#this is an exception in tos cause i don’t think they legally could but in the later installments in star trek thats on the writers.

[freakinhorse123]

Watching queer stranger things fans speculate over how byler will definitely be canon and just KNOWING theyre about to get their hearts broken by the writers.

[cardentist]

I haven’t been in the star trek fandom for very long (I’ve only just started binging the series in the last couple months), so it’s been pretty surprising to find out just how negative the perception of the reboot movies are.

this isn’t coming from the perspective of someone who grew up with the series, so it hit different for me than it might for people with a different relationship to TOS, but I thought it was genuinely clever and Respectful with how it was handled.

To quote leonard nimoy: “Well the alternative timeline gives them license to escape from canon concerns. I can’t see people saying ‘they shouldn’t do that because…’ or ‘that doesn’t tie in to such and such’ because it is a different time and place. Am I right about that?” [Link]

the entire Premise is that the original series happened as it was presented in TOS, but an event late in Spock’s life caused the creation of a parallel universe in which everyone’s lives were significantly altered through two key changes to the timeline. this gives them the freedom to Both revel in fanservice And explore different facets of the characters and their relationships. 

the destruction of vulcan Vastly impacts the characters and the plot moving forward, and its a detail that a lot of people take issue with. but the emotional impact of sarek admitting Directly to spock that there is value in his humanity, that his feelings Aren’t wrong, that sarek married amanda because he Loved her cannot be understated. you can read all of these things into sarek as he was in the original series, but he Never had an open conversation about these things with spock. this creates a Believable and Rewarding change in their relationship, where we get to see a different facet of them Because of the changes made. and that’s exactly the appeal. showing us pieces of these characters that we never got in TOS that are nevertheless undeniably Them.

everyone is Different yes, but they’re also fundamentally the same people at their core and that matters.

kirk’s personality obviously takes the biggest change, with him experiencing trauma at a young age, losing his father, and having an implied abusive father figure after that point. he has a harsher personality in reaction to harsher conditions, he’s spikier and harder to love. but he’s also still fundamentally a Good person whose willing to risk everything to help people. he still has what made kirk prime a good captain and a good friend.

I’m not gonna say that it’s the most nuanced story in the world, but it explores a version of kirk that was born from even Less fortunate circumstances than kirk prime, exploring a kirk brimming with potential who learned to bite back after he was kicked down. exploring those themes of trauma and loss, of insecurity and growth, and coming to the conclusion that Fundamentally He Is Capable Of Good isn’t a Bad thing. you don’t have to like it, but his growth into a better person is The Point. they deepened his flaws (all of which were present in a less exaggerated form in TOS) To Show That Growth.

and then of course there’s his relationship with spock.

people are totally justified in not liking that they had a rough start to their relationship, I usually don’t like to see that kind of thing in reboots or hollywood adaptations either, but the way people talk about it is just unfair.

Yes kirk and spock and bones have a very strong relationship in TOS, they also already know each other by the time the show starts. to look at them having to learn to get to know and trust each other when they first meet and say that it’s Bad because they were already full on ride or die for each other in the og series is silly. TOS kirk and spock had to meet and fall in love with each other too, it didn’t just happen over night kings.

secondly, the entire point of the first movie is that Even With reality itself being altered to pull them apart they are fundamentally compatible people that are Bound to each other. they meet each other on bad terms because of circumstances outside of their control, and yet they’re still pulled into each other’s orbit and find the other slotting into place next to them as if they always belonged. one of the first things that spock prime says in the movie is “I am and always will be your friend,” spock and jim are Meant for each other and the movie goes out of its way to explain that. which is what makes it so Weird to see people complaining about how they don’t like each other.

it’s a Different relationship, but it’s absolutely no less steeped in yearning or queer subtext. 

speaking of queer subtext ! some people are Very unhappy with spock’s relationship with uhura.

first thing I wanna say is that making the argument that they’re doing anything that the original series hasn’t done is just, completely untrue. kirk has fallen in love with more girls in the og series than he knew what to do with, leonard nimoy was a heartthrob in his time (and he deserves it, awooga) and spock reflects that ! Spock usually turns the women who come onto him down (or when he doesn’t it’s because a plant has literally altered his mind), but there are exceptions to even that. all of three of the main boys have plenty of romance subplots, it happens. if that takes the possibility of them being queer off the table for you (which it shouldn’t, m-spec people exist) then I’m sorry to say that TOS is not exempt.

now, I can understand why Specifically This Relationship could rub people the wrong way or being disappointed that they didn’t outright depict kirk and spock as having a relationship (if not in the first movie then in the following ones after they’ve gotten to know each other), but even in that context the way I’ve seen people talk about it comes off as insensitive.

no, the relationship did not come out of nowhere. they considered having spock and uhura date each other in the original show (and you can see signs of this in the earlier episodes, where uhura very obviously flirts with him and they spend time together in their down time) before they decided against it, and spock was originally going to kiss uhura until shatner insisted that he wanted to do it (because it was the first interracial kiss on tv). [Link 1, Link 2, Link 3]

nichelle nichols was asked about this exact thing (spock and uhura’s relationship in the movie), you can read the interview in full here [Link] but I’d like to highlight this paragraph in particular:

“Now, go back to my participation in Star Trek as Uhura and Leonard (Nimoy) as Spock. There was always a connection between Uhura and Spock. It was the early 60’s, so you couldn’t do what you can do now, but if you will remember, Uhura related to Spock. When she saw the captain lost in space out there in her mirror, it was Spock who consoled her when she went screaming out of her room. When Spock needed an expert to help save the ship, you remember that Uhura put something together and related back to him the famous words, “I don’t know if I can do this. I’m afraid.” And Uhura was the only one who could do a spoof on Spock. Remember the song (in “Charlie X”)? Those were the hints, as far as I’m concerned.”

the film makers looked at the fact there were Hints for uhura and spock, that they were Interested in exploring an interracial couple for the first time (both before and immediately after interracial couples won the right to legally get married) but Couldn’t because of the circumstances of the times and decided to Make that depiction. you don’t have to Like their relationship just because of that fact, but it’s Incredibly reductive to play down it’s significance as just a No Homo cop out. explicitly queer relationships are not the only progressive or culturally important relationships in fiction.

moreover, if you can’t imagine polyamory in the communist utopian future that’s on you.

moreover, this perception that this was a soulless cash grab is just, unfounded.

leonard nimoy returned to the role as spock for the first time in 16 years (since 1991) and this was Entirely because of the respect they had for nimoy, spock as a character, and the franchise as a whole. 

Lets look at some quotes from nimoy in interviews regarding the film:

Leonard Nimoy: When I first read the script (...) I immediately contacted J.J. and said “I think it is terrific…I think you guys have done a wonderful job. There is still work to be done, but it is very clear that you and your writers know what you are doing and you know how to do this movie and know what it should be about….and I am very interested.” Then as time went by we worked things out with Paramount, but the most important things were J.J. and the script. (...) I am very pleased about that and I am very comfortable with where this is going. I think the writers have done a terrific job. They have a real sense of the characters and the heart of Star Trek and what it is really all about.

(...)

TrekMovie.com: Now in the case of the new movie you have been retired from acting for years. What was it about this one that made you want to act again and go through the make up again? What was it that made you say ‘I really want to do this?’

Leonard Nimoy: You are right, this is a special situation. First it is Star Trek and so I have to pay attention. I owe that to Star Trek. Second place is that it is J.J. Abrams who I think very highly of, he is a very talented guy. Then came the script and it was very clear that I could make a contribution here. The Spock character that I am playing, the original Spock character, is essential and important to the script. So on the basis of those three elements it was easy to make the decision. So those three things: Star Trek, J.J. Abrams, and an interesting Spock role.

[Link]

Praising the cast playing younger versions of characters from the original 1960s TV series, he [Leonard Nimoy] said: “Let me take the opportunity to say this. Everybody at this table [the cast] are very, very talented and intelligent people.”

“They found their own way to bring that talent and intelligence to this movie, and I think it shows. (...)  When Karl Urban introduced himself as Leonard McCoy and shook hands with Chris Pine, I burst into tears. That performance of his is so moving, so touching and so powerful as Doctor McCoy, that I think D. Kelley would be smiling, and maybe in tears as well.”

“The makers of this film reawakened the passion in me that I had when we made the original film and series. I was put back in touch with what I cared about and liked about Star Trek, and why I enjoyed being involved with Star Trek. So, it was an easy way to come on home.”

“[In this Star Trek] they said things and showed me things, and demonstrated the sensibility that I felt very comfortable with, and I think that shows in the movie. I like it.”

[Link 1, Link 2]

again, you don’t have to like it just because leonard nimoy did, you don’t have to Agree. but the idea that nobody working on the film Cared is provably false. near everyone working on the project was already a fan of the series or were excited to be involved and did their homework. it’s genuinely a Miracle just how much of a labor of love this was, and in my opinion you can feel that through the movie itself. I’d highly recommend looking into interviews and behind the scenes details about the movies. they had a respect not just for the source material, but for leonard nimoy as a person.

there’s definitely more I Could say about this, but it’s 4 am now so I’m gonna shelve it jklfdsa

that said! it’s Fine to not like the movie, not everything is going to be suited to everyone’s taste, but the specific criticisms I’ve seen feel very off base

[syscurse]

not trying to cause drama but what do u think about the pxrn videos and stuff being sent to anti endos? and anti endos getting hate anons from pro endos?

First of all, I just want to say that it's completely understandable to be overwhelmed by all of this. It is really overwhelming. I read the other ask that you sent and wanted me to keep private and I agree that it sounds like dissociation. I'd really encourage you to consider blocking or blacklisting the syscourse tag and unfollowing any syscourse blogs at this time. Even if it's just temporary. Please take care of yourself!

AFAIK there’s no solid proof about anything beyond he said-she said and anon asks. While it’s important to support people who are victims of online abuse, and never ever say they’re faking, I also agree that the way some people are handling these situations does feel a little odd. I can think of multiple reasons for that. For one, someone might not know that there are many things they can do to prevent anon hate & online abuse.

How to handle anon hate:

I’d really encourage people who are receiving anon hate to turn off anonymous questions. You can’t get anon hate if you don’t allow anons! You can do this by going to your blog settings.

Anons can also be reported and blocked. If you report them, Tumblr will be able to take action against the person behind them. Blocking an anon will block the person’s IP address. Be sure to report before you block, because I’m pretty sure blocking deletes the ask too!

Blocking doesn’t always work, though, so if you’re still receiving anon hate then you should, first, report it and then turn off anonymous questions in your settings.

Also, be careful about posting the anon hate. For example, if you received anon hate with a link to a virus, and you post that...you are now exposing all of your followers to a virus. Anyone could potentially click on it. 

If you have been sent explicit content, report that and DO NOT POST IT because you will technically be breaking Tumblr’s TOS by putting that on your blog. You should screenshot the evidence and report it.

Other precautions you can take:

Don’t share personal information on the internet, like your legal name or where you live

Don’t click on any links you receive from blogs you don’t know

Shut off submissions

Do not allow asks with media

Only allows DMs from blogs you follow

Consider remaking your blog

Consider using a different pseudonym

Hide your blog from search results 

Report any known blogs that are harassing you

Contant Tumblr’s help center for more information on what you can do

If you are being chronically stalked/harassed, SAVE ALL THE EVIDENCE

Some resources:

System Internet Safety (Resource Post)

Self help Resources

Coping with Syscourse

I want to say that if you are someone who is following a person who is constantly receiving anon hate...please check in with your mental health. Witnessing that can be extremely overwhelming and even retraumatizing. You are responsible for no one’s mental health except your own. Please take care of yourself!

I also need to be a bit blunt about something. This isn’t directed at you, anon, it more about something I’ve been seeing lately... If someone is genuinely being harassed or stalked, that is NOT syscourse. That's abuse. Abuse should NOT be used for discourse points.

