#Equality March 2017

[longlivetv]

Signed up to volunteer at our local Pride with the HRC! Thought about DC too but the earlier shift was full and I don’t know the city well enough to want to navigate alone at night, but next year maybe

[afeelgoodblog]

The Best News of Last Week - March 13, 2023

🐝 - Did you hear about the honeybee vaccine? It's creating quite the buzz! But seriously, it's a major breakthrough in the fight against American foulbrood and could save billions of bees.

1. Transgender health care is now protected in Minnesota

Minnesota Governor Tim Walz signed an executive order protecting and supporting access to gender-affirming health care for LGBTQ people in the state, amidst Republican-backed efforts across the country to limit transgender health care. The order upholds the essential values of One Minnesota where all people, including members of the LGBTQIA+ community, are safe, celebrated, and able to live lives full of dignity and joy.

Numerous medical organizations have said that access to gender-affirming care is essential to the health and wellness of gender diverse people, while states like Tennessee, Arizona, Utah, Arkansas, Alabama, Mississippi, South Dakota, and Florida have passed policies or laws restricting transgender health care.

2. First vaccine for honeybees could save billions

The US government has approved the world's first honeybee vaccine to fight against American foulbrood, a bacterial disease that destroys bee colonies vital for crop pollination.

Developed by biotech company Dalan Animal Health, the vaccine integrates some of the foulbrood bacteria into royal jelly, which is then fed to the queen by the worker bees, resulting in the growing bee larvae developing immunity to foulbrood. The vaccine aims to limit the damage caused by the infectious disease, for which there is currently no cure, and promote the development of vaccines for other diseases affecting bees.

3. Teens rescued after days stranded in California snowstorm: "We were already convinced we were going to die"

The recent snowstorms in California have resulted in dangerous conditions for hikers and residents in mountain communities. Two teenage hikers were rescued by the San Bernardino County sheriff's department after getting lost in the mountains for 10 days.

The boys were well-prepared for the hike but were not prepared for the massive amounts of snow that followed. They were lucky to survive, suffering from hypothermia and having to huddle together for three nights to stay warm.

Yosemite National Park has had to be closed indefinitely due to the excessive snowfall.

4. La Niña, which worsens Atlantic hurricanes and Western droughts, is gone

The La Nina weather phenomenon, which increases Atlantic hurricane activity and worsens western drought, has ended after three years, according to the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. That's usually good news for the United States and other parts of the world, including drought-stricken northeast Africa, scientists said.

The globe is now in what's considered a "neutral" condition.

5. Where there's gender equality, people tend to live longer

Both women and men are likely to live longer when a country makes strides towards gender equality, according to a new global study that authors believe to be the first of its kind.

The study was published in the journal PLOS Global Public Health this week. It adds to a growing body of research showing that advances in women's rights benefit everyone. "Globally, greater gender equality is associated with longer [life expectancy] for both women and men and a widening of the gender gap in [life expectancy]," they conclude.

6. New data shows 1 in 7 cars sold globally is an EV, and combustion engine car sales have decreased by 25% since 2017

Electric vehicles are the key technology to decarbonise road transport, a sector that accounts for 16% of global emissions. Compared with 2020, sales nearly doubled to 6.6 million (a sales share of nearly 9%), bringing the total number of electric cars on the road to 16.5 million.

Sales were highest in China, where they tripled relative to 2020 to 3.3 million after several years of relative stagnation, and in Europe, where they increased by two-thirds year-on-year to 2.3 million. Together, China and Europe accounted for more than 85% of global electric car sales in 2021

7. Lastly, watch this touching moment as rescued puppy gains trust in her new owners

By the way, this is my newly started YouTube channel. Subscribe for more wholesome videos :D

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That's it for this week. If you liked this post you can support this newsletter with a small kofi donation:

Buy me a coffee ❤️

Let's carry the positivity into next week and keep spreading the good news!

[astrangetorpedo]

On New Year’s Eve, during a house party at her home in Richmond, Virginia, Lucy Dacus had her fortune told. She thought why not. On a personal level, 2017 had been a wretched year – a steady conveyor belt delivering the 22-year-old bad news.

“This girl, who I didn’t even know, came to the party and gave me this year-long reading,” she explains. “Month-by-month it was so specific. So far, it’s kind of lined up.”

In the past Dacus has been sceptical about the prophetic powers of the tarot card deck, and was taught that the pentacles (coins) were a symbol of Satan. “It’s hard to look to the future and see nothing, to know nothing,” she muses. “I still don’t know what’s going to happen, but having something to have your mind bounce off is nice. That’s why I like tarot. It gives you something to reflect on.”

It’s all part of a fresh way of thinking for Dacus, a new “mood of just trying to be open to new things.” For so many reasons the past year has been one Lucy Dacus is keen to put behind her. “I guess I could just list things,” she says laughing, but not joking. To begin, some of her close family suffered health problems, compounded by her own serious issues including a bout of appendicitis that forced her to have surgery. She was attempting to buy a house for the first time, a process that proved “trying”. Three of her tours got cancelled.

“It was a little bit miserable,” says Dacus, sitting in an east London cafe. “Towards the end of the year, I just had to laugh… Like, come on!”

Interwoven with these practical challenges she was having to navigate something much more troubling. “I got out of a relationship in 2016, which I was waking up from in 2017 – realising that it was abusive,” she begins. “Letting myself say that, it took many months to come out of the numbness… to stop being brainwashed. So, that’s all been a growth. It’s ended up being positive, but it is difficult wondering how I let that be a part of my life for so long.”

Deepening the ordeal, still, this year of personal upheaval was set to the backdrop of Trump’s first 12 months in office. A vociferous supporter of Bernie Sanders through the 2016 election campaign, Dacus is a passionate advocate for equal rights, attending marches and collecting donations for community organisations at her shows. To have Trump sat in the White House representing her country, she says, felt – feels – “horrible”. “It’s just absurd and I feel like I’m in an alternate universe,” she says. “It’s really hard maintaining hope.

“Coming to Europe I’m embarrassed to be an American sometimes, but then I just have to hope that people know that I am not part of Trump. I’ve thought about wearing shirts at the airport – just like ‘not my president’. In little ways I just want to assert that opinion.”

And then there were the disturbing revelations surrounding Harvey Weinstein (and subsequently many other men) revealed in Autumn 2017, that opened out into a global conversation around the abuse and harassment of women.

“It’s been nice coming out of that really terrible relationship during a time when women are speaking up more. It feels like I’m allowed to say these things now,” says Dacus, crediting the #MeToo movement. “All these horrible, heartbreaking stories of women being mistreated are at the forefront but the solace that people are doing what they need in order to find closure and help each other prevent that happening ever again. For one of the first times I’ve been noticing male friends of mine actually examining their past behaviours.”

While there are some early shoots of positivity, the truth is, the culmination of all of these factors left the songwriter dealing with anxiety for the first time. “2017 was a new state of mind for me – and not really in the best way.”

Lucy Dacus was raised in Richmond, Virginia, about two hours south of Washington D.C. on the east coast. It’s a place sometimes described as “the biggest small town left in America.” The family home was in the rural suburbs and she travelled into the city to go to high school. “It’s hard to tell you in one answer how my whole childhood was,” she says. “It’s a large variety of things. Overall, I’m coming out with my thumbs up.”

In her household music was always there. Her mother is a piano teacher, as was her grandmother. Picking up songwriting was never a big deal, like a second language that was spoken around the house. “That’s how music is – like, it’s just part of my life,” she recalls.

Yet the dream of being a professional artist seemed almost so unattainable that it was invisible. In her late teens, Dacus went to college to study film but dropped out, primarily because she’d end up saddled with huge debt. “That, paired with the feeling of being misunderstood in my programme,” she confirms. “I just didn’t have a lot of like minds in my classes.”

That prompted a move back to Virginia where she took a job in a photography lab developing kids’ cheesy school photos. She’d been writing songs in her spare time and gathered nine of the 30-or-so she had together when her friend Jacob Blizard (now her touring guitarist) asked her to record them for his school project. Her 2016 debut album, ‘No Burden’, was made in one day in Nashville. Blizard passed school, and that album received rave reviews. NPR called it “vulnerable”, while Pitchfork said it was an “uncommonly warm indie rock record”. As a result, 20 different record labels reportedly scrabbled to sign Dacus. She settled on Matador, and began to prepare for what should have been a joyful 2017.

The first time Dacus remembers assuming the role of historian she was seven or eight-years-old. She was writing in her journal – and she smiles now recalling her first entry. It complained about how the babysitter spent the whole evening on the phone to her boyfriend. “There’s a point where I realise I’m journaling and so I stop and go, ‘I should probably introduce myself… I’m Lucy’” she laughs, remembering it clearly. “It’s really cute.”

More than a dozen notebooks, and many years later, she still keeps a diary now. Sometimes she writes every day, other times, weeks go by and then she fills 20 pages. Occasionally she flicks open an old one to either “laugh or cringe” at her younger self.

‘Historian’, then, isn’t just the title of her latest album, but also the way she thinks of herself. A chronicler, of her own experiences, but also those around her. Those pages aren’t just a document of a growing maturity, but also a therapeutic habit that helps make sense of many life events, including that recent damaging relationship. “Seeing that it had been broken for the whole time but that I was just oblivious to it, [reading about] it helps to accept that things didn’t change,” she says. “I just saw it for what it was finally, and so perspective is good.”

Those handwritten journals are sacred, which is why, when her tenth one was stolen on tour a few years ago along with a bag of possessions, it was the notebook she replaced first.

The album itself is a recent history – a narrative burrowing through those myriad dark times. Dacus knew that she wanted it to form a complete story, and wrote the track list before some of the songs. “It’s an arc” she says, that begins in a “relatable place” with the only break-up song she’s ever written (‘Night Shift’) that subsequently delves “deeper into darkness.”

“Then the subject matter gets a little more intense,” she tells me, “– going through identity crises, or loss of home, or loss of faith, loss of a loved one, loss of your life. I feel like I’m pulling people into an uncomfortable space.” She pauses. “There’s then a change where hopefully I’m turning on a light and saying, ‘Yes, all of that exists, but it’s a foil to joy.’”

It is an extraordinary piece of work. Musically it’s a colossal step up, reminiscent of recent albums by Mitski (‘Puberty 2’), Angel Olsen (‘My Woman’) and labelmate Julien Baker (‘Turn out the Lights’). The subject matter is heavy, but it’s never a dreary listen. In fact, it’s charming, funny even – like a brave smile emerging through a curtain of tears. And Dacus has a gift for lyric writing; like the eloquent way she pays tribute to the humility shown by her dying grandmother on ‘Pillar of Truth’. From first to final note it’s evocative and powerful. “The first time I tasted somebody else’s spit I had a coughing fit,” goes the LP’s opening line in ‘Night Shift’. “If past you were to meet future me,” she sings on the final line of the closing title track, “would you be holding me now?”

It’s heartening to hear that the contents of Dacus’ NYE tarot reading were largely positive. The forecast noted that she should enjoy the proceeds of her hard work, but that “something horrible happens in the summer, then there’s kind of a rebirth, growing back into, like, life in an even more knowledgeable and peace-oriented way.” Dacus is about to leave, and picks up a bag of books she’s been keeping underneath the cafe table.

