I would never dismiss someone's phobia. I know what kind of hell on earth that shit is. And I don't mock people for being scared of wasps or bees because some people have allergies that can kill them and it's kinda dumb to be rude to someone who is afraid of something that might kill them. But it's done people such a disservice that culture tells people it's reasonable to be afraid of all bugs and that most bugs will hurt you or your house or your pets.

I see so many comments and tags on posts about nature saying things like "I would love to spend time outside but I can't handle being around bugs" as if it's normal! If you can't sit on grass or go on a hike because of your fear of bugs, that's like...clinically significant highly disabling stuff. It's locking you away from so many experiences.

Fears like this often get reinforced by witnessing other people's responses to a stimulus. We are social creatures and if you watch the people around you show disgust and fear in response to bugs, you will learn to respond that way too. If you hear on the internet and TV and elsewhere that most bugs are dangerous and want to hurt you or will give you diseases, it will be reinforced even more.

The fact is, bugs are just guys. We depend on them for almost every part of our lives. Our planet is teeming with so many wondrous life forms, and many of them are insects. They come in every color and every form of iridescence, they glow and sparkle and they are fuzzy and striped and spotted. They are not "gross" or dirty.

Insects worldwide are now dropping in number, and it could mean disaster for us and every life form on earth. Most flowering plants (80% or so) have a symbiotic partnership with insects where they are dependent on insect pollination to fertilize their flowers. Wasps, bees, flies, butterflies, and even ants and beetles are all important pollinators, and each plant's flowers are designed to be pollinated by a different group of insects. Without these insects, the majority of flowering plant species would not be able to exist. They would go extinct. That includes most of the plants we eat. No wasps, bees, flies and other pollinators= no apples, no berries, no peaches, no plums, no anything. That's a simplified summary but it expresses just how important they are.

A big reason for it is the use of insecticides that are highly toxic to a wide variety of non-target insects. For instance, carbaryl, typically known as Sevin in the US, was for a long time sold in every garden center in a powdery dust form, to put on garden plants that had holes in their leaves.

Carbaryl dust is incredibly toxic to bees and can be picked up by them in the same way as pollen, and in that way it can be carried back to the hive and kill the whole hive.

Many of these insecticides are also highly dangerous to humans, and using them in and around your home exposes you to poisonous and/or potentially cancer-causing substances. The residues of these insecticides linger basically forever inside homes. There have been studies done that found insecticides that have been banned for a long time still lingering in people's carpets and floors.

So it's not good that so many people are terrified of insects. And the best antidote is to learn. Learn about bugs and their diversity and unique beauty and intelligence. If videos are no good, look at books with pictures; if you don't want to look at pictures, books without pictures or podcasts might help. Maybe start with bugs that seem less frightening and move on to learning about others from there.

Learn about their ways and behaviors and how they are similar to animals you are more familiar with, such as birds or cats. Learn the ways in which they are similar to you—you will find that you share many important qualities, like "enjoy fruit" and "would defend friends and family." Join bug identification groups online. Learn from people who keep bugs as pets.

A side effect of this is that you might become very upset because you want to pet bees and you can't pet the bees because your hands are too large and they are too small. :(

absolutely nobody asked but here, have them anyway (all via the Islamic Fashion Institute):

To sum things up, it's the difference between an R-rated movie and an X-rated movies...

"M" rated fics are like American R-rated movies. These contain hard core cursing (like tons of f bombs and ones worse than that), smoking, under aged drinking, drug use, mature subject matter, graphic violence and milder/not super descriptive spicy scenes. Think things like Deadpool, Prey, and Joker are good comparisons.

"E" rated fics are NC-17/X-rated movies. They are rated that way because they have explicated sex scenes that show everything. That's literally it.

Please for the love of god, rate your fics properly! There are a lot of sexual adverse people out there that don't want to read an "M" rated fic and come across a super explicit sex scene. There would be a lot of people disappointed and angry at you if an "E" rated fic has zero spice. It's better to rate your fic too high than too low.

On Wattpad, M is the highest rating and explicit content is not allowed. Gen Z still put explicit in M tho bc a) no one reports it because b) on Wattpad, rating your fic M is widely avoided because the site will not promote it because the site values easy-reading lit for all ages. I once rated a fic M to comply with some rules, and the view count dropped instantly, returning slowly when I reversed the rating as an experiment.