I know someone who was genuinely abused by a pro-endo. Anti-endos took their abuse and used it to bolster their side. Basically used real genuine trauma someone went through as discourse points. Because of that, NO ONE BELIEVED THE PERSON WHO SURVIVED THAT ABUSE. They had to deal with people constantly fakeclaiming them and saying that their trauma was just something anti-endos made up to shit on the endogenic community. In reality, it was never about discourse to begin with.

Please do not use someone else’s abuse to make a statement on pro-endos or anti-endos. Don’t turn someone’s trauma into fucking discourse. It crosses too many lines.

That being said, I also understand what it’s like to question what’s real and what’s not. Especially as a dissociative person. It’s true that people do fake being cyberbullied sometimes. It’s pretty easy to do that online, especially on Tumblr where you could just send yourself an anon ask. But I don’t think it’s right to claim that people are faking, on the off chance they aren’t. ALWAYS give people the benefit of the doubt and believe people who confide with you about their abuse.

Although, there are some cases where people fake being cyberbullied in order to harm others. I actually had an ex-friend who did this. He would send anon hate to himself for ulterior motives. He did it for basically everything. For control, support, money, notes, followers, attention, and to bolster his side in discourse. He also did it to manipulate the people he was abusing. The only reason I know it was him was sending himself anons was because he got caught by his partner, who he was also sending anon hate to so frequently to the point that they started having nervous breakdowns thinking they were being stalked.

I’m not sharing this because I think you should doubt people, but I think it’s important to be aware of these possibilities and develop some healthy caution. The biggest warning sign imo should be your own mental health. Pay attention to that. You are responsible for your own mental health and protecting yourself from cyberbullying. The same goes for everyone else.

No matter how many resources and advice and helping hands I or anyone else offered to my ex-friend, nothing changed. He never genuinely tried to stop the anon hate, because in reality he didn’t want it to stop. He benefitted so much from it. Every time he hurt me and I tried to communicate it, suddenly he was conveniently flooded with more anon hate and I needed to immediately stop holding him accountable and start comforting him, instead. None of that is normal.

Please, if you’re ever in a situation like that, always choose yourself.

[amispnrewatch]

SPN 1x06 “Skin”

Okay, I’m gonna try to type while I watch this time instead of forgetting this blog exists until the episode is almost over.

You can tell the footage for the previously on segment was saved on a VHS copy instead of the original film that the show was shot with because even in the HD iTunes version I have it looks low quality as fuck. And jumpy in the way that brings me back to my teens watching the WB all the damn time.

I love this song. WTF is this song. Shazam says “Good Deal” by Mommy and Daddy. I… have no comment, except that it sounds like everything I was listening to in college at the time this shit was airing.

Aaaaand not!Dean turns around to face the SWAT team after obviously torturing some woman. THAT is a cold open.

I wanna know what that car is in the background. It’s pretty. Maybe a convertible Impala? They have similar grills. This is not at all important.

Also, I love that with these higher definition versions of the episodes you can see that Sam’s email is lawboy and whatever dot com and that people in the fandom have started calling him Law Boy. It’s hilarious.

DEAN: Well, what exactly do you tell ‘em? You know, about where you’ve been, what you’ve been doin’?

SAM: I tell ‘em I’m on a road trip with my big brother. I tell ‘em I needed some time off after Jess.

DEAN: Oh, so you lie to ‘em.

SAM: No. I just don’t tell ‘em….everything.

DEAN: Yeah, that’s called lying. I mean, hey, man, I get it, tellin’ the truth is far worse.

SAM: So, what am I supposed to do, just cut everybody out of my life? (DEAN shrugs.) You’re serious?

DEAN: Look, it sucks, but in a job like this, you can’t get close to people, period.

Aaaaand now I have Dean and Cassie feelings again and we haven’t even gotten to her episode yet.

SAM: No, man, I know Zack. He’s no killer.

DEAN: Well, maybe you know Zack as well as he knows you.

Aaaaaand now I have Dean and Lee feelings and we’re nowhere near Lee’s episode in season 15.

YOU JUST BLEW THROUGH A STOP SIGN DEAN WTF.

Little Becky. Oi with the reusing of names.

Of course Sam made friends with a bunch of rich kids while he was at college in a desperate attempt to try to be normal.

SAM: You know, maybe we could see the crime scene. Zack’s house.

DEAN: We could.

REBECCA: Why? I mean, what could you do?

SAM: Well, me, not much. But Dean’s a cop. (DEAN laughs.)

DEAN: Detective, actually.

I love that Dean was like “how dare you call me that.”

Okay, after a bit of research, I totally want to take a day trip to Bisbee, Arizona, but it’s already in the 90s here in the desert and it’s not even May so that trip is going to have to wait until… winter or something. There is no way in hell I’m going deeper into the desert when the weather gets hotter.

It’s a historic mining town tourist trap looking place now which is exactly the kind of shit I love.

SAM: Bec, look, I know Zack didn’t do this. Now, we have to find a way to prove that he’s innocent.

I mean, not technically, technically you would 1) NOT FUCK WITH A MURDER INVESTIGATION YOU’RE NOT LEGALLY INVOLVED IN BECAUSE ANYTHING YOU FIND WOULD BE INADMISSABLE IN COURT 2) find evidence to provide a reasonable doubt for the jury that he did commit the crime. You know, like a lawyer would need to do, Law Boy.

DEAN: I just don’t think this is our kind of problem.

When I made my husband watch this show with me (he’s seen it all at least once now over the years) this is the recurring thing that drove him crazy.

You guys can’t even go in through the back door? Or shut the front door behind you? Really?

REBECCA: (tearfully) Well, there’s no sign of a break-in. They say that Emily let her attacker in.

Yeah, that doesn’t even really mean that she knew her attacker. Just that it was someone she let her guard down around or got in some other way. See: The Son of Sam and Nightstalker, etc.

Love the pinup magnet on the fridge. I’d throw shade at that, but I have a pinup magnet on my fridge too so… pot kettle and all that.

Okay, both people in the next couple are gorgeous.

And oh wow those special effects changing eyes… wow.

This poor couple. I feel so bad for them in this episode.

How… how are the police gonna explain the way he was able to beat himself over the head with a bat??? I…

I love that 5:30 in the morning on TV is clearly like… 10 AM.

Okay, this is a really unrelated point, but the graffiti on the dumpster here reminds me of the Teen Wolf fandoms use of the name Void!Stiles when Stiles Stilinski was possessed by a Nogitsune… I just spent way too long digging through YouTube and my Tumblr tags from back when those episodes were airing looking for a few specific videos and couldn’t find them. The TL;DR reason I bring it up here is goofball, bi-coded main character guy getting possessed by an entity set on destroying the people he loves. SOUNDS LIKE THIS EPISODE AND A WHOLE LOT OF SPN RIGHT. I love that all these monster hunting shows call out to each other.

This scene haunts me years later and I don’t even WATCH Teen Wolf. I just watched the fandom on Tumblr collectively lose it’s shit then tripped down a Hale Pack fanfiction rabbit hole.

ANYWAY

Back to Supernatural, a show that also treated its fan base, cast, and characters like garbage! Huzzah!

DEAN: Well, there’s another way to go—down. (They look down and notice a manhole.)

I’m gonna be mature and ignore the double entendre there…

But I love that Dean thinks of the world in 3D. Which sounds like a dumb statement to make, but this is honestly a good example of that in action.

SAM: I bet this runs right by Zack’s house, too.

Really Sam, sewers run by houses? SO WEIRD. I WOULD HAVE NEVER GUESSED.

DEAN: You know, I just had a sick thought. When the shapeshifter changes shape—maybe it sheds.

SAM: That is sick. (DEAN puts the bloody pile back on the ground.)

Guys, there is a WHOLE ASS EAR in that pile of yuck you’re looking at. I think it’s pretty safe to assume the shapeshifter indeed sheds its skin like a snake. A much… gooier snake.

Sam’s friend is rightfully pissed at him for fucking with the crime scene.

This is before the pearl gripped guns?! Wow. I never noticed that before.

Also, this whole episode gives me feelings.

++++

Cool. Tumblr mobile ate a whole section of my notes on this when it crashed for NO APPARENT REASON. Love that.

It always boggles my mind that actors can trust the people they’re working with enough to let people “tie” ropes around their neck or put them in actually dangerous positions in a scene.

SHAPESHIFTER: He’s sure got issues with you. You got to go to college. He had to stay home. I mean, I had to stay home. With Dad. You don’t think I had dreams of my own? But Dad needed me. Where the hell were you?

SAM: Where is my brother? (The shapeshifter leans in close to SAM.)

SHAPESHIFTER: I am your brother. See, deep down, I’m just jealous. You got friends. You could have a life. Me? I know I’m a freak. And sooner or later, everybody’s gonna leave me. (He backs away.)

SAM: What are you talkin’ about?

SHAPESHIFTER: You left. Hell, I did everything Dad asked me to, and he ditched me, too. No explanation, nothin’, just poof. Left me with your sorry ass. But, still, this life? It’s not without its perks. (He laughs.) I meet the nicest people. Like little Becky. You know, Dean would bang her if he had the chance. Let’s see what happens. (He smiles and covers SAM with a sheet.)

This exchange is just… so much. So many feelings. And I will forever (unless we magically get a fix-it fic mini season someday…) be SO MAD that none of this got resolved in that pointless, trash heap of a finale.

REBECCA: Okay, so, this thing—it can make itself look like anybody?

SHAPESHIFTER: That’s right. (She chuckles.)

REBECCA: Well, what is it, like a genetic freak? (The shapeshifter laughs.)

SHAPESHIFTER: Maybe. Evolution is about mutation, right? So, maybe this thing was born human but was different. Hideous and hated. Until he learned to become someone else. (REBECCA looks around, uncomfortable. The shapeshifter’s eyes glint silver, and he smiles.)

It always amazes me how much of this show is a pile of accidental queer allegories parading around in an ill-fitting toxic masculinity suit.

Vulcan mind meld! I love nerd!Dean. Also, I’m rewatching Star Trek: TOS with my husband, because that is what my life amounts to these days, rewatching comfort TV and flailing over the bits I love.

This post does a better job than I can do of pairing up screen caps with the dialogue of this next scene. SIX EPISODES IN. They’re dumping all of this character depth SIX EPISODES IN. FUCK THIS SHOW FOR NOT EMBRACING ITSELF.

Okay, I love that he screams back in her face after he threw the phone. It’s not something to laugh at because the situation is horrifying, but I can’t help laughing at it every time.

AND THE WAY THEY CUT THESE SCENES. Going from him winding his hand back to backslap her directly to him dropping the chains on the table to show how hard he must have hit her without actually making the actors hit each other. Good job editing department!

I… don’t understand the shifter’s motivation for killing people. If he can take over people’s identities without killing them, why kill them? Is it just because he’s a homicidal, rapist piece of shit? Cause that’s all it seems like.

How did the SWAT team even know she was being attacked? Why can the snipers aim no better than Storm Troopers?

Ugh, these kind of transformation body horror scenes are exactly why werewolf stories have never really appealed to me much. Like, I could do without watching your ribs move and teeth fall out, dude.

BUT.

THIS FUCKING SCENE.

I looked up the song that’s playing over shapeshifter!Dean being caught by the SWAT team and then going through the grotesque transformation. (And as far as I know, the iTunes version has the original music from the episodes.)

