not so humble pie



Pairings: Donald Pierce x Reader

Warnings: Some violence

Word Count: 3K

A/N: This idea popped in my head the other day and poured out on page. Not sure if it’s any good, but it wouldn’t give me peace until I set it free. And this is super super long, sorry.

Part 2, Part 3,

Part 4,

& Part 6

The steel felt cold and heavy in your hands as you try to steady your breath. You always knew this day would come. In fact, you were amazed you’d made it this far for this long. Even though you still wish you would have made it farther for longer.

Creeping down your hallway where you had heard the noise, you held the gun up and ready. Your eyes searching in the dark as you stepped into your livingroom.

“Hey baby, miss me?” His distinctive southern drawl filled the room.

Catching you by surprise, you spun around to find Donald Pierce seated at your kitchen table.

Your heart broke with the sight of him, both in fear and regret. You hadn’t seen him in years. A little over three to be exact. You had missed him even though you’ve tried not to think about it.

With the courage of a mother lion you forced your hand to hold the gun steadily upon him.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t find you?” He asks tauntingly as he rises from your chair. Unfazed by the gun you have so boldly pointed at him.

It was a stupid question, but Donald always did like to play games. You knew he’d find you. Had known since the day you took off, used his love and the freedom it gave you to disappear. But you had always known eventually he’d find you.

“A girl can hope.” You finally speak, meeting him tit for tat, because two can play this game. That’s what he always liked about you, your spunk.

A sly smirk curls his mouth with your sarcasm. “Come on now baby. Your little game got me in trouble with some very important people. I wasn’t about to let that slide.” He said in that cool smooth way no one does better as he steadily moved toward you. Cool and smooth though you know he’s really stalking you like prey. Ready pounce at any moment.

Gone is the Donnie you knew. The Donnie you loved. The Donnie that loved you. You betrayed him and his trust and you could see in his eyes he was going to make you pay for that.

“You need to leave. You tell them whatever you have to, but you get the fuck out. I don’t want to shoot you, but I will if I have to.” You try to keep a fair distance between the two of you as you moved slowly in an awkward dance around your livingroom.

Gun in hand, you didn’t want to use it if you didn’t have to, but you were also willing and ready to do whatever it took to protect your precious cargo.


Not taking your eyes off him, you knew how quick and unpredictable he could be. Proving your instincts right, just like that Donald launched his attack.

Snatching your wrist, he twists it so fast, your hand instantly dropped the gun as cry ripped from your lips.

Son of a bitch!

Your heart sinks with the anger you saw in his eyes. He hated you.

Yanking your arm back, you cradled your wrist close to your chest, thankfully it’s not broken, but then you heard it. A rustling in the bedroom. Your heart shot up your throat as your eyes dilated, focusing on Donald, praying he hadn’t heard it too.

You’re shit out of luck tonight as you watched his head slowly cock to the side before his gaze drifted slowly toward to hall with a look of sinister intrigue.

“You got company, baby?” He taunted.

“No,” You lied, but the look in his eyes as they turned back to you told you Donald wasn’t convinced.

He took a step toward the hall and you moved in front of him, trying to block his way, but just as quick, he backhanded you hard across the face and down you went.

You weren’t weak, but fuck if he wasn’t strong. Your head was buzzing from the blow as your cheap shag carpet fills your vision from where your face is buried, down in the floor.

Your head throbbed as you rise shakily to your feet, but then you spot Donald entering your bedroom and no amount of pain mattered in the moment. There wasn’t an army in this world that could have stopped you as you charged down the hall.

Following him into your bedroom you jumped onto his back in seconds. Thrashing, clawing, pounding your fists, taking any piece of him you could get.

You felt Donald stumble under your assault. He hadn’t expected this kind of a fight and you got the best of him until this metal hand reached back and with a painful vice grip ripped you off him, throwing you on the ground.

Never giving up, because there’s too much at stake, you try and kick his legs out, reaching for his gun, before he grabs you by the neck and slams you into the wall.

