#Everyday is a struggle for Stanford

[acerobot]

Hiiiiiiiiii I’m back LMAO

I’ve been cooking stuff up for fankid content which means I am once again asking for your financial support if you have canon designs for Caesar and Dora yet

If you do HAND EM OVER

If not continue going about ur day LMAO

I'm very happy to hear that!! Your artwork across my dash always brightens my day! Your artwork is hella good, and I love your silly goobers of ocs you have.

I had to whip up Caesar's real fast, so he might look a bit strange? Unsure, idk. He was rushed though. And Bella's was drawn like over a month ago so could be better but eh lol

I can't wait to see what you do!! And obviously expect some art of your guys in return

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Bret Stephens

Published: Jun 25, 2024

The notable fact about the anti-Israel campus demonstrations is that they are predominantly an elite phenomenon. Yes, there have been protests at big state schools like the University of Nebraska, but they have generally been small, tame and — thanks to administrators prepared to enforce the rules — short-lived. It’s Stanford, Berkeley, Yale, Penn, Harvard, Columbia and many of their peers that have descended to open bigotry, institutional paralysis and mayhem.

Two questions: Why the top universities? And what should those on the other side of the demonstrations — Jewish students and alumni most of all — do about it?

Regarding the first question, some argue that the furor over the campus protests is much ado about not much. The demonstrators, they say, represent only a small fraction of students. The ugliest antisemitic expressions occasionally seen at these events are mainly the work of outside provocateurs. And the student protesters (some of whom are Jewish) are acting out of youthful idealism, not age-old antisemitism. As they see it, they aim only to save Palestinian lives and oppose the involvement of their universities in the abuses of a racist Israeli state.

There’s something to these points. With notable exceptions, campus life at these schools is somewhat less roiled by protest than the media makes it seem. Outside groups, as more than one university president has told me, have played an outsize role in setting up encampments and radicalizing students. And few student demonstrators, I’d wager, consciously think they harbor an anti-Jewish prejudice.

But this lets the kids off the hook too easily.

Students who police words like “blacklist” or “whitewash” and see “microaggressions” in everyday life ignore the entreaties of their Jewish peers to avoid chants like “globalize the intifada” or “from the river to the sea.” Students who claim they’re horribly pained by scenes of Palestinian suffering were largely silent on Oct. 7 — when they weren’t openly cheering the attacks. And students who team up with outside groups that are in overt sympathy with Islamist terrorists aren’t innocents. They’re collaborators.

How did the protesters at elite universities get their ideas of what to think and how to behave?

They got them, I suspect, from the incessant valorization of victimhood that has been a theme of their upbringing, and which many of the most privileged kids feel they lack — hence the zeal to prove themselves as allies of the perceived oppressed. They got them from the crude schematics of Diversity, Equity and Inclusion training seminars, which divide the world into “white” and “of color,” powerful and “marginalized,” with no regard for real-world complexities — including the complexity of Jewish identity. They got them from professors who think academic freedom amounts to a license for political posturing, sometimes of a nakedly antisemitic sort. They got them from a cheap and easy revision of history that imagines Zionism is a form of colonialism (it’s decidedly the opposite), that colonialism is something only white people do, and that as students at American universities, they can cheaply atone for their sins as guilty beneficiaries of the settler-colonialism they claim to despise.

They also got them from university administrators whose private sympathies often lie with the demonstrators, who imagine the anti-Israel protests as the moral heirs to the anti-apartheid protests and who struggle to grasp (if they even care) why so many Jewish students feel betrayed and besieged by the campus culture.

That’s the significance of the leaked images of four Columbia University deans exchanging dismissive and sophomoric text messages during a panel discussion in May on Jewish life on campus, including the suggestion that a panelist was “taking full advantage of this moment” for the sake of the “fundraising potential.”

Columbia placed three of the deans on leave. Other universities, like Penn, have belatedly moved to ban encampments. But those steps have a grudging and reactive feel — more a response to Title VI investigations of discrimination and congressional hearings than a genuine acknowledgment that something is deeply amiss with the values of a university. At Harvard, two successive members of the task force on antisemitism resigned in frustration. “We are at a moment when the toxicity of intellectual slovenliness has been laid bare for all to see,” wrote Rabbi David Wolpe in his resignation announcement.