“It could be wrong,” she says. “I’m not superstitious. I’m taking it in. When that does happen I hope I can take my own advice – let it be what it is, and look past it eventually

(x) 3/14/18

[ericdeggans]

Why hoping Lily Gladstone won an Oscar does not equal valuing race over talent.

Social media is never a great place to have discussions about race and culture. The real issues at hand are way too nuanced and detailed for outrage factories like X/Twitter and Instagram to handle.

Still, I was disappointed to see so many people – perhaps willfully – missing the point online when discussion rose after the Oscars about Lily Gladstone failing to win best actress honors.

No doubt, a win for Gladstone – who would have been the first Native American woman to earn a major acting Oscar – also would have felt like a serious triumph for champions touting the power of diversity in film.

Feeling the love big time today, especially from Indian Country. Kittō”kuniikaakomimmō”po’waw - seriously, I love you all ❤️ (Better believe when I was leaving the Dolby Theater and walked passed the big Oscar statue I gave that golden booty a little Coup tap - Count: one 😉)

— Lily Gladstone (@lily_gladstone) March 12, 2024

Those of us who clock these things regularly knew that Emma Stone’s turn in Poor Things was most likely to spoil that scenario. Stone offered a showy-yet-accomplished performance as a singular character in an ambitious, creatively weird production. A much-loved past winner delivering a career-best effort, she was just the kind of nominee that Oscar loves to reward. And, as Vulture pointed out, modern Oscar voters seem to enjoy turning against expectations in big moments like this.

But when I expressed those feelings online – that Stone was marvelous and more than earned the award, but the Oscar academy really missed a chance to make history by overlooking Gladstone’s more subtle, quietly powerful turn in a better movie – the knives came out.

The gist of most negative reactions was the implication that I and others lamenting her loss were insisting that ethnicity should trump talent. As if the only or most important reason that an indigenous woman could be nominated for such a lofty award, is by people trying to bring social justice to the Oscars. (I guess Gladstone’s wins as best actress at the Golden Globes and Screen Actors Guild awards, among others, were also nods to diversity?)

As if it couldn’t be possible that perhaps -- just perhaps -- some racial cultural preferences were mixed up in Oscar voters’ attraction to the story of a beautiful, young white woman who has loads of sex while learning to define herself in a male dominated world.

What really disappointed me, however, was reading an analysis which reached all the way back to the 2017 Oscars to imply that one reason Barry Jenkins’ masterpiece Moonlight won best picture honors over La La Land was the pressure to bring social justice to the Oscars.

Talk about missing the point by a mile. What I’m driving at, when I advocate for contenders like Gladstone, Barry Jenkins and Jeffrey Wright, isn’t a finger on the scale to make up for past exclusion.

It’s a plea for Oscar voters to see these performances the way I and so many other people actually see them.

I still remember watching last year’s version of The Color Purple in a screening alongside lots of folks from Black fraternity and sorority organizations. And when the moment arrived where Danielle Brooks’ character intoned about her husband, “I loves Harpo — God knows I do — but I’ll kill him dead before I let him or anybody beat me,” it felt like the whole theater said those words with her. That’s how iconic those lines -- first spoken on film by Oprah Winfrey in the 1985 production – have become for Black America.

That same feeling came after I first saw Cord Jefferson’s brilliant American Fiction, centered on a frustrated, floundering Black writer who creates a stereotypical parody of a Black novel as a dark joke, only to see it become a best seller. I felt as if Jefferson had pulled the same bait-and-switch with his movie that his lead character managed onscreen – using the outrageous premise to draw us all into a more subtle and deliberately powerful story of a Black man struggling to connect with his family after huge losses.

I needed three attempts to get through watching all of Gladstone’s work in Killers of the Flower Moon. Not because the movie was so long I had to “get my mail forwarded to the theater,” like Oscars host Jimmy Kimmel joked. But because it was so hard for me to watch a film centered on the historic exploitation and murder of Native American people by white men.

It sounds like a simple idea, but it’s worth repeating: evocative moments in films will speak differently to different people.

Sometimes, when I’m pushing for a win in an awards category, or championing a particular project, it’s not because I’m putting a finger on the scale for the sake of equality. It’s because I’m more invested in that story than some others because of who I am. And I’m challenging some people, who might not see their cultural preferences as preferences, to consider exactly why they love one thing over another.

In many ways, it is sad to see great artists pitted against each other in these contests. Comparing the delightful, dangerous absurdity of Poor Things to the gritty, punishing tone in Killers of the Flower Moon feels like a fool’s errand, anyway.

But with so much that comes from an Oscar win – including proof that inclusion brings success, accolades and a great argument for more equity – it is important to understand why some people value some performances.

And part of living in a diverse society means valuing the wide range of opinions and reactions, not shrugging off those that don’t fit your worldview.

[justrainandcoffee]

The Wandering Jew (Alfie Solomons x fem!OC)

"Welcome to end of the World", Alfie said.

Alfie x Rose Masterlist

Summary: It was like an apocalyptic movie. First it wasn't that bad, or that was people thought, until it was that bad. Rose landed in London with the idea of returning home a week and a half later, but few days after that, the PM decided to close everything. His flight was cancelled and getting a new one was an impossible mission. The world is facing a new era and she's there trapped in an Inn, in a distant city with a complete stranger and his dog.

Warnings: Just topics related to covid-19.

Words: 2K. || I'm rewriting the first chapters I posted last year. I changed several things and I'm happier now. You can find the rest of their modern story here.

Series masterlist.

18th March 2020.

The world was starting to panic because of the new virus created in China. Or maybe it was a sick bat that, like a domino effect, caused thousands of deaths already. China was closed, countries around it, too. Italy was collapsing slowly and the WHO already declared that this new virus, called COVID-19, was a pandemic.

Yet, millions of people continued with their lives as always. Working, going to classes, visiting friends or relatives and others, like Rose, were travelling.

Born in London in 1988, Rose Coldwell was returning to her city after eight years living in New York where she moved with her mother and two brothers. She received an important job offer back then and the money was beneficial for the four of them. Louis, her youngest brother went to high school and Samuel, the second brother, begun to study law in a good college there. Now the youngest was studying architecture and Samuel was part of a law firm in Manhattan.

Rose, on the other hand, ran her own fashion blog and had a small business. Nothing too extraordinary, but something that made her happy. After several years of sending mails and filling out forms to be part of any international fashion event and equal numbers of rejections, she sent a mail to be part of an international convention there in London and she was accepted. 2020, it was going to be an unforgettable year, she thought.

And she was right… but the reasons were going to be quite different.

The plane landed and she felt she was returning home like the prodigal son, or daughter. Not even once since she left the country she returned there and it was a pleasant feeling to be back on her land.

Some people around her in the airport were walking fast avoiding the multitude. Some were wearing masks, some not. A woman wearing one was offering alcohol to sanitize people's hands. An old man sneezed and caused several disgusted faces from people around him.

'Probably he's just allergic,' she thought.

While she was waiting for her baggage, she checked her phone. Her mother called her several times and also one of her brothers. She ignored them for now, once she was in her bedroom, she'd be able to call them.

"I think he needs to close everything."

Rose heard two men talking near her, one already had his suitcase, but the other not.

"Johnson already denied that, Luke. We're safe, he said."

"And you believe him?" the one named Luke, asked. "Give the virus a couple of days and we're doom, Fred."

Rose's heart started to beat fast. The fact that she was on the other side of the ocean away from her family, suddenly terrified her. But she shooed those thoughts from her mind. The UK under a strict lockdown sounded ridiculous.

.

The Wandering Jew was an Inn that opened its doors in 2017. The most popular in all Candem Town and its surroundings. Rated by its guests with five stars in websites like booking.com and full of positive feedback.

The Wandering Jew had over 60 rooms and five of them were almost a suite. Not like a the ones you would find in the most expensive hotels, but still quite elegant.

But most of all, The Wandering Jew had a man named Alfie Solomons, the owner.

Alfie bought the building, that was about to be demolished, in 2016 and hired people to reconstruct it. From engineers and architects to construction workers. One and a half years later, it was finished it. It costed him several thousands pounds but it was worth and he was happy with it.

His apartment was above the Inn, so he never really left that place, except to walk his dog and closest friend: Cyril. Every late afternoon it was common to see both of them walking out the Inn to go to a park and spend an hour or two there.

During the day, while Alfie was behind the reception counter, Cyril usually was sleeping next to his feet or greeting some guests.

And that was exactly what Cyril did that 18th of March.

The reception was empty in that moment, most of the guests were out visiting some places and few others were sleeping or at least they were in their bedrooms. Cyril had been chewing his favourite tennis ball, when he heard a taxi and he stood up quickly. The dog ran towards the glass door and spied from there. Alfie barely paid attention to him.

Cyril was excited. He didn't know her, but the dog was still happy. He could smell her as soon as she left the taxi and now that he could see her, his tail was wagging faster than before. His excitement caused to Alfie to finally raise his eyes from the newspaper and put attention to Cyril who was now hopping.

Alfie saw Rose for the first time while she was pushing the glass door with her body. In one hand she had her baggage and in the other her phone. She was speaking with someone and was clearly upset. And had every reason to be mad. The one on the other side of the line, was a bastard whose only purpose in his life was to harass her. No matter how many times she blocked him, he always get a new number to call her.

"Go and fuck yourself, dickhead!"

Alfie was amused, without no doubts that was the best entrance ever. And a very pretty one.

He saw her sliding her phone in her pocket and then watching at Cyril who seemed to be more than happy after she petted him gently. Cyril ran towards Alfie and barked at him.

"Did you see her? Did you?" He seemed to say.

"Calm down, boy," Alfie said to the animal and then he looked at her who was already in front of him at the reception counter. "I'm sorry, he's usually quieter."

"Don't worry, he's nice! And I love dogs." Rose smiled at him and he did the same. "I booked for a room online, two weeks ago. Coldwell is my last name," she told him.

After giving him her ID, and while he was checking the information she paid attention to the place. She had already seen several photos online and she liked it but the Inn was really nice. The paintings on the walls were warm and several represented the sea. A plant over the counter called Wandering Jew, like the Inn itself, captured her attention. Her mother used to have that kind of plans when they lived in London. She asked herself if the Inn's name was because of those plants or there was another reason.

"Everything is okay, Ms. Coldwell," he said giving her ID back and also a key "Room 44. Welcome and I hope you enjoy your days here."

"Thanks! I will!"

"Every room has a phone that communicates directly with this one," he said pointing at a black one over the counter, "if you need anything you can call me... us. Call us."

Rose chuckled and nodded "Thanks…"

"Alfred. Alfie."

"Thanks, Alfie."

_

Two days later, the 20th of March, it was obvious that things were out of control. Hospitals were saturated, the numbers of sick people were increasing, flights become to be a necessity and there weren't enough planes. Countries like Italy, Greece and France were collapsing under the virus. And several of them closed their frontiers. Boris Johnson had already a rope around his neck but he refused to start a quarantine yet.

"No, I'm not admitting new guests," Alfie said to the person who called the Inn "I'm sorry."

His right hand, Ollie, was next to him. Both of them were waiting news from the government but there was nothing except empty words and promises about a bright future.

The convention were Rose had to go was cancelled because the organisers were sick and it was suspended. And in top of that she received an email saying that her original flight to return home was cancelled. The company gave her the money back but they didn't say anything about a reschedule.

She returned to the Inn that afternoon only to see in the TV that was in the reception, that there were riots everywhere. Demanding a lockdown, demanding more medical assistance and some demanded Johnson's and the Queen's heads.