You reach for the metal hand around your throat, choking, gasping for the air that escapes you as Donald moves in close to your face.

“I always did love it when you got feisty.” He smirked, gold tooth glinting.

A shuffling noise fills the room and tears burn in your eyes with the sound of it.

A knowing glint fills Donald’s gaze as his brow arches.

Loosening his grip around your neck so you can get some air, Donald still pins you the wall by your throat as his other hand reaches for his gun.

“Donnie please,” You finally beg.

Using your pet name for him you haven’t spoken and he hasn’t heard since you were last in his arms.

The sounds of it only seems to agitate him more as he tightens his grip on your neck and pushes you harder into the wall.

“Shut up.” He orders.

His boot reaches out, slowly sliding open your closest door as he keeps your pinned and his gun aimed and ready for whatever is hiding.

But what he finds wipes the sneer clean of his face.

Huddled in the corner, amongst the shoes and hanging clothes, sits a tiny boy with his knees tucked close to his chest and fear blinding in his big eyes as he gazes up at you.

“Mommy,” He calls, his voice breaking with fear.

You’ve never felt like more of a failure as a mom then having your baby witness this as a tear slips down your face.

To your relief, Donald instantly lowers the gun, moving it behind his back.

You feel Donald’s eyes on you. There’s confusion in his hard gaze as it probes you.

“You’re scaring him, Donnie. Let me go” You say more forcefully as you try and pull his metal hand free. Trying not to set him off again, but making your demands known.

Without a word, Donald releases you and you move as fast as you can to retrieve your child. Scooping him into your arms. The boy clings desperately to you as you clutch him tightly. His little body shaking as much as yours.

“It’s ok, baby. It’s ok.” You whisper as calmly as you can into his hair as your fingers run through it and then down to his back. Trying to comfort and reassure your child as best as you can.

You glance to Donald as his eyes sweep around the room, the gun swaying with his movements as he searches.

“Anyone else I should know about?” He growls, unamused by this turn of events.

“No,” You quickly shake your head.

“Don’t lie to me.” He snaps sharply, turning back to you, gun pointed at your face.

“I’m not,” You spit out on a frantic breath, clutching your baby tighter as you position yourself so the gun is away from him. Thankful he can’t see it with in face buried in your shoulder.

Nodding, Donald seems appeased as he snatches your arm.

“Alright, I wasn’t planning on a two for one, but you got yourself into this mess. Let’s go, you know the drill.” He says, before he starts dragging you out of the bedroom and down the hall.

Your heart pounds, your breath unsteady, you know where he’s taking you and you can’t let that happen.

You swore to yourself you would never let them have your baby. You would never let your baby know the horrors of that place.

No matter what it took, no matter the sacrifice to you.

“Donnie wait, no- Just give me a minute. We need to talk-“ You struggle against his grip.

Trying to resist as best you can without frightening your child more then he already is.

Nearing the door, feeling time run out with the racing of your pulse, you spin around on him.

Getting in front of Donald, you look him square in the eye. Searching for the man you loved. The man who risked everything because of his love for you.

“Donnie please. We have to talk. Five minutes, just give me five minutes.” You plead desperately with him.

Holding his gaze, reaching for him. Praying there’s still a sliver of the man who put everyone on the line for you.

He stares back into your eyes, his gaze hard and unyielding and you think you’ve hurt him too bad, betrayed him to deeply, but then he surprises you, like he’s done so many times before.

“Five minutes.” He concedes.

“Thank you,” You breathe a sigh of relief.

The urge to reach over and kiss suddenly bubbling up from your belly before you push it down with common sense.

“Let me just turn on the TV for him, yeah?” You say, trying your best to make it sound like you’re asking when really you’re not.

Giving a nod, Donald releases you.

For a second you consider bolting, but you know realistically you wouldn’t make it twenty feet.

This is about saving Danny, so you know it’s time for a slice humble pie and heavy dose of the truth.

