#the only type of person who wants to see you self-flagellate for needing help getting meds

[horce-divorce]

I think that anon belied a common misconception among many well-meaning people, too, that is actually worth addressing, wrt my donation posts: I DONT usually get money from strangers, and I DONT put those posts up with any expectations at all! Sometimes they don't work! Sometimes we get nothing for weeks on end, or just $5 here and there, and we go a month without everything that we need, and we make do with what we can find anyway.

But the thing is, when I do put up a post and I ask for money, I'm NOT asking strangers. I have a TON of connections near & far that I talk to online. I'm putting out a call to all of my friends, giving them an update, and saying, "hey if any of you is better off right now, we could use a hand!" often my friends are no better off than me, and they can't help. that's fine! Its hard times for everyone! that's why I know they don't begrudge me for asking.

In fact, a lot of my friends send me money WITHOUT me asking!! one of my IRL friends has learned to recognize when I need more help and I'm playing it down. They gave me $60 just recently, after I waffled for hours about taking their money, and finally told them I could get by the rest of the week on $30-50. Another friend, someone I've known since we were toddlers, sent me $80 out of the blue several months ago just bc she missed us and was thinking of us, and she had a little extra. Last time we talked to her, I mentioned how our food stamps got cut, & we'd be out for another week. She venmo'd me $30 labeled "pizza tears" before we even got off the phone (which I think was hilarious fwiw). A different friend recently heard that Bel and I wanted to go on a date to taco bell, and when I said we could do it for under $20, she gave me $50 and said "make sure you get the cinnabons!!!" Another friend bought me winter boots and socks this year as soon as i said i didnt have any- THE best, warmest, cosiest socks I've ever owned. Last year, one (1) of my tumblr mutuals covered my ENTIRE cost of post-op care for top surgery. I said "I'll probably need $$$" and they covered all of it! That same person has bought me groceries, meds, and gas on many other occasions, too. All of these people are folks I've known for years either thru tumblr or IRL.

Very occasionally, it's a newer mutual or even a stranger. One time, when I was still on Twitter and very early in my transition, I said something about how gender affirming my old high school Chuck Taylor's were and how I missed them so. My mutual from another COUNTRY immediately sent me $60 for gender affirming Chuck Taylor's. I haven't spoken to that person since Twitter went south, sadly. If youre still out there, I named my shoes after you, Bergamot & Jones, and I think of you every time I step outside. Another time, a guy who wasn't even my mutual sent me a bunch of binders and boxers for free. Sometimes even my old coworkers from my mall days pop up out of the woodwork and send me 20 bucks or something.

I have more stories like this. Not even just about money. Like that guy who saw me pop a flat tire in the mall parking lot and insisted on changing it for me.

I actually also never feel guilty about asking for what I need, or accepting it, and you shouldn't either. I don't like this idea that you need to grovel and be exactly This self-flagellating and full of hatred and remorse to ride and earn one (1) morsel of kindness. What do I look like, a Catholic? You dont have to apologize for wanting to stay alive. You didn't ask to be born, and you weren't the one that put a price on living!

You know what I do instead? Pay it forward. Yes, I ebeg often, yet I, too, will sometimes send $5, $10, $30 to people I care about whenever we wind up with a little extra. You can't save money as a poor person anyway, it doesn't work, so why cling to my last few pennies when someone else could use it right now? I've watched Bel give away his last $5 to a different homeless person twice since we've been living in the car. One time we stayed and had dinner with the guy and his dog. He was a hitchhiker named Ray and he was SO interesting to talk to.

There are studies that show that the most generous people when it comes to donating are NOT the people with the most money. It's the poorest ppl in the community who have been or are in your shoes, and who know how you feel, who pitch in when you need it most. Hence the community $20. The idea that panhandlers are expecting something from well-off strangers who can't empathize with us is like... kinda silly lmao, we know most of those ppl hate our fucking guts and want us dead, actually. (Are rich ppl really just that threatened by the idea of sharing that they see someone going "help please (generally speaking)!" And they immediately go "ugh, ME????? How dare you ask ME specifically for MY hard earned money?????" Idk it kinda tracks.)

I also use a jovial tone in a lot of my posts because I have to ask for help a lot, and it gets tiring to everyone to constantly hear "I'm soooo sorry for being such a needy piece of GARBAGE, AGAIN, I really hate that i have to do this, but..." because that's just The Friend Who Is Apogizing For Breathing. That doesn't feel good to hear any more than it does to say, no one likes that. And yes SOME people DO want you to feel that way about needing help- but its not going to be the people who will help you, I promise you that. Also, think about what you're saying when you talk about yourself like that. Why are you garbage? Because the cost of living is too high? Because your boss doesn't pay you a living wage? Because your landlord wrings you dry? Because you can't afford your meds or food? How is any of that actually about you at all? How does being hungry and wanting to live make you garbage???

Deeply unfortunately, you also tend to get more attention with a chipper tone and a preemtive "thank you" instead of an "oh God oh God oh God I'm so sorry I'm so fucking sorry, fuck!!!!" I also won't imply urgency where there isn't any. Sometimes we DO need money asap and it's like, we'll literally be stranded in the woods with no food if we don't get it. But other times, we need money, but like, we have time to figure it out. I save the urgency for the times I really need it.

Instead I focus on the positive: I DO have a lot of friends who care about me, all over, and even strangers who care about me, too! Those people have been keeping my ass alive for YEARS! They shouldn't have to do that! I shoudlnt have to beg to continue to use my own organs! But also, how cool are my friends for being the realest commies I know??? They're not going to just let me die out here. Why would I be sad about that? Why would I feel bad about people caring about me and wanting to see me pull through? Why would I apologize for proving that the human loving spirit is in fact alive and well? In the times when there IS less urgency, I think it's just nicer to my friends to make a lighter hearted post once in a while- you know, for the ones constantly seeing this stuff and helping me out. I think it's nice to acknowledge them in a positive way, instead of always being like "god im do sorry that im STILL BREATHING, i know you guys HATE that!!!"

Like. Idk if this is making sense. Remember that post where the person was telling their partner, "I'm just so worried that you'll think I'm stupid and want me to shut up," and their partner said, "Thats kind of mean, I wish you wouldn't think of me that way"? It's like that. If your friends and mutuals wanted you to shut up and die and feel guilty for living, they wouldn't be sharing your posts or donating to you, and it's kind of... mean? To get off on that foot. It's like we expect people to only help us begrudgingly. Thats not true at all! Donation posts are optional. Most people who reply to them do so because they're in a position to help and they WANT to, because it makes them feel good.

It's thanks to my friends that I am still alive to make all these delightful posts for them to read. They want me to stay alive because they like having me around. So i try to continue to be that presence in exchange for their love and suppport, and yes, i will incorporate that into my posts asking for help, especially if its a less time-sensitive ask. Idk like, re-framing a situation and focusing on the positive is a basic coping skill from many types of therapy and I hate to say this but it really is good for you. (Also fwiw I try to always say "thank you" to every individual who sends me money, each and every time. Sometimes they don't let me send messages back thru the pay apps, and sometimes I forget, but I try to every time.)

Plus, damn near EVERYONE needs help right now! Poverty and income inequality and chronic houslessness and chronic ILLNESS are all at ALL TIME HIGHS. Pre-covid 25% of the population was disabled. I wonder what it will look like next time we get a handle on those numbers?

So just to be clear, again: I don't expect donations to pull us out of poverty! If that were realistic, it would have already happened, ive been doing this for a decade. I don't expect strangers to have a stake in our situation, either. All either of us want is to be able to keep living our lives as best as we can for as long as we can- and a lot of our friends, and other people, DO sympathize with that. That's a point of pride for the community I've chosen for myself. I refuse to feel guilty about surrounding myself with caring, wonderful people who actually read my posts. That sounds like a pretty big win for me actually lmao.

AND I refuse to feel guilty and self-deprecating over circumstances that are out of my control and don't actually weigh on my character whatsoever. Being disabled isn't a character flaw. Being unemployable bc of my symptoms isn't something that's "wrong" with ME. Being homeless during an ALL TIME RECORD HIGH of homelessness ISNT something thats "wrong" with "me," and it's not something I would want anyone else to feel guilty over, either! These things don't determine who I am as a person or the impact I have on the people around me. Clearly I continue to have a positive impact and be a good friend, or asking my friends for help wouldnt be keeping me alive. I simply don't have enough followers to get that much money from strangers lol. And I have more followers than a lot of people (around 1500 currently).

So yeah, this is to everyone else who's ever felt horrifically guilty for asking for help online or otherwise: even if you dont have a lot of connections and you ARE asking for help from strangers, needing one another isnt a character flaw! The people who care will WANT to help anyway, period. It makes people feel good to know they can help. And yes it does make people feel better to hear a "thank you! we are still alive and happy to be here!" Over a "fuck God I'm so sorry I'm still alive and burdening you all so with my high cost of breathing!!!!" I'm so sorry that you have to have a body! Me, too, bud. It's rough, but it's gonna be ok.

Anyway needing help is morally neutral. Now im just thinking about the way the upper class has poor people at each other's throats for the perceived "selfishness" of needing help- because in a world where you are constantly burnt out from work, and the value of a dollar is so horribly out of proportion to the effort it takes to earn, sharing that hard-won effort with anyone else does sometimes feel like too much. Im thinking about the way hoarding wealth & resources & keeping them behind paywalls is seen not only as morally superior but a sign of objective intelligence and life skills, vs how the way sharing is construed as foolishness, the way needing help to stay alive is construed as greed, while the upper class that literally stays healthy and youthful and thrives on the blood, sweat and tears of the lower class gets to pat themselves on the back for being morally superior, individualist, and "not needing anyone." Kinda makes me sick when I put it like that!

Anyway. Again, needing help is morally neutral, especially in this economy, and I refuse to hate myself for circumstances that aren't my fault and for having people in my life who are invested in me and want to see me pull through. Everyone deserves friends like that, and I hope you find them.

[5lazarus]

Salt, Flesh, Heat

Bull notices that Solas is a deeply sensual person, reveling in clean clothes, good-smelling herbs, and hot water. He's also deeply masochistic. When the two find themselves enjoying the baths one early morning in Skyhold, Bull decides to press. Solas decides to play along. A @black-emporium-exchange gift for gamerfic. Read the other works in the AO3 Collection here! Read the story on Archive of Our Own here.

Steam on skin, worn wood pressing slick into his back as each vertebrae clicks: the Iron Bull sighs as he unwinds in the Skyhold baths. Few beyond the servants and the hungriest soldiers and Josephine herself were up at this hour. Bull has the steam room to himself. Carefully he unwinds his bulk onto the bench, laying his towel over his eyes. The clearcut eucalyptus smell lingers on his skin, sweated into his muscles. He groans aloud as a muscle in his bad knee pops.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he grunts.

Then the door opens and the dawn rushes in. Bull lifts the towel from his remaining eye. Solas stands there, a bit nonplussed. Shit, Bull thinks, and slowly makes room.

Solas lets the door close firmly shut. He holds a bundle of white birch twigs and dried eucalyptus.

Bull grins. “Want me to hit you with that?”

Solas climbs onto his bench and drapes himself on the upper story. “That may not be necessary.” Right, Bull thinks, you self-flagellate enough for both of us. He inhales deeply. “Would you mind putting more water on the stone? Some of the steam escaped.”

Bull says, “Uh, sure.” Slowly, because the ache in his body is delicious and he savors it, he reaches for the ladle and throws another pail of water onto the heating stones, and then another, and another. He hears Solas settle onto his bench, right leg stretched out. Bull turns to look. The man’s pale, graying red hair trailing down his chest. Dorian managed to catch a glimpse of his cock when they bathed after a particularly fetid journey into a Dalish swamp, and reported that it was the largest he’d ever seen on an elf and one of the bigger he’d seen on a man. Bull has to admit he is curious.

Amusement in his voice, Solas says, “Are you quite done?” Still tense, he turns away from Bull. He’s wiry, built broader in the shoulder and legs than most mages he’s met, but still has a weak core. Blackwall told him he’s fought in “some elven skirmish,” and he looks like a man about to retire from the field. He has a slashed scar on his right shoulder and claw marks on his right leg.

“Where’d you get that?” Bull points.

Solas does not turn around. Bull’s eyes travel down his back and rest on his well-shaped ass and thighs. Solas is a bit too thin for him, practically speaking, but he does like to look. He’s built like a dancer gone to middle age, rather than some Emerald Knight stalking the Dales for humans to kill, or—so he has heard from Ben-Hassrath stationed in the outskirts of the Tirashan—Dhal’Vallaslin chasing down strange elves with crimson vallaslin, who sacrifice the living to their long-forgotten gods. He seems more the type to plan and give orders, than carry out the dirty work himself, though of course Bull has seen him do it. He saw what he did with those Kirkwall mages.

Bull asks, voice casual, “You know, you’re kinda built like a dancer.”

At that, Solas shifts. He opens a single blue eye, looking down at him like a large cat eying a much smaller, squeakier dog. “I was many things, as a youth.”

“A dancer?” Bull says, taken aback, and slightly turned on.

“Not that,” Solas laughs. “And you, Iron Bull? Were you ever a—performer in your youth?” Solas slowly raises to his knees and leans over, taking the ladle from him. In one easy swoop, he throws more water onto the steaming rocks, and leans against the wall, inhaling deeply.

Bull says, a tad defensively, “That’s not how we do things in the Qun. I was earmarked for the Ben-Hassrath pretty early on.”

Solas says, “But there are many ways of being a spy, regardless of how your government attempts to standardize. Though I suppose you are too—big for the more subtle aspects of infiltration work.” He stretches. During his time with the Inquisition, he has put on enough weight and muscle that his ribs no longer show.

Bull says, “I did my job okay. Most of it is people-work. Watching, being watched. Don’t need a lot of variety in that.” He snorts. “The less, the better.” He eyes the bushel of branches Solas brought with him to the bania. The eucalyptus mingles wonderfully with the heady scent of sweat. He says, “Are you sure you don’t want me to hit you with that? That’s why you brought that here, right? I thought that was just a Dalish thing.”

He’s hit a nerve. Solas says sharply, “The Dalish do not monopolize all aspects of what has become of my people’s culture. And one simply…rubs the body with it, harder force is not necessary.”

“Ah,” Bull teases, “but if you really want to get the eucalyptus into the skin.”

“And I assumed this early, I would be alone,” Solas says flatly. “How is your knee, Iron Bull?”

Bull grunts, “Shitty. Running from all those demons tore it up again. But this helps. How’s yours?”

Solas pauses. Bull edges to the intersection of the benches, trying to find enough space to spread his leg out without having to sit on the floor. He maneuvers his bulk carefully, and gently lifts his bad leg onto the bench, folding his good leg underneath. It’s a vulnerable position, but he can see the door.

Finally, Solas admits, “My sleep has been disrupted with the amount of strain I’ve put my body through. I am hoping this will help before I must return to my desk and Vivienne’s lectures, as we calculate yet again the futility of using templars to isolate the rifts.”

Bull chuckles. “She’s still on that?”

“She has relented that a team of templars cannot hold the perimeter by themselves. We differ on how many mages are needed to perform the ritual to stabilize the Veil, and how vulnerable it leaves them.”

Bull says, “Give yourself a little bit of a good thing before you charge into the bad. That’s what I like about you, Solas.”

“Oh?” Carefully Solas climbs down onto the lower bench, favoring his unscarred leg.

“You know, you’re such a sensualist. You clearly like the baths, you don’t mind talking, you like the birch broom and feeling your blood roil and all that. I’ve seen you flirt with the Inquisitor before, and you were positively purring at the Winter Palace. But!”

“But,” Solas repeats, looking up at him. “But?” He is enjoying this, Bull is amused to realize. He enjoys it when people talk about him. As a younger man he must have preened. With that red hair, he would’ve had to.

Bull says, “But you never go all the way. You never fully surrender yourself to it. You get tipsy but not drunk. And you never let yourself alone with the Inquisitor, or anyone, really.”

“I am here with you,” Solas points out.

Bull shrugs. “And even though you like to talk, you like to argue, to debate, you never hang around the Mage’s Tower, or go back to the tavern with Dorian and the others. You keep patching up your shitty homespun even though with the Inquisition salary, you can buy yourself proper robes. You’re a masochist, man. I’ve never met someone so—sensual—who likes to torment himself so much.”

Solas is silent. Sweat pours from both their bodies, dampening the smooth hot wood. He fingers the bundle of oak twigs and eucalyptus, rubbing a single leaf with his thumb. Lowly, voice pooling like steam, he says, “Surely I do not need to tell you of the pleasure of desire, long-denied, finally sated. Or of living simply, with the occasional indulgence in luxury. After all, what is an elvhen apostate to do with silk? I take pleasure in making and mending my own garments, Iron Bull. As for other indulgences of the body…”

He trails off and Bull swallows heavily. He flicks his tongue around his lips. The air tastes of clean water and sweat: his own and the sharper, earthier scent of the elf’s. Every species has their particularities.

Bull says, “In the Qun, we believe in moderation, sure. And if you’re into edging, more power to you. But you know that’s not what I mean. If someone ends up that tightly-wound, that isolated, the Tamassrans intervened—“

“And if you do not give a proper showing of yourself, they break your mind and set you sweeping floors,” Solas says flatly. “I have seen how such authoritarian systems deal with dissenters. I take my pleasure in my own ways, in my own time. Not at my commander’s orders.”

Bull says, “It’s not like that. Sometimes you just need a good fuck, or a massage, or to be sat down in a discussion group with the priests and get into an argument all night long. The Tamassrans just prescribe the medicine. It’s good, it works. Keeps you from going too far.”

“Which is precisely why there is no Tal-Vashoth problem in Par Vollen,” Solas says. “Once, while in the Fade—“

Bull groans, “Right, let’s put some demons into this.”

Solas says, “Do you ever tire of repeating what your elders have told you, or would you like to learn something? Once, in the Fade, I saw a young Qunari working in a simple kitchen, baking bread as she was ordered every morning.”

“Cute,” Bull says. “So I’m not the only Qunari you’ve asked about their horns.”

Solas ignores the dig. He continues, “In every loaf she broke the rules. She’d take a pinch of sugar and would fold it to the center, like a secret.” He leans back with a fond smile. “And this act of small rebellion brought a shining smile across her face.” He spreads his hands, as if he has laid a winning flush in their game.

Bull thinks, you had to have been a slave. Are you the baker? Rather than provoke him further, Bull takes a different tact. “Hey, Solas. Why do you shave your head?”

Solas blinks. He raises a hand to his scalp, which is beginning to get bristly again. He says, “Fastidiousness, or lack of fastidiousness. Take your pick.”

Bull says, “No, really. If you can ask me how I put on a shirt I can ask you about your hair. Why do you keep it shaved? You’re not naturally bald, are you?”

Solas eyes him. “I am certain you have heard Dorian complain, at length, of the difficulties of keeping his hair perfectly coiffured and shaved while traveling. I have been nomadic most my life. It became easier, this way. Particularly since it is such a prominent color.” He shifts slightly.

Bull says, “Hey, I like red heads.”

“I know you do.”

“Don’t you ever think about growing it out?”

Solas laughs. “No. Never.” He pops his knee up and stretches his other leg, sighing as the muscles in his back audibly crack. Taking the bath broom, he begins rubbing the leaves into his skin. The air fills with its medicinal scent, and under that: earth.

Bull says, “I can rub that into your back.”

Solas says, “I prefer to take my pleasures simply.”

Bull says, “But I can look.”

Solas rolls his shoulders back and begins rubbing the bundle into his arms, swiping sweat away. “I never said you could not.”

Bull, frustrated, brings his bad leg down with a thump. He says, “You gonna take a dip in the cooling pool? Or is that too much of an indulgence for you?”

“My people first discovered this way of bathing,” Solas says distractedly. “I will take any opportunity to enjoy it now that I can, however primitive our facilities in Skyhold.”

“You’ve got baths, out in the woods?”

“You’ve never built a steam hut, and then flung yourself into a snow drift? Really, the Qun did not let you enjoy your youth.”

“But your people did,” Bull says, seizing on this note of autobiography.

Solas places the bundle on the bench. He stands up in silence and tosses another ladle of water onto the furnace. The room fills with steam, and Bull feels sweat pool in the back of his head.

Solas takes his towel and wraps it loosely around his waist. Looking over his shoulder, he says, “I took pleasure when it came my way.” With that rejoiner, he grins, and opens the door. Bright light and cool air pools in; the steam thins. The day has begun. Solas leaves.

Alone in the steam room, wonderfully hard, the Iron Bull says, “Fuck.”

[whitehotharlots]

The triumph of lunacy

There’s a trend in the social justice sphere that encapsulates the self-defeating idiocy of our present moment. During official meetings meant to address or raise awareness of issues of racial justice, all the white people present are expected to call themselves racist, provide examples of their racism, and explain what they’re doing to avoid being racist in the future. 

I am not exaggerating, and this is as cult-like as it sounds: to enter into the discussion, you must start by saying “My name is Mark, and I’m a racist.” 

This is not a fringe activity. It’s a completely mainstream part of racial justice programming. A student in Nevada is suing his school after administrators threatened to deny him graduation because he refused to call himself racist. A quick twitter search reveals dozens of examples (which I am omitting to avoid accusations of “generating death threats” or whatever), and this has been covered extensively in right wing media. This is mainstream, even if we want to pretend that it’s not.

Now, looking at this just in the abstract, a few seconds of scrutiny shows us how idiotic and self-defeating this practice is. I accept the notion that everyone is prejudiced to some degree and that most white Americans receive some structural advantages in some spaces. In this very obscure sense, you can argue that all white people are racist. Fine. But if a term is applied to literally everyone and everything, it loses its utility. If everyone is racist, then “racist” is a meaningless designation. 

In practice, however, this is even more insane than it sounds. Because of course the purveyors and participants in these ritualistic humiliation sessions don’t really think that everyone is racist. If they did, they wouldn’t go through the ritual. Obviously, the people calling themselves racist are being coerced into doing so. Every person who says “My name is Mary, and I’m a racist” is thinking in the back of their head that they’re not really racist, that this confession serves as an act of ablution. And, in a truly lunatic twist of irony, the people who are regarded as racist after these sessions are the ones who did not call themselves racist. 

Madness. Absolute madness. 