Both men, Rose and an old woman were paying attention to the BBC journalist who was in front of one of the hospitals.

"Welcome to the end of the world," Alfie commented.

He wasn't that wrong.

The night of the 22th of March, it was chaotic. Finally the lockdown was imminent and some people was already leaving the Inn. Ollie, who worked the night shift, was giving them their money back for the days that they couldn't stay. That night Rose didn't sleep. She tried to get a flight and she could hear her mother's voice in her head "you should listen to me."

And yes, Mary Coldwell was right but it was too late now for any regrets. Rose needed to return with her family, the thing was how.

The next morning it was officially confirmed the beginning of the quarantine. Alfie again behind the counter, was attending the remaining guests who were living the Inn. Including those who refused to leave. One particular woman was complaining about the lockdown and she was basically blaming Alfie because of that.

Alfie was trying to remain calmed but this Karen wasn't making things easy.

"You can't expelled me like that. I paid for my bedroom for three weeks and I've been here for only one. I want to stay here for three weeks!"

"But you can't. You can go to 10 Downing Street and talk with the Prime Minister about your holidays, if you want. I'm just a citizen following these new rules, ma'am. Pick up your belongings and get in your car and return home. Stay there until the Quarantine is over."

Rose was sitting on one of the armchairs at the reception. Phone in hand, refreshing the airlines website every two seconds, but not avail. Everything was collapsed and there wasn't any flights. The news showed people sleeping on floors and she knew that was her fate and she was really upset. So hearing that woman was ending with her patience.

"I'm going to sue you, you'll see! And you're going to regret it! This is a complete nonsense! There's no such thing as a virus!! It's the media! And the left and…"

"Shut the fuck up, for once! Fuck!"

Both Alfie and the woman stared at Rose who was frowning. The first one smiled, but the woman seemed offended.

"I didn't pay to be insultated!"

"I'm doing this for free," Rose replied.

Gasping, the woman warned Alfie with a lawyer one last time and left the Inn, according to her, to search a better place to stay. She found none.

The rest of the guests left the Inn without drama and by 4pm only Rose remained there. From all the guests that The Wandering Jew had there at the moment, she was the only one living in United States, the rest were all over Britain. In consequence, the only one having problems was Rose.

"Any luck?" Alfie asked watching her with her phone still in hand.

"No. Not really. My brother is trying to help from his home but he's not having luck either."

"You can stay here for tonight if you want," Alfie said.

"I was planning to go to the airport and stay there."

"Sleeping on the cold tiles in middle of a pandemic? I'm sorry but it sounds risky."

"But…"

"I hanged the sign. For everyone here, the Inn is closed. Don't worry."

"Just for tonight, I promise," she said.

Alfie agreed.

"Just tonight."

How wrong both of them were.

[nerdygaymormon]

Congratulations to Nepal!

Here's a brief history leading up to today.

Nepal has tried to stamp out social discrimination ever since a decade-long Maoist rebellion ended in 2006 and the 239-year-old Hindu monarchy was dismantled in 2008.

In 2007, Nepal repealed laws against gay sex and introduced several laws which protected "gender and sexual minorities". The Supreme Court ruled later that year for the government to create laws to protect LGBTI rights, and for the government to form a committee to look into legalizing same-sex marriage. Successive governments failed to change the law on same-sex marriage. 

A lesbian couple held a traditional Hindu marriage ceremony in 2011, but the marriage has no legal status in Nepal. More and more public parades and unofficial weddings started being held in Nepal.

A new constitution was adopted in 2015 which recognized LGBT rights as fundamental rights, and while it didn't specifically list same-sex marriage, it did list several other rights, such as being able to acquire a citizenship certificate according to one's gender identity.

In July 2017, Monica Shahi and Ramesh Nath, successfully registered their marriage. Shahi is a third gender person, with their sex recorded as "other" on their official identity documents. The Nepal Home Ministry said the marriage could be invalid.

In October 2017, the Supreme Court ruled that the government was wrong to deny a Visa to the American wife of a Nepalese citizen. The government argued it rejected the application since Nepal doesn't recognize same-sex marriages. The Supreme Court ruled that the law is as long as they have a valid marriage license, a foreigner who is married to a Nepali citizen is eligible for the Visa, the rules do not specify that the foreign national must be either same or opposite gender. Furthermore, it pointed to the Nepal constitution that an LGBT citizen is entitled to live life with dignity without discrimination.

March 2023, the Supreme Court ordered the government to recognize the marriage of a Nepali citizen and his German husband and to issue a spousal visa. It also directed the government to draft legislation for full marriage equality in Nepal

In June of 2023, the Supreme Court ordered the government to make necessary arrangements to temporarily create a separate register for marriages of "sexual minorities and non-traditional couples" until lawmakers come up with a new legal framework to uphold such unions permanently.

Nov 29, 2023, a same-sex couple officially registered their marriage

[texasobserver]

“The Long Road to a Juneteenth Museum” by James Rusell, from the January/February 2024 issue of Texas Observer Magazine:

(Museum renderings courtesy BIG)

When Fort Worth activist Opal Lee was invited in 2021 to stand alongside President Joe Biden as he signed the bill making Juneteenth a federal holiday, “I could’ve done a holy dance,” the 97-year-old told the Texas Observer recently. “But the kids said they didn’t want me twerking.”

Dancing—and twerking—aside, Lee is clearly used to ambitious projects. She’s often referred to as the grandmother of Juneteenth, mostly because of her 1,400-mile walk, Fort Worth to Washington, D.C., September 2016 to January 2017, seeking recognition for the day that has come to represent freedom for American Blacks. Although the Emancipation Proclamation took effect in 1863, slaves couldn’t be freed where the countryside was still under Confederate control. That ended in Texas on June 19, 1865, when Union troops arrived in Galveston and brought the news.

The latest project of Lee and her allies, to create a museum in Fort Worth honoring Juneteenth, is turning out to be equally ambitious. What began as a modest collection in a small house in the neighborhood where Lee grew up has become a key part of an effort to revitalize Fort Worth’s Historic Southside neighborhood. The most recent and much grander incarnation of the museum is due to open in 2025.

Along the way, the honors paid to Lee—a Nobel Peace Prize nomination, a painting of Lee for the National Portrait Gallery, and the Emmy Award-winning documentary Opal’s Walk for Freedom (2022)—have helped bring attention to that neighborhood, just as they did to the Juneteenth campaign. But tragedy and poverty have held hands there for a long time, and revitalization efforts sometimes find tough sledding.

Lee’s roots run deep into the soil of the Southside and into personal memories of another June 19. On that day in 1939, a mob of racists—about 500 people, according to the Fort Worth Star-Telegram—raided the house there that Lee, her parents, and two brothers, had recently moved into. The family promptly moved out.

A portrait of Opal Lee from the National Portrait Gallery (Courtesy of Talley Dunn Gallery)

The raid was traumatic. Lee told the Star-Telegram in 2003 that afterward her family was “homeless and then living in houses so ramshackle they were impossible to keep clean.” The experience led her to become first an advocate for affordable housing and later an activist regarding homelessness, hunger, and Juneteenth. 

Eighty years after the raid, another violent incident a few blocks away would inspire a new generation of Southside activists.

Lee, a retired elementary school teacher and counselor in the Fort Worth school district, also spearheaded the rebuilding of the Metroplex Food Bank (now the Community Food Bank), founded the urban Opal’s Farm, and served on numerous local boards, including the Tarrant Black Historical and Genealogical Society.

Through all that time, she worked to draw attention to Juneteenth. “She was always teaching about Juneteenth” in middle school, said Sedrick Huckaby, the Fort Worth artist who painted Lee for the National Portrait Gallery. “She was always teaching about our heritage and about taking pride in who you are.” Allies like the late Rev. Dr. Ron Myers, a Mississippi doctor and minister, lobbied legislatures across the country and in 1997 helped pass a congressional joint resolution recognizing the holiday. Lee worked on building local support.

In 2014, on the 150th anniversary of Juneteenth, she asked friends and family to donate to a celebration of that, in lieu of buying presents on her birthday. A story in Fort Worth Weekly called her “part grandma, part General Patton” in leading the effort. Two years later, she was putting on her walking shoes for her own personal march on Washington. “If a lady in tennis shoes walked to Washington, D.C, maybe people would pay attention,” she said in her deep, raspy voice, recalling her motivations for the trek. It took another four years after her walk, but the national holiday happened.

Juneteenth has been celebrated by Black Americans for more than 100 years, including in Fort Worth. Texas was the first to designate it a state holiday, in 1980. Since 2020, 26 states, propelled by the murders of Black citizens George Floyd and Breonna Taylor at the hands of police, have followed Texas’ lead, according to the Pew Research Center. 

In Fort Worth, Lee and volunteer Don Williams had been working for years to gather artifacts related to local Black history and Juneteenth, including paintings by local Black artist Manet Harrison Fowler, scrapbooks chronicling local Juneteenth celebrations, and memorabilia from the locally filmed movie Miss Juneteenth. Lee inherited a house from her late husband Dale, a retired school district principal, and turned it into the first version of the Juneteenth museum. It housed the growing collection and hosted multiple Juneteenth events and, at one point, computer classes.

While the collection grew, the building, run by volunteers, was deteriorating. Like most public places, it closed in 2020 as COVID-19 spread. After the pandemic, it did not reopen, and the collection was moved out. Then early on the morning of January 11, 2023, it caught on fire. The remains were demolished to make way for the new museum. 

Around 2019, Lee, granddaughter Dione Sims, and former Fort Worth Chamber of Commerce executive Jarred Howard had started talking about the possibility of a new Juneteenth Museum. They began buying land around the site of the old house. Howard long had a vision to help his old stomping grounds and wanted to both commemorate the holiday and spur economic development. Well acquainted with developers and architects from his Chamber days, he solicited requests for proposals for a building that could meet those goals. First, local architect Paul Dennehy designed a five-story building with a gallery, event space, and residences. In early 2020 it was pitched to neighborhood association leaders. Too tall, they said, and out of step with the neighborhood. In 2021, local architects Bennett Partners produced a plan for a playful mixed-use campus, estimated to cost about $30 million to build. 

In 2022, a new plan, bigger in scope than Lee could have imagined two decades ago, was unveiled. The current proposal is for a 5-acre complex housing a National Juneteenth Museum, with a theater, restaurant, art galleries, and a “business incubator” space to spur Southside entrepreneurship, designed by the internationally renowned architecture firm Bjarke Ingels Group (BIG). The price tag is an estimated $70 million. So far, the nonprofit National Juneteenth Museum, formed in 2020, has raised about $30 million of that, mostly from major donors and foundations, Lee said.

Douglass Alligood, a partner at BIG and the chief architect of the currently planned museum, got an earful during his field work on the project, including from Lee’s friends and supporters. In multiple visits, he met with Lee as well as neighborhood leaders. The conclusion:  The museum had to represent the community and not be divorced from it.

“We were inspired by the neighborhood typology—the homes that feature historic gabled silhouettes and protruding porches, also known in context as a ‘shotgun’ house,” he said. “Neighborhood groups and community members found that, together, the BIG and KAI Enterprises [the local architecture firm] design teams demonstrate a deep understanding of the Juneteenth story and commitment to work with the local community to celebrate the holiday’s history and local culture of the Historic Southside.” 