Placing your son on the couch, you turn on the TV. Thankful when you find the Cars movies on a station. Placing a pillow under his head, you have him lay down before pulling the blanket off the top of the couch and lay it over him.

It’s still the middle of the night, far too early for him to be awake, and what you need to talk to Donald about isn’t for his ears, even if it is for him. Smoothing the hair off your son’s forehead, you give him a gentle kiss.

“Everything is going to be ok. I promise. Just try to relax. Mama be right over there.” You explain as you point to the kitchen.

Your little boy nods with understanding, but wearily watches you move to the kitchen. Hints of fear still in his eyes until he finally looks back to the screen.

“Four minutes left,” You hear Donald say as you move to him.

Standing before him, you look him over before settling onto his piercing blue eyes. He looks more tired than you remember, more worn down, but handsome as ever.

The memories flood back through you. Being captured and taken to Transigen. The experiments as they called them, torture really. Endless days on end of hell as they tried to harness your ability to heal yourself and others. Trying to control and manipulate it in a way that it could be used for anyone but yourself. They were slowly killing you.

Donnie was an asshole back then, still is really. Someone to fear and fear you did. But along the way something changed in that place of hell. Donnie had started to show intrigue then mercy toward you. Then mercy led to kindness. And kindness led to, well…

It’s weird trying to understand how you fell for a man you were terrified of. A man who had hurt you and done unspeakable things to others. But in that place of unending darkness and despair, he was your only source of light. The only thing that had stopped causing you pain.

Slowly you began to see there was more to him than the mask he wore to work. Layers you never knew existed.

You fucked him before you loved him. Sex was easier for both of you to reconcile with. It was rough and carnal and the only real outlet you had for the hell that had been thrust upon you. The only way you could release the poison eating you up inside.

But even that changed over time. Sometimes your bodies would move slower, drawing out the ecstasy as long as you could in a tortious game of pleasure. Sometimes he’d kiss you deeply like you were air and he needed you to breathe. Sometimes you’d find yourself lost on his eyes, your hips rolling together, his hands holding you tight as your bodies moved like a single being.

You didn’t say those three little words. Neither did he, but you spoke it in a tenderness and vulnerability only the two of you knew.

Certain people inside the lab knew Donald was screwing you, security mostly, but he was senior staff and certainly not the only one taking liberties with the free meat on the floor. They looked the other way when he ordered the cameras off anytime he want in your cell and instructed not to be disturb.

You never asked him for anything in all that time. So when you finally begged him to help you get out of there he was angry, but also weak to you. Love has a way of doing that. And after storming out and blowing you off for days, he finally returned to sneak you out.

You stayed at his place for one week. One week of paranoia, fear, and freedom. Freedom to finally love him the way you wanted, when you wanted, and how you wanted, in a way you had never before.

But then you left. While he was at work, you disappeared. And of course, the company had their suspicions over whose fault it was you escaped. And when that bill needed to be paid, you knew he’d stop at nothing to find you. You had just hoped for more time.

Staring at the only man you had ever really loved, you find your hand reaching out slowly to touch the scruff along his cheek.

“I never wanted to hurt you.” You explain, opening your heart to him.

But Donald doesn’t share the same sentiment anymore. Too wounded. Too betrayed. He smacks your hand away.

“If this is your little plan baby, it ain’t gonna work and we can leave right now.” He smirks at you as if mocking what he assumes is your feeble attempt to seduce him again.

As Donald reaches to snatch your arm, you pull it back and spill the truth.

“I have to protect him. You know what Dr. Rice will do. I’m his mom, Donnie. I’m all he’s got. It’s my job to protect him. And now I need your help to keep him safe.” You explain, your breath heavy with importance. Your eyes searching his, trying to make him understand.

“And why the fuck would I do that?” Donald muses, his brow arching as he waits to hear what possible reason he could have to help you now.

Your eyes dart to your son laying peacefully on the couch. Your whole goddamn world and you would do anything to protect it. Even if that meant taking a risk you weren’t sure would plan out. But you had to try, your hands were tied.

