were strangers so you wouldn’t allow yourself to mind because those people didn’t know you. But the people in the garage? They’ve known you for almost two years now, you were always kind and polite to them, even going as far as bringing them cookies and donuts as thank you for welcoming you so well.

You avoided crying, it would ruin your makeup, and Fernando would notice it very quickly. So you just sat there, numb. Thinking about how everyone believed you were with Fernando because of his money and nothing else.

When Fernando found you again, before he had to go get ready for the race, he noticed you were a little down.

“You should not study so hard on the weekends, princesa.” He muttered, hugging you from behind and leaving a gentle kiss to your neck. Of course, he would think you were just tired.

“You are absolutely right, mi amor,” you smiled a little, turning around so you could hug him properly, “do you have time for a little kiss?”

“Even two,” he joked.

You ended up sitting on his lap, making out like two teenagers, until someone knocked on the door, calling Fernando to go get ready.

“Hey, good luck, yeah?” You said, kissing him one more time then kissing the back of his hand, “I love you.”

You watched the race from the garage, feeling self conscious now that it seemed like everyone thought you were leeching off of Fernando.

In the end, Fernando got P3 which was a great result and you celebrated wildly, proudly watching him get on the podium.

After his post race meetings, you met him in his room.

“Let’s go out to celebrate! Dinner is on me!” You hugged him, mood better now than before.

You and him ended up going out for dinner, at a high end restaurant, dressed to the nines. It was fun, you listened to Fernando talking about the race, then he asked you what you thought about the race.

Before dessert, you went into the bathroom to retouch your makeup and freshen up. When you came back, your tiramisu was already there. You and Fernando shared the dessert, laughing to each other.

When the waitress came, you picked the opportunity.

“Dear, can we get the tab please?”

“It’s already taken care of, Madam.”

Your smile faltered, and you looked at Fernando as she left. He was smiling like he couldn’t hold it in.

“Fernando! I said dinner was on me!”

“Why would I let you pay, princesa?”

“Because you got a podium today! As a celebration!” You whined, upset. Fernando pulled your chair, until you were right beside him and he kissed your cheek.

“I like paying for you, Hermosa,” Fernando stood up, offering you a hand, “come on, you can treat me right in our hotel room, what about that?”

You smiled as he pulled you away, but something still nagged at your brain.

You and Fernando took the private plane back to Madrid after the date, because he had sponsor meetings over the week, and you honestly wanted to sleep in your bed. The trip was quick, and while Fernando took a nap, you tried studying, but your mind kept going back to being called a gold digger.

Deep down, you really wanted to talk to Fernando about it, but you were unsure if he could fix this in any way. What could he do? Make a post on instagram saying hey, my girlfriend isn’t leeching off of me as most you think!? You did live with Fernando, for six months now, and he paid all the bills and the house was his. But he also gave you many many gifts.

When you got home, putting your bags inside the closet, you two just changed into sleepwear, ready to doze off.

Then Fernando opened his bag and grabbed a small box.

“Oh, I had forgotten! Got you a present last week in Austria!”

He handed you the box, and with your heart beating fast, you opened it to a beautiful vintage watch. It was gold, delicate with a beautiful bracelet. There was a lump in your throat as you stared at the piece.

“You didn’t like it? It’s ok, princesa, I’ll get you another one,” he said, with a gentle smile.

“I don’t need another watch, Nando. You gave me this one not even a month ago,” you raised your wrist, showing him the brand new one he gave you.

“I want to give it to you. It doesn’t matter,” he shrugged.

“And I don’t want it,” god, you didn’t want to sound so ungrateful, but how could you tell him that his presents felt like something else now? “You have to stop giving me so many presents,” you said, trying to put into words what you were feeling.

“But that’s how I won you over, why would you refuse my presents now?”

Something about the nonchalance in his voice made you stop, stomach dropping. That’s how I won you over? That’s how he believed your relationship came to be? That’s why he thought you were together?

“What did you say?” You paused, suddenly turning to him, it felt like a punch to the throat, “You- you believe I’m a gold digger? You believe it?”

Fernando walked up to you, putting both hands on your waist, a soft smile gracing his face.

“Amor, you know I don’t mind spending my money on you. Quite the opposite, I love to spoil you.”

You stood there, speechless for a couple of seconds. Then you snapped out of it, pushing his hands off you.

“That’s not what I asked!” Your voice sounded louder, you tried to regain your composure, “people talk a lot, the press too, but you know the truth, right?!”

“I’m a rich man, I like providing you with the luxurious lifestyle you lead. I don’t care that you enjoy my money.”

His words made it so much worse. It made you nauseous, the idea that all this time, he’s been thinking of you as a gold digger, as someone who’s only with him for his money and for what he could provide for you.

“No, Fernando- no!” Your voice wavered, “that’s not true! I love you, you know that right?”

“Why are you so caught up in some silly rumor?

“You know right? You know I love you.” You pressed further waiting for an answer. Hoping against hope that he knew it deep down, that he could acknowledge that you harbored love for him.

“Amor, we have such a great dynamic like this. I don’t need your love, just your loyalty and for you to be my pretty girl.”

He was so calm and reassuring, like he had made peace with the fact that you didn’t love him. Like he wasn’t bothered at all by the fact that you were supposedly a gold digger. His dismissal broke something inside you.

“So you don’t- you don’t believe I love you?”

You felt pathetic and helpless, repeating the same words again and again, hoping and praying for a different answer from Fernando.

“Come on, I’m really tired, can we go to sleep?

“Fernando.”

“I’m going to wait for you in bed,” was all he said, dismissing you completely.

You walked out of the room at the same time he went into the bathroom, you held your head up until you softly closed the door behind you, then finally the tears spilled. You went to the bathroom downstairs, the farthest you could go away from him as the sobs broke from your throat violently.

Sliding down on the floor you wondered if everything was lie. You knew it wasn’t but the fact that he thought you were only there for the money was completely wrong. How long had he been thinking that? How many times had he heard you say “I love you” and thought it wasn’t true? You didn’t even know what to do or what to feel. How could you feel if this whole time while you were pouring your heart into this relationship he thought you were just leeching off of him? How can you love someone so deeply and still live with the fact they think of you as a freeloader? Did he joke with his friends like yeah, she’s a gold digger but at least she’s loyal and fucks me well? 

Your chest hurt and you felt repulsive, making your way to the living room, opening a bottle of his whiskey, not bothering with a glass, just sipping it straight from the bottle.

What could you do now? Talk to him? Tell him you’re not with him for his money? After two whole years accepting his every gift with open arms? After getting a fortune worth of presents? After letting him pay for your books, textbooks, new laptop? After letting him pay for dates, trips, clothes, accessories, shoes and jewelry?

You hated yourself for it now. For taking it just because you thought it was his love language, not because deep down he was trying to keep you, buying your affection.

After spending the whole night awake, nursing a bottle and with only your repulsive thoughts as company, you watched as the sun rose from the big living room window.

It was time to fix it.

Fernando was an early riser almost every morning, so after the sun fully rose in the sky, you went in the kitchen and prepared coffee, to cut the effect of the alcohol. You weren’t drunk, really.

“Morning, bebé! You woke up earlier than me today?” He said, passing you with a kiss to your cheek, then going to the cabinet for a mug. He was so unbothered by your argument last night it was pissing you off.

“I didn’t sleep.”

He paused, looking at your face.

“We should talk.” You readied yourself. Fernando stopped in front of you, attentive. “I’ve been hearing a lot this past week that I’m a gold digger, this has been making me feel some kind of way, and I wanted to address this with you. Last night you were tired and we probably misunderstood each other…”

“Where are you going with this, corazón?” He asked, confused.

“I’m not with you for your money, Fernando. Do you understand that?”

He stood silent, which only made you feel worse.

“I want you to stop giving me presents without a proper occasion. And I want you to stop paying stuff for me. And we’re going to share house bills.” You laid it all out, after thinking hard all throughout the night.

“What are you talking about? No, I don’t accept it.” He frowned, “that wasn’t the deal when we moved in together.”

“Because I didn’t know everything back then. I don’t want to feel like I’m taking advantage of you, and I don’t live at your cost like this.”

“No, Y/N.” He took a step back, shaking his head as if you had said the most stupid thing he had ever heard.

“I’m serious, Fernando.”

“No, I’m not negotiating this. I pay for everything. That’s how it’s been and that’s how it will be.”

“I just want to show you that I’m not with you for the money! I’m not what they’re calling me! No more presents, Fernando.”

“You took them.”

“Because I thought you wanted me to have them!”

“I wanted you to have them so you would want to stay with me!”

You gasped, hearing it from his mouth finally. The tears finally started flowing, and you swallowed, trying to keep your voice steady even with the tempest happening inside your chest, staining the beautiful story of your relationship. Well, what you thought was a beautiful relationship.

“You’re just like them, right?” You said, defeated, “you think of me as a gold digging whore. You probably never defended me when they called me that.”