Eleven rectangular glass-clad building segments, with peaks and valleys of varying heights, will create a star-shaped courtyard in the middle. “The ‘new star,’ the nova star represents a new chapter for the African-Americans looking ahead towards a more just future,” Alligood said.

Fine, locals said, but what people there really need is a grocery store.

It was a cold morning in early October, and Patrice Jones needed help unloading herbs. She was in the courtyard of Connex, a new three-story business and retail complex about two blocks from the planned site of the museum. Jones and a group of volunteers, mostly in their 20s and 30s, from Southside Community Gardens, are planting their 79th and 80th backyard vegetable gardens in the neighborhood, she said proudly. It’s pick-up day for those who’ve already established gardens.

The initiative is part of the larger By Any Means 104 effort, named for the 76104 zip code, and co-founded by Jones in 2020. The group’s focus on local issues includes addressing the lack of fresh food in the area instead of waiting for a grocery store. Jones, a feisty advocate and former claims adjuster, has run it full time since 2021. If the city can’t get them a grocery store, she said, they’ll teach residents to grow their own food.

The Juneteenth Museum is important, Jones said, between handing out herbs and greeting volunteers. But in her circles, she said, people also ask, “Can we get a health clinic? Can we get a pharmacy?” And of course, “Can we get a grocery store?”

According to a 2018 University of Texas Southwestern Medical Center report, the 76104 zip code has the lowest life expectancy rate in Texas and a high maternal mortality rate. It’s also a victim of what Jones calls “food apartheid,” a term she prefers to “food desert,” an indicator of an area with little access to fresh foods. Desert implies it’s natural; apartheid, she said, is an intentional act. She blames city government and its white-dominated culture.

But hunger is not a sufficient reason for a grocery chain to decide where to open a store, even if it could be part of a historical complex.

Grocery store owners “use different metrics,” including population density, said Stacy Marshall, president of Southeast Fort Worth, Inc., an economic development group. “We can’t yet make a compelling case.” The area needs more housing, he said. “Build density—rooftops—and grocery stores come.”

Marshall is a force in bringing new development to the southeast part of the city, a large historically and ethnically diverse area that includes the Historic Southside.

 Since he took the job a decade ago, “development has gone gangbusters,” he said. But development has also brought gentrification: “It’s so expensive to purchase dirt here and get a single-family home,” he said. One Dallas real estate firm put together a $70 million deal for a mixed-use development in the area, but it has stalled.

The Juneteenth museum site is within the Evans-Rosedale urban village, a city designation focused on bringing investment to the area. It’s seeing an uptick in interest from developers, but nowhere near what’s been promised by local officials.

“There have been attempts in the past. There’s the Evans Avenue Plaza, but most people don’t know about it,” said Bob Ray Sanders, communications director for the Fort Worth Black Chamber of Commerce. The plaza, also part of the Evans-Rosedale village, is meant to be a community gathering space and includes a new library. About a mile away is the Hazel Harvey Peace Center for Neighborhoods, which houses numerous city offices.

Many of the neighborhood’s nagging problems date to the mid-20th century, when integration meant, ironically, the loss of many black-owned businesses, while highway construction—as it did in many American cities—cut off Fort Worth’s Black community from downtown and wealthier neighborhoods. “By doing that, people on the Westside [turned] a blind eye to people on the Eastside,” Sanders said.

Housing construction seems to be picking up, mostly on an infill basis. But while developers are buying homes, Marshall said, they are mostly sitting on them and waiting until they can get higher prices.

Longtime assistant city manager Fernando Costa said development work in historic urban districts presents more challenges than creating new neighborhoods from pastureland. Beyond the physical complications of older infrastructure, historic preservation concerns and, often, environmental problems left over from earlier development, Costa said, such projects “require getting existing neighborhood involvement.”  

There’s also the issue of crime. According to the Fort Worth Police Department, nearly 560 crimes were reported in the 76104 zip code between mid-May and late November 2023. Assault, larceny, drug and alcohol violations, and vehicle break-ins made up more than three-quarters of the reports. That’s compared to 165 in the same time period in the mostly-white, wealthy 76109 zip code in West Fort Worth.

In the early morning of October 12, 2019, white police officer Aaron Dean, responding to a welfare check at the house, killed 28-year Black woman Atatiana Jefferson, who was playing video games with her nephew. Dean was later found guilty of manslaughter and sentenced to 11 years in prison.

Jefferson’s murder lit a fire under a younger generation of activists who aren’t waiting for change, such as Jones, who also worked to get police accountability in response to the murder, and Angela Mack, whose doctoral thesis is about Jefferson and the neighborhood.

“I’m a good, ol’ fashioned Funkytown Black nerd,” said Mack, an instructor in the comparative race and ethnic studies department at Texas Christian University, where she received her doctorate in English rhetoric.

After Jefferson’s murder, Mack changed her thesis topic to address that tragedy. She saw that, between her mother and the national media, two different stories were being told.

“When we’re thinking about the Southside, we think about Fairmount and the Medical District in terms of revitalization. But when you cross the highway, you’re in an area with crime and poverty,” she said, drinking a latte at Black Coffee, one of the few coffee shops in the area. “When people [look] at the community, people are looking at what’s not here. It’s a deficit model of communication instead of seeing the good that’s here.                                                                

“I’m not anti-development,” she said, but economic development shouldn’t be the museum’s purpose.

“When you’re building something, it should not be [a question of] how many people we employ, but how does it help define the Southside? The development will come. I’m concerned about who controls the narrative,” she said. “The main focus should be how does this speak about our history and heritage.”

Jones also worries that history will be lost. She’s afraid that rising property values will push out poor people.

Sims has heard those concerns before. Property taxes go up with any new development, she said. And everyone’s going to complain, even if they want change.

When the museum opens in 2025, Lee just wants to make sure she’s there to see it.

“I’m looking forward to it,” she said. She’d be 99. “I hope I’m still here.”

[softtcurse]

We’re just creatures of habit

Your phone starts ringing too loudly for your liking. The crips cold air in your room felt so nice in contrast to the hotness that enveloped the Atlanta air outside. You sighed heavily and immediately rubbed your eyes to get them adjusted to your phone. The name ‘Jack’ entered your vision. Sitting up, you felt your white satin nightgown slide down your shoulder and you were quick to fix it. It wasn’t new to you that he was calling you. Especially at 2 am, after he’s been in the studio all night and he’s tired from the day. Sometimes you give him that sense of domestication he needs.

You and Jack go back a while. You met him in 2017 and you instantly grew a connection with the Louisville native. You became rather close in a few months, bestfriends even you might even say. He was everything you imagined when you pictured of a man you wanted to bring back home to your family. They loved him equally as much. Even now that you two were no longer together they still asked about him, as if they were waiting for him to show up with you one day. It hurt to see their sad expressions everytime you went to see them on a holiday and they would love over your shoulder and their faces noticeably saddened at his absence. March of 2020 you were Jack Harlow’s girlfriend. After much back and forth and messing around he had family asked you.

You had happily accepted. You were always taking care of him, making sure he was eating and drinking enough water. When you weren’t with him you would text Urban and made sure he was doing okay.

In theory you did everything you thought you had to do. So how in the world did a year into your official relationship with the man of your dreams did your world start to fall apart slowly and mockingly. Life started to laugh in your face.

Jack went from being the most attentive boyfriend you could ever want, to ignoring you for days on end while he wasn’t home. No phone calls or even good morning texts. You remember crying yourself to sleep at night holding a pillow that he slept on from his side of the bed, it lingered with his scent and you would try to make yourself feel better.

A year into your relationship with Jack Harlow and he came home one night with heavy eyes and a confession for you.

He had cheated on you.

So carelessly, he told you he didn’t meant it. The numbness that you felt was nothing compared to have tired you already were. Your eyes stung with tears and you heard his apology in pieces.

‘She was just there’ Had you not been?

‘I wasn’t drunk, I was just stupid’ you couldn’t help but to laugh at that one.

That night you ended things with him briefly, packing your things and moving into your best friend’s house temporarily until you found your own. You lied to everyone just to save face for him. You told all of them including your own family that you had ended things with him, simply because you didn’t feel the same. They all frowned at you, such a good guy you let go in their eyes. They didn’t hate you, after all you were their friend and family first before you were his. They supported you. But they couldn’t wrap their heads around the fact that you had everything planned with him. Your life together, a future that you wanted to badly. Only to end up heartbroken and isolated.

That was all a year ago, and the phone calls every other night by Jack didn’t stop. There was a brief pause in between him dropping his newest album. Which you heard all about, you picked up on a few mentions about your relationship with him in some of the songs. Maybe it did make you feel better but that didn’t stop you from feeling angry.

Contemplating if you should hang up or not, as you did most nights, when you would answer you would only let him hear your voice for a few moments before he would talk. Then you would hang up and end it up no other words spoken to him. Conversations with him made you feel things that you remembered your old self felt. He just ignited something in you that no one would be able to duplicate.

“Hello?” You blinked in the darkness.

You heard a small shuffle before you heard the all too familiar voice.

“Hey”

“What do you want Jack?” It came off very harsh and although you didn’t mean it to sound that way you couldn’t help that it did.

“I just wanted to hear your voice” a pen clicking and you knew he was at the studio. Probably sitting back with his legs crossed and the phone on the table with the speaker on so he could hear every syllable you said better. Because your voice to him was like drugs to a junkie. He just needed it.

“It’s 2:17 am, I was sleeping” You argued. Your eyes rolling and you reached over to turn on the lamp. Moving some items out of your way. You had a long night and finally had some time to sleep even if it was just for an hour or two.

“Im sorry”

“Sorry for what Jack, you’re always sorry about something.”

“Im sorry for everything.”

“You tell me all the time” Your lips started to quiver and you felt a tightness in your chest. Unknown to you Jack had already been crying before he called you. He had spent times where before he called you he would lock himself in the studio bathroom and let it all out. But he refused to let you hear it, he had no reason to cry in front of you. After all he did what he did to himself.

“I’ve already you that I don’t care anymore Jack, it’s what ever now. It’s been a year.” You tried to reason. Find some sort of closure for the both of you, and you had forgiven him a while ago. You never hated him to begin with. You just hated what he put you through.

“I love you so much ma, I’m serious. I mean that shit with everything in me. I know you don’t like thinking about that night but I think about it everytime I go to sleep. You’re too good to me, even after I did all this shit to you” He admitted.

“Can we have this conversation another night please, I don’t feel like crying right now Jack, I’m so tired” You croaked out, looking down on your lap and seeing a few stray tears drip from your eyes.

“Yeah baby that’s fine, Im sorry again I was just thinking about you real heavy tonight”

“It’s okay” You sniffled and took a breath, stopping another anxiety attack from flooding your brain. “Goodnight”

“Goodnight, love you” There was no expectation for you to say it back. And you didn’t. A click of your phone and you ended the call. His name leaving your screen and you were met your wallpaper.

Looking to your right you looked at your sleeping baby. Swaddled in her favorite blanket and sleeping peacefully beside you. Not knowing the cold world that awaited her, you would do everything to protect her, you were the only parent she knew.

The world could be holding you by your last straw but knowing you had a piece of him with you made you feel so much better.

Even if he didn’t know her.

[elennemigo]

“Paddington” producer-distributor Studiocanal is gearing up to shoot “How To Stop Time,” starring Benedict Cumberbatch and with D.C. Moore (“Mary & George”) and Tomas Alfredson (“Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy”) on board as key creative talent.