Looking back at Donald, you let out a shaky breath. “Because he’s your son.”

Donald stares at you for a long minute, letting out a huff he glances over his shoulder at you son before his eyes find you again.

Without a word, he grabs your shoulder. His grip is ruthless, his fingers digging into your flesh as he pushes you into the wall, hovering over you.

“Do I look like a fuckin’ idiot to you, baby? Think I’ll fall for that? We’re done playing games.” His gritty breath drawled out inches from your face as he squeezed you tighter.

You wince against the pain, your face scrunching. You get it. He doesn’t believe you. Why would he after the way things ended. After you betrayed him, but you didn’t come this far for nothing. You needed him to see the truth.

“He’s three. Where were we three years and nine months ago? Do the math.” You push him to think it through, forcing yourself to breathe through the pain as you grab at his metal hand, trying to loosen its unrelenting grip. You’d forgotten how damn powerful that hand could be.

“Look at him, Donnie… Just look at him.”

Donald finally looks back over his shoulder at the boy and you both spot the fear in your son’s eyes once again. The sudden attack catching his attention.

You feel Donald’s hand release the tightness of his grip on you as he stares at your son. Tension easing off his face with recognition. Danny looks so much like his dad. Head of moppy blonde hair, deep set piercing blue eyes, strong jaw.

Looking back at you, Donald releases you completely as he takes a step back. His gaze unfocused and on anything, but you. You understand this is a lot to take in.

You had felt equally shocked when Gabriela gave you the news and promised to keep it off your file. But you also know it must make sense on some level. Really it was a miracle it hadn’t happened sooner. You weren’t exactly careful. When you’re not sure if you’re going to survive the next week precautions tend to lose their importance.

“You never told me.” He finally drawls out an answer so obvious it’d be laughable if the situation wasn’t so tragic.

Lowering your head in shame you nod slowly. You had struggled deeply with that. You had wanted to tell him. A part of you holding onto this silly dream that Donald would get you out, protect you and the baby, you’d be a little family.

But the realistic part of you knew Donnie didn’t want kids. He never said it. He didn’t need to. Working for the lab. Facilitating in those experiments on engineered children, torturing them, sometimes killing them, told you louder than words. Donnie wasn’t ready to be a dad and probably never would be. But you didn’t really have a choice anymore.

With a long breath, you looked back up at him. “I didn’t know what you’d do.” You told the honest truth as brutal as it was.

A part of you had been afraid he would turn on you, given you and the baby over to Transigen. Donnie had told you once he didn’t believe people ever really changed. Those words haunted you once you found yourself in a predicament.

The last thing you wanted was to get pregnant, last thing to ever cross you mind, but despite how ugly the circumstances were, you had created this baby out of love. It was also the only family you had left. You knew you’d do anything to protect that, even from Donald.

Letting out a ragged breath, Donald ran a hand down his face before nodding. His gaze turned to your son, watching him carefully, silently for a long time.

“Is he like you?” He asked, never taking his eyes off the boy.

You knew what he was asking, is he a mutant.

“I think it’s still too early to tell.” You answer honestly, hoping it doesn’t cost you.

Your five minutes were long up and you just held your breath something inside Donnie was gonna make the right choice. That there was still a part of the man you loved somewhere in there. A part of him that will do what’s right for his son.

Suddenly Donald rose to his feet, moving toward the couch before you instinctively grabbed his arm unsure of what he was going to do.

“I just wanna see him.” Donald explained and you could see the guard in his eyes was down. He wasn’t going to hurt you. He wasn’t going to hurt your son.

Nodding, you let go and watched as he took a seat on the opposite end of the couch. Your heart ached as you watched Danny tuck his legs up under himself, pushing up against the edge of the couch as he eyed Donald wearily.

“You don’ got to be frightened. I’m not gonna hurt you.” Donald said in a voice you’d heard long ago. From a side of him you thought was lost to you.

Danny nodded slowly, eyeing the man he didn’t know was his father as Donald silently eyed him back.