That’s the key point. More dismaying than the fact that student protesters are fellow traveling with Hamas is that with their rhyming chants and identical talking points, they sound more like Maoist cadres than critical thinkers. As the sociologist Ilana Redstone, author of the smart and timely book “The Certainty Trap,” told me on Monday, “higher education traded humility and curiosity for conviction and advocacy — all in the name of being inclusive. Certainty yields students who are contemptuous of disagreement.”

And so the second question: What are Jewish students and alumni to do?

It’s telling that the Columbia deans were caught chortling during exactly the kind of earnest panel discussion that the university convened presumably to show alumni they are tackling campus antisemitism. They were paying more lip service than attention. My guess is that they, along with many of their colleagues, struggle to see the problem because they think it lies with a handful of extremist professors and obnoxious students.

But the real problem lies with some of the main convictions and currents of today’s academia: intersectionality, critical theory, post-colonialism, ethnic studies and other concepts that may not seem antisemitic on their face but tend to politicize classrooms and cast Jews as privileged and oppressive. If, as critical theorists argue, the world’s injustices stem from the shadowy agendas of the powerful and manipulative few against the virtuous masses, just which group is most likely to find itself villainized?

Not even the most determined university president is going to clean out the rot — at least not without getting rid of the entrenched academic departments and tenured faculty members who support it. That could take decades. In the meantime, Jews have a history of parting company with institutions that mistreated them, like white-shoe law firms and commercial banks. In so many cases, they went on to create better institutions that operated on principles of intellectual merit and fair play — including many of the universities that have since stumbled.

If you are an Ivy League megadonor wondering how to better spend the money you no longer want to give a Penn or a Columbia — or just a rising high school senior wondering where to apply — maybe it’s time to forgo the fading prestige of the old elite for the sake of something else, something new. That’s a subject for a future column.

==

Intersectionality is a "luxury belief"; that is, it signals a form of elite status. It's a form of academic masturbation which has no alignment with reality.

Luxury beliefs are ideas and opinions that confer status on the upper class, while often inflicting costs on the lower classes. – Rob Henderson

[bouncinghedgehog]

Long read from the New York Times, but compelling. Titled "Where are the Students?".

Empty seats

If you’re a child — or a former child — you know how hard it can be to summon the energy to leave the house each day for school. It’s early in the morning, and you are tired. Maybe you have a test or a social situation that’s making you anxious. Staying in bed often seems easier.

For as long as schools have existed, so have these morning struggles. Nonetheless, children overcame them almost every day, sometimes with a strong nudge from parents. Going to school was the normal thing to do.

Then, suddenly, it wasn’t.

The long school closures during the Covid pandemic were the biggest disruption in the history of modern American education. And those closures changed the way many students and parents think about school. Attendance, in short, has come to feel more optional than it once did, and absenteeism has soared, remaining high even as Covid has stopped dominating everyday life.

On an average day last year — the 2022-23 school year — close to 10 percent of K-12 students were not there, preliminary state data suggests. About one quarter of U.S. students qualified as chronically absent, meaning that they missed at least 10 percent of school days (or about three and a half weeks). That’s a vastly higher share than before Covid.

Thomas Dee

“I’m just stunned by the magnitude,” said Thomas Dee, a Stanford economist who has conducted the most comprehensive study on the issue.

This surge of absenteeism is one more problem confronting schools as they reopen for a new academic year. Students still have not made up the ground they lost during the pandemic, and it’s much harder for them to do so if they are missing from the classroom.

Losing the habit

In Dee’s study, he looked for explanations for the trend, and the obvious suspects didn’t explain it. Places with a greater Covid spread did not have higher lingering levels of absenteeism, for instance. The biggest reason for the rise seems to be simply that students have fallen out of the habit of going to school every day.

