#its actually during the patriots but who cares

[ind0mitablesw0rdsmen]

barbie trend

been doing nothing but drawing on mspaint

[sector38]

From Sector: 38

Entry: II

After my last "encounter," my mind was made – I couldn't just sit at the edge of the sector staring out at the abyss – a hunger had made itself a home inside of me, nested under my bosom and in between my ribcage. For what it was worth, I could now say I was the proud owner of a brand new sector pass (actually in date this time), meaning I could also now apply for a real job. Before, it felt like I was wading through murky waters devoid of a lighthouse: without any sense of direction or purpose, but now I knew where I was going, who I was to be, and what I was to become – a xenologist.

It wasn't the easiest job. When I told my friends, they outright laughed. Sure, the world wasn't what it used to be – fancy bits of laminated paper were all lost to the flood – but that didn't mean that anyone could just walk in with zero qualifications, no questions asked. This was especially so for jobs that didn't exist pre-flood (including but not limited to, you guessed it, xenology). Before, if the job existed, maybe I would have gone to some elite university and collected my certificate that, for some reason, was meant to equate four years of my life, with a smile – now, we had the circuits.

On the bright side, it was a shorter process, 6-12 months if you survived that long and shorter if you didn't. I didn't know the process that well (sue me), but I knew that I would be starting at the outer tier, maintenance (glorified clean-up crew) and working my way in, each stage more deadly than the last until finally I reached the core, or as its more commonly known, "The Arena." I could never just choose the easy path.

I knew I should have been nervous, but... I just wasn't. I guess after the encounter, it was hard to feel like I hadn't been given some top-secret information that put me ahead. I hadn't really had the time to think about it, or I did, but there wasn't really much to say or do. It wasn't like I could tell anyone – I don't know what would have been worse: them not believing me or their faces of disgust.

When all countries were dissolved, you'd have liked to think everyone would lose their patriotism (you know, considering there were no more countries to worthlessly devote themselves to) – wrong. The world became one big country, one metaphorical empire ruled by the human race. This meant anyone or anything not of the human race or not subservient to the human race (like my neighbour, Julie's pet squid) was technically considered an enemy of the state.

Wait, did I fuck a public enemy?

First-day jitters were nothing in comparison to whatever I was feeling, especially considering this wasn't even my first day more like a very short tester solo shift - in all my time on sector 38 I'd never felt seasick (probably because the plates don't move) and yet here I was suddenly greatly empathetic towards the poor souls who found themselves violently ill holidaying in pacific waters. I could barely walk straight, my legs felt like jelly, and my stomach was so heavy I genuinely wondered if I'd swallowed an anchor between breakfast and lunch.

Even now, i still don't understand why i was alone during my tester shift? I get that it was just three tasks, but typically, unless you're a high-level, you're not to be left alone - always followed by a superior. Still, as i said, it wasn't even like I was going to be doing much, according to the alerts who sent me my assignments the night before my shift

. Stack the crates

. File away medical instruments

. Clean the pods on deck Xv_2

Pretty standard stuff, to be honest. If i cared half as much as i should, I'd be outraged that they gave me such menial work - but i didn't, so i wasn't. All i cared about was getting to see more of them, speak to them, and understand them, and the only way to do that was to become a xenologist.

At that point, I couldn't care less about hierarchy and ranks - i didn't understand the tangled web of beurocracy or how clearing badges worked, well not until I'd spent less than five seconds on the deck and i was promtly told

"Attention!"

The wooden crate I'd be carrying dropped to the ground with a hollow thud, the solid wood colliding with the metal flooring, making an awful cacophony. I looked up at the figure and saw a man dressed in a black suit with a white under shirt and black tie, on his black hair sat snug a white naval cap and across his chest a number of metal pins. He looked at me expectantly, i hadn't been told anyone else would be on shift as far as I knew I was supposed to meet my peers next week.

While trying to carefully stack the box in the appropriate space, I gave an awkward smile

"Hi"

Somehow, in a moment, his face grew colder, from freezing to a subzero tundra in an instant - I could tell he wanted to say more, to reprimand me, put me in place - but promtly his alarm sounded on his right wrist.

He left without a word, his face coloured with urgency.

To say I was confused would be an understatement. In the new world, the navy took on a more active role with the marines following suit to a lesser degree and the army taking the least precedence out of the three - so seeing a navy officer wasn't unheard of or even uncommon, but a lieutenant?

It just didn't make any sense, especially considering my work for today was entirely made up of menial tasks - and the look on his face as he left or even before that when I greeted him? I'm not in the navy, clearly so why what was he expecting me to do? Salute? Bowe? Kiss the ground beneath his feet?

It didn't matter, I told myself, i quite literally had one job: keep my head down and become a certified xenologist...well, aside from cleaning the pods on deck.

After stacking the last of the crates and refusing to give into my temptation of opening them, I set about trying to look for the ever elusive deck Xv_2

I mean, would it have KILLED them to give me a map or something? All the corridors looked the same - eggshell cream walls with blue strip lights - every turn, every left, every right didn't feel like it was getting me any closer, to be honest, I wasn't sure if this was some sort of time warp zone, an after effect of some eldritch creature washed up during the flood.

Wandering through the halls, I passed numerous rooms with bolted doors and bright yellow signs with bold black writing, as if they were so afraid that someone might accidentally open the securely locked doors - aside from doors armed to the teeth I passed a myriad of people, i can't really use one word to describe them:

From white coats with slicked-back hair, needle-straight posture to black suits, black ties, white collars, and broze pins to white hazmat suits and black boots.

Like some sort of machine, my brain was fixed on identifying and categorising my colleagues (colleagues). Well, that was until I heard it, tapping against the walls

It was faint at first, easily missable, but then the sounds grew louder, the rapid patter of the metal walls surrounding me like rain against the window - except there was nothing to see, no visible trace of the source of the sound just the noise, just the polyphonic array.

If this was a film, the corridors would be dimly lit with no signs of life but my own heartbeat and panting breath ringing in my ears, but this is the real world, if anything the bright neon lights and the industrious workers who I chanced upon only led to an increase in my anixety - it was as though i was going insane, as though i was being followed

"Could no one else hear that?"

The noise was atonal and offbeat - seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once, bouncing off the walls like an echo. My eyes darted around the corners of the walls as I discreetly tried to turn my head to locate the source of the sound only to be met with nothing. Whatever it was, it was quick. It was just too quick, the persistent creature darting always just out of sight.

Finally, after what felt like a literal millennia, I ran into a steal door labelled

Xv_2

I pushed both the persistent scurrying aside and the absurdly weighted door - inside a dimly lit room with large cylinders attached to the centre wall. To call it a deck seemed overly gracious, with the sizing being more akin to an office space or a large storeage room.

As i walked closer towards the cylinders, I understood why they needed to be cleaned - they were filthy, dust coating them in an opaque sheild blocking any possible view of whatever was sealed within them.

I grabbed the tissue pack I'd hastily shoved in my bra before leaving the house and stared at the cylinders - there was NO way they'd be enough. A part of me seriously thought about using my top, but the thought quickly vanished when i remembered I did actually have to leave the facility without being arrested for public indecency.

And that's when i felt it, a brush of cold air against my neck, raising my hair and sending a shiver down my spin. Instantly, I dropped my tissue pack on the small table and turned around but only to be met by nothing, empty space. I stared out at the room for a moment as though someone or something would magically appear it would probably still have only been the second strangest thing to happen to me as of last.After sufficiently staring out into an empty room I turned back around...

The tissues were gone.

I looked down at the floor, nothing. Half baked thoughts swirled around my head as i looked around the room

"I could have sworn i- did i bring them? Yes. Maybe i dropped them on a crate? No, i had them when-"

Finally, i got on my knees searching underneath the desk in hopes that somehow they'd fallen and I'd kicked them under. It was so dark I should have brought my phone or a flashlight or something, as I lent further under the desk the space narrowed which, if i was paying attention i would have known.

But, alas, i wasn't - instead, my mind was still fixed on how i needed to be more prepared in the future and how i shouldn't have a phone if i wasn't going to use it because the last time I didn't bring my phone i got-

Cold.

Cold air against my bare thighs, that feeling again. Except this time the cold felt more real? The touch more weighted less like the air and more like a person?

I stilled against the feeling, with every passing second the pressure grew till i could shape the outline: a hand.

I tried to move backwards from under the desk but promptly the feeling of another hand splayed across my waist - halting any movement. The hand across my waist kept a firm solid grip, with the cold air seeping through my clothes and onto my skin as though I were naked whilst the other fingers which previously splayed across my thigh began to move, inching ever so slowly towards my upper thigh.

Maybe it was the confusion or remnants of my first (but technically not first) day jitters. Maybe it was a cocktail of both, but I found myself slightly pushing towards the unknown force. Whatever it was must have taken that as a sign because suddenly, the fingers brushed in between my inner thighs dangerously close to my knickers.

I didn't know who or what was behind me, no-one else was in the room bar me and with only one entrance and exist it would have be impossible for anyone to come in without my knowledge - especially considering how heavy the door was.

This couldn't be a who, I thought. It must have been a what.

The thought excited me, that familiar warmth spreading in my lower stomach now juxtaposing the icy touch of the creature - I couldn't help but let out a breathy whimper. The creature must have heard because, within an instant, its cold finger pressed against my clothed entrance. The pressure was barely there, barely feelable almost imperceptible but that's what made is to so maddening - what made me push back against it despite the very firm hand on my waist.

We continued our dance: me pushing backwards, aching and desperate for any sort of relief or solid touch, and its outright reluctance to give it to me aside from the arctic hold on my mid section I could feel myself growing wetter, throbbing in a hot aching want. If i was capable of shame at that point, I would have been berating myself for wearing white panties instead of a more concealing black.

The feel of the wet material sticking to me and the mystery surrounding the strange figure was getting to be too much, I'd tried to bite my glossed lips concealing more whimpers and moans but i couldn't hold back anymore. I began to rock back harder, sounds slipping from my mouth like condensation down glass till the monster showed me mercy.

A cool finger began to push into me through my now presumably clear underwear, the sensation of wet cotton and the icy appendage dipping into me making me moan all the more - but it wasn't enough. I began to beg, pleas falling from my mouth faster than my brain could protest.

Cold and wet dragged along my cunt so abruptly I hit my head against the desk but I was too aroused to care - slowly the figure dragged its icy dripping tongue against me, lapping up my desire through my panties and adding to the wet region.

The drag was devastatingly slow, and whilst the pressure was a reprieve from my previous torture, it was nowhere near enough, tears gathered in my eyes as I begged for more. Then, I felt the being give one final lick before spreading my thighs out further and removing its hand from my waist - I was untouched.

For a brief moment, i wondered if it had left me, alone and hungry, desperate for something more - thankfully, it didn't. Instead, I felt what seemed to be a light kiss to my upper thigh before my skirt was bunched up to above my ass. The suddenness of it all made my gasp like a scandalised southern bell -as though I wasn't begging to be fucked by a stranger (who most definitely wasn't human) under a desk at my first day at work- though rapidly my gasp morphed into a whine as I felt the monster slip underneath my shaking spread out thighs so that the back of its head might rest against the floor with now both hands grasping my waist and hips.

It began to lick into me (still over my underwear) with a passion that I've never known, the glacial touch contrasting the warm friction building. I began to rock and press down onto its tongue and in response it sucked and licked and fucked into me with its tongue.

I'd asked, begged for more and I'd gotten it but I've always been greedy, always been stupid and reckless and impulsive, always been bossy even when I'm on my knees and then was absolutely no different.

"Let me fuck your mouth"

Instantly as soon as the words left my mouth I felt it moan against me the sensation only making me want it more, carefully after giving a few more playful sucks it released me - somehow even with its cold presence when it left me, the room felt so much more glacial.

I slid out from under the desk my shaking legs doing very little to help me in this endeavour, but before i could turn around to face the entity hands covered my eyes, of course this did nothing in ways of stopping me from seeing but I understood the getsture and so I closed my eyes.

Once my eyes were closed, the figure rearranged our bodies like a jigsaw piece as though it and I were one cohesive being all while I was immersed in the faint scent of sea salt and rain-soaked earth emanating from the creature - the delicate nature of the smell, alien to the steady yet all-consuming auror of the beast - like the sky before a storm. Once again, it was pressed against the ground with the back of its head to the metal flooring, and I was on top of it, this time fully able to sit with a straight posture.

It slowly guided me with my eyes still closed to its mouth with my still clothed cunt at first gently resting against its lips not wanting to move before it was ready till I felt it place both its sturdy hands on my waist and force me to rock into its mouth slightly.

I began slow, moving backwards and forwards on its cold tongue, trying to find a starting rhythm before the heat that momentarily subsided rose in full formation. Its hands were everywhere on my waist, my hips, my tummy. Like it was pushing and pulling me down and up, away, and to. Then suddenly one of its strong arms was lifting me slightly off its mouth eliciting an unexpected whine from me whilst the other moved the lace fabric to the side before gently lowering me back onto its cold wet mouth.

The feeling was foreign, invasive, intrusive, like a virus spreading through my body overtaking each nerve and blood cell before leaving me powerless to resist or even the desire to. The cold spit-soaked tongue dragged perfectly against me like waves hitting against the rocks, never missing their mark. I began to ride into its mouth, eyes rolling to the back of my head as I felt a familiar pressure build within me. I was so close to the edge, to the beginning and end of bliss. I didn’t know what the creature was or if it was even capable of feeling pleasure in the same way I did, but the desperate movements of its cold hands, one gripping my waist and the other my boobs showed me I wasn't alone in my heightened arousal.

Pleas and cries spilt from my lips, each more nonsensical and crass than the last:

"Please, please, fuck I'll be so good, fuck, your mouth its so- so perfect, you're so good for me, fuck, just like that, right there-"

Till eventually like an electrical current, the feeling washed over me - like fuzzy static interferce my whole body sparked alite. Its cold hands pressed me down harder as my body spasmed, tears welled in my eyes as I tried to move away, the pleasure building to be all too much, the overstimulation becoming extreme - but its presence remained lapping up my cum from my wet, warm, throbbing cunt.

My legs felt like jelly as it finally allowed me to stand, my lack of balance definitely not helped by my inability to see.

"Can I open my eyes... Tap me twice for yes?"

I felt a press of cold lips against my neck and then temple, sending a shiver down my spine and a small smile on my face before opening my eyes and turning around to see

Nothing.

I looked around the room confusion growing clearer on my face - thoughts regarding whether I'd made the whole scenario up in my head beginning to take root - before I felt cold hands rest against my cheek holding my head tilted slightly upwards before I felt cold lips move again against mine. The kiss was dry, soft, and sweet, still smelling of sea salt and storms and in that moment my mind was still, at peace like a total oneness with the world, with the truth whatever that may be.

Warning. Warning. Emergency alert. Code Amber. Please isolate in groups immediately. This is not a drill. Repeat. Warning. Warning. Emergency alert. Code Amber. Please isolate in groups immediately. This is not a drill.Warning. Warning. Emergency alert. Code Amber. Please isolate in groups immediately. This is not a drill. Repeat. Warning. Warning. Emergency alert. Code Amber. Please isolate in groups immediately. This is not a drill.