The pair sat squaring off for a long time, before Danny settled back down against the pillow, his eyes growing heavy against the early morning light, while Donald never took his eyes off the boy.

Lowering yourself into a kitchen chair, you prayed you made the right choice.

How to Survive the OR

(from someone who did it for two months with minimal yelling, puking, and fainting)

The OR is a very unique experience, and even if you 100% do not want to go into a surgical field it’s kind of a once in a lifetime thing and pretty freaking cool. I personally found the order and rhythm of OR days to be somewhat soothing (I’m weird and really get off on routine). That being said I was extremely nervous going into it and was terrified I was going to fuck up and/or die. So here are some tips I’ve compiled to hopefully make your OR experience enjoyable or, at the very least, tolerable.  


-GET COMPRESSION SOCKS/COMFORTABLE SHOES. Do not be me. Do not wait until a week of awful leg pain to decide to order compression socks. They were a complete game changer, especially since I’ve been very bullheaded about not buying Danskos so I was just wearing tennis shoes. You will be standing for 2-3 hours at a time if you’re lucky, 6+ hours if you’re not. And this will be repeated for about 10-12 hours a day. Also investing in massages is a great idea. The massage I got at the end of my first month of surgery was the best decision I’ve ever made. I almost cried when she worked on my quads because it hurt so good. 

-EAT, EAT, EAT. I’m not a big breakfast eater but I made sure to at least get a couple of protein bars in me before the day started. This will greatly decrease your chances of passing out, like my rotation partner did a few times. The resident actually told us to not work out in the morning because that will also get your system revved up and not help the situation if you’re already prone to fainting (not sure how legit this is because there’s no fucking way I was working out at 4am anyways). When it comes to water, keep hydrated but don’t down a liter before you go into the OR, or if you do make time for a bathroom break. And keep snacks on you that you can quickly scarf down between cases because who knows if you are going to be able to get a real lunch. 

Keep reading

Thirteen pointers on being an Artist and staying there

A good friend recently told me I should procure some of my experience and-dare I say-wisdom,about being an Artist. I’ve often wondered what it is I possibly could have to say that would be of interest or worth, simply because most of us will agree that being an artist, feels akin to being a Guppy flopping around in a Tsunami, and I am certainly no exception.
Except she insisted that what I have to say would be inspirational, so if it helps my other creative journeymen and women to stay honest and continue the course, then who am I to argue.

1. How to be an artist when you have a day job.

The truth of being an artist, is that you’ll likely be juggling multiple jobs for a living wage from the offset and possibly for the rest of your life, leaving you drained and unmotivated by the time it comes to your first brush stroke. Start picturing yourself doing the art throughout the day, make your day about getting through it as a necessary evil to your goal. Carry a small-even concealable-sketch book everywhere with you-use your breaks, your lunch, your bus journey to flesh out ideas, and once back home, don’t turn on the TV, disconnect from your social media because these things are distractions and your enemy.
Make a light snack, enough to stave off hunger and not put you in a food coma, have your work place all ready, your palettes already set out, your surfaces already primed the night before, there’s nothing more off putting to yourself than not being able to just jump straight in. And then give yourself a set of hours in which to frame what you want to accomplish. If you want it badly enough then you will find that second wind, just be prepared for many late hours, long nights and weekends.
And when people ask you what you do, tell them you are an artist-say it enough times to others to convince yourself- always remember, your minimum wage job isn’t who you are, but the self funding you use to support your next creation.

2. Everyone has to start somewhere

From pop up tents on dodgy street corners to library foyers, crusty village halls to seedy bar walls, I’ve exhibited my art through them all. So, regardless of how immensely talented you think you are, you are deluding yourself if you are looking to get an in as a heavy hitter straight off the bat. Only the the trust funded, circle jerked or God given will get instant admission on that prestigious gallery wall.
More importantly,after you’ve built your reputation, grafted and finally gotten to that place, remember that humble pie still tastes the same wherever you are, so don’t use the people who help you along the way and don’t be a dick to those coming up once you get there.