Consistent with this theory is the fact that absenteeism has risen more in states where schools remained closed for longer during the pandemic, like California and New Mexico (and in Washington, D.C.). The chart below shows the correlation between Dee’s state data on chronic absenteeism and data from Thomas Kane, a Harvard economist, on the share of students in each state who in 2020-21 were enrolled in districts where most students were remote:

Thomas Dee (absenteeism); Thomas Kane (virtual schooling)

“For almost two years, we told families that school can look different and that schoolwork could be accomplished in times outside of the traditional 8-to-3 day,” Elmer Roldan, who runs a dropout prevention group, told The Los Angeles Times. “Families got used to that.”

Lisa Damour, a psychologist and the author of “The Emotional Lives of Teenagers,” points out that parents think they are doing the right thing when they allow an anxious child to skip a day of school. She has deep empathy for these parents, she said. Doing so often makes the child feel better in the moment. But there are costs.

“The most fundamental thing for adults to understand is that avoidance feeds anxiety,” Damour told me. “When any of us are fearful, our instinct is to avoid. But the problem with giving in to that anxiety is that avoidance is highly reinforcing.” The more often students skip school, the harder it becomes to get back in the habit of going.

Aggravating inequality

I know that some readers will wonder whether families are making a rational choice by keeping their children home, given all the problems with schools today: the unhealthily early start times for many high schools; the political fights over curriculum; the bullying and the vaping; the inequalities that afflict so many areas of American life.

And the rise in chronic absenteeism is indeed a sign that schools need help. One promising step would be to make teaching a more appealing job, Damour notes, in order to attract more great teachers.

Still, it’s worth remembering that the rise of absenteeism isn’t solving these larger problems. It is adding to those problems.

Classrooms are more chaotic places when many students are there one day and missing the next. Educational inequality increases too, because absenteeism has risen more among disadvantaged students, including students with disabilities and those from lower-income households. “Studies show that even after adjusting for poverty levels and race, children who skip more school get significantly worse grades,” The Economist explained recently.

As Hedy Chang, who runs Attendance Works, a nonprofit group focused on the problem, told The Associated Press, “The long-term consequences of disengaging from school are devastating.”

Many schools are now trying to reduce absenteeism by reaching out to families. Some school officials are visiting homes in person, while others are sending texts to parents. (This Times story goes into more detail.)

It will be a hard problem to solve. Dee’s study focused on 2021-22 — which was two years ago, and the first year after the extended Covid closures — but he notes that absenteeism appears to have fallen only slightly last year. In Connecticut, which has some of the best data (and lower absentee rates than most states), 7.8 percent of students missed school on an average day two years ago, a far higher level than before the pandemic. Last year, the rate dipped only to 7.6 percent.

[ravenrose18]

Shadows of Everyday Life

Warning This story mentions and details the following: abusive relationships, self-harm, bruising, hitting, torture, child abuse, etc.

Chapter 12

Dean was astounded when she said that, a girl after his own heart he thought. Hell, who was he kidding? Raven had his heart already. He knew that ever since that day he called her and spoke to her for hours on end, then the call ended abruptly. His dad had taken the home line and smashed it into the wall. Yelling at Dean for even thinking of being friends with her. Dean bucked up to his dad, causing him to throw Dean on the ground. He remembered how fast he ran and grabbed Sammy, before racing to her house nearby. He remembered when his dad figured out where he was and Dean went to school the next day with a black eye as he dragged him back to the house that evening before, leaving Sam at Raven's. He always.. took the abuse from his father so Sammy didn't have to. It was always in Dean's nature to protect. As he always was shielding his mother from the heartache and pain he caused. John Winchester was always such a mean man to him growing up, especially on the evenings he drank. Dean would warn Sam to stay at a friend's before he made it in late. His mind was heavy as he looked at her, thinking of that being her in a very similar situation recently. It burned him up on the inside to know.. that he matched her feelings with feeling numb.. feeling trapped. Feeling lost. When Dean's mother passed away, his father took it the hardest - working long shifts to cover the bills and his nasty gambling & alcoholism were heavy among his finances. Leaving Dean to pick up the costs for what they needed just for basic necessary items, he picked up odd and end jobs til he got to be fourteen, finally allowing him to work for a tiny little grocery store in their town. He worked there for ages, to keep things afloat while his father lived his best life away. But, Dean couldn't have done it without Raven pushing her.. helping her raise Sammy so he could go off to law school - getting good grades and punctuality so he could go to Stanford like he wanted. Dean maintained his composure as he looked at Raven, and he snapped back to reality. His heart weighed heavy when he smiled warmly. "Y'know, I always put Bailey's in my coffee. And so! You found it. Also, apple wine sounds awesome. Never heard of that." He said chuckling.