This is precipitated, of course, by guilt. White liberals realize, correctly, the the world is fucked. The politicians and organizations that putatively represent their views have done the opposite and accelerated widespread brutality. The man who invented mass incarceration was sold as the only way to avoid “fascism.” There’s no hope of a more decent future. They feel like shit and will do anything, even self-flagellation, to glimpse the feeling that maybe they’re kind of sort of partway making the world less horrible. They’re not--objectively, this type of gross bullshit is alienating, makes non-insane people disengage with the movement, and has been empirically proven to reduce empathy and make people more hateful. But they feel a little better for doing it. 

Beyond guilt, however, lies coercion. I’ll bet the vast, vast majority of people who have subjected themselves to these struggle sessions didn’t believe a word they were saying but were just going along to avoid getting in trouble. Personally, I’m not going to lose my job and my healthcare just to avoid a few moments of cynical embarrassment. Very few people would.

It was just today that I realized how commonplace this type of dishonesty has become. If you live or work in a liberal space, ask yourself this question: how many times in the last few years have you professed a belief in something you knew was crazy? How many times have you been made to signal approval for ideas that you knew to be harmful, impossible, or reactionary in order to avoid being branded an Enemy of Social Justice? How many times have you stayed silent and let yourself be bullied into feigning support for policies and procedures that contradict your beliefs?

More than a few, I’ll bet. Now ask yourself: what has been gained from this? Is the world more just or safe or equal than it was before this type of shit was made commonplace? Do you have more hope for the future, or less? 

The only political effect of this normalization of dishonesty has been the ascendance of the most reactionary faction of the Democrat party. A left that had not been trained to hate itself would not have voted for Joe Biden. 

This is what happens when a movement places zero value upon honesty and decency. When all conflict becomes understood as abuse, when all criticism is regarded as violence, the most sociopathic and violent members of a community are the ones who get to set the agenda. No one can push back. No one can dissent. The demand for absolute uniformity cripples the movement’s ability to accomplish anything beyond enriching a handful of the very worst people on earth. 

We did this to ourselves, and I worry we might be past the point of no return. Just a few months ago I still held some hope that we might see a turn around, that saner and more decent voices might take control and actualize our widespread disgust and discontent toward policies that would actually help people. That’s not going to happen. The sociopaths have won. Their candidate is president, their ideology is mandatory, and their ability to hurt anyone who crosses them is stronger than ever.

Joe Biden will be the most austerity-minded president since Herbert Hoover. His reign is going to be disastrous for everyone, especially those who are already vulnerable. His supporters, secure in their positions within media and NGOs and academe, will need to fabricate more scapegoats to explain away the failures and brutalities of their leader--to convince everyone that they deserve the punishment they are receiving. They’re going to demand and receive more intrusive means of ensuring ideological uniformity. And there’s nothing we can do to stop them.

[disappearinginq]

I'm sure you're not surprised by this at all, but Big Brother Instinct for Magnum please. :-) Anyone can be the big brother, either Magnum and Rick towards each other or TC as the big brother to both of them, since he seems to be turning into the one with the most common sense on the show. :-)

Rick pressed a hand to his nose, sniffing when he saw blood stain the back of it. “What do you want from me?”

The young lieutenant sat opposite him, spinning the chair around so that he straddled the seat, leaning his chin on folded arms. “They talk about you like you’re some sort of legend. Guys think they’re invincible when you’re Overwatch. You been here…what, three tours already?”

Rick said nothing. Officers had only one use for him, and he’d be damned if he was going to offer anything of his own free will. The lieutenant clearly already had enough information on him. Nobody talked like bored Marines downrange.

“You been home in all that time?”

Rick laughed, a harsh, derisive bark more than genuine amusement. He could taste blood from a cut in his cheek on his tongue, and he spat at the floor. “For what? So I can get shot at there instead of here? Least here I get paid - tax free.”

“One tour is hard. Two is tough. Three is a form of self torture.”

“Maybe that’s my gig. Self-flagellation. It’s a little hard to find a BDSM club out here though, so I gotta improvise.”

The lieutenant was quiet for a moment, and Rick had to consciously force himself not to fidget beneath that steady gaze. “Why don’t you have a spotter anymore?”

“I like to work alone.”

The lieutenant squinted at him, giving a small shake of his head. “Nah. If that was true, you wouldn’t be the guy you go to. No one would come fucking near you.”

“Go to?” he echoed, snorting. “For what?”

“Everything. Seems you know a guy just about everywhere in the world, Sarge. That’s not the type of person who likes to work alone. So. What gives? Why no spotter? You that special? Don’t need a second set of eyes, ‘cause you don’t miss? Did I hear that right?”

His first shot on his first tour - the first time he fired a gun at another human being - flashed so violently through his mind’s eye he physically flinched. He grabbed the bottle in front of him, taking a long, hard drink. The heat of the winter sun. The pressure of the M-82 against his cheek. The smooth pull of the trigger in between heartbeats and the explosion of blood through the scope. The kid next to him clapping him on the shoulder as he congratulated him like he’d just scored the perfect wave out on Waimea Bay instead of taking a human life.

Or like it was trophy hunting.

“I like to work alone.”

Again, that stare. The feeling like the lieutenant could see past the flimsy shell straight to his rotting core without ever saying a word. Rick could sit still for hours. Whole nights and days. But something about that dark-eyed, all knowing stare made him want to turn away.

“I know burnout when I see it.”

Rick folded his arms across his chest, leaning back in the chair. “You know, I’m not the only one with a reputation here,” he said. “Rumor has it you turned on your Team. Never seen a SEAL out here on their own. Guy’s gotta wonder how long you can tread water out here, all by your lonesome.”

“We know how rumors are,” the lieutenant dismissed.

“Yeah - that there’s a little bit of truth to all of them. So what’s your truth, LT? You do it? Turn on your guys ‘cause you didn’t like getting your hands dirty? How’s the SEAL liking it down here in the mud with the rest of us poor fucks?”

The younger man didn’t necessarily flinch, but the reaction was just as telling. Those expressive eyes went completely blank, flat as that of any predator, closing him off as easily as slamming a door in Rick’s face.

“Hit a nerve, did I?” Rick sneered, taking another long, hard pull from the bottle. He’d regret his decisions tomorrow, but for now…for now it was still tonight, and he hadn’t drunk nearly enough to be able to sleep. The high pitched whine still echoed in the back of his mind and he wondered if there was enough alcohol on base to silence it. He was willing to test that theory.

“You know, most snipers, they’re not bothered by their jobs. What’s so different for you? If you hate it, why the three back to backs? Why not take the money and bounce?”

“Who says I hate my job?” Rick said, noticing his words were finally starting to slur. That might be more rage than liquor, though. Or maybe a concussion. “Maybe I love it.”

The lieutenant laughed at that - just as hollow and empty as those eyes suddenly were. “That why you come out here every night to get your ass kicked? Drink until you pass out, someone drags you back to your rack, just to do it all again tomorrow? Some kinda love, man.”

Rick pushed himself to his feet, stumbling slightly when his heel caught on the leg of the chair as he shoved it back. “Fine, sir. You seem to have a particular story in your head already, so why don’t you just tell me instead of making me fucking guess, huh?”

“I think you hate it. I think you hate even more that you’re good at it. Maybe the fucking best at it. I think you come in here and let someone kick the shit out of you so you feel as broken and bruised on the outside as you do on the inside. That on some level, you think you deserve it. Except I don’t think you’re haunted by the lives you take. I think you’re haunted by the ones you didn’t save. I bet if I asked how many targets you eliminated, you wouldn’t be able to come within half a mile of an accurate number, but if I asked how many died under your watch you could tell me their names and fucking describe them to a sketch artist.”

“Fuck off, sir -” Rick snarled. “I asked - what do you want from me. Either in you’re in trouble, someone else is in trouble, you need something, or you want me back outside the wire tomorrow, and we both know that officers don’t ask, they tell. So if you’ve come in here to make it seem like I have a choice when we both fucking know I don’t, then you’re a special kind of asshole. Now, how ‘bout for real this time - what do you want from me?”

The lieutenant was quiet for a long moment, and Rick thought maybe he’d stunned the pretty-boy SEAL into not answering. Typical goddamn bars and stars, Rick thought nastily. They can always push until someone pushes back.

“Your pilot sent me to you.”

Rick blinked. “TC?”

“Seems in your down time, you’re a hell of a door gunner. Not sure what you did or who you pissed off to pull duty for two totally separate MOS’s downrange, but…I guess that’s the world we live in. I came to you because I have an assignment beyond the fence. I need an Overwatch, and I would prefer to have you.”

“Yeah? Get someone else.”

“I don’t want someone else, Sarge. I want you. But I won’t make you go. Your choice.”

He outright sniggered at that, staring at the bottle abandoned on the table, suddenly wondering what could be in there that caused auditory hallucinations. “Choice. Yeah, right. Fine, sir. I’ll play. Why me?”

The lieutenant leaned back in his chair, gripping the back where he’d been leaning, fingers white knuckled around the battered and stained wood. “Because I want someone who still sees people when they look down their scope. Because I want someone who knows that every target is a human being. Because I want someone who will only pull the trigger when he has to. Because I don’t want a machine. To be honest, I don’t want you to have to pull the trigger at all, but if things go that south…I want minimum casualties. Not a goddamn shooting gallery.”

Of all things the man could’ve said, that was so far down on the list it wasn’t even on the list. Rick stared at the man, really looking at him for the first time since he sat down in front of him. He was young. Probably not nearly as young as he looked, but downrange had a way of bringing out painful reminders that the old were not who were sent to die, but the young. He’d only run into a couple of SEALs - mostly during EXFIL with TC, but a few times in places like here, times like tonight - when he couldn’t tell they were still human. The world was black and white to them. It was ‘them or us’ - always. No exceptions. Their jobs didn’t allow for those.

If Rick didn’t know the rumors, hadn’t heard the story or seen the trident on the man’s left shoulder, he would’ve never believed he was one of them. He was too…honest. Rick was pretty good at reading people. With his family, you had to be. It only helped him during his service. He knew who to trust, who couldn’t lie to save their ass, and who you avoided at all costs.

But…

Rick scowled, folding his arms across his chest. “I’m going to ask you one question, and don’t you dare think about lying to me. Are all the rumors true about you?”

“In my defense, I didn’t know the horse belonged to Sheikh Muhammed at the time.”

Despite his best efforts not to, Rick laughed at that. It was thin, and brittle, but genuine. Damn the man. “Fair enough. But I could’ve guessed that one. That’s not the one I wanna know about.”

The lieutenant fidgeted, the first sign in this entire conversation that he even could be rattled, not meeting Rick’s steady gaze. “I don’t - ”

“I said no bullshit.”

The younger man looked down his hands, sucking in a breath as he rapidly drummed his fingers against the back of the chair before pushing himself to his feet to look Rick steadily in the eye. “I can’t promise to bring you back alive. But hell or high water, no one is left behind. Everyone comes home. Everyone.”

It was something out of a movie. People didn’t talk like that, not really. But instead of coming off as cheesy and campy and utter horseshit that officers thought sounded inspiring despite everyone rolling their eyes, Rick found himself stunned by the quiet earnestness there and the open honesty. The lieutenant meant every word.

Goddammit, he cursed himself. I actually believe him.

Not that he was about to tell him that.

“I still don’t know that I trust you, sir,” he finally admitted. “But I got your back.”

If the rumor’s were true…someone had to.  

[durrzerker]

Taskmaster: The Line. Chapter 5: Secrets

The old Masters of Evil headquarters was still intact. It had not burned down, been bombed, or been swarmed by supervillains. There weren't even rats in the walls.

That was the totality of the good news.

Everything else, in summary, had completely gone to shit.

It was a ragged party that crossed the threshold of Baron Zemo's former home. Laura and Black Ant were leading the pack by now, as they were the only ones who weren't limping or nearly collapsing with exhaustion. Black Ant had caught up with the group shortly after shrinking down to escape the chaos that he had spawned during the Bagalia Freedom Festival, and it was a good thing, too; Akeja had silently collapsed a quarter mile from the gargantuan mansion, and the other children weren't faring much better. Carrying Akeja and Mara across his shoulders like a pair of sandbags, Eric had been uncharacteristically silent as they stopped in the dank foyer of the abandoned building. "Amazing no one's taken this place over yet," he finally said.

"They've been trying." Taskmaster was favoring his wounded rib a bit more now; without time to rest and with the increasingly desperate pace that they had set to finish out their journey, he was in a good deal of pain himself. "I hadn't decided what to do with the place, so I've been letting ol' Tessie clear them out to keep her weapons in good shape. An idling warbot is..." He trailed off; he couldn't even finish the joke. The spot where Laura had stabbed him was throbbing in the way only an adamantium blade could, the same way it had when she'd gored his hand a year back. It was like every nerve had been cut in half with molecular precision. Pulling off his dirty cloak and setting it into a pile against the wall, he collapsed against it. "Role call..."

Laura, whose healing factor at least allowed her to remain in peak shape, set Malakai down on a huge old Corinthian leather couch. "Everyone's here. I've been keeping track. You don't look so good, Taskmaster."

"No shit? Maybe it's because you fucking stabbed me." He wasn't mad about it. Really.

"I'm not going to feel guilty about that," Laura replied, her ears visibly burning. "You had done nothing to warrant the benefit of the doubt, and you left Black Ant behind to ambush me."

"I left him behind to ambush the person -stalking- us," Tony countered. "How was I supposed to know it was you? How long had you even been following us, anyways? Didn't you see us -helping- the fucking kids?" Tony closed his eyes behind his mask, even as he argued. To Laura, it still looked like the ghoulish visage was staring her down.

"...Truth be told, yes. But from where I was, it just looked like you were fighting over them -- and you did crash their vehicle."

Tony could tell that she didn't like when she had to try and get a bead on how he was feeling. The man's airtight costume blocked his scent from her, and he could alter his body language whenever he liked; it was one of his most useful skills, the kind that wasn't as obvious to people as other applications of his photographic reflexes.

"Well, whatever," Tony replied with a grunt. "The Hub's agent ain't here and I need to sleep, alright? Wake me up when they arrive -- I think we could all use a little rest."

"I don't think we should..." Laura pursed her lips and stopped when she heard the crinkling of a wrapper behind her. Eric had finally found use for his remaining honey buns he'd swiped earlier. He was passing them out to the assorted Scions, who had piled together on the couch in the living room. While Akeja had gone right to sleep, the others' hunger had won out - they voraciously assaulted the treats with the kind of shamelessness only starvation could inspire. "...Yeah, alright. Only for awhile though, Masters." She turned around and headed towards the kitchen with that, likely to look for more food for the children.

Tony watched her go, but before she'd even made it out of the living room, the mercenary had passed out. He dreamed of the Scion children.

--

He was in the middle of some kind of nightmare in which all six of the children were surrounding him, throwing accusations that he couldn't understand in their unique language. He wasn't quite sure exactly when he woke up, because when he did, the children were arguing loudly in that same tongue.

"Hey, hey!" Eric called out. "Come on, people are trying to sleep here -- namely my very ill-tempered partner."

"Fuck you, Man of Ants!" Shouted the sixth child that Tony had never heard speak yet, and now it was evident why; a girl with red hair and a deeply thick brogue, she was barely understandable even when trying her best. "Y'think ginna scrap o'fud makeus even?! Not a'er what you did, nay, him neither!"

What him and Eric did...? Taskmaster didn't move from where he was, kept his breathing slow. His perfect control of his body's actions came in handy here -- especially when Laura joined the conversation, returning to the living room to figure out what the big screaming match was about. "What's going on? What -did- you two do, O'Grady...?"

"It's none of your business, Wolverine." Eric's voice was surprisingly serious, more harsh than almost any time that Tony had heard it before. "If these brats really want to tell you, I can't stop them; but I'm not turning on him like that."

There was a pause. Tony opened his eyes, opting to keep his mask's optics dimmed in the process; all part of how he could easily pretend that he wasn't paying attention, even to Wolverine's highly enhanced senses. Laura was pacing, glancing to the gathered children and then stopping before Eric. "I'm going to get to the bottom of this one way or the other, but I'm curious; why -do- you do this, O'Grady?"

"What do you mean?" He snapped back defensively.

"Why do you follow Taskmaster? I've seen your relationship. You call yourself his partner, but he treats you more like a sidekick. You were an Avenger once; you were a hero, even if you had your problems. Why follow a jerk like Masters?"

Clearly trying to deflect, Black Ant turned away from her. "Keep your voice down, huh? You're gonna wake him up."

"He's completely passed out. I'd be able to hear it if he was up."

Realizing he wasn't going to get out of this, Black Ant hesitated, then explained, "Look...you don't know him like I do. I -don't- follow Taskmaster."

"But--"

"--Stop. You want to know? Then let me talk." Eric stepped forward, accusingly prodding her in the chest. "I don't follow Taskmaster, I follow -Tony-. Even when he trained me back with the Initiative, I could tell something was different about him compared to other supervillains. He -got- what it was like, you know? To want to do one thing, but to feel drawn to another. Then, when I was with the Secret Avengers, I found out about everything...his memory problems. His -wife-."

"He's got a WIFE?" Laura nearly shouted, then covered her mouth. Taskmaster's breath nearly hitched, giving him away. It took all of his self-control to maintain the illusion that he was asleep, doubly so when Eric turned to look his way.

"Yeah, he does; and he doesn't even know it. It's The Hub. You know, the lady who's supposed to be sending our fucking -help-? The way his powers work, every time he copies someone new, like he did to get your stupid foot claws, he loses everything else. As far as most people are concerned, Taskmaster's all that's left; the mercenary, the guy who will kidnap anyone or fight anyone for hire; but when you work with him like I do, you -see- him every day...it becomes obvious that ain't the case."

"Bullshit," Maya snapped, sounding wounded.

"...It's true," Eric insisted. "Look, don't get me wrong! Tony -- not Taskmaster -- isn't a saint. I'm not saying he's some kind of heroic good guy underneath it all. But you don't realize how -easy- he goes on you fucking people," the mercenary accused, glaring at Laura as he started to anxiously pace in a circle. "Did you know that? He'd rather let himself get stabbed through the hand than actually risk really hurting you, because even though -he- doesn't understand it...this is self-flagellation. He's punishing himself every time he takes a job, and his fucking wife LETS him! He doesn't know any better! He's in...factory settings, as he calls it!"

Falling silent for a moment, Laura pressed her hand to her mouth in thought. When she finally responded, her tone was somber and disbelieving in equal measure. She wasn't buying this at all. "So, what. You're saying he wasn't -trying- when he attacked my sisters and I? He shot them in the head!"

"No, I'm saying that he was trying -- to commit suicide by superhero. Look...I've seen him when pressed, okay? He does -not- go down easy, and there's a reason that he's actually feared so much in Bagalia. He doesn't half-ass it here; you piss him off, you're dead. You do something he finds distasteful, you're dead. If you were watching us, you saw how we shut down that Jason Waterfalls jerkoff. He'd never fight like that against you, against Spider-Man, against any of you 'hero' types." Slumping down onto the couch, planting his palms against either side of his helmet, Eric took it off. A mess of unruly red hair, a to-the-atom perfect replica of the appearance of his original body. Tony knew that he'd often questioned if he was the 'real' Eric, or some kind of facsimile created in his image. Tony had always argued the former, maybe against his better senses. He just wasn't sure that he himself liked the alternative. Was that selfish? He considered it before focusing his attention on his partner's continued speaking.

"I've seen him pin his boot to Captain America's face. He had him dead to rights. But when the time came, he didn't finish the job, even though he could have. And if you corner him about it, he'll claim it's because he doesn't want the 'heat', or he'll make excuses, but when it really comes down to it..." Eric looked up at Laura; Taskmaster was too far away to see his expression, but his tone gave away everything that he needed to know. "...That's Tony in there, under The Taskmaster. People don't see Tony, he hides it so well. They see that stupid fucking costume, that ridiculous cape...and a grim echo of the guy I know who taught me; who's ignored every rule he sets for himself for my sake."

"Why, though?" Laura asked, sounding skeptical. "It's easy for you to make these claims, but have you ever considered that he's lying to you? That he's just pathetic and lonely, and keeps you around so he has control over someone?"

"Shut the hell up," Eric snapped back at her, nearly rising. "I'm not the only one who knows this. He'll pretend he's forgotten, but Cap does, too; can you believe Taskmaster still admires him? Hell, have you ever even SEEN him copy a supervillain's moves? I've seen him throw like Bullseye, like...once. But day in, day out? It's Rogers. Daredevil. Black Knight. Hawkeye. -You-. And you wanna tell me he's faking it, when he tries to be like you on a level even he doesn't realize?"

Laura looked ready to bite back, to respond to Eric's accusatory tone, but after a moment she simply stopped walking around and regarded the children. While they still looked annoyed, still seemed ready to argue with Eric, they'd all shifted to listening intently. For some reason that Tony couldn't fathom, they were invested in this. What did Black Ant know? What wasn't he telling him?

"He wants to be the best, and I don't just mean at fighting. Every time, before he forgets, he becomes a little more like you, a little less like Taskmaster," Eric murmured, barely loud enough for Taskmaster to hear. "And then he goes back to it, gets his next job; but I'm not stupid. I've been watching people who were better than me my whole life. When he -really- has a reason to fight, you can almost see Tony in there, like a reflection in a lake. And then he has to copy someone new, or gets pushed further than his mind can take, and --" He mimicked a popping sound with his finger in his mouth. "...The next pebble drops, and it's gone."

The room fell silent for a little while, interrupted only by the sounds of the Scions grabbing the food that Laura had brought them on a tray and starting to dig into it. Looking conflicted, Wolverine finally threw her hands up. "So, what? You're saying that I should trust him? That he's 'not so bad'?"

"No," Eric replied coolly, putting his helmet back on. "I'm saying that I'm keeping my cards to my chest for a reason, and that I'm not telling you about what happened with these kids for the same reason I'm not telling -him-. Like I said, if they want to share? I can't stop them; but you won't understand why things went down like they did. What I will tell you is this: You need Taskmaster to save these children. Even they know it; it's the only reason they haven't ratted us out already. And if he finds out what he did...he's gonna run. He'll snap, he'll disappear, and then we're all fucked."

"He can barely move. He's hardly going to carry this team." Laura's tone wasn't proud, just factual.

"I'm not talking about fighting," Eric replied vaguely. "Just...don't trust me, okay? I don't give a shit. I don't even like you, Logan had better hair. Talk to the kids if you want, but I'm done explaining myself." He started past her, only for the smaller woman to plant a palm on his chest.

"This isn't finished, O'Grady," Laura warned. "Not by a long shot."