“I gave you all this stuff because I didn’t want you to leave!”

“It was never about the fucking money! And guess what? You lost me anyway!” You marched to the bedroom, Fernando hot on your heels.

“Don’t. Don’t leave.” He said, following you. “I did everything for you to never leave!”

“Everything but loving me! I don’t fucking care!” You unlatched your necklace, putting it on the table, “I don’t care about your money and the jewelry and the clothes and the bags!” You put down your watch and earrings too. Everything he had given you not because he wanted you or loved you, but because he thought they were the price to pay to keep you around.

“Fuck, I love you!” You shouted, feeling desperate and lost, “And all you see me as is something you paid for. A toy you can parade around and look pretty in your arm! You don’t even love me, Fernando. I could write a list about everything I love about you, and none of it would be your stupid money!”

In the closet, you picked a bag, and started putting your clothes inside. Then you noticed how most of them were gifts from him. So you put it back, taking only what you had bought yourself. Fernando stood there, helpless as you packed, putting clothes and a few shoes in a couple of baggage. You also took your study material and laptop, which he had gifted you, but you knew you’d refund him.

“Stop, no,” Fernando tried to stop you as went into the garage, “I do, I love you.”

“You don’t, Fernando. You’re not even sure of that.” You shook your head, putting the bags inside the car. The Aston Martin he had given you, “you have to think. If you really love me as you say, then why do you love me? Because I’m eye candy you can take to galas? Because I’m a good fuck? Because I stand there and look pretty when you have to kiss those old men’s asses?”

You didn’t give him a second, getting in the car and starting the engine.

“This is so messed up, oh my god, how could I let myself believe this for two entire years?” You whispered to yourself, accelerating the car and driving off. 

Through the rear view, you could see Fernando standing there, doing nothing.

You drove and wiped the tears away, breathing in. When you moved in with Fernando, you hadn’t been able to get out of the lease of your flat because you still had a few months on your renting contract. Now it felt like luck that you had a place to stay. Despite getting your doctorate degree, you didn’t have any friends in the city, only a few acquaintances here and there.

You got to the apartament, not bothering to unpack your bags, only leaving it on the bedroom floor. You took your study material and with your phone in hand, you sent Fernando via transfer a total 4000 euros, for what you hoped covered the “laptop and books expenses” as you wrote in the little note.

Then you laid on the bed, crying yourself to sleep.

You woke up and it was getting dark, the sun setting outside. Checking your phone, there were fourteen missed calls from Fernando, and a notification, showing that he had returned the money to you, with additional 30000 euros and only “no” written on the little note. Huffing, you sent the whole amount back and blocked him, so he couldn’t transfer any more money to you.

He still had not realized what was wrong, he was still thinking money was your motivation.

The next few days felt like a haze, you were barely getting any sleep, only eating and writing your research, which ultimately reminded you of Fernando, since it was a study on aerodynamics. You couldn’t lie to yourself, thinking of how many times you stared at the door, waiting and hoping he would understand and come after you.

-

Fernando had work commitments in England, and going back to Madrid, he ended up giving George and his girlfriend a lift. Fernando was visibly not himself as soon as George saw him.

“How’s Y/N doing?” George asked, casually. But from the way Fernando’s face dropped, he could tell something was wrong, “trouble with the missus?” He joked, tried to lighten the mood.

“She- uh, she left.” Fernando muttered.

“What do you mean, she left?” Carmen joined the conversation, “She’s traveling?”

“No- no- I guess we broke up.”

“You guess?!” George’s voice went a little high pitched out of nervousness.

“Fernando, what happened?” Carmen tried to understand. 

Despite not being exactly best friends, you and her were pretty close, always spending time together whenever both of you were on race weekends. The fact that you’re both engaged academics was also a common topic between you.

“You know about the rumors, right?” Fernando started, hesitating.

“What rumors?” George paused.

“That she’s only with me for the money,” Fernando muttered.

“All girlfriends of drivers are accused of that at some point, what’s new?” George pushed.

“I might have implied that I agree with that.”

“Oh, my god,” Carmen covered her mouth, absolutely shocked, “What?”

“Fernando, respectfully- Are you fucking insane?!” George exclaimed, jaw slack, “she looks at you all lovey-dovey, like- like- you’re the only person in the entire earth and you think she’s with you for the money?”

“She would never be like that! She’s so smart and kind,” Carmen added.

“I know- I just- I don’t know! Maybe I let the rumors get to my head!” he ran both hands over his face, exasperated, “And she always lets me pay, and she always takes the presents, I don’t know!”

Then, Fernando explained about how you tried to pay for dinner, and you refused his gift, he told them about the argument and how you wanted to set boundaries about money and gifts.

“She was trying to prove to you that she’s not a freeloader. She was trying to show that the money didn’t matter, and what did you do? You pushed more money on her!” George practically spat the words in Fernando’s face.

“Eres muy estúpido, Fernando. Te lo digo como tu amiga.” Carmen muttered.

“I don’t know what she said but I heard the word stupid, and I agree.” George backed her up, “Go talk to her, apologize and fix it.”

“That is,” Carmen interrupted, face serious, “If you really love her. Otherwise, better let her go find someone who can really love her, it’s what she deserves. Love and happiness.”

Fernando swallowed, his chest constricting with the mere thought of you moving on, of someone else having you in their arms.

Getting back home without you there felt like a thick fog day, cold and empty and he missed you, he missed his sun. He missed you jumping into his arms as soon as he opened the door. He missed the smell of the candles you always lit while studying. He even missed the little mess of textbooks, colorful highlighters and notes scattered around.

Home didn’t feel like home without you.

In the middle of the living room, there were big cardboard boxes, as he opened, he noticed they were full of clothes, shoes and bags he had gifted you throughout your relationship. In a smaller box, all the jewelry he had given you, even anniversary gifts. Even the beauty products he had given you like perfumes, makeup products, and face creams.

You had returned every single thing.

And on the coffee table, your keys to the house and the keys of your Aston Martin DB12.

It seemed like you had returned everything that could tie you to him, everything that made him wrongly call you a gold digger. And it felt painfully like a goodbye.

-

While mixing your homemade coffee, your eyes flicked to the door, then to your phone on the table, facing up. Despite the searing pain in your chest, and the sorrowful hole in your heart, maybe it was time to start to move on. It had been more than a week, if he wanted to come back to you, he would’ve come by now.

You got ready to meet with your advisor, and she brought up a topic that had been common now, about you taking a position as a professor for a couple of Engineering subjects. She said it’d be good for you to work in your area while on the last few months before getting your doctorate degree. You had mostly denied the other times she offered the position, because you wanted more time with Fernando, because you wanted the freedom to fly around the world following him to his races.

Now- now you had more bills to pay and no boyfriend to follow. You also had more free time, a broken heart and a vacant mind. 

“I’m considering the position. I believe it could do me good right now.” You said to her, thoughtful, “can I confirm with you tomorrow?”

After going through the meeting and getting a review on your thesis, you went back to your flat, taking a long shower. You had just dressed in pajamas when the doorbell rang. With long strides, you were faced with Carmen, and not Fernando as you expected.

“From your face I take it he hasn’t spoken to you, yes?” Carmen muttered, seeing the visible disappointment in your face.

“I’m sorry, please come in,” you opened the door wider, forcing a smile. Carmen had a couple of bags that she set on a nearby table.

“He told us what happened, I’m so sorry,” Carmen hugged you and you immediately started crying, since you had no one to talk about the past few days, “I brought chocolates and wine, so we can talk.”

Over chocolates and a bottle of Merlot, you told her everything, starting at the deuxmoi rumor. She looked horrified when you said word for word what had transpired the last time you spoke with him.

“I just don’t understand why he didn’t come talk to you yet,” Carmen added, at some point.

“Because he won’t, at all.” You say with your voice shaky from crying so much the past hour.

“Don’t say that. He loves you.” Carmen said.

“I’m not entirely sure about that,” you shrugged, pretending it didn’t hurt as much as it did, “He’ll find another one, someone who can enjoy his money since it seems like it’s all that matters to him.”

Carmen didn’t say anything to that and you knew she couldn’t argue with the facts. Later, George dropped by to get her, going up to your flat so he could hug you quickly and mutter “I’m sorry”.

With a heavy heart, you slowly rebuild a healthy routine again, doing grocery shopping, cooking meals, going to the gym, studying and everything.

One day, you went back home after going on a shopping spree, and as you got into the hall, Fernando was there, standing in your hall, waiting by the door. You stopped, almost losing the timing to leave the elevator. When you walked closer, he noticed you. Meeting his eyes was different this time, uncertain and a little distant.

“What do you want?” You asked, you hoped your voice would come out harsh, but it only sounded defeated.

“Can we talk?” He asked, and you nodded, opening the door and letting him in.

There was a moment of awkward silence as you put the shopping bags down. After doing that, you crossed your arms and stood against a side table, waiting quietly.