[primaviva]

PAIRING: (primary) gwen stacy x fem!reader, (secondary / onsided romance) harry osborn x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS: gwen has liked you for a long time, harry knew this. to gwen's surprise, harry actually liked her for much longer, something she only learned when he confessed and asked her to prom. gwen's rejection hit harry hard. you can imagine gwen's shock when, just as she was about to tell you how she felt and ask to be your date, you revealed that you already had a date. harry osborn.

WARNINGS/NOTES: misunderstandings trope like heavy, a lot of cursing, manipulation on harry’s part, angstyyy, suggestive toward the end, jealous n angry gwen vs sassy man harry, white boys doin too much and not proof read

as summer's hot embrace swept across queens, whispers of anticipation filled the air in midtown high.

the arrival of prom.

the streets adorned themselves with vibrant hues of gold and scarlet, echoing the spirit of the season that gripped the hearts of every new yorker. decorative banners danced in the breeze on campus, proudly displaying the school's emblem as a symbol of community pride. the heat and constant air conditioning mingled with the distant sound of a marching band practicing their lively tunes, weaving a tapestry of nostalgia and excitement for all the locals and alumni.

prom, a cherished tradition to no one but the beckoned who peaked in high school. let’s be real here, what teen beside the tryhard kids trying to form the perfect resume for college genuinely cared for homecoming? nah, not one. the only excitement that came from it was being able to get free food, dress cute, some photo ops with your partner, and just hanging out with your friends. you could technically count the performances by the school bands and dance teams but to be honest all the talent was overshadowed by the patriotic midtown chants praising the school for its community and kindness even though you could’ve swore you saw flash thompson trying to beat on some freshman in the hall the other day.

it’s midtown high… mid is in the name. to be quite honest, you weren’t expecting much. you didn’t even have a date in mind, you just knew you’d end up going with your small friend group consisting of your best friend gwen, peter, and harry.

you were brought back to reality when your teacher pulled an ‘i’ll wait’ on some girl in the front who was just as confused as the rest of the class and was simply asking someone else for help.

as the minutes ticked by in the seemingly endless ap english class, the only escape you found was talking gwen during class to keep you sane.

you leaned towards gwen, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "i feel like i’m trapped in a literary prison. is it just me, or does every sentence, as soon as she opens her mouth, sounds like some philosophy subreddit bullshit?"

gwen stifled a giggle, her eyes sparkling with shared amusement. "oh, trust me, it's not just you. i think i've somehow deciphered the hidden meaning behind every comma in this book. it's like we're on a quest for the nonexistent holy grail of english assignments."

you both burst into a fit of laughter, struggling to contain your amusement while keeping a watchful eye on the teacher. the irony of the situation wasn't lost on you— the passionate exploration of language and literature reduced to a burdensome chore.

however, you couldn’t help but feel a pair of jealous eyes on you. the prickling sensation at your neck coming from the back of the class made you turn your head slightly, and you caught a glimpse of harry's eyes fixed on gwen, his expression tinged with jealousy. his lips pressed together in a tight line as he bit down on them, lost in his thoughts to notice that you caught him looking. he seemed almost irritated at you by the way he stared and to your understanding, for no reason. it’s not like you did any sneak shit behind his back or got on his nerves .

caught in the awkwardness of the moment, harry mustered a teasing smile and gave a nod, as if attempting to play off being caught. the nod was like a silent statement from him to you, that he felt the same way you did in the class. bored as hell.

but beneath the facade, the tension simmered, and you couldn't shake the feeling that something deeper was brewing beneath the surface. questions swirled in your mind, but for now, you chose to let it go and return your focus to gwen.

"this class single handedly ruined how i’ll read for the rest of my life, and you know how much i love to read edgar allen poe," you whispered, barely able to contain your sarcasm.

gwen leaned closer, her voice barely audible. "i swear, if i have to dissect one more sonnet, my brain cells will start killing themselves."

the bell's sudden ring startled both of you, cutting short your whispered complaints and signaling the end of yet another mundane class. you exchanged a knowing look, relief and mischief dancing in both your eyes.

"finally, damn!" you exclaimed under your breath. "let's get out of here before we start speaking in iambic pentameter."

gwen nodded, her lips curled into a smile. "i can't wait another second."

together, you gathered your belongings, trying to suppress the lingering laughter that threatened to bubble. as you made your way towards the door, the teacher's eyes scanned the room, momentarily pausing on your mischievous glances, but quickly moving on.

you were about to respond to her joke when harry osborn approached you two with a slightly hesitant yet determined stride. his sudden interruption caught both of you off guard.

"hey, gwen," harry began, his voice shaky. "can we talk for a minute?"

your curiosity piqued, but you gave gwen an understanding look and assured gwen that you would wait for her at the lockers, giving her a reassuring smile. with a nod, she followed harry to a quieter corner of the hallway, leaving you to be nosy and wonder what the conversation could be about. time seemed to stretch as you leaned against the lockers, the echoes of passing students fading into the background.

minutes turned into an eternity before gwen finally emerged from the conversation, as she walked toward you, you could sense the weight of the conversation hanging in the air. without a word, she shook her head, her eyes filled with unspoken thoughts.

"what did harry want? some chemistry homework answers that been due since last week?" you asked playfully, trying not to make it seem like you were praying for information.

it’s not like you were jealous of harry or envious of him for talking to gwen, you knew where you two stood. but just the way he looked at you? just rubbed you the wrong way. and you couldn't lie and say the curiosity wasn’t killing you as to why he had to pull gwen away from the public to just ‘talk to her.’

gwen's eyes met yours, looking unusually reserved. she hesitated for a moment before responding, her voice barely above a whisper. "it’s nothing, really. he just asked me a stupid question. don’t worry about it."

you left it at that, not wanting to force her into talking about something that was clearly private. you respected her desire to just move on. still, a teasing smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you couldn't resist a teasing remark.

"did he ask you to be his secret prom date?" you quipped, a twinkle of mischief in your eyes.

gwen's face turned pale for a moment before her cheeks flushed slightly as she shook her head, a subtle smile gracing her lips. "no, you couldn’t be farther from the truth. i um… i actually have someone in mind."

you felt your cheeks heat up at her comment, but also a gut wrenching feeling in your stomach. could she be talking about you? no, but then again all the moments where your legs brushed together while you sat, the lingering gazes and stolen looks, her hands on your waist when she guided you through a big crowd, just all the times where the lines between best friend and more became blurred.

however, gwen remained silent, her intentions veiled for now.

you two had similar schedules, so it was everyday you two walked to your classes together. as the two of you made your way to study hall, gwen broke the silence, "wanna share headphones while we work?"

her hand brushed against yours, your breath hitching as you became hyper aware of how close gwen was. you could feel her continue to stare into your eyes as she intertwined her hand with yours. a smile bloomed across your face as you nodded in agreement, unaware of someone else glaring at you from a distance. again.

weeks passed since then. before, prom was less than a month away. now? just days.

you still didn’t have a date. part of you wanted to just go along, not having any interest and anyone besides gwen. but another part of you was still holding onto hope, living in the fantasy world of the imaginary scenarios that she’ll ask you out.

there were doubts in your mind if gwen liked you, and even if you liked her. she’s your friend, best friend even. but your friendship with her is so different from the way you both treat your other friends. you don’t let your other friends call you names, sit on their lap while their hands wrap around your waist, stay up on friday nights and fall asleep on the phone, and so much more. it was more than just the physical attraction you had to gwen, it was the chemistry between you two. you admit, gwen is more than fine. to her tall demeanor and athletic body, and not to mention the hair and piercings. but the way she understood you more than anyone else was the biggest turn on of them all. she can read you like the back of her hand. she knows when you’re sad, when something’s bothering you, when you’re overwhelmed and just want someone to run away with even if it’s temporary.

all year it seemed that you both had been running circles around each other. there was just something different about the way she stared straight into your eyes as you talked about something. or the times where you swear you saw her biting down on her lip as she sneakily checked you out before you could catch her and she’d tell you how pretty you are. the times you would ask her to repeat stuff on the phone because you just loved hearing her voice just to fall asleep to it. the time where she noticed you looked at her while she cleaned her drumsticks and she told you it’s rude to stare. the times where she had no problem sneaking into your home from through your window to comfort you after a fight with your parents.

she felt like your other half and that’s what confused you. everyone talked about their best friend like that, but you and gwen didn’t seem like friends. and you can’t tell anymore if that’s good or bad.

it was clear you were attracted to gwen in more ways than one, but you couldn’t help but be in denial because of your fear that if you did pursue something romantic with her you could possibly ruin your friendship forever, and you couldn’t imagine your life without her.

gwen couldn’t imagine her life without you either, harry knew that first hand. which is why he’s on his way to your place right now.

harry osborn mustered up the courage to confess his feelings to gwen, his heart pounding with anticipation. he found her in the hallway, took a deep breath, and poured out his emotions, confessing his affection and asking her to be his date for the upcoming prom.

"hey, gwen," harry began, his voice filled with a mix of nervousness and determination. "i've been meaning to tell you something... i really like you. you're amazing, talented, and so fearless. i’ve admired you for a while. so, i was wondering if you'd go to prom with me?"

gwen listened attentively, a kind smile on her face that slowly dropped as she kept talking. but before harry could catch his breath, she gently interrupted him.

"harry, look, i appreciate you telling me this and you're such an amazing friend," gwen replied, her soft and cautious. "but, i can’t go with you. i’m sorry it’s just… i actually had something on my mind too for a while. i've been wanting to tell (y/n) how i feel about her for a while now and so i thought prom would be the best excuse. i've just been nervous about it because i don’t want ti ruin anything. you understand, right?"

harry's face fell slightly, his disappointment flickering across his features. he tried his best to hide the bitterness he felt, realizing that gwen's heart was set on someone else.

"oh... i see," harry responded, trying to sound nonchalant. "don’t worry, gwen. i get it. i never caught on that you liked our (y/n), that’s my bad. i'm sure you’ll both have an amazing time at the dance when you ask her."

gwen's expression softened, "thank you, harry. i hope this doesn’t make anything too weird or weirder than it needs to be. friends?"

harry forced a smile, masking his envy as best as he could. "of course, gwen. friends always."

but as gwen turned to leave, harry's mind started to spin. thoughts of revenge began to cloud his judgment.

how could gwen stacy reject him? it was all he could think of. ‘she’s just a cop's daughter’ he thought, balling his hands into a fist.

“hey, could you speed it up?” he pressed the driver, quickly apologizing. “sorry i just… the waiting is killin’ me.”

maybe it was the bitterness fueling his need to boost his own ego, but he still couldn’t wrap his mind around the rejection. all his life, harry was given what he wanted without a second thought from his father or the people around him. it seemed that for the first time he couldn’t have what he wanted and didn't know how to act.

that’s what led him here, to the front of your place. harry pushed open the car door, his oxford shoes hitting the pavement.

“wait for us, will you?” he asked the driver but the tone of his voice made it clear that it was an order.

harry : hey sweets

harry : go look outside your window for me sent at 4:53

you were doing your homework when suddenly you felt a vibration against your desk. you turned your head to the side and noticed your phone lighting up. with a sigh wanting to take a break from working, you picked it up and your eyes went wide as you saw who it was who texted you. part of you hoped it was gwen, but no, it was harry.

the message on your lock screen made you cringe as soon as you saw that he had called you ‘sweets.’

“the hell is this boy on now,” you muttered, swiping up to see the full text in messages.

you : tf you mean look out my window… did you take your daddy’s medicine by any chance ?? sent at 4:55

before you even gave him the chance to reply, you walked up to your window and pushed the curtain to the side. looking down, you were met with the sight of harry typing on his phone before looking up at you with a charming smile.

harry : you wanna come down rapunzel?

you let out a scoff, the sides of your mouth twitching into a smile as you made your way downstairs. you unlocked the door, opening it to be met with harry walking up to you and revealing a beautiful bouquet of assorted flowers to you. it looked expensive and it glowed in the sun.

“don’t tell me those are for me,” you spoke in a whisper, voice caught in your throat from how unexpected this all was.

he smiled, putting the bouquet in my hand as the floral aroma filled my senses. “then i won’t, just take them princess.”

harry knew you were getting weirder out by his behavior just by the way your face had this stank look to it. not like you were disgusted by him or anything, but by how confusing this was.

“what?” he asked with a smirk.

“you’re just acting a lil’ strange is all,” you replied slowly, squeezing the bouquet to your chest and sniffing the assortment. “they smell beautiful harry, thank you. but no offense, why are you outside my home dressed like james dean?”

he did a low chuckle as he looked into your eyes. sure, harry was cute though he wasn’t necessarily your type. and while it is really attractive to have someone dress nice for you, call you sweet things, and even come to your home with flowers, it was just weird. it was just weird. why him?

"just walk with me, please?" harry asked, extending his hand towards you.

“and sight see all the power plants?” you mocked, but seeing the pleasing look on his face made you fold. you hesitated, but ultimately took him up on it.

as you took his hand, you felt his grip tighten, pulling you uncomfortably close. "i'm sure there's a beautiful waterfront or some other scenic spot for us to explore," he said, his voice filled with anticipation.

you couldn't help but raise an eyebrow, a mix of skepticism and curiosity flickering in your eyes. despite your reservations, you found yourself drawn to him and his intentions.

“you look beautiful today,” he added, still looking forward as the glow of the sky highlighted his face.

you let out a laugh, causing him to glare at you from the corner of his eye.

“oh harry, you’re so charming, thank you,” you teased, voice monotone to poke fun at his advances.

he let out a chuckle as you both approached the waterfront. golden hour was approaching, and the sky was painted a deep orange with yellow highlights and a beauty exuding from it. the clouds were faint and moved slowly to the side, like careful paint strokes to a canvas.

as you released your hand from harry's, you walked toward the ledge, taking in the awe-inspiring scenery. it felt like a moment of pure magic, as if the world had paused to allow you to appreciate the simple pleasures surrounding you. the gentle caress of the warm breeze, the distant echoes of laughter, and the soothing sound of water rippling in the wind created a serene ambiance.

harry initiated the conversation, breaking the silence. "you've never been here before?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine curiosity.

you met his gaze with a sly smile, “nah, i never have time to do stuff like this. im always busy with my own responsibilities so it doesn’t really cross my mind to do a tinder style long walks down the cigarette infested new york streets and visit all the landscapes.”

harry approached you, leaning against the ledge with a smile playing on his lips. he let out a genuine chuckle, appreciating your sense of humor.

"there's the (y/n) i know," he remarked, his tone filled with affection. "always quick with the sarcasm. it's one of the many things that make you so likable. you have this unique and mysterious charm about you.”

you studied him for a moment, a dry laugh escaping your lips. "secret charm?" you quipped, raising an eyebrow. "i've never really made an effort to talk to anyone, so l'd be surprised if i had any secret admirers.”