"I know," he responded, "...And I'm sorry, I spoke out of turn. Your hair is -amazing-." Taskmaster couldn't see them anymore, but he heard the distinct sound of Eric attempting to lean in and smell her -- and Laura punching him in the stomach.

After that, the group scattered. The Hub's agent -- the agent of his wife, Tony forced himself to try and internalize without much success -- was still not here, and everyone was occupying the time they were forced to wait differently. Eric was playing on his phone, Laura checked on the Scions and then went to explore the enormous mansion, and the Scions huddled together, finally well-fed and trying to catch up on their immense lack of sleep.

For his part, Taskmaster had a lot to think about now. Waiting another half hour or so before 'waking up', he finally rose and staggered out of the living room, heading for the armory. When he'd been working as Zemo's prison warden, he had stashed some equipment here, including of the medical variety. He could patch himself up a little better, get fighting fit again.

He'd barely opened the door of the safehouse and stepped inside when he heard footsteps approaching; small and quick. Grabbing a kit full of strange syringes, his personal supply of advanced first aid from his on-staff scientist Albino, Taskmaster turned in time to see one of the Scions approaching. It was the last he didn't recognize, all fire-colored hair and intense features that he quickly recognized as a strange mixture of Chinese and Scottish.

Tears in her eyes, she stepped forward, fearlessly grabbing for the first weapon she could find - a Desert Eagle, already loaded for haste's sake in case of emergency, barrel pointing straight at Taskmaster's forehead. When she finally spoke, it was through tears. "D'ye really not remember what ya did to us?" She asked him accusingly.

He didn't know how to answer.

[bigskydreaming]

To me the most strange thing about the Dick is a manchild take is that often the same people that say this are the same people that say that Dick's primary characterization should always be as a pillar of support for Bruce and the others. So, basically that Bruce and the others are so helpless that they should be mothered by a manchild. As a preference, I find it it kinda ???

Exactly! There’s no consistency to it, and the thing is, I feel like a lot of people tend to treat Dick as a plot device rather than an actual character in his own right. What I mean is, even in big ensemble fics that feature almost the entire family, when most everyone has their own little storylines, Dick’s sole storyline is acting as a supporting character in everyone else’s storyline. Essentially, its like rather than people going into writing a fic with a specific characterization of Dick in mind already, like they do for most characters, I feel like a lot of the stories out there start with the author figuring out what their plot is, what their preferred characters are doing….and then Dick’s characterization within their fic tends to end up being almost completely determined by what role they want him to play.

Like……as you said, a huge facet of his core characterization is that he almost always prioritizes being a pillar of support for Bruce and the others….but in fanfics, he’s just as likely to be the antagonistic foil that’s causing drama within the family by not understanding Jason or favoring Damian over Tim or whatever…..and its like he ends up that way purely because writers want some internal strife within the Batfam, but they want Tim and Jason to get along, and they want Bruce to interact with Jason as a son and Damian’s too young to cause the kinds of disruptions within the family from internal/ideological disagreements that authors are usually after….so Dick ends up shoehorned into the role of obstinate last holdout getting in the way of the whole family getting along because he just can’t get over himself or whatever.

But then go two fics down from that one and its a whole other ballgame, because in this fic now, Dick gets along with everyone, everyone loves him, but ultimately in the end his lack of contributing to family drama comes from the fact that as far as that fic is concerned, he’s too ineffectual to ever actually be a problem for the family. He’s just kinda there, solely because he was the first kid Bruce took in, but no attention is paid to the fact that he created Robin, DEFINED Robin. And instead the fact that he’s still alive at all is basically implied to be a fluke because he’s not really that bright compared to the others, not really exceptionally talented compared to the others, the only thing he has going for him is he has seniority, and he’s just too gosh-darned happy and perky and nice for anyone to stay mad at for long……so Dick ends up shoehorned here into the role of comic relief, either by cracking jokes constantly and never taking anything seriously for the sake of ‘family morale,’ or just by being the butt of the rest of the family’s constant jokes. With these fics, you get 50/50 odds of it going either way.

And then on the very next page of fics you’re likely to run into one where he’s supportive of all the others rather than antagonistic, yes, and he’s considered competent and effective at what he does, sure, but now with these fics, he’s basically relegated to the role of wallpaper, because the story’s not supposed to be about HIM and the authors don’t want him drawing focus away from their preferred characters. He’s not the character people should be hoping or expecting to see in a starring or even a major role, when reading their fics, is basically what the sentiment feels like there. 

Like, he’s there, he’s present, he’s competent and helpful, but it largely ends up feeling like all of that is because ironically, having him NOT be there and coming up with reasons and justifications for that….would draw or require more focus on him than they want to spend. So instead he’s present in the story, but that’s about it. 

He largely just….exists, within these types of stories. At best he’s there to be a glorified bodyguard to his various siblings, and be hanging around so that he can swoop in and save them from any major danger that isn’t the direct focus of the plot…..but he has little to no scenes other than ones where he’s directly acting to save, rescue, emotionally support or offer sage wisdom or a shoulder to lean on, for any of his siblings or Bruce himself. 

He has no problems of his own, as far as the fic ever mentions, no priorities or personal ambitions beyond ‘always be available for whatever his family needs, whenever his family needs it’ and everything you learn about him in the first couple chapters of that story, when establishing his place/status quo within that particular fic….like, who and what he is and cares about and prioritizes and even just talks about in the first couple chapters will basically still be the exact same things in the final chapters of the fic….because absolutely nothing throughout the fic has actually affected HIM, changed HIM, impacted HIM in any kind of meaningful way that would lead to actual character development or even just….change.

…wait, hang on, I take that back. There is one sizable exception in these types of fics, where there is focus on Dick’s POV and him being impacted by the plot and ‘changing’…..but that exception comes in one form, and one form only: Scenes Where Dick Self-Flagellates and Regrets Being the Worst Brother/Son Ever to Jason, Tim, Bruce, etc. And reflects on how massively he’s failed or let those members of his family down at one point or another in the past, when they have only ever been there for him, consistently, without fail, and thus they deserve better than his previous fuck-ups with them and he staunchly vows to Make It Right and from this day forward, Do Better and dedicate himself to being the best brother, son, blah blah blah that ever lived. 

(With the problem being - or well, my problem at least, lol - like…..rarely if ever are these things Dick is beating himself up over, like…actually his fault or things he should feel like a terrible human being for. And granted, Dick has a definite canon tendency towards self-blame and assuming the worst of his own actions and the fallout from his actions, so its not like its out of character for him to be an unreliable narrator in this regard…..BUT like….when you’re using an unreliable narrator to like, beat himself up for being just the worst ever, you kiiiiiiinda need to balance that out with the narrative or someone else in the narrative at some point contesting that unreliable narration…..and being like….what? No??? Omg enough with the Catholic guilt Dick, you’re not even Catholic, and you definitely aren’t responsible for me dying in Ethiopia at the exact same time you were light years away on an entirely different planet, dumbass.” ANYWAY).

So I mean….there are all these various roles Dick plays in different kinds of almost….I wanna say like ‘genres of Batfam fanfiction’……and IMO that’s how large parts of fandom manage to juggle all these completely contradictory views of Dick without ever finding it odd or illogical that he can be considered to be both the Batfamily’s primary source of emotional support one second, and the thorn in everyone’s side the next. Because many people, I feel, just aren’t approaching his character in terms of how his characterization, and thus his presence, would affect their plot, result in specific kinds of dynamics, interactions etc…..rather, they’re looking at it from the complete opposite direction. They do all that with the characters they’re more interested in writing, and then when they have most of it figured out, they basically just pigeon hole him into whatever gaps in the plot need filling, and go with whatever popular take on him is most convenient for what their story still needs or is lacking.

And it all kinda loops back around, I think, to make it this sort of self-perpetuating cycle…..writers aren’t as interested in writing Dick as they are the other siblings because they don’t find him all that compelling, except what they actually don’t find all that compelling is probably more accurately labeled various fanon views of him that have at most just a superficial relationship with his more developed canon characterizations. 

But regardless, they’re not that interested in him as a character, due to mostly equating him with fanon takes that prioritize his usefulness as a plot device with ready made connections to most anyone else a fic needs to bring in, rather than trying to view him, understand him and relate to him as an actual character in his own right…..so they too end up also just using him as a plot device rather than try and even just give him some more development themselves. 

And it all feeds back into itself, forming this constant feedback loop that’s ironically mostly just fueled by itself, rather than anything outside that loop of perception and perpetuation….like, y’know, his actual stories and his actual well-established dynamics with various other characters.

Its like….you know how sometimes people are like “how would you describe yourself/this person/this character in just three words, like what are the three words that best encompass them in your mind?” Like…..that’s not SUPPOSED to be an easy thing to do. That’s SUPPOSED to be a hard - and revealing  - question, because three words is a very very limited frame to try and condense entire personalities into in a way that’s in any way actually specific to them as an individual rather than just a list of generic traits that could equally apply to any number of people.

And yet….I do not think a lot of Batfam fans would consider that a hard question to answer about Dick Grayson, and therein lies my eternal frustration. Like I’m pretty sure we can all predict what a lot of those answers would be: “funny,” “angry,” “cheerful,” “supportive,” “moody,” “hopeful” and various other things related to either 1) Dick the Emotional Support Non-Entity, 2) Dick the Unattainable and Impossible to Match or Even Relate to Standard or 3) Dick the Antagonistic Foil, etc. 

But my point is……I do not think a lot of fans would find it difficult to reduce Dick down to just a short list of generic character traits….because that’s the pattern I’m talking about in fics. A huge amount of his depictions in fic could be summed up with just two or three adjectives….because whatever role he’s been designated in a particular fic……that’s it for him, most of the time. As in…..he doesn’t at any point break out of that very specific and definitive box the fic puts him in because its been slated as the role/place/designation he’s most ‘useful’ to the plot and the other characters and the story over all. So whatever he is in that fic….he’s usually JUST that one thing. His actions are usually perfectly in sync with whatever the other characters expect those actions to be, his mood is fairly consistent throughout with very little variation, and his motivations are usually fairly superficial and don’t require a lot of digging under the hood to see what’s really going on deep down beneath his surface level.

*Shrugs* Anyway, that’s my take on all that, and the various contradictions that all conversations about him are practically immersed in, all at the same time. Granted, I’m biased as hell and who can say if I’m actually on to anything there or not, but for me the most telling and pertinent question about fandom’s perception of Dick Grayson is:

When one of the few things everyone can agree on about him is that he’s a natural performer and the face he presents to people around him is often just a mask hiding his true thoughts and feelings….

Why on earth aren’t more writers interested in pulling back the mask and seeing, writing, revealing or expanding upon whatever might be underneath?

Cuz the way Dick’s primarily used in fics literally only makes sense to me if you’re prioritizing his role in fics based on what the plot or other characters require.

Looking at him purely on a character level, in terms of archetypes? “Eternal secret keeper who even (successfully) keeps secrets from the rest of a family made up entirely of people who are both adept secret keepers themselves and adept detectives”…..

Like how the hell do you tell me that archetype’s only narrative appeal lies in advancing everyone else’s plots? For all intents and purposes, Dick is essentially the trickster archetype within the Batfam, innately predisposed to constantly come into conflict with his chosen father figure, given that Bruce in contrast embodies a stern lawful judge type archetype. Thus with the two of them operating off of entirely different world views that nevertheless can overlap just often enough to make that not quite a given….given that trickster archetypes, by their very nature, have flexible alignments and can go in entirely different directions from one story to the next, all while still being true to themselves and their core archetype. 

Then you have Jason, with it being hilarious to me that people so often write Jason as being convinced Bruce will never understand him the way he does Dick, that they could never have the kind of bond Bruce and Dick had in his eyes…..with the funny part about this IMO being that Jason is one of the Batfam MOST similar to Bruce, archetype wise. Because Jason also operates almost entirely off of his own convictions, based entirely off his own moral code….WHICH IS THE EXACT SAME THING BRUCE DOES….the only part they actually disagree on is the precise specifics of their two differing moral codes. 

Jason has always had FAR more in common with Bruce than he realizes or cares to admit to, and if you look at Dick as a trickster archetype forced reluctantly into the role of arbitrator or peace-keeper purely because there’s no one else stepping up to do the job, even though its not a role he’s ideally suited for because of how it constantly forces him into shapes and actions that are contrary to his own nature and thus result in so much of Dick’s personal conflicts ultimately being with HIMSELF….

….eternally torn between trying to be true to himself and who he wants to be, while at the same time trying to be what his family needs him to be because he’s the only one of them with a track record showing he at least is willing to bend to try and accommodate all their conflicting viewpoints, whereas they all tend to try and just bulldoze each other into submission instead….which never works because they’re all equal parts Immovable Objects AND Unstoppable Forces at the same time…and each too stubborn to admit that their siblings/father/children are just as stubborn and willful as them so they could easily stalemate each other indefinitely, if they didn’t have a mediator present, who has enough flexibility to contort himself into whatever configuration is needed to find some kind of bridge or common ground between two conflicting family members who each refuse to budge even an inch….

Well anyway, my point with that little random offshoot was just that personally, I think Dick gets fed the fuck up with both Bruce and Jason at times and just wants to knock their heads together because its so frustrating to him that neither of them can see how alike they are and thus how they’re always THIS CLOSE to finding common ground, they literally just need to like….each move an inch to the right and maybe pivot like five degrees or less…..lolol.

Anyway. I kinda got carried away there with unnecessary narrative analysis and archetypes and whatnot that literally nobody asked, but umm, in response to your actual message itself….err…yes. Agreed. As a preference, I too find bwuh????? to be the most accurate response to the frigidly cold take that ‘Dick is the emotional support pillar for the Batfam but also Dick is massively dysfunctional and a disaster baby who is literally the worst of the Batfam at taking care of himself and not just dying because his favorite pizza place doesn’t deliver on a Tuesday and he doesn’t know how to get food another way so he’ll probably just starve I guess.’

Oh well.

[arcticdementor]

It’s been mind-boggling to watch White Fragility celebrated in recent weeks. When it surged past a Hunger Games book on bestseller lists, USA Today cheered, “American readers are more interested in combatting racism than in literary escapism.” When DiAngelo appeared on The Tonight Show, Jimmy Fallon gushed, “I know… everyone wants to talk to you right now!” White Fragility has been pitched as an uncontroversial road-map for fighting racism, at a time when after the murder of George Floyd Americans are suddenly (and appropriately) interested in doing just that. Except this isn’t a straightforward book about examining one’s own prejudices. Have the people hyping this impressively crazy book actually read it?

DiAngelo isn’t the first person to make a buck pushing tricked-up pseudo-intellectual horseshit as corporate wisdom, but she might be the first to do it selling Hitlerian race theory. White Fragility has a simple message: there is no such thing as a universal human experience, and we are defined not by our individual personalities or moral choices, but only by our racial category.

If your category is “white,” bad news: you have no identity apart from your participation in white supremacy (“Anti-blackness is foundational to our very identities… Whiteness has always been predicated on blackness”), which naturally means “a positive white identity is an impossible goal.”

DiAngelo instructs us there is nothing to be done here, except “strive to be less white.” To deny this theory, or to have the effrontery to sneak away from the tedium of DiAngelo’s lecturing – what she describes as “leaving the stress-inducing situation” – is to affirm her conception of white supremacy. This intellectual equivalent of the “ordeal by water” (if you float, you’re a witch) is orthodoxy across much of academia.

DiAngelo’s writing style is pure pain. The lexicon favored by intersectional theorists of this type is built around the same principles as Orwell’s Newspeak: it banishes ambiguity, nuance, and feeling and structures itself around sterile word pairs, like racist and antiracist, platform and deplatform, center and silence, that reduce all thinking to a series of binary choices. Ironically, Donald Trump does something similar, only with words like “AMAZING!” and “SAD!” that are simultaneously more childish and livelier.

…

It takes a special kind of ignorant for an author to choose an example that illustrates the mathematical opposite of one’s intended point, but this isn’t uncommon in White Fragility, which may be the dumbest book ever written. It makes The Art of the Deal read like Anna Karenina.

Yet these ideas are taking America by storm. The movement that calls itself “antiracism” – I think it deserves that name a lot less than “pro-lifers” deserve theirs and am amazed journalists parrot it without question – is complete in its pessimism about race relations. It sees the human being as locked into one of three categories: members of oppressed groups, allies, and white oppressors.

…

This dingbat racialist cult, which has no art, music, literature, and certainly no comedy, is the vision of “progress” institutional America has chosen to endorse in the Trump era. Why? Maybe because it fits. It won’t hurt the business model of the news media, which for decades now has been monetizing division and has known how to profit from moral panics and witch hunts since before Fleet street discovered the Mod/Rocker wars.

Democratic Party leaders, pioneers of the costless gesture, have already embraced this performative race politics as a useful tool for disciplining apostates like Bernie Sanders. Bernie took off in presidential politics as a hard-charging crusader against a Wall Street-fattened political establishment, and exited four years later a self-flagellating, defeated old white man who seemed to regret not apologizing more for his third house. Clad in kente cloth scarves, the Democrats who crushed him will burn up CSPAN with homilies on privilege even as they reassure donors they’ll stay away from Medicare for All or the carried interest tax break.

…

Corporate America doubtless views the current protest movement as something that can be addressed as an H.R. matter, among other things by hiring thousands of DiAngelos to institute codes for the proper mode of Black-white workplace interaction.

If you’re wondering what that might look like, here’s DiAngelo explaining how she handled the fallout from making a bad joke while she was “facilitating antiracism training” at the office of one of her clients.

When one employee responds negatively to the training, DiAngelo quips the person must have been put off by one of her Black female team members: “The white people,” she says, “were scared by Deborah’s hair.” (White priests of antiracism like DiAngelo seem universally to be more awkward and clueless around minorities than your average Trump-supporting construction worker).

…

The downside, which we’re already seeing, is that organizations everywhere will embrace powerful new tools for solving professional disputes, through a never-ending purge. One of the central tenets of DiAngelo’s book (and others like it) is that racism cannot be eradicated and can only be managed through constant, “lifelong” vigilance, much like the battle with addiction. A useful theory, if your business is selling teams of high-priced toxicity-hunters to corporations as next-generation versions of efficiency experts — in the fight against this disease, companies will need the help forever and ever.

Cancelations already are happening too fast to track. In a phenomenon that will be familiar to students of Russian history, accusers are beginning to appear alongside the accused. Three years ago a popular Canadian writer named Hal Niedzviecki was denounced for expressing the opinion that “anyone, anywhere, should be encouraged to imagine other peoples, other cultures, other identities." He reportedly was forced out of the Writer’s Union of Canada for the crime of “cultural appropriation,” and denounced as a racist by many, including a poet named Gwen Benaway. The latter said Niedzviecki “doesn’t see the humanity of indigenous peoples.” Last week, Benaway herself was denounced on Twitter for failing to provide proof that she was Indigenous.

…

People everywhere today are being encouraged to snitch out schoolmates, parents, and colleagues for thoughtcrime. The New York Times wrote a salutary piece about high schoolers scanning social media accounts of peers for evidence of “anti-black racism” to make public, because what can go wrong with encouraging teenagers to start submarining each other’s careers before they’ve even finished growing?  

“People who go to college end up becoming racist lawyers and doctors. I don’t want people like that to keep getting jobs,” one 16 year-old said. “Someone rly started a Google doc of racists and their info for us to ruin their lives… I love twitter,” wrote a different person, adding cheery emojis.

A bizarre echo of North Korea’s “three generations of punishment” doctrine could be seen in the boycotts of Holy Land grocery, a well-known hummus maker in Minneapolis. In recent weeks it’s been abandoned by clients and seen its lease pulled because of racist tweets made by the CEO’s 14 year-old daughter eight years ago.

[elopez7228]

Scenic Route 32/47

Read on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/18268208/chapters/43229774 

Start over : https://elopez7228.tumblr.com/post/620919089893933056/scenic-route-0147

***

Leia was slow to respond to the incoming phone call. She had spent many restless nights as the day of the hearing drew closer, and tonight had been no exception. She had only recently been able to slip into a dark and troubled sleep.

She knew she had to be strong for her people, keep her head held high. She had no right to back out now. It was her job to keep morale high and to assure the others that it would all work out—though that also meant that the number of people she could confide in had dwindled. She had spent many nights consumed by her own thoughts and fears.

Her phone rang five times before going silent.

This was her personal device, no one—well, practically no one—had access to that number. It happened infrequently enough that it was enough to rouse her despite her tiredness.

The clock on the screen read 5 AM. She had barely managed two hours of sleep. But the fact that someone had called her at such an ungodly hour using this number meant that it was important. She took a moment to collect herself and rub the sleep out of her eyes before calling back.

“Skywalker.”

“Leia, it’s Kaydel, I’m sorry for calling you so early but there was an email sent to the organization’s public address and I think you really need to see it, now.”

“An email?” Leia repeated somewhat incredulously.

“Yes, I’ll stay on the line while you read it. I’m ready for any follow-up orders.” Kaydel responded shakily.

Leia frowned. If there was something wrong with the trial documents, they knew to call Amilyn and the legal team. If something had happened to Luke, he had this number himself. What the hell was it about an email of all things that had the girl scared to death?

Putting Kaydel on speaker phone, she opened up her inbox and scrolled through the most recent messages. The public account usually only received spam and donation-related emails. What on earth was going on?

from : ReyJakku@gmail.com

         To : info@earth-soldiers.org

         07/08/2018 : 4:46 AM

         Subject : BB8

         Hi Leia,

         Looks like you left me a wrong number, I’m sure it was an accident! I didn’t know how else to reach you so I hope you see this...

         It’s going well so far, Wyoming is magnificent.

         I ran into your son Ben, he was performing at a local concert. What a small world! He offered to take BB8 to his uncle by himself.

         I’m thinking it would be a great idea for BB8 to stay in the family. Would you have a problem with that? Let me know,

         Cheers!

         Rey

         0044 (0) 7881 235 562

Leia’s gasp turned into a coughing fit so violent that she had to put the phone down. Leaning over her nightstand, she groped for the water bottle that she kept there.

“Leia? Are you okay?” Though muffled, Kaydel’s voice sounded worried.

Leia took a long sip of water, trying to calm her breathing as she wiped away a few tears that had been brought on by her sudden reaction. The phone was back  in hand immediately.

“Thank you for the warning, Kay. No new orders. I’m going to handle this one myself. I’ve deleted the message, and not a word to anyone about this for now, am I clear?”