Raven vividly remembered the day Dean arrived at her house, his face etched with pain and distress. It was years ago, but the image remained seared in her mind. She noticed the way he tried to conceal his hurt, but it was clear how much he had endured, especially having his younger brother Sam by his side, looking equally worried. Raven felt a deep sense of compassion and was grateful she could offer him solace during such a turbulent time. She had always been aware of the torment Dean faced at the hands of their father, John, especially when alcohol was involved. With a sense of urgency, she had warned Dean, Don't end up like your dad when it comes to your drinking. While everything unraveled with their father, Raven took it upon herself to shield Sam from the fallout. She couldn't stand to see Dean suffering through the abuse, memories of which haunted him day after day.

Raven made it a point to be there for him; she offered a haven whenever Dean needed a place to escape to. The depth of her loyalty was evident when she stood up to John, even enduring a few slaps for backtalking him. It was a small price to pay for standing up for someone she cared deeply about. As Raven glanced over at Dean now, a wave of gratitude washed over her. Despite all they had faced, they had emerged resilient and alive. Years of shared experiences, struggles, and unwavering support had forged an unbreakable bond between them. She had no regrets about the times she stood up to John; every confrontation felt necessary in protecting the brothers she had come to love like family. With a warm smile, Raven turned to him, her eyes sparkling with determination. "You know, I can whip up my special coffee for you whenever you head off to work. It'll be a little comfort to take with you," she suggested. "And if you're looking for something to unwind, my apple wine is perfect. It's much more approachable than red wine; it strikes a lovely balance between dry and sweet." As she walked alongside him toward the checkout, she felt a sense of hope and camaraderie, knowing they had always managed to support each other through thick and thin.

Dean listened intently as he watched her eyes glimmer with happiness and pure hope. It warmed his heart as he walked with her to checkout. He thought about how many times she showed him love and compassion, it completely astounded Dean cause he never felt like he deserved it. He never felt like he mattered in that way.. because he was never really shown how to feel that way.. but, she always showed him no matter how he didn't feel it some days. Her actions always showed Dean that she cared. He would give everything to her if he could, everything she ever wanted and desired. "I would love that, sweetheart, you know - you're too good to silly ole me." He said playfully as he nodded about the wine. "I can't wait to just finally unwind with you." He said, in a loving tone as he looked at her with gentle eyes. They glistened with hope and determination them have an amazing future. Of them growing together. Learning how to.. just be again. Something that Dean longed for. Craved even. Once they got to the checkout, Dean loaded up most of everything in the cart but purposely saved the pop-tarts and honeybuns in the buggy for her to put on the belt - so she noticed it. He adored playing little jokes on her as he did all the time any chance he got.

Raven is acutely aware of her big heart; she has an abundance of love to share with those around her. However, she finds it challenging to open up when negativity looms large from people like John and Ash, who often bring her down. Regardless of the external circumstances, she remains steadfast in her affection for her two favorite boys, determined to always show them love and compassion, no matter the difficulties they face. In a moment of reflection, as they approach the checkout line, she turns to Dean, her voice soft but firm. "You deserve to be treated the way I treat you, Dean," she states sincerely. "After everything we've both endured in our lives, we deserve to know love and experience compassion from one another. I'm truly grateful that we can offer that for each other, especially when it feels like no one else does."

As they stand in line, she watches Dean meticulously load their groceries onto the belt, his focus evident as he efficiently organizes the items. Once he has placed most of their purchases on the conveyor, she picks up the last two items meant for him and places them gently on the belt. Shaking her head with a playful smile, she looks at him and adds, "Just so you know, these are only for quick breakfasts on those busy mornings when you don't have time for me to whip up something before you head off to work, Dean." Her smile reflects warmth, a reminder of the shared moments that make their bond special.