“well, allow me to introduce you to one of them,” he said as he took your hand in his and gave it a chest kiss.

harry's expression turned softer, and he took your hand in his, placing a gentle kiss on your palm. his eyes held a glimmer of and a hint of seduction.

"i know we haven't always been the closest, but lately, you've been on my mind. a lot," he confessed, bringing your hand to rest against his chest. "i've admired you from afar, and i've been nervous to be around you. you're not just gorgeous, but smart, witty, and so much more. i can't imagine going to prom with anyone else but you. so, would you honor me by being my date?"

your heart skipped a beat with each word he spoke. shock washed over you, and your face revealed a mix of emotions. while you value your friendship with harry, you didn't share the same romantic feelings. you hesitated, searching for the right words to convey your thoughts.

but something about it was off. while his words seemed genuine and soft, his eyes told a different story. they were dark and deceptive, gleaming with an unsettling intensity. it sent a shiver down your spine, making you question his true intentions. the way he stared at you felt predatory, like he was sizing you up, waiting for the opportune moment to strike at his prey. it created an alarming imbalance of power, as if he was counting on something beyond your control.

"harry," you began, your voice gentle but firm. “i’m really sorry for this but i don’t see you that way. i’m flattered but you have to understand… there are other girls that would love to go with you. you’re a heartthrob, y’know? you can get anyone with your appeal. it’s just that i’ve liked gwen for a while and have been waiting for something to happen but-“

“it seems i really can’t get anyone, (y/n),” he spat out in anger. harry's demeanor shifted, his face contorting with anger. he turned slightly away from you, pinching the bridge of his nose as if trying to regain composure. his tone dripped with bitterness as he spoke. “gwen huh? always gwen, isn’t it?”

“what?” you mouthed in confusion.

"you really think gwen would ever ask you to prom? better yet, you think she likes you?" he sneered, closing the distance between you until your chests almost touched.

“get outta my face, i’m leaving,” you demanded, frustration welling up inside you as you pushed against his chest, trying to create some distance. “harry, fuck off of me.”

but harry's arms held you firmly in place, preventing your escape. his voice took on a mocking tone as he continued to belittle you.

"gwen already has a date. some kid named miles from out of town. she's been talking to him for a while now," he informed you, his words hitting you like a blow. "she doesn't want you, never has. she's just being nice, pretending to be your friend. so i don’t know when or how you tricked yourself into thinking she has any interest in you."

your world seemed to crumble around you, a sickening feeling settling in the pit of your stomach. your legs grew weak, and you struggled to maintain your composure. tears welled up in your eyes, and you wiped them away, attempting to regain your composure before facing him.

“i know, it’s hard to hear. and she’s a fool for ever letting a girl like you slip away,” he continued, his tone shifting once again. "but you deserve better, (y/n). gwen is a selfish coward who only goes after what she wants with no regard for others. you deserve someone who appreciates you. someone like me. let me show you how you should be treated."

you took a step back, turning away from him, your hand instinctively covering your mouth. the tears flowed freely now, and a sense of disbelief washed over you. had you been deluding yourself all this time? was there truly no spark between you and gwen?

a forced smile played on your lips as you turned to face harry again, your entire demeanor transformed. it was as if a switch had been flipped, and you presented a facade that masked your true emotions.

"i'd love to go with you," you spoke weakly, your voice devoid of its usual strength. though you didn't reciprocate his feelings, you wanted a distraction. maybe he could give you the attention he claimed you deserved.

a wide, unsettling smile spread across harry's face, his expression taking on an eerie quality. it was a smile that sent shivers down your spine, as if there was something unsettling behind it. you couldn't shake off the feeling that his happiness wasn't truly about you saying yes.

"i'm glad," he replied, pulling you closer to his side. "let's get you home."

as you made your way back home with harry, the atmosphere became increasingly tense. the once-pleasant and work filled evening had transformed into an uncomfortable walk home. harry's grip on your arm tightened, his fingers digging into your skin almost painfully.

you attempted to break the silence, hoping to alleviate the mounting unease. "so, what are we gonna wear? have you thought about it?"

harry's response was curt and lacking his usual warmth. "i have a few ideas in mind. we'll figure it out."

you couldn't help but notice the change in his demeanor, his friendly and charismatic personality replaced by something cold and distant. doubts and concerns swirled in your mind, but you couldn't find the energy to voice them. instead, you kept quiet, unsure of how to navigate this unfamiliar territory.

upon reaching your house, you turned to face harry, attempting to gauge his mood. "thanks for walking me home," you told him, your voice laced with uncertainty. "i'll see you at school tomorrow."

harry's eyes bore into yours, his gaze intense and unsettling. "no need to thank me," he replied with a slight sneer. "i'll be seeing a lot more of you from now on."

confusion washed over you as you watched him walk away, his figure disappearing into the night. something was undeniably wrong, and you couldn't shake off the feeling of impending danger. you retreated into your home, the weight of the situation settling heavily on your shoulders.

you went into your room and just jumped into your bed and before you knew it your eyes were wet and you blacked out.

it was saturday morning, and the events of the previous night were a blur in your memory. as you rubbed your eyes and sat up in bed, you glanced down at your clothes, and suddenly, it all came rushing back. you had spent the entire night looking over old photos of you and gwen, shedding tears, before finally succumbing to exhaustion and taking a hot shower to soothe your emotions.

your face felt tight and slightly flushed as you made your way to the mirror. you examined your reflection, noticing the lingering redness in your eyes and the puffiness of your cheeks. even your voice seemed affected, carrying a hint of strain from the relentless sobbing that had consumed you.

it wasn't the news itself that hurt you. it was fine if gwen didn't have romantic feelings for you because it’s not like you’re entitled to her. if anything, you found relief in knowing that your friendship could still remain intact. but the way harry had delivered it to you was harsh and blunt, forcing you to confront things you hadn't even considered before.

to realize that gwen may have never seen you in a romantic light, not even once, left you feeling foolish. the most humiliating part was the possibility of misreading every interaction, every gesture, and every shared moment. and to learn from harry of all people that she had someone else all along made you question how long she had been interested in miles without ever mentioning it to you. although you had heard his name mentioned a few times, it had never crossed your mind that gwen had feelings for him. and it definitely didn’t cross your mind that they had been talking as of recently.

your phone began to ring, causing a pang of agony to surge through you. "please, let it be a scam call," you silently pleaded, yearning for a moment of solitude to process your thoughts.

reluctantly, you picked up the phone and turned it around to see the caller's identity. it was gwen. you felt conflicted as your stomach began to turn once again. on one hand, you longed to talk to her, driven by the depth of your feelings. but on the other hand, the internal embarrassment you felt made you want to avoid her at all costs.

summoning your courage, you swiped to answer the call. "hi," you whispered, your voice trembling as you tried to conceal any cracks.

there was a brief silence on the other end, and then gwen spoke with concern in her voice. "(y/n), are you okay? i tried texting you last night, but you didn't respond," she questioned.

"oh, um, yeah. i've just been having sleepless nights, so i went to bed early," you explained, attempting to brush off the previous night's emotional turmoil. "sorry bout’ that."

"are you sure everything's alright? it sounds like you've been crying," she pressed, genuine worry coloring her words. "if you need someone to talk to or if you want me to come over, just let me know. i’ll be there.”

"i'm fine. i wasn't crying, i literally just mentioned being tired," you replied, irritation seeping into your tone.

"i just want you to be honest with me. can i still come over? i have something i want to tell you," she mustered the courage to ask.

this was gwen's moment. she had been gathering her strength to speak to you about for so long, and now she was ready to make her request.

"yeah, sure. actually, i have something to tell you too," you added, your voice steadier now.

“okay, great- i mean good. i’ll see you later, okay?” she spoke, her voice cheery but a little nervous.

“see you later,” you replied, repeating it back to her as you hung up.

hours had past and it had only made you more anxious. what did she want to tell you? why wasn’t she here already?

you had already changed your clothes and fixed up your appearance to make yourself more presentable. you made sure to put some concealer under your eyes too to try and draw attention away from the puffiness and fading redness.

the knock at your door gave you a temporary relief from the anxiety of your mind as you went to go open it and greet gwen.

“hey,” she greeted, wrapping her arms around your waist and pulling you into a hug.

you hesitated for a moment, but you couldn’t resist the need to feel her touch. you wrapped your arms around her neck and pulled her closer. there was something so comforting about her touch and gentleness. you both pulled back as gwen stared deeply into your eyes. her hands drifted from the sides of your waist to the small of your back as both your eyes flicked over each other's features.

“are you gonna raid my fridge or wanna go straight to my room?” you asked, teasing her as you broke the unspoken tension between you two.

she giggled as a smirk appeared on her lips. she gave your back a gentle slap, “hey! and no thank you, i actually wanted to come talk to you about something that’s been on my mind,” she confessed.

“oh okay,” you said silently, leading her to your room.

gwen made herself comfortable as she plopped herself on your bed. she manspreaded her legs as she threw her head back against your wall, giving you a glimpse of her faint adam's apple before looking down at you. her hair had gotten longer since she shaved the sides, turning it into more of an undercut now as it framed her face beautifully. it was moments like these you remembered that gwen had equally good looks to match her personality. god, she was so breathtaking. her outfit was an oversized band hoodie that overlapped the tied flannel shirt around your waist, paired with black leggings and her signature teal converse.

"do you always have to take up all the space in my bed?" you asked, a hint of sarcasm in your voice as you placed your hands on your hips.

gwen responded with a playful groan, accompanied by a mischievous look. "oh please, there's plenty of room," she retorted, patting the empty space next to her, inviting you to join.

taking a deep breath, you couldn't resist the playful banter, and you sat down next to her, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness.

"so?" you prompted, your voice filled with anticipation, hoping she would take the lead in the conversation.

gwen's hesitation lingered in the air, her gaze momentarily shifting away as she gathered her thoughts. "i don't know... i've been wanting to tell you this for a while now, and, well, with prom coming up..."

before she could continue, you blurted out your own news, interrupting her. "harry asked me to prom."

the sudden interruption hung in the air, momentarily breaking the flow of the conversation. the nervous smile on gwen's face dropped immediately, and she sat up, her eyes locked onto yours with intensity.

"he what?" she questioned, her voice low and raspy, almost demanding you to repeat yourself.

"harry came here yesterday with flowers and asked me to be his prom date," you explained, sensing gwen's anger starting to simmer.

"(y/n), are you being serious with me right now?" she asked again, slowly rising from the bed as her anger began to surface.

"why the hell would i make any of this up, gwen?" you responded, a touch of frustration in your voice. "he said that he's liked me for a long time and that all he's been thinking about is asking me to prom."

gwen was in shock. anger fueled her thoughts toward harry. could he really be plotting revenge against her like this? was it possible that he would go to such lengths?

"do you think you're the first person he's told that to? he's not what you think," gwen told you firmly, her voice tinged with hurt and anger.

your irritation grew. you couldn't understand why gwen was so angry when she already had a date.

"really? so what is he then?" you questioned, your voice matching her intensity as you stood up to meet her gaze.

"i'll tell you this, he isn't the damn saint you're making him out to be!" gwen exclaimed, her anger palpable. "he's an actor, and if he's got you so hooked with a ten-minute performance, he's probably next in line for an oscar."

you scoffed at her frustration. "you have no business being mad at me for this when you already have your own date. do you want to have your cake and eat it too? because i'm sorry to tell you this, but that's not gonna slide with me. i'm allowed to have fun and talk to whoever i want," you declared, standing your ground.

gwen's eyes furrowed, and she put a hand over her mouth, taking a deep exhale before turning back to you.

"what date? what the hell are you talking about?" she hastily asked.

"don't play with me, gwen. i heard about you and miles. if it's not supposed to be a secret, then why didn't you mention it at all?" you raised your voice, frustration evident.

confusion etched over gwen's face. "did obnoxious osborn tell you this? because it's all bullshit, and he's talking out of his ass. he's literally known for being a heartthrob and making out with random girls in our class under the bleachers. come on, you know better than this," she explained, her voice filled with a mix of frustration and concern.

“i said don’t play with me, i’m not here to listen to you act childish and sound like a psycho tryna rhyme his name with the first words you can think of from a kids vocab book,” you yellee, quicklime calming yourself down.

you took a deep breath, ready to finish this.

"do i know better?" you repeated, stepping closer to her. "you're always disappearing randomly and refusing to open up about it. you act one way and then another, and you give me so many mixed signals that i've had enough of it!"

it felt like everything was falling apart, like a chaotic mess that couldn't be unraveled. after years of friendship, it was collapsing before your eyes like dominoes.

"i can't talk about it, okay? i have my own stuff, and you've never pressed me to tell you anything about that, so i know that’s not the real reason you’re upset," gwen argued back, her voice strained. "the mixed signals are what i came here to talk to you about, (y/n). i... i don't want to be friends with you anymore!" she admitted, her vulnerability showing through.

the room fell silent, the weight of her words hanging heavily in the air. you took a couple of steps back, feeling the ground shift beneath you. is this what harry was talking about? no, you knew better than to trust him over gwen. but in this moment of vulnerability, the conflicting information dragged you in two different directions. was it true that she didn't want to be friends with you, as harry had tried to convince you, or did she see it entirely differently?

gwen put her hands over her face, gripping her hair out of frustration. she tried to step forward, reaching a hand out to you, but you refused, holding your ground.

"shit... (y/n), i didn't mean for it to come out like that," she attempted to explain, her voice choked with tears as she realized the intensity of the situation.

"leave," you told her, your voice stern and harsh.

"what? you can't be serious," she pleaded. "you don't seriously choose his word over mine, do you?"

"no! i just- i just can't do this right now, and i need you to leave," you replied, your voice filled with a mix of pain and frustration.

the room fell into an uneasy silence as gwen stared at you, her eyes wide reflecting her disbelief. slowly, she walked past you, tears streaming down her face as she looked down to avoid your gaze, and left without saying another word.

as the door closed behind her, you sank to the floor, feeling a heavy emptiness settle in your chest. the weight of the broken friendship added a weight onto you, and you couldn't help but question whether things could ever be the same again.

"you told her you didn't want to be friends anymore?" peter asked in disbelief as he leaned against a nearby locker, his eyes fixed on gwen.

gwen let out a frustrated sigh as she slammed her locker shut after putting her books inside, resting her back against it. "i didn't mean it like that, peter. i was just caught off guard. and to make matters worse, harry sabotaged everything," she explained, running her hands through her hair in frustration. "i never even saw it coming.

peter stepped beside her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. "you know (y/n), gwen. she's smart and strong. she won't let harry manipulate her, and deep down, i think you know she doesn't have any real interest in him," he reassured her, urging her to have faith in your judgment.

gwen nodded, her eyes closing shut as she palmed her face. "i know, it's just... the thought of her with harry makes me physically sick," she admitted,

the image of you with someone else haunted gwen's thoughts. and knowing the person was harry, who didn’t even love or care for you, made it so much worse. she knew he could never love you the way she does. he was merely using you as a pawn in his little game, and it infuriated her that you were dragged into this one-sided fight.