Production on the title by Studiocanal and SunnyMarch will be announced by CEO Anna Marsh on Monday at her keynote at Cannes’ MipTV trade fair. 

Based on Matt Haig’s bestselling novel, “How To Stop Time” is written by Moore with Alfredson set to direct. Filming will take place in London and other parts of Europe in 2024, said Marsh. 

Published in 2017, “How To Stop Time” turns on Tom Hazard, a London high-school history teacher, apparently 41, but suffering from anageria, or a very slow ageing process, which means he has lived since the 1500s. Affected by a life of perpetual loss, Tom is part of a like-conditioned secret power elite whose only rule is: Never fall in love.Then he meets a captivating French teacher at his school who seems equally fascinated by him.

Robyn Slovo (“Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy”) is series producer alongside Cumberbatch, Adam Ackland, Claire Marshall and Leah Clarke for SunnyMarch (“Patrick Melrose,” “The Child in Time”). Moore, Alfredson, Haig and Jamie Byng executive produce. Ron Halpern, Studiocanal EVP global production and SVP global production Joe Naftalin executive produce and are overseeing for Studiocanal.  

“Losing his loved ones, his existence is in many senses one of perpetual loss. So you can imagine Benedict being absolutely perfect for the role,” Marsh told Variety in the run-up to her keynote. 

“How to Stop Time” will also key in on a love story that, for reasons beyond its lovers’ control, seemingly cannot last. “There are many themes that hit home,” she added.

Cumberbatch said that when he first read “How to Stop Time,” “the potential of this story was immediately obvious.” “In his inimitable style, Matt once again explores what it is to be human and what it is to live a life – a very long one in this case – with pathos, insight, humor, drama and inspiration,” the actor-producer continued. 

He also praised Alfredson for being “the perfect person to capture the scale, tension, and sense of humour alive in DC Moore’s adaptation.”

Canal+ will air “How to Stop Time” in France, throughout Africa and in its six territories in Eastern Europe. Beyond the Canal+ footprint, Studiocanal will look to take the series onto the open market.

As it looks to build an even larger presence in the English-language scripted space and address international audiences, Marsh confirmed to Variety that Studiocanal has acquired an equity stake in London-based Strong Film & Television, co-founded in late 2020 by “Broadchurch” director James Strong and Matt Tombs, a former executive at the BBC and Paramount.

“We have the appetite to make more globally-reaching shows, and a lot of the talent for those kinds of international shows is definitely in London. There’s a lot of great talent there,” March said.

[remembertheplunge]

If you don't help me, I'll sleep in the trash dumpster

October 27, 1986. Monday

I met a guy tonight as I took out the trash. He had a big chain around his neck. He wore a leather coat, and a dragon ring. It was another sad session of “ I have no place to stay, no food. If you don’t help me, I’ll sleep in the trash dumpster. He showed me a box of record albums that he had been carrying around. Into the box I delved. And, there were his worldly possessions: the records (probably hot ((stolen) but maybe not. “They are original 60’s stuff” he said. Also in the box was a Sony walkman (his pride and joy) and an old plaid shirt. These were his things in life. And, as I picked through, he told me that he was a Vietnam War  Veteran. He had been a prisoner of war for 2 years. He was in the service from 1968-1972. He is 36 years old. He has shaggy, shoulder length brown hair and deep, dark, knowing eyes. A good person. He sang he said. His old lady had just thrown him out. “Do you know where F & M records is?” Will you give me a ride?” He asked. 

I went up to get him $5 for a record. I gave him the money. He refused to give me the record. He was demanding $10. I said “honor is at stake here. Give me the record”. He did. The situation was a bit tense.

Last night a man screamed many times “Jesus Christ, fuck you for leaving me in the alley with no food, and to pick through garbage. Fuck you. Do you hear me?”. This went on for some time.

And, the shopping carts trundle by constantly. Even after the Truckbugs chewed down another crashing good breakfast, within minutes, the street people were there to sift the residue.

Footsterps again pass beneath my window. The alley—a river of pain and endlessness and satisfaction. In its eddys and flow, one man’s trash turns to crystals of value for another, the bloom instead of the field. A sad endless march. But, life—no less—and, don’t be fooled. There is a sweet dignity there, beneath my window, and within them, too.

End of this part of the entry

Notes: 5/23/2024

I wrote the above 10/27/1986 entry in my apartment in Sacramento, California. The apartment was on the second floor. An alley ran directly behind the apartment. It had a steady stream of homeless running ing throuhgh it, especially at night.

I think what I meant by "trash bugs chewing down breakfast" was trash trucks dumping the trash dumpster in the alley.

In 1986, I had little interest in the homeless. I didn't sleep in the apartment the first night or two out of concerns about the homeless in the alley. During my time living in the apartment between 1986 and 1987, I had few direct contacts with the homeless in the alley.

But, by March of 2017, a little over 30 years later, I had changed. I could "see" the homeless and they could "see" me. Meaning, we were aware of one another as equal. We were human beings. I call my homeless meetings encounters. And, I find that in the encounter, the homeless heal me. I'll blog more about my experiences with he homeless in future blogs.

[overthinkingbelle]

Aaron Tveit appreciation post.

Movie appearances/roles:

2008-Ghost Town (Anesthesiologist)

2010-Howl (Peter Orlovsky)

2011-Girl Walks into a Bar (Henry)

2012-Premium Rush (Kyle)

2012-Les Misérables (Enjolras)

2013-A Dream of Flying (The Young Man) Short film

2015- Big Sky (Pru)

2016-Undrafted (John "Maz" Mazzello)

2016-Better Off Single (Charlie) Previously named Stereotypically You

2017-Created Equal (Tommy Reilly)

2018-Out of Blue (Tony Silvero)

TV roles/appearances:

2009–2012 Gossip Girl (William "Tripp" van der Bilt III) 10 episodes

2010 Ugly Betty (Zachary Boule) Episode: "All the World's a Stage"

2010 Law & Order: Special Victims Unit(Jan Eyck) Episode: "Beef"

2011 Body of Proof (Skip) Episode: "Point of Origin"

2011 Law & Order: Special Victims Unit (Stevie Harris) Episode: "Personal Fouls"

2011 The Good Wife (Spencer Zschau) Episode: "Executive Order 13224"

2013–2015 Graceland (Mike Warren) Main cast; 38 episodes

2016 Grease Live (Danny Zuko) Television movie

2016 BrainDead (Gareth Ritter) Main cast; 13 episodes

2017–21 The Good Fight (Spencer Zschau) 3 episodes

2019 The Code (Matt Dobbins) 5 episodes

2020 One Royal Holiday (Prince James Gallant) Television movie

2021 American Horror Stories (Adam) Episode: "Rubber(wo) Man Part Two", (Jay Gantz) Episode: "Feral"

2021–present Schmigadoon! (Danny Bailey) Main cast; 6 episodes

Theatre works:

2003 Footloose (Garvin) Merry-Go-Round Playhouse [2003 Regional production]

2004 Rent (Steve, u/s Roger, Mark) US national tour [January – December 2004 National tour replacement]

2005–08 Hairspray (Link Larkin) US national tour [August 2005 – July 2006 First national tour replacement], Neil Simon Theatre [July 18, 2006 – January 18, 2007; April 1 – May 4, 2008 Broadway replacement]

2007 Calvin Berger (Matt) Barrington Stage Company: [July 3–14, 2007 Original regional production]

2007 The Three Musketeers (D'Artagnan) North Shore Music Theatre [August 21 – September 9, 2007 Regional production]

2008–10 Next to Normal (Gabe Goodman) Second Stage Theatre [January 16 – March 16,2008 Original Off-Broadway production], Arena Stage [November 21, 2008 – January 18, 2009 Original Washington, D.C. production], Booth Theatre [March 27, 2009 – January 3, 2010 Original Broadway production]

2008 Saved! (Dean) Playwrights Horizons

[May 10 – June 22, 2008 Original Off-Broadway production]

2008–09 Wicked (Fiyero Tigelaar) Gershwin Theatre [June 24 – November 9, 2008;

January 20 – March 9, 2009Broadway replacement]

2009–11 Catch Me If You Can (Frank Abagnale, Jr.) 5th Avenue Theatre [July 28 – August 16, 2009 Original Seattle production] Neil Simon Theatre: [March 11 – September 4, 2011 Original Broadway production]

2010 Rent (Roger Davis) Hollywood Bowl: [August 6–8, 2010 Limited engagement]

2014–15 Assassins (John Wilkes Booth) Menier Chocolate Factory: [November 21, 2014 – February 8, 2015 Off-West End revival]

2017Company (Robert) Barrington Stage Company: [August 10 – September 10, 2017 Regional revival]

2018–22; 2023 Moulin Rouge!(Christian) Emerson Colonial Theatre: [July 10 – August 19, 2018 Original Boston production] Al Hirschfeld Theatre: [June 28, 2019 – March 11, 2020, September 24, 2021 – May 8, 2022, January 17 – April 9, 2023 Original Broadway production; paused due to COVID-19 , Won 2020 Tony Award for Best Actor in a Musical, Returning for limited engagement in 2023]

Feb. 9-May 12, 2023 Sweeney Todd (title role) Broadway revival, Lunt-Fontanne Theater (replacement)

Source: Wikipedia

[tomorrowusa]

« Either one upholds the equal worth of all human lives, opposes war crimes, and despises far-right ethno-nationalist political projects or one doesn't. What's more, cheering (or publicly announcing your refusal to condemn) the murder of children isn’t just morally grotesque but also politically self-defeating.

[ … ]

What we actually witnessed was not "the Palestinians" mounting a violent struggle for justice but a far-right theocratic organization committing mass murder in the name of blood-and-soil nationalism. Hamas’s project is antithetical to the left’s foundational values of secularism, universalism, and egalitarianism. And it is also completely at odds with the progressive vision for Palestinian liberation.

[ … ]

If we posit that some ethnic groups have a unique claim to specific stretches of land, and that they also have the right to commit war crimes so as to secure this heritage, then we will do the Israeli far-right’s ideological work for it. When supposed leftists embrace calls for the expulsion of all Jewish "settlers" from "the river to the sea," they pit one group’s account of why its historical victimization gives it carte blanche to commit ethnic cleansing against another group's account of the same. In a contest between competing visions of ethno-nationalist domination, the Palestinians cannot win. Their primary strength is the moral force of egalitarian universalism; in other words, of the idea that all people are entitled to security, self-government, and equality under the law. »

— Eric Levitz at New York Magazine on how people on the left lose political credibility and the moral high ground by acting as cheerleaders for terrorists.

A relatively long excerpt from a long article.

People who brandish swastikas are Nazis – not progressives.

The bothsiderism about last weekend's murder spree outside Gaza reminds me of Trump's "very fine people on both sides" quip about the Charlottesville Nazi march in 2017.

Hamas is an ethno-fascist group of religious extremists who use the population of Gaza as human shields. There are no elections in Gaza and little freedom to speak of. It's no wonder why fascists like Putin and Iran like Hamas so much.

It is easily possible to show support for the Palestinian people without associating yourself with terrorists committing mass murder.