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, for not fully believing your love, I guess I was so focused in protecting myself, that I ended up hurting you, and it was never my intention,” Fernando stood just two steps away from you, his eyes holding such pain and fear, that it made you crumble, he didn’t look like he’d been sleeping well, “I love you, I really do. For who you are and nothing else.”

You wanted to give in so bad, you wanted to run into his arms and never let go, but you also didn’t want to suffer again.

“How do you know? You never knew that for two years, how would you know it now?” You shook your head, tears starting to fill your eyes again.

“Because it is hard being without you,” he said, like he was trying to find the right words, “I can’t sleep without you. My life is miserable without you around.”

You only nodded, covering your lips with a hand. You wanted to tell him that you had not gotten proper sleep without him, that your life feels empty, that not knowing about him everyday was painful. But you needed more. You needed something you could hold onto, and maybe, just maybe take another chance at the two of you.

“I- I made a list. Like you said,” his voice failed, and you noticed his hand was shaking a little as he held the paper, “I love you. I love coming home to you every time and feel our house so lived in. I love how you always hug me first thing after I’m back home. I love the silly texts you send me randomly throughout the day talking about your day. I love the selfies with your tongue out too,” that made you two chuckle, and the movement made your tears fall, so you wiped them, staring at him intently, “I love that you’re always the smartest person in any room we’re in. I love that you’re humble, never showing off or being a smartass. I love how cheeky and witty you are. I love that you talk in your sleep. I love that scar in your knee, because it shows you were always a little naughty, even as a kid. I love that there’s always fresh flowers at home. I love that you love kids. I love that you get along well with my family. I love that you-”

He didn’t finish, as you closed the distance and launched yourself at him, hugging him tight. Fernando held you close, pressing you into him, inhaling your perfume, feeling like he was at home again.

“I’m so sorry, princesa. So so sorry. I missed you so much,” he whispered against your cheek, kissing it softly.

“I missed you too, Nando” you said, eyes closed and allowing yourself to just feel him again, “I love you so much.”

You let go, holding his face with both hands, looking into his eyes before kissing him softly. He, on the other hand, held the back of your neck firmly, licking your mouth open, until he had tasted your mouth, leaving you breathless.

“Come back home with me, princesa.”

At that, you took a step back.

“I- I can’t, Nando. I got a new job at the university.”

“What?”

“I thought you weren’t coming back to me,” you muttered, and your words made him wince, “I needed something to hold on to.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry” he ran a hand over his face, looking embarrassed for taking so long to come after you.

“I believe we should- we should take a step back, rethink a bit about our dynamic,” you told him, hesitant of his reaction.

“Are you unsure about us?” He asked, visibly worried.

“No, no- I love you- I do-” You started, taking his hand, holding it firmly against yours, “I just think we should rewind a bit. Have my own place and pay my own bills, I just don’t want to feel like that again, I need to regain my dignity in this.”

He kept quiet, because he knew deep down you were right. He felt awful about all the misunderstandings, but he knew you probably felt much, much worse. He should just get on his knees and be thankful you still loved him and still wanted him. He’d take all your conditions to get back with him.

And deep down both of you knew it was for the best. Moving out and living alone, working and seeing him occasionally as a boyfriend. 

Holding your face, he kissed you, leaving little pecks on your lips, your cheeks, your chin, your forehead. You closed your eyes, letting him kiss you, and he muttered how much loved you and how much he missed you, kissing down the side of your neck. He walked you inside and let him, feeling his hands quickly peeling your clothes off, leaving a trail of clothes from the living room to your bedroom.

You parted so you could undress him, pulling at his jacket and the t-shirt.

“I love you, I love you so much,” he mumbled into a kiss, laying you down in bed.

You laid on the bed and he hugged him, making space for him between your legs. He held you, touching your nose with his gently.

“I missed you, princesa,” he kissed your cheek, “I promise I’ll do better from now on.”

“I know you will, baby.” You kissed him again, running your hand down his back, “make love to me now.”

He filled you up at once, and you groaned into his mouth, scratching your nails down his back as you cunt welcomed him. As he fucked into you, slowly at first then picking up pace, he muttered how much he loved you and how sorry he was, over and over.

As you cuddled after, quietly enjoying each other’s company. 

“What do we do about all your gifts?”

“Give them away,” you shrugged.

“Can I convince you to take it back?”

“Not if you still want me in your life,” you muttered. He nodded, placing a gentle kiss on your shoulder.

“You know how I know I love you?” Fernando asked, drawing invisible patterns on your back, “there’s an engagement ring in the third drawer of my bedside table.”

You hesitated for a second, but he knew you well. Better than anyone else.

“I know what you said, I just wanted to let you know. I bought it a week after you moved in with me. I know we’re rewinding a little bit for now, but you’ll be my wife one day.”

“And what if I refuse when you propose?” You smirked, and he pulled your leg over his waist.

“You won’t.”

Note: UGH IDK GUYS :(

[miku-earth]

miku.earth update: September 15

Hi all! This is a lil progress update for those interested. In a rush? Here's the cliff notes!

The map site at miku.earth is back: sorry for the delay in fixing it! Check it out: it has six hundred Mikus!

Including the hyuge ol' queue, we've collected over 3,100 mikus!

Representation is important! I've been using some fancy stats to avoid bias. To that end, please help make sure we have a Miku in every African country!

oh hey! you clicked 'keep reading!' well hi! here is your Miku Direct. . The map site, miku.earth, is back!

I ran into a kinda complex issue and it was a whole Thing. I was working on the site the whole time though! Sorry for the delay, and I hope you enjoy now it's back up and running.

This site has six hundred Mikus on the map, and more are added each week. It was recently rebuilt from scratch (fun fact! I am not a web developer) so I hope it is far zippier and less glitchy as before. A mobile-friendly version is coming soon too!

Also: check out the new search feature! In addition to the title, artist name and region(s), it can also search for the categories indigenous and historic!

cw: this video involves moving around a 2D map with some speed. on the site itself site, this only happens when you hit the Enter key.

We've reached more than 3,100 mikus!

Even at its Miku-per-hour speed, the queue will continue until 2025 at least! This is with thanks to an incredible number of contributions, including donations of literal thousands of links.

Thank you so much to @awnowimsad, @worldmikuposter @the-hatsune-miku-trend, @communist-hatsunemiku, @council-of-beetroot, L-A and a whole host of DMers and emailers for helping get this far.

Oh and by the way: over two thirds of the collection are tumblr posts! Given that this was originally a twitter trend… if you know any Twitter users who are into this trend, please reach out. Some napkin math tells me there are at least 10,000 works of art total out there, which is, by the way, surreal. Let's make sure not a single one is lost.

If you're super curious, the collection is public! I have some tools to auto-annotate (I do not want RSI), but be aware the backlog isn't vetted.

Representation is important!

Fun as this trend is, this project was always intended as a serious study into how people represent their own culture through artwork. I'm no anthropologist, but I feel it is important to make sure this collection is respectful and bias-free. If we're to represent the world, we have to avoid underrepresentation!

To that end I've used some fancy statistics to calculate a "representation value" for each country. Here's a table if you're into the stats of it! This info is handy to help me with the queue – especially with tweets as they're a lil more effort than a carefully-tagged reblog. Of course, Indigenous, hyperspecific and low-note Mikus get priority.

And, well, of course you can see on the site there are purple regions for countries still missing a Miku. In particular, please help me make sure every country in Africa is represented.

Thank you for reading!

Phew! That was a lot. If you're still curious, please check the behind-the-scenes and source code. I work in the open! Even if my code is probably messy.

And if you're a programmer, issues and pull requests are welcome! This is actually a static site, so it's purdy easy to develop.

[hoseoksluna]

— WIP 𐙚 part 4 of wine

pairing: fuck buddy!jungkook x f. reader

about: the first time jungkook owns oc’s orgasm

word count: 0.417

note: because i started writing part four so late in the week (friday and i barely had time during this weekend to write) due to the fact i struggled hard, here i give you at least a little something on updating day. im really sorry its not the full thing yet, but i promise i'm working hard and i'll post it for you sometime next week. i'm really excited about what i've written and i can't wait to show you. please enjoy the little excerpt && keep your fingers crossed for me. love you all <;3

side note: happy belated birthday to my husband yoongi, the poetry to my words, the sanity to my mind. my anchor, my everything. i miss him terribly and i love him.

warnings: clit rubbing, shyness, riding fingers, jungkook penetrates her mid-climax and has a very tender reason for it

𐙚

He moans onto your neck, nose tracing the column on its way to your ear.  “How do you touch yourself?” 

A sudden shyness overtakes you and you turn your head, needing to hide in his neck this time. You remain silent, the words lodged in your throat. 

Jungkook sees you. 

“Do you rub your little clit from side to side or in circles?” he questions, helping you answer. 