So my guess is, WP newbies on AO3 think that rating their fic "E" will hide it from readers. Since AO3 has no algorithm or major censorship policy, this issue simply does not exist.

When you ban explicit content it doesn't go away, people just file off the warning labels.

Here is a free pdf of xanathars guide to everything

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Here is a free pdf to tashas cauldron of everything

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Your husky isn’t “hyperactive”, it’s bred to pull sleds for 8 hours straight and you have it in a 400 sq ft yard.

Your English sheepdog isn’t “pushy”, it’s bred to herd sheep, and you have neither to space nor the herd to allow it.

Your terrier isn’t “nippy”, it’s bred to kill rats and your hamster looks a hell of a lot like one.

Your Catahoula isn’t “mean to animals”, it’s bred to hunt any and all animals smaller than it, and you didn’t acclimate it to your cat.

Your Lhasa Apso isn’t “yappy”, it’s bred to bark at any tiny noise and alert watchmen to intruders

My family has a farm. We always had livestock guardian dogs. They roam the pasture and bark all night.

I find a big stumbling block that comes with teaching Romeo and Juliet is explaining Juliet’s age. Juliet is 13 - more precisely, she’s just on the cusp of turning 14. Though it’s not stated explicitly, Romeo is implied to be a teenager just a few years older than her - perhaps 15 or 16. Most people dismiss Juliet’s age by saying “that was normal back then” or “that’s just how it was.” This is fundamentally untrue, and I will explain why.

In Elizabethan England, girls could legally marry at 12 (boys at 14) but only with their father’s permission. However, it was normal for girls to marry after 18 (more commonly in early to mid twenties) and for boys to marry after 21 (more commonly in mid to late twenties). But at 14, a girl could legally marry without papa’s consent. Of course, in doing so she ran the risk of being disowned and left destitute, which is why it was so critical for a young man to obtain the father’s goodwill and permission first. Therein lies the reason why we are repeatedly told that Juliet is about to turn 14 in under 2 weeks. This was a critical turning point in her life.

In modern terms, this would be the equivalent of the law in many countries which states children can marry at 16 with their parents’ permission, or at 18 to whomever they choose - but we see it as pretty weird if someone marries at 16. They’re still a kid, we think to ourselves - why would their parents agree to this?

This is exactly the attitude we should take when we look at Romeo and Juliet’s clandestine marriage. Today it would be like two 16 year olds marrying in secret. This is NOT normal and would NOT have been received without a raised eyebrow from the audience. Modern audiences AND Elizabethan audiences both look at this and think THEY. ARE. KIDS.

Critically, it is also not normal for fathers to force daughters into marriage at this time. Lord Capulet initially makes a point of telling Juliet’s suitor Paris that “my will to her consent is but a part.” He tells Paris he wants to wait a few years before he lets Juliet marry, and informs him to woo her in the meantime. Obtaining the lady’s consent was of CRITICAL importance. It’s why so many of Shakespeare’s plays have such dazzling, well-matched lovers in them, and why men who try to force daughters to marry against their will seldom prosper. You had to let the lady make her own choice. Why?

Put simply, for her health. It was considered a scientific fact that a woman’s health was largely, if not solely, dependant on her womb. Once she reached menarche in her teenage years, it was important to see her fitted with a compatible sexual partner. (For aristocratic girls, who were healthier and enjoyed better diets, menarche generally occurred in the early teens rather than the later teens, as was more normal at the time). The womb was thought to need heat, pleasure, and conception if the woman was to flourish. Catholics might consider virginity a fit state for women, but the reformed English church thought it was borderline unhealthy - sex and marriage was sometimes even prescribed as a medical treatment. A neglected wife or widow could become sick from lack of (pleasurable) sex. Marrying an unfit sexual partner or an older man threatened to put a girl’s health at risk. An unsatisfied woman, made ill by her womb as a result - was a threat to the family unit and the stability of society as a whole. A satisfying sex life with a good husband meant a womb that had the heat it needed to thrive, and by extension a happy and healthy woman.

In Shakespeare’s plays, sexual compatibility between lovers manifests on the stage in wordplay. In Much Ado About Nothing, sparks fly as Benedick and Beatrice quarrel and banter, in comparison to the silence that pervades the relationship between Hero and Claudio, which sours very quickly. Compare to R+J - Lord Capulet tells Paris to woo Juliet, but the two do not communicate. But when Romeo and Juliet meet, their first speech takes the form of a sonnet. They might be young and foolish, but they are in love. Their speech betrays it.