"speak of the devil," peter muttered, gesturing for gwen to look down the hallway.

her eyes landed on you, engaged in a casual conversation with your friend liz allen. that was normal, but what wasn't normal was harry by your side, holding your hand as you strolled confidently down the hallway together. gwen's heart sank as she felt her tongue press against the inside of her cheek. he noticed her gaze and it only made his smirk grow.

“i'm gonna go with liz. see you later," you said to harry before walking away, leaving him with a warm smile

on his face.

"i'ii catch up with you later, baby," he replied, his tone affectionate as you disappeared into a nearby classroom.

gwen winced at the nickname, her inner cheek now bearing the marks of her biting down on it. she let out a deep sigh, her eyes still fixed on harry as he made his way over to her and peter.

"why the long face? the frown doesn't suit you," he taunted, trying to provoke a reaction from gwen.

and it worked.

gwen's frustration boiled over, and without hesitation, she grabbed harry by the collar and pushed him up against the wall, surprising him with her sudden burst of anger. the unexpected aggression caught harry off guard, eliciting a loud grunt from him.

"gwen, wait!" peter called out, attempting to intervene and calm her down.

“she’s not just some toy you can pick up and play with until you don’t need her anymore. she has nothing to do this with and you're seriously pathetic for going this low by dragging her into this just to get back at me,” gwen asserted.

harry let out a mocking laugh, trying to mask his surprise. he carefully chose his words, well aware that the hallways were empty at this time.

“but toys are meant to be played with by definition,” he said, his voice dripping with coldness. “does it make you mad when you see her with me? when i get to touch her the way you’ve wanted for so long and you couldn’t? you call me pathetic, but you couldn't even gather the courage to tell her how you feel. holding her hand made you shy away like a little girl," he retorted.

gwen yanked him forward before forcefully slamming him back into the wall. her eyes blazed with fierce determination. "you are the embodiment of pathetic, harry. this whole mess started because i don't like you, and guess what? that hasn't changed. you believe yourself to be sophisticated and superior to everyone else, but all you do is push others down to get yourself where you want to go. you disguise it behind the glamor and the clothes but behind it you’re just a lowlife with no real friends. you aren’t entitled to anybody or anything. and i guess since you’ve been spoiled all your life it’s up to me to teach you that no amount of money or charm will buy you dignity.”

taking a deep breath, gwen eased her grip on his collar, releasing him from her hold. “you think life is one big party and people are just trends you can skip over, but mark my words, you’re in for a rude awakening,” she stated.

"and what are you going to do?" he jeered, mocking her. what could she possibly do to free herself from the drama harry has ensnared her in, purely for his own sadistic pleasure of watching her life crumble?

"you'll see. but next time you dare to pull a stunt like this, remember who you're messing with," she warned, giving harry a menacing glare as she walked away, accompanied by peter.

gwen wouldn’t let harry get away with this. to her, this wasn’t about revenge, this was about you. this was about her doing right by you and treating you how you truly deserved to be treated. she was going to make sure you know exactly how she feels.

the day of prom had arrived, and the anticipation weighed heavily on your shoulders. it was evident that harry's focus lay not in the outfits you both wore, but rather in the desire to be seen with you. perhaps he aimed to stoke gwen's jealousy, to make her realize what she couldn't have.

as you slipped into your dress, its flattering silhouette accentuating your figure with an open back and slit, you couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness. the night you once eagerly anticipated now loomed before you with apprehension. the fallout between you and gwen had left a void, and the lack of communication had extended to peter as well. the thought of addressing the situation felt overwhelming, so you chose the path of avoidance, despite knowing deep down that it may not have been the wisest decision.

occasional conversations with peter only served to reinforce your initial doubts about harry. he told you that he was acting sketchy, his fight with gwen, and you also shared with him the things harry had told you in his little speech. you acknowledged the validity of those doubts, but a part of you couldn't help but harbor anger towards gwen. you longed for her to take the initiative, to approach you and express her true feelings. while you understood her struggle with vocalizing emotions, the prolonged silence of unspoken words and the feeling of being strung along intensified the tension between you. it was a painful realization that your feelings for gwen had no sign of fading away soon, yet they seemed to have no chance to blossom into something more either. the stagnation gnawed at your heart.

the internal conflict in your mind tormented you, a battle between your desire for gwen's love and the frustration of her fears.

as you stood in front of the mirror, the anxiety of the night filled the air. the sound of a car pulling up outside your home signaled the arrival of harry, who had graciously offered to be your escort for the evening.

taking a deep breath, you gathered your courage and made your way downstairs to meet harry. as you opened the door, he greeted you with a charming smile, his eyes momentarily flickering up and down your body.

“aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” harry stated as he leaned against your door frame. he wore all black which included his blazer and khaki’s, but instead of a button up he fancied himself in a matching black turtleneck. his shoes were equally dark oxford’s that he sported casually.

“who are you, someone’s grandpa?” you asked as a harsh tease.

all he did was chuckle in response, not sensing your bitterness toward him.

"ready for a night to remember?" harry asked, extending his hand to you.

you hesitated for a moment, torn between your heart and your mind. yet, you were in too deep and it felt all you could do now was seize the opportunity to make the best of your prom. you took harry's hand, allowing him to lead you towards the awaiting car.

stepping inside, you were immediately enveloped in luxury. the plush leather seats and the soft ambiance of the car created an atmosphere of opulence. as the vehicle glided through the city streets, you couldn't help but marvel at the passing lights and how beautiful new york looked transformed by the night sky.

you glanced absentmindedly at the raindrops trickling down the window, seeking solace in the gentle rhythm of the drizzle. it acted as a soothing distraction from the swirling thoughts that occupied your mind, thoughts that revolved around one person in particular— gwen.

harry, perceptive as ever, sensed the weight of your emotions.

"you know you made the right decision," he remarked as he edged closer to you, his voice having an untruthful undertone.

you gave him a glare from the side of your eye before turning to face him.

“why do you say that?” you questioned, growing frustrated with everything.

"well, with gwen, you would've never reached this point," he responded simply.

his words stung, it was a bitter realization, one that left a sour taste in your mouth.

a wry smile played on harry's lips as he reached out to adjust the corsage he had bestowed upon you, an accessory chosen not out of admiration, but as a symbol of his possession over you.

harry sensed your conflicted state and attempted to try and ease you up.

"i may have attended plenty of lavish events in this car since i was young," harry continued, a faint shadow of a smile dancing on his lips. "but tonight... tonight feels different with you."

the words echoed hollowly, devoid of the genuine emotions you had secretly yearned for. they were a stark reminder that beneath the glittering facade, harry's intentions were far from pure. you didn’t respond, instead you chose to nod at his words as you recognized you were near the school.

"here we are, mr. osborn," the driver announced, interrupting the tense atmosphere.

harry's face lit up with a triumphant gleam as he turned toward you, extending his hand. reluctantly, you accepted his hand, stepping out of the car, the light raindrops falling around you like a somber symphony. as you made your way towards the entrance, you steeled yourself, preparing yourself for whatever mess that you knew you were about to get into.

as you stepped into the prom venue, a wave of excitement washed over you. the energy was electrifying, with music bouncing off the walls and vibrant lights casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the room. the once crappy gym had been transformed into a breathtaking space, adorned with elegant decorations that made the room look so enchanting and full of life.

the makeshift dance floor was enticing, its polished surface gleaming invitingly under the soft glow of the overhead chandeliers. couples twirled gracefully, their movements synchronized with the rhythm of the music. laughter filled the air as friends greeted each other and took pictures.

the walls were adorned with cascading drapes and shimmering streamers, creating a whimsical backdrop. tables were meticulously arranged, adorned with centerpieces of flowers and flickering candles, adding a special touch to the scene. everywhere you looked, the place was alive.

the dj stationed at the center of the room skillfully curated a playlist that blended popular hits and timeless classics. the beats throbbed through the speakers, encouraging everyone to take to the dance floor and lose themselves into the night.

as you made your way further into the so-called venue, you caught glimpses of friends and classmates as they passed by. yet, still no sight of gwen.

as the hours ticked by, you found yourself consumed by an unexplainable longing to see her. the mere thought of seeing her again stirred a whirlwind of emotions within you, leaving you restless on the dance floor and yearning for her presence.

throughout the night, you caught fleeting glimpses of her, mere fragments that left you wanting more. your attention was drawn to the distinct elements that composed her captivating image. her hair, cascading in waves, held a hint of mystery, teasing you with its untamed elegance. the sight of her donning a black leather jacket ignited a sense of rebellious allure, adding an edgy touch to her.

your eyes traced the contours of her neck adorned with a black choker, layered with multiple necklaces, each one a reflection of her individuality. beneath the jacket, a pink dress peeked through, its front short and the back long, while a layer of dark purple added on top.

black knee-length tights hugged her legs and as your gaze descended, you couldn't help but notice the black boots that completed her look.

as you swayed to the music, engrossed in conversation with your friends, harry slipped out of your view, claiming he was going to fetch drinks for the two of you. he made his way to the drink table, where an array of drinks and desserts awaited.

with a hint of mischief, harry muttered to gwen, "oh, don't mind me, just getting a drink for me and my girl." he poured two glasses, a calculated move to incite a sense of jealousy, knowing that gwen had been watching your interactions throughout the night, longing to be the one by your side. “enjoying the night, hannah montana?”

gwen, determined not to let harry's words affect her, initially brushed off his comment. however, his persistent needling proved too much to ignore. "wow, that was the funniest thing you've said yet! you deserve some applause for that one," she retorted sarcastically, her hands mockingly clapping for his attempt at humor.

he smirked watching her get riled up as he took it upon himself to stand next to gwen. he moved closer to her side, leaning in to speak softly into her ear. “sad to think that you thought you’d have the last word in this all, gwen. after this it’s off to college. you really messed up your chances. not even just with (y/n), but with me. we could’ve had something, but you only really care about yourself, huh?” he turned around fully, holding his two drinks ready to leave. “this is it. i have the last word.”

that was enough to do it for gwen.

gwen reached her breaking point. the music slowed down, the dj's announcement filling the air, urging everyone to bring their partners to the dance floor. the crowd surged, people jostling for space, with a few girls even approaching harry for a quick dance, eager to bask in his wealth and fuel his ego.

this was her time.

"hey, we need to talk," gwen said, her grip tight as she grabbed your arm. startled, you looked up at her, surprised to see her so close, determination evident in her eyes.

"yeah, we do," you agreed, allowing her to hurriedly guide you both outside, away from prying eyes and the bustling prom.

as you stepped into the open, the light drizzle that had fallen earlier transformed into a gentle rain shower. the lobby glistened with moisture, and a soft breeze rustled through the nearby trees. gwen's hand tightened around yours, helping you stay stable amidst the slippery ground.

"gwen," you called out, tone laced with concern, but she continued walking, leading you to a secluded spot beside the school lobby. "gwen, enough! you need to talk too," you exclaimed, feeling the urgency mounting within you.

she paused, her hand covering her face momentarily, trying to rein in her frustration. "i need to talk? you didn't even let me explain myself last time, and then i saw you here with him," gwen said, her words pouring out rapidly as she fought to control her emotions. "but that's not why i wanted to talk to you now. look, harry asked me to the prom, and i said no... because i had planned to ask you," she revealed.

your eyes widened, a mixture of surprise and realization washing over you. you had suspected harry hadn't been entirely truthful, but the revelation that gwen had intended to ask you left you speechless.

"what?" you mouthed, struggling to find the right words. "so when you came to my house?" you managed to ask, your voice trembling.

"yes! i was going to ask you," gwen affirmed, feeling relief as you finally began to understand. "i love you, (y/n). you've been my best friend, but i've fallen in love with you. i've been losing sleep over it. you're always there for me, understanding in ways i've never experienced before, and it scares me. i didn't want to tell you because i didn't want to risk losing what we have. the thought of you saying no and jeopardizing our friendship stressed me out so much. i would have rather kept my feelings hidden if it meant i could still have you in my life. but now, i just want to face my fears and say, 'screw it,' because i meant every word that i told you when i went to see you. i don't want to be just your friend anymore, i want to be more."

a silence settled between you, interrupted only by the sound of raindrops cascading down gwen's jacket. tears welled up in your eyes as her words pierced through your heart.

"you like me?" you simply asked, your voice almost breaking.

"more than like," she chuckled softly, running a hand through her hair. "you have no idea."

slowly, you closed the distance between you, your fingers fidgeting with the corsage on your wrist. "i like you too, gwen. love, even," you confessed. "i felt so foolish, thinking there might be something between us. part of me believed it was all in my head, and then harry started messing with me, planting doubts that you would never be interested. it hit me hard, and that's why i went with him. i felt trapped, but i also wanted to see your reaction."

gwen's smile grew, and she gently placed her hand in yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "you wanted to see if i'd get jealous?" she inquired, curiosity dancing in her eyes, a small smile playing on her lips.

"yeah, i guess... i felt this thing between us at times, and it made me overthink. i thought that maybe, if you saw me with someone else, you would speak up. and if you didn't, well, it would be a win-win because at least i'd still have a date," you admitted, your voice tinged with regret. "i'm sorry. i shouldn't have treated you like this. i just get overwhelmed and scared when i don't think things are gonna work out, so i just avoided it all outta fear."

"don't apologize. both of us got caught up in harry's stupid revenge scheme," gwen said softly, her thumb gently caressing your knuckles.

in the quietude that enveloped you both, you found yourselves staring into each other's eyes. the moonlight filtered through the dark night sky, casting a soft glow upon gwen's features. she looked effortlessly beautiful, her blue eyes sparkling, and her hair framing her face. up close, you noticed the delicate touch of makeup—a rosy red on her lips and smokey eyeshadow with a hint of blue.

before you could fully comprehend your own actions, you leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss upon her lips. it was too quick for her to kiss back.

her eyes widened in shock and you felt her gasp against your lips. with the unspoken tension broken, there was no more denying the feelings that had been building between the two of you.

suddenly, gwen’s lips crashed against yours as her hands moved to grip your waist and hold you close. she melted into you, a moan escaping her lips as she pressed herself

against you and kissed you hungrily. the electricity between the two of you surrounded you, a silent understanding passing between you that changed the dynamic of friendship was changed forever.

gwen parted her lips away from yours as they brushed up against each other in the small distance.

her eyes softened, her gaze searching yours. "you deserve better," she said, her voice filled with conviction. "and i want to be the one who shows you that."

her hands massaged up and down your torso gently as your arms found their way around her neck. “you are better,” you whispered to her.

it was like you and a magnetism to you that gwen couldn’t fight as your words encouraged her to kiss you again. it was like a switch was flipped inside gwen. she'd never experienced something so electrifying before. feeling your lips against hers was pure passion. her heart raced with excitement as she let herself be swept along in the moment. when your lips met hers and your mouths filled with the taste of the other, gwen felt there was no more room for hesitation now, and the two of you were lost in an incredible kiss that couldn't be stopped.