“I—I like both,” you whisper onto his skin, moving your hips so his fingers slip to your clit, the sweet spot where you need him the most. He grabs the back of your thigh and lifts it, spreading you open, meanwhile you chase the firmness of his fingers.  

“Just like that, ride them,” he husks, eyes dazed, fixed on the roll of your pelvis. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” 

Head on top of yours, you nod, never ceasing your movement, transfixed, just like him, by the constant way the pads of his fingers fondle your clit before dipping between your lips. The heat of the summer tightens in your lower belly and it’s a desperate litany of begging what your mouth utters, despite the fact you’re really not sure what you’re asking for, but you let him hear it. You’re close, so unbelievably close, yet still have a road to walk on before you, and you close your eyes to feel the delight of his touch more deeply, only to find that you manage to do nothing of the kind. 

When you sense his eyes on you and by instinct you reciprocate his stare, that’s when you feel the depth you sought after. Mouth parted, pupils dilated, eyelashes a drowsy catastrophe, messy hair casting a soft shadow over the planes of his blissed-out face. You want to kiss him. You want to make him feel as good as he’s making you feel—

“Let me do it now,” Jungkook says hurriedly, sensing the nearness of your climax.

“Yes,” you croak out, halting the movement of your hips—and ‘yes’ is the word that ripples out of your mouth a hundred, a thousand more times when he spreads you wider and rubs his fingers on your clit from side to side. 

He feels the pleasure in sync with you, accepting all of your yes’, twisting his face the moment yours does, quickening the rapidness of his hand once he switches to circles to carry you to your summer-breathed paradise. 

And when you come all over his hand, he slips two fingers inside your hole.

[nonbinary-vents]

Sometimes I accidentally break out of my Tumblr Curated Experience bubble of Jews and I see what’s actually going on in the main part of this site. Posts with hundreds of thousands of notes with such blatant Jew hating whistles (I refuse to call them dogwhistles at this point they’re so clear), stuff that’s ripped straight from the Protocols and Mein Kampf. If you think I’m exaggerating on that, trust me, I’m not— I haven’t read either of the full texts, but I’ve read extracts, and frankly the shit here is indistinguishable from it. I’ll be having a good day, a day where I believe that maybe people are going to wake up in a couple years and realise how horrible this is, a day where I think that maybe one day I’ll be able to trust goyim again, and then that delusion just gets shattered as soon as I see what’s really out there

I don’t know what to do anymore. I thought as time went on and people got bored of their pet activism, things would get better, but it seems like it’s gone in the opposite direction— everyone online has been radicalised into hating Jews. The young western left have become straight up Nazis with a thin coat of progressive paint, and it’s only going to get worse because nobody is willing to listen to Jews. Honestly, I should just delete my account, but I’m not going to purely out of spite. But being online— not just on tumblr, it’s inescapable— as a Jew is willingly engaging in massive amounts of emotional harm

עם ישראל חי. Thats the only thing keeping me going. We will outlive this. We will outlive you

[the-monkeies-girl]

Subway Systems - Five x Reader - Oneshot snippet.

No big deal whatever its just me writing stuff enjoy a snippet and if you like it idk maybe i post the whole thing lol

They were alive--- Just like you, the plants you tended to, part of a daily ritual you fell into with the Hargreeves. They were alive, breathing and… Half dead, holding on what seemed like a thread just like it felt you were doing for the past two-thousand five-hundred and fifty five days. Seven years, if your math was correct. Seven years since the soles of your feet threaded off the metallic base of the subway car, seven years since you last had seen the outside world you were so familiar with, teetering between worlds of destruction that offered no solace for either traveler once stepped off the car you were on that day.

There were some sunny days that beat against your skin, burning engraves of rays into you that reminded you of the slowness of the Summertime, the casted shift of a breeze against the trees and the subsequent rustling of the leaves. If you closed your eyes, you could see the suns shape against your eyelids, reminiscent of laying in a field of flowers as a child, face up towards the sky. If you were quiet enough now to use your imagination passed survival, you could hear it in the recesses of your mind... Crickets... Chirping out a solemn song as your fingertips brushed against grass. Bushes being shuffled through by rabbits on the hunt for succulent berries and the buzzing of insects too close to your ear, but you were too tired to move away from them so you let them be.

You wondered at times... If Five could hear it too... Or did his sound like the hustle and bustle of a city? The constant noise that is ultimately drowned up by sheer will power? The bickering of civilians in the street, the passing of a car too close to the curb and the honk of a car, angry at someone darting across the street nowhere near the cross-walk? You chose to never ask. It always sought as a bitter call towards the past. Those flickering waves of the way the world had been have not dulled out due to time like a faded newspaper and you had to recall that you were stuck in a loop, together apart, together falling inwards like a supernova with each day that was lived. Never admitting verbally to the graces of reality that escaped on the outside, but mentally accepting the way that things were playing out on the inside.

There were some gray days of rain that pounded against your skin, dull and saddened with each rain drop that casted shivers down your spine, noticed and eyes rolled at the human reaction as if he wouldn't react the same way to the elements. Five was fast to snidely comment that you needed to be more astute on your journey. 'Find yourself a goddamn jacket' was mumbled seven years ago as his envy colored irises sneered at the way that water hit against the bare skin of your arms and down to trickle off your fingertips. Like you were something special and magnetic it was being pulled to, he hated the sight and scoffed under his breath.

Those comments and jeers were aplenty the first two years together but you were quick on your feet and learned to never take offense to them. They were... Oddly reassuring now in the twisted way that Five only muttered them to give advice out of care and want to keep you alive. Least, in the last five years that since trailed by and gave way for the comments to begin their decent in bitingness and replaced with fond irritation, you convinced yourself that was the case.

And in return without giving it much thought, you gave him solace in silently bared knowledge that he wasn't traversing this alone, that he was not carrying all of this on his thinned shoulders; the overpowering burden of death that seemed to follow in his shadow. Another prolonged period of time without his family was at least bearable this round due to actual companionship even if it held notes of hostility at times from your dueling personalities that meshed only in certain frequencies.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Dashboard Confessional

Pairing: Billy Washington (Trigger Point) x f!reader Warnings: Mentions of PTSD, mild angst, smut, semi public sex. Word count: ~1.7k

Summary: Billy is forced to deal with past trauma when his girlfriend's car breaks down on the side of the M1, while driving home to Nottingham for Christmas. She finds the perfect way to ease his mind.

Author's note: Day four of the Smuffmas prompts - "reassurance and car sex". No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

Her hands tighten on the steering wheel, eyes flitting nervously towards the check engine light that’s just lit up on the dashboard panel. They’re only an hour outside of Nottingham, and if she was by herself she’d simply ignore it, finish the journey, and take her crappy old Skodia Fabia to a garage in the New Year. But Billy sits in the passenger seat next to her, and she knows that that little red light will look like a fiery beacon to him, a reason to panic. The best thing she can do in this situation is pull over onto the hard shoulder and call AA Breakdown Recovery.

Billy used to joke that she’d spent more on keeping her shitty little car roadworthy than she had when she’d actually bought it. He’d insist on driving them everywhere, his Vauxhall Cavalier the more reliable of the two vehicles.

That feels like a lifetime ago now though, before the Explosive Ordnance Disposal team had pulled him from it and it had exploded into a fiery ruin in the middle of Cranstead Gardens. Billy doesn’t joke at all anymore, and he’s not gotten behind the wheel of a car since.

He has spent the last four months attending weekly therapy sessions. It’s only in the last month that he’s been willing to allow her to drive him anywhere, and that’s not before they’ve done rigorous checks of the entire car to make sure it’s safe; the wheel arches, under the bonnet, the boot, beneath the seats and in the glovebox all need to be examined thoroughly before he’ll even consider getting in.

When it had come time to arrange their annual visit to Billy’s parents’ for Christmas, he had suggested they get the train. However, a return ticket would be close to one hundred pounds each for them. She had argued they would spend less than half that on fuel if she drove, and it would save them the effort of lugging gifts all the way there, only to have to take all of the ones they inevitably receive back with them the same way - everything could just be stuffed into the boot if she drove.

He had relented eventually, and she had regretted it almost as soon as they’d gotten in the car. For the last two hours of the journey his leg has bounced anxiously, and she’s been met with snappy one word answers to each of her attempts to make conversation, despite his insistence that the radio stays off.

If she were a weaker person she’d have decided that this was all too much and ended things long ago, however, Billy is her everything, he always has been. He has never thought much of himself, but she loves him enough for the both of them. Where he sees a failure, someone that lives in the shadow of his successful older sister, she sees a man with a thousand watt smile, someone that lights up the room just by entering it. That light has dulled over the last few months, but she is determined to help it shine once more.

It’s with this in mind that she clicks on the left indicator, pulling over onto the hard shoulder, and switches the hazard lights on.

“What you doing?” Billy asks, frowning slightly as he removes his thumb from his mouth, the nail of which he’s been chewing absentmindedly on for the last few miles.

