Can be read as a standalone.Revenge is an euphoric thing. Trust me on this. Nothing compares to the release you get when you ruin someone’s life. When they’ve stolen important things. Things that didn’t belong to them. Things I revel in making them pay for.What? Have I offended you? I’m not here to appeal to your delicate senses. I have no intention of placating your wishe…

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People who say “everyone’s responsible for the world’s problems” are the worst. People think its a really clever point too “when you think about it the economy is just us.” Nope. 

“the financial crisis is our fault for borrowing too much money and living beyond our means. the banks didn’t force you to take out that mortgage”

Actually, US banks targeted people on racial lines for the most unaffordable and ridiculous interest rates. Also, consumer debt needs to be put in historical context - with the onset of neoliberalism the class compromise of relatively high wages and cooperation between unions and bosses broke down. We have now had decades of stagnant wages - consumer debt is what was used to make low wages possible, a new way to placate the working class. Unsustainable debt is built into the structure of this economic period. 

“we all consume unsustainably, climate change is all of our fault”

Firstly, capital expends billions of pounds every year employing celebrities, graphic designers, psychologists, advertising agencies to dream up new ways to sell us products that are engineered to become obsolete very quickly. Your consumption is conditioned by capital.

Secondly, huge amounts of waste are built in to the system and most waste isn’t done by consumers at home. Think of the car graveyard of thousands of units that can’t be sold for a profit so are left to rot, or the amount of food thrown out by supermarkets. Institutions like the military which you have no meaningful power to curtail have massive carbon footprints.

Thirdly, consumption is not evenly distributed. Someone on the poverty line is objectively less responsible for wasteful consumption than an oligarch in a private jet. Obviously. There is no ‘humanity’ or ‘society’ distinct from a class analysis.

Open RP

The puppeteer had fallen asleep in her gift box she called home, and slept soundly. The music box with that same song played, placating her for the fears of the purple man she was murdered by.

abruptly, the sounds stopped. She got startled awake by ruckus that radiated from outside. The Marionette poked her head out sleepily, got out of her bed, and started making her way to the noise.

“Hello..? Is….is anyone awake? I don’t mean harm, I just got woken up.”

Sam Winchester/intj stereotypes?

I see you recently typed Sam Winchester as an INTJ. How is this possible considering that he is so open about his own feelings, and always wants to talk about Dean’s feelings as well as console him? I’m curious not only for reference about the character but for future reference about how to accurately type INTJs, especially since what you seem to be saying is that he is typed as an INFJ often due to stereotypes. Thanks!

Ah, but where are his feelings coming from?

What prompts them?

His own pain. His own wants. He ups and leaves, no negotiations, when he’s mad. Fe doesn’t do that. Fe argues, and placates, and negotiates. Fe says, “I don’t care, but you look sad, so I guess I have to go along with you.” 

Fe would have been more placating about his family from the start. Fe would have felt more guilt for not wanting to be part of the family business, because that would make other people happy. Fe is forever going, “What will you think of me?” Fe looks outward for moral consensus, and makes choices dependent on that. When does Sam do it? Ever? No. He chooses his side and stands on it, on principle. If you don’t like it? Sucks to be you. He’s not moving.

Sam is very emotional. That doesn’t make him a feeler. You can be a TJ and be one giant-ass ball of walking feels 24/7. That’s what Fi is all about.

Even Dean is like this, but since he’s INFERIOR Fi, he flat out won’t talk about what he’s going through. Nope. Nada. Uh-uh. And then he falls into total emotional breakdowns because he goes out of his way to avoid them all the time and as such, his inferior Fi is a basket case.

IXTJs? Not as much that way. Way more in touch with their feels, and in fact, they are rather inclined to whine about the problem. Don’t believe what you read about IXTJs being these stone-hearted people who don’t bring up their feelings. It’s rubbish. The distinction is – they don’t NEED YOU to help them sort through their feelings for them. And their feelings do not stem from their environment, but from their soul. They are not a mirror, reflecting back all the feels in the room. They are a burning inferno of feels, coming from within.


‘Please say something?’ Ivy urges, breaking the silence that has descended over the room.

‘I…you…what the fuck do you want me to say?’ Jay explodes. ‘A son? I’ve been away for a year, how can it be mine? Did you do this on purpose?’

He struggles to catch his breath past the knot of fear and shock that has stuck in this throat? A baby? He is 18 years old, how can he possibly look after a baby?

‘Let me explain,’ Ivy stands up, trying to placate him but he shrugs her off as she reaches for him.

‘Why would you do this to me? Is it a joke?’ Jay’s voice is raw with anguish. ‘Is this my welcome home thing? You’re going to put this on Youtube later or something?’

‘Jay,’ Ivy rubs her temples. ‘You know me. I wouldn’t joke about something like this. I just…I’m sorry okay? For keeping it from you but I thought I was doing what was best.’

‘Best? How can any ‘best’ come from this?’

Ivy pauses, reining in the rage that is building. Finally, she answers him haughtily. ‘The best thing to come out of it is that you have a healthy baby. I’m not here to ask you for anything for him. I’m here to tell you and let you make your own choices.’

Jay sinks into the chair, legs wobbling and failing to support him anymore. He drops his head into his hands and closes his eyes, breathing away the anxiety that is creeping over him. After a few minutes he has managed to restrain some calm and looks up at Ivy. ‘Please. Explain this to me, because I can’t understand how I can go away to university and then come back home and suddenly be a father.’

‘I found out a few months after you left. I didn’t…there were no symptoms. By the time I knew, I was six months gone. I never did this to trap you, Jay. You know me better than to think that. You think this is what I wanted for myself?’

‘I just can’t begin to comprehend this. You say my parents know?’