A smile grew upon Dean's face as he looked at her, holding onto each word as he took them in deeply. It weighed heavy on him as he thought about all of the constant trials and tribulations that they faced, some of them seemingly unable to handle. But her love and connection held him above water. It stabilized him to where he needed it and he loved that she could feel the same thing from him as he did for her. "Thank ya, sweetie-pie. That warms my heart to know. You're so right. With you, I'm on top of the world. With you, I am home again." He said as he met her gaze, his eyes holding a sense of passion to her. Dean playfully raised a brow as he did, chuckling softly. "Fine. Whatever you say." He said as he looked at her. The cashier soon rang it all up, one by one as the grocer bagged it all accordingly. The cashier spoke softly, "Total is 344.07." Dean swiped his card as he did all the prompts, putting in his PIN before he finished with the transaction. The cashier handed him his receipt and he smiled warmly at Raven once more.

Raven smiled warmly, her icy blue eyes sparkling as she gazed into Dean's vibrant green ones. "You're welcome, and I truly mean it, Dean. You deserve all the happiness life has to offer," she said, shaking her head playfully while maintaining her bright smile. After a moment, her expression softened as she added, "I really could have chipped in a little to help cover the cost of those groceries." With a determined nod, she bent down and picked up two heavy bags, Carefully, she placed them in the shopping cart, glancing over at Dean with a mischievous grin. "Let's get these loaded into the car so we can get back home and relax for the rest of the night," she suggested, her enthusiasm evident as they prepared to finish their shopping trip.

Dean looked at her, nodding as he couldn't help but have his cheeks feel warm as he did. A smile flashed across his face, "As do you, sweetie. You.. you are the reason I ever had any happiness to begin with." He said and he shook his head about her helping with the costs of groceries, "No no, Raven. It's okay. You save your money or buy yourself something nice. You deserve it. With all that overtime, I got nothing but money not that I'm trying to boast. now, you are taken care of." He said as he assured her before he agreed. They both headed out to the Impala and Dean put the cart right by it as he loaded the bags in the backseat He hadn't had this many things in his apartment in a long time to cook and to eat. It surprised Dean but it was a good surprise. It felt just right to him.

Raven beams at Dean, her eyes sparkling with warmth. "You are a dedicated worker, Dean. It might be time for you to treat yourself to something special, perhaps a stylish new outfit. I've been thinking about refreshing my wardrobe too," she suggests, her enthusiasm evident. Once they step outside, she eagerly assists him in loading the groceries into the Impala, her movements fluid and purposeful. As they finish packing the car, she turns to him with a playful grin. "So, are you taking the wheel this time, or should I?" she inquires, leaning casually against the sleek surface of the Impala. The air is filled with a sense of camaraderie, but beneath it, Raven feels an unsettling sensation, as if unseen eyes are upon them. Her instincts kick in, prompting her to glance over Dean's shoulder toward the alley adjacent to the grocery store, where she catches sight of a shadowy figure lurking in the dim light. A flicker of concern crosses her mind as she studies the silhouette, her heart racing slightly. The moment feels charged, and she can't shake the feeling that something is amiss.

He listened as she spoke about getting a new outfit or something, he then raised a row when she mentioned revamping her wardrobe. It warmed Dean's heart and he smiled. "Maybe tomorrow when we wake up and such, we can head out to the mall? We can go shopping." Dean said sillily as he finished loading the groceries in the car with her. Dean noticed her eyes and he followed them as he looked behind him into the alleyway, his eyes missed the figure but he then grew a sense of protection as he looked back into Raven's eyes. "I'll drive this time sweetheart." He said warmly before he caressed her hand, "You doin' okay?" He asked before he opened the passenger side door for her. His heartbeat sped up, hoping she wasn't regretting being there with him. Hoping.. she wasn't missing Ash.

Ash pulled out his flask and took a big gulp of his cheap tequila, he watched as she looked toward the alleyway He knew that she couldn't see him but he could see her. His pride.. well I guess he should call it prey. He shook his head as he saw Dean. He couldn't believe she broke free from him. He was going to have to make her pay for that. At the right moment of course. He didn't feel like fighting off a Winchester at the moment, especially not Dean. He soon disappeared into the night as he left the alleyway, back to his vehicle around the corner.