Juliet, on the cusp of 14, would have been recognised as a girl who had reached a legal and biological turning point. Her sexual awakening was upon her, though she cares very little about marriage until she meets the man she loves. They talk, and he wins her wholehearted, unambiguous and enthusiastic consent - all excellent grounds for a relationship, if only she weren’t so young.

When Tybalt dies and Romeo is banished, Lord Capulet undergoes a monstrous change from doting father to tyrannical patriarch. Juilet’s consent has to take a back seat to the issue of securing the Capulet house. He needs to win back the prince’s favour and stabilise his family after the murder of his nephew. Juliet’s marriage to Paris is the best way to make that happen. Fathers didn’t ordinarily throw their daughters around the room to make them marry. Among the nobility, it was sometimes a sad fact that girls were simply expected to agree with their fathers’ choices. They might be coerced with threats of being disowned. But for the VAST majority of people in England - basically everyone non-aristocratic - the idea of forcing a daughter that young to marry would have been received with disgust. And even among the nobility it was only used as a last resort, when the welfare of the family was at stake. Note that aristocratic boys were often in the same position, and would also be coerced into advantageous marriages for the good of the family.

tl;dr:

Q. Was it normal for girls to marry at 13?

A. Hell no!

Q. Was it legal for girls to marry at 13?

A. Not without dad’s consent - Friar Lawrence performs this dodgy ceremony only because he believes it might bring peace between the houses.

Q. Was it normal for fathers to force girls into marriage?

A. Not at this time in England. In noble families, daughters were expected to conform to their parents wishes, but a girl’s consent was encouraged, and the importance of compatibility was recognised.

Q. How should we explain Juliet’s age in modern terms?

A. A modern Juliet would be a 17 year old girl who’s close to turning 18. We all agree that girls should marry whomever they love, but not at 17, right? We’d say she’s still a kid and needs to wait a bit before rushing into this marriage. We acknowledge that she’d be experiencing her sexual awakening, but marrying at this age is odd - she’s still a child and legally neither her nor Romeo should be marrying without parental permission.

Q. Would Elizabethans have seen Juliet as a child?

It wasn’t so uncommon for children of royalty or nobility to be betrothed from birth, or even symbolically married, in order to make alliances. But that doesn’t mean they were engaging in the kind of adult relationship we envision when we think of marriage today.

I. Margaret Beaufort

In my mind, there are few cases that better demonstrate the tensions between medieval norms and medieval realities than that of Margaret Beaufort. Like many other women of her time, she had only one child surviving to adulthood: Henry Tudor (later Henry VII and the founder of the Tudor dynasty). In that, Margaret wasn’t so remarkable: infant mortality made this a common enough outcome, though undoubtedly a tragic one.

Where Margaret’s case was exceptional is that Henry was also her only known pregnancy, without so much as a stillbirth, infant death, or even another pregnancy ever being mentioned in connection to her. In her own time, it was commonly assumed that her experience of childbirth at a very young age was what accounted for her barrenness, and even to us today, it doesn’t seem implausible to assume some kind of physical trauma that prevented later pregnancies from taking place, given all the medical knowledge we’ve accumulated about the risks of childbirth at either extreme of age.

But there was more to this. The vast Beaufort estate that came with Margaret’s young hand were so valuable that, to 15th/16th century English minds, it perfectly explained Edmund Tudor’s motives for having been so reckless with the health of his wife: having an heir of his own would ensure that her lands would stay with him, in the name of any children they might have together, whereas the lands would pass to someone else if she should die before having a child. Of course, most men in that situation would have waited anyway, as a child whose mother died in childbirth was much less likely to survive anyway, so contemporaries portrayed Edmund Tudor’s actions as short-sighted and foolhardy at best, amoral and cruel and worst. But Fate must have a sense of irony, because Edmund died before his son was even born, while Margaret lived, and as aristocratic women tended to do in those circumstances, she was remarried to Henry Stafford, 1st Duke of Buckingham.