Ivy nods. ‘Yes. Only recently though, I didn’t want it to cause…problems at work for your Dad.’

‘Can you go? I’ll call you, I promise. Maybe in a few days when I have my head around this. I’m not promising that I want any part of this. Fuck, I’m in the middle of university. I just need to think about things, talk to my parents…’

‘I’d like you to see him…even just once, but I;m not forcing you.’

‘What’s his name?’ Jay asks. He should at least know this about his own son.

‘Dexter. His name is Dexter.’

CHINA, HONG KONG : A young boy (top C) dressed as a deity is paraded on a float during the “Bun Festival” on the island of Cheung Chau in Hong Kong on May 25, 2015. The traditional “Bun Festival” is held every year to placate the hungry ghosts of old pirates. Legend has it that buns bring good luck to the island’s fisherman protecting them from the spirits of pirates that once lurked in the region.  AFP PHOTO / ANTHONY WALLACE                        

The REST of us have all worked too hard to get you your happy ending in order to placate you thereby ensuring everyone’s safety. No way in hell am I going to let you become the Dark One and go on yet another series of murderous rampages!
—  My headcanon for what Emma REALLY meant when she picked up that Dagger

anonymous asked:

Do you think you could post a snippet of the 19x19? I'm really excited for that one.

Okay so this one is still all weird and disjointed but here’s part of it anyway:

“I’m not a fucking flower child,” Louis yells, hurling his dirty shirt at Harry as hard as he can manage.

Harry lets it hit him in the chest, which only makes Louis madder. “I know you’re not,” he says, hands open and up in the air, placating. “I didn’t say that you were.”

This entire week has been so fucking irritating, and this is only making it even worse. He throws the next closest thing at Harry, aiming for his face. It’s only a jacket, but his blood boils even more when Harry catches it and lets it drop to the ground, material pooling at his feet.

“Don’t fucking treat me like I’m fragile, then,” Louis spits, spinning around so he can find something else to use to fuck up Harry’s face. Maybe there’s a water bottle he can use to drown him.

“When have I ever treated you like you’re fragile?” Harry demands. His voice comes from much closer than Louis was expecting, so he grabs the open bottle of apple juice Harry was drinking earlier. It’ll do nicely.

He spins around with the intention of sloshing the entire thing in Harry’s face, only to get his wrist grabbed with a grip so tight Louis can’t shake it off.

He glances between his wrist and Harry’s face a couple of times, raising his eyebrows. Harry only raises his eyebrows right back, not loosening even a little.

Louis contemplates using his other hand to throw it in Harry’s face anyway, just for a second. He decides not to, because he’s not actually a hundred percent sure that he could do it before Harry grabbed that wrist, too.

“Every fucking day,” Louis says, letting the bottle drop from his fingers, uncaring of the way it splashes all over the carpet and Harry’s shoes.

“What are you even talking about?” Harry asks. He looks like he’s about five seconds away from using his grip to shake Louis into agreeing with him.

Nearly every single reporter they’ve ever talked to has made some comment about how different they are, what an unlikely team they make, but the last time Louis has felt it to this degree was that very first day they got paired together.

“Don’t touch me,” Louis says, trying to yank his wrist out of Harry’s grip. “I need to get changed, let me go.”

For a second, it seems like Harry’s going to grab Louis’ other wrist. Then he lets go all at once and takes a step back, letting his arms drop down to his sides.

Louis isn’t sure that he’s ever seen him look so hurt.

He can’t think about that without wanting to cry, though, and the last thing he wants right now is for Harry to see him cry yet again, so he turns around and pops the button on his stage pants, starts wiggling out of them.

He’s got them around his knees when Harry starts talking.

“You’re one of the strongest people I know,” Harry says. Louis can hear the frustration in his voice, and he knows, better than anyone, how much Harry struggles to let people know how he feels about them when he’s not writing lyrics, so he kicks off the trousers and listens.

“I don’t - fragile is the last word that comes to my mind when I think about you,” Harry continues. “God, I wouldn’t have any of this without you. None of this would be possible without you, and I know that I’m not the best at saying it, but you’re practically my entire world, you know that, right?”

God. Now Louis feels like crying for an entirely different reason.

“I don’t have a lot of people,” Harry says, right behind Louis now, “Not ones that I really trust, anyway, and I get a little obsessive about you, sometimes, but - “ He breaks off with a frustrated sigh, putting his hand on Louis’ left shoulder and then, when Louis doesn’t protest, slips it down to rest on his belly, pulling them together, until there’s no space between them. “Don’t laugh, okay?”

Louis nods a little dumbly. “There’s been a lot of darkness in my life,” Harry says, squeezing Louis tight, other arm slipping around his waist, “and it can be hard to remember that there are things that are good, sometimes, but all I have to do is look at you and it’s like, you’re my light.”

Louis’ breath catches, stutters in his throat. “And it’s just - I would give up everything else, everything we’ve built, if it meant that you would be safe and happy for the rest of your life.”

So much for not crying again.

“I know that you hate the way people look at us and think that you’re the vulnerable one because of the way I look,” Harry says, rocking them a little, the way he always does when he holds Louis like this, “And I get it, I do, but sometimes it’s like you’re the only good thing in my life and the only thing that I want is to keep it that way.”

It’s hard, trying to get Harry to loosen his grip enough for Louis to turn around, but he manages, linking his arms around Harry’s neck and pressing his lips to his cheek. “I love you too,” he says, because it doesn’t matter what words Harry uses to say it. He knows. He can feel it every day, how much Harry loves him, and it’s going to be so fucking hard when Harry realizes that the way Louis loves him back isn’t exactly platonic, but for now Louis can just let himself have this.