She turns the engine off, turning to him with a slight smile, an attempt to appease and keep him calm. “Check engine light’s come on, I need to ring the AA.”

“Fuck’s sake!” He seethes, unclipping his seatbelt and forcefully pushing open the passenger side door.

She watches him, illuminated in the darkness by the motorway lights, rounding the car, before stepping over the crash barrier and onto the grassy verge. Sighing, she unbuckles and climbs out.

“Billy–”

“I told you we should’ve got the fucking train!” He shouts, though there is no anger in his tone, she hears it in the wobble of his voice, sees it in the barely concealed tears he’s attempting to hold back. He’s close to breaking down.

“I know, babe, and I’m sorry,” she soothes, “I should have listened to you. But I promise you it’s nothing serious. You know how this old shitheap gets when it’s damp, remember last time it rained and the electric windows stopped working?”

It’s an attempt to lightheartedly downplay his fears, but it’s obviously unsuccessful. She watches as he fishes his cigarette packet from the pocket of his jogging bottoms, pulling one out and lighting it with shaky hands.

She takes out her phone and calls the recovery service, straining to hear over the roar of the traffic that speeds past on the M1. It’s going to be a forty five minute wait for anyone to get to them, though she should consider herself lucky, bearing in mind it’s December 23rd and there are cars nationwide breaking down on their way home for Christmas.

When she ends the call and tosses her phone onto the driver’s seat, she turns back to see that Billy is three quarters of the way through his smoke, his gaze downcast as he stands there shivering. The sight makes her heart ache.

“It’s freezing,” she calls out to him, “at least come and get your hoodie.”

She opens the door to the backseat, grabbing his Adidas zip up from it and holding it out to him. His head remains bowed, though his eyes look up at her, before he crushes his cigarette beneath his trainer and slowly walks towards her.

“Thanks,” he says quietly, slipping the hoodie on and perching on the edge of the backseat, facing out of the car, long legs stretched out in front of him.

They remain in silence for a few moments, Billy simply sitting with his hands clasped in his lap, staring at the ground, as she stands before him, looking out towards the steady stream of cars, eyes narrowed at the oncoming headlights that rush by.

“How long until you get fed up?” He finally asks, looking up at her.

“Well, I’m fed up already,” she jokes, “but we’ve gotta sit tight until someone comes to get us.”

He huffs a humourless laugh through his nose, lips quirking upwards slightly as he shakes his head. “You know that’s not what I mean. How much more of me can you hack before you finally decide I’m not worth the effort?”

“Oi,” she chastises playfully, ruffling a hand through his shaggy blonde hair. “To me, you will always be worth the effort. I’m not going anywhere.”

Billy bends his legs at the knees, planting his feet flat on the floor and pulls her between them as his arms wrap around her waist. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t talk like that,” she says gently. “It’s been a rough few months, but we’ll get through it.

“God, I love you,��� he tells her, stroking his palm across her cheek.

“Tell me again,” she smiles, leaning down to bump her nose against his.

“Love you,” he whispers, pressing his lips to hers.

She kisses back, expecting it to be quick and chaste, but gasps in surprise as his hand slides from her face into her hair, gripping and anchoring her to him, as his tongue slips into her mouth. He tastes faintly of tobacco, but she responds eagerly as their mouths move together, the sensation sending heat pooling between her legs.

He leans back against the backseat, keeping his feet planted on the ground outside, dragging her with him. She giggles, pulling away breathlessly.

“Billy, we’re on the side of the motorway, anyone could see us!”

“Best give them something good to look at then,” he grins lazily up at her, fingers tugging at the waistband of her leggings.

It’s been so long since he was this uninhibited and spontaneous, that that’s all the encouragement she needs. She scrambles to pull them from one leg, as Billy lifts his hips, pushing his jogging bottoms and boxers down just enough to free his cock.

As she hovers back over him, his fingers move to push her thong to one side, and she can’t help but smile into the crook of his neck. He’s not even fully hard, though his pushes against her entrance are quickly rectifying that.

There’s no time for either of them to prepare each other properly, not for a quickie on the side of the road, so when the head of him does finally breach her opening the intrusion steals her breath away.

She whines, as each slow withdrawal and thrust upwards from him pushes him deeper, her rapidly gathering slick helping to ease his passage, until he’s fully sheathed inside of her.

He pants along with her when she moans helplessly against his shoulder as he pistons up into her, holding her steady by her hips. The tight confines of the car make it so that every drag of his cockhead brushes against the sweet spot inside of her, making her involuntarily tighten around him.

His pace becomes rushed, sloppy, and the feeling of him pulsating inside of her sends her toppling over the edge, white hot sparks of pleasure shooting through her as she spasms around him. His fingers dig into the meat of her hips as he pushes up one final time, emptying himself into her with a groan.

She shifts to move off of him, but he grips tighter, keeping her where she is. “Don’t,” he whispers breathlessly, eyes closed.

“I need to put my leggings back on, babe,” she chuckles, “I don’t think the AA bloke will appreciate the sight of my bare arse.”

“We’ve got time,” he murmurs, pulling her back to him, stroking her hair. “Just stay like this for a minute.”

She squirms, the chill of the air on her naked skin and his spend leaking out of her around his softening length making her uncomfortable, but she stays where she is. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, slowly blinking open his eyes. “It’s just…this is the first time I’ve been in a car where I haven’t thought about something horrible happening.”

Her gaze softens, and she pecks him on the cheek. “That’s good. So, what were you thinking about?”

“You, just you.”

[tomorrowillbeyou]

Thursday 2005 demos

These are some early demos for A City by the Light Divided which were stolen from the band and leaked in September 2005. I haven't seen anyone post about them so I thought I would myself. Below are lyrics and some extra context. I have tried to transcribe the lyrics as best I can but I have pretty bad auditory processing disorder so there will inevitably be some errors. If you spot a mistake, let me know and I will edit the post. The formatting and details of the lyrics are mostly based on the CD booklet.

Blog post

After the demos were leaked, Geoff made this blog post on the Thursday website on September 21 2005:

1 - At This Velocity - Lyrics

Hey friends-

SO… we see that the early demos we did for the record have FINALLY leaked. In this day and age anything and everything that passes through a computer eventually ends up being available to everyone at the click of a button. Many of you know that Thursday is one of the few bands that actually supports file sharing!!! We love the fact that music is available to everyone whenever they need it. We have always told our friends and 'fans' that they should download any of our albums that they can't afford or can't find in stores.

These demos, however, weren't ready for anyone to hear. These songs have all changed substantially since those demos and will probably change between now and the recording. Just to help you guys understand these demos, here's a user's guide: 1. most of these songs don't have names because the lyrics are still being written… a song only really becomes a song for us when we figure out EXACTLY what it's about. 2. One of these songs is actually the reincarnated out-take of a song that we cut from war all the time. 3. Andrew had just joined the band as a full fledged member when we recorded these and his keyboard parts were still sketchy at best. 4. There is one song, however, that is much closer to finished than the other's. It's called "At This Velocity" and it's about a crash landing in an airplane on the other side of the world. This song was started when we were in Australia on tour with the Flaming Lips, the Mars Volta and Poison the Well. The first line of the song is, "We were safe, Now we're paralyzed, Suspended in flight…" We hope you enjoy it.

On a related and timely note, we are very excited to announce that we will be heading into the studio with Dave Fridmann at the beginning of October to start on our new album. His work with the Flaming Lips, Weezer, Mogwai and Sleater Kinney has produced some of the finest albums of the last ten years. Dave is one of the few modern producers really pushing the medium and he's one of the nicest guys in the business. We started preproduction on the sixteen songs we've written. In the short amount of time we've been working with Dave he's already pushing us to new musical and emotional ground.

Anyway, thank you all for the love that you have always shown us. These demos aren't really a good indication so try not to listen to them too much (we don't want you to get used to them this way!!!). We're just happy that all the really great stuff on this album is still a secret!!!

Keep checking the website for updates and tidbits.

thanks and love,

Geoff (and all the Thursday boys)

We were safe

Now we're paralyzed

Suspended in flight

At this speed it makes no difference

Where I start and where you end

Or if you sit in an emergency aisle.

We could be dead

Complete the equation:

Our names are X and N

We have no value

In these calculations:

We're placed on a plane,

Pointed straight down,

Traveling at five hundred feet per second,

Five thousand feet from the ground -- how long will it take us to hit?

How fast will we start the disintegration?

No time left - just keep moving

No time left - just keep moving

How fast will it take us to hit?

How long till we start the disintegration?

2 - Telegraph Avenue Kiss - Lyrics

We could be safe here, forever,

Floating in the clean blue air.

Somewhere between the sun that gives us light and the ground that puts it out.

And we'll kneel in the aisles

Press our hands together, close our eyes, speak these words so softly into the black box

And it goes:

"Mother, father, can you hear this?

I want to thank you for all the sweetness.