Yes, You Can Be Pro-Palestine and Anti-Hamas

[saintmeghanmarkle]

When a woman is empowered it changes absolutely everything in the community. by u/Mickleborough

‘When a woman is empowered, it changes absolutely everything in the community.’ PreludePearl dropped this Meghan of wisdom when she visited the University of Johannesburg in October 2019, at a roundtable monologue discussion about access to education gender equality: Town and Country archived / unarchived.The Penny dropsPenny Mordaunt‘s a Tory MP who, amongst other things, was Secretary of State for International Development (Nov 2017 - May 2019).‘I think right now…there is no better time to really continue to shine a light on women feeling empowered…’: First official appearance: Royal Foundation Forum, 28 Feb 2018.Who is Penny? what is she?Mordaunt’s currently the Leader of the House of Commons (the role is to organise business in the House). She was her brother’s primary caregiver at age 15 and supported herself through university as a magician’s assistant.She caught the public‘s eye as ceremonial sword bearer during the coronation of King Charles.After press-ups, training with a replica sword, and pain killers on the day.Mordaunt paid for her outfit out of her own pocket and is auctioning it for charity.Telegraph archived / unarchived post link: https://ift.tt/iQZmTJb author: Mickleborough submitted: March 03, 2024 at 10:09PM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit

[daily-rayless]

10 Years of Hakuno

By whatever unexpected alignment of the stars, 2023 is a significant anniversary year for a lot of my favorite games/characters. So, continuing my series, it's time to celebrate Hakuno Kishinami, specifically the female protagonist of Fate/Extra, a less known entry in the Fate franchise, a last dying gasp from the Playstation Portable generation, and a game whose remake, Fate/Extra Record, goes for literal years without any updates.

But the heroine is great, so let's talk about her.

September 2013. I liked Fate/Extra so much I played it twice back to back, first with Nero, then Emiya. This was drawn during the Emiya run, and I think it's the first picture I did of her.

Like some other female options in JRPGs, female Hakuno gets less official emphasis than her male counterpart. Some people argue, and I see their point, that it shouldn't matter which version is talked about, as in most ways their writing is identical. To a large degree, the difference in gender is only a matter of aesthetics.

March 2014. Evil Hakuno gets to pose with an evil shirtless Emiya.

For me, that only rings true in a perfect world, where male and female characters have a long and equal history of being main characters written with similar depth and attention. But most often, boys get to be the protagonists, and very often the main girl in a game is largely written as his love interest. (Or, worse, all of the girls are his love interests.)

November 2014. Her Command Seal never gets easier to draw.

So just the act of putting a girl at the helm makes her more unique – and more interesting to me. Even if she's only doing what the male protagonist could also do, the fact that she gets to sets her apart. It's a low bar, I know, but it matters to me whenever it's cleared.

June 2015. Tragedy strikes when Hakuno gets blood in her hair.

People might further argue, and I also see their point, that Hakuno, whatever their gender, is a silent protagonist with barely any personality to start with, so how can either version be interesting? And it's true that a lot of Hakuno's personality is just the Basic JRPG Hero Personality. Oh, she has a strong sense of justice? You don't say.

August 2015. Hakuno shares a moment with Julius Harway before he dies. That is, when she kills him. For the second time.

But all character personalities are cliché to some degree, and whether a character succeeds has to do less with tropes and more to do with how those tropes are handled. And something I love about Fate/Extra is Hakuno's running inner monologue as she fumbles, then attempts to finesse, her way through this seven-week death tournament she had no business joining.

? 2015. She deserves more breaks.

Given how much commentary we get from her, I would argue Hakuno is actually very much not a silent protagonist.

November? 2015. Hakuno deploys Unlimited Swiss Rolls Works and her enemies flee before her.

She's funny, sassy, snarky. She's also very relatable. She's kind of a wimp, especially early on. We've built up this idea of antiheroes being badasses like Batman, who feel more like traditional heroes with bad attitudes.

January 2016. I've said it before, but one of the best excuses for drawing Hakuno is all the pretty hair.

Hakuno can't aspire to that. She can't fight, she's not genius-level smart, she's not rich, she has no secret powers or hidden destiny to discover. What she has, and I love this so much, is endless grit. She will keep pushing through until she faceplants in exhaustion, and it's this inner strength, not any magical heritage or secret weapons, that sees her through, wins the admiration of her loved ones, and ultimately makes her heroic.

? 2016. Probably my favorite Hakuno hair art. Also my favorite Hakuno + disembodied hand art.

Another thing I've always liked about her is that she seems so humane – very down to earth and resolved to do the right thing. Which sounds basic, I know. Like all JRPG heroes.

April 2017. I was going through a real art slump during this period, but I still got a lot of joy from drawing Hakuno. Sometimes when things aren't working, it's good to have that one character you can keep falling back on.

But in the original game, and all the way through Fate/Extra CCC and Extella, Hakuno is paired with Servants who are among the most immoral, evil symbols in history. Nero, Tamamo-no-Mae, Attila the Hun. For Gilgamesh and Emiya, they're two of the most immoral/morally questionable figures in the franchise, definitely not known for always doing the right thing. Assuming (as I do) that Hakuno resonated with these Servants through some innate compatibility, I think it's interesting that this small, quiet, humane person is consistently paired with these gray, or darker than gray, Servants. The games themselves don't dig into it too deeply, but I enjoy speculating what their hidden commonalities could be, what the connections and compensations are.

January 2018. More Extella art. If you had told me, back in 2013, there would be four Hakuno titles, I would not have believed you.

(As much as I enjoy Charlie in Fate/Extella: Link, I was disappointed that his arrival broke the streak and gave Hakuno a fairly straightforward “good” Servant.)

December 2020. My favorite of Hakuno's looks is Extella: Link. I like the silly dress and the shoelessness of the original Extella, but putting Hakuno in a vaguely action hero-y outfit hits a good note of cute and silly but still determined.

While Fate/Extra was never a perfect game in my book, it shouldn't be any surprise that Fate/Extra Record has a lot to live up to, and how they choose to depict Hakuno – what they emphasize, what they change – will play a very large role in how much I enjoy it. Of course, just having a release date at this point would be a great start.

June 2023. The first Hakuno I've drawn in a while. It still comes very naturally.

But even if the remake disappoints me, or never materializes, I'll still have the Hakuno of the original game. She's a little nobody with no special skills, but she keeps hacking her way into my brain.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Pedro X. Molina :: @newcounterpoint :: @pxmolina

* * * *

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

April 1, 2024

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

APR 02, 2024

On Tuesday, March 26, Judge Juan Merchan, who is presiding over Trump’s election interference case, put Trump under a gag order to stop his attacks on court staff, prosecutors, jurors, and witnesses. On Wednesday, Trump renewed his attacks on the judge and the judge’s daughter. On Thursday, U.S. District Judge Reggie Walton took the unusual step of talking publicly about what threats of violence meant to the rule of law. Walton, who was appointed to the federal bench by President George W. Bush, told Kaitlan Collins of CNN that threats, especially threats to a judge’s family, undermine the ability of judges to carry out their duties. 

“I think it’s important in order to preserve our democracy that we maintain the rule of law,” Walton said. “And the rule of law can only be maintained if we have independent judicial officers who are able to do their job and ensure that the laws are, in fact, enforced and that the laws are applied equally to everybody who appears in our courthouse.” 

On Friday, former president Trump shared on social media a video of a truck with a decal showing President Joe Biden tied up and seemingly in the bed of the truck, in a position suggesting he was being kidnapped. 

A threat of violence has always been part of Trump’s political performance. In 2016 he urged rallygoers to “knock the crap out of” protesters, and they did. They also turned on people who weren’t protesters. Political scientists Ayal Feinberg, Regina Branton, and Valerie Martinez-Ebers studied the effects of Trump’s 2016 campaign rhetoric against marginalized Americans and found that counties where Trump held rallies had a significant increase in hate incidents in the month after that rally. 

Trump’s stoking of violence became an embrace when he declared there were “very fine people, on both sides,” after protesters stood up against racists, antisemites, white nationalists, Ku Klux Klan members, neo-Nazis, and other alt-right groups met in August 2017 in Charlottesville, Virginia, where they shouted Nazi slogans and left 19 people injured and one protester, Heather Heyer, dead. 

In October 2020, Trump refused to denounce the far-right Proud Boys organization, instead telling its members to “stand back and stand by.” The Proud Boys turned out for the attack on the U.S. Capitol on January 6, 2021, where they helped to lead those rioters fired up by Trump’s speech at The Ellipse, where he told them: “You'll never take back our country with weakness. You have to show strength and you have to be strong. We have come to demand that Congress do the right thing…. And we fight. We fight like hell. And if you don't fight like hell, you're not going to have a country anymore.”

Trump’s appeals to violence have gotten even more overt since the events of January 6. 

And yet, on Meet the Press yesterday, Kristen Welker seemed to suggest that there is a general problem in U.S. politics when she described Trump’s attacks on Judge Merchan as “a reminder that we are covering this election against the backdrop of a deeply divided nation.”  

But are the American people deeply divided? Or have Trump and his MAGA supporters driven the Republican Party off the rails?

One of the major issues of the 2024 election—perhaps THE major issue—is reproductive rights. But Americans are not really divided on that issue: on Friday, a new Axios-Ipsos poll found that 81% of Americans agree that “abortion issues should be managed between a woman and her doctor, not the government.” That number includes 65% of Republicans, as well as 82% of Independents and 97% of Democrats. The idea that abortion should be between a woman and her doctor was the language of the Supreme Court’s 1973 Roe v. Wade decision, overturned in 2022 with the help of the three extremist justices appointed by Trump. 

Last week, the Congressional Management Foundation, which works with Congress to make it more efficient and accountable, released its study of the state of Congress in 2024. It found that senior congressional staffers overwhelmingly think that Congress is not functioning “as a democratic legislature should.” Eighty percent of them think it is not “an effective forum for debate on questions of public concern.” 

But there is a significant difference in the parties’ perception of what’s wrong. While 61% of Republican staffers are satisfied that Congress members and staff feel safe doing their jobs, only 21% of Democratic staffers agree, and Democratic staffers are significantly more likely to fear for their and others’ safety. Women and longer-tenured staffers are more likely to be questioning whether to stay in Congress due to safety concerns. Eighty-four percent of Democratic staffers think that agreed-upon rules and codes of conduct for senators and representatives are not sufficient to “hold them accountable for their words and deeds,” while only 44% of Republicans say the same.

Republicans themselves seem split about the direction of their party. Republican staffers were far more likely than Democrats to be “questioning whether I should stay in Congress due to heated rhetoric from my party”: 59% to 16%. “The way the House is ‘functioning,’ is frustrating many members,” wrote one House Republican deputy chief of staff. “We have to placate [certain] members and in my nearly ten years of working here I have never felt more like we’re on the wrong track.” 

One Republican Senate communications director blamed extremist political rhetoric for the dysfunction. “[W]ith the nation being in a self-sort mode, it is easy to never hear a dissenting opinion in many areas of the country. People in DC, who work in the Capitol, generally have a collegiate approach to each other. The American people don’t get to see that—at all. From the outside it appears to be a Royal Rumble and bloodsport. It’s reflected in the [way] people, regular citizens, now view one another.” 

A Republican House staff director wrote that Congress is “a representative body and a reflection of the people writ large. When they demand something different of their leaders, their leaders will respond (or they will elect different leaders).”

Burgess Everett and Olivia Beavers of Politico reported yesterday that nearly 20 Republican lawmakers and aides have told them they would like Trump to calm down his rhetoric. They appear to think such violent commentary is unpopular and that it will hurt those running in downballot races if they have to answer for it.