It’s a song called “Mary” by The Death Riders

Who's your mother, who's your mother here boy // Who's your mother, whos your mommy dear // Who's your father, who's your father here boy // Who's your father, who's your daddy dear

Silently screaming // Where everyone knows // Daddy's always watchin' // Where everywhere - everywhere I go

I don't wanna be a freak show pretty boy anymore // I don't wanna be a full time slave // I don't wanna be your midnight cowboy anymore // I just want to be Mary

This is… a fascinating choice. Here are the rest of the lyrics. The song as a whole has a weird incesty kinda vibe to it? Kinda like when SPN tries to straight-wash itself and misses the mark wildly. (Like Dean’s male siren episode.)

The midnight cowboy line reminded me of 12x11 and the bull riding scene with “Broomstick Cowboy” by Bobby Goldsboro playing over it

Dream on, little Broomstick Cowboy, // Dream while you can; // Of big green frogs, // And puppy dogs, // And castles in the sand.

For, all too soon you'll awaken; // Your toys will all be gone. // Your broomstick horse will ride away, // To find another home. // And you'll have grown into a man, // With cowboys of your own. // And then you'll have to go to war, // To try and save your home.

And then you'll have to learn to hate; // You'll have to learn to kill. // It's always been that way, my son; // I guess it always will.

Because, you know, why not add tons of feelings into the lyrics, right?

Props to the people who can embrace their rewatches and reclamations of the show with ease. Because every episode seems to remind me of how hollow and tragic Dean’s ending was and I just… struggle all over again.

Anyway, back to the episode so I can move on with my day.

REPORTER: An anonymous tip led police to a home in the Central West End, where a S.W.A.T team discovered a local woman bound and gagged. Her attacker, a white male, approximately twenty-four to thirty years of age, was discovered hiding in her home. (A sketch of DEAN appears on the screen.)

DEAN: Man! That’s not even a good picture. (SAM looks around cautiously.)

SAM: It’s good enough. (He walks away.)

DEAN: Man! (He follows SAM.)

(CUT TO: Alley. DEAN and SAM are walking. DEAN steps into a puddle.)

DEAN: Ugh, come on.

I love that we get two tiny little back-to-back vanity moments for Dean here. One commenting on the sketch artist rendition of him being broadcasted on the news and the other tripping in the puddle. There is literally someone running around the city trying to kill people while wearing Dean’s face, but Dean is still concerned with how he looks appears to others. He’s still concerned with keeping up his own performance. The shifter left him with just a t-shirt, so he doesn’t even have his usual comfort layers on and at any moment someone could spot him and call the police or try to kill him for assaulting Sam’s friend. His life is wildly out of control in that moment and the only thing he can try to focus on is his appearance (something semi-controllable) and finding the shifter before any of that other shit can happen.

One day I want to put together a like top 10 episodes focusing on / explaining each TFW character from the series. Like the kind of list you could show someone who’s never seen the show, but has OPINIONS about the characters (or who hasn’t seen the whole show and seen the growth they went through… you know, like the people responsible for the travesty of 15x20). This episode would be on that list. I’m not sure how I could manage to make a list of only 10 episodes to understand Dean Winchester by, but eh.

SAM: What are you gonna do to me?

SHAPESHIFTER: Oh, I’m not gonna do anything. Dean will, though.

SAM: They’ll never catch him.

SHAPESHIFTER: Oh, doesn’t matter. Murder in the first of his own brother? He’ll be hunted the rest of his life. (He picks up a sharp knife and examines it.)

Speaking of season 15 in general, this right here. This was Chuck’s villain story arc thesis statement. AND THEY DROPPED THE GODDAMN BALL WITH IT. I think that’s the thing that honestly pisses me off the most these days (about 5 1/2 months from when the finale aired) is that they tried making the whole thing a tragedy but did such an awful job with it that it just ended up like a deflating condom balloon at a dive bar concert. Disappointing and gross. The finale for season 14 set them up SO FUCKING WELL and it just… didn’t get there.

Becky’s parents are gonna be pissed at how torn up their house is after all this shit…

And you’re not shooting him when you first see him strangling Sam because…?????

I like that he took the necklace back. Also, is this kinda Dean death number .5 of the show? Like it wasn’t him but it was also kinda him. Eh.

At least they left the windshield on Baby this time. Reflections are better than tearing her apart.

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Day 6 Birthday Plot Bunnies 2

If you want this to become my next WIP, be sure to shower it with lots of love!!  🥰 💖 All the story starters will be linked back to this masterpost.

Title: A Walk on the Other Side

Summary: Bilbo is a FBI profiler and rather enjoys his desk job when a strange case comes across his desk hinting towards the FBI's most wanted: Smaug. As soon as he makes this connection, he is approached by notorious crime lord, Oakenshield, in an attempt to get him to work for him. Bilbo’s world gets flipped upside down by the suave man, and he may not be a dirty cop, but he does have a personal investment in making sure Smaug is put behind bars.

Bilbo Baggins was not exactly the first person you pictured when you heard the acronym “FBI”. He was a little too short, a little too pudgy, and enjoyed his sweater vests immensely. Yet, he’s been his department’s top analyst for the last fourteen years. He may not be one of the showy field officers (messy, nasty work that), but what Bilbo did was not any less important. In fact, if it wasn’t for analysts like Bilbo, a lot of times the “gunslinging action” wouldn’t take place at all. A rather unpopular opinion but true.

It was shaping into a relatively normal Thursday for Bilbo. They had just finished up a debrief over their latest embezzlement case. He was starting to suspect they were dealing with a serial embezzler. It was different locations, different methods, and different amounts, but there was something about the case that clicked in Bilbo’s mind. He was almost to his desk when he noticed a large manila envelope was draped over his keyboard. He raised an eyebrow as he carefully lifted the sticky note attached to it.

Have a look at these files for me? I know I’m missing something. Call me when you figure it out. -GG

Bilbo plopped into his uncomfortable rolling chair with a sigh. Gandalf was his old AD before he switched departments. And unfortunately, anything with Gandalf’s name on it was usually trouble for Bilbo. He tapped his fingers on the desk and spun back and forth in his chair for a bit when his eyes landed on his mother’s picture on his desk. She was in uniform hugging him at his college graduation. He knew exactly what she would want him to do. Heaving a groan, he pulled the damn envelope towards him and started looking over the files.

Arsons? Those didn’t usually fall under Gandalf’s jurisdiction. His eyes skimmed the reports, not sure exactly what Gandalf was expecting him to do. The evidence was fairly cut and dry. What’s more is the local police caught a suspect that seemed substantially to blame. Case closed. However, if Gandalf thought there was more, he should probably check it twice. It was actually the third time that he caught it. The papers hit his desk as his mind reeled. No...surely it wasn’t? Now he really needed to make sure.

He laid the photos out side by side circling the origin of the fires in each picture. His hand was shaking when he was done. This was big. This was FBI’s most wanted big. He didn’t even bother writing up a report. He immediately got on the server and sent a one-word email to Gandalf.

Smaug.

It was thirty after six when Bilbo finally packed up his work to head back home. His mind had been racing all afternoon, and all he wanted was to be put on the arson case. However, Gandalf never replied to his email, never called, nothing. First thing he was going to do when he got home after feeding Myrtle was grab a beer from the fridge and call the older man. Even if Gandalf wouldn’t let him be part of the team, he deserved to know what happened with that bastard.

Bilbo’s townhouse wasn’t exactly what you would call grand, but he enjoyed it greatly. It had the cosy atmosphere of his childhood cottage while still being rent efficient in a quiet neighborhood. It was a slight commute to work, but well worth it. He unlocked the door and flipped on the lights to the front room as he toed off his shoes and set his messenger bag down. He was just getting ready to move into the kitchen to get some cat food down for Myrtle when he froze. There was a man in his house.

“So you’re Mr. Baggins.” His low voice purred in amusement as he looked him up and down. “You look more like a grocer than an agent.”

Bilbo opened his mouth to scream when the man whipped out a Sig Sauer.

“Don’t.” He ordered calmly. “I only want to talk.”

Bilbo’s eyes hardened as he quickly took in details for a sketch artist. Tall, likely over six foot. Lean, except for he’s slightly broader in the shoulders. Tailored suit. Slicked back dark hair but graying at the sides, hooded blue eyes, well-trimmed beard and mustache. Almost as if he knew exactly what Bilbo was doing, the man smirked before nodding towards the sitting room. Bilbo moved slowly and deliberately as he sank down onto his armchair. The man unbuttoned his jacket before taking the spot on the couch. He set the gun down in front of him on the coffee table. A peace offering, but also a signal that it was within reach if he needed it. Bilbo’s blood was pounding as he forced his dry throat to work.

“What do you want?”

“Gandalf told me you have the information I need.”

Bilbo cocked his head in confusion as his mind raced to process the loaded answer. This man knew Gandalf. He talked to him recently. He knew Smaug.

“What kind of information?” Bilbo played dumb.

“A file came across your desk, and you gave Gandalf a name. I want to know why? What did you see that made you so sure it was him?”

There was almost a maniac gleam in those bright blue eyes. It was something Bilbo related to well. 

“I can show you. I just need to get to my bag.” Bilbo stated, slowly standing up.

The man’s hand twitched towards his gun, but he didn’t pick it up as he nodded his consent. He didn’t take Bilbo as a threat. His mistake. Bilbo grabbed his bag and slid the pistol and cell phone out of the front pocket whirling around on the man. He sighed but put his hands up as he leaned back into the couch. Bilbo’s left hand was shaking as he searched for Gandalf’s number, but his gun hand remained steady and in control. He put the call on speaker so he could watch the man’s face for any slip. However, his expression never changed from slightly bored and exasperated.

“My dear Bilbo, I do hope you haven’t shot our guest yet.”

Bilbo could just kill the AD. He really could. As it was, his posture relaxed just slightly.

“Who is he?” He demanded of Gandalf.

“Someone who has hunted Smaug longer than you.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes at the dramatics and lack of a real answer which seemed to amuse the other man somewhat. This didn’t feel right. Every instinct in Bilbo’s body said to arrest the man across from him if nothing else than because he was dangerous.

“Do you trust him?” Bilbo finally asked, his voice wavering just slightly.

There was a long pause before Gandalf answered.

“I do.” 

Being of no real use, Bilbo hung up the phone after that. He had two choices before him. He could trust Gandalf’s judgement, or he could go with his instincts. He kept the gun trained on the man for a moment longer before lowering it with a sigh. He flipped the safety back on as he stuck it in his waistband, because he wasn’t a total naive idiot, before picking up his bag like he said he was going to initially. When he looked back over, the man’s gun was gone. Bilbo sat stiffly next to him and pulled out the file Gandalf had sent over earlier.

“It was where these fires originated that tipped me off. Here, what do you notice?” Bilbo questioned.

The man furrowed his eyebrows studying the images before he shrugged with a grunt of irritation.

“Placement.” Bilbo pointed out. “There were no traces of accelerant so how do you start a natural fire? Well, very easily. Gas range stove, covered radiator, electrical outlets, but look. Where the spot is most charred we can assume is the start of the fire. It’s nowhere near anything like that. It couldn’t possibly have started naturally. So what set off the fire? Smaug has a very specific MO. He kills using highly concentrated nitroglycerin tablets, smuggable due to their heart relieving counterparts, that when combined with human stomach acid will cause an explosion. And judging by the shape of the darker burn, it’s not a huge leap to assume that there was a human body there.”

“But all of the owners were alive to file insurance claims.” The man pointed out, looking more curious than anything else.

Forgetting that he was a stranger that had a gun trained on him not even ten minutes ago, Bilbo found himself getting more animated at the chance to finally explain his theories.

“So I looked into that after I sent the email to Gandalf. Somehow, every owner was conveniently out of town before the fire happened, and afterwards were able to afford a building or home way above their pay scale. Which even if you take insurance money into account still shouldn’t be possible. I think Smaug was paying them off for access to conduct his dirty work somewhere he couldn’t be tracked. What’s more, all the buildings being used by the same money laundering cleaning service made an easy target for the police.”