3. You can do it all yourself.

You think you have pursued every avenue for that show you want to mount, book you want published, but all you see before you is an avalanche of rejection or total indifference. Was a time when that meant the death knell for a creative project,  or an artist falling by the wayside into eternal obscurity.
Except the days when the traditional go-betweeners such as agents, gallery’s and publishing houses were the single gateway to your audience is diminishing. The new gatekeepers are the ones that provide a platform to crowd source a rented space, an on-line publisher to print on demand, a network to build to advertise in-it’s easier in a way than ever before to do what you do yourself and put it under peoples noses. No one is waiting to discover you, so create art not excuses not to.

4. Don’t pay to play

Seriously, don’t do it-there is absolute zero impetus for the curator/editor/institute to represent you or any of your cohorts once you have-of course there are overheads for the gallery, but go ahead put your money down, the house always wins, whether you sell or not, and you are enabling bad practice, one that exploits creatives.
Remember, a good partnership is one where you both are invested in the gamble, not one where you walk away poorer.

5. Have no expectations for the outcome of what you do other than for yourself

That way lies madness and a cycle of disappointment.  Do your best work, say what you wanted to say but accept that anything that comes beyond that is a bonus, so always remind yourself that If one person in the world other than yourself and your Mum gives a flying fuck about what you create, then you’ve already accomplished something.

6. Ask yourself,what constitutes success as an Artist to you.

Conjure an idea of what ultimate success from your Art looks like.
Is it fame, fortune, the respect of your peers, that cover of some self appointed Art Bible, some perversion in the back of a limousine?
Or is it for the love of it, a quest for personal and technical betterment and a lasting legacy to be proud of?
Whatever the reason, its up to you to decide which is more likely to happen, and which will leave you plagued by a feeling of failure and disappointment.

7.Don’t half ass it

Whether it’s some tossed off sketch on a dive bar napkin, or a commission that you are only going to make a few bucks on, do your absolute best ,other than children, this will be your most precious legacy.
And always follow through no matter what-in 2010 I almost cut my fingers off with a hedge trimmer a month before I was having two solo shows. I allowed myself to heal for a week, before gritting my teeth,Vicodin and Red Bull became my friends, and I made deadlines just short of delivery date. Don’t let anyone down, especially yourself. Remember-laying bad eggs will leave an stench that will linger.

8. All Art has cachet which means nothing does.

Because there are no rules as to what Art is, it might seem like a great democratic qualifier. Except don’t fool yourself, snobbery and elitism exist as much in the industry as it does anywhere else, and you will quickly discover yourself categorized by the established order as one thing above or beneath another. Don’t buy into it, and definitely don’t perpetuate it, those boundaries exist to justify exclusion and price fixing, so do what you do regardless, don’t be a pretentious arse and don’t take yourself too seriously, you will be a better human being for it.

9. Enjoy the moment

I once did a live-painting show at a nightclub, and so immersed was I in it not helping to put food on the table or advance my cause, I spent the entire night feeling like some mere anecdote. Later when I was raging in the car about how pointless it had all been, my wife quite rightly reminded me that I had completely missed the point, that a large legion of friends and fans had traveled to come and watch me, that the piece was raffled for charity, and that people had been there to win it. It’s all too easy to get lost when seeking the endgame, enjoy the moment and don’t be blind when looking for stars in the night sky.

10. Always be looking to the next thing.

So the shows over,the canvas is complete, the tools are downed and the palettes dry. That’s when it hits…the aftermath, the empty studio that echoes with post Art frenzy and after show blues. You grieve when its over, because you’ve spent days, weeks, months and years besotted with your muse and working to this point, for what? Over the years, I’ve learned that the bipolarity of what we do, is the balance between an incredible series of highs and debilitating lows. Look forwards not back. Find something to fill the space again, you’ve climbed a hill, but the work is never over, revitalize that back burner project, sift through those unfinished sketches,work towards another show, go see an inspiring exhibition, just find a reason to fall in love and begin again, this is your chance at creative rebirth.