Since Margaret was Stafford’s first (and only) wife, he would have depended on her to give him any heirs at all, to whom he could pass on the lands he already had, let alone any of Margaret’s own (and it would be logical to assume that the Beaufort inheritance would have been no less tempting to Stafford than it was to Tudor). He must have at least hoped for children from her, and at the time, there wasn’t any reason to expect she was totally barren either: there was the traumatic birth to consider, but she was more physically mature when she remarried, and there was room to hope that widowhood had given her time to recover. And yet, despite all this, it seems few people (if any) were surprised that Margaret did not bear any more children. It didn’t seem to doom her relationship with her second husband either: on the contrary, Margaret enjoyed a happy relationship with Stafford for well over a decade until his death, so if there was any bitterness on his part over his lack of heirs, he must have managed it well. Even in the contemporary sources (who don’t tend to be charitable towards female figures), any blame for her barrenness is laid squarely at the feet of the various men who were her guardians in her early life, who clearly abused their authority over her for their own benefit, rather than to safeguard Margaret’s well-being as guardians are supposed to do (one of them being Edmund Tudor himself… he wasn’t supposed to even be in the running for her wardship, but Henry VI actually outright broke a promise he had made to Margaret’s father to let Margaret’s mother be her guardian in the event of his death).

This indicates to me even more strongly that late-medieval / Tudor people would have not only been sympathetic towards what Margaret and women like her had suffered, but also understood that neglectful attitudes towards the health and happiness of dependents have consequences. Shakespeare’s own words make this clear, at the beginning of the play:

Paris: Younger than she are happy mothers made. Capulet: And too soon marr’d are those so early made.

Tudor audiences would have understood these lines as the words of a benevolent father protecting his daughter from the advances of an overeager young suitor, invoking what seems to have been a Tudor-era trope that early marriages do not make for happy endings… not for the woman, not for her family or husband, and certainly not for the children she might otherwise have borne. Because Capulet came off as the “good father” in the beginning of the play, it makes it all the more shocking when his attitude changes and he becomes the all-too-familiar figure of the cold, uncaring patriarch who regards his children only as pawns*. I imagine the juxtaposition would have invited Tudor audiences to feel Juliet’s sense of betrayal as if it were happening to them.

* Jane Grey, the famed “nine days’ queen” was also rumored to be such a victim of her parents’ ambition: they also saw fit to force her into a marriage that she seriously objected to, and historical records point a fairly consistent picture of their callous disregard towards her wishes and genuine happiness.

II. Consent in Medieval Marriages

Twelve and fourteen are actually also important numbers in their own right, and Shakespeare’s choice to place Juliet between those two ages has an important symbolic meaning. Late medieval Catholic doctrine defined marriage as a sacrament, like the Eucharist (Communion), or Holy Orders. Many of the sacraments require those who receive them to understand what they’re getting into for the sacrament to have the desired effect. To guarantee understanding (at least from a theological perspective), you would have to be above “the age of reason”, the age at which you were considered to be able to think for yourself. Conservative definitions of the “age of reason” sometimes defined it as the age of fifteen or fourteen (or older), but was later fixed at twelve. Since marriage was one of these sacraments, a marriage where both spouses had not fully and knowingly given their consent was no marriage at all.* Therefore, twelve was considered the absolute lower age limit at which a person could marry without compromising the very spiritual foundation of the marriage itself, while fourteen was considered a safer age at which to assume the person had full control of their reasoning capacities.

The other side of the “consent” coin when it came to marriage was that consent wasn’t just a necessary condition to finalize a marriage, it was also sufficient condition. If a man and a woman had given their knowing consent to marry one another, and if they had intentionally verbalized this promise to one another and consummated their marriage, then no earthly power could invalidate this pact for any reason (outside of a few very specific ones, like incest) without risking damnation. Witnesses were convenient as a way to prove that the marriage had taken place, if a family member or some segment of society disapproved of the match, but they weren’t needed in order to make the marriage spiritually valid. Basically, the Catholic Church at this stage somehow ended up putting the idea of consent at the very heart of the idea of what made a marriage valid or not, and this had consequences not only because of the threat of hellfire, but also because Church law was secular law when it came to domestic matters like marriage and divorce. And then it came to pass that the English Reformation left this specific area of the doctrine mostly untouched, so the Tudors would have had similar ideas surrounding the question of consent and marriage as did their late medieval forbears.