The man raised an eyebrow as he seemed to be appraising Bilbo. He smirked before standing.

“Very well, I’ll talk to Gandalf about getting you transferred.”

Bilbo jumped to his feet.

“Transferred? Where? For what purpose?”

“I want you working for me.”

“Now wait just a minute here!” Bilbo demanded as he stomped back into the entry hall. “I don’t know who the hell you are, but I won’t be a dirty cop! And don’t try to convince me anything about what we did was legal. Nobody breaks into an FBI agent’s home and holds a gun on him unless they work outside the law.”

The man shook his head with a snort. “Well aren’t you just perceptive.”

“Hang on!”

Bilbo reached out for the man’s arm at the same time he reached for the doorknob. In less than a second, the man had Bilbo’s arm pinned above his head in the wall out of view of the window with Bilbo’s own gun placed under his chin. Bilbo glared into the ice blue eyes inches away from his own as he tried to keep a cool head in an uncomfortable situation.

“Let’s get a couple of things straight.” The man whispered, his breath hot on Bilbo’s face. “One, I don’t answer to anyone, especially not you. Two, you’ll be whatever I want you to be or you don’t get the revenge you so clearly desire. Yeah, I can see in your eyes how badly you want Smaug. Work for me or get the hell out of my way. I don’t really care one way or the other, but Smaug is mine.”

He gave Bilbo one last smirk before shoving the gun in Bilbo’s pocket and stepping away. Without so much as a ‘good evening’, he was gone in the night. Adrenaline shot, Bilbo slid down the wall until his butt met the floor painfully. He let his head lightly bang into the wall behind him a few times as he just focused on breathing. A ‘meow’ alerted him to his company before Myrtle stepped over his legs to rub her head against his arms and stomach.

“And where have you been?” He croaked.

He didn’t get an answer back aside from another ‘meow’ as she seemed rather insistent on getting her dinner. Bilbo closed his eyes and counted to twenty before getting up to finally go to the kitchen. That beer sounded more prevalent than ever.

***

First thing he did the next day was go straight to Gandalf’s office, slamming the door behind him. The older man looked up and gave the analyst a wide smile. 

“Bilbo! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Who the hell was that last night?!”

“Well…” Gandalf huffed.

“Tell me.” Bilbo seethed. “Or I’ll go straight to the top and tell Saruman everything.”

Gandalf pouted. “No need to get testy. Please have a seat. Do you want some tea? Coffee?”

Bilbo let his face fall into his hands. “What I want…” His muffled voice stressed. “Is some answers. What have I just been exposed to?”

Gandalf sighed. “Very well. I believe you are familiar with Oakenshield?”

Bilbo slowly lifted his head to pierce Gandalf with a baffled glare.

“Oakenshield...the crime family? Oakenshield...who got into it with the Orcs several years back and cut off the hand of their boss? That Oakenshield?” 

“The very one.” Gandalf snapped, pleased. “Well that was Thorin.”

“Thorin? As in the head of Oakenshield, Thorin Durin?!” Bilbo’s voice had risen in pitch at this point.

“Of course.” Gandalf nodded as if Bilbo having a conversation in his living room with a dangerous mob boss was akin to making a friend at preschool.

Bilbo collapsed in the chair across from Gandalf as spots danced in his eyes. He white-knuckle gripped the arms as if physically trying to tether himself to the conscious world. I’m not going to pass out. I’m not going to pass out. Bilbo was an analyst! There was a reason he didn’t go out and meet people...well like that. And Gandalf knew Durin. Even worse, Gandalf leaked FBI intel to him. Slowly he lifted his head.

“Did my mother know?” He demanded hoarsely.

“Did she know what?” Gandalf asked, genuinely baffled.

“Did she know you worked for the mafia?”

“Bilbo…”

“ANSWER THE QUESTION, GANDALF!”

The wizened face hardened, reminding Bilbo of the reason why he had yet to retire.

“She suspected...but I never told her, no.”

Bilbo rubbed his jaw as he chuckled on the verge of hysterics.

“She always told me I had to get in your command. Said it was her best days on the force. That you were a good AD. Tell me. What’s your ratio? How many do you let slip off the hook for every one you put behind bars?”

“Now see here, Bilbo Baggins! I will not let you undermine me or my division! Contrary to your belief system, there is more at work here than what you can comprehend.”

“My belief system?” Bilbo scoffed. “You mean THE LAW?”

“Yes.” Gandalf grumped. “The law. The law which can dictate that a pickpocket is guilty but a corporation stealing hours from their underpaid workers is innocent.”

“I’m not going to sit here and debate...politics with you!” Bilbo laughed. “My job is to arrest people like Thorin Durin and there’s nothing you can say that’s ever going to make me think working with the lunatic is a good idea!”

“Not even if he’s your only chance to take down Smaug?”

Bilbo’s face fell into an emotionless mask, except for his eyes burning holes into Gandalf. Without another word, he stood and left the office. If he slammed the door closed with more force than necessary, well that was no one’s business but his own. Luckily, his black mood seemed to engulf him like a siren warning everyone off. He made it to his desk with no distractions ready to pick up where he left off with the embezzlement cases. Only, he couldn’t move as he stared blankly at the wall of his cubicle.

Understandably, his focus was a little off. He figured he should turn Gandalf in, but for the love of his mother’s memory and nothing more, he deemed it best to leave that stone unturned. His decision was immediately questioned when he got a text twenty minutes later from an unknown number with a time and a location and a charming little warning at the end.

Come alone.

Bilbo snorted as he tossed his phone on his desk. Absolutely not. An hour later, he found himself procrastinating the embezzlement case again to pull up the bureau's database on Smaug, Dracon. It was all information Bilbo had practically memorized at this point. His eyes drifted towards his phone with the text he had already committed to memory before shaking his head and exiting out of his search. Bilbo was an analyst for the FBI. He had his integrity and moral responsibility to ignore psychopathic crime bosses who wanted to use him for a turf war. He wasn’t so single-mindedly driven by revenge regardless of what Gandalf or Oakenshield said. His phone buzzed again.

Belladonna Took’s son was meant for more than sitting behind a desk for the rest of his life. Thorin was impressed. At least hear him out tonight, and if you absolutely feel like you can’t join the team, we won’t bother you ever again.

Bilbo threw his phone with a string of curses that had everyone around him staring with wide eyes. Bilbo dragged his hands down his face. This was such an easy decision. He just had to say no! No, no, no, no. Why couldn’t he say no?

Because you’ve never felt more excited about any case before? Because you trained for months to be a field agent before making an abstaining promise to your father at your mother’s grave? Because you’ve never felt closer to getting your mother’s killer, and that’s a sweet taste that just won’t go away?

Bilbo cursed himself with every swear in the book when the cab pulled up outside the restaurant that was texted to him. His nerves were singing. Everything about this felt wrong and dirty. And yet...he opened the door to let himself in.

[captainsimagines]

Titanic || H.S

Part Five || “No Me Queda Mas”

Disclaimer: I do not own the pictures I use for title cards. Obviously. 

Warnings: This book contains mature themes and discussions, such as gun violence, emotional and physical abuse, attempted suicide, mentions of blood, character deaths, heavy sexual content, and reference to the real maritime disaster of the 1912 cruise liner Titanic.

“Exactly. But if you jump, I’m gonna have to jump in there after you.“

         Both Harry and Drake were up by seven in the morning, energetic and absolutely starving. They made sure to dress as quietly as they could, careful not to wake their other two roommates. They were men of the same age, around their late twenties, heading to the states to escape religious persecution. They had arrived later that day after they had picked up the remaining passengers from Ireland, both men talkative and equally as excited to start a new life. The four men chatted into the deep hours of the night and discussed a variety of topics. Perhaps the funnest topic they covered was women.

The two men were traveling with their girlfriends and since they were not legally married, they had to bunk in separate living quarters. Except their boyfriends had splurged what money they could to give them the best comfort as possible, and Harry learned their girlfriends were staying as second-class passengers. Drake made the joke about how first and second class weren’t all that different, and that these boys were living every poor man’s dream of being with a woman of practical royalty.

“They scream louder than any woman.”

“What do you mean?” Harry questioned.

“I mean,” Drake nudged his shoulder playfully, “they’re so touch-deprived that they practically melt from any man’s touch.”

“Man, shut the hell up!”

Everyone continued to joke and tease, and Harry wondered if that was indeed true. He had only been with two other women before - his first when he was seventeen and a woman he thought he loved at the age of twenty-four. He prided himself on the noises he caused, but he didn’t quite understand what Drake meant. Did upper-class women really not experience pleasure as often as women in love? Did upper-class women even fall in love? Do upper-class men not know how to perform? He understood the point of the joke, and although slightly misogynistic, Harry pondered on the societal gossip that sometimes proved true. It wasn’t like he was ever going to experience it to compare.

He and Drake tip-toed outside their room and locked it behind them. Breakfast was available until ten, but they wanted first dibs on the freshest stuff there.

It was a buffet style breakfast. They stacked their trays up high, first come - first serve, with buttered bread, sugar cookies, chicken noodle soup, and milk.

“They’re holding out on us. I saw them lugging buckets of grapes and strawberries up to first-class.”

Harry chuckled and sipped his milk, “Because they’re first-class.”

“Either way, this bread is delicious.”

And over breakfast they chatted about their past trips, skills, family, and aspirations. If it was possible, Drake spoke more than Harry. Once a conversation reached its end, Drake would easily glide into a new one. It was quite refreshing to speak to someone who didn’t shut you down or didn’t know how to carry a conversation. Harry paused Drake, however, when he mentioned that he was a trained carpenter.

“You build things?”

“Buildings. I build buildings.”

Harry shoved him, “That’s what I meant!”

Drake laughed along, “Yeah, my father was a carpenter. I built my Montana ranch from the ground up with my own two hands.”

Harry felt like meeting Drake was fate. Now he didn’t have to grovel and beg some New York carpenter to oversee the construction of a London business. If Drake agreed to help Harry build his bakery, he would at least trust the process more. A few sips of soup and some sugar cookies later and Harry considered Drake a closer friend than those he met on the playground.

“I have a proposition.”

“Well, Mr. Capitalist, I’m all ears.”

Harry grinned, “Would you like to help me build my family’s bakery? I would pay you generously and provide you housing during your extended stay in New York.”

Drake mimicked the act of deep thought, leaning forward and swishing around his cup of milk. “Hmm, a generous offer.”

“Or do you have to be back in Montana immediately?”

Please don’t. Please don’t. Please don’t.

“My brother has the ranch covered. I can write to him and let him know I’ll be bringing in a little extra cash.”

Harry jumped in his seat like an excited child, “Is that a ‘yes’?”

Drake chuckled and tried not to spill his milk as Harry shook his shoulders excitedly.

Drake was around five years older than Harry, thirty-two and thriving, so it made sense that he had this feeling of being an older brother to Harry. He was actually the youngest of his siblings, having older brothers at his side since birth. It was a blessing, and in a weird twist of plot, he felt like an attentive older brother sat here at breakfast. The way Harry’s bright smile lit up any room and the way he acted as if everything happened for a reason - he was almost tempted to give this kid the rest of his sugar cookies.

“Sure, man. I trust you’ll pay me.”

Harry nodded and while overflowing with joy, he slid his sketchbook in front of Drake and began reviewing the first couple sketches of the type of building he had in mind.

     You had been kept up late by your mother’s final walk-through of your stay room, complaining there were not enough towels and not enough space for your accessories on the bedside table. She acknowledged the vastness of the ship and its wonderful hospitality, but there was always something wrong in her mind. And all you could do was nod your head as you sat impatiently in the side chair as she worked the midnight crew through each fix.