“Crystal.”

Once the conversation was over, Leia allowed her legs to give in. She slumped onto the bed, hands trembling.

She hadn’t seen it coming.

Posing as her son Ben Solo to get Rey to hand over the dog? It was, ironically, a perfect ruse.

The boy never ceased to amaze her. She underestimated him at every turn. Every time she took him for a fumbling idiot, he thoroughly managed to turn the tables on her. Well, he was her son after all. She supposed she should be proud.

Time was running out. She had to reach Rey before it was too late.

But there was no room for error here, the stakes were too high. She could ruin it all with the wrong words, with the wrong reaction.

Leia jotted down Rey’s number before deleting the email. She also made sure to delete it from her “trash” folder. Next, she went to the bathroom, taking longer than usual to braid and pin her long  grey hair. It gave her time to collect her thoughts again. She took the time to dress carefully, make herself a cup of coffee, and sit down at the kitchen table in front of the telephone.

Rey couldn’t sleep after the events of that morning. She decided instead to get dressed for the day and busy herself with taking down the tent and gathering the rest of her scattered possessions. She felt a pang of longing mixed with desire as she picked up the clothes that had been strewn on the ground. She couldn’t help but remember the way that Ben had made love to her, right on top of the Falcon. It wasn’t that long ago but it felt like a world away.

She replayed the scene of his betrayal over and over in her head as she folded her clothes and packed up the car. She fumed at the thought that he had still sought to manipulate her.

Rey wondered what to do next. Go sightseeing again? Somehow she didn’t feel up to it anymore. Drive straight to California? That would mean saying goodbye to her itinerary.

Curse Leia Skywalker for dragging her into a conflict that was none of her business...Now she had come within an inch of her life multiple times—she would absolutely love to nominate Syed Ren for a Nobel Peace Prize—and now her holiday plans were ruined.

Turning on her phone for the first time since last night (battery conservation 101), she saw the voicemail icon flashing with a new message notification.

Her heart constricted in her chest because she knew exactly who it would be. Her thumb slid over the icon to open the application anyway. Ben Solo. Should she erase it? Should she bother to listen to it at all, did he even deserve that?

The temptation to hit “delete” was undeniable, but her curiosity won out. Her heart hammered as she pressed “play”.

She could feel her features crumbling as she listened to his words. It took her a second to process the new information.

His attempt at an apology was dramatic self-flagellation as usual. Blah-blah-nail-me-to-a-cross-my-love and all that. She really didn’t have time for this nonsense, he shouldn’t be the one whining here.

But the part about running to the police because “two killers were on her trail” was enough to justify not deleting the message.

Ben fucking Solo had some explaining to do, considering that literally all of his Saturday night bar mates were some kind of new wave punk assassins.

She was in the middle of feeding BB8 when an epiphany occurred. Scrambling for her phone, she typed out a very important email. By the time she hit “send” it was 6 AM (or 5 AM in California, she supposed).

She was hardly surprised when she received a response within fifteen minutes. When her phone buzzed the caller ID was unknown, but she knew it was Leia Skywalker. Rey took a deep breath. She knew that by sending that email she had turned the tables on them. Now, it was her turn.

“Yes, hello?”

“Hello, Rey? It’s Leia Skywalker. I’m sorry for calling you so early in the day but I figured since you emailed me you must be awake.”

Rey feigned surprise.

“Oh, hello Leia! I didn’t even recognize your number...lovely weather in Denver I hope?”

“In Den—oh yes, the weather here is fine,” Leia responded, seemingly shaken by the unexpected question. “Rey, how is BB8 doing, is she okay?”

“BB8? Of course! She’s been such a great road trip companion, she’s so cute and we’ve gotten so used to each other.”

“Is she...with you?”

Rey blinked. When was Leia going to stop pretending?

“Yeah, for now. I’m dropping her off with Ben this afternoon, actually. He said he was going to San Francisco to visit his uncle anyway and I guess I couldn’t possibly refuse him,” she replied as innocently as she could.

On the other side, Leia sounded like she breathed a sigh of relief.

“Rey, no, I think this isn’t a good idea...I would rather have her stay with you.”

“Why.”

It came out harsher than anticipated. Rey found herself unable to smile any longer.

Leia was silent for a moment, sensing the change of tone. She must have known she was missing something because she sighed ruefully.

“Rey, tell me the truth, where is BB8?”

“No Leia, you’re the one who has to tell me the truth. Why did you suddenly change your number?”

Straight to the point. Leia hesitated.

“To protect you.”

“Protect me from what, your own deceptions?”

“It’s a long story, Rey. But you have to keep BB8 with you, every step of the way. Don’t let Ben near her.”

“Oh believe me, Madam Skywalker, I have all the time in the world. In fact, I think I could really use a long story, given that my normal life has been upended by the godforsaken, murderous “Knights of Ren”. Thank you for that, by the way. This is not how I wanted to spend my time, so I really think you owe me an explanation.”

The older woman sighed again. Rey was right. In her blind panic to strike FORCE as quickly as possible, she had forgotten the human factors involved. She had put this innocent girl in danger.

She was clearly resourceful and capable, but she was innocent all the same. She deserved the truth.

Ever so carefully, Leia began her story. Starting with her parents’ company, the betrayal of her mother by her father, his fall from corporate grace, and then the massive culture shift under Snoke’s leadership. As the new director, Snoke had sold shares of the family business to their competitors through fraudulent financial schemes, gaining enough political influence to become the president of the board. Then he came for Luke and Leia, who had been attempting to independently audit his financial gains.

Finally, he was able to turn Leia’s own son, Ben, against her. He offered him everything she never could: money, power, and a prestigious title.

Rey paid close attention. The backstory gave her a lot of context for what she had already known from her web searches. But it still didn’t answer her biggest question.

“Leia, where do I fit into all of this?”

Rey, Leia admitted, was a Golden Opportunity (trademark pending)...truly one in a million, too good to pass up, really. In the Leia’s line of work, one had to make decisions rapidly—often in high-stakes strategic situations with difficult choices and volatile conditions. The situation could devolve at any given moment.

How could Earth Soldiers get the micro-SD, that contained all of the evidence of FORCE’s illegal insider trading under Snoke and Hux, to San Francisco without triggering a defensive strike? Leia’s solution was to use a clean hand. Who better than someone who was going on a haphazard road trip across the country with no agenda and no political motives or alliances whatsoever? Rey was the perfect messenger.

What Leia hadn’t counted on was Ben’s intervention. He crashed through the plan like a bull in a china shop. Brash, but incredibly effective. Underestimating her son always had proven to be her fatal flaw.

Rey took the time to absorb it all. On it’s face, Leia’s strategy was questionable, but not impossible.

“You should have told me all this at the very beginning.”

“If I had, would you have taken the job?”

“Probably not. But that’s not the point! You had no right to put my life in danger over a personal conflict. Especially without my knowledge. What am I to you? Just collateral damage?”

On the other side, Leia’s shoulders slumped. She couldn’t respond. She had made some questionable decisions in her lifelong conflict against FORCE, and it wore her down on some days. Sometimes she was too quick, too rash for her own good. She thought back to her days in the army, how she had always been surrounded by comrades-in-arms who strived for the same mission. But real life wasn’t like that.

Rey didn’t need to hear that, probably didn’t want to hear it either.

“You’re my only hope,” Leia said simply. “And if the Knights of Ren are after you I can send someone to escort you.”

This would alert all of FORCE’s allies, they would all target the Millenium Falcon at once. But Rey didn’t deserve to be sacrificed for a cause that wasn’t her own.

“Luckily, I’m not done here. I think I still have a card to play. Can I call you at this number—or are you going to disappear again?”

“You can keep it, as long as you memorize it. Please, I don’t want to be traced.”

“Understood. You’ll hear from me soon.”

Rey hung up. The very next person she called was Ben Solo.

[superscarymonster]

A Note To Self

            Yes, I know you. You’re the type who experiences a rollercoaster of world-changing and world-ending events every 24-hours. Each piece of new news is a drug – the email about a raise – an upper. That is, until you get that text about your roommate moving out – a total downer. Your emotions are tied to the latest event and somehow also tied to the past and present. If there isn’t a preoccupying thought to ponder from the day, you’ll find one to ruminate on from last month, last year or last decade- it’s all fair game if it’s not from the present.

The problem with this way, is that you never let your nervous system relax. You’re always on high alert and, like an animal being hunted, your vision is narrowed to the width of a cotton thread.  All you can see are these peppered problems everywhere – not the sun shining, not the panorama view of the world in front of you, but just these fibered issues that make up your twisted field of view.

This constant stress- it makes you uptight. You never relax and instead, hop from problem to problem. Some would call this chronic anxiety, but such a medical title perhaps can lead one to feel as though soothing is reliant on a prescription. Solutions aside, you indulge in this way of being because you think it will help you succeed. Once you can validate the behavior, it becomes even harder to change.

However, once you decide that being a stress ball isn’t serving you, the power to improve your way of being is in your hands. You are always practicing how you are. Your brain is but a spring. It always wants to coil back into the position you morphed it into, but if each day, you spend some time with heat and pliers, coaxing the curls of the spring, it can start to remember a new shape- a less stressed way of being. How can you start to shape your spring? Here is what I would recommend:

1.)   TAKE A VERY DEEP BREATH AND CALM YOUR NERVOUS SYSTEM

Our brain takes cues from the body. A dancing body tells the brain to feel joyful and expressive. A laying body tells the brain to be calm and a clenched body tells the brain that we are being attached.

Dr. Fred Luskin explained in our LIFE 101 class that we rarely deeply breathe, largely because we hold in our stomachs as though we’re just about to take a punch. This position communicates to our brains that we are in trouble and causes us to be on high alert. To immediately calm the mind, one can simply let out their stomach and breathe deeply.

Give it a try.

All the way in and all the way out.

Tell yourself through your breath that you’re not under attack and start to feel yourself loosen. Once you do this, try a small giggle – a tiny laugh.

Laughter forces repetitive deep breath and releases endorphins, which is why the practice of Laughter Yoga, as introduced In the TEDMED Live Talk by Dr. Madan Kataria , has the word “yoga” included. Whether it’s a laugh or a Lion’s breath, take a moment to settle your mind.

2.)   DISTANCE YOURSELF FROM YOUR THOUGHTS

Once you’ve calmed your nervous system, try separating yourself from your thoughts. As you start to do so, you might notice someone rather mean talking to you. In class, we discussed this voice, identifying it as the Buddhist idea of a Mara. It’s an inner “demon” that criticizes. It clogs your mind with negative chatter, wining randomly about this and that. It’s here, it’s there. It’s now, it’s then and being tied up in your thoughts, often painful thoughts, means you are always time-travelling. Distancing yourself from your thoughts allows you to be fully present and gain back the power of your own attention. You can watch the thoughts pass by like a river, associating deeply with only those that serve you. We can understand the power of this distancing when it comes to our well-being through Jennifer Aaker’s talk, “Rethinking Happiness”. In her talk, she highlights how those who are told to be happy or feel like they *should* be happy experience less happiness. She mentions that we “overshoot” in our efforts to find joy and one might assume this is because of the self-talk that comes with expecting happiness. We expect to feel a certain way and criticize ourselves when we don’t, reducing our natural and quiet feeling of happiness. Quieting that self -talk and that inner voice allows us to experience what is, rather than our narration of what is.

3.)   PRACTICE SELF COMPASSION

We try and get an A+ in feeling happy so that we can be good. However, like Mary Oliver’s Poem “The Journey” says,

“You do not have to be good. / You do not have to walk on your knees / for a hundred miles through the desert repenting./ You only have to let the soft animal of your body / love what it loves.”

This idea that we don’t need to self-flagellate or push ourselves to be martyrs is the idea behind self-compassion. It’s simply treating ourselves as a friend. In her talk, Jennifer Aaker continues to explain that the good isn’t as good and the bad won’t be as bad as we expect. We just mostly are. We just mostly will be. This unchanging means that no matter how much you punish yourself you will not be happier later as a result of suffering now.

As we also reviewed in class, you are probably quite fine. You might even be lucky and with this said, why punish yourself so deeply for gaining a pound or failing a test?  We are human and bad things happen to all of us.  

In our lack of self-compassion, we are often being illogical, thinking these bad things mean we are bad people with bad lives. Therefore, to avoid being wholesomely bad,  we try and protect ourselves from negative events by always being on high alert. It’s a strange way of being that completely skews our view of the world. We try and avoid suffering later by increasing our suffering every day. However, it simply doesn’t protect us against anything. The poem The Dakini Speaks, speaks frankly to this confused logic.

The Dakini Speaks

My friends, let’s grow up./ Let’s stop pretending we don’t know the deal here./ Or if we truly haven’t noticed, let’s wake up and notice./ Look: Everything that can be lost, will be lost./ It’s simple

…..

let’s give ourselves to it!/ Let’s stop making deals for a safe passage: …

                       —Jennifer Welwood

This idea that we should stop bargaining for a safe passage allows us to be compassionate with ourselves when something goes wrong and it allows us to compassionate with others when luck isn’t on their side.

After all, something will always go wrong and when it does, you will handle it.

And you will not blame yourself.

So while everything is okay, you can enjoy the day.

4.)   SETTLE IN TO WHAT THIS IS

In class, we reviewed the quote by Annie Dillard that says

How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. What we do with this hour, and that one, is what we are doing. A schedule defends from chaos and whim. It is a net for catching days. It is a scaffolding on which a worker can stand and labor with both hands at sections of time. A schedule is a mock-up of reason and order—willed, faked, and so brought into being; it is a peace and a haven set into the wreck of time; it is a lifeboat on which you find yourself, decades later, still living. ― Annie Dillard, The Writing Life

At the moment, my friend, you are spending your life in hysterics. You are spending your life being stressed, and tired and angry and ecstatic. We sometimes think that hysterics mean we care, but this dramatic idea seems to be narrative more than anything else. To be truly present to what is and to be truly engaged in our lives is simply to be alert and observant. As a young person, perhaps you’re worried about your future, but just as we can engage fully in the now, you can engage fully in the future by being present and alert to what’s next rather than trying to control it. This full engagement and readiness – captivation with what is- is awe. Maybe like you, this surprised me.  This quiet calm is not the kind of awe I’m used to seeing when a child walks into Disneyland, or when someone proposes and the woman weeps, or when a basketball team wins, and the bar erupts in high-fives. This awe is calm.  It’s simply ready to see what’s next and open to seeing it wholly. This is beautifully put in the poem Is My Soul Asleep by Antonio Machado.

“…No, my soul is not asleep./ It is awake, wide awake./ It neither sleeps nor dreams, but watches,its eyes wide open/ far-off things, and listens /at the shores of the great silence.

-        Antonio Machado , translated by Robert Bly

Next time you hear bad news, or great news, perhaps you can take it in as a wave of life. You can see it as a new hint of your future appearing as you sail your ship instead of seeing it as a threat against which you must protect yourself, or a treat towards which you must run before it disappears. Remember that each day is yours to enjoy. This one day is the only thing that is sure for you, so spend it intentionally and in awe, rather than clenched and with a narrow view of this great big world.

[itsnotpatsy]

so this is a call out post for @whiskeyrely and @drftwood who i logically blocked because i’m exhausted of the bullshit and i’m sick of being a nice goddamn person and having it shit on and then expected to forgive someone countless times.

under a cut for length.

so i met alex (who goes by alex but is actually catie but made that alias to escape her own bullshit she’d pulled elsewhere) when she’d played a trish walker over at i think the url was @herodesire, but it was along those lines, over on my alana blog @cruelonlytobekind and we plotted and discussed but otherwise didn’t write. it was chill. i thought she was pretty rad.

i made this blog, over here, yonder, and then she approached me eager to write a jessica jones. because i can’t help but be innocent and excited about things, i encouraged it. i was genuinely happy to have a jessica i seemed to be good friends with who i could write with and plot with. i myself am a major trishica shipper and a huge enthusiast of jess’s character. i’ve written her myself and wrote her before, i still do on a multi.

things seemed to be pretty cool. i invited her into a discussion with three other people i wrote with, including the person who partners in my mainverse. and then shit started to go evidently haywire. i don’t have the conversation logs anymore because i can’t find them on discord, but she’d essentially repeatedly guilted me into trying to write, perpetually prostrating herself with the ‘i understand if you don’t want to write with me since you have your mainverse partner now’ and then cryptically left the chat with two of my other writing partners, stating that ‘they felt uncomfortable’ after they’d literally asked advice of us by dumping this huge set of screencaps about a feud they had with another marvel rper and made us ridiculously uncomfortable.

a note: don’t drag people into your bullshit. they didn’t sign up for being caught in between your weird argument with somebody and you’re holding them emotionally hostage by dropping this chunk of screencaps without asking. no warning about the situation, no venting, just holding them hostage about it. don’t ask for an opinion when you want people to just tell you you were right.

(i’m sorry i don’t have screencaps yet. i don’t want to expose the other two people involved, or the person they were having the argument with, as i don’t know that person personally and i don’t feel like stirring up their shit, too.)

so fast forward. they apologize to me on discord under their jessica account and i accept the apology. because to me it wasn’t a huge deal, it was only a situation in which i’d become uncomfortable due to the completely forceful attempt to write with me, ship with me, and exist in my hemisphere. she made me a series of graphics and images without my prompting at all and continuously, which often seems to me like an attempt to make the other person feel indebted, and i was perpetually guilted in ‘do you ever want to write with me anymore’ im’s or the usual ‘i understand if you have someone else you like writing with better’. which is frankly gross. stop self-flagellating to gain someone’s sympathy.

fast forward to a couple days ago. i get a couple anonymous asks:

of course, i’m so excited. why wouldn’t i be? this is a character beloved to me created between someone close to me and myself, and the chance to write against them was super exciting. why wouldn’t i be stoked? of course! so i responded with enthusiasm and then got an im from this:

evidently whoever the fuck a charlie is. but they tell me that ‘they’ve never rped before and they’ve followed me over on my alana blog forever and they’ve wanted to forever, but they don’t know the first thing about it so they wanted to start by approaching me’. so i helped them by coming up with a url, by discussing headcanons, etc. you know. shit you do when you’re excited. then i started to notice things.

their ‘new blog’:

alex’s blog:

wow, it’s super suspicious that a person brand new to rp knows exactly how to use a tag system, same italicized/bolded/font type in the header, edits very much the same. that makes total sense. it’s not suspicious at all.

(note, don’t act like someone’s stupid. they won’t love it.)

but i tried to give them the benefit of the doubt.

until last night.

so here’s a note: don’t start a conversation with i know you’re suffering but i’m here to guilt you about this online situation. i have enough shit going on in my life without someone taking the things i enjoy and making them hard for me to enjoy because i need to be paranoid about everything or i need to worry every kind gesture or show of enthusiasm from someone new is someone hiding things from me. but here you are trying to make it sound like you’re socially awkward and this isn’t malicious as an act in and of itself. and as if that wasn’t bad enough, you got caught so!

fuck the ever loving fuck off. learn how to leave well enough alone. and i see you blocking the people who liked the post about catfishing i wrote. you’re being a genuine coward and you need to stop ‘saying you’ll do better’ or playing the victim and acting like your behavior is just ‘because you’re bad at this’ or ‘you’re socially awkward’. it’s not an excuse. don’t fuck with people’s creativity or feelings.

also, leave me alone in every sphere of my roleplaying. i’m sick to death of you fucking around and then apologizing when it is clearly bullshit.

thanks for the time of everyone who read this. feel free to reblog.

[ifuckinglovestvincent]

NEWSTATESMAN: “It’s cool that some people hate my show”: St Vincent on fan backlash and Chinese massages

The singer messages me on Twitter the next day. “Dude!” she says, “I’m sorry I was a cock.”

By Alexandra Pollard

9 November 2017

Maybe if St Vincent and I had got massages together, things would have been different. If we’d gone for a hike in the scorching midday sun of Burbank, California, or sat in a small pink box getting high off paint fumes, perhaps we’d have had a better time. She’s done those things with other journalists during this press cycle, in an effort to disrupt the stale dynamic of interviews  –  of which, she told BBC Music from inside that newly painted box, she’s done “a million”. As it is, we’re sitting in her room on the 12th floor of a London hotel, and things aren’t going well.

St Vincent, AKA Annie Clark, is in the early stages of a 37-date world tour in support of her new album, Masseduction. The shows –  which she’s doing without a band, opting instead to accompany her own fearsome guitar with rearranged backing tracks  – are fascinating, sometimes exhilarating affairs. She doesn’t throw herself around the stage in a self-flagellating fervour, as she did a few years ago on the Digital Witness tour, nor this time has she employed the shuffling, robotic choreography of Annie-B Parson.

Instead, Clark exposes herself in a different way –  by carrying the show alone. As a blue curtain gradually pulls back to reveal nothing in particular, she places herself in various positions across the stage. Sometimes she faces the audience, sometimes she stands side-on as if utterly unaware of their presence. At one point she curls up in the foetal position on the floor. The idea, she says, is to plot the trajectory from fear to freedom.

“Some people loved it and were brought to tears and thought it was the best thing they’d ever seen, and then some people were incensed by it,” Clark explains. She was in Manchester last night, London the night before. Now, she’s draped over a black chaise-longue, demonstrably exhausted, her feet spilling on to the armchair beside her (when I ask if she’s tired, she says flatly, “I don’t care, my emotions are irrelevant.”)

Does she mind that the shows, particularly her decision to play without a live band, have received such a polarised response? “Whatever,” she says. “I think it’s cool that some people hate it.” She rolls her neck around to glance at me –  the semi-horizontal position she’s taken has thus far meant minimal eye contact. “Did you hate the show?”

Not at all, I tell her. I really liked it. Then I add, in an effort to avoid bland effusiveness and because she’s still looking at me with a sceptical eyebrow raise, that perhaps I found it more intriguing than moving, and anyway it would have been hard to beat the experience I had seeing her at End Of The Road festival a few years ago. I realise too late that my words have landed with a leaden thud.

“Great,” Clark says. “It’s the third show. I mean, when I played End Of The Road, that was one of the last dates I did. Tours take a while to alchemise.” She pauses. “Also, if a rapper got up on stage and didn’t have a live band, which most of them don’t, no one would be bummed at all. Why is the assumption that I need to have a live band onstage for something to be authentic? It’s about the management of expectation, and I think it’s similar to people thinking that they have a glass of milk, and then they drink it and it’s Sprite. ‘I don’t like this.’ Actually you like Sprite too, you just weren’t expecting it.”