"you don't need this anymore," gwen's voice came out in a hoarse whisper as she reached for the corsage on your wrist, the one harry had given you. her eyes lingered on the delicate blooms, appreciating their beauty for a fleeting moment. then, in one swift motion, she tore the corsage clean off your hand, her grip firm and unwavering. the force with which she removed it almost stung. gwen flung it far behind you, casting it away.

gwen pushed you lightly into a nearby wall, her hand cupping the back of your head so you wouldn’t get hurt by the impact. she wanted nothing more than to feel you against her, to have your arms wrapped around her as you kissed her again and again. her heart was starting to beat in her chest, and you could feel her breathing quicken.

but still gazing intently into your eyes and keeping her lips inches from your own, gwen briefly backed away. "i think harry's an idiot," she purred, her tone dripping with confidence.

she pulled you close again, her body pressed against yours as if she was trying to collide with you. "he doesn't know anything about you. you're the most amazing, incredible, sweet, adorable..." she paused, her heart racing. "perfect."

a drop of water landed on her nose and slid down her face, causing her to giggle. her radiant smile illuminated the moment, casting a spell of enchantment.

the weight of her words settled upon you, leaving you blissfully captivated. "perfect?" you repeated.

“so perfect, you don’t even have to try,” she replied, her eyes softening as she sees how flustered you get.

gwen leaned in and nibbled your lower lip as she bit the bottom teasingly, just to see how you'd react. "mmm, " she moaned, her eyes fluttering shut as she pressed her lips against yours again. you felt her lick on your lower lip as she cocked her head to the side to deepen the kiss. your body trembled as gwen's tongue pressed into your mouth. her hands reached out and drew you closer as she gently slipped past your playful resistance and explored your mouth.

her eyelids drifted shut as your tongue stroked hers. this was heaven for her, and your moans were like music to her ears. she ran her hand through your hair, her fingers gently brushing against the back of your neck as she continued to kiss you deeply and passionately. you could feel her other hand running slowly down your back, her fingertips gently trailing your spine. her kisses grew more frantic, her breathing becoming more rapid. all she wanted was you.

gwen felt your cool, plush thighs clamp around her leg as she slid it up between yours through the opening in your dress. her hands slid down your body, one moving past your legs and coming to rest on your thigh, giving it a tight squeeze as she began to knead at your skin while the other put a firm hand on your hips. you winced at the sensation of her hand rubbing between your thighs as the opposite hand pushed you down onto her leg. in all the excitement, she had pushed herself closer, now grinding against you as she tried to find some sense of relief.

with the rain, the kiss became even sloppier. your mascara started to drip and streak, and you could feel it on your lashes. your and gwen's lipsticks ended up mixing and smearing up against each other as you were both kissing. gwen broke away from your mouth and started laying a trail of kisses down your jaw, leaving faint red lip prints in their wake. her red rose tinted lipstick was now much more faint and messy around her lips.

gwen lowered her mouth to your neck and began lightly sucking and nibbling. you almost went weak in the knees from the stimulating sensation caused by her lips leaving open mouth kisses on the surface of your skin that reached your collarbone and the curve of your breasts.

“(y/n)?” you heard a voice call.

shit, it was harry.

“(y/n), are you out here?” he called out once more.

gwen lifted herself off your neck and straightened herself as she glanced up at you with half-lidded eyes. peering from behind the wall that offered a semblance of concealment, you saw harry discovering the discarded corsage gwen had ripped off your wrist. he knelt down, his gaze fixated on it.

gwen's eyes met yours, a mischievous glint dancing within them. despite your scolding look, she leaned closer to you, undeterred by the risk of being overheard.

"he's going to hear us, gwen," you warned, aware of the potential consequences.

"so?" she replied, a hint of defiance in her voice. "unless you care, because i don't. let him hear."

her audacity caught you off guard, your face flushing as she returned to your neck, this time biting down hard on your skin as you felt the blood rush to the concentrated spots. you were sure they were gonna bruise and turn purple later.

“gwen!” you gasped loud, quickly covering your mouth to muffle her name. she went on, and her unexpected senses caught you off guard.

you made every effort to make sure you weren't too loud for harry to hear, but it was difficult to keep your whines under control.

but gwen knew. when he heard mysterious noises, noticed your discarded corsage, and realized he hadn't seen her go back inside, gwen knew he was aware based on the way she noticed in the corner of her eye how his face twisted. he ultimately stood up and turned around as he headed back inside.

with a soft pop, gwen pulled away from your neck. she stared attentively at you as you were breathing heavily against the wall. it was a gaze that held the power to captivate, like a masterful musician surveying their latest composition. in that moment, you felt like a canvas, waiting to be explored and transformed by her artistic touch.

“perfect and beautiful,” she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible. “i’ve wanted to do that for so long- not the makeout and hickey thing. i mean, don’t get me wrong, i enjoyed it even if it moved a little fast but uh… the kiss part. i wanted to kiss you for a while to see how it felt.”

even though gwen was touching you and whispering sweet nothings in your ear with complete confidence, you grinned at how nervous she had become. wrapping your arms around yourself, you shivered slightly, the rain casting a chill upon you.

“you’re cold? hold on,” gwen's concern was immediate as she swiftly removed her leather jacket and draped it over your shoulders. “here, much better than getting hypothermia.”

you chuckled at her teasing as you felt her cheeks heat up. "thank you," you whispered, hugging her briefly.

she smiled down at you, admiring how you looked in her clothes. "no need to thank me. you look stunning in it," she complimented, a mischievous smirk gracing her lips.

as you emerged from your hiding place, she seized your hand.

“what do we do now?” you asked her.

gwen turned to you, a rebellious glint in her eye. “well, i’m over this prom thing,” she admitted as she pulled you closer, her hand releasing from yours to wrap her arm around your waist and hold you snugly against her side. “wanna get outta here?” she asked.

a smile played on your lips as you nodded in agreement. "yes, let's do it," you replied.

just as you both contemplate your next move, your phone vibrates, signaling a new message.

“don’t tell me it’s him,” she groaned as you nodded, confirming her suspicion.

she extended her hand, silently requesting your phone. "can i?" she asked, her eyes gleaming mischievously.

handing her your phone, you watched as gwen opened the camera app and positioned it in front of both of you. "smile!" she declared, capturing the moment with a click. the picture was you smiling as gwen held you jaw gently, planting a kiss on your cheek.

with the photo now saved on your phone, gwen's mischievous side took over. she swiftly navigated through your messages until she found harry's name. grinning devilishly, she selected his contact and attached the newly taken photo.

"just gonna let him know you won’t be coming back," gwen remarked, her voice full of wicked delight. without hesitation, she composed a short message to accompany the photo, her fingers dancing across the screen.

harry : (y/n) where did you go? you missing out sent at 8:53

you : hey harry, it’s gwen. she’s a little busy right now.

you : me and (y/n) are kinda over this prom night so we decided to do our own thing so i promise you we won’t be missing much. hope you enjoy the photo tho!! sent at 9:00

"there you go," gwen told you as she giggled to herself. "let's see how he likes that."

‘it feels good to be petty’ she thought, handing your phone back. the sky stretched out above, an expanse of darkness that seemed to swallow the world below. it was a canvas painted in shades of ebony and indigo, adorned with the twinkling jewels of distant stars. the rain had dampened her hair, causing it to cling to her forehead in an alluring fashion.

“so, my place? i have food,” she suggests, a smirk forming at the corners of her mouth.

you laughed at how casual it was. you two, ready to go to prom and dressed up, would now rather just go to her house and eat whatever leftovers she had to offer.

"wow, how fancy," you jested, your tone filled with playful sarcasm. "please, take me anywhere but here."

together, you left, leaving behind the glitz and glamor of prom and harry’s drama to finally have the night you and gwen deserved. as you stepped away from the whirlwind of glittering lights and laughter, you felt a wave of comfort wash over you in her presence. for just an instant, the weight of the world seemed to lift from your shoulders. although you had fully anticipated having the most miserable prom and an even worst summer, you were now fully content. you had gwen, and that was all you could ask her.

she was just glad she could steal you back faster than he took you.

A/N: it’s finally here….😽😽

© 2023 primaviva

[eggsaladstain]

elaborate on the wasted potential? What parts would you have liked to explore?

Hi anon, I could go on and on about the wasted potential of Gyeongseong Creature but I will keep it relatively brief for both our sakes.

For the record, I did like the show, particularly the way it combined history with fiction to tell a story about dehumanized Koreans fighting back against their oppressors during the Japanese occupation of Korea. The titular creature is a physical manifestation of the atrocities committed by the Japanese soldiers against the Korean people and seeing the monster going on a violent rampage against those soldiers feels like an extreme version of the Korean people fighting for their country's freedom. But despite its best efforts, the show never really finds a way to tie the central theme of resistance and freedom to the rest of the plot. The resistance is more or less used as set dressing as neither of the two main characters, Tae-Sang and Chae-Ok, are members of the resistance movement, and the central plot of the season is a heist/horror story about uncovering the mysteries at Ongseong Hospital. The character who actually is a member of the resistance, Jun-Taek, has no real impact on the plot at all and his only noticeable contribution is the explosives used in the finale.

Think about how much more compelling a character Tae-Sang could've been if we'd gotten to see him transform from a selfish man who only cared about his own interests to a proud member of the resistance, finally finding a cause worth putting his life on the line for. By the end of episode 7, I thought the show had mostly achieved this, albeit clumsily, because we never really see why Tae-Sang had a change of heart and decided to be a hero, and if we're supposed to believe it's because of his feelings for Chae-Ok, I don't buy that for one second because the romance was half-baked at best. But then by the end of episode 10, he's once again shrugging off the title of patriot, and this is not a man who is humble, so what gives? Is he meant to be a charming rogue with a heart of gold or a selfish man who will be a hero only if it aligns with his personal interests? I still can't tell and I don't know if the writers themselves even know the answer - they kept trying to tell us he was the former but most of his actions pointed at him being the latter.

Even the horrific creature could've had a genuinely compelling arc if the show had bothered at all to humanize Seong-Sim prior to her transformation. I wanted desperately to root for mother monster to get her revenge against everyone who wronged her, but the show didn't give us any time to get to know her as a human, so it was hard for me to see her as anything but the monster she became. I wanted to believe that she still had some humanity, but the scenes of her protecting Chae-Ok ultimately fell flat because we never got to know the loving mother she had once been. Consider the flashback where Chae-Ok discovers the message her mother left for her on the wall. Now consider how much more impactful that scene would've been if we'd gotten to see it from Seong-Sim's perspective in real time in episode 1. It would've gone a long way in showing Seong-Sim's humanity and it would've made us believe in the love she had for her daughter, a love she would continue to hold onto even when she had lost everything else.

Towards the end of the show, it's revealed that multiple people close to Tae-Sang have all betrayed him at one point or another. But we barely know any of these characters or how they all became a part of each other's lives, and that emotional beat is once again lacking. This is what I mean by wasted potential. The show is full of moments like this, moments that should have been compelling and emotional, and could have been, if they've been tied together with a stronger, more cohesive script.

I don't know if you've watched Kingdom, anon, but it executes a similar concept to absolute perfection (in just 12 episodes and 1 movie) by using the supernatural element, zombies, as a vehicle to discuss its broader theme of hunger, both literal and metaphorical (which I've previously written about here and here). If you haven't watched it, I highly recommend it because it's a fantastic show on its own, and if you liked Gyeongseong Creature, I recommend Kingdom even more as an example of how this show could've been so much better than it was.

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

Is there a list of frev figures who claimed to be at the storming of the Bastille? The people I know who said they at least witnessed it is pretty eclectic like Herault, Léon and Saint-Just.

I found all the (official?) ”vainqueurs de la Bastille” listed in alfabethical order here (1889). However, according to Michael J. Sydenham’s Léonard Bourdon: The Career of a Revolutionary, 1754-1807, who’s subject of study claimed to belong to this group, simply holding this title was not a guarantee that you had actually taken part in the storming itself:

The only people found on the list that I myself recognized were those of the dantonist Louis Legendre, the girondin Claude Fauchet and the general Antoine Joseph Santerre. I therefore don’t know if the people claiming to have participated in the storming here below are just lying (saying you played a role in it after all being something that would easily better your patriotic reputation) or if their participation just wasn’t recorded (which doesn’t sound particulary hard to be true either):

Stanislas Fréron claims in a letter to Lucile Desmoulins dated October 18 1793, that both he, Barras and La Poype ”besieged” the Bastille.

Pierre Nicolas Berryer wrote in his memoirs that the Convention deputy Bourdon d’Oise participated in the storming of the Bastille, and still kept the blood stained coat he had worn during it five years later:

At the same time, and as if he felt the need to convince me even more of the strength of his mind, [Bourdon] took out from under his bed an oblong casket, in which was tucked the coat he had worn on the day of the storming of the Bastille… […] He took great care to point out to me that his coat was still covered with stains from the blood he had spilled at the Bastille. 

Albert Mathiez summarized in the article La vie de Héron racontée par lui-même (1925) a memoir the Committee of General Security spy François Héron wrote while imprisoned after thermidor. In it, he would have claimed to have participated in the storming of the Bastille, as well as the women’s march on Versailles, the demonstration of June 20 and the Insurrection of August 10.

According to Dictionnaire des parlementaires français (…) de 1789 à 1889, Jacques-Alexis Thuriot took part in the storming.

Regarding some more well known guys and their Bastille activities, Desmoulins, in a letter written to his father written July 16, leaves a rather detailed description of the storming. Through the following part, he does however indicate that he himself missed it:

Then, the cannon of the French Guards made a breach. Bourgeois, soldiers, everyone rushes forward. An engraver climbs up first, they throw him down and break his legs. A luckier French guard followed him, seized a gunner, defended himself, and the place was stormed in half an hour. I started running at the first cannon shot, but the Bastille was already taken, in two and a half hours, a miracle that is.

Camille also adds that, on July 15, he was among the people who scaled the ruins of the stormed Bastille:

However, I felt even more joy the day before, when I climbed into the breach (montai sur la brèche) of the surrendered Bastille, and the flag of the Guards and the bourgeois militias was raised there. The most zealous patriots were there. We embraced each other, we kissed the hands of the French guards, crying with joy and intoxication.

On July 23 1789, Robespierre wrote a letter to Antoine Buissart telling him he had gotten to see the ”liberated” Bastille, but he had of course not participated in the storming himself:

I’ve seen the Bastille, I was taken there by a detachment of the brave bourgeois militia that had taken it; because after leaving town hall, on the day of the king's trip, the armed citizens took pleasure in escorting out of honor the deputies they met, and they could only march among acclamations from the people. What a delightful abode the Bastille has been since it came into the power of the people, its dungeons are empty and a multitude of workers work tirelessly to demolish this odious monument to tyranny! I could not tear myself away from this place, the sight of which only gives sensations of pleasure and ideas of liberty to all good citizens.