So excuse your slow responses and tiny yawns at breakfast. The tables were beginning to clear out, with many still entering for early tea or a late meal. The breeze passed through the open doors and nipped at your cheeks, waking you up slightly from the boring chatter.

As the others spoke, you couldn’t help but think about yesterday and what weird a kiss you and Cal had shared. Was it supposed to feel good? You knew Cal had other women before as he was turning thirty-six just a week after your scheduled wedding. He was never so playful, especially not in front of waiting staff, so you pondered what that change in attitude could possibly mean. Or perhaps you were thinking too much, and he really just had a lapse in judgement.

You could make out talk about the weather, America’s current stock market, and ideas about what the cooks were going to prepare later today. Speak on topics that never interested you and never will interest you carried on for a few more minutes before everyone began ordering their second course. You pulled a cigarette and its holder from your handbag, expertly placed the cigarette inside the silver and inhaled the cooled, mellowed smoke. It woke you up instantly, also calming any nerves from the night before.

You didn’t like when Cal smoked and dusted your flooring, but the presence of a holder made all the difference. No mess, no stains on your fingers - just tranquility.

Your mother cleared her throat quietly as to only alert you, watching the other occupants of your table carry on with their conversation. She unfolded her napkin and placed it carefully across her lap. “You know I don’t like when you do that in public.”

Instead of rolling your eyes at her absurd worry, you inhaled the smoke deeply and exhaled across her view, clouding her face in your personal stress release. It was a power move, a move that you were allowed to execute since she was in control of literally every other aspect of your life. A little smoke shouldn’t anger her as much as it did, but any ounce of independence you still displayed could be interpreted as plain disobedience. And disobedience of your own family meant it resulted in disobedience within a marriage. But before you could establish dominance in one area of your life - your own body - Cal reached over to pull the cigarette from its holder and extinguished it on one of the side plates. You narrowed your eyes, ashamed of the control he proved he had.

“She knows,” Cal chuckled, ignoring your look of embarrassment and instead calling over the waiter who was making his rounds.

A woman you had met briefly yesterday as she boarded from Ireland, Molly, was invited to sit at your breakfast table by one of the men here, yet you couldn’t remember which one. She was a small woman, dressed in a comfortable dress that didn’t quite match the occasion of a late breakfast, but she wore it proudly. She was sweet, strong-willed, and almost always proved louder than anyone else in the room. You liked her personality as it was entirely different from everyone else you had ever met. Although your mother called her “new money” with a nasty grimace on her face, you only saw her for what she was - independent and vocal.

But here you were now, being dehumanized in front of practical strangers, and you looked up to see Molly’s surprised expression. She lowered her arm to extinguish her own cigarette on her ashtray. To continue smoking freely after you had been refused your tiny refuge seemed wrong, improper even. But you didn’t acknowledge her action, ears perking up as Cal restated your breakfast order.

“We’ll both have the lamb, rare, with very little mint sauce.”

You absolutely hated lamb. Any type of meat, really, and the thought of having to stuff it down so you wouldn’t starve maddened you.

“You like lamb, right Sweetpea?”

You plastered a thin, wide smile as you turned to your fiancé, your face almost comical and proving so as Cal took it as a real ‘yes’.

By now your little squabble had gained attention from all at your table. Molly began laughing loudly to cut through the tension, raising her water glass to take a quick sip.

“You gonna cut and chew her meat there too, huh Cal?”

Your mother turned to her sharply but Molly was unmoved, deciding to change the subject to something more interesting. Cal interlocked his fingers together and rested his hands above his belt buckle, looking across the table at Molly with a more calm look compared to your mother, but still hardened with displeasure.

“Say, who thought of the name ‘Titanic’? Was it you, Bruce?” Molly asked.

Bruce Ismay, the chairman of the White Star Line, seemed ecstatic to receive questions about the ship. As of that month, it was his greatest accomplishment and current world wonder, his newborn creation that deserved any and all praise given. He nodded happily and swallowed the piece of fruit hurriedly to answer Molly’s question.

“Yes, yes,” he answered, cleaning his mouth with a napkin. “Mr. Andrews here built her from the ground up!”

Thomas Andrews, a shipbuilder and main architect for Titanic, was shy with any compliment he received, deciding to accept the praise quickly and return the attention back to Ismay. “But the idea was all Mr. Ismay’s! He envisioned a liner so grand in scale...”

You began to drown the conversation out. Cal insisted on dining with specific groups of people. From your point of view, it worked almost like a ranking. Ismay and Andrews were certainly important people on this ship and had first hand experience with such social circles, but they were no John Jacob Astor. The most Cal and your mother did was share morning greetings with Astor, who dined with his wife in a more private section of the same dining hall. Cal had always maintained your titles of royalty, saying that only a few dollars here and there separated you from a higher connection. And at dinner time your group expanded, including around ten others who were just as respectable.

“I wanted to convey sheer size with her name! And size means stability, luxury, and above all, strength,” Ismay spoke.

You sucked in a low breath, ready to make a select few laugh and others seethe. “Do you know of Dr. Freud, Mr. Ismay?”

Mr. Ismay turned to you in silent astonishment, surprised by the first complete sentence you had spoken all breakfast. But he smiled and shook his head ‘no’ at the name. You felt your mother reach her hand under the table to cup your arm.

“His opinion about the male preoccupation with size might be of particular interest to you.”

Your mother’s fingernails dug deep into your forearm. “What has gotten into you?”

But Molly and Mr. Andrews enjoyed your comment, laughing under their breaths.

You smiled sweetly and tore your arm away from your mother, standing and excusing yourself from the table. Both Mr. Ismay and Mr. Andrews stood out of respect for your departure. You exited the room to walk out on deck.

Cal took in slow breaths to steady his rising anger, avoiding other’s eyes so that they wouldn’t notice the effect you had on him. But Molly, with her rapid wit and steady toughness, wouldn’t let Cal live this down.

“She’s a pistol, Cal. Hope you can handle her!”

Cal crinkled his eyes and chuckled as to brush off your misbehavior. “I might just have to mind what she reads from now on, don’t I?”

Mr. Ismay sat down and readjusted his tie. “Freud, who is he? Is he a passenger?”

     It was bullshit that third-class passengers were barred from touring certain areas of the ship. All Harry wanted was a better view of the ship’s structure so he could outline it. He mainly drew portraits but he had promised his mother he would show her his drawings of the best parts of the ship, like the grand staircase, fashion, the giant steam funnels, even the food. But third-class passengers weren’t allowed in first-class areas without the proper approval, having to eat from a choice of about four foods each day and reduced to simply imagining what the giant clock looked like.

So Harry doodled anything he found interesting - the dogs who traveled down to third-class to take a shit, the coast of Ireland as Titanic sailed past, and third-class passengers with their children, card games, and instruments. He was currently drawing a man holding his daughter up against the railing to see the water, focusing on the detail of their clothing and their happy expressions. Drake watched Harry work his magic, grinning every single time Harry drew the next precise detail accurately. It wasn’t exactly common knowledge, but Drake swore that every human wanted to have this specific talent. Anyone who disagreed wasn’t human.

“I can’t believe you got the eyes right,” Drake scoffed, inhaling smoke from his reduced cigarette.

Harry grinned at the comment, smudging the charcoal over the two foreheads to create the shading. Looking from the models to his paper, he completed another detail that impressed his friend. He was almost finished, brushing his index finger over certain parts. Drake greeted some friends he met at last night’s dinner as they walked past and rested in the surrounding benches. He motioned them over to Harry’s work.

Drake nodded in approval at all the compliments Harry received, “Do you make any money off your drawings?”

It’s quite possibly every artist’s worst nightmare, to scribble incorrectly over a good drawing, completely ruining the fine detail it took too long to accomplish. But as Harry’s pencil scraped over that crumpled piece of paper, the air around him and the water under him spoke to his artistic desires, telling him to wreak havoc on his flimsy sheet and to never stop. The somewhat endless black line did indeed stop once it reached the edge and to the fabric of his tan pants, leaving a light but visible charcoal mesh on his only pair. His eyes, as well as his clouded mind, ignored his major mistake and instead focused on the yellow fabric that begged to flap higher in the cool, ocean breeze.

His eyes traveled through every detail- the white lace clinging to the base yellow, the pearls hugging your waistline and wrapping around your backside to function as buttons, the baroque beauty of your neck and the lace wrapped around it, your brown skin glistening underneath the sun, and your red lips sculpted into a memorable pout - all of it entered Harry’s viewpoint in what seemed like forever but only took a mere second. One glorious second for Harry to stumble into a world he knew he could never abandon. The curl in your hair, the frown on your face, the gentle nature of your grip on the forbidden first-class railing - all of it a disastrous craving that would for sure develop into a blister on the lip if Harry didn’t get a smell of your lavish locks and accidentally brush the tip of his nose against the priceless diamonds draped through each curl, or get a taste of the red syrup staining your plump lips and accidentally bite it a little too hard to muster a moan of pleasure rich women kill to produce, or get to feel the touch of your fingertips against his palms, his face, his chest, his back as you left streaks of bright red. These prohibited images knocked against the padded confines of his thick skull and he felt like he completely violated the law with such an absurd idea.

But as you furrowed your eyebrows and focused on another focal point - Harry himself - he felt as if every inch of your being was worth being imprisoned for. His forbidden sweet creature.

You stared at the stranger briefly before looking back at the waves beyond the bow of the ship. Yet, you continued to feel his powerful gaze. You didn’t feel uncomfortable with his locked stare, but you wondered if he was possessed, spiraling through a trance that you had become a victim of. Was his gaze good or bad? Was he seriously entranced or judging your physique? Walking away would break the spell, but you stayed glued to the railing for some reason, watching the waves make way for Titanic’s many entrances.

You heard the voice in your head instruct your view to stay on the water, but you disobeyed for once, unaware of such a lovely decision until you locked eyes with your third-class admirer. You have always gotten attention from anyone you encountered, both pleasant and unpleasant, but attention nonetheless. And the waves of this particular admiration traveled through the misty breeze and onto your blushed cheeks, pinching them with a silent yelp, a plea, an almost beggarly request for your consideration. So you obliged its want, gazing across the third-class gatherings to the man sitting on one of the few benches on deck, surrounded by confused and teasing passengers who looked between you and him, wondering if you were going to break first from the rare situation. A situation that many never considered legitimate, possible, or even appropriate. But the lot of you were on the blue waves and the bubbly foam and the impressive craft of a thousand good Irishmen that welcomed the rare and extraordinary.

He was attractive - his short hair dancing in the air one curl at a time, his broad form rising to sit up straight when he realized you were also admiring him, and his eyes never blinking as to not miss anything you might do. And he had this magnetic pull, almost as if he was screaming at you to come down and speak with him. You felt somewhat disgusted with yourself, imagining a normal conversation with a normal person, a very handsome person, whose gaze alone made you feel a tingle at your fingertips and caused a tiny grin to break on your face. It wasn’t appropriate to be thinking of another man this way when you had never felt this way for the man you were to marry. And yesterday’s kiss did not equate to the powerful senses you were currently experiencing.

You hoped he didn’t see your grin, but Harry did. He caught it instantly, his heart pounding and his hands instructing him to quickly sketch the curve.

By now Drake was waving a hand over Harry’s face to see if that broke off his view, but Harry simply leaned forward, unaware of the obstruction and oh so enchanted by that tiny grin you hadn’t dropped.

“Oh, forget it, Harry! It’s like angels flying out your ass to get next to the likes of her.”

To be seen, thought of, recognized as a human being and not glossed over as some extra - the recognition of plain existence excited you to new extremes. And just as your mind told you to unlock the first-class gate and venture over to your admirer, real life interrupted in the form of Cal’s tamed grip on your upper arm.

You dropped your gaze quickly, hoping Cal did not realize your original viewpoint, and looked down at the unwanted physical connection between you.