I'm not coming home, we're never coming home."

She's the song that you tried to sing

And the note that you couldn't hit

So you locked her up in a music box

Turned the key on all of us

She spins silver strings in the dark

With metal teeth that ring in her heart

When the cover drops

The world just fades away, away, away

From her, waiting, waiting, waiting for her to say:

It doesn't matter what you say,

Doesn't matter what you think you mean,

You know our love's not unconditional.

A book of matches and a cigarette

A love note that you never sent

You can fold it up but you won't forget

You can strike a match but it still might not light

Now I'm the one that's stuck inside the silver cage,

The bird that can't fly away, clip its wings if it sings

Of the way, the way, the way that it hurt

Waiting, waiting, waiting for her to say:

It doesn't matter what you say,

Doesn't matter what you think you mean,

You know our love's not unconditional.

Doesn't matter what you say,

Doesn't matter what you think you mean,

You know our love's not unconditional.

The music box is open

It's spinning with the room

If you're the record playing, I'm the needle in the groove.

Listen to our song:

You're in my heart,

In my hands

In my lungs.

3 - The Other Side of the Crash / Over and Out (Of Control) - Lyrics

We move like a carousel

Streak lights and mirrors in our eyes

It's time to let this go

Can't stop spinning

Around, around, around, around, around, around, around, around, around, around, around

You know our love's not unconditional

Unconditional

Unconditional

You know our love's not unconditional.

Note: This contains a section from Panic On The Streets Of Health Care City, the "reincarnated out-take" mentioned in the blog post. Panic later appeared on Kill The House Lights.

The lights go down, outside (before our cars collide)

The city silhouettes itself (in forty shades of fire)

Do you know where these lies are leading? I'll meet you there.

I'm covering up my eyes

Before they cover up your eyes

And wrap your body all in white,

And we awake in the light of all the lies

This can't be happening

These sirens are for me, yeah

We wake up

Covered in the marks of all these razors

Racing up our veins

We'll live and learn to love again

Open up your eyes and we'll be safe again

From the razor's edge.

And the hospital ward sleeps

Through the surgery

Hiding needles in the drawer

(for emergency)

While upstairs they sleep

In maternity

Fever and the pitch.

It's a brand new day,

Just to be awake,

This is how it feels

To live and learn to love again

Open up your eyes and we'll be safe away

From the razor's edge.

4 - Autumn Leaves Revisited - Lyrics

The I.V. drips, the days drag on

The anesthetic's not wearing off

Adjust the light switch in the hall

Someone has left it on,

And maybe the x-ray screen keeps it from getting dark

The bulb burns out when it gets too hot

Keep crashing this car (over and over)

Keep crashing this car (over and over)

Keep crashing this car (over and over)

I can't keep crashing this car

Still it spins out of control

So hold me close or I might disappear this time

Out of control

We fight currents in the water

When we can't let go of the shore.

We've lost control.

The leaves will fall and so will you

When you do, bury me under them too

Seconds pass, we'll make it through

Eventually we all go home

It won't be long

It won't be long

I live with a girl who’s been waiting

Seven months left till they bring home the baby

He swore he was paying for school

They shipped him over. Now he scatters on the front lines

He swore he would follow his conscience

But done the wrong way follows his orders instead.

When he shoots, he sings this song

But he doesn’t know that she’s been singing it, too.

It won't be long

It won't be long

Until they find a way home

We walk along the wire tied between horizons

You close your eyes like it's nothing at all

Throughout the rise and fall, everything, everything

Changes, I will be here when you die

Did you hear the trumpets play the day your father died?

Did the violins swell those circles under your eyes?

Did you play the part straight like a march?

Or get lost in the beat, thinking and feeling…

Did the drums in the streets make the people dance?

Or fall to their knees from the sound?

Knock the leaves from the trees,

and they fell from the branch?

They looked beautiful

As they hung in the air

Spinning around

Did you float in the air?

Spinning around?

There must be somewhere that cigarettes burn through the night

And the leaves don't abandon their trees to the light

Where the sky's always clear and the summer never ends…

Won't you take me there?

5 - Untitled - Lyrics

The leaves will fall and so will you

When you do, bury me under them too

Seconds pass, we'll make it through

Eventually we all are going home

Note - this didn't end up on ACBTLD, but did make it onto Common Existence as Last Call.

The center cannot hold, the side collapses

Full of broken words, sing the song inside the dark arcade

Color me in city greens

The streets unwinding, spitting flames

Cars around the arteries

We scream and swerve and fall apart.

Everything we love, it falls apart,

And the architect abandons us.

I'll save us from the sky until a feeling burns, you try

It plants a seed of fire that flowers in the corner of your eye

Circular breathing

We'll keep them always moving

Heart attack efficiency,

Erase the figure as it falls.

Everything we love, it falls apart,

And the architect abandons us.

Everything is falling apart.

The city shakes like tired hands

The light divides what darkness mends

Our bodies echo in our plans.

Everything is falling apart.

The wedding starts

The guests appear

The church bells ringing endlessly

The bride and groom are hand in hand

And everything goes as it's planned:

The parents smile,

The priest chokes up,

The organ plays "Amazing Grace"

And underneath the thin white veil

And the people sing:

La la la la, da da da…

Everything is falling apart.

The city shakes like tired hands

The light divides what darkness mends

Our bodies echo in our plans.

[dsmpanalysis]

DSMP Analysis Archive: Reopened!

Flowery words aside, hello and welcome back! This is Ame @appleflavoredkitkats, one of the creators of this blog. In truth, I've been thinking about reopening the for a while, especially since the Dream SMP is officially over. One of the main issues we had when the archive was still open was that keeping up with all posts was virtually exhausting. Now that we don't have the stress of reading thousands of words a day while accommodating other things in our lives, we think we can have a smaller and calmer approach to updating this blog.

The team behind this blog will be much smaller now— think of it as a small side passion project of the original creators of the blog rather than something we want to bring back in full force. We'll do the same things as always, trying our best keeping up with all the posts we've missed since we've closed, but take note that we will be taking our time with this.

(Just a reminder for admins of this blog that do not want to be involved anymore, you are allowed to leave this blog by opening Tumblr on desktop, selecting "Members", and clicking the option to leave the blog. I cannot remove people myself. But if you want to stay, I'm definitely not against that either.)

We understand that a lot has changed within the DSMP community, and we want to assure everyone that this blog will solely focus on the DSMP alone. We do not want to comment on discourse on CC's behind the SMP (although, rest assured, we do not support those who've royally fucked up). If we reblog an analysis post you've made back in the day that you don't want to associate with anymore, you are free to tell us. We will delete reblogs asap.

For the blog itself, we have little changes:

Do not contact any of the mods listed about this blog if they are listed as inactive.

Instead of tagging all the potential trigger warnings for posts, we believe the responsibility of tagging triggers should be the OP's alone. If a trigger warning is missing, contact the OP instead of us.

Character Relationships and Character Analyses will be removed from the spreadsheet, but will remain as tags. We believe it to be redundant when the sheet has hundreds of different characters, making navigation difficult.

Speaking of, we are trying our best to add a better navigation system in the spreadsheet using the Filter View option. Additional columns have been added to reflect the characters, factions, and plotlines detailed in each post. This will take a little bit of time to complete, since we have to go through every single post.

In line with the previous bullet point, we've added a sheet purely for navigation. It also explains how to use the Filter View option. It will be the first sheet you see when you open the Master Spreadsheet.

Anyway, glad to be back, and hoping to reignite discussions about the DSMP again!

[k-s-morgan]

This is a belated post where I wanted to briefly address the outcomes of 2023!

While Ukraine mostly faded from the stage of world's news, unfortunately, the situation didn't get better for my people. Every day Russia kills, maims, and ruins everything it can touch. Every day civilians die from its imprecise missiles, random shootings and artillery, and outright executions. I often see that those living in other countries call this Putin's war, but it really isn't. This is the war sponsored by Putin and his regime, true, but first and foremost, this is the war of Russian people. It's hundreds of thousands of Russian people who arm themselves and go kill our defenders and our civilians. It's Russian people who fire from tanks and other deadly weapons to ruin the Ukrainians' homes, to scorch our land, to leave nothing but destruction instead of cities and villages. It's Russian people who build the missiles, load their bombers, and fly for 5+ hours to direct them at our cities, homes, factories, and even empty fields.

This is me during one of the latest massive attack that took place on January 2. At first, at night, 35+ Russian-Iranian drones bombed us. Then Russian people sent about 100 missiles at us, mainly at my city Kyiv.

Our air defense system managed to intercept the majority of them, but while it sounds like interception is an entirely positive thing, it might have terrible consequences. Because the parts of the missiles fall down randomly. They can kill any human or creature walking down the street; they can collapse on top of a residential building. There is no escape, no way to feel safe even with the best air defense systems surrounding the city. Here's one of many disastrous results of this attack.