According to Danton: le mythe et l’histoire (2016), Danton did not take part in the actual storming of the Bastille, however, the following day he went to the abandoned prison and took the provisional governor hostage:

Absent from the storming of the Bastille, it was on the night of July 15 to 16 that Danton took action. At the head of a patrol of the bourgeois guard of his district, of which he proclaimed himself captain, he claimed, we do not know in what capacity, to enter the "castle of the Bastille,” placed under the control of the elector Soulès, as provisional governor. Without worrying about his powers, Danton has him kidnapped and taken to City Hall, surrounded by a threatening crowd. But Soulès was released the next day upon the intervention of La Fayette; Danton's initiative was openly disavowed and blamed by the assembly of electors.

According to Clifford D. Connor, Marat wrote the following about his activities on July 14 1789 in number 36 of l’Ami du peuple (12 November 1789):

[tuesday-teyz]

omg wait one more thing. this is rlly funny i think im the only one who does this but i imagine the esempi kingdom as like the USA of the butterfly reign world. it used to be a beautiful land, its very military based & constantly on war with the antarctic empire, very loud & proud about how they survived the reign of king schlatt & had to make a whole ass symbol of freedom with their masks... and based on how dream talks abt the esempi back in chapter 23 tommy knows he likes to brag about his kingdom etc etc. its giving "MY PRONOUNS ARE ES/EM/PI" 🦅🦅💯🔥🔥🔥. do they have their own version of independence day after schlatt's reign & are they rlly patriotic that they sing their national anthem every minute. am i right about this or am i completely wrong LMAOOOOOO

LMAOOOO United States of esempi for real

Jokes aside, while I love the comparisons I don't think it's entirely applicable. Esempi's masks are actually an old fae tradition refurbished for symbolics of the persecution and harassment Puffy and her children had to face during Schlatt's reign... or is it? Maybe it's an excuse to hide a completely different secret. I wouldn't know. After all, I'm just the author.

One more reason why it doesn't really fit is the recentness of tbe event. It's only been a little over ten years since they won the war so I don't really blame them for taking pride in it, especially since they're still rebuilding from the devastation that the war brought. Almost everybody in Esempi lost a parent, a sibling, a child, a friend or a neighbour, so the grief of it still fresh in their minds.

As for br!Dream... Yup he loves his country very much, and I think that's fine, you know? He tends to be impulsive and irrational, and although he's more protective of his close ones more than anything else, he cares deeply about the greater good of the nation. He loves the islands that he spent the most of his childhood in, he loves the history and the traditions because as a high-content fae himself, which were outlawed during Schlatt's time, did not get a lot of opportunities to connect to that side of his legacy. I think these are sort of feelings are something that some of us third-worlders can relate to very much

[eliza-styx]

The grand Kömsko (König/Gromsko) timeline & masterpost

The time has come to sum up the lore and history of the ship that stole hearts of many by complete accident and wormed its way into the subconscious of many Polish shippers in the cod fandom. This post is for you, if you wanna participate in our little cult but struggle a bit with realising what headcanons may be appropriate for Gromsko, if you’re not Polish yourself and some König ideas that we think make sense in relation to this ship.

It all started on the fateful day of December 9th 2022 when Ghostytoasty  made the most random joke that was exactly the snowflake needed to start an avalanche of events

It led to Orin pitching an idea of enemies to lovers story for these two and my own brainworms picked it up to basically draft the whole fanfic in the conversation, at which point Shiba promised to make art for, if I actually wrote it.

Well, two days later, a child was born, the very first Kömsko fanfic to be posted on AO3

Shelter Me

written by none other than me aka ElizaStyx with the beautiful cover art done by MizuShiba

And thus the ship became reality.

It gained interest on twitter with artists like @/620_ne1 and @/Capitan_LX among others posting their own fanart of the pair

Shiba, of course also kept creating more  beautiful art of the couple

Encouraged by the small cult that spawned amongst the people of the ghostsoap discord I started working on the sequel fic, a humorous and fluffy take on the pair dealing with being in love while also working for the rival factions

Carry You

meanwhile, Ghostytoasty got their own inspirational angst juices flowing and wrote a beautifully poetic MCD fic

The warmth that lingers as a shattered heart bleeds

Somewhere along the way, a side channel dedicated to Kömsko spawned in the discord and we begun to fill it up with the various headcanons and ideas that are now listed in a twitter thread by Capitan_LX but to sum up some facts to start your own juices flowing

Gromsko basic headcanons:

- born 11.11.1990, on the Polish Independence Day - brought up in roman catholic faith with very strict, religious parents and a younger sister we named Judyta, definitely was either an altar boy or sung in the church choir - wears a cross around his neck since childhood - history nerd, knows everything about history of Poland and will ramble all night long - has two music listening modes: Sabaton or Polish pop like Doda, hates disco polo - very patriotic, brought up basically brainwashed into believing in God, Honour, Fatherland above all else, had dreams of a winged hussar and that’s why he joined the army (but also dreaming of men, huh?) - struggled coming to terms with his sexuality because the catholic church teaches that homosexual love is forbidden, used to say very offensive shit in his youth but definitely had grown since then - swears in Polish even if he speaking in a different language - calling people idiots and other names is his language of love - never recieved gifts as a kid, cries every time König gives him something and  König keeps showering him with gifts - knows English, Russian and German but doesn’t let on just how much German he understands because König loves to whisper sweet things into his ear that he thinks Gromsko doesn’t understand

König basic headcanons:

- born 15.08.1994, on the day of Assumption of Mary which is obviously a big religious holiday in Poland - is an only child, brought up by a single mom who struggled to make ends meet and worked several jobs but would give up anything to care for him, though often was absent overworking herself - severely bullied in school for being tall, awkward and having no dad, called slurs - became a bookworm to escape reality into fictional worlds - keeps a journal of his thoughts and the books he read - daydreams a lot and in the evening writes down many stories that he daydreams about during the day in his journal but thinks they are silly and never showed anyone until Gromsko came around (Gromsko adores them) - his love language is gift giving and he will look for excuses to give gifts - listens to heavy metal and death or black metal, loves Rammstein - gets into Behemoth and other Polish metal bands because of Gromsko - brushes his teeth at least three times a day, never smoked because it’s bad for gum health - decides to learn Polish in secret so Gromsko doesn’t know he understands when he calls him names - will listen to Gromsko ramble about history all night long - anxious mess 24/7, has severe panic attacks sometimes but Gromsko knows exactly how to ground him and calm him down

[deluluspqr]

Quirinus

1. Basic Information

Name: Romulus

Epithets/Titles: Quirinus

Domain(s): Rome, roman state, citizenship, civil order and institutions

Symbols: Wolf, spear, wreath crown

Sacred Animal(s): wolf

Patron of: roman citizens

2. Appearance

General Description: A dark haired 30 something man with a short beard

Common Attire: Roman emperor attire

Iconography: Depicted as a boy, with his brother, suckling on Lupa

3. Personality and Traits

Primary Traits: Noble, observant, bellicose, honorable, patriotic, lawful, determined

Notable Strengths: Unstoppable will

Notable Weaknesses: Temperamental

Behavior Towards Mortals: Isolationist, althought prone to listen to prayers or intervene if NR is facing an actual threat

4. Relationships

Spouse/Consort: A sabine woman, Hersilia (Hora)

Children: Prima and Avillius

Allies: gods and demigods

Rivals/Enemies: giants and titans

Relationship with Worshippers: depends on the gravity of the issue (does it threatens Rome intregrity in any way?)

Part of Archaic Triad, with Mars and Jupiter

5. Worship and Cult

Primary Locations of Worship: Temple of the Archaic Triad, shrine on the Quirinal Hill

Major Festivals: Quirinalia, corresponds with the traditional day of Romulus' death

Typical Offerings:

Ritual Practices:

6. Mythology and Legends

Key Myths: The myths concerning Romulus involve several distinct episodes and figures, including the miraculous birth and youth of Romulus and his twin brother, Remus; Remus' murder and the founding of Rome;  the establishment of various Roman institutions; the death or apotheosis of Romulus, and the succession of Numa Pompilius

According to Roman mythology, Romulus and Remus were the sons of Rhea Silvia by the god Mars. Their maternal grandfather was Numitor, the rightful king of Alba Longa, through whom the twins were descended from both the Trojan hero Aeneas, and Latinus, the king of Latium.

Before the twins' birth, Numitor's throne had been usurped by his brother, Amulius, who murdered Numitor's son or sons, and condemned Rhea Silvia to perpetual virginity by consecrating her a Vestal.When Rhea became pregnant, she asserted that she had been visited by the god Mars. Amulius imprisoned her, and upon the twins' birth, ordered that they be thrown into the Tiber. But as the river had been swollen by rain, the servants tasked with disposing of the infants could not reach its banks, and so exposed the twins beneath a fig tree at the foot of the Palatine Hill.

In the traditional account, a she-wolf happened upon the twins, and suckled them until they were found by the king's herdsman. In reality, they were first found by Mars, who ordered a she-wolf and the woodpeckers to care for them until he found them fosterage. He deifies the wolf as Lupa in grattitude.

The brothers grew to manhood among the shepherds and hill-folk. After becoming involved in a conflict between the followers of Amulius and those of their grandfather Numitor, they lured Amulius into an ambush and killed him, restoring their grandfather to the throne.The princes then set out to establish a city of their own.

Romulus and Remus disagree on the principles on which the city should founded. With Romulus being the more militaristic and developmentist one and Remus being more conected to nature and a simple way of living. The conflict escalates and ends with Romulus killing Remus and becoming the first king of Rome.

After a reign of thirty-seven years,Romulus is said to have disappeared in a whirlwind during a sudden and violent storm, as he was reviewing his troops on the Campus Martius, being raised to heaven by Mars and assuming the name Quirinus.

Famous Deeds: Founding of Rome

Historical Influence: He founded that which would be an eternal, and some say the greatest and most influentional, civilization

7. Powers and Abilities

Primary Powers: He has great divine strenght and influentional power

Limitations: He is confined to oversee New Rome

Artifacts/Weapons: Spear, wreath crown

8. Miscellaneous

Associated Tarot Card: The Chariot

Associated Colors: Red, royal purple

Emojis: 🐺🗡️

[dariusult]

FFXIV Write Day 14- Telling

It was just before sunrise, which came early in Gyr Abania, the stars still shining faintly overhead as the sky took on a greenish-blue hue, with tinges of orange beginning to threaten the horizon beyond the distant peaks of Abalathia's Spine. The usual dusty browns of the high-elevation countryside were coated with a delicate layer of frost that shimmered in the growing light.

The faint crunching of gravel underfoot was the only sound that signaled Darius's passage through the dark mountain paths, seeming somehow even darker than at night juxtaposed against the brightening sky. The young soldier walked in silence, each breath leaving silvery clouds drifting slowly in his wake. His gait was unsteady, his now solitary eye having difficulty finding the path in the gloom. The right side of his face was still mostly covered by bandages, and the cold was making the wounds underneath ache fiercely. The stolen civilian clothes he was wearing didn't do much to insulate him from the cold, but the sun would be rising soon and hopefully driving the chill of the Ala Mhigan night away with it.

"Just a little further..." The Hyur said in an attempt to spur himself onward. He was meeting with another member of his unit, a grizzled old Sea Wolf by the name of Ahldshayn Eyrnzant. Ahldshayn was from the distant island nation of Aerslaent, a land that had not fallen to Garlean occupation, but Ahldshayn had been apprehended while committing acts of piracy in Garlean-controlled seas. So he had apparently been given a choice, either enlist in the legion that had captured him, or face the standard punishment for piracy: death. Not really much of a choice at all, to be honest. Ahldshayn had been planning to desert for some time, but he hadn't enacted his plan because he needed a second set of hands. The Sea Wolf had told Darius as much when the Hyur was convalescing from his brush with death and mourning the unit's loss of its commanding officer, Wulfric pyr Peregrinus.

Darius may not have enlisted with particularly strong feelings of patriotism, but losing his eye and the man who had been more like a father to him than his actual father had killed and buried any possible feelings of loyalty the young soldier had towards his home nation. The Emperor obviously wouldn't care what happened to Darius; so why would Darius ever consider laying his life down for the Emperor? Ahldshayn had talked Darius into deserting, and taught him a few valuable lessons in the process: if you're going to be escaping from somewhere, whether it's a gaol or the army, prepare a cache beforehand in a secured location so you're not carrying supplies during your initial escape. The two had carefully snuck supplies out to a small set of ruins during patrols, and the time had finally come to make good on their escape. The plan was to both leave at separate times from separate directions, then meet at the cache and flee south into Eorzea proper.

As Darius approached the cache, he increased his pace, eager to get underway. Ahldshayn had decided that Darius would leave first, he was the amateur so him slipping out first meant that his odds of success would be better. Ahldshayn would come later, and in the meantime Darius's job was to prepare the supplies to be moved, so they'd be able to head out immediately once Ahldshayn arrived. As he slipped between the rocks leading into a small set of stone walls, the Hyur could feel his nerves trying to get the better of him, making his stomach turn. He couldn't falter here. This was it, his bid for freedom was about to begin. He stepped through into the small walled area and where there should've been a big a meticulously horded stockpile of supplies and materiel were some empty crates and a scraggly piece of paper- was that a note?

Darius slowly picked up the piece of paper and turned it over. There, in a scratchy hand, was written a message:

Everything's ready, lad. There's just one final part of the plan left: the distraction. Sorry about this, consider it your final lesson.

The Hyur didn't have much time to process what exactly the message meant, a loud hissing noise sounded overhead and a bright light rose into the sky as what looked like a solitary red star rose back the way Darius had come, leaving a trail of thick white smoke behind it as it climbed into the sky. A signal flare? After the flare came the shouting—angry shouting. Darius knew a pursuit force when he heard one. The Hyur balled the paper up and threw it to the ground, he needed to leave now. He rushed out of the ruins and turned to look back the way he had come just in time for a bullet to go whizzing by his head. A small force of armed legionnaires was already hot on his heels.

"Damn it!" Darius cursed to himself as he turned tail and ran in the opposite direction. He had no idea where the hell he was going but he needed to get away as fast as possible. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him, dodging behind the ruins of old buildings and doing everything he could to block the line of sight of his pursuers. He ran, and ran, and ran, and his legs were screaming at him to stop, but it wasn't as if he could simply surrender and explain himself, the gunfire had proven the legionnaires chasing him weren't interested in taking him alive. Deserters would be shot. That had always been the rule.

The crack of distant gunfire and the hail of bullets flying past him spurred him onward, hurrying along a narrow path with a sheer cliff on one side and an impassable rock face on the other. Despite his entire being focusing on escaping with his life, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. A white square far below, slowly moving down the river. The Hyur stopped and stared down for a moment, it was a sail. A small boat was heading down the river towards the sea, and on the boat was standing Ahldshayn, staring up at the cliff and Darius. The Sea Wolf waved and laughed, a hoarse, unpleasant cackle that Darius could hear from all the way up on the cliff. "NOTHIN' PERSONAL, LAD!"

Darius's expression hardened, this had been the plan all along. Ahldshayn wasn't looking for an accomplice to escape with, he'd been looking for a stooge to set the garrison after as a distraction while he made his own escape. He turned to keep running but took one last look at Ahldshayn before he left, vowing that he'd get that treacherous bastard back for this.

He'd just have to escape first.