11. How to stay inspired

Chances are at some point, you’ll reach a wall. That paralyzing terror of a blank sheet, but this a great opportunity, a virgin territory to explore, a chance to express something, anything. Think, even the feeling of not being able to say something can be cannibalized and become inspiring in itself. So find your visual language between the pages of old illustrated books, find an alchemy and make nursery rhymes of your existence, find your pictographs in the lines of sonnets, ancient mythologies and historical cultures, find signifiers in museums and in the descending melody lines of songs, unravel your personal biography in mysterious back alleyways, desecrated churches and the twisted forms of nature. Take the essence of those feelings and make totems and props of them, look to your idols but never copy anyone else’s work directly-you are a conduit not a clone.

12. Whats the point, its all been done before and no one ever buys anything anyway?

Throughout the journey, you are going to find a million and one reasons daily to give up. Believe me, I do this at least five times a week. It could be because you feel like you’re not getting anywhere, or because nothing is selling, or because of something shitty someone said on Facebook, whatever the reason you feel like you’re done.
Except its likely the reason you wanted to create in the first place, came out of a need to express something , possibly when you were depressed, completely on your own and on the bones of your arse.  Which means you’d do it anyway, no matter what, right? Don’t be defeated by peripherals, let the work itself be your goal.

13. What you’ll get from staying the distance.

Your Art will be a marriage full of turbulence, a religion full of doubts, and some of the greatest triumphs you will ever have. It will open up a world of personal discovery, give you a set of friends you would never of had otherwise, and admission onto the walls of strangers, who have found something to connect with you, something that bled from your soul, something you put out into the world and people invested in. Legacy is something for arbiters to decide over after you are gone, but the worth is the meaning you get from your Art in this life. Don’t stop until you fall down. Art.

Final Addendum 14. Armchair Criticism is the easiest job in the World

Think long and hard before you bestow your ‘expert’ opinion.


anonymous asked:

I was literally just thinking about I Won't Mind this morning. Larries love to talk about Home, and I Won't Mind is even more obvious in my (humble) opinion. Like how the fuck else do you explain that song??? IMO Larries who are willfully ignorant about ziam are pretty much just as bad as all the other antis. In a way some larries are the very thing they hate (the antis)...oh the irony. Sorry for venting haha

Yeah, I’ve discussed that a bunch of times. Actually I’ve never seen an Anti, Larrie or otherwise, attempt to analyze I Won’t Mind. I’ve seen the “People can write about anything. It’s called creativity.” argument. But I’ve never seen an Anti dive into the lyrics and try to explain what could have inspired the lyrics. I mean, it’s not a standard, generic, love song. It’s very specific to a particular kind of situation. Why, though?

Cuz we are who we are,
When no one’s watching.

I’m not allowed to talk about it,
But I gotta tell you…

What inspired raging hetero serial cheating cad Zayn to write so sensitively about what clearly is a secret relationship? What inspired it? Larry? I haven’t even seen Larries try to sell that. They probably would have tried except that they bought into the Zayn-hates-1D and 1D-hates-Zayn foolery. So, painted into a corner, they say nothing. And really, that says it all. Those who do continue to rage against Zayn/Ziam sound more unhinged by the day. Pro tip: Your hate is showing.

I’ve talked a lot about Ziam erasure in this fandom. A while back, some bloggers  would openly mock me for it. Now with two year’s more worth of water under the bridge, I never see anyone mocking anymore. Just silence. Lots of fans get it now. But many feel they’re in too deep to turn back. Some have said too many horrible things about Zayn (and for some, Liam too) while painting themselves as the ultimate champions of the LGBTQIA community. And some have insisted forever that Ziam is just a fun ship. Many won’t eat humble pie or risk alienating their followers. So there you go.

At this point, it doesn’t matter much to me. I’m totally at peace with it. Because I’d bet money that I’m not wrong and it seems not many in the fandom would take me up on that bet these days.