It seems unlikely Trump will willingly temper his comments, since threatening violence seems to be all he has left to combat the legal cases bearing down on him. Over the course of Easter morning, he posted more than 70 times on social media, attacking his opponents and declaring himself to be “The Chosen One.”

Tonight, Trump posted a $175 million appeals bond in the New York civil fraud case. He was unable to secure a bond for the full amount of the judgment, but an appeals court lowered the amount. Posting the bond will let him appeal the judge’s decision. If he wins on appeal, he will avoid paying the judgment. If he loses, the bond is designed to guarantee that Trump will pay the entire amount the judge determined he owes to the people of New York: more than $454 million. 

Trump and his campaign are short of cash, and there were glimmers last week that the public launch of his media network would produce significant money if he could only hold off judgments until he could sell the stock—six months, according to the current agreement—or use his shares as collateral for a bond. The company’s public launch raised the stock price by billions of dollars. 

But this morning the company released its 2023 financial information, showing revenues of $4.1 million last year and a net loss of $58.2 million. The stock plunged about 20%, wiping out about $1 billion of the money that Trump had, on paper anyway, made. The company said it has not made any changes to the provision prohibiting early sales or using shares as collateral. 

Tonight, Judge Merchan expanded the previous gag order on Trump to stop attacks on the judge’s family members. Trump has a right “to speak to the American voters freely and to defend himself publicly,” but “[i]t is no longer just a mere possibility or a reasonable likelihood that there exists a threat to the integrity of the judicial proceedings,” Merchan wrote. “The threat is very real.”

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[have-a-hiddles]

Within Your Heart, A Story To Be Told

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five

Pairing: Cardinal Copia/F!Reader

Words: 4.3K/16.4K

Warnings: Vague reference to suicide, but no such act occurs. Intense bullying both verbal and physical. Reader is a Sister of Sin and is written to be quite plump. HERE THERE BE SMUT.

🔞 MDNI 🔞

A/N: I’m keeping Primo, Secondo, and Terzo alive. Because I fucking can. However, Sister Imperator is still the only one aware of Copia’s familial connection. Copia knows Imperator is his birth mother, but not that Nihil is his father.

Everything takes place circa 2018-2019 between Terzo getting dragged off-stage (30 September 2017) and Copia being anointed as Papa IV (March 2020).

The next thing you knew, you were curled up on a soft bed, covered by plush blankets. A warm, solid weight pressed along your back, an equally warm and solid weight draped over your waist. You could hear the sound of breathing, deep and steady, right into your hair. For a split second, you panicked, not having the slightest idea where you were or who was behind you.

Memory came rushing back. Copia. You were in Copia’s flat. You must have fainted and he’d carried you to his bed. He was spooning behind you, symbolically protecting you with one arm around your waist. You shifted slightly, realizing that, while you were under the covers, Copia was on top of them with only a throw blanket over himself. A sign that he respected your boundaries even without knowing exactly where they were yet. Anyone else would have simply gotten into bed with you, which would have sent you into a much longer panic. Instead, he’d purposely placed barriers between you and him so that you would be comfortable upon waking.

With a little shimmying, you were able to get your shoulders and one arm out from under the blankets, allowing you to reach down and lay your arm over his. You had not expected to encounter bare skin! He was only wearing a tee shirt, it seemed, leaving his forearms bare. His skin was warm, lightly furred with soft hair. More importantly, he’d removed his gloves, one pale hand resting over you. Under your touch, his hand was rough, criss-crossed with thin, white scars. Was that why he wore gloves all of the time? Because his hands were scarred up? You traced your fingertips over the back of his hand, following the path of the scars.

His breathing shifted and you froze, hoping you hadn’t woken him up. He gave a soft sigh, his breath warm on your neck. “Are you awake, Sorella?” he murmured, voice low and rough from sleep.

You thought about faking being asleep but found you couldn’t lie to him even about such an innocuous thing. “Yeah. I j-j-just woke up and realized you were-were-were holding me and I-I-I-I kind of wanted to return the favor a little. I’m sorry, I-I-I-I didn’t realize you wear-wearing a t-t-tee shirt until I felt your arm. I hope you aren’t a-angry with me,” you babbled, tripping over your own tongue several times.

“Shh… hush, sorella. I told you last night; I could never be angry with you,” he was quick to assure you, raising himself up on one elbow, while keeping his other arm around you. The extra room allowed you to lean back and look up at him.

You’d never seen him without his papal makeup on; and even though he really only blacked out his eyes and upper lip, the sight of his bare face struck you. You’d known he was handsome, of course, in his own sweet way. This felt so much more intimate, looking into his mismatched eyes without his painted armor. Frankly, every part of his face looked more naked. You could make out the tiny freckles across his nose and cheeks, the silver hair at his temples starting to blend into the dark brown, the stress lines around his eyes and mouth.

Realizing that you were staring at him, you looked away, licking your lips nervously. You could feel your cheeks starting to heat. Still, you couldn’t help but return to his gaze, looking up at him through your eyelashes. “I’ve never seen you without… you know… your face. I mean your paint!”

“Oh!” he exclaimed, sitting up all of the way, which pulled his arm from around you. You made a small, disappointed noise at the loss. “Mi scuzi, amata… Ho dimenticato. Non dormo con la vernice applicata e pensavo che mi sarei svegliata prima che tu e io potessi rimetterla…”

“Woah, woah, woah,” you sat up as well, facing him and grabbing both of his hands in yours. “First of all; English, please. Second of all, you don’t need to panic, I promise.”

His gaze fixed on your hands before he took a few deep breaths. “I don't sleep with the paint on and I figured I would just wake up before you and put it back on...”

“Why are you so nervous, hon? Am I not allowed to see you without it? Or are you worried I won’t still like you without it? Do you just not want me to see you?” You kept your grip on his hands firm, as though you thought he might try to bolt.

He blinked slightly, allowing your questions to sink in before trying to answer. “I… mi scuzi... I didn’t want to… ruin the illusion… for you.”

“Illusion?” you repeated, confused.

“That I am… s-something other than a nervous wreck seventy-five percent of the time,” he said, giving a small self-deprecating chuckle.

“Hon, even if that were true, what makes you think that would affect how I look at you?” you asked softly, lifting one hand to cup his cheek, coaxing him to look you in the eyes. “I still think you are handsome and sweet and brave and kind and powerful and… you will make a perfect Papa when the time comes.”

He closed his eyes, leaning his face into your hand. “Ah, (Y/N), you are a balm to my infernal soul,” he murmured, covering your hand with his. Keeping your hand in place, he turned his head and pressed a tender kiss to your palm. “What is hon?” he asked softly.

“Sorry?” you asked with a note of confusion.

“Hon. You’ve called me hon twice now. What is it?” he clarified, eyes still closed and his cheek still against your hand.

“Oh, it’s short for honey. It’s an affectionate nickname. Some people use it for everyone. Others, like me, only use it for people we care deeply about,” you explained, your voice going quieter and quieter as you spoke.

“Cara,” he breathed softly. You both leaned closer until your foreheads touched. This time, it was you who found a burst of boldness, and you gently pressed your lips to his. He returned the gesture immediately with a low groan. A few tender kisses and he panted softly. “Open your mouth to me, cara, aprilo… aprilo...”

You parted your lips, allowing him to deepen his kisses, hot tongue swiping into yours with a surprising amount of skill. He might be awkward at times, but this man was definitely no bumbling virgin. Between the two of you, you managed to shift around so that you were straddling his lap, your habit rucked up around your waist. He was only wearing some thin sweatpants and you only had your plain cotton underwear underneath. You could feel his cock filling and pressing against you and that knowledge that he was responding to you like this thrilled you. You were mildly certain that no man before had ever gotten hard in response to you before. The revelation that any man, let alone this man, was aroused by you; was amazing in and of itself. Of their own accord, your hips rocked back and forth, grinding down on him, making both of you gasp, his hands flying to your hips to steady you. For your part, you clung to his shoulders, letting your head fall back as he kissed and nipped at your throat and collarbone.

“May I?” he asked, tugging at your habit gently, asking permission to remove it.

You paused, cold dread running through you. Your habit hid many of your perceived flaws; your too-big thighs and hips and stomach and breasts, all of which were liberally striped with old stretchmarks, all of the freckles and rolls and sheer too-much-ness of your body.

“Y/N?” he prompted when you didn’t answer him.

“Copia, I-I-I don’t want to disa-disappoint you. I’m not pretty at all, in or out of my clothing. N-n-n-no one’s ever… wanted me b-b-b-before” you explained quietly, looking to the side in shame.

“Not pretty?” Copia repeated in shocked disbelief. “Cara, you are already the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on. Even so, your heart, your gaze, your very soul calls to mine. There is no p-possible way for you to disappoint me, amata.”

The tiny candle flame of hope in your chest flared and you met his gaze again, trying to parse out what you saw there; desire, affection, concern. Your breath hitched and you swallowed hard before nodding, giving him permission.

Gently, as if you were a child, he had you raise your arms and pulled the loose habit up and off of you, leaving you in only your panties and your grucifix necklace. You reflexively crossed your arms over your chest, but he caught the gesture and tugged softly on you. “Lascia che ti veda... let me see you, amore.”

You allowed him to move your arms to your sides and you squeezed your eyes shut, not wanting to see the dawning realization of how ugly you were in his eyes.

“Satana qui sotto, sei stupendo, amore mio. Così morbido. Così lussureggiante,” he all but purred, his breath growing heavier than it already was, his bare hands rubbing up and down your upper arms. “You are… utterly gorgeous, amore. So soft. May I… t-touch you?”

Your breath caught as you watched his expression shift from curiosity to adoration, almost worshipping. You nodded uncertainly, giving him leave to touch you however he liked. It wasn’t like you could hide anything. “Ah, bellissima…” he crooned softly, his hands sliding over your sides to your hips, caressing you with a reverence usually reserved for Satan. “Your body is beautiful, amore,” he whispered, leaning into you to press kisses to your collarbone, slowly drifting down to your chest, between your breasts where your heart was thundering. “Tesora, may I have your c-c-consent to… make love to you?” he asked, looking up at you with a note of desperation.

“Yes,” you whispered breathlessly, barely able to believe this was actually happening. You’d dreamt of Copia being your first so many times!

He curled his arms under yours, hands cupping over the curves of your shoulder blades, holding you steady as he leaned you back. His lips caressed over the tops of your breasts, then dipped lower to claim one nipple into his mouth, sucking gently. You gave a startled yelp as heat streaked through you, your fingers combing through his soft hair.

You felt more than heard him chuckle softly against your skin. “So sensitive…” he murmured in a praising voice. He skimmed his lips across your chest to draw the other nipple into his mouth with a soft groan. Satan below, you were so sweet and pliant against him! And the way you carded your fingers through his hair was unexpectedly erotic. He’d never known that someone playing with his hair would be so arousing.

“Here, lay back, piccola. Let me take care of you,” he breathed, looking up and meeting your eyes. His pupils were blown wide, almost entirely eclipsing the green and white irises.

You managed to get off of his lap without tipping over and laid back against the pillows, trembling lightly, both from need and fear. “Copia, I think I should warn you that I-I-I’m… I’ve n-never done… this is my first... um…”

He paused, trying to parse together what you were trying to say. Once it clicked, he smiled softly, moving so he could kiss you. “I will be gentle, dolcezza mia. I promise.”