This theological point is not only the whole raison d’etre for the most central plot device in the play, but also adds an extra note of pathos to Juliet’s situation and an extra layer of moral judgment towards Lord Capulet’s behavior. If she did not insist on keeping her marriage vow, or if she married Paris knowing full well that she had already been married, both of those would be mortal sins for which she would risk damnation. And by extension, because he used duress against Juliet to try to make her comply with his sinful wish, Lord Capulet has also damned himself (albeit unknowingly, but even so, the narrative clearly presents forcing his daughter’s marriage as something he should know better than to do, anyway).

Until this point, Juliet’s marriage is characterized as an impulsive decision such as only foolish youth could make, but ironically, in that confrontation with Lord Capulet, this slip of a young girl is now portrayed as conducting herself with far more spiritual maturity and grace than any of the adults around her. Her parents are failing in their duty towards her by putting their dynastic concerns ahead of her health and happiness (when it’s been made clear they already know this is a Bad Idea), and her Nurse, who actually knows about the secret marriage and all the reasons why it cannot be taken back, is actively pleading with her to just forget it and pretend Romeo never was. Juliet’s choice here is monumental, because it involves not only disregarding her parents, but also an active decision to completely break with the woman who has been with her for literally everything in her life up to that point, a break so thorough that even Nurse herself doesn’t know that it’s happened. This dramatic turning point is a bittersweet portrait of the girl losing her innocence and growing up into an adult, from one angle, and from another angle it’s a paean to the pure-hearted idealism (different from the limpid innocence of childhood in that it’s willful and risk-taking, and fiery in quality) that can only be found in the young. Either way, it does Juliet’s character AND Shakespeare’s dramatic talents a massive disservice to portray her situation as something so simplistic or reactionary as lovelorn pining after an absent boyfriend, or rebelling against her parents, or “staying true to her own heart”.

This wasn’t just a plot device for the stage: many real-life lovers leaned on this feature of the Church’s teachings, when faced with the opposition of their families and communities, and in many cases, the Church was indeed forced to side with the couple, however reluctantly. Margery Paston, the daughter of a genteel landowning family in the 15th century, and Richard Calle, the Paston family’s longtime housekeeper, were one such case of a real-life Romeo and Juliet: they mutually fell in love, and married in secret when they came up against heavy opposition from Margery’s family. The Pastons responded by separating them, firing Calle from his job and having him sent to London, while Margery remained in Norfolk under house arrest. There, she seems to have been subjected to ongoing and intense pressure to walk back her marriage… if the couple had been married formally in church, this would not have been possible, but secret marriages were vulnerable to challenges like this because they were secret. A witness would have helped her and Calle’s case and made it more airtight, but even if the couple had had any, apparently the Pastons had succeeded in intimidating them into silence.

But even though the Pastons seemed to be winning, it’s hard to believe that bystanders wouldn’t have objected to at least some of what the Pastons were doing to try and get their way. Otherwise, Calle could not have written Margery in 1469, during their separation, saying “I suppose if you tell them sadly the truth, they will not damn their souls for us”. Their situation was objectively quite bleak.  For the months they were apart, it was made very clear to both Margery and Calle that, if the couple continued to insist on their marriage, the Pastons would disown Margery and throw her out of the house, therefore leaving her with few options for survival, let alone to find her way to Calle over a distance of a hundred miles. He mournfully acknowledges that their gamble might fail, and their worst fears might come true, but there is also defiance in his resignation, as he concludes, “if they will in no wise agree [to respect our marriage], between God, the Devil and them be it.”

Margery, for her part, was no less determined. When Margery was finally brought before the local bishop, he turned out to be sympathetic towards the Paston family, and gave Margery a long speech about the importance of pleasing her family and community (so much for the theological importance of consent, but then, clerical hypocrisy was nothing new to medieval people). But Margery remained steadfast (in fact, I am inclined to think from her next words that the bishop’s words only goaded her to greater resolve) and when she spoke, she not only continued to insist that she had said what she had said, but according to her mother she “boldly” added, “if those words made it not sure […] she would make it surer before she went thence, for she said she thought in her conscience she was bound [in marriage to Calle], whatsoever the words were.” Her wording left absolutely no room for doubt in the mind of even the most flexible theologian. And when Calle was cross-examined and his testimony found to match that of Margery’s, the bishop of Norfolk had no choice but to rule in the couple’s favor.