St. Vincent has made a career out of giving people something they weren’t quite expecting. Her music is bold and melodic  – but only if you catch it at certain angles, like a magic eye book that only makes sense if you squint the right way. With each album since her chamber pop debut Marry Me a decade ago, she’s pushed her sound further towards a place between beauty and ugliness, aggression and vulnerability, adding scuzzy synth layers, distorted guitar riffs so heavy they drag half a second behind the beat, and lyrics both profoundly moving and a little grotesque  –  images of severed fingers, for example, that anchor a tale of drunken heartbreak.

Masseduction, her fifth LP (or sixth, if you count her David Byrne collaboration Love This Giant), is a poignant, kinky masterpiece. It’s a work of staggering frankness, with anthemic pop melodies that float atop crunchy riffs and gasping synths, as Clark’s fingers wring out every peculiarly arresting sound a guitar can make. She has a pithy tagline for each of her albums. 2011’s Strange Mercy was housewife on pills; her self-titled record was near-future cult leader; this one is dominatrix at the mental institution.

She sings of loss and depression, of BDSM and pill popping, vacuous cities and self-destructive urges. Her voice is pure and resplendent, but it also creaks, stretches into a sigh or plummets to a growl. On “Hang On Me”, as she pleads with someone, “Please, oh please don’t hang up yet,” a million unsaid things pour into the cracks in her voice.

“If you want to know about my life,” she told fans in a statement when the album was announced – aware both of her historic inscrutability and of the increased thirst for personal revelations her relationship with supermodel Cara Delevingne had prompted – “listen to this record”.

Clark performing this Summer. Photo: Getty

In the past, Clark has recoiled at the suggestion that her songs are diaristic, saying that such an idea “presupposes –  in a kind of sexist way  –  this idea that women lack the imagination to write about anything other than their exact literal lives.” Still, this record is a little different to the others. “It’s very close to my heart. It’s not literal, because if it was literal it wouldn’t be art, but you know, it’s very heart on sleeve.”

Is there a particular way she hopes people interpret it? “No,” she says, exasperated. “There’s not. I’m happy to be misunderstood. It’s not even about being ‘misunderstood’, it’s just up for interpretation. Any interpretation is fine, as long as it’s not, ‘She’s a racist, sexist or homophobe’. I’d be bummed if someone thought that. I’m not the one writing the think pieces on it. That’s not my job. My job’s to make a thing, it’s not to do all the interpreting and explaining. That’s didactic, and shows a profound lack of respect for the audience’s intelligence.”

Hoping she might be open to at least a small amount of explaining, I put it to Clark that there’s a restless quality to the album. She’s quite often leaving, or being left, or wanting to leave. On “Slow Disco”, a plaintive orchestral waltz and one of the most beautiful songs she’s written, she asks, “Am I thinking what everybody’s thinking? I’m so glad I came, but I can’t wait to leave.” Did she notice that theme running through the album’s veins? “Yes.” I wait for more, but instead she pulls her phone out of her pocket and starts typing. “Keep asking away.”

I do as she says, but the air in the room is uncomfortable. I wonder if I should clarify what I said about the show, but I think the moment’s passed. I forge on instead. In a previous interview, Clark said that “Slow Disco” was about how “the life you’re living, and the life you should be living, are running parallel.” Is there a life she feels she should be living? “Yeah,” she says, phone still out. “I should be in Turks and Caicos with a fucking pina colada coming out of a coconut, just getting a sick tan.”

“I mean, I don’t even think I should be living,” she adds, before puffing air out of her lips. “Hilarious joke. No, I feel super lucky that I’m living the life I am. Everything I’ve ever done, every person I’ve ever met, every experience I’ve ever had, is because I got good enough at moving my fingers at micro-movements across a piece of wood and steel. That’s bonkers.”

That’s a fairly self-deprecating assessment of how St Vincent got to where she is. Her inimitable skill at moving her fingers at micro-movements across a piece of wood and steel  – more commonly known as playing the guitar  –  is part of it, but there’s an intrigue and charisma to her music, and the persona she presents, that goes far beyond technica​l skill. It’s an intangible talent, one that has steadily drawn her into the limelight – though it was her self-titled fourth album that really thrust her into the big leagues, topping a handful of Albums of 2014 lists, and earning her a Grammy for Best Alternative Music Album.

Clark with ex-girlfriend Cara Delevingne. Photo: Getty.

Then she fell in love with someone unthinkably famous, and was thrust into a more insidious kind of limelight, the kind where paparazzi followed her around, where tabloid journalists tricked her relatives into revealing painful personal information, the kind that fuelled her anxiety and depression. Though being on the road for endless stretches of time didn’t help with that. In an appearance on the New Yorker’s podcast, she said that between her self-titled album and this one, she needed to do a “radical reorganising of my life in order to fulfil my destiny as a creative person”.

“Oh my god! Who am I, Jim Jones?” she says laughing, when I quote this back to her. “Wow. I said that? It’s like a Paulo Coelho meets Jim Jones inspirational talk. I think I meant that I was just in a monastic period, I just wasn’t drinking or having sex or really doing anything that you’d consider fun.” The only pleasure she allowed herself was getting Chinese massages in New York City. I’ve never had a massage, I tell her. Perhaps I have a lifetime of tension. She looks aghast. “You probably do. You carry it with you, you know?”

Did she find it helpful, this monastic period? “Oh it was so generative. I got so much done. Completely eschewing certain things that can otherwise take up a fair amount of time left so much time to be productive. I really loved that time. Being on tour is just a different kind of energy. It’s performance all the time. Obviously I’m not putting on my best performance for you today.” She laughs again. The icy atmosphere is starting to melt, but our time’s up.

I bid Clark goodbye. She would get up, she says, but she’s too tired. I’m glad we managed to drag the encounter towards conviviality, but  –  though I’m sure she won’t spend another second dwelling on it  –  I don’t think either of us had much fun.

The next morning, my phone buzzes. Clark’s messaged me on Twitter. “Dude!” she says, “I’m sorry I was a cock.” She explains that she was exhausted, “which is not an excuse”, but that she’d felt especially defensive because she’d been getting negative tweets about the show all day, and had thought my comments were an attempt to go for the jugular. “I really misread the interaction,” she says, “and have been feeling horribly guilty ever since. I thought you were just there to tell me my show sucked and I got real defensive and yeah, it went downhill from there.”

As it turns out then, her emotions aren’t irrelevant. She feels things deeply, all the time. You can hear it in her music, in every riff, every crack in her voice, every line about loss, or leaving, or wanting to leave. Those negative tweets were sprinkled amongst a litany of praise, but  –  though she wore an insouciant armour when we met  –  she clung to them anyway. “You carry it with you, you know?” I hope she carries the good things too. I hope she gets some sleep.

Source: https://www.newstatesman.com/culture/music-theatre/2017/11/it-s-cool-some-people-hate-my-show-st-vincent-fan-backlash-and-chinese?amp

[restoringsanity]

What's your thoughts on poc thinking they can't be racist?

Not sure if you’re going to like what I’m going to say - but, you asked for my thoughts, so you’ll get my thoughts.

First, I need to admit that I’m one of those people who prefer dictionary definitions of terminology. If we want to have conversations, we need to agree on what words mean, and that their definitions apply indiscriminately, following the same logic. We can’t have productive conversations any other way, because everything would get lost in semantics otherwise. Our definitions need to be globally applicable to some extent, as well. If ‘racism’ means something different in North America than it does in South America, Africa, Asia, Australia, Europe - the entire rest of the world essentially - we’re going to keep running into an abundance of obstacles, as well. As far as I (personally) am concerned, racism doesn’t need an updated or more specific definition. It’s plenty specific already.

But,I understand the need to specify the impact racism has on different groups of people.

This is important, so please pay attention.

Definition of Racism

Racism is the belief in the superiority of one race over another, which often results in discrimination and prejudice towards people based on their race or ethnicity. Today, the use of the term “racism” does not easily fall under a single definition.[1]

The ideology underlying racist practices often includes the idea that humans can be subdivided into distinct groups that are different due to their social behavior and their innate capacities as well as the idea that they can be ranked as inferior or superior.[2] The Holocaust is a classic example of institutionalized racism which led to the death of millions of people based on race.

While the concepts of race and ethnicity are considered to be separate in contemporary social science, the two terms have a long history of equivalence in both popular usage and older social science literature. “Ethnicity” is often used in a sense close to one traditionally attributed to “race”: the division of human groups based on qualities assumed to be essential or innate to the group (e.g. shared ancestry or shared behavior). Therefore, racism and racial discrimination are often used to describe discrimination on an ethnic or cultural basis, independent of whether these differences are described as racial. According to a United Nations convention on racial discrimination, there is no distinction between the terms “racial” and “ethnic” discrimination. The UN convention further concludes that superiority based on racial differentiation is scientifically false, morally condemnable, socially unjust and dangerous, and there is no justification for racial discrimination, anywhere, in theory or in practice.[3]

Racist ideology can become manifest in many aspects of social life. Racism can be present in social actions, practices, or political systems (e.g., apartheid) that support the expression of prejudice or aversion in discriminatory practices. Associated social actions may include nativism, xenophobia, otherness, segregation, hierarchical ranking, supremacism, and related social phenomena.

(source)

Stipulative Definition of Racism

Prejudice plus power is a stipulative definition of racism often used by anti-racist educators, including the American pastor Joseph Barndt.[1] The definition was first proposed by Patricia Bidol, who, in a 1970 book, defined it as “prejudice plus institutional power.”[2]According to this definition, two elements are required in order for racism to exist: racial prejudice, and social power to codify and enforce this prejudice into an entire society.[1][3] Reasons cited in support of this definition include that power is responsible for the creation of racial categories, and that people favor their own racial groups over others.[4] The reaction of students to this definition tends to be mixed, with some thinking that it makes sense, and others perceiving it as an unfair redefinition of racism to portray whites in an unfairly negative light.[5] In 2004, Beverly Tatum wrote that many of her white students find it difficult to relate to this definition on a personal level, because they do not perceive themselves either as prejudiced or as having power.[3] The definition has been criticized by some academics for relying on the assumption that power is a zero-sum game, and for not accounting for the lack of uniformity in prejudicial attitudes.[6] Critics have also noted that this definition is belied by the fact that except in absolutist regimes, minorities, however disadvantaged they may be, are not powerless, because power is organized into multiple levels.[7]

(source)

What is a ‘stipulative definition’?

A stipulative definition is a type of definition in which a new or currently-existing term is given a new specific meaning for the purposes of argument or discussion in a given context. When the term already exists, this definition may, but does not necessarily, contradict the dictionary (lexical) definition of the term. Because of this, a stipulative definition cannot be “correct” or “incorrect”; it can only differ from other definitions, but it can be useful for its intended purpose.[1][2]

For example, in the riddle of induction by Nelson Goodman, “grue” was stipulated to be “a property of an object that makes it appear green if observed before some future time t, and blue if observed afterward”. “Grue” has no meaning in standard English; therefore, Goodman created the new term and gave it a stipulative definition.

Stipulative definitions of existing terms are useful in making theoretical arguments, or stating specific cases. For example:

*Suppose we say that to love someone is to be willing to die for that person.

*Take “human” to mean any member of the species Homo sapiens.

*For the purposes of argument, we will define a “student” to be “a person under 18 enrolled in a local school”.

Some of these are also precising definitions, a subtype of stipulative definition that may not contradict but only extend the lexical definition of a term. Theoretical definitions, used extensively in science and philosophy, are similar in some ways to stipulative definitions (although theoretical definitions are somewhat normative, more like persuasive definitions).[2]

Many holders of controversial and highly charged opinions use stipulative definitions in order to attach the emotional or other connotations of a word to the meaning they would like to give it; for example, defining “murder” as “the killing of any living thing for any reason”. The other side of such an argument is likely to use a different stipulative definition for the same term: “the unlawful killing of a human being with malice aforethought” or “the premeditated killing of a human being”. The lexical definition in such a case is likely to fall somewhere in between.

When a stipulative definition is confused with a lexical definition within an argument there is a risk of equivocation.

(source)

Now, what is the purpose of the stipulative definition of racism? I would conclude it’s to highlight the origin and impact of racism in the United States specifically. The stipulative definition of racism benefits the argument that people of color in the United States suffer more (and have suffered more) from racism against their group, than white citizens suffer (and have suffered) from racism against their group.

Personally, I don’t think whether or not people of color can be racist is a necessary question. It’s detrimental to the overall conversations we need to have, and the questions we need to answer. By lexical definition - yes, they can. By stipulative definition - their racism, while not defined as such in this specific instance, has a lesser impact in countries where white citizens are the majority.

The lexical definition of racism describes the act of racism within a sociological and anthropological context.The stipulative definition of racism describes the act of racism against a specific historical background, while highlighting prejudice as a motivator and power imbalances as an enabling force.

“I believe white people are collectively inferior and I hate every single one of them, but I’m not racist.” -> incorrect according to lexical definition-> ‘correct’ according to stipulative definition

We have to acknowledge that the stipulative definition of racism perhaps shouldn’t be abused to excuse unbridled hatred, seeing as how it benefits nothing and no one to do so, other than people who seek to excuse their hatred. I don’t think hate needs an excuse. It speaks for itself, regardless. Do I have empathy for a person of color expressing their frustration in a vitriolic manner? Yes. Without a doubt. Do I have sympathy? To a lesser degree. Do I choose to take their anger personally? No. I don’t have to. (I’m not a white American, anyway. But even if I was, I’m much less interested in getting upset than I am in bettering the world for everyone.)If someone tells you “I’m in pain, and it’s your fault!” the moral thing to do would be to find ways to address their pain first, then deal with their accusations later, if it’s at all necessary. Your methods should be rational, reasonable, and compassionate.The response of some white Americans to certain accusations is, quite frankly, embarrassing. If your response to someone expressing pain is self-flagellation, self-loathing and overabundant expressions of guilt - you’re not helping. Your pain doesn’t lessen the pain of others, it just adds to it. Your response has to be dignified and concise. I find it quite irritating to witness that political/societal discourse has become further obsessed with ‘whiteness’ in their attempt to deconstruct it. Just … focus, for fuck’s sake. Stop getting distracted by masturbatory hyper-wokeness. You can have all kinds of discussion on campus, that’s what it’s for, but outside of that bubble, you have to focus on the issues that many Americans still struggle with. (Yes, this entire post is US-centric, because the initial ask is.)The issues marginalized Americans deal with are issues of racism and classism - which, interestingly, is included in the stipulative definition of racism. It’s a matter of prioritizing according to impact. Poor white Americans have it rough, but poor people of color living in America are just profoundly fucked. You can, and you should address both. If your goal is 1, and you have two lesser instances, one at 0.75 and one at 0.25 you need and want to elevate both to 1. It just takes more effort to elevate one instance. Of course, either instance might elevate themselves by reducing one another to 0, but the total sum would be lesser. Or maybe I’m just bad at math, and this example sucks. Who knows.

There’s really no point in pushing each other down in our attempt at finding equal standing. Same as it’s useless to point fingers. It doesn’t really matter who is racist, or sexist, or anything like that - it’s about addressing the issues stemming from racism, sexism, etc. If a patient arrives in critical condition, your approach is symptomatic initially. As soon as their condition isn‘t critical anymore, then you can address the core problems.

Continuing on with the US-centrism - the American body still isn’t in stable condition. A festering infection has broken out recently (cough white supremacy cough), which is going to slow down the process of healing to a considerable degree. It can’t just be cut out, either. Whatever it has infected is part of the system, too. That’s why all of this is so fucking complicated.

Anyway, at this point I’m just rambling. It’s just very frustrating to observe, and while I have lived it to a certain degree, I certainly haven’t experienced it the exact same way. These are my thoughts on the issue.

To boil it down to a simple statement: What are my thoughts on people of color (in the U.S.) thinking they can’t be racist? Who cares? That’s not the issue. It’s a petty question, it’s a petty issue, it benefits no one.

[semi-imaginary-place]

fe3h blogging 5 because I’ve been posting on discord and I can’t remember what number I was on oct-feb???

So I'm doing another no recruit run and realizing how much planning I need Me: why do I do this to myself  Specifically its SS usuing none of the black eaglea So Byleths going to be soloing until I can recruit all the church staff... or flayn comes along... 

Lambert and the death knight have the same voice actor. Lambert=death knight. Mystery solved

Loog was only able to gain faerghus independence because the emoire was already weakened from its failed invasion of dagda

Also its part if the seiros canon that a great evil darkness came out of the north. That couldn't posaibly feed into racism

The greatest sin this game has commited was giving gilbert a redemption arc

if only the devs weren’t cowards...

Why does dorothea even have A supports with guys? Her head is filled with only girls. has she ever shown interest in a guy?? Beyond a I want to be financially secure and tolerate your presence. everyone else is bi/pan[ Except caspar Hes just an idiot 

I'm gonna post hot takes for the sexuality of each character and yall cant stop me

Edelgard: lesbian Hubert: Edelgard Ferdinand: pansexual Linhardt: grey spec pan but prefers men+ Caspar: too stupid to evaluate Bernadetta: "I want friends" Dorothea: big lesbian Petra: pansexual

Dimitri: confused and repressed Dedue: gay Felix: swords redheads Ashe: pansexual Sylvain: pansexual prefers women Mercedes: pansexual prefers women Annete: lesbian Ingrid: pansexual prefers men

Claude: Demi pansexual/romantic++ Lorenz: ~~noble obligations~~ pansexual and repressed Raphael: grey ace/aro+++ Ignatz: pansexual prefers women Lysithea: pansexual++++ Marianne: pansexual Hilda: pansexual but usually dates guys Leonie: grey ace

+Linhardt feels romantic/sexual attraction but not strongly. He feels romantic love but he doesn't get crushes. ++Claude is the type to fall in love slowly after an emotional connection has already been formed and then get a crush after they've been going steady for 10 years. +++Raphael feels romantic/sexual attraction but not strongly and usually prefers queer platonic relationships ++++more to do with the individual than gender, but girls are cute

Game crashed and I lost like 4 hours of progress TT^TT

I'm on SS (which is the only route I haven't played) and hnnnnng I miss claude its been like 3 months since I played VW. Also I need to write down a time line some time but the stuff the agarthans have been pulling feeds the world builder in me. especially hyrm

as nice as the idea of all the lords getting along and talking things out is, it wouldn’t work out in canon, Edelgard has tunnel vision. Dimitri is irrational and would rather listen to his hallucinations that evidence. And no one trust Claude enough to believe him

Hilarious really how Edelgard will call for Hubert to carry you despite her massive strength and how hubert looks like a gentle wind will blow him over

Macuil/Indech:  Shun society. Run off into the wilds. Have vaugue legends be told of you. Be a crpytid

linhardt is such an unrepentant bastard

I had a dream where I could make male units pegasus knights. And then I woke up to cruel reality

Alois is growing on me. At first I was like uuuggg another bumbling idiot. But you know what? Fuck Seteth for not giving Alois more vacation time to see his family

Cavalry units be like: crushes a watermelon with their thighs

Some of the knights were bullying Alois. Who was it. I will bring them untold pain.

Reason #??? to punch Gilbert: he saw this poor child struggling to control his strength and went this boy doesn't need to learn how to control his strength, what he needs is more strength training.  I mean absent emotionally distant and all over shitty father to annette is reason number 1. But dimitri is reason number 2.  Oh let's make this kid lift rocks and run around the moutains at night in full armor in winter. Instead of being able to pick something up without breaking it and you know be able to perform basic daily tasks.  Let's make a human shaped weapon instead of a functional person.  Gilbert single handedly ruined AM for me because he just wouldn't stop messing up everyone else's lives

Each character's recruit requirements are what they admire/respect in a person

I forgot hubert becomes unavailable in month 2. and now I'm stuck with his stupis razor

Hot take. BotW Link and part 2 Ingrid have the same haircut

I'm on my last route (SS) but i hate rhea so much...

why do you think maurice/the beast's crest was used to make aymr?

Also all the nameless backgound characters have brown hair but of the main cast, its only dorothea and claude

Annette’s handwriting: Neat and cute.  Linhardt writes in cursive because he cant be bothered to lift his pen Sylvain has nice handwriting. Ingrid's is very functional, felix's is half way to chicken scratch lots of sharp angles. Dimitri cries on the inside at the thought of picking up a pen. as a kid Dimitri has terrible handwriting and breaks a pen every 5 min. He practiced so hard. Most of what people think is his handwriting is Dedue's (neat and pretty) because dedue writes most of his letters for him

me playing azure moon: I want out. get me off this death train

Finally getting alois's support and wow he's like a human shaped puppy in the sahpe of a middle aged man.  Always falling over himself. Ridiculously happy. 100% all the time. Running and barking everywhere

Fact of the day: dorothea hates eating fish

Alright. Seteth and Flayn's descriptions of her mom are very different.  Where is the truth???  Seteth was like shes demure, quiet, pious, and honest. And Flayn's says she's like Judith

game is forcing me to flirt with Alois? Can I not please!

I keep saying it but Lorenz grows on you like a fungus. He has excellent supports

 i want to weave gold thread into claudes hair

Under rated character development: Dorothea. Every one of her lines in part 2 makes me want to cry.  "every rose has its thorns" -> "only thorns left on this rose" Her character development is that she just gets worn down by the war and I want to bundle her up in a blanket and give her a cup of warm milk.  Dorothea is so full of love. So she feels the sorrows of the war so intensely.

FE3H needs better dads. I mean even jeralt and seteth aren’t great dads. They're just not down right horrible.  Jeralt is emotionally distant with an alcohol problem that byleth had to clean up after him. But there are worse dads Alois seems decent but he needs to spend more time at home. Seteth should have given Alois more vacation time.  They aren't terrible dads. But they aren't getting medals either.  Love their kids but have flaws of their own.

ANNETTE DESERVED BETTER THAN GILBERT Burn him at the stake No wait. He’d want that

My loathing for gilbert is beyond description.  He hurts everyone around him, then doesn't listen to what they have to say, and then keeps continuing his existence as a sad sack of shit.  1. Emotionally distant, strict, and often absent father. Clearly cared about his work for than family.  2. He then straight up leaves with out a note or telling his family anything.  3 knows that annette is looking for him and avoids her.  4. Annette just wants her dad back. That's what would make her happy but he denies her that because he's a selfish bastard.  5. Then he goes on and on about his man-pain while not helping anyone. he self flagellates and blames himself a lot but he never tries to change and so he stays there, is this cycle of self pity.  "Ohhh I have sinned and can not be forgiven" .and I'm like why not do right by the people you hurt? And he's like "no no I have sinned. I cannot see them" or some other bullshit.  He also gets some bullshit redemption arc that I want to scrub clean from my memory because he doesn't deserve it.  Annette's support is all about oh i forgive you. And it puts all the emotional labor on annette and just makes me real angry. And i am going to stop thinking about that disgrace of a human now.