"Why must you defy your mother’s orders and misbehave in front of friends?”

You pulled yourself away from his tightening grip. “I have already received this lecture from my own mother. I do not need to hear it again.”

Cal let out a low chuckle, “Then why must you not listen? You embarrassed me.”

You fought the urge to yell and relay yet another disapproving tone. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I’m not feeling well this morning.”

And with that fake apology, Cal hummed in sympathy and tugged you in for a short hug. “Why didn’t you just say so? It could have saved us the humiliation.”

You sucked in a harsh breath at his choice of words to avoid the frustrated tears, pulling away and patting his chest as you excused yourself to your stay room. He groaned as he suspected he had done something else wrong, but did not dare to follow you this time.

Drake shook his head in discontent, “A man like that should be grateful to have a woman like her.”

Other passengers shared their agreement, whistling and all. They teased Harry and shoved him playfully, congratulating him for the impossible. And as you walked from Harry’s eyesight back into the ship, he rejoined the conversation briefly before he began a simple illustration of your eyes.

Drake sat back down on the same bench as Harry as all the chatter died down, looking over at Harry’s paper. He rolled his eyes and smiled.

“She really did a number on you, huh? I’m all for going after the unreachable but this is truly unreachable, boy-yo.”

Harry stopped his tracing to look up at Drake, “I know… but she saw me, too.”

Drake furrowed his eyebrows, wondering if Harry was simply awestruck or serious. And with a slight chuckle of disbelief, Drake muttered, “that she did.”

A moment passed before Drake spoke again, deciding on letting Harry live in his little fantasy for the rest of the day. He tapped Harry’s stack of papers with his index finger. “I’m sure you’ll do her justice.”

And Harry did.

     If you stood in the middle of the room and screamed at the top of your lungs, you were certain no one would even look up. Because besides your impressive attitude you were known for, your problems seemed minuscule compared to others. No one seemed to piece together why you were the way you were, opting for society’s sexist explanations instead of simply asking you.

Just a few hours ago you were seen and not looked over quickly - you felt appreciated and noticed. Now, even in a room with hundreds of people and many sat at the same table as you, you weren’t even acknowledged. Perhaps it was because you never spoke - you couldn’t blame them for not noticing you then. But then again, when you did speak and Cal silenced or interrupted you, discrediting even opinions, no one minded.

They were the same endless parties, the same narrow people, and the same mindless chatter. Like they flipped a switch each night and wiped their slate clean, ready for the same routine the very next day with no complaints at all. And it frightened you that this would remain your routine, the same routine you had already lived for twenty-two years, with no way out and no ‘off’ button.

You felt as if you were floating away, heavy and lightweight at the same time, feeling yourself blink every few minutes. Your eyes focused on one point - the ashtray in the middle of the rounded table, even as people from surrounding tables came to greet your mother and Cal. You kept track of time by the impressive height of the gray ash, some landing outside the tray and onto plates. It grew higher… and higher… and your food was barely picked at, Cal was reaching over you every so often to tap his cigarette on the tray, and your mother was on her fourth glass of champagne.

They didn’t see that you weren’t eating. How does someone not notice that someone isn’t eating at a dinner?

You reached over for your champagne glass, your hand shaking slightly as you downed the rest of it. Everyone’s voices were becoming silent, like you were covering both ears or going deaf, and as Cal reached over to give you a kiss on the cheek, your eyes were suddenly heavy.

“Please, excuse me, Cal. I need to run to our room really quickly.”

Cal paused his conversation with Astor to turn to you. “Are you alright? Would you like me to escort you to the cabin?”

And you smiled, “I’ll be fine.”

It was a really nice gesture, but in Cal’s mind it was simple chivalry.

You stood up, your feet sore and the nerves bunching together throughout your legs. The laughter seemed to grow as you exited, and now those nerves shocked you into running.

You barged into your stay room, ignoring the obvious worry the staff gave you, their questions of tea or more blankets flying over your head. You simply speed-walked past them, hiding your face behind your curls so they would not see your very real tears, staining the powder on your cheeks and leaving visible streaks lighter than your natural color. You leaned back on the door and tried to drown out the drunken laughs and loud violins. Controlling your breathing was easy at first until you opened your eyes and saw a mass explosion of gold, the intricate designs of each piece of cloth, the carvings in the wood encasing your mirror, your freshly made bed that Cal had jokingly suggested he’d crawl into late at night. You swallowed the itch in your throat, walking to the make-up table to drop the pins you began tearing from your hair. One-by-one you let each curl fall to your shoulder, their lost weight causing your headband of diamonds to fall to the floor. You silently deliberated what the name of your maid was, cursing yourself for forgetting when she had so nicely introduced herself last night. But then her name slid from your tongue, and you almost cried from the sudden joy.

“Trudy?” you called, starting to hyperventilate. “Trudy?”

You reached behind you to unbutton your dress, but your shoulders just wouldn’t bend far enough. Suffocated, you clawed at the loose hanging jewels instead, pinching and stretching the skin on your back that you could reach.

“Trudy!” you began to choke on your breath, yelling louder each time you called the maid. So you tugged and ripped the silver necklace from your neck, threw your jewelry box across the room, and tossed a few perfume bottles you had packed so delicately against the wall.

“I can’t... I can’t,” you cried, knees partially crumbling beneath you as you leaned against the chair. You lifted your head to witness your disheveled look, hair a mess and mascara smudged just below your water line. Lips quivering, an intense wave of self-pity and self-hatred drowning your thoughts, exclaiming the few words that actually made it through your sore skull. You listened to them, repeated and mean, basically ordering you to listen and to follow.

“Ya no queda mas.”

There is nothing left.

You were indeed a follower - and you were going to oblige.

And so you abandoned everything, opening your room door and running through the crowded hallway full of oblivious passengers who swam in the bliss of a full stomach and buzzed fingertips and toes.

You ran across the deck to the stern of the ship, careless as to who or what you toppled along the way. Of course everyone took an interest, calling out to see if you needed assistance. But as you left their eyesight, their worry diminished and they assumed someone else would offer a hand. One right after the other, they allowed you to cross their paths and leave it in an instant.

Harry lay on a third-class bench, staring up at the starry night. With a cigarette in one hand and the other stuffed away warmly in his coat pocket, he wondered just exactly where in the hell that damn ‘Big Dipper’ was. Or the little one. Hell, any constellation for that matter. He loved watching the night sky, but the city smog hid most of the stars. Now, with only the steam from the funnels blocking his view, he focused on every star individually, losing track of them as time passed, each one beginning to look the same in size but different in brightness. They formed all kinds of shapes in Harry’s mind, but he could not find those documented ones the astronomers raved on about.

He could have sworn he saw the rectangular shape slightly, its handle coming into existence as the sound of sobbing arrived and left in a flash. He lifted himself up, cigarette hanging from his pink lips and eyebrows scrunched in confusion. He watched as you continued running, pausing to catch your breath at one of the benches.

He recognized that beautiful brown skin anywhere.

His feet hit the deck floor immediately once he saw that you weren’t stopping, instead walking towards the stern railing and looking over into the water. He jogged lightly, careful not to make much noise as you contemplated such a drastic decision. Perhaps you were going to change your mind, step away, take a deep breath and go back to your endless desserts and musical concerts. But he quickly hid behind a pole when you checked to see if anyone had followed you, slightly disappointed in the fact that no one did, and stepped onto the railing and swung a leg over.

“Fuck,” Harry whispered, his mind racing and thinking of a way to calmly and safely get you back onto the deck without frightening you. If he were to jump out now, you were for sure going to let go.

You turned around once more and back toward the water, this small gesture of goodbye to the ship and all on it finally settling within you. The waves were dark, not light blue like they were during the daytime. And they sounded louder and more angry, taunting you instead of offering tranquility. The thought of jumping when the sun was out danced around in your head, a more vibrant suicide seeming better suited for your needs.

But maybe you deserved to die in the dark with no other sound besides the unnerving crashing of water and massive propellers in a never ending motion of slicing. You thought about Cal and almost immediately recoiled, the last thought before you died an unhappy thought and not at all what you wanted it to be. Perhaps your mother or your father. Trudy. No one seemed to properly fit, so you settled on the image of your famed racehorse as you leaned away from the railing, hanging off and ready to fall. Your racehorse, dark brown and majestic, waiting for you to come home.

“Don’t do it.”

You gripped the railing tight, unaware that your initial hold was so loose, and you were moments away from leaving your misery behind.

You whipped your head to see who had followed you, stunned that this person was not from the first-class - the class that prides themselves on their selflessness and courage. He was from the third - the class that truly embodied all things selfless and are crucified for it.

“Stay back,” you begged, raising one hand up as if to physically stop him, but you quickly regretted it as you felt the tough winds push you ever so slightly. “Please don’t come near me.”

Harry contemplated his next move, inhaling some final smoke from his cigarette and stepped closer. He showed you the cigarette, stepping towards the railing to throw it overboard.

It was smart, you thought. He was going to come closer, you knew that. But to do it so discreetly as to not scare you - you were kind of grateful.

“Please just leave me alone,” you sobbed, looking back down to the rushing water. “I’ll let go.”

Harry stood dumbfounded, hands in his pockets and worry etched into his face. He remained calm, however, trusting in himself to sweet talk you back over the railing.

He cleared his throat, “No, you won’t.”

You scoffed, newly formed tears threatening to leave your eyes. “What?”

“You won’t do it.”

This time you looked up to the starry sky to gain clearance in thought but were intrigued nonetheless. Either you could snap at him and jump, or you could listen and come back over the railing. All you wanted to do now was sleep, as your head began feeling heavier by the second.

“What are you going on about? Don’t presume to tell me what I will or will not do! You don’t know me.”

Harry cleared his throat awkwardly, still trying to calm the situation down as easily as he could. But as your hands turned whiter as your grip strengthened and your voice began to crack, Harry knew he had to convince you this was not the answer.

He didn’t quite understand it - wanting to end your life at such a young age. By the look of your clothes and make-up, Harry could tell you had most material things the people in third-class would kill for. But there were sparkly tears on your waterline, contradicting the image of glory and wealth you so effortlessly portrayed, and the sounds of crashing waves waiting to gobble you up - the sense of you, the mere idea of that glory and wealth, - it absolutely bombarded any quick wit or joke Harry’s mouth was thinking of spitting. All rational from here on out.

“I’m sorry,” Harry spoke, bringing his hands up to breathe warm air into them. “I just don’t want you to experience the dip, is all.”

You stayed silent, staring at him as he stared at you.

“You know the water’s freezing. If you were to survive the fall, the cold would probably hurt more.”

Now your bottom lip quivered and the sudden realization of how cold the night air actually was hit you at that exact moment, and you internally begged for the stranger to step closer. “How cold?”

Harry shrugged, still trying his best to remain casual. “Most likely a couple degrees over.”

You stared at the black abyss beneath you, “I bet that would hurt.”

Harry chuckled lowly, taking the risk and stepping closer to you that a simple turn of the head was enough to see his whole face. And it dawned on you, swiftly and surely, that this was the boy who could not seem to stop staring at you earlier. He was much more handsome up close, and his voice was the final piece of the puzzle. “Exactly. But if you jump, I’m gonna have to jump in there after you.”

You laughed dryly, “You’re crazy. Absurd. The fall alone would kill you.”

Harry smirked to himself, focused on the way your wavy hair flew in all directions. He was getting you to speak more. He was buying time. So, he removed his jacket and warm vest to prove his statement.

“Yeah, it would hurt,” Harry shrugged, finally stepping close enough to hang across the railing with you. He glanced down to your shivering feet, fearful that the heels would unlock themselves and send you free falling. “Trust me, you don’t want to do this-”

“And how do you know that? Maybe I want to… die.” It resonated as a question in both your minds, the sinking sensation overwhelming your chest.