Margery’s mother did indeed make good on her word: she did both disown Margery and throw her out of the house. She seemed to have done it more to save face, however, than to actually punish her daughter, since she does seem to have made arrangements behind the scenes for Margery to stay with sympathetic neighbors. In the end, Calle was right, the Pastons were not willing to risk their own souls. Margery and Richard Calle got their happy ending, and had at least three children (and we know about them because we know Margery’s mother left them money in her own will).

* This also meant that Edmund Tudor actually would have been Margaret Beaufort’s first husband, not her second. It was true that she had already been “in a marriage” before being married later to Tudor, but strictly speaking, it was only a precontract (what we today would think of as an engagement) with signficance limited to the secular realm; there are a lot of reasons this would not have really been considered a marriage at the time, but the most theologically pertinent one is that the bride’s consent could not have been involved, because she was too young to be able to give it. Consequently, this paper marriage was easily dissolved as soon as her guardians thought it more politically expedient to marry her to Edmund Tudor. And for all intents and purposes, Margaret Beaufort herself considered Tudor to be her first husband, not John de la Pole.

@thebibliosphere do you know if it’s common for people to know the age of Juliet solidly and then think that the reason everything was dodgy was because Romeo was like 17/18 years old? Cause like…

Full disclaimer: I’m obviously no expert–just a former Shakespearian theater kid with a love of history–but no, Romeo is not eighteen, and nor was he considered an adult.

That’s a very modern perspective, and I suspect it comes from people latching onto the idea that if Juliet was considered legally old enough to be married at fourteen, then Romeo’s slight advantage in years must mean he was considered an adult when this is not at all how a Tudor audience would have viewed it.

Also, I don’t know where the idea that Romeo is eighteen/fully an adult came from, because Romeo’s age is unspecified in the original text, though the consensus is that he’s between the ages of fifteen at a minimum and seventeen at most. Neither an adult by our terms nor by Tudor ones.

As noted above, the minimum legal age for marriage in the Tudor era was twelve years old for noble girls, but what we did not mention was the legal age for boys, which was fourteen. So if we take the stance that Romeo is intended to be fifteen to sixteen, possibly hovering on the verge of seventeen, in the context of the times, he’s still considered barely old enough to marry, same as Juliet. He still needs the permission of his parents to marry because he is not considered legally old enough to make this decision himself.

His behavior isn’t that of a predatory adult pursuing a child (we’ll get to that) but that of a young man in the midst of his teens pursuing someone in both a suitable age range and social class for his standing. And from a thematic standpoint: the age and social class where your family might orchestrate a match to solidify alliances or to end a blood war if only they had their shit together.

This becomes very clear when you take into consideration the added context that most commoners didn’t marry until their mid-to-late-twenties when they’d had a chance to become financially established and also become both physically mature and strong enough to survive childbirth. There were, of course, always exceptions to this rule, but we’re speaking in generalities here. Only the rich married their kids off young, and most of the time there would have been clauses in place to prevent the girl from getting pregnant too young and dying in childbirth.

Basically, the entire Tudor audience, both noble and common, would have been watching this tragedy unfold on stage, clutching their pearls and going “Oh god they’re babies. Where are the parents?!”

To which the answer is “embroiled in a blood feud and not paying attention to the things that are happening under their nose until it’s too late.”

Paris, on the other hand, the suitor Juliet’s father wants to pair her with, and let’s be clear here, the man making it very clear he’s interested in her sexually, is twenty-five.

That line up above about “happy mother’s made”? That’s Paris, a twenty-five-year-old man looking at a fourteen-year-old girl and announcing that he not only wants to bed her but considers it fine for girls even younger than fourteen to become mothers. The man is a one-man parade of red flags, and that’s also what makes Juliet’s father switch so villainous. He’d rather marry his child off to a full-grown man who doesn’t care for her safety in the marital bed than resolve the feud with the Montagues, and the Tudor audience would have been deeply uncomfortable with this narrative, same as us.

So no, Romeo and Juliet isn’t a mess because Romeo was an adult. Romeo and Juliet is a mess because both Romeo and Juliet are functionally children trying to act like adults because no one else is. Not their parents, not the priest. And that’s the root of the tragedy.

It’s not a moral about problematic age gaps–though that is highlighted through Paris–it’s a moral about allowing vengeance to cloud your judgment and letting the children, the innocents who don’t know any better, try to behave like adults because you’ve left a void and would rather seek death than a peaceful resolution.

Elephant gets a new leg