Seteth is controlling. Wont let flayn have friends. Boys arent qllowed to talk to her.  She can't go out. He has to know where she is 24/7. Seteth really is suffocating Flayn. Early in the game Flayn compares herself to a hot house flower, confined to a green house, doomed to die outside it. It bring up the question which is better, to live a long life in constant fear and isolation (remember flayn is very much a people person), or to live a short fulfilling life. The answer of course is that it should be flayns choice. But Seteth denies her autonomy. Flayn is not quite an adult, but even discounting the decades* that she has lived, even a teenager should have some say in the direction of their life. Time and time again Flayn expresses her will and Seteth ignores her. She is allowed little existence outside of him.  Its also hilarious how bad their cover story is.  Its true they love each other but Seteth causes Flayn a fair bit of suffering. Its played for comedy sometimes. And Flayn to some degree tolerates it because she understands that he does it for her sake, and she understands the real danger she is in. They just disagree with what is an acceptable degree of risk. Seteth tolerates no risk which at that point can't be called living. Flayn accepts the danger and believes it is worthwhile to enjoy life and help people despite it. the counselor box also reveals that seteth has been stalking her and think her talking to dudes is bad despite that having nothing to do with the danger of the agarthans.

A fun thing to think about is if Flayn was born of 2 nabeteans, she's a human halfie, or someother sothis bullshit.  I reviewed the sea nd sky paralogue recently looking for answers and there were some hints? Maybe? nothing definative. all we know for sure is that flayn’s mom died in the nemesis war.  Also I have a hypothesis that flayn was in a regenerative coma for most of the 1000 years so she's been active less than 200 years which is why Seteth treats here like a waylaid toddler.

the flayn seteth c support is great Seteth.exe crashes and then reboots right in front of our very eyes

Catherine has such big wlw energy. I didn't quite realize it until I got her supports but hooboy.  Saw a lady so pretty she forgot she almost died pfft.  And this is just with rhea.  The catherine-shamir supports themselves are gold.

Catherine: ever see a woman so beautiful you forget you almost died and decide to devote your whole life to her?

Catherine->Shamir: i get worried when you go out on missions on your own. I'm not there to protect you. I'm scared of you leaving me behind. I never want to leave you side. Between my life and your life i'd choose your life me: ! Shamir: i don't know what the future holds, but let's get married me: !!!!!!!!!!!!

Also catherine/christoph was a thing in the past. Highschool sweethearts. Before she executed him for treason

Ahahahhha this is great! And by great I mean hilarious. Dimitri dies even more offscreen in SS than in VW.  Ghost dimitri in ss made me laugh but  do we ever get an explanation for ghost dimitri or it like the cf finale? Themetically significant. Sure lets go with that

I'm really starting to see where the parts of vw and ss were smushes together

Embarr has the best night life

Recruiting sylvain into the gd feels mean. I'm taking away the only one with 2 braincells to rub together

Under all the noble bullshit, Lorenz really is a great guy

Do you think every demonic beast looks unique and its only that the devs didnt want to make more models that they dobt look different in game?

Recruiting sylvain into the gd feels mean. I'm taking away the only one with 2 braincells to rub together in the blue lions

Sylvain is warm

I wish we got to explore derdriu

PETRA DESERVES BETTER WRITERS. and give her a fluffy coat. She's gotta be cold in garreg mach

Count Varley is at the top of the hit list

Add alois onto team i'm scared of ghosts (lysithea, ashe, annette)[5:44 PM] That's it. I'm kidnapping alois from the church's clutches and taking him home. The church doesn't deserve him. And he hates his job

W h y  i s  everyone from faergus so eager to give up their personhood

Does faerghus seem really backwater to anyone else? Faergus reminds me of like 900's europe while leicester and adrestia are more like 1600's europe.  they still have that germanic warrior culture thing going. This is deep in the dark ages. I will accept the later half of the dark ages though since its post introduction of christianity. Leicester and Adrestia feel more like 1600-1700s They feel not quite french revolution, but getting there.  Yeah like the old institutions (crown and church) are still there but the cracks are showing.  Also the clothes

I thinki talked about this before. But when I say dorothea deserves the world. DOROThEA DESERVES THE WORLD. she’s been through so much

I need to go compare this with the verdant wind scene, but I was under the impression that sothis was in a regenerative coma after the war with the agarthans. But nope according to ss she was straigt up dead huh

i know I'm suppose to be fighting but I spent the last 30min exploring shambhala again

Damn it Shamir! Why'd ya have ta crit. I was trying to get dialog!January 2, 2020

gatekeeper > you < gatekeeper's identical twin brother who's on the opposite side of the war Its a sandwich

Oh wow the church really was up to some bloodborne level stuff

I turned every single one of the black eagles into a brigand (except linhardt and hubert).  Brigand gang brigand gang

The devs knew Claude and Lindhardt would just be too powerful. They had to be separated. thats why they dont have a support chain.  Sylvain and Claude has more energy but Sylvain has the conscious that Lindhardt lacks.  I mean Lindhardt singlehandedly lock picks  the holy tomb and disables rhea's magic mechs all while complaining he's sleepy.  Sylvain can be bullied into doing things and I love him for it.  Ah. I want both support chains

After Jeralts death both Claude and Edelgard both tell you that the world will continue spinning regardless of what befalls you personally but they do so in rather different ways. Edelgard phrases it like pull yourself together or the world will leave you behind. Claude phrases it like personal tragedies are such a small thing in the face of the world. You may have suffered a loss but there is so much to the world beyond that. There are still worthwhile things in the world. Both of say the world doesnt stop for you but mean different things.  And both are trying to motivate you to pull yourself together.  Whereas dimitri is like: you want vengence? You should go for vengence. I'll help you rip them apart. I'll kill for you.

Edelgard is socially awkward and blunt. She's also very practical minded so she doesn't know how to won't say something comforting when she can say something useful.  She's trying in her own way  To motivate byleth to start picking up their life.  Edelgard doesn't get people. Social interaction is a total mystery to her. She's just too stubborn to realize it.  At a couple points you can tease her and she thinks you're threatening her. She's not good at the people thing.  While she can come off a little rough because she doesn't understand how other people work. Hubert understands other people rather well and is an asshole anyways. List of characters who have threatened byleth: dimitri, hubert, sylvain, jeritza, catherine

Was sothis one of the divine dragon tribe? a lot of the other divine dragons had green hair especially the ones worshiped as gods (duma, mila, naga, tiki). But not fae or nowi.  I always got that dragon stones were like a dragon's essence sealed away so that while in human form they could stave off dragon degeneration. But what are crest stones. Were they made by the agarthans (artificial dragon stones) or are crest stones a natural part  of the nabeteans and the agarthans just harvested them. Or... ARE THERE BOTH. But the pov characters cant tell the difference.  This one group has messed with how many nations now?? SS has an interesting tidbit that's  been stuck in my head:  In the final map of SS its revealed that all high ranking church officials recieve Seiros' blood and a crest stone shard. WHERE ARE THE SHARDS COMING FROM. DAMN YOU SETETH YOU CANT JUST SAY THINGS LIKE THAT AND LEAVE ME. because if they are seiros crest stone shards that neans crest stones are not an Agarthan invention. But that condridicts VW where rhea says creststones are made of nabateab hearts. tldr: I'm confused. where are those fragments coming from??? Wait. This is all assuming a nabetean needs their heart inside them to live. Given how violently rhea reacts to losing even 1 crest stone I don't think she used the ones of her brethern. Which logically leaves only one weird possible answer. That rhea took her own heart/crest stone and has been giving out fragments. I mean she probably retrives the fragments when the priest dies.... this also means that nabeteans can survive with their heart outside their body... like a litch.... which I mean given sothis isn't too suprising? ??

VW and SS have such wacky endings. Let's go fight the cyberpunk mole people now!. Zombie invasion?  : check Weird bloodborne stuff and then we fight rhea?: check

Yeah VW was my first route and whew that was a wild ride. AM is so tame is comparison. but SS and VW lack the setup to pull out twists like that.  If this was like Nier: Automata where you get endings sequentially, it might have worked. But on their own the last 2 maps don't have anything at stake

hmmm  switching the final battles of verdant wind and silver snow? What would make a better story and why?  rhea kinda works because SS is all about rhea and saving her from herself as well as a revival of the church. But Nemesis also brings closure to Rhea's arc. She's been stuck for the last 1000 years to to fight the man who killed her most important person for good is like also really good thematically. VW is all about something new. Doing away with old structures and what better than to kill the pope? But facing the 10 elites also works for VW because that's the begining of the crest/nobility system you are literally killing.  I just like recruiting everyone and then killing the 10 elites with their own weapons wielded by their descendants.  its symbolic

Byleth is an excellent brigard. Went beigand and then wyvrn and their strength was higher than dimitri's

Claude: Rule? Nah. Gonna go be a scholar in an isolated mountain range. Books

Sylvain is a himbo wannabe

I should recruit annette and let her kill gilbert...  The one thing I'm worried about is that it'll hurt her more than it'll hurt him ... can I get crusher in crimson flower? If I were to recruit everyone and then get them all killed, what route would that be best in? Guess I'll be doing a death pact AM run some time in the future

Also koei tecmo and intsys are cowards for gender locking classes.  From a gameplay perspecrive too some characters are locked out of their ideal classes (war master for catherine and gremory for lindhardt). And then there's the in lore significance. Let hubert ride a pegasus.

Dorothea spent the entirety of their paralogue hitting on Ingrid. And then the RING at the end??? and they can’t support. Also Ingrid should have gotten an A support with Mercedes. They get along so well

Edelgard got the best designs in the game but Dorothea got the next best

Its canon. Edelgard thinks Claude grew up to be hot. Edelgard acknowledging that Claude is hot but but that she’s going to kill him anyways is just so good ....aaaaand one again I'm a coward who couldn't bring themself to kill Claude. But the completionist in me really wants to. The scene after sparing cluade between him and edelgard has kept me up too many nights.  What are the emotions here? My first guess was loss, grief. Someone else has interpreted it as aggtession though. And maybe we are both over thinking this but to me Claude's lines here say "I have failed"

Dorothea deserves a dragon

Caspar is actually real good for bernadetta. Its like talking to a sack of potatoes and doing so forces her to communicate better, firmly express herself, etc. Caspar has such great supports with all the ladies really

I really am just linhardt. I too disregard authority and despise being woken up...

I feel like we should all appreciate dorothea more. Death to the haters

ingrid equipping the duscar cavalry battalion is like  "I can exploit their labor so it’s alright"

I found felix was my solace in AM just because everyone else goes full death cult. despite how much i wanted to punch him when he told ingrid to go get a husband.  Also I should note I'm not sure felix whole heartesly believed what he said to Ingrid. I got the impression he said the thing he knew would upset her the most.  Not necessarily what he believed. That said he may actually believe it too.  Ingrid and felix remind be of squabbling siblings just saya the worst stuff to each other.  Unless felix has actively confronted the notion of faerhgus patriarchy he probably has internalized some of the beliefs. We all do. Thats why theyre so hard to dig out

Since we talk a lot about dads. Let's talk margrave edmund. tldr: complicated and interesting relationship with marianne.  What we know: he adopted marianne some time after her parents died, before she enrolles into the officers academy. Marianne says he's usuing her as marriage bait to marry up and increase the standing of house edmund.  This tracks with what others say about edmund: he's politically ambitious. And he's good at it enough to have gotten house edmund a seat at the round table.  In pretty much all her endings, he tutors mariannne until she's a political savant.  He forbid her from leaving the monestary in part 1.  Now let's go in between the lines. In part 1 marianne seems nervous of margrave edmund, but she also seems nervous of everything is part 1. In part 2, along with being more comfortable with herself she seems more familiar with him.  After the end of part 1 she likely returned to house edmund despite the attack being the perfect cover to disappear.  We don't get get much on edmund's personality buy he comes across as ruthlessly practical. The sort that goes "I can and will use everything to get what I want".  He likely adopted marianne not out of charity or compassion but so the house could have a crested heir and so he could use her as a bargining chip to other houses. But he sees enough potential in her to train her to be the next head of house. I think what started out as "ah another piece i can use" transitioned into a more friendly relationship as marianne began to assert herself and margrave edmund came to acknowledge her as more than how she could benefit him. I don't think he ever got over the "how can i use this" mentality but I'd like to think that after some years they came to get along. Ah yes I meant to do a hyrm thing and put it off for months. The Agarthans had long been infiltrating the empire and slowly increasing their influence on the government. In an attempt to stop this emperor ionius ix attempted to gain more power for himself to counter them by centralizing the government and taking power away from the nobles. House Hyrm attempted to defect to the leicester alliance with the help of house ordelia. In retaliation the Agarthans under the guise of the empire killed the members of house hrym and took control of hrym and ordelia. Also in response to ionius' move, the top ministers of the empire backed by the Agarthans began the insurrection of the seven where all political power was taken from the emperor. The Agarthans than experimented on ordelia and the royal family to implant crests while usuing hrym as a base of operations. After Emile killed that scrumbag baron bartels as well as the rest of the bartels family. Edelgard thought he could be useful as a piece not already controled by the Agarthans, and with their helped fabricated him a new identity as jeritza von hrym since hrym was a puppet for the Agarthans. Lord Arundel (Thales) then ensured jeritza a spot at garreg mach so he could act as an inside agent.

Anyone know the significance of rhea's mech's names (wilhelm, iris, etc.). past friends?  lol would it be messed up or what if its powered by his corpse 

Jeritza really is an acquired taste... wow

... I wonder sometimes if I like making things hard for myself... like I'll make rules like 4+ units have to attack an enemy before I kill them... or certain units can't be next to each other or just other abitrary rules. Anyways I'm just complaining because I did all this on the final map while under leveled last night (?) and am now just going "...why" at myself

Also, I wish we got the option of keep class headgear.  Some of it looks really cool and some of the classes (bishop??) look incomplete with out it.  Let me have my little hats!  Like mortal savant gets an oni mask which looks rad. And warlocks get flowery witch hats! Just finished crimson flowers again with warlock and then gremory dorothea and was like hmmmm.... she needs flowers in her hair

Also if you look up dimitri's dancer skirt you'll see he's wearing black short shorts

Team heretic: edelgard, hubert, petra, claude, leonie, linhardt in the closet: lorenz

So for those of you that keep up with my rambling... remember how i said the funal cf cutscene makes no sense? Did sothis self terminate? If she dud than why arent there records of other crest stones disintigrating? Or is it a sothis specific thing? Its possible sothis’s consciousness is stored in her creststone/heart but then how can you still s support her in CF? i've been trying to logic and reason this for several months and i cant get it to all fit. But on a symbolic level its like the coming of a new age, sothis' hold on the world (and her influence on byleth) disappears. Live on without dieties (literally in byleth's case). The new age of humanity and all so byleth becomes a normal human, no god powers yada yada. I think claude is the only one that knows byleth has no heartbeat?? (Maybe? I cant remember) since claude reads jeralt's diary. Thematic significance > narrative consistency. There's also that rhea goes beserk in SS and not VW, when the same stuff happens to her in both. Which doesn't add up for me. And Nemesis ...is he still sitting there in the other routes... Where did he get an army anyways? I assumed the agarthans just had a whole army frozen...But then why didn't they use it earlier? And can you imagine just a whole city of cryo pods underground. Just there.

Anyways I'm off to kill all the blue luons and solo with dimitri on maddening!  Can I get gilbert killed in AM or is he too plot important. I've been playing on casual like a coward so far

Ah ashen wolves shadow cinders looks edgy. I wonder why they have 4 kids in a dungeon. Theres that npc that talk about hiw garreg mach needs the abyss to survive. I wonder why they keep this system

I dont keep up with english VAs but it'd be funny if yuri was voiced by yuri lowenthal

anyone with a crest has less of a chance of  demonic beasting than someone with no crest in lore. In gameplay you can use any crest weapon as long as you have any crest. You just wont get the added benefits of that specific crest

Yuri is very pretty and I’m weak for beautiful long haired men.  But i kinda wish the nintendo would let us have BEEF

If only i could have 300 save files...

Yuri really just is Leon with amnesia. Down to the red eyeliner...

Who let balthus into a highschool

I have that insistent desire to punch the writers for putting dorothea and mercedes through all that

Manuela. Has. So. Much. Love!  And her line about how [as teachers] we cant lose the students to violence or cowardice

The head of felix plopped onto a generic brawler body will always be funny to me

Yeah... sylvain really treats you different when male.  There was a reason were many reasons I really wanted to punch sylvain when I first started playing. namely the misogyny

male Byleth just looks really good as a swordsmaster

From a gameplay perspective I think divine pulse should have been removed for maddening.  From a story perspective they did a pretty good job integrating time mechanics as god powers

I wonder if Jeralt reminded Rhea of Wilhelm

i love giving bad advice for the advice box

why is tea time is the hardest part of the game

Seriously. How does garreg mach even work? Fail school and you get sent to the dungeons for life. What.

Sylvain would totally be one of those dudes with too much money dolling out patronages

Let hilda be warmaster

Hmmm edelgard... fatalism....

Please mod gilbert out of the game Lorenz has got a good heart. But the words that come out of his mouth sometimes...

Oh yeah you know that rainbow flash dream sequence right at the begining of the game? Is it me or did I see skyscrapers in it

The inside of byleth's head is a smash tournament

Seteth can die and I'll kill him.  (Ok ok I don't actually hate the guy. But I don't like him either. He's the type I'd tolerate working with but want nothing to do with outside of the professional setting)

Caspar and linhardt really are THAT comedy duo. I need a whole book dedicated to their paired endings

Sylvain's dick is still the funniest joke on the internet

The weirdest part of part 2 felix's hair isn't even the aggresive side sweep. That can be explained by having stiff straight hair. Its the limp pony tail. If your hair is that stiff, any ponytail that length is going to stick straight out like as anime character. I have this hair type. I've succeded in replicating the side sweep, the ponytail doesnt work

give mercedes a gun cowards

Marianne with a cute bob. Marianne with short hair. very home of phobe of intsys not to make marianne like an actual werewolf or something

devs should have let Bernie learn how to beat her dad to death with her bare fists

I've returned home to my boy. I love Claude!

Mortal savant ignatz. I mean strength in swords and budding talent in reason. Youre going to ba a magic samurai ignatz!

I had forgotten how much gd plays like a mystery game. Also, whatever I said earlier I take it back. Lysithea has a crush on Leonie

I keep trying to imagine an adrestia that isn't tropical (because why else would they wear heavy coats), and failing...

I really love raphael. He's so good

Claude's this interesting mix of cynical and idealistic yeah. He has a number of strong ideals and believes in the potential of humanity to do good, to grow and learn, to come together and built. But he also struggles because at the same time he also believes humans will usually choose the easier path of ignorance and hate. People are cruel and don't care.[5:30 AM]He's really cynical about what people are actually going to do

Sylvain's just layer upon layer of unhealthy coping mechanism

I don’t really like the ingrid/claude ship. ingrid tends to fixate on one shallow quality in a person and then ship them shit about it. and that’s the support. and the writers don’t have her ever acknowledging the rest of the character’s personality or admitting her first impression might have been incorrect.  that especially doesn't pair well with Claude who hides so much of himself. Out of all the characters Claude can A support Ingrid's the only one I where I went "whyyyyyyy"[10:02 AM]It really felt like the typical C-B support. Of i cant stand you because of 1, 2, and 3. To hey maybe you aren't so bad

i can't help but think the empire and alliance are incredibly stupid for making lorenz a cavalier. He's terrible at it.

Hold the phone. Was jeralt a soldier in the leicester independwnce war? (On thw faerhgus side).  But thats 300 years ago. All we know is that hexs older than 100.  The almyra unvasion is another option. Its also possible that jeraly wasnt involved in any war

So I'm trying to get rhea killed on the last chapter of part 1 for GD and wow its really hard to lose the fight this way. Enemies will avoid her like the plague. I cant believe I'm struggling to lose a fight Rhea is unkillable. I have taken no actions for 15 turns are she is still not dead Starting to think its impossible to lose by rhea death in this battle Turn 31. Its only raphael and hilda left Yeah as long as you have 1 unit to keep enemy infanty out of the pink squares this map is inpossible to lose on hard mode  60 turns. All of Rhea’s spell and weapon uses are gone and she still wont die. I give up

I've been thinking of hilda dimitri hypothetical supports recently and i think they"d be halfway between her lorenz+ferdinand supports and her marianne supports.[1:48 AM]Hilda is the QUEEN of suckering people and dimitri is the biggest sucker in the game[1:51 AM]But like marianne's clumsiness, dimitri can't do basic tasks well so hilda hoisting her chores on him is sure to backfire hilariously. He also has that kicked puppy pitifulness that part 1 marianne has so hilda will end up feeling  sorry watching him struggle and help out[1:52 AM]But these 2 are both deeply compassionate so they could actually get along.  You know... i can see ferdinand and claude hating each other's guts. But there's such potential for personal growth...

Why is it that the agarthans have the most named npcs out of any factionJump

If gilbert is what it means to be an "exceptional knight". Then i dont want it. I dont want knights and i especially dont want execptional knights

I like playing on hard because i never have to worry about winning a fight only about how many style points I can rack up.

Why does fodland new year start on month 3.  Look i get that the japanese adopted the chinese calendar system of new year in early spring before adopting the gregorian calendar so "new years" events ended up split between month 1 (new years celebration) and month 3/4 (start of school). But that makes no sense for fodlan. In universe it doesnxt make sense. Why not have month 1 start in spring or have the new year in winter. Ok let's be real. The real reason its like this is that due to globalization and post ww2 american influence not to mention european colonialism, the gregorian calander is the one the world runs on. So its for us players benefit that month 1 is in winter and month 6 is summer. But in universe it doesn't make sense! Not unless you start making really convoluted excusrs[4:00 AM](Sorry southern hemisphere   No representation for you today) This only works for chinese new years because its 2 different calender systems being used at the same time. Which doesn't make sense in fodlan because why would rhea allow a new calander system in given her isolationist policy. Or if its a remnant of an old calender system, there's no way it lasted 1000 years

If jeralt hadn't been killed by kronya, he would have been consumed by the hivemind in SS and you would have been forced to kill him

The devs really went out of their way to give jeritza a unique class huh. He's a dark knight+swords. You can say it. He's just a dark knight. Yet they really went and slapped death knight on him[2:49 PM]Also as a pc his crit rate in underwelming

The s suport cgs are more stylized and its a little jarring

Is it only me than. Who get ways too many support points thant hey know what to do with.