[acrossthewavesoftime]

Turnsgiving 2022 Day 6: Hot Takes

Simcoe should not have been the villain, and the show would have worked perfectly well without one.

Ironically, and I fully concede that, it was the character of Simcoe who prompted me to watch beyond the pilot episode. Thriving on trouble, the pale-eyed, red-haired menace to society who presumably mistook the Geneva Convention for a personal bucket list had grown on me as the, as I felt then, only compelling character.

The plot improved after having navigated the rocky waters of the pilot, but my favourite character remained the prissy villain who appeared to have no other raison d'être than to be his terrible worst with every breath he took. By the end of the show, his actions were, of course, explained with a half-baked, historically implausible tragic backstory, and that was that.

Prompted to research Simcoe (could he have been really that bad?), I was surprised not to find a scheming, dastardly man thriving on bloodshed, but a surprisingly sensitive, caring individual who had the wish to use his place in the world not only to step up the ladder of professional and social success, but to also leave a positive legacy; and rather than poisoning his superior officer's horse, the animal-loving Simcoe actually rescued a former war horse and paid the staggering sum of £40 for the horse and his carer to be shipped to England, where Salem, the horse, became a playfellow for the Simcoe-children and was allowed to live out his old age in the pasture.

The real Simcoe was neither violent, nor blue-eyed and red haired, and most of his back story did not add up historically, either. Though tall, but somewhat stout, hazel-eyed, and dark-haired, he looked not one bit the regrettably attractive villain, and certainly did not act like one. While Turn-Simcoe's thriving force was hate and the wish to avenge the death of his father in the Black Hole of Calcutta-incident (which is its own can of worms that I might open sometime if people are interested), his father, not a surgeon but a naval captain, died of pneumonia aboard his ship and his widowed mother arranged a move to Exeter, so as to be nearer her son's godfather Samuel Graves, who did not only prove a loving, involved ersatz parent, but also continued to support his godson emotionally and financially for as long as he lived.

Learning all those things, I asked myself why Simcoe's name was chosen for the, let's face it, fictional villain, and came to the conclusion that perhaps, the show would not have needed a classic embodiment of evil that both sides of the central conflict can loathe equally at all.

One of Turn's weak points is that at heart, while having been marketed as a novel approach to depicting the American Revolutionary War by including the perspectives of people of colour, loyalists and others who had prior to the series only very rarely been depicted in media set during the war, it still is very American at heart.

By the last season, sympathetic figures whose allegiance is not with the US are rare, or barely to be seen at all; the last episode is all Yorktown and Yankee Doodle, while e. g. the story of the enslaved informant Abigail, a central character from season one on, and her escape to Canada are merely alluded to in the closing monologue.

The series, naturally vying for a viewership (with a new season of GoT at the time, no less), at last fawned patriotically-minded American audiences a little too greatly to truly bring something new and revolutionary to the table.

What would have been compelling to see is an approach to the period that does not pick a side narratively; loyalists and pro-American characters (and the members of the respective militaries representing their interests) could have been depicted as equally (un-)sympathetic and receive equal screen time. The plot could have followed them trying to achieve what they think is the right decision for the country they live in, and thus, how they, not by personal enmity but by historical circumstance and inevitability, become each other's enemies without necessarily having any other (personal) differences.

Throw in the Hewlett/Strong romance and tell the marketing team not to falsely advertise the series as a faithful retelling of history but a historically inspired drama and that's a somewhat new, historically as well as narratively intriguing approach to the time period.

[lyledebeast]

The Women at Home Vs The Women back Home in Robert Rodat's War Movies

Since I realized that Saving Private Ryan (1998) was written by Robert Rodat the same person who wrote The Patriot, I've been curious about how the two films would compare, but it wasn't until this past weekend that I finally rewatched the first. I've compared The Patriot to a lot of other vastly less-related things in the interim, probably because Saving Private Ryan was the first R-rated movie I saw in a theater, and I remain scarred by it. The violence, particularly during the landing on Omaha Beach, is so harrowing it makes The Patriot look almost kid-friendly by comparison. That is not the only respect in which Rodat's 1998 film is more grounded in reality than his 2000 one.

When I first connected the two Rodat movies, I vividly remembered the frame narrative of old James Ryan visiting a Normandy cemetery where Captain John Miller, one of the men who gave his life to save him, is buried. At the end of the film, he turns to his wife with tears in his eyes and says, "Tell me I lived a good life." It's a demand, not a question. She, of course, provides the required assurance. Charlotte Selton provides a similar assurance, unprompted, when her brother in law arrives unexpectedly with his children and absolutely covered in another man's bodily fluids. "You've done nothing to be ashamed of." Apart from the fact that Mrs. Ryan actually knows what she's talking about--she has adult children with this man and knows what kind of life he's had; Charlotte was certainly not in the woods when Benjamin Martin took his literal blood bath--the two women play very similar roles. The differences, though, overwhelm the comparison. Mrs. Ryan has spent many years with James, but they are entirely off screen. She only occupies about five minutes of total screen time, most of it observing her husband weeping at the grave of a man she's clearly never heard of. Charlotte's first appearance is about ten minutes into The Patriot's run time, and she is in its final scenes and a number of important scenes in between. She is there, and yet she has roughly the same amount of depth and development as Mrs. Ryan.

Women occupy two different roles in Saving Private Ryan: French victims displaced by the horrors of war that seek assistance and protection from American soldiers and symbols that represent the pleasures of civilian life. A majority of the main characters in the movie have a story involving a woman. One is the carelessly treated victim of a prank Ryan pulled on one of his three brothers killed in the Normandy invasion. Another is the objectified patron of Reiben's family's clothing store. Then there's the hardworking and unappreciated mother of Wade, on whom he calls as he's dying from a gunshot/morphine overdose, a callback to the unnamed American soldier who calls for his momma with his intestines spilled out on the ground during the Omaha Beach invasion. All of these women are individually important only to men who evoke their memories (Ryan's Alice Jardine isn't even that!), but they are collectively important for what they represent.

These stories about women ultimately tell us much more about the tellers than the subjects. For all we know, Alice Jardine is back in America living her best life as a factory worker, experiencing for the first time being regarded as something other than an easy lay, a girl who "fell out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down." Other stories reflect the men's desires and regrets from the lives they led prior to service. The one that stands out most is Captain Miller's vague description of his wife "pruning roses in my work gloves." Women wearing their husbands' clothing often carries sexual implications, but Miller's wife is her using them to care for something that belongs to her. Even sweeter is Miller's protectiveness of his wife's memory. When Ryan asks to hear more about the wife with the roses after his incredibly sexist story about Alice, Miller declines: "I keep that for me." I get the sense that he's protecting her from more than just Private Pervert. He's protecting her from Robert Rodat, whose only interest in women is what they reflect about men. What else would we expect from America's sweetheart, Tom Hanks?

There is no such protection for women in The Patriot. Apart from Charlotte Selton and Abigale, the two caretakers of Martin's children, all of the adult female Patriots are dead by the end of the movie, most of them in the church fire Colonel Tavington's men set. These women are not relegated to an idealized "back home;" they are the line of defense between the South Carolina militia and the Green Dragoons. it is only after the church burning, far too late for protection, that the militia directs any violence against the dragoons. The French women in Saving Private Ryan are presented as something of a nuisance and do not occupy a main focus, but we see some women displaced by the destruction of their homes walking tiredly alongside the Airborne unit Miller's company encounter, and Caparzo is killed by a German sniper while trying to help a French family by taking their daughter, who reminds him of his niece. The American' GIs do more to protect French women and children they have never met and will likely never see again than the militiamen do to protect their own wives and children. Moreover, the only person in Miller's company who is fighting for vengeance is Mellish, and there is a vital difference between him and the militiamen. Jewish American GIs could not have prevented the Nazis' systemic violence against European Jews.

In both of these films, women have far more value as symbols than as people, but in The Patriot they are part of the main action, portrayed by flesh and blood actresses who spend most of their screentime watching men ride away. There was ample opportunity to make them nuanced characters with hopes of their own for America's future, but Rodat and Roland Emmerich chose not to take it. The most striking similarities between the two films come in their final scenes. Martin watches the construction of his new home with his wife and children standing silently behind him, and Ryan cries over Miller's grave with his children and grandchildren standing silently behind him. Apparently for Rodat, the accumulation of silent women is the ultimate proof of a successful life.

[inkstainedhandswithrings]

TBB S2 EP 8 SPOILERS BELOW CUT

frick man

OKAY HAPPY THOUGHTS FIRST HAPPY THOUGHTS FIRST

I love how when Rex called Echo was just like "jup on our way" even though Hunter was like ":/". He took charge and the rest of em just went with it. Love that for him

I KNOW THIS IS A DETAIL BUT THE FACT THAT REX IS WEARING ACTUAL BOOTS WITH HIS CIVVIE OUTFIT???? idk man just,,, cute

Also I was literally so worried for him during that shootout on the venator bc like,,, he don't have any armour anymore?? what if he gets shot?? (ik he has plot armour but I would love some real armour as well, thanks)

Chuchi was amazing!!!! I hope we get to see more of her!

In the end I did feel sorry for Rampart. Its true, he was following orders. He is just another plot device for the emperor to use so that his will is done. He wasn't innocent, but he was still made into a scapegoat

ALSO FCKING SHIT I HADE PALPATINE!!! Like, I knew the clones were gonna get decommissioned, but still, THEY ARE NOT DROIDS TO SIMPLY BE SHUT OFF!!

Am still loving the fact that Chuchi is fighting for their rights and how much "clone politics" we got these last two episodes. Makes me think that maybe Filoni was listening (makes me hope for canon Foxiyo ngl)

okay

sorta sad thoughts time now

gonna tag @saturn-sends-hugs bc I wanna see her opinion on this too :')

First of all, sorry friend ik you didn't want this to happen

I've seen this issue on tumblr a lot, of people being scared that Echo will leave and I've stayed quiet abt it till now

But I actually saw it coming and,,, I approve

I just think it's who Echo is. I think it's just so him to care about the future of all clones, to care about larger scale issues in the galaxy, to want to stay in the big fight. The batch "abandoned" the big issues in the galaxy a while ago, but I know Echo. He believed in the Republic more than most other clones. Sure, almost all of them fought for the Republic, but we all know there were certain clones more patriotic than others (like Jesse, Cody and Rex). There were certain clones who put more emphasis on loyalty than any other quality, and I think Echo was one of them. Still is. I knew he wouldn't be able to stay out of the fight for long, I knew he would eventually split off from the batch and I think that's okay. He and Hunter are different people, with different goals and different futures. And I'm a 100% they'll be reunited eventually, but as Echo said, this is something he has to do. This is who he is, at his core. It's not who Hunter is, it's not who the batch is. The Batch have always been slightly,,, detached from the other clones, while Echo was always focused on the big picture, the unity and brotherhood that the clones shared. It only makes sense for him to leave now.

Think abt the beginning of the episode, where he tells Omega he doesn't like being alone, he got enough of that on Skako. Goes to show how he was used to always being surrounded by brothers, how much he loved it and them. Why abondon them when they need him most?

That being said, I do hate that we'll likely see less of him now, especially after he got so little development in recent eps

I am hopeful, however, that maybe this means we get to see him working together with Rex and his development happing apart form the batch but still on screen. Either way, I stand by what I said. This is where Echo needs to be right now.

[monsterblogging]

So I'm gonna talk about a thing I've been noticing in media and American culture in general for awhile now, that's been driving me up the wall. Specifically, it's the myth of Good American Nationalism vs. Bad German Nationalism.

For context, I am a white, queer, disabled German-descended American ex-Christian who was raised as conservative, was exposed to a significant amount of Evangelical American Christofascism growing up, and continues to research Evangelical American Christofascism today.

This myth is the whole idea that the Nazis are primarily evil for wanting to take over other countries and take away their "freedom," which in this context pretty much just means "national identity." It's this whole idea that Nazis were primarily defeated by Good Patriotic Americans who Loved Their Country Oh So Much. The horrific atrocities inflicted upon Jews, Romani, disabled people, queer people, etc. take a back seat, if they're even mentioned at all.

There's a number of ways media upholds this myth, including the use of specific tropes or the careful omission of historical facts.

You can probably think of any number of media that brings up or alludes to the heinous "scientific experiments" Nazis performed on human subjects. You might also notice that this media tends to omit the identities of the victims. The average white American Christian conservative never has to think about the fact that the people they hate and the people Nazis hate are the same people, much less reflect upon what that says about their personal values. Instead, they are allowed to imagine that they or their children might have been the ones experimented upon.

Have you ever noticed that a lot of media (whether WWII is the primary focus or not) tends to divide Germans into Evil Scheming Nazis and Good Jewish Refugees? This trope absolutely helps uphold this myth. Not only does this trope erase the other minorities Nazi targeted, but it's often used to paint America as the Good Generous Savior of the Jews. It erases what Americans were actually saving Jews for during the war - specifically, access to scientific data. The fact that they were just as happy to take Nazi scientists on board after the war is just brushed aside. So is the fact that America initially turned away thousands of Jewish refugees fleeing Germany.

It also glosses over the fact that American nationalists have a really gross, fetishistic view of Jews. These narratives act like America welcomed Jews into its arms out of the goodness of its heart, when the reality is that conservative Americans tolerate Jews because they see them as instrumental in starting the apocalypse and bringing Jesus back.

The myth treats German nationalism as if it's an inherent trait of simply being German. (German Jews were never seen as truly being German, of course. Just as American Jews aren't seen as being truly American. When conservative and liberal Americans alike aren't trying to convert them to Christianity or culturally Christian atheism to try and make them "real" Americans, they are at best treated as temporary "guests.") America, on the other hand, is assumed to be naturally immune to this sort of thing; so long as we keep being good patriotic Americans, we can never be Nazis. Meanwhile in reality, Hitler was inspired by America's very own Jim Crow laws, and America went on with its own eugenics program. Lebensraum was influenced by America's own "Manifest Destiny."

Because the myth of Good American Nationalism versus Bad German Nationalism downplays if not outright erases who the Nazis were targeting, it allows American conservatives to turn German Nazis into boogeymen they can project their fears onto. And so there are a number of American conservatives who actually believe that Nazis were burning Christian Bibles and pushing transgender and homosexuality, when the reality is that Nazis were burning books on queer research and killing queer people.

In closing, I'm going to say this: If your allegory or depiction of Nazis or German nationalism leaves out anything that might challenge a conservative white American Christian, it's a bad depiction or allegory. In fact, it's worse than bad; it's dishonest and makes you complicit in historical erasure, and complicit in ongoing violence against marginalized people.