Dead and injured people and animals. Damaged and lost apartments.

On December 29, another attack killed over 30 people in Kyiv alone. You can see their faces below. They deserve to be seen and remembered.

This is a short story of just two latest attacks that took place just within one week, just in one city. Imagine how many of them me and my people lived through during the entire year? How many more we will have to experience?

Actually, we lived through another one before I finished writing this post. It happened on January 8, and it killed even more civilians.

I know that there are good, sane, compassionate Russians. I have some relatives among them. One of them, my aunt, can't keep herself entirely silent: she's deeply religious, and a few weeks ago, in a church, she risked saying that killing Ukrainians is bad. Another man told her that she's scum and that if she dares to open her mouth again, he will report her to authorities. The headmaster of a school where my aunt teaches was imprisoned for 7 years for refusing to hold a Z-event among students. Living there must be a torture of another kind, where you are surrounded by zombies who openly promote terrorism and bless missiles sent to kill other human beings. The problem is that sane and compassionate Russians are the minority - the vast majority is happy to either kill us or they support those who kill us. Or they simply don't care, trying to claim that everything is complicated when in reality, there is nothing complicated about it at all. Russia is a terrorist state and the world allows its people and its government to keep being monsters.

Seeing the indifference and impotence of seemingly powerful countries makes me increasingly concerned and depressed. At this point, I don't think I'm simply affected by my experiences: the world is rapidly going to hell, with terrorist countries like Russia being allowed to revel in their blood-thirstiness and the other terrorist countries, like North Korea, or potential offenders like China, observing and taking notes. When a criminal sees that no one is punished for a crime, they escalate. More criminals appear. This is what I feel is going to start happening more and more, until half of the planet is plunged into death and destruction. I'll be so very glad to be wrong.

On a personal note, I lost my most beloved pet pigeon Daikiria in 2023. I love her and miss her so much that I still cry whenever I think of her. In turn, I acquired a red nightmare of a rabbit who eats everything, including my feet, and two more pigeons. Taking care of them brings me joy - I only hope that my effort will actually benefit them.

Here's a pigeon that I named Noveria the day I found her, in a video I made for my vet. Attacked by a cat, bleeding all over, with broken ribs and a missing piece of her wing, with no tail:

Here is she now. She is feeling much better, although unfortunately, she got sick because of her weakened immune system.

My kitties continue to be adorable dorks. Here's me sleeping with my cat Tom after one of the attacks - he's really scared of loud sounds, so he sleeps like a rock afterward, just like me.

My family stays strong, and I hope we will remain to be so.

Writing stories remains a huge source of relief and distraction to me, and your support, love, and care give me strength even when I feel like I'm about to run out of it.

Thank you to those who support me on Patreon and give me a chance to have a safety net shielding me from some of the horrors and insecurities - thanks to you, I can rest sometimes when I would have to work instead; I can afford some more distractions and to write more as a result. Thank you to those who leave comments, kudos, asks; thank you to my friends who never fail to message me with questions about my well-being. I love and I appreciate you tremendously, and despite all my fears and worries, I hope that we will get to see a better future still.

[listentoace]

This will freak you out

... or at least I hope it does. Yes, I know most of the stuff I post on here is just kinky and horny talk and that's totally fine. By now, thousands of users have found their way to my blog and I'm very grateful for the support. I know I don't share much about myself, but the following will be about a more personal matter. I work in IT, or more specifically, with data. Lots of data. Being into data science, I am hyper-aware of the constant collecting and aggregating of user data. I know it's somewhat common knowledge that you're being tracked, but I want to take this opportunity to point out how bad the situation is and why privacy matters. I'll try to keep it as easy to follow as possible, so please bare with me!

The Trackers

Right now, you're on Tumblr. As you are reading this, your app connects to over a dozen servers that are not from Tumblr itself. They are from companies like Google, Amazon, Yahoo, but also lesser known companies such as Adjust and Moat. Within a single day, the Tumblr App sends about 5.000 tracking requests to the aforementioned and more companies, sharing your personal data. That's once every 15-20 seconds, regardless of whether you have the app opened or not. While I can't say exactly what data is being shared, it is likely that this is personal information that can be utilized to assume your opinions, target ads, or predict future behavior, as these are ways how companies will ultimately make money. Depending on what permissions you have granted the Tumblr app, it might also scan your gallery, your entire file system, access your call history, or your camera and microphone. By granting this permission, you are essentially giving Tumblr the keys to your phone on a complete "just trust me, bro"-basis. To me personally, that sounds scary.

But why do you use Tumblr yourself, then?

Very good and fair question! I actually am conflicted regarding using Tumblr, but I have put several security measures into place to minimize tracking potential as much as possible. While Tumblr can still see when I go online, read all the messages I send to others, know what content I view, like, comment on, and otherwise engage with, that is about it. Tumblr cannot acces my general file system, it cannot remotely access my camera and microphone, and even all the aforementioned trackers are blocked. I'll go more into this later.

"So what, I've got nothing to hide."

It's great that you think that! That's just what the big tech companies want you to believe. But answer me this: have you ever found it uncomfortable when a person next to you was reading all your texts, looking at your gallery, and just generally kept an eye on what you do on your phone at all times? Well, if a single person doing that is bothering you, how much worse must it be to know that several companies with thousands of employees spy on you for a living? Yes, they have seen your nudes, your breakup texts, your hours of Whatsapp calls with your best friend. It's literally a Big Brother Dystopia.

"Why would they be interested in me?"

I bet you have heard about the Cambridge Analytica (CA) scandal from 2018. Just to summarize: a data analytics company CA worked closely together with Facebook to target adds specifically tailored to users to manipulate them into voting for Donald Trump as President. If you are asking how specific this could be, just look at this demonstration by Signal, where their ads are extremely specific to a point where probably only a few thousand if not only hundreds of people would fit the description and just those exact people saw their ad.

"You got this ad because you're a newlywed pilates instructor and you're cartoon crazy. This ad used your location to see you're in La Jolla. You're into parenting blogs and thinking about LGBTQ adoption."

Facebook took it down within hours. But imagine you seeing this ad of a random company knowing this much and lots more about you. Note that Instagram and WhatsApp belong to Facebook/Meta, so even if you're not using Facebook directly, you're still being watched just as closely.

Knowing exactly what you like, dislike, fear, and love, strong emotions can be triggered for political or financial gain. You're into sustainability? Buy this product and we will retrieve one pound of plastic from the ocean! You are conservative and maybe slightly racist? Immigrants are taking over more and more healthcare jobs! You are scared by a possible nuclear war? Vote us for safety and peace!

This is how Cambridge Analytica managed to pull in millions of voters in the US and manipulate the election in a way that Donald Trump wouldn't have won without their manipulation. This is literally a threat to democracy. And as you know, my allegiance is to the Republic, to Democracy!

You might be aware of how right-wing and extremist parties all around the western world use very polarizing and emotional topics in their campaigns and are doing very well on social media. Often much better than more centered, leftist, or conservative parties, who tend to polarize less. This is not a coincidence. Not only is this because of customized, targeted content, but it's also because strong emotions generate more attention

Doom Scrolling & Dopamine

Social Media has had decades to perfect their dopamine lottery. The algorithms know exactly what you are into, no matter how much of a niche it might be. A good, user-oriented algorithm would show you a few posts, the best ones of the day, and then simply say "well, that's been all the good stuff. Wanna see the rest anyways?". But that's not how it works, is it? When opening an app like Instagram, TikTok, Tumblr, etc., you usually immediately land on a recent top-post. This is to give you the instant gratification and that sweet hit of dopamine.

Have you ever noticed how you had to scroll a bit before you got a post again that you really loved? That's by design. The mix of top-posts and mediocre ones is on purpose, to keep you waiting for more. You never know when the next super funny TikTok will come by. All you know is that it might be the next one. In-between top-posts, you're met with mediocre garbage and an add or two and just before it gets too boring, you hit gold again. The constant release of much higher than normal amounts of dopamine make your brain temporarily lose touch with what levels are normal. Why is it that you feel drained and tired after scrolling through social media for a few hours, even though you've done nothing but sitting around? You didn't think hard, you didn't move much, so what is it? It is the dopamine-rollercoaster that is mentally straining you. And there are tens of thousands of highly trained software engineers and corporate executives designing their platforms to keep you scrolling for as long as possible. If that little chiming sound increases your screen time by as little as 2%, it will be added. It is designed to suck your life away, chain your eyeballs to the content they want you to see, just so they can literally sell you to anyone who has the cash. You need that new gadget, visiting this country is an absolute must, this new sports competition is amazing, definitely vote for this cool party. Trust them. They know what you want. You don't know anything about them, but they know everything about you.

"What do I do now?"