With that reassurance, he slipped between your parted legs, although he did not remove your panties just yet. He had other delights in mind. He kissed along your neck, licking at your throbbing pulse point. Kissing and licking his way back down to your breasts, this time nipping lightly at the hardened peaks.

You squeaked his name, one hand clutching at the sheets, the other flying back into Copia’s hair. He groaned appreciatively, “Breathe, topolina… ah, your skin is so silky. I want to kiss every inch of you.”

“We’ll… we’ll be here for a very long time if you try,” you replied breathlessly.

“Sì, but not for the reason you think. It would take a very long time because I am very. Very. Very. Thorough,” he said punctuating between the words with kisses over your stomach.

You sucked in a deep breath as he slid lower. No one had seen you in such close proximity before, let alone this part of you! Hell, even you had never seen yourself as closely as Copia now was. What if you were ugly there too? You knew you looked nothing like the girls in pornos, with their hairless and neat little clefts. You thought waxing just made you look and feel like a child, so you hadn’t done it. And you knew that your folds were a little… fuller?...than perhaps was average. As if you didn’t already have more than enough insecurity on your plate.

Gently, he pulled your panties down and off of you, then settled himself between your legs, pulling them over his shoulders. You almost lost your nerve and told him to stop; but your thoughts scattered like windswept leaves when Copia licked a hot stipe right along the seam of your cunt, tongue flicking over your clit. You squeaked again, never having felt anything like it before. You fisted both hands in the sheets, trying very hard to not buck your hips up. You never thought holding your hips still(ish) would be so difficult! You had nothing to compare this to! Sure, any number of romance writers had described it as intense… like fireworks. That did not do it justice. This was motherfucking Disney World’s Fourth of July Nighttime Spectacular fireworks! If your heart tried to beat any faster, it would explode! There were sounds coming out of your mouth that you didn’t even know you could make!

For his part, Copia moaned softly against you, using his hands to keep your legs apart and help keep your hips still. That ridiculous strength was in full play again, keeping you right where he wanted you. The taste of you was sweet sin on his tongue. And Satan below, you were so sinfully wet for him! He’d barely even touched you; were you really so affected by him? Out of all of the lovers he'd ever taken, you were easily the most responsive. The slightest flick of his tongue made you cry out; the mere vibration of his voice against you made you tremble.

He murmured to you softly in Italian, “Cosi dolce. Quindi molto bagnato per me. Potrei stare qui tutto il giorno e farti venire ancora e ancora solo con la mia bocca. Avrei adorato presso l'altare del tuo corpo finché Satana in persona non fosse venuto a reclamarmi. Cazzo, i suoni che fai... mi rendono cosi duro con te, mia bellezza infernale.”

You understood none of it. Although, to be fair, you might not have understood any of it even if he’d been speaking English. Your mind was so focused on sensation that all other senses took a backseat. You were saying something in response to him, though it was mostly a liturgy of curses and pleas along with his name. You were panting so hard that you could barely speak anyway, each breath more of a gasp than a simple inhalation. He licked and kissed and nipped and sucked, paying careful attention to every fold and crevice, always returning to your clit before moving on to another spot.

You whined loudly as you felt him slip one finger inside of you, your body tightening around the intrusion. You’d used your own fingers before, of course. But Copia’s fingers were both longer and thicker than yours; not to mention he had a much better angle!

“Shh, respira, tesora mia. Respirare. Andrò lentamente,” he groaned softly before returning to his delicious task of licking at your swollen cunt. He soon deemed it safe for him to move on to two fingers, sliding both along your folds to coat them both in your own slick. He was even slower with this penetration.

And fuck how tight you were! You were so tight that he could feel the rhythm of your heartbeat within you. He thrust his fingers back and forth slowly, getting you used to the sensation, scissoring them slightly to help stretch you out. It wasn’t long before your hips tried to grind down into the penetration. Another finger joined the first two and he was gentle as he refocused the attentions of his mouth on your clit, sucking the throbbing pearl into his mouth. You were writhing under him, trying desperately to buck your hips up to him. “Copia!” you whined his name. “I’m… I’m getting really close!”

“Bene, cara. Do not fight it. I want you to come against my mouth. I want to taste it on my tongue,” he growled, redoubling his efforts towards your pleasure.

The combination of his roughly whispered words and the feel of his fingers quickly brought you to the edge and over it. You came with a sweet cry, abandoning any desire to remain quiet. “Copia! Fuck, Copia!” you all but shrieked for him.

Only when you grew quiet and limp on the bed, limbs still trembling from the pleasure, did he pull back. He carefully eased his fingers free from the velvety wetness of your cunt, groaning at the slick, nearly obscene sound the motion caused.

“Penso che tu sia pronta, bellezza mia. Devi dirmi se qualcosa provoca dolore, sì?” he asked, laying his face against your quivering thigh.

Even overwhelmed as you were, you recognized a question in that litany of Italian sounds. "English?" you managed to gasp, shakily reaching down to caress the back of his neck.

“Mi dispiace. You must tell me if anything hurts, cara. I will stop immediately,” he panted, voice thick with desire but still gentle.

“OK. I will,” you nodded.

With a tender touch, Copia slid your legs off of his shoulders and crawled up along your body, kissing your skin as he went. You could feel your own residual wetness trailing over you from his mustache. Once you were face to face with him, you pulled him down and kissed him, not caring that you could taste yourself. You slid your arms around him, caressing over his back, a little confused as to why you felt cloth and not skin.

In a brief second of clarity, you laughed softly. “I think you are overdressed, love,” you smiled at him. In his eagerness to give you pleasure, he had forgotten to undress!

He paused, then chuckled softly himself. “So I am, amata. Un momento.” He moved from the bed briefly, pulling his shirt off and sliding his sweatpants down.

His skin was darker than yours, although still quite pale, and sprinkled with freckles here and there. A dark tattoo spanned his shoulders and dripped down along his spine, runes of alchemy arranged into the shape of a grucifix. He was slim, lacking any of the super-defined muscles that many people thought was the height of masculinity. You, however, loved his litheness, how his muscles moved under his skin so gracefully. When he turned around to climb back on to the bed, you got a better view of him. Like many Clergymen, he had a “666” tattooed over his heart arranged to look something like the biohazard warning sign. A dusting of brown hair covered his chest. Despite how slender he was, he still had a bit of soft belly that curved out ever so slightly.

More importantly, his cock was far larger than you’d anticipated. Not porno huge, thank Satan, but still big enough that you were intimidated. You couldn’t help a small gasp of trepidation. On the other hand, he was also incredibly hard, his length standing up against his belly, the head shiny with the precum that had already leaked. Going down on you had done that for him? He looked ready to bust as it was!

He chuckled, catching your expressions, crawling over you to re-situate himself between your thighs. "Don’t worry, cara. I will make sure it doesn’t hurt. You’re already slick and swollen; your body will be able to stretch for me.”

You nodded shakily, pulling him back up to kiss him, your hands now able to roam over his naked skin. He arched and groaned when you trailed your nails along the wings of his shoulder blades. The reaction encouraged you to do it again. His groan deepened to a growl as he met your gaze. His pupils were so wide that you nearly couldn’t tell which eye was which. “Cazzo, (Y/N), I am already hard as oak for you and yet you make me throb even harder,” he panted before claiming your mouth in a rough kiss.

You could feel him reach down between you, taking ahold of his cock and sliding it along your folds, making him as slippery as you already were. With infinite tenderness, he guided himself to your entrance. With one final glance to you for consent, you nodded, and he carefully pressed himself inside. You gasped, clutching at his shoulders. You had very little idea what being stretched in such a way would feel like; you’d never been brave enough to use any toys; and that meant you’d never felt just how your cunt could squeeze around something so big. There was a bit of a burn to it; but the way his cock filled you quickly sent waves of pleasure to overtake the discomfort.

He completed the stroke slowly, letting you adjust to every inch of him. Fuck, you were so fucking tight! Yet so soft and wet and incredible… so perfect. Small as you were, he kept expecting to bottom out before he could be fully embraced. Grunting softly as he struggled to keep himself from simply rutting into you like an animal, he found himself fully inside of you the same time the head of his cock pressed firmly against the mouth of your womb. He swore softly, stilling and letting you both calm down a little bit.

“Ah, amore mia... mi hai preso tutto. You've taken all of me,” he gasped against your lips before claiming them in a passionate kiss.

You whimpered against his lips; not from pain but from the sheer knowledge that you’d managed to take him. You’d never felt so full in your life! Slowly, the burn faded away, leaving only the pressure and the radiating pleasure.

“Copia,” you breathed his name, one hand pressed between his shoulder blades and the other caressing his hair on the back of his head.

“Amore?” he answered quickly with a note of panic, thinking that you might be in pain.

“Just wanted to say your name…” you smile at him reassuringly, drawing him into another kiss. “I had no idea it would feel like this. So… achy, but really, really good. You are so… big. You fill me so completely.”

He purred softly, nuzzling against your neck, drawing in deep breaths and the scent of your hair. “You feel so perfect, cara. So tight and slick. Sei così peccaminosamente bella, amata.”

You breathed together for another moment before you started to press soft kisses to his neck and shoulder. You could feel him trembling against you, muscles taut. “I think I’m okay, love; you can move,” you whispered against his ear.

“Lento. Andrò lentamente,” he panted softly, easing himself back and nearly all of the way out.

A slow thrust back in made you cry out and cling to him, curling your legs up and giving him more room to maneuver. He started a slow but deep rhythm, rolling his hips on each stroke inwards. Until now, he’d been relatively quiet in his vocalizations. Now, he couldn’t help but grow louder. Groaning and swearing in a voice that grew rough with passion. Primed as you were from his earlier efforts, it did not take long for you to start grinding into him, clutching at him so hard that your nails left crescent-shaped marks imprinted on his skin.

Your orgasm snuck up on you, crashed over you in turbulent waves, all but drowning you in pleasure, your body writhing and constricting around him. Your vision whited out and you could hear yourself screaming in completion although it was definitely not a conscious thing on your part. Every muscle in your body contracted, your core clenching around him in tight pulses, as though trying to force him to cum with you. When he made to pull back, you wrapped your legs around him, holding him in place.

“Cum inside me,” you gasped, the only coherent thought in your head that you wanted to feel him flood your womb. The possibility of getting pregnant was the last thing on your mind, but it was the wrong time of your cycle anyway.

No further encouragement was required. Copia gave a hoarse shout of your name with every throbbing jet of seed that he spilled into your eager body. Every fiber of his being contracted down to only you and him and the delicious, sinful bliss filling you both. Panting hard, he buried his face in the crook of your neck, murmuring breathlessly in Italian. “La mia bellezza peccaminosa, il mio amore più prezioso. Ti amerò fino alla fine dei miei giorni.”

Gasping and trembling under him, you kept yourself curled around him, skin pressing to skin as much as was physically possible. You kissed at his cheek, his temple, his neck, anything you could reach while clutched against him so tightly. “Oh, love… oh, Copia…” you whispered against his skin, your voice thick with emotion. You were utterly lost to him. You loved him with a ferocity that should have scared you. Instead, you only felt the intense, searing need to stay close to him. “I love you,” you gasped, mouth moving over the skin of his shoulder. He stilled, pulling back just enough to see your eyes, finding nothing but sincere love and devotion in them. “Ah, topolina… I love you as well,” he murmured and captured your mouth in a deep kiss.

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