We need a cats remake but its called rats and is dimitri in every role

I want a lysithea hilda a support[5:48 PM]Hilda's the only ine lysithea likes from the start[5:48 PM]They have mutual respect for each other[5:48 PM](Also side note. Wow lysithea is mean to ignatz. Poor baby)

Reminder that its Marianne who title drops vw

Did I miss something? Felix becoming the top advisor for all of fodlan seems like a bad idea. The only thing that comes close to showing he's competant is his ingrid support where it shows he's decent at tactics. Reason number 76 for why I'm worried for fodlan post AM. Along with ... ya know .. the Agarthans still running around.

One part of vw i didn't like was when the merchants went woohoo no regulations and free trade yay!Jump

I'll be honest. 7 year old me would have swindled dimitri out of his good halloween candy

[ahouseoflies]

The Best Films of 2019, Part IV

Part III, Part II, Part I PRETTY PRETTY GOOD MOVIES

62. Shazam! (David F. Sandberg)- One of the most comic-booky movies to come around in a while in the sense that it seems to be in fast forward for the first third, using shorthands because it has too much story to tell. I am sad to report that Shazam! has no Movie Stars in it, and I didn't realize how essential those were to the superhero genre. There is a cagey standalone quality to its modest bets though. I like that it's anchored in a real place and isn't afraid to be a little too scary for kids. I would see it mostly as a product of potential though, for a funny Jack Dylan Grazer, for the filmmakers, and for the studio. As a student of weird billing, I have so many questions about Adam Brody getting awarded fifth lead for a bit part.

61. Fighting with My Family (Stephen Merchant)- Dwayne Johnson as producer feels like the auteur here, since the formulaic story has more to do with his combed-over, please-everyone persona than with Stephen Merchant's more messy, improvisatory style. I couldn't care less about the time spent on Jack Lowden's brother character, but I was impressed with the physical part of Florence Pugh's performance. This is a movie you've seen a hundred times, but it hits most of its marks skillfully. 60. Spider-Man: Far From Home (Jon Watts)- This is a movie in which a spurned tech innovator uses drone projectors to stage a battle in which he defeats an elemental water monster to save Venice. The best sequence is one in which a boy tries to trick his friends into letting him sit next to the girl he likes on a flight.  59. John Wick: Chapter 3- Parabellum (Chad Stahelski)- What a criticism it is to claim that the filmmakers give in too much to fanservice, especially since I don't know what that word means anymore if something like this is the monoculture. So they gave us, the audience, what we wanted, and I was upset that it was two hours and ten minutes? Seriously though, have you ever eaten too much ice cream? 58. Fyre (Chris Smith)- An interesting yarn that gets at the foolishness of Internet influencing better than anything else that I've seen. I was surprised by how distant many of the subjects seemed, as if only the Big Bad Billy was responsible for any misleading. And I was grateful that, despite the level of criminality on display, it was still as funny as the tweets were at the time. The film lacks shape though, and it would be nice to have somebody smart on hand to answer questions. Can someone explain to me why it's so important that the island used to be Pablo Escobar's? Why should I want to be like Pablo Escobar? 57. Leaving Neverland (Dan Reed)- Part 1 works because of the striking similarities in the parallel stories, as well as the subjects' perspicacious understanding of their own emotions and childhood psychology. So Part 2 gets extremely frustrating when these men, who have already proven how articulate they are, seem puzzled by the obvious psychological problems they have as adults. 56. Diane (Kent Jones)- This movie is kind of good when it's purely slice-of-life, before it declares what it is. It's very good once it declares itself as a routine of self-flagellation, a sort of Raging Bull for women with multiple recipes for tater tot hotdish. It's a little less good when it speeds up and goes back on that thesis near the end. For the record, I think Mary Kay Place is fine. I don't get the critical adoration.

55. Rocketman (Dexter Fletcher)- If the choice is Bohemian Rhapsody or this, then I'll take this every time. Unlike the former, Elton John's life doesn't present an obvious high point in the second half or easy conflict for the first half. As a result, the relationships within John's family seem broad with manufactured conflict. (His birth father's hardness isn't that far off from Walk Hard's "wrong kid died.") But there's an authenticity here that's refreshing, a respect to the unique friendship between Elton and Bernie and a respect for the transformative power of the music. That sincerity extends to Egerton's generous performance, which nails the self-effacing Elton John smile. So there are some biopic structural problems that can't be helped, but if only to admire the '80s fits that Elton gets off, attention must be paid. 54. Triple Frontier (J.C. Chandor)- A useful example for differentiating between tropes and cliches of the action drama genre. For someone who gets less amped than I do for dudes meeting in a shipping container to have a conversation about how "now is the time to get out," it's probably full of cliches. For fans of hyper-masculine parables about getting a team together (that are also sort of meta-commentaries on their lead actor's fallen star), it's full of tropes. 53. The Lego Movie 2: The Second Part (Mike Mitchell)- The plot is nearly incoherent, and the sequel isn't really satirizing anything like the first one was. But the jokes come at a Zucker-Abrahams-Zucker clip. A character in a car chase saying, "It's like she knows my every move" before a cut reveals he's been using turn signals? That's some Frank Drebin stuff. 52. Long Shot (Jonathan Levine)- Jonathan Levine has carved out an interesting directorial space for himself, with a career far different from what I imagined when I saw and loved The Wackness, a film to which I'm a little afraid to return. Levine is making, at the highest level possible ($40 million budget?), the types of movies that we claim don't get made anymore. A one-crazy-night Christmas comedy, an adventure comedy, and now a political romantic comedy, all with top flight Movie Stars. Long Shot seems like a rare opportunity to put Seth Rogen and Charlize Theron together and do something special, and what we come out with is...cute. For every good decision the film makes--what a supporting cast, all playing rounded characters--it makes a bad one--leaning too heavily into Rogen's patented "I don't really know what we're yelling about" delivery. The music is uninspired, but the presidential satire is pretty clever. The rhythm of the film is jagged and doesn't really cut together, but the script is very fair to the Theron character. Even in the general tone of the film's politics, it declares a few ideals, but those positions are still too neutral and obvious. I had a good time, but in a more capable director's hands, this experience wouldn't feel like math. 51. Isn’t It Romantic (Todd Strauss-Schulson)- So frothy that it almost doesn't believe in itself, especially near the end, but I found myself laughing a lot. Regarding the gay best friend, I'm very interested in the space of politically incorrect humor that is acceptable only because the work has built up self-awareness in other areas. That's a difficult negotiation, but this movie balances it. 50. Yesterday (Danny Boyle)- There's one twist that stretches the moral center of the film, and two minutes later there's a twist that's probably just a bridge too far in good taste. Other than that, this is a really cute Richard Curtis script, and it's nice to hear "Hey Jude" on movie speakers. 49. Ready or Not (Radio Silence)- Short and spicy, despite one or two too many twists. I'm in the front row of the Adam Brody Revival, but I appreciated the movie more as an exercise in the paranoid misery built into wealth. I wish I could have written the line down, but Alex says something like, "I didn't realize how much you could do just because your family said that it was okay," and that's the whole film. If you can, see it without watching the trailer first.

48. The Laundromat (Steven Soderbergh)- Mary Ann Bernard is a Steven Soderbergh pseudonym, but what if he did hire an outside editor? What if someone saved him from himself? It's hard to believe that Meryl Streep is the heart of the film--if the film's thesis is "The meek will inherit the Earth?"--if we go on a twenty-minute detour to an African family and a ten-minute detour to China. I laughed quite a bit, and I admire the audacity of the ending. But this is a movie that knows what it's about without knowing how to be about it.

47. High Flying Bird (Steven Soderbergh)- As a person who can cite most NBA players' cap figures off the top of my head, I should love High Flying Bird, a movie about a sports agent who tries to topple the system during an NBA lockout. Instead I liked it okay. It takes an hour to kick into high gear, but once it does, some self-contained scenes are powerhouses, and the writer of Moonlight was always going to provide an emotional kick that is sometimes absent from Soderbergh's work. Like Soderbergh's Unsane from last year, High Flying Bird is shot on an iPhone, an appropriate form given that the execution is a do-it-yourself parable that takes place mostly inside. Soderbergh is a man who has always tried to trade the ossified system of moviemaking for experimentation, so most reviews have pointed toward the meta quality of capturing a character doing that same thing in another medium. Like most of his post-retirement work, however, I find myself asking one question: "Would anyone care if this were made by another director?" 46. Piercing (Nicolas Pesce)- Good sick fun with a taste for the theatrical. I saw twist one and twist three coming, but twist two was ingenious. It ends the only way it can, which is okay. 45. Booksmart (Olivia Wilde)- At first the film is hard to acclimate to, stylized as it is into a very specific but absurd setting, counteracted by a very specific and realistic relationship. The music cues are all awful until the Perfume Genius one, which is so perfect that it erases the half-dozen clunkers.But it's smartly funny, funnily warm, and warmly smart. The screenplay does some clever things with swapping the protagonists' wants and needs at crucial times. Molly will have an obvious drive that overrides Amy's fear, and then a few scenes later, there will be an organic reversal. 44. Joker (Todd Phillips)- Joker presents more ideas than it cogently lands. I don't disagree with Amanda Dobbins's burn that it feels more like a vision board than a coherent story. Still, its success kind of fascinates me. This dark provocation, shot on real locations, has way more in common with Phoenix entries like You Were Never Really Here than it does with the DCEU. In fact, the comic book shoehorns feel like intrusions into a story about a guy who likes to Jame Gumb skinny-dance. Dunk on me if you want, but I think it's most eerie and affecting as a portrait of mental illness. Whereas Joker is a criminal mastermind in Batman lore, this is a guy helpless enough to scrawl into a notebook, "The worst part about having a mental illness is pretending to people that you don't." And that idea gets borne out in a scene in which he's pausing and rewinding a tape to study how a talk show guest sits and waves like a regular person. It's rare enough to see a person this mentally ill depicted on screen; it's even rarer to see someone this aware of his own isolation and otherness.

[reakyflashsmrt-blog]

reaky Flash - Smart Official Video

Music Video Production Companies

Are you a kind of fortunate ones who've their very own music bands, wish to play music and have your music videos however in search of methods to get your bands title on the market? Or are you one amongst these thousands and thousands of music artists who're searching for methods to ascertain your identification or promote your title and music video in the international music world? In case, your reply is yes then you are not alone. Right this moment if we talk by way of the current scenario then it is a powerful activity to mark your presence within the aggressive world of music.

Though there are numerous expertise hunt exhibits and personal music companies which are working continually to promote younger music talents however there is no substitute for a web based promotion. The world has become a global wi-fi township and at the moment via a web based promotion you may actually seize the concentration of millions of viewers from each nook of the world at most competitive worth.

Lately, you have the ample of choices similar to movies submission websites, video promotional sites and video sharing websites, that are regularly changing into major components and ways to promote music movies and in turn getting enormous net traffic.

Video Submission Websites

Selling your music video by video submission websites is among the best strategies of promotion. Today many individuals flock to those web sites on a regular basis to see and learn extra about music. And, thus you may by no means know that your band may get seen by the big recording companies as properly. On a regular basis, these web sites are get visited by 1000's of visitors and submitting your music to video submission sites can actually assist large attention.

Video Informer Web sites

The other approach will be the video informer website can be yet another option to advertise your video. These web sites helps you in easily upload the music videos you want. Including to this, the value of music video content material is generally decided by trap music their algorithm, which further help in positioning to the most popular and highest quality video content submitted. Consequently, this really offers you a chance to be on high page, which in flip play a vital position in making your video extra standard.

The key feature that makes these web sites the more preferred choice is it is without doubt one of the greatest price competitive tools that may simply drive site visitors through the use of your embedded video. Your music movies get extremely promoted by means of such websites since when any person perform search operation on this on-line platform after they discover a description of your video in several classes that actually pull their attention and drag them directly to your website. It is among the cheapest and simplest means to succeed in a huge on-line viewers.

Video Sharing Websites

On different hand, you even have possibility of various video sharing websites like YouTube, Metacafe, Twitter and MySpace. Looking at the moment scenario, these days video sharing websites are most popular among all. Music lovers from every age group spend their time browsing completely different music videos on these sites. In truth, it has emerged as a major hotspot for different music listeners who wish to pay attention different form of song composition. In the present day including music videos to these sites is very easy. All you want is to create your profile and add music movies to your profile. The process may be very simple and do not consume much time.

You must understand and realize that at this time there are tens of millions of music bands and videos over the Web. Many of those either get lost underneath the burdens of search engines like google and yahoo or never get seen, however what makes them the most effective from the remainder is the way of selling these movies on-line effectively by means as mentioned above.

Many musical artists made their careers successful by utilizing music videos. As an important part of the music business, music videos not solely showcase an artist's singing expertise, but in addition how they perform. The historical past of music videos reveals how using the movies remodeled the music industry.

Premiering in 1974, the Australian TV show 'Countdown' performed an essential role in the improvement of the music video business. Music video clips had been used as a method of selling acts that have been to look on the show. As the popularity of the video clips grew, the music industry started to comprehend the advertising and marketing potential of these music clips. One of the crucial notable video clips options was the AC/DC hit, "It's A Long Technique to the High." During the Eighties, 'Countdown' aired in 22 nations.

In 1980, the New Zealand group Cut up Enz became one of many first bands to create a complete set of music promo clips and market them on video cassette for every track on their album, 'True Colors.

Predating MTV by almost three years, 'Video Concert Hall,' was the first nationwide video music program on American television. Premiering in June 1981, one of the first US programs to play music videos was the USA Cable Network program 'Night Flight.' Night Flight predated MTV's launch by just a few months.

In 1981, the U.S. video channel MTV was launched and it began the age of 24-hour music tv.

They launched the channel with the video, "Video Killed the Radio Star." All through the Eighties, MTV expanded to change into an vital software used in music advertising and marketing. Singers like Madonna not only used music videos to promote their albums, however to create their pictures. In 1983, the virtually 14-minute-long video for Michael Jackson's track "Thriller," was launched. It grew to become the world's most successful and influential video in music video history.

In 1985, MTV launched the channel VH1 which featured softer music for an older audience than the everyday younger MTV audience. In 1987, MTV Europe was launched and in 1991, MTV Asia was introduced.

In 1988, the MTV present, Yo! MTV Raps was launched. The show helped to carry hip hop music to a nation huge viewers. Two of the movies which are most well-known for being two of the three most expensive music videos of all time are Michael and Janet Jackson's "Scream," which value $7 million to supply, and Madonna's "Bedtime Story," which cost $5 million. "Scream" is still probably the most expensively video ever made.

The internet has made its presence felt nearly in all areas. In recent times, it has broadly captured the attention of all music lovers from all the world over and allowed them watch their favourite music movies on-line. Online music videos and songs have damaged the blockade of language, society and country.

It would not matter, you might be on the lookout for jazz tune videos, old or the most popular new music videos, video information websites have supplied a web based platform to seek out the every kind of music movies that you love to look at. Actually, movies data websites and video search engines like google and yahoo has grew to become the host for a plethora of on-line music movies both person-generated as effectively professionally produced. Moreover this, these days there are many video data sites which have launched the concepts like "vote-up". The concept of vote up or down helps in realizing the recognition of the particular music video.

Online video websites beyond doubt has definitely introduced a rare video thrill throughout the web world. Certainly, one's private assortment of assorted music movies seems to be the most well liked obsession of internet users, particularly among the younger technology. Everyone loves music movies. They seem to be a highly pleasing form of entertainment. For those who like music, its nearly a on condition that you'll like music videos. My dad is 65 and he quite likes Eminem's music videos, he even likes some of Green Day's music movies.

He has a style for off the wall, my dad. He additionally has an eye for the ladies, not the half bare ones within the R&B videos or many of the rap videos however he likes Pink, thinks that she is pretty because she has character (and a hot body that she shouldn't be afraid of showing off), he digs her music too. He likes Annie Lennox for the same motive, she doesn't showcase her physique however she has character and it comes out in her music and music videos. He's additionally a bit eclectic is my dad.

Everybody has his or her personal distinctive taste in music. Some people have very specific tastes and a few folks's tastes are very broad, they're the fortunate ones as a result of they will hearken to a wide variety of music and never get irritated by what they hear very quickly. Fairly often folks have a secret style in music that they're a bit ashamed of. It's because it is often one thing that they might ordinarily mock however out of the blue they discover that they like a few of a particular artist's music and they feel the need to purchase the brand new cd.

They really feel dreadful doing it and the self-chastisement and self-flagellation that they undergo is gigantic however do not think that they don't get enormous joy out of the cd also. They simply don't inform individuals about it. Solely mutual sharing of embarrassing music will allow the secret to be advised and only if the opposite particular person's music is deemed to be more embarrassing than theirs. Key point, panpipes at all times wins in the embarrassing stakes, nothing beats panpipes, nothing, not even Spice Women (however its shut).

The truth that we are able to really feel such acute embarrassment by one thing as silly as the music we listen to simply goes to indicate what a robust function music plays in our lives. We identify ourselves by the type of music that we listen to. Check out the Goth subculture; they're closely influenced by the music that they take heed to. The clubs that they go to only play Goth music, everyone dresses in a manner that identifies them as Goth.

The ravers are the identical, they take heed to rave music, dress a specific approach, speak a particular method and have identified themselves as a part of a specific subculture. They take delight of their id. There are subcultures for each sort of music, even teenybopper pop as little ladies determine with whoever the current icon is (not Britney Spear, thank goodness). There is little or no crossover between subcultures. They have a tendency to stick very a lot to themselves and to judge different music subcultures as inferior in each means possible.

Even when we don't identify so strongly to a subculture that we undertake its gown, make-up, language and mode of life, music still plays an essential function in day by day life. It affects our moods or we play music to replicate our moods, we use it to maintain ourselves company in our automobiles or when we are alone in our homes, it helps focus, it relieves stress and pressure and helps us calm down, it sets the temper for a party or for a romantic night in with our partners.

Scientific research has even proved that if performed to babies while nonetheless within the womb it may possibly make your youngsters smarter, however that needs to be a sure type of music, not just any previous keys will do. Love of music is inherent, infants smile chortle and dance from before they'll stand when they right here music and so they develop their own taste early on. It might be much like their dad and mom but not necessarily. Its all a part of what makes life fascinating.

In terms of music videos you could not essentially like the artist but you'll be able to still just like the video. Ricky Martin as an example, not that musically gifted but that man can swing his booty like no one's enterprise. His music movies are a pleasure to observe.

The advantage of the Web is that you just get free streaming audio and websites that supply music videos via free streaming audio, which signifies that you get to see your videos virtually as soon as you select them. It also implies that you don't have to wait for ages on your favorite videos to look on TELEVISION, you just decide and click on. Some websites have huge archives of videos so that you can choose from in any genre that you just like. All tastes and subcultures are catered for. It's great living in an age where entertainment and expertise work hand in hand to offer handy and quick access to the most recent and oldest music movies that you just might need a yen to see.

[mbtizone]

Desmond Hume (Lost): INFP

Dominant Introverted Feeling [Fi]: Desmond knows what’s important in life and knows what thoughts, ideas, and beliefs truly matter to him. He has to participate in the solo race around the world to prove something to Widmore. He wants respect, and he needs to do something to earn it. His honor means a lot to him, which is why he becomes hellbent on winning. When Libby gives Desmond her husband’s boat, he proclaims that he will win this race for love. Desmond is true to himself and knows what he wants. When Widmore offers to buy him off, Desmond refuses to give up on Penny that easily. He doesn’t care about the money. He just wants Penny. When Eloise tries to tell him that he’s not supposed to buy the ring for her, Desmond rebels against this. He’s the master of his own fate. He has the freedom to live his life however he chooses. He is compassionate and forms strong bonds with those around him and often uses morality to relate to others. When Sayid is told to kill Desmond in order to bring Nadia back, Desmond asks what Sayid will tell her when Nadia asks what he did to facilitate their reunion. When he recognizes Jack from the stadium, he’s genuinely curious about his life and what happened with the girl they had talked about… even though he had spent years in the bunker, slowly descending into madness. When he begins to have visions of Charlie dying, he does everything he can to prevent that from happening and becomes something of a secret guardian angel. When he eventually foresees that Charlie’s death will result in Desmond being able to reunite with Penny, as well as everyone being rescued from the island, he is unable to go through with it at the last second and saves his life yet again. When he has another vision of Charlie dying, which will result in their rescue, he tries to convince Charlie to let him go at the last second instead because he just can’t let Charlie die. When Desmond discovers that Inman was getting ready to take his boat and abandon him on the island, Desmond is furious with him for lying and stealing the last two years of his life, accidentally killing Inman in his rage. When Desmond finally manages to make it off the island, he is instantly willing to risk being discovered by Widmore in order to go to Oxford for Faraday. He has to. He won’t just sit back and not do something to help the people who were left on the island. When Desmond realizes that he’s in the afterlife, he makes it his mission to track down every person from the island and bring them back together. He needs to show them so they can all move on together.