Well, it is unlikely that you'll stop using social media at all. I mean, even I am still here. But there are things you can and should do for your mental and financial health, and for your own safety and protection against manipulation. Here is a list of things you should consider

Limiting social media to only a few apps you actually use and are interested in

Spend no more than 2 hours on social media per day

Meet friends irl instead of only texting

Stop sharing personal information. It is not illegal to enter false names, birthdays, etc into random sign-up forms! Protect your children as well!

Use privacy- & user-oriented platforms, such as Signal instead of WhatsApp, or Mastodon instead of Twitter. They finance themselves through volunteers and donations instead of by selling your data and lifetime to any buyer

Use privacy-oriented frontends (the visual interface and application you interact with), such as NewPipe or FreeTube instead of YouTube. You also won't be seeing any ads there

Don't buy anything impulsively. Take a week or two to think about whether you really need and want it.

Check facts, do your own research, use multiple sources, be critical

And in case you're interested in what I use:

I'm have an Android phone running /e/OS and a total of 5 computers/servers which run Linux and a Windows laptop for work. My phone block any trackers, fakes my GPS location (not VPN/IP) to where I am in Barcelona. All devices have a 24/7 encrypted VPN connection. I don't have WhatsApp, Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, or even a Google account. For personal use I have Signal, Element (Discord alternative), and Proton Mail. That's it. Every website or platform I have an account on has it's own, unique, single-use email, a randomized password and 2FA whenever possible. I use KeePass as my password manager, encrypted with a password, key file, and hardware key. I enter false data into any random form, use hardened Firefox browsers to resist fingerprinting and tracking, and back up all my data at home on a hard drive instead of using a cloud service. (Yes, there is much more)

For my content, I use Tumblr and a semi-active Discord account, Reddit accounts are banned.

For my professional life, I am forced to use Microsoft Teams and Outlook, yet I only use those on my work computer & phone.

Privacy = Freedom

Yes, I know my measures are far beyond average, but I wanted to present an example and hopefully inspire some of you to take back your online freedom and privacy! Because that's what it is! Privacy is Freedom!

I hope this inspired you and please ask any questions in the comments! This truly is a topic that means a lot to me so thank you for reading all the way through it. Please reblog to further share this important topic and encourage others to protect themselves!

- Ace

[batboyblog]

I feel like some people can't be/refuse to be educated, or they're deliberately being obtuse because they're trolls, psyops, or they just fell for the trolls and psyops. But its still good to point out where they're wrong and to give actual, you know, facts, for the benefit of other people reading who might actually be reachable.

yeah, I mean I usually ignore them because usually its bad faith and when a post is getting hundreds even thousands of notes in a day you just can't keep up with the 10-20-ish people who say something, particularly if its in the tags because thats just hard or fighting in the replies which always feels weird

But I was in a bad mood and in general seeing the same either bad faith or straight up don't know comment over and over and over again is very annoying

the "lol Joe Biden didn't do anything about Student loans!" one is pretty annoying since Biden has forgiven well over 100 BILLION dollars worth of student loan debt, so like he has done a lot on student loan debt. I'm not a big deal but I remember I did one of my "what Biden did this week" posts and it had the student loan debt forgiveness for people who got defrauded by the Art Institutes, and a few people added their stories of being defrauded and being in debt to AI for years and the one that'll stay with me was an older guy who went to try to get a new degree to get a job in a different field kinda late in the game, his 50s or 60s and of course didn't get the jobs he hoped for because scam college and saying how he thought he'd die in debt and it was all gone, all forgiven. So just like people flippantly dismissing a very real life changing thing is very annoying

there are a few other very common annoying ones "why didn't he do this when he controlled congress before!" well he was busy passing the biggest climate change bill any government on earth has ever done, investing in our Infrastructure for the first time since before Reagan was President (Reagan 😒) listen Biden passed 4 of the biggest most transformationally progressive bills the US has seen since LBJ

American Rescue Plan

Bipartisan Infrastructure Law

CHIPS and Science Act

Inflation Reduction Act

on top of which he passed the first gun control law out of congress in 30 years, and other things, like the Respect for Marriage Act to protect gay marriage, or making Juneteenth a federal holiday (the first new federal holiday since MLK day in 1983)

SO! thats why he didn't do the things he wants to do in his next term he was busy doing equally (and in the case of climate change more important) things and thats why we should all be hopeful if Joe Biden is President with a Democratic Congress he'll get most if not ALL the things on his agenda done, because he's fucking good at this, we haven't had a President this good at pushing bills through Congress and using every switch and lever of the federal government to make major progressive change since LBJ or FDR, I guess his big mistake was naming it something boring like "Inflation Reduction Act" and not something sexy like "New Deal" or "Great Society"

sorry to go off on a tare there, but its just frustrating to see 40 (out of tens of thousands really) posts saying the same dumb shit and having no real way to respond

[phantomonabudget]

We need to talk, Pham. Stop shaming Christine Daaé.

I have seen this behavior consistently for the 30+ years I have been a Phan. What's worse is that I see A LOT of it from grown women. I see posts calling her foolish for leaving Erik. Slut shaming her or calling her a gold digger. Calling her stupid, weak, or unworthy because a "real woman" (presumably the women posting these absurd notions 🙄) would have loved him better and been worthy of his awesome talent and capacity for love. 😳🤮

It's disturbing, disheartening, and disgusting. And it needs to stop.

First off, none of these characters are real, so perhaps let's take things a little less seriously in general. It's a fictional story. I get it: we all love it, and probably love the Phantom's character. That's fine....I've made a 20+ year career dressing as the dude, for crying out loud. 🤣 Maybe we all identify with Erik/The Phantom to some degree. Regardless of the version of the story, if the actors or authors do their job well, we *should* feel pity and compassion for him. But feeling compassion and completely ignoring the character's dangerous and abusive behavior are two very different things. It has the potential for some severe consequences in the real world.

By shaming Christine for leaving Erik at the end, you are potentially telling young people that staying in abusive relationships is the right thing. You make them think that if their significant other is talented, misunderstood, been abused themselves etc, then they should stay and love them into a healthy relationship. That if they just love their abusive SO harder, sacrifice themselves a little more or for a little longer, or keep putting that person's needs above their own, that the relationship will suddenly become this wonderful, euphoric experience. It won't. As a survivor of longtime abusive myself, I can tell you from experience: it doesn't happen that way.

Celebrate healthy relationships and enforcing healthy boundaries. Stop shaming Christine for fighting for and winning her life and saving the man she loves.

And please stop calling this a romance. It's the antithesis of romance.

I am sick of members of this Phandom completely ignoring Erik/The Phantom's behavior to justify their blind adoration. Erik is an abusive and dangerous character, and extremely toxic. He lies to and manipulates Christine using her trauma from her deceased father. He kidnaps her, multiple times. Threatens her and her colleagues. He extorts hundreds of thousands from the business managers. He endangers dozens of people with the chandelier crash, and effectively holds hundreds hostage for months or years at a time with his reign of terror at the Opera.

Then there are the murders. Several of them. Probably been at that for awhile so we can assume it's far more than the two we see in the show. We don't know his actual body count, but we do know he's adept and comfortable taking human life.

And yet, I see some mature phans out here completely ignoring all those things and still shaming Christine for leaving him. Why? Because he's "sexy" (author's note: PLEASE go re-read Leroux. Please). And he's talented. And has so much love to give. And is misunderstood. And society was terrible to him...so it's all fine. 😳🤮 She should have just stayed and loved him like he deserves to be loved. 🙄

Recently I saw a post shaming Christine and the justification was that Raoul was so much worse. He isn't. Is he a perfect character? No, not at all. Does he make mistakes and try to use Christine? In some versions, yes. Does he run around extorting, manipulating, threatening, and killing others? Also no.

Pleasw don't ever use LND!Raoul's character assassination as some kind of justification, because he's still the most sane, normal human being in that show, and Erik is still 1,000 times worse than Raoul in LND. Also, using LND as justification for anything makes for a very weak and uninformed argument.

"Hurt people hurt people." Ever heard that phrase? Abused people sometimes abuse others, especially if they haven't done the work to heal themselves. Their previous abuse does NOT entitle them to abuse others. That is always a deliberate choice and those choices have consequences. The dangerous, disgusting rhetoric I see in the Phantom community basically excuses toxic behavior because Erik was previously abused and nothing is his fault. That is simply not true. Those that abused me were previously abused. Didn't make my abuse hurt any less. And I made the choice to do the work so that the abuse stopped with me. Previous trauma is a reason for the behavior, but it is NEVER, ever an excuse.

And don't let the fact the dude can sing or that he's a snappy dresser blind you to his toxicity.

We can all enjoy the Phantom character's complexity and love him, while still acknowledging his flaws and holding him accountable for his deeply inappropriate choices.

We talk a lot more these days about trauma, toxicity, and self care. And yet, as a community, we still shame the character of Christine Daaé for doing the healthy, correct thing. The ONLY thing. And in doing so, we set a disturbing precedent for our young or vulnerable Phans who now might think that staying in toxic relationships in the real world is okay.

Please do better, Phandom.