[watching-pictures-move]

Movie Review | Sudden Death (Hyams, 1995)

As a Die Hard clone, this probably invites comparisons to the other prominent Die Hard clone featuring a martial arts star, Under Siege. In at least one respect, it adheres much more closely to the OG than the other movie, and that's the characterization of the protagonist. Here, Jean-Claude Van Damme plays a fire marshal, someone who is not particularly skilled in violence. In the other movie, Steven Seagal plays a chef who's revealed to be a former Navy SEAL or something to that effect. Van Damme's character is by definition ordinary and someone having to figure out how to handle the situation on the fly, not unlike the everyman cop Bruce Willis played in the original Die Hard. Seagal's character is a specialist, someone who reveals over the course of the movie the particular skillset he has for handling such situations. Because Seagal as an actor refuses to be humbled or appear to struggle, the physical confrontations in that movie are won with ease, and most of the complications are strategic. Here, Van Damme, who is physically smaller than Seagal and doesn't tower over his co-stars, comes off as vulnerable, one who is genuinely challenged by the situation at hand. While I think Under Siege is the better movie, I found it a lot easier to root for Van Damme here.

This hits a lot of the classic Die Hard beats, sometimes a bit too closely. You get the attempts by the authorities to infiltrate the setting put to an explosive end, this time with cars rigged to explode and a guy on the roof with an RPG. You get a botched helicopter assault. You get the hero's family connection, represented here by his two kids attending the game. His daughter gets kidnapped by the terrorists, which is good for our sympathies, because his son is a little shit, mocking his job and spraying his daughter with a squirt gun and making her drop her soda. (Van Damme is shown to be divorced, but amusingly, the kids' stepdad seems to like him.) You do get a nice twist on the control room and handling of the authorities, but to reveal more would spoil the movie. The villains here are a group of disgruntled Secret Service agents going into business for themselves, and while the lead villain is characterized a bit too much like Hans Gruber, the fact that he's played by Powers Boothe should make it easier to overlook such similarities.

These Die Hard clones are easiest to distinguish by their settings, and this one places the Die Hard scenario in Pittsburgh Civic Arena during the Stanley Cup finals. Now, as a Canadian I should probably get a kick out of the novelty of a hockey-centric Die Hard clone, but brace yourself for a shocking reveal: I actually fucking hate hockey. Part of this is the fact that in Canada it's a phony patriotic signifier touted by the most obnoxious people here, the type who definitely failed their civics classes and latch on instead to this for their national identity. Part of this is because I live in Toronto, where we're represented by the absolute embarrassment of an organization that is the Toronto Maple Leafs, who manage to comically fuck things up year after year without their fanbase ever wavering in their dogma. Now, if you're a Leafs fan and you're gonna point out that their acquisition of Jagoff McGee or whoever is really gonna turn things around and the Leafs just need to sport harder than the other sports team and score more points so they can win at sports or what have you, I don't actually care. For the rest of you, keep this on the down low, I don't wanna get deported or anything.

Anyway, what I meant to say is that like other movies of the subgenre, it makes clever use of its setting, but a hockey arena is probably a less visually interesting setting than a ship or Alcatraz. You do get some complications thanks to the game taking place throughout the movie, and interestingly the hero goes for most of the movie without using a gun, but the best use of this setting comes early on, when our hero comically grapples with a bad guy dressed as a mascot in a kitchen, both characters grabbing any culinary utensil they can reach to bonk the other over the head. Normally the tighter framing and faster cutting would be a hindrance to my enjoyment of a fight scene, but I think it helps here in de-emphasizing Van Damme's physical prowess. His character isn't a martial artist, just a guy doing his job thrust into a situation he isn't prepared for.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"At Chillicothe, as at most federal prisons where conscientious objectors were being held, objectors tended to be employed, along with embezzlers and other white collar criminals, in the administrative office of the prison, so that we objectors often knew what was going on in the prison and in the prison system itself well before many of the prison civilian employees did. So it was that I knew in advance that I was to be transferred to Ashland, and transferred there as an agitator.

This last came as quite some surprise, as it had seemed prudent to me – upon entering the general prison population and after looking around and listening about – to remain as modestly inconspicuous as possible without being obviously chicken. My fellow non-pacifist inmates, whatever their other social failings, were virtuously, even violently, patriotic. They were young, conventionally red-blooded; when denied all access to the sexual or criminal outlets of their choosing, patriotism did indeed become their last refuge. They were hardly those among whom a thoughtful worker for social justice and world peace would seek to win converts. There were, of course, a few pacifists who tried, but I, fresh from the psycho ward or not, was not among them.

(I would guess, as a matter of fact, that a more patriotic group cannot be found in any nation during wartime than in its prisons and reformatories. And I would suggest that this tells us something at least about one of the reasons why men are willing to go to war in the first place; not so much that they are all that hot to defend what they have and what they are, as they are to escape it.)

And while that may not have been an observation first made by me – as to what can persuade a man to put down his welding torch or pocket calculator and to pick up the real or symbolic gun and go off to kill or get killed instead – it was for certain an observation brought home to me at first hand, and most forcibly, as it was to other objectors, with a fist in the mouth or a knee in the groin, as this or that imprisoned patriot would have it.

We cowards numbered, I’m sure, not more than fifty; probably less, in a population of many hundreds. With such odds, it was remarkable that although we were most of us more than once beaten, none of us, at Chillicothe, were actually beaten to death.

...

(A bitterly sarcastic anti-war song I remember from those days, with president Roosevent as its subject, went as follows: “… I hate war, and so does Eleanor, but we won’t be safe until everybody’s dead …” It was sung by the American Communists while there was a pact in effect between Russia and Germany. They stopped singing it, of course, when Russia and Germany went to war. I go on singing it.)

...

Quarantine done, I was assigned to a dormitory and to a work detail on the prison farm.

I was deeply disappointed at my being assigned to a dormitory – I preferred a cell of my own – but, on the other hand, I was much pleased at having been assigned to work on the farm.

Most of all, I was surprised at how deeply disappointed I was, on the one hand, and how very pleased, on the other. It shocked me. Prison, I realized, was beginning to have its way with me. I was adjusting to its small closed world; I was beginning truly to care about its few and wretched options.

It appalled me.

Even so – as I remember it – even as it was happening and I was aware of it happening, it happened. It came to matter much to me that the breakfast eggs be scrambled soft, not hard; that the vegetable at the evening meal be green beans, rather than peas; that my prison blues come back from the laundry with a decent crease in the pant legs, I cared. I tried not to care, but I did.

And I was not alone. I remember one day looking down from my cell window at a small group gathered in the yard, at the center of which a conscientious objector was holding forth – one of our heavier thinkers, a leader of sorts – gesturing with clenched fist, face twisted with passion. Later, asking about it of one who had been among them, I learned that what that clenched fist and circle of nodding heads had been about was a description, from memory, of a tossed green salad with blue cheese dressing.

(I have thought since about all this, and to this conclusion, briefly:

Prison life, as with chronic illness, tends to foster an increasingly petty self-involvement. The prisoner, as with the invalid, largely because he must, turns inward. How else to fit decently within the limits of so shrunken a world? He becomes small, so that small things may seem large. In time, all sorts of little things come to matter greatly. He seizes at straws, not that he may be made whole or free again, but only that this day, this hour at hand, might have some meaning. He comes to nibble at life like a mouse.

(And this disgusts him.

(It is this about prisons, I think, that so surely erodes and destroys, that so outrages; which so defeats, from the start, the notion, the hope, that some good may come of it. It is as though we asked of the invalid that his illness make him well.)

Reluctantly, I moved into a dormitory.

My first work assignment on the farm was to operate a jack hammer a construction site there. This, without apology or explanation, I refused to do.

I refused, one, because I believe sincerely that a machine which deafens a man and will roll his eyes about in his head like marbles if he holds the thing wrong is a machine to which any man has an absolute right to say no. And I refused, two, because I knew that if I refused I’d most likely be transferred immediately into cellblock.

Which is what happened. I was also removed from the farm detail and assigned, again, to work in the prison shoe repair shop.

At Ashland, the shoe shop was a two man operation. I worked with a short-heavy, tough-minded black man whom I’ll call Gregg. Gregg had been addicted to heroin. The insides of both arms looked like the Milky Way; needle tracks like stars.

He had kicked his addiction cold turkey and alone. He went clean with an absoluteness that I sensed, in time, as having to do with even the flesh itself, the great strength of his arms, the power of his back.

There was a guarded ease about Gregg when I knew him, but no slack. I remember one of our first conversations.

So you’re a conscientious objector to war?

Yes.

Are you afraid?

Of war? No.

Why not? Gregg said.

I remember that he faced me and waited, a beetle-browed black convict, who was not, to my not-so-unprejudiced calculations, supposed to be that real or that smart.

I don’t recall an answer; I think possibly I shrugged. Gregg turned away. Shit, he said, a man’s not afraid of war, he’s stupid or crazy.

It took time, but we became friends. I had to watch it; Gregg had no tolerance for the bullshit at all. I think it seemed to him as deadly as dope.

...

The work pace in the shoe shop was slow. We spent long idle hours sharpening tools, cleaning and oiling the machinery, shooting flies with rubber bands. At one point Gregg made a set of darts fashioned from large needles used in leather work and wooden shafts carved from chair rungs. We used a wall calendar backed with cardboard for a target, and played keenly competitive dart games for about a week straight, continuously, until the guard caught us and confiscated the darts.

We slipped reading material into the shop with us and talked about what we read. For a time it was organic gardening. We read everything we could find on it, became knowledgeable about mulch and compost and the values of various kinds of shit.

(It was, I imagine, the first time either of us used the word that regularly in speech while actually referring to shit.)

We also talked a lot about worms.

The big thing with Gregg, I remember, was tomatoes. He meant someday to grow, organically, incontrovertibly real tomatoes.

Then we happened onto some material on the construction of houses – homes – made of rammed earth. We approached it cautiously. I recall clearly our initial skepticism. Rammed earth?

We became obsessed with it. For days on end we talked of little else but the problems and possibilities of the construction of human habitations, this side of the grave, made simply of dirt. We drew floor plans, made sketches; house, trees, sky and all. We schemed. We would do it, each of us, build a house of earth itself, a home – simply, as a beaver gnaws down a tree, a woodchuck burrows – when we were free.

In the meantime, we built time.

The shoe shop occupied a corner room at the front of the building that housed the prison laundry. In a small room to itself, between the laundry and the shoe shop, was the large vault-like tank in which the shoes to be repaired were first treated under pressure with formaldehyde. This treatment left the shoes reasonably clear of fungi and infectious bacteria, and stinking of formaldehyde rather than feet. It was my job to run the cooker, as it was called.

Behind the tank, in a welter of pipes and conduit, wine was being made. The wine makings were in several glass jars, and consisted of sugar, raisins and water. (Raisins were often served as a breakfast fruit.) At certain stages of the wine making process the brew actually put off an odor identifiable as that of fermenting fruit. During such times I operated the cooker with a frequency that I was certain would alert the guard, but which never did. By opening the tank door before the pressure gauge had quite returned to zero, I could be sure—while burning my eyes and lungs—that the acrid mortuary odor of formaldehyde would obliterate, for hours, the winey-sweet odor of fermenting fruit.

In return for my cooperation I was entitled to share in the finished product. It was sorry stuff. I drank it on occasion, chiefly to be companionable, and with a salute to prison, to war; it tasted like formaldehyde."

- Donald Wetzel, Pacifist: Or, My War And Louis Lepke. New York: Permanent Press, 1986/2016. p. 88-89, 99-102.

[anthonybialy]

Division Between Bills and Patriots Not Distinct Enough

The Bills forgot what year this is.  They decided to not change the calendar forward by one as is tradition.  Heading toward 2004 was not a sign of progress.  This is not the Patriots of old in the same sense your BlackBerry may be ready for an upgrade.  Winning while uninspiring is a habit that’s become ingrained.  Urging the playoff aspirer to get it together has become a ritual like the year going up.

It’s reassuring to know a game isn’t fixed.  Buffalo assuaged those NFL observers expressing a common concern by avoiding any appearance that play could’ve been rigged.  Obtaining four turnovers in a half and only being up by six is a seeming impossibility that they brought into actuality without any assistance from crooked refs.

A game pieced together like a dream still feels strange.  The result resembled your brain having spent Saturday night thinking of what would happen the next morning.  The mild nightmare happened after slumbering.  A one-score game represented fear manifesting itself.  The inability to affect surreal difficulties is common, although usually not while out of bed.  Playing in a frequently disheartening manner symbolized our deepest worries and frustrations.  It’s time for this team to wake up.

The Bills spent the afternoon reversing the unfortunate instant setting of tone.  Envisioning Steve Tasker in the studio shaking his head at a touchdown without an offensive snap is how I coped.  Imagine commiseration if it helps.

There’s lots of venting following a divisional win against a despised and declining fellow member.  The Bills have earned a scolding.  It’s remarkable in its way for a team with so much dynamic talent to keep finding ways to not be exciting.  The impressive record belies a season spent looking quite nonchalant.

Bailey Zappe was Buffalo’s best quarterback.  He kept throwing their way.  I don’t care why.  I’m more concerned with him looking impressive during fleeting but troubling moments.  The year may be over, but I will remain haunted by horrifying memories of Zappe running across then down the field into the end zone deep into 2023.

Zappe didn’t literally hand away the ball, although he came close.  Virtually scoring touchdowns for his enemy differs from actually doing so.  Buffalo won’t be handed that many sweet drives next game, so at least there’ll be fewer to squander.

Seeing what the offense did with spectacular field position is a test of character that brought a failing grade.  Three consecutive possessions with the ball’s shadow nearly reaching the goal line should result in way more points according to my very objective and measured opinion.  The offense enjoyed the best results upon finally using running backs Stefon Diggs and Josh Allen to their potential.

Throwing is a bit trickier.  Extremely online fans spent the week making the case that Allen’s the MVP before he put up a backup’s statistics.  The figurative argument took a real setback.  Buffalo turning into a rushing dynamo shows how surprises can emerge at any point during a year.

Elite performance is steady.  That’s not limited to football.  The great maintain consistency in any field.  A true contender shouldn’t rely on spectacular plays against a club that’s finally facing its punishment for soul-selling.

It’s not like you decline fantastic highlights like when cornerback Ed Oliver proved he's more than just an interception machine or Rasul Douglas taking the ball at will from hapless quasi-competitors.  Some devastating inflictions result from an afternoon of dominance such as fourth-quarter interceptions after methodically marching to a big lead.  By contrast, hoping the guy who’s even worse than Mac Jones literally throws away possessions is unsustainable over time.

The very last regular season game could have been a scripted finish, and not in the bookie-aligned sense.  As with the struggles during wins, it doesn’t matter how this team got there even if we could do with less trepidation.

Playing well from the start offers a chance for this to not be the last game.  That includes the very first kickoff.  The AFC East Bowl constitutes a test in multiple ways.  Speaking of tested, fans acutely recall what’s led to this monumental scenario.  Frequent setbacks accompany even satisfying triumphs.  The Bills haven’t had many of those.  Winning in the face of self-sabotage is impressive in its way.  It’d be even nicer to not treat themselves as their own rivals.

The regular season’s coda is the perfect setup to seize an opportunity they’ve earned despite themselves.  We’re supposed to be impressed by putting away a game that never should have been close.  Please learn the lessons, as there won’t be more examples otherwise.  They finished the job.  Playing thoroughly for a change will keep them from being finished.