Auxiliary Extroverted Intuition [Ne]: It’s easy for Desmond to make guesses and assumptions. When he first meets Jack on the stadium steps, he is immediately able to deduce that he’s down about a girl, and wonders what Jack did to deserve the way he was punishing himself. When he finds Hurley in the flash sideways, he is able to intuit that he is also down because of a girl. He pushes a button for years, even though he doesn’t have any solid proof that he’s actually saving the world, as he’s been told. He can’t bring himself to stop pushing it though, because what if it’s all true? Sure, Desmond has considered that it was all just a mind game or an experiment, but maybe it’s real. He believes in miracles and destiny, and doesn’t need to see anything to believe in it. However, he tends to entertain a variety of viewpoints and beliefs. He goes back and forth, discovering faith and losing it. His perceptions are malleable and ever-changing. When Desmond is unable to sail his boat off the island, he begins to believe that the island is the only thing left. He thinks they’re trapped in a snow globe and the rest of the world is just gone. When Desmond is traveling back and forth between his current life on the island, and his past in the U.K., he asks his friend what he knows about time travel. Yeah, it sounds crazy, but he knows what he’s experiencing! When he meets Eloise, he believes that she’s just his subconscious trying to scare him out of proposing to Penny. When Sawyer suddenly wants to go hunting with him, Desmond quickly comes to the conclusion that he’s playing some sort of angle because Sawyer’s barely spoken to him at all since his return to the island. When Desmond has a vision that someone would parachute onto the island, he believes that it’s Penny, and is heartbroken to discover that she wasn’t the parachuter. Desmond is good at providing possible explanations for things. He can see beyond what is most realistic or probable, and come up with alternative answers. Maybe the father of Claire’s baby left because he knew he wouldn’t make a good father. Maybe he was trying to do what was best for her. He’s able to see that Locke’s real reason for forcing everyone to stop pushing the button is “because you need to look down the barrel of a gun to find out what you really believe.” What if the experiment wasn’t on the people working in the Swan station, but on the people in the Pearl? Desmond deduces that he crashed Oceanic 815 and implores Locke to stop what he’s doing and continue pushing the button…

Tertiary Introverted Sensing [Si]: … because he recognizes the hieroglyphs from the day that he left the hatch to kill Inman, He returned to the hatch afterwards and was late to push the button. On that day, the plane crashed, so clearly this is all real! When Desmond is trying to get the others to remember each other, he resorts to recreating some of their most important memories. Charlie, Claire, and Kate were all present for Aaron’s birth, so he recreates those circumstances, which allows them to remember. Although he tends to be an abstract thinker, Desmond still maintains a set of traditional values. His family, his faith, and having the blessing of Penny’s father all mean a lot to him. The past has a tremendous impact on Desmond and he has a hard time letting go of certain things. He’s unwilling to accept that he’ll never have Widmore’s approval, which causes him to experience a lot of self-doubt and second guess his relationship with Penny. Desmond has no interest in drinking with Charlie and Hurley until he sees the scotch they have – MacCutcheon… the same whiskey Widmore once said Desmond was unworthy of drinking because he would never be a “great” man.

Inferior Extroverted Thinking [Te]: When Charles Widmore makes Desmond feel inadequate and worthless, he takes action to prove him wrong. He’ll show him by winning the race around the world. Surely that will earn him some respect. Desmond struggles with knowing his place within society and what he’s supposed to do. He’s all set to marry Ruth, and then has an epiphany that leads him to abandon her without a word to become a monk. Although the nature of his offense is unknown, Desmond was imprisoned and subsequently dishonorably discharged from the army because of his failure to follow orders. After Desmond’s vision about the parachuter, he becomes focused on recreating his vision exactly as he saw it and manipulates Charlie, Hurley, and Jin into accompanying him for a “camping trip.” He becomes so determined that he disregards the fact that going through with it will lead to Charlie’s death. The important thing is finding Penny and getting home. When Desmond remembers his life on the island in the flash sideways, he immediately sets to work, tracking down everyone he knew from the island. Desmond inserts himself into each of their lives and personally relates to them as he orchestrates a series of events to get everybody else to remember their former lives as well, so they can all move on together.

Enneagram: 9w1 6w7 4w5 Sx/Sp

Quotes:

Desmond: Take it easy. Keep the weight off. Here, let me have a look. Does this hurt? [Jack shakes his head.] You haven’t sprained it then. I don’t fancy your chances of catching up with me tonight, though. Jack: I wasn’t trying to catch up. Desmond: Aye, of course you weren’t. Jack: What do you know about sprains, anyway? Desmond: I was almost a doctor once. Jack: Small world. Desmond: You a doctor then? [Jack nods. Desmond offers Jack his water bottle.] So what’s your excuse? Jack: Excuse? Desmond: For running like the devil’s chasing you. My excuse – I’m training. Jack: Training for what? Desmond: For a race around the world. Impressive, I know. So your excuse better be good, brother. Jack: Just trying to work a few things out. Desmond: Ah, a girl, right? Jack: A patient. Desmond: Ah, but a girl patient. What’s her name? Jack: Her name’s Sarah. Desmond: What’d you do to her then? Jack: Do to her? Desmond: You must have done something worthy of this self-flagellation. Jack: I told her — I made a promise I couldn’t keep — I told her I’d fix her and I couldn’t. I failed. Desmond: Well, right. Just one thing — what if you did fix her? Jack: I didn’t. Desmond: But what if you did? Jack: You don’t know what you’re talking about, man. Desmond: I don’t? Why not? Jack: Because with her situation that would be a miracle, brother. Desmond: Oh, and you don’t believe in miracles?

Desmond: It was 3 years ago. I was on a solo race around the world, and my boat crashed into the reef, and then Kelvin came. Locke: Kelvin? Desmond: Kelvin — he comes running out of the jungle — hurry, hurry, come with me. He brings me down here. The first thing he does — because there’s beeping already — he types in the code, he pushes the button, and it stops. What was all that about, I say. Just saving the world, he says. Jack: Saving the world? Desmond: His words, not mine. So I started pushing the button, too. And we saved the world together for awhile, and that was lovely. Then Kelvin died, and now here I am all alone. The end. [Jack hands over the jar and Desmond tries to fix the computer.] Jack: [to Locke] Don’t tell me you believe this. This is crazy. You think that makes sense — pushing a button? You’re going to take his word for it?! Locke: His word is all we have, Jack. Desmond: You don’t have to take my word for it. Watch the film. Jack: What? Desmond: The bookcase — top shelf, behind “Turn of the Screw” — projector’s in the pantry.

Jack: So, you don’t get out, you don’t see anyone. Where does your food come from? You really think this is happening. Desmond: Why wouldn’t it be? Jack: It says “quarantine” on the inside of the hatch to keep you down here. To keep you scared. But you know what? We’ve been up there for over 40 days and no one’s gotten sick. You think that this is the only part of it that’s true?! Do you ever think that maybe they put you down here to push a button every 100 minutes just to see if you would? That all of this — the computer, the button — it’s just a mind game?! An experiment? Desmond: Every — single — day. And for all our sakes, I hope it’s not real. But the film says this is an electromagnetic station. And I don’t know about you, brother, but every time I walk past that concrete wall out there, my fillings hurt.

Jack: Nothing is going to happen. Some man takes you down there, shows you a movie, and you push a button on, on faith alone? Nothing is going to happen! Desmond: In about 15 minutes you’re either going to be very right, or very wrong, brother. You want to shoot me?! Shoot me! But I’m not- Jack: Why are you running? You don’t even know what you’re running from! Desmond: I remember you — running — I know you — I met you — Los Angeles. I was training, yeah? You twisted your ankle… Jack: Stop. Desmond: You’re a doctor, right? There was this girl — you were worried – you said, you said you failed her. That was you. Jack: It doesn’t matter. Desmond: Was she okay, the girl? Jack: It doesn’t matter. Desmond: What happened to her? Jack: It doesn’t matter. Desmond: How can you say it doesn’t matter? Jack: I married her! Desmond: Right, and you’re — you’re not married to her anymore, then?

Desmond: Do you think I did it on purpose? I was sailing for two and half weeks, bearing due West and making 9 knots. I should have been in Fiji in less than a week. But the first piece of land I saw wasn’t Fiji, was it? No. No, it was here—this, this island. And you know why? Because this is it. This is all there is left. This ocean and this place here. We are stuck in a bloody snow globe! There’s no outside world! There’s no escape! So, just go away, huh. Let me drink.

Libby: So, a sailing race around the world? Desmond: I have 8 months to get into the best shape of my life. I’ll tell you what, miss, I’m going to win. Libby: And what do you get if you do? Desmond: What really matters is who I win it for. [he pushes the brochure toward her] Libby: [looking at the brochure] Charles Widmore. Desmond: He tried to buy me off. And when I didn’t take his money, he took away the only thing in the world that I ever truly cared about. Libby: Who is she? Desmond: His daughter. I was unsuitable on several levels. Libby: And what’s the 42 grand for? Desmond: It’s a wee bit complicated. As of yet, I don’t actually have a boat. [Libby looks sad] Sorry, did I say something wrong? Libby: I have a boat. It was my husband’s but he got sick. He wanted to sail the Mediterranean—he never—he passed away about a month ago. Desmond: I’m sorry. Libby: I want you to have it. Desmond: I can’t take your boat, miss. Libby: But you have to. He’d want you to. Desmond: What was your husband’s name? Libby: David. Desmond: And what did he name his boat? Libby: Elizabeth. He named it after me. Desmond: Then I thank you, Elizabeth. And I shall win this race for love.

Desmond: You’re wasting your time, sister. I shot myself with that stuff every 9 days for 3 years. [he looks at Aaron] He’s lovely. Is the father here on the Island? Claire: No. Nope, he’s been gone a long time. Sort of walked off the moment he got a bit scared by the situation. Desmond: Well, maybe he knew he’d be a lousy dad—thought he was doing what was best for you. Claire: He was doing what was best for him.

Desmond: I’ll be back in a year. Penny: What if you were back, right now? Desmond: I’m going to win this race, Pen—his race. And in a year, I’ll be back. Penny: Desmond, what are you running from? Desmond: I have to get my honor back, and that’s what I’m running to.

Desmond: I think your friends just blew themselves up, brother. Locke: They’re not my friends. Desmond: I can’t hear anything. Maybe we should open it. Locke: No, no; it’s a trick. Desmond: A trick? They could be hurt? Is your doctor around? Locke: Our doctor is God knows where. And he sure as hell doesn’t care about anything happening down here. Desmond: Can I ask you a question, brother? Locke: Absolutely. Desmond: Is the reason you’re letting that clock there run all the way down to the very last tick—is it because you need to look down the barrel of a gun to find out what you really believe, John?

Desmond: Tell me about this other hatch you found—this Pearl. Locke: What do you want to know? Desmond: Details. Locke: The Pearl is a psychological station full of TV monitors. And two men sat in viewing chairs and filled notebooks with observations on what happens in here. And then they put the notebooks in pneumatic tubes and send them back to their headquarters so they could evaluate us—as an experiment. [Desmond looks concerned, confused] What? Desmond: What if you’ve got it backwards? Locke: Backwards? Desmond: What if the experiment wasn’t on the two men in here, but on the two men in there? I want to see that tape, John.

Desmond: Come where?! What about the button?! Inman: Screw the button, man. Who knows if it’s even real? Desmond: That’s not what you said when you were going on and on about dams and electromagnetics and failsafes! Inman: Well, I was drunk. Desmond: Why did you lie to me?! Inman: I lied to you because I needed a sucker to save the world after I left! Desmond: You crazy old bastard! You stole my life!! Inman: Oh, come on. Desmond: What else did you lie to me about?! What else? Tell me?! [Desmond has Inman by the collar and they fall to ground. Inman gets up and Desmond rushes him, falling on top of him. Inman hits his head.] Desmond: How could you do this to me?! Get up. [Desmond sees blood coming from the back of Inman’s head and realizes he’s dead.] Desmond: Oh my God. Oh my God. [Desmond grabs the failsafe key from around Inman’s neck and runs back to the Hatch.]

Desmond: We need to push the button. Locke: No, we don’t! Desmond: Do you not hear me, brother? I crashed your bloody plane? Locke: How did you manage to do that? Desmond: On that day, those numbers turned to hieroglyphics. And when the last one came down this whole started to shake! And that screen? That screen filled up with “system failure,” [pointing to the printout] System Failure! And I know what they are. 92204—September the 22nd, 2004, the day your planed crashed! It’s real! It’s all bloody real!! Now, push the damn button!! Locke: I know what I saw! It’s a lie; it’s not real! None of it is real! Desmond: You don’t want to push the button? Then I will. Locke: No! [Locke grabs the computer and smashes it on the floor. Desmond looks horrified. There’s about 3 minutes on the timer.] Desmond: You killed us. You killed us all.

Penny: You know you don’t really need a job from my father, Des. Desmond: It’s not about the job. I want him to respect me. Penny: And respect you he shall. But if for some reason he’s too daft to see how brilliant you are it’s not the end of the world.

Desmond: Just tell me if it’s possible? Donovan: Which part? The island full of mysterious hatches? Or the computer which keeps the world from ending? Desmond: You know what? Forget you’re my best mate, right? As a physicist — is it possible that I’ve somehow managed to go back in time and I’m now living my life over again?

Eloise: That man over there is wearing red shoes. Desmond: So, what then? Eloise: Just thought it was a bold fashion choice worth noting. Desmond: This isn’t really happening, is it? Eloise: Sorry? Desmond: I’ve had a concussion. You’re my subconscious. Eloise: Am I? Desmond: You’re here to talk me out of marrying Penny. Well, it won’t bloody work. Eloise: Oh, yes it will. Desmond: No, there is no island. There is no button. It’s madness. I love her. She loves me. I’m going to spend the rest of my life with her. Eloise: No, Desmond, you’re not. [Suddenly, there is a loud crash behind the bench Ms. Hawking and Desmond have been sitting on. Some scaffolding has fallen and killed the man with red shoes.] Desmond: Oh, my God. You knew that was going to happen, didn’t you? [she nods] Then why didn’t you stop it? Why didn’t you do anything? Eloise: Because it wouldn’t matter. Had I warned him about the scaffolding tomorrow he’d be hit by a taxi. If I warned him about the taxi, he’d fall in the shower and break his neck. The universe, unfortunately, has a way of course correcting. That man was supposed to die. That was his path just as it’s your path to go to the island. You don’t do it because you choose to, Desmond. You do it because you’re supposed to. Desmond: I’m going to meet Penny in an hour. I’ve got the ring; she’ll say yes; I can choose whatever I want. Eloise: You may not like your path, Desmond, but pushing that button is the only truly great thing that you will ever do.

Sawyer: Why’re we gotta be out here so damn early? Desmond: You asked me to help you catch a boar. Well this is when they break cover to eat. Sawyer: Looks like they picked a day to sleep in. Desmond: So what’s your angle, brother? Sawyer: My angle? Desmond: Well you, haven’t spoken three words to me and then, suddenly you want to be my hunting partner. Sawyer: My angle, is that I got hearts and minds to change. And politics is all about bribes. Since money don’t mean squat on this Island, I gotta give the people something they like. And people like meat…

Ruth: Why are you here, Desmond? Desmond: Well now that my initiation’s done, I felt like I owed you an explanation. Ruth: Desmond. You can never begin to explain what you did. You left one week before the wedding, everything was planned bought and paid for. You just disappeared completely. Desmond: I had a calling. Ruth: We dated for six years, and the closest you ever came to a religious experience was Celtic winning the cup. Desmond: OK, yes, I was scared about the wedding, so I had a few pints too many, maybe I, I raised my eyes, and I asked am I doing the right thing, and that’s the last thing I remember. And when I woke up, I was lying on my back in the street, and I dunno how I got there and, there was this man standing over me, Ruth. And he reached out his hand and he said to me, can I help you brother. And the first thing I noticed was the rope tied round his waist, and I looked at him and I knew, I knew, I was supposed to go with him. I was supposed to go with him, I was supposed to leave everything that mattered behind, sacrifice all of it, for a greater calling. Ruth: Well its a good thing a bloody shepherd didn’t help you up, or as I suppose you’d be off with the sheep wouldn’t you? Next time you want to break up with someone, Des, don’t join a monastery. Just tell the girl you’re too bloody scared.

Desmond: Are you firing me? Monk: I am indeed. Desmond: You can’t do that, I heard the call. Monk: I’m sure you did hear the call, but the abbey clearly isn’t where you were meant to end up. I have little doubt that God has different plans than you being a monk, Desmond. Bigger plans—

Desmond: If the flashes don’t happen exactly how I saw them, the picture changes. I was supposed to let you die Charlie. Charlie: What’s that supposed to mean? Desmond: It means it’s bloody pointless. I keep saving your life, and what good has it done? Its just gonna keep happening again and again, maybe that’s the point, eh? Maybe it’s a test. Charlie: Test? Desmond: Like God, testing Abraham, except I failed, because I changed what I saw.

Charlie: We have to tell Jack. Hurley: Yeah, I mean shouldn’t he check out her wound? Desmond: Can you give me your word that Jack can be trusted? Now he spent 10 days with those people and then nothing happened to him? And that woman he’s spending all his time with— Charlie: Juliet? Desmond: Aye, Juliet. Two weeks ago she had your friends in cages. Naomi … I mean, you heard everything that she said. If we keep her safe, she’s our way off this Island. So given that, do you trust Jack? Or don’t you? Right. So you better bring us someone we can trust.

Desmond: You don’t have to do this, Charlie. Charlie: What? Desmond: I’ll go. Charlie: No, you-your flashes. Desmond: Maybe I keep seeing you die because I’m supposed to take your place. Charlie: What about your girl, Penny? Desmond: What about your girl? Besides, I might be luckier than you. Keep your memories to yourself. I’ll take it from here. [He takes off his shoes, ready to go instead.] Charlie: I don’t know what to say. Desmond: Well, you could tell me where the, er, weight belt is. Charlie: Right there behind you. [As Desmond turns, Charlie hits him with an oar. He then places him neatly on the canoe.] Charlie: You and I both know… you’re not supposed to take my place, brother.

Desmond: We’ll be in and out. He’ll never know we’re here, Penny. Penny: Don’t underestimate him, Desmond. If he finds out we’re here, I don’t know what he’ll do. Desmond: But this has nothing to do with your father, Penny. We are here because of Daniel Faraday. What he told me–that everyone on that island is in danger, and I am the only one that can help them. I have to do this, Penny.

Desmond: Look, honey, all I have to do is find his mother, tell her he’s still on the Island, and then I’m done with this for good. Penny: Why now? I mean, if he told you all this on the Island, why didn’t you remember it until two days ago? Desmond: I don’t know. Look, I don’t understand how any of this works any more than you do. It… Look, I know it happened. Daniel Faraday knocked on the hatch door and told me to go to Oxford… everyone was in danger, and I was the only one that could save them. I know how insane it sounds. I’ll be back by dark, and then I’m done… forever. I promise.

Desmond: I know you have questions for me. I’m not gonna answer them. I’ve come here to ask you something. And once you’ve told me everything I need to know, you’ll never see me again. Understand? Widmore: All right. Desmond: I need to know where I can find Daniel Faraday’s mother. Widmore: What makes you think I would even know the answer to that? Desmond: Because even before you put Faraday on your little boat and sent him off to the Island, you spent ten years funding his research. So I figure, you must know something regarding his next of kin.

Penny: Why are you lying to me? Desmond: What? I’m not. Penny: Where is she? Desmond: She’s in Los Angeles. Look, Pen, you’ve got nothing to worry about. You know, this was a mistake. No, I… I made a promise that this would be done in a day, and now it’s done. It’s not our problem anymore. Penny: And what happens if you wake up tomorrow and remember something else? Desmond: Then I’ll forget it. Penny: And the next day? Desmond: I’ll forget it. It doesn’t matter, Pen. You’re my life now–you and Charlie. I won’t leave you again… not for this… not for anything. Penny: You’ll never forget it, Des. So I guess we’re going with you.

Desmond: This woman cost me four years of my life–four years that I’ll never get back because you told me that I was supposed to go to the Island! That it was my bloody purpose! You listen to me, brother, and you listen carefully. These people–they’re just usin’ us. They’re playing some kind of game, and we are just the pieces. Whatever she tells you to do… ignore it. [to Eloise] You say the Island’s not done with me? Well, I’m done with the Island.

George: So, did you find what you were looking for? Desmond: Yes, George, I did. Corner of Melrose and Sweetzer, please. George: You got it. And if there is anything else I can do for you, Mr. Hume, you just name it. Desmond: Actually, there is one thing, George. Can you get me the manifest for my flight from Sydney, Oceanic 815, just the names of the passengers? George: Sure I can. Do you mind if I ask you what you need it for? Desmond: I just need to show them something…

Desmond: Ooh… that is a lot of chicken! Hurley: I eat when I’m depressed! Desmond: Ah! So what’s her name? Hurley: I met a girl on a blind date the other night. Desmond: And you didn’t… it didn’t go how you hoped? Hurley: Mmm, she’s totally awesome… except for one thing. She’s crazy! Desmond: Well, all women are a little bit crazy, brother… Hurley: No, this one actually lives in the loony bin. I mean, I saw the van. She’s full on nuts. I mean, she started sane… but then, she told me that we already knew each other. And that, I’d remember! Desmond: Tell me something…did you believe her when she said she knew you? Hurley: Yeah. Kinda… Desmond: Now, I say go with your gut. You know, maybe you should… you should try to find out where she thinks she knew you from before you give up on her.

Desmond: So what did he offer ya? If you’re gonna shoot me in cold blood, brother… I think I have a right to know what you’re getting in exchange for it. Sayid: He told me I could get something back I lost. Desmond: And what did you lose? Sayid: The woman I loved. Desmond: And where is she now? Sayid: Dead. Desmond: And what makes you think Locke can bring her back? Sayid: I died… and he brought me back. Desmond: So, what will you tell her? Sayid: What do you mean? Desmond: This woman – when she asks you what you did to be with her again…what will you tell her?

Kate: H-hang on a second. You bust me out of jail, and make me put on this dress so that we can go to some concert. And you won’t even tell me why we’re here. Desmond: No one can tell you why you’re here, Kate… Certainly not me. Kate: You’re the one who brought me here. Desmond: I’m not talking about the church. I’m talking about here. Kate: Who are you? What do you want? Desmond: My name is Desmond Hume. And even though you don’t realize it, I’m your friend. And, as for what I want – I want to leave. Kate: Leave and go where? Desmond: Let me show you.

Locke: Hello, Rose… [to Desmond] I’ll make this simple. Come with me now or I’ll kill them both right in front of you. Rose: You don’t have to go anywhere with him. [Desmond looks to Rose.] Locke: I’ll make it hurt. Desmond: I want your word. You won’t touch them – ever. Locke: Done. Desmond: Then I’ll do what you want. Locke: Yes, Desmond. You will.

Desmond: This doesn’t matter, you know. Jack: Excuse me? Desmond: Him destroying the Island, you destroying him. It doesn’t matter. You know, you’re gonna lower me into that light, and I’m gonna go somewhere else. A place where we can be with the ones we love, and not have to ever think about this damn Island again. And you know the best part, Jack? Jack: What? Desmond: You’re in this place. You know, we sat next to each other on Oceanic 815. It never crashed. We spoke to each other. You seemed happy. You know, maybe I can find a way to bring you there too.

Desmond Hume (Lost): INFP was originally published on MBTI Zone