“We all die someday. I think the best part is not knowing when.”

You observed the boy’s face, studying his expression to somehow gain a better explanation as to what he possibly meant. You swallowed more tears, this time speaking in a low whisper.

“I can easily predict when.”

Harry actually felt his stomach clench.

You continued, “It’s probably already planned, with as many as two-hundred guests in attendance, and an open bar.”

Harry shifted his weight from his right foot to his left, his eyes never leaving yours. “It’s difficult to respond to that.”

You gave him a small smile, “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

Whether you meant that in a sincere or disrespectful way, Harry was hurt by the comment nonetheless.

“I know you’re angry, but trust me,” he redirected, an attempt to forget suicidal intentions and reasons and focus on the actual present moment itself. “Water that cold, like right down there… it hits you like a thousand knives stabbing you all over your body. You can’t breathe, can’t think-”

You closed your eyes, eyebrows scrunched and suddenly so very cold. “Okay, please stop.”

Harry watched as your skin produced goosebumps and your grip tightened even more. It was a sign of victory, he thought. “I’m just hoping you’ll save me the swim by coming back over the railing.”

You sighed deeply, the air you expelled turning into the cold breeze itself, mixing with the shaky breaths of the one person on this whole damn ship to hear your screams. And you didn’t even physically cry out.

“Come back with me. Trust me, you don’t wanna do this.”

You reached your arm over to prepare for the turn, but instead of gripping the railing like you expected, a warm hand gripped yours instead, tightly, and his thumb immediately began rubbing your knuckles in a soothing motion. He helped you turn back toward the ship, hands now gripping both of yours.

He smiled up at you, his eyes almost watering from the unnoticed stress that was building within him. You grinned slightly, giving a small shrug of the shoulders as the silence broke.

“I don’t want to go back.”

Harry grasped your hands tighter, “Hey, me neither. Do you know how many rats welcomed me in my cabin yesterday?”

You laughed (somewhere between a laugh and a snort), forgetting momentarily that the two of you were standing in dangerous positions exchanging quiet words.

“Thank you.”

“It’s no problem. I’m Harry Styles.”

“I’m-”

“An absolute blooming rose.”

Your eyes widened momentarily, the moment passing with an awareness of peace from the sudden declaration of recorded beauty. You told him your real name anyway, absolutely loving the way it sounded in a british accent, his british accent, but the ‘blooming rose’ reference remained number one. There, with your body still on the wrong side of the ship and his hands now clutching your upper arm and elbow to begin pulling you over - there you were actually content with your current life.

“Up you go.”

You raised one leg to step up a rail, unaware that the beaded lace part of your dress was longer than the rest. It caused a severe slip, and before you knew what was happening, you were falling. You screamed, one hand barely catching the railing and the other arm suffering Harry’s grip and digging nails.

“Harry!”

Harry cried out in distress, almost going over himself. He locked his feet to the ground and against the ship, thighs pressed against the railing, and attempted to pull you up.

“C’mon, you can do it! You gotta climb, too!”

You followed his instructions, trying to climb the railing like a ladder with your free hand. But as you got higher and your legs remained swinging mindlessly against the wet ship, you slipped lower.

“Help me! Help me, please!” you yelled, to Harry and to anyone else who would hear, the ocean now loud with the outrage of your absence.

Harry could feel his heart exploding from the adrenaline spiking as he looked down at your terrified face, relying solely on him to save your life. The whole time he spoke with you he was frightened of the possibility of you letting go or accidentally falling, but now that he could visibly see that you most certainly did not want to die this way, he was mortified.

“I got you, okay?” Harry waited to shout again until you looked back up to him. “I got you.”

You nodded the best you could, the tears still dripping from your eyes and nose, determined to hear his frightened voice.

“I won’t let go! I promise. Now, pull yourself up!”

It took everything in you to support your own body weight with a corset strangling you at the same time, but you gripped the rails and then Harry’s shoulder. The corset made it more difficult to breathe, but you compiled the last pinches of energy and strength within you and aided Harry in your rescue. You groaned as your knees stabbed into the top bar, but the feeling of Harry’s arms wrapping around your waist to pull you over fully eradicated that pain. You two toppled over onto the safe deck, rolling over each other with a loud thud. Harry stayed glued to your waist while you gripped the deck with your nails.

In such a climactic moment, the two of you didn’t notice three members of the crew running toward you with no clue as to what just occurred.

“What’s all this?”

Your dress had ripped slightly, and due to your bedroom tantrum and the high winds, your hair was in absolute disorder. You had no coat on, tears streamed down your face, and a third-class man was hovering over your trembling body. And the crew failed to detect the similar shaking of Harry’s large frame or his scared expression, instead pointing a finger at him and labeling him the guilty party.

“Don’t you move an inch,” a crew member warned, stepping toward Harry and dragging him away from you. Two of the men swooped in to scoop you up, checking for signs of harm.

Your frantic eyes searched for Harry, but he was already looking at you, slightly disappointed and eager to prove himself innocent without throwing you into the cold water himself by revealing the truth.

- 

Finally, they have met lol. xxMoni

[artist-in-space]

A Defense Against Youtube’s Terms of Service: #istandwiththebanned

So Markiplier community, the massive ban for emote spamming has hit several accounts, and I salute Mark and the mods for helping raise attention to Youtube. There are people who have gotten their accounts, but I doubt that it’s all of them who’ve had lost them. 

Also, there’s the threat of “resuspension”, so I want you all to be informed.

Apparently, there have been accounts that have been suspended for the same thing in other livestreams, not just the latest one with Mark. But this one made the most noise-- so everyone, if your account is banned, know these.

Even if your account isn’t banned, be informed.

This is the basis of the banned accounts: spamming. But there are grounds for spamming, found in the community guidelines.

-

Community Guidelines

This is the page where categories of spam and examples are given. 

And this is the one that applies to this matter: 

Repetitive Comments: Leaving large amounts of identical, untargeted, or repetitive comments. 

Let’s see what “comments spam” may say as examples:

The only thing that may even remotely apply is posting the same comment repeatedly but there’s the catch: with a link to your channel. Which did not happen.

It’s funny that they keep listing that this isn’t a complete list. Typical to leave Youtube to interpret whatever they’re trying to ban. That’s the danger of open-ended conditions: they could interpret it any way they want.

But there’s a note! You’re allowed to encourage viewers to subscribe, hit the like button, share, or leave a comment. Which means: 

Argument One: 

Mark was definitely encouraging viewers to participate in a livestream.  The paddle-emotes were identical in the stream, definitely repetitive (it seems like Youtube can’t describe it any other way). Definitely not untargeted because it was engagement with the Youtube Creator.

-

Terms of Service:

Alright. But that’s the Community Guidelines, let’s head over Youtube’s Terms of Service, of which what really applies for those accounts suspended/banned/ terminated. 

“If the user is determined to be a repeated infringer” and “Youtube reserves the right to decide whether Content violates these ToS for reasons other than copyright infringement.... Youtube may at any time, without prior notice and in its sole discretion, remove such Content and/or terminate a user’s account for submitting such material in violation of these ToS”

Both grounds are false on these banned accounts because the “repeated infringement” can be disputed due to the points above; termination without prior notice shows: “violation to the ToS” on “pornography, obscenity, or excessive length” and I doubt that repeating emotes showed those three.

Oh, but they updated their Terms of Service, effective December 10, 2019, it seems! Let’s see, for Youtube Content (so that includes comments on livestreams):

No violation there, I mean I don’t think emotes to choose what path hurt anyone.

We may use automated systems that analyze your content to help detect infringement and abuse, such as spam, malware and illegal content. 

Again, I don’t think emotes to ENGAGE with the community/s activity is INFRINGEMENT NOR ABUSE.

Terminations and Suspensions by YouTube for Cause: YouTube may suspend or terminate your access, your Google account, or your Google account’s access to all or part of the Service if (a) you materially or repeatedly breach this Agreement ...(c) we believe there has been conduct that creates (or could create) liability or harm to any user, other third party, YouTube or our Affiliates.

No repetition of breach, again, there are examples of people doing this once. How can “repetitive spam” be given warning if it doesn’t repeat?  

Terminations by YouTube for Service Changes: YouTube may terminate your access, or your Google account’s access to all or part of the Service if YouTube believes, in its sole discretion, that provision of the Service to you is no longer commercially viable.

Funny, that’s heartbreaking for content creators who apparently just reacted in a livestream to get their livelihoods and Google accounts stripped away.

Notice for Termination or Suspension: We will notify you with the reason for termination or suspension by YouTube unless we reasonably believe that to do so: (a) would violate the law or the direction of a legal enforcement authority, or would otherwise risk legal liability for YouTube or our Affiliates; (b) would compromise an investigation or the integrity or operation of the Service; or (c) would cause harm to any user, other third party, YouTube or our Affiliates. 

No, no, and guess what, I doubt emotes harmed anyone except apparently Youtube’s algorithm. So no.

Argument Two: 

On all grounds for termination, it can be disputed that the accounts have followed the community guidelines and Youtube had acted harshly by BANNING their accounts without prior notice.

-

Feedback:

There’s also something that is said in the end of the new ToS on Termination:

Where YouTube is terminating your access for Service changes, where reasonably possible, you will be provided with sufficient time to export your Content from the Service.

Alright, from what we’re seeing, sufficient time was not given at all. It’s been two days and they were suspended on sight.

On the Community Guidelines, this is stated:

We’ll remove the content and send you an email to let you know. If this is the first time you’ve posted content that violates our Community Guidelines, you’ll get a warning with no penalty to your channel.... Your channel will be terminated if you receive 3 strikes.

Nothing again. Lots of people had their accounts banned even if this was their first time doing anything that this attention would even be associated with. Terminated after 3 strikes? What happened to the three strikes?

Argument Three: Youtube violated their own agreement. There was no sufficient time given, not even a warning especially if this was the first time! Your channel was supposed to get three warnings/strikes. 

-

The Course of Action:

You can appeal, right? Yes. But from what we’ve seen, appeals are being rejected, especially when you can only send once. But that doesn’t mean that all is naught; there are other venues to bring this issue to light.

Get their attention on all platforms possible, and it seems like Twitter is the best way to reach them. E-mails are next. 

Don’t be afraid to hound Youtube for this; spread the word about this. 

Youtube had violated their own law. Know this and tell them. Know that you aren’t in the wrong and they had done something inherently damaging. Don’t be afraid. 

Understand that they’re trying to worm their way out of this. They use double-meaning words and try to be so obscure in their agreement as to defend their own actions. But know that you can as well.

#istandwiththebanned. 

Make noise. Get your accounts back.

[pinkletterday]

WestCanary Bodyguard AU Snippet

Pairing: Iris West/ Sara Lance

Rating: Teen

Summary: Being bodyguard to her best friend come with some perks

Tags: infidelity, sara/nyssa (mentioned), not smut, merely smut-adjacent, racy banter, older women are fucking sexy

Notes: This was supposed to be a non-romantic side pairing to my Westallen Pretty Woman AU "Boy Toy". I'm not even going to pretend I'll have time to write it.

"All hail the Queen of Media!"

Sara raised a flute of champagne at her, magazine in hand, ensconced in Iris' own office chair as comfortable as a cat. She hadn't changed out of her clothes from the party, hair flowing like cornsilk down her shoulders, still wearing the dark blue evening gown whose slit was ridden up indecently high on her crossed thighs.

"That's Cat Grant, Sara," Iris rolled her eyes, throwing her purse on her desk. "I am still but a struggling publisher, pigeon-holed into fashion and lifestyle."

"Yeah I can see that," snorted Sara, holding up the January centre spread that screamed "Hollywood's Blaxpoitation Problem". "Nothing but puff pieces in here. Heard about the rather colourful message from Brett Ratner's lawyer by the way. He was not happy about those follow up exposés."

"Eh, I'll punt it down to legal," shrugged Iris. She perched herself on her desk and plucked the glass from Sara's hand. "They gotta earn their keep." She took a swig, freeing one foot from the torturous Manolo Blahnik and offered it to Sara, who drew it into her lap and began kneading it almost without thought.

"How was the fundraiser?" she asked, keenly watching the way Iris's head fell back in bliss, the low cut of her crimson velvet dress pulling taught over the full breasts .

"Oh, you know," Iris groaned as Sara's strong fingers worked a knot in her heel, "pressing the flesh, trying not to stab gropy assholes, begging racist sexist white bastards for handouts on bended knee to save poor women and children from domestic abuse, etc."

Sara snorted. "Oh please, the mighty Iris West hasn't gotten down on her knees for a man since...who was it? Bradley in college? Twenty years ago?"

"Seventeen thank you very much," retorted Iris. "We still have a good few years before forty. And I like giving head just fine. Just don't see why I gotta rough up my knees to do it."

"You're a hypocrite," Sara's hand travelled slyly up her ankle. "If it's one thing you love, it's some pretty young thing kneeling in front of you."

"I like you kneeling," Iris's eyes narrow and sultry as she smirked at Sara, "and you aren't a young thing."

"Fuck you, West," Sara grinned and playfully drew her foot up sharply so Iris nearly slid off the desk. "I'm way hotter than any of the pretty boys and girls you take with you on your summer flings."

In retaliation, Iris nudged her foot between Sara's thighs till they fell open for her. "That was never in question," she agreed. Her smile turned sharp and predatory as she pressed her toes deliberately against the other woman's crotch.

"Are you serious?" Sara's smirk was pure mischief and delight, eyes sparkling, freckled breasts framed by the plunging silk neckline. "Anyone could come in."

Iris toed the slit of her friend's dress higher, revealing the scrap of silk between her legs. "At this time of night? On a Saturday? What kind of slave driver do you think I am?" She expertly pressed the ball of her foot against the heat of Sara's outer lips, smug as she teased out a gasped and clench of hands on the chair armrests.

"I know exactly the kind of slave driver you can be," grunted Sara, pressing her pussy further into Iris's insistent sole, "and I've never had to complain about it either."

"Damn right," Iris's seductive smile had a curve of viciousness as she pinned Sara to her own chair like a butterfly and stroked her to orgasm with one stocking clad foot.

***

"We should probably have gone home for this," observed Iris at the ceiling a while later.

She and Sara lay on the plush cream rug on her office floor in a post-coital haze, dresses rucked up around waists and pulled down over hips. Iris still has one heel on although her panties have disappeared somewhere and her hairdo is probably a lost cause.

"Whose home?" Sara asked lazily. "Yours has that murderous cat and mine has a murderous Nyssa."

"Oh my God," groaned Iris. "You're back with her again? Sara! It's been over ten years, you can't keep doing this with her."

"Well it's been ten years so, why not," said Sara, unconcerned. "We're like the lesbian version of Brokeback Mountain. We don't know how to quit each other."

Iris threw her bra at Sara in irritation. The incorrigible woman just snickered and rolled onto her stomach.

"So when you go home with my hickeys all over your neck, am I to expect a repeat of the Berlin Incident?" she demanded, sitting up and pulling her dress down.

"That was years ago!" Sara twirled Iris's bra around one finger. "She's accepted my, er -"

" - pathological inability to not be a tomcat -"

" - disenchantment with the institution of monogamy," Sara corrected. "We've come to an understanding about it."

"Uh huh," said Iris, unimpressed. "And what's the understanding about fucking your best friend in her office while you're supposed to be working?"

"Miss West," said Sara piously. "When a girl's boss is also her best friend with benefits of twenty years -"

" - nineteen -"

"I think Nyssa can figure out what other services I render during my overtime, don't you?"

Iris didn't laugh however. She bit her lip. "That sounds kinda awful when you say it like that, Canary."

"Pfft," Sara crawled toward her on her knees, naked except for her dress hanging around her waist, and kissed Iris's lips gently. "What exactly do you expect a licensed bodyguard to do when her best friend in the world gets death threats from misogynistic maniacs? Just keep on shadowing spoiled one percenters?"

"You were making more money," said Iris and balked as Sara levelled an incredulous glare at her.

"Oh yeah, I'm destitute now," she scoffed, "not like you're paying me well enough to look after that luscious ass. Not to mention the side benefits," she waggled her eyebrows salaciously at Iris and she finally laughed.

"All right, all right," she helped Sara to her feet and began hunting for her shoes. "But if Nyssa sends me another "gift basket" I'm siccing Rasputin on both of you."

"That's just unfair. Your cat is way more insane than my girlfriend."

[astrangergivingthestrangewelcome]

Why I don't Believe in Star Trek's Triumverate

When I say Triumverate I mean the belief that many people hold which is that Spock Bones and Kirk have some sort of special bond that goes all three ways. Some people make it romantic (I ship Spirk, let’s get that up front now) other people make it one big bromance, but the key thing is that all three men feel the same way about each other.

This simply isn’t true if we look at the the canon material. The one exception would be the Final Frontier, Shatner practically beat us over the head with Triumverate in that film.

The thing is what was portrayed in that movie was not consistent with what we had seen up to that point.

While I personally though several bits of Final Frontier had merit (particularly the “Not in front of the Klingons” business but I’m biased) it’s scenes like the three of them singing Row Row Your Boat around a campfire and saying good night fifty million times that show why the film is considered the series’ worse. The Triumverate scenes don’t fit.

The relationships between the three men in TOS are completely different. Briefly: Kirk and Spock are in love, Kirk and Bones are best friends, Bones and Spock are a mess.

Okay. If you disagree with my breakdown I’d love it if you kept reading. I’d love some friendly discourse.

So I really want to get into how I perceive the relationship between Spock and McCoy, because that’s where I find myself shaking my head and going, “This feels wrong” in fics I read and posts I see. I *think* most people who’ll be reading this seeing as it is Tumblr will agree with me that Spock and Kirk are head overheels, always touching, dig it in there Mr. Spock in love with each other. And I hope many of you will agree that Bones and Kirk have always been there for one another through out their adventures and they really are like family to one another.

But there’s this sentiment in the fandom over how good of a relationship Spock and Bones have and this is what I have the most issue with.

I’m not gonna go saying how Spock and Bones are enemies or anything like that because that’s really not my point at all, I don’t believe that. Just watch The Empath. McCoy wasn’t about to let Spock die for him. Likewise in All Our Yesterday(ya know Bones and Spock get stranded on the ice planet) Spock wasn’t about to leave McCoy behind.

However the only times we see the two of them getting along and actually maybe being nice to eachother is under dire circumstances. Whenever it’s just normal day to day interactions they yell at eachother (hell they yell at eachother in dire circumstances as well most of the time). This isn’t normal. People like to pretend it’s all friendly bickering but it isn’t. Spock makes that quite clear in All Our Yesterdays with this little interaction

“You listen to me, you pointed-eared Vulcan.”

“I don’t like that. I don’t think I ever did and now I’m sure!”

Kirk enjoys an easy relationship with both of them. Kirk and Spock play chess together, Kirk and Bones drink and laugh.

Spock and Bones don’t have anything like that. They insult each other. That’s all they do.

Now I think McCoy is a good guy. I think he’s an excellent doctor with excellent bedside manner plus the fact he’s just always ready to fight amuses me to no end.

But he doesn’t understand Spock and he thinks that he does and it Bothers me So Much because after years of working with someone like Spock it’s like he never bothered to look past the surface.

For example the end speech of Requiem for Methuselah where McCoy goes on about how Spock will never know love and how pitiable that is and right after he leaves, right after he leaves, Spock tenderly goes up Kirk, puts his arms around him and goes “Forget.”

But Spock doesn’t know how to love someone remember? That’s what McCoy said.

Look at the space amoeba episode “Immunity Syndrome”. Those two idiots were at eachother’s throats the entire episode over who gets to go on a suicide mission to the point it was getting hiralious. Kirk’s over here sad and agonizing over which of the two people he loves the most he’s going to send to go die basically and meanwhile Spock and Bones are literally bickering over who gets to die first. My favorite thing is when Kirk decides to pick Spock and says the words “I’m sorry Spock” because,,, ya know,,, it’s a suicide mission and Kirk is sorry Spock’s going on one and Bones thinks that that means he got the job, because he’s just that eager to go on the suicide mission. (Like I said, idiots.)

Anyway look at this interaction right before Spock goes off into space.

MCCOY: You’re determined not to let me share in this, aren’t you? 

SPOCK: This is not a competition, Doctor. Whether you understand it or not, grant me my own kind of dignity. 

MCCOY: Vulcan dignity? How can I grant you what I don’t understand? 

SPOCK: Then employ one of your own superstitions. Wish me luck. 

(Silence and stares, then McCoy opens the hangar deck door. Spock walks across and into the Galileo. The doors shut.) 

MCCOY: Good luck, Spock.

McCoy gets it wrong. Again. Spock’s not interested in hogging an important scientific discovery to himself, he’s not selfish like that, he never was. Spock thought he was the best fit for the job, that was it end of story. McCoy doesn’t get him. It also speaks to how messed up their relationship is that McCoy can only say good luck when Spock can no longer hear.

But the strongest evidence for just how much McCoy doesn’t understand Spock is in the episode Tholian Web. Bones and Spock are both grieving the loss of Captain Kirk and Bones antagonizes Spock. I find it unbelievable, Bones really does question Spock’s every decision. If you don’t remember the episode basically the ship lost Kirk, there’s a thin hope they could get him back, but the Tholians are ordering them to get out of Tholian space. Tensions run high as Spock risks every thing to try and get him back.

Take a look at this interaction between Spock and Bones

MCCOY: (looking at a medal) He was a hero in every sense of the word, yet his life was sacrificed for nothing. The one thing that would have given his death meaning is the safety of the Enterprise. Now you’ve made that impossible, Mister Spock. 

SPOCK: We came here for a specific purpose, Doctor. 

MCCOY: Maybe not the same one. I really came here to find out why you stayed and fought. 

SPOCK: The Captain would have remained to recover a crew member at the risk of his own life or even his own ship. 

MCCOY: Yes, he would, Mister Spock, but you didn’t have that decision to make. What would you gain by fighting the Tholians? You could have assured yourself of a captaincy by leaving the area. But you chose to stay. Why? 

SPOCK: I need not explain my rationale to you or any other member of this crew. There is a margin of variation in any experiment. While there was a chance, I was bound legally and morally to ascertain the Captain’s status. 

MCCOY: You mean to be sure if he was dead. Well, you made certain of that. 

Yeah. What the hell. The fact that McCoy can’t put together that maybe Spock stayed because he would do anything to save his Captain, the fact that he would think Spock would WANT the captaincy at the expense of Jim’s life, that he would be eager and happy to take off and leave Kirk behind is baffling to me.

How the hell can you know a man for so long and yet get everything he is and everything he stands for so completely wrong.

Spock’s not an open book. He was taught to repress all his emotions when he was a kid and this has caused him so much damage it’s incredible. He has absolutely no idea how to handle his emotions in a healthy way, so when shit really hits the fan like it did in Tholian Web and he’s really hurting that’s when he puts up his shields the most because he can’t deal with what he’s experiencing. That’s when he really needs to be given a break but that’s exactly when he can’t get them because he’s the first officer and the whole ship is counting on him.

So it’s not easy to get to know him. But Jim does. Jim understands Spock completely. He doesn’t have to say a thing. He understands and has the uptmost respect for the bravery, competence and selflessness.

Bones doesn’t. He just doesn’t.