Raven chuckles lightly, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Of course, it would be fantastic to hit the mall, but don't you have to get back to work? You know, with your job as a mechanic and everything. I can only imagine how your coworkers must be feeling with you absent for so long, Dean." She glances at him, a hint of concern crossing her face, before turning her gaze away from the alleyway. "Honestly, I'm okay," she reassures him, her voice barely above a whisper as she settles into the passenger seat. "I think I'm just being a bit paranoid." The softness of her tone reflects her desire to downplay her feelings, not wanting to burden Dean with her worries. She is acutely aware of the potential danger lurking in the shadows, particularly with Ash possibly searching for her, and the thought of him causing harm to either her or Dean sends a shiver down her spine. As she sits there, Raven wrestles with her thoughts, trying to push aside the fear that has been gnawing at her. She knows that making a fuss about her anxiety would only serve to heighten Dean's concern, and that is the last thing she wants. Instead, she focuses on the moment.

Dean sighed as he remembered eventually he did have to go to work, but he just didn't want this night to end causing him to have to go to work. He nodded, "You're right sweetie. Maybe we can this weekend. I'm always off Saturdays and Sundays." He said warmly as he looked at her with happy eyes. He slid into the driver's seat after he closed her door and came around. He believed her when she said she was okay, understanding she might have paranoia for a while. Especially with how.. bad he treated her like his little pet. "I understand that you are paranoid. I couldn't imagine. Just know, no matter what you're safe with me now. He won't come near you again and if he tried, he wouldn't stand a chance." Dean said firmly but gently, as he looked at her with protective eyes. He started the Impala and the engine rumbled as he did. He soon pulled out of the grocery store and on the way back to his apartment, placed his hand back on her thigh gently - caressing her thigh as he did with his thumb as he drove along the road.

Raven beams gently, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she replies, "That sounds wonderful, Dean! A little outing to the mall, grabbing lunch, and visiting our favorite shops—it's going to be such a delightful experience. I can't wait!" As she speaks, she shifts closer to him, her presence radiating warmth and comfort. "I feel secure with you, Dean," she continues, her voice lowering slightly. "It's just that I have this strange sensation of being watched, but knowing you're by my side reassures me." She leans her head against his shoulder, a gesture of trust and affection, while her hand rests atop his, which is comfortably placed on her thigh. With a soft sigh, she adds, "I truly appreciate everything you do to keep me safe." Her words are filled with sincerity, reflecting the deep bond they share. In that moment, the world outside fades away, leaving just the two of them in their little sanctuary of understanding and support.

Dean smiled at her excitement and he nodded as he glanced over at her and then back at the road when she scooted closer to him. His skin grew goosebumps when she did and he felt her skin touch his as she placed his hand on top of hers. He grew a small sense of worry when she said she felt she was being watched. He looked at the road as he drove, turning on the street his apartment was on. "Have you seen anyone.. and did you see anyone at the diner?" He asked, glancing at her. "I'm glad you feel secure though. That is my goal." He said warmly, before grinning from ear to ear. "And, you're always welcome. You kept me and Sam secure growing up. It is only my job to do so now for you." He reassured her, his heart kind of racing at the thought of her being watched somehow. The thought of Ash being around makes Dean feel just simply sick. He had hoped he was smart enough to stay away from her.

Raven gazes up at him, letting out a soft sigh. "I thought I spotted Ash near the diner and in that alley by the grocery store. But for now, let's head inside, put away the groceries, and perhaps unwind with a show on TV," she suggests, a gentle smile gracing her lips. She clasps his hand firmly, a gesture meant to comfort him and convey that everything will be alright. Raven feels the weight of her worries, but she is determined to find a moment of peace. The thought of relaxing and watching something lighthearted on television brings her a sense of comfort. She knows that tonight might be challenging, as her mind often drifts to unsettling dreams, but she is hopeful that a little distraction could help ease her anxiety. Raven's grip on his hand tightens slightly, a silent promise that she is trying to stay strong. She understands the importance of finding solace in small moments, especially when the shadows of her nightmares loom large. With each step toward the door, she focuses on the warmth of his presence, reminding herself that together they can create a safe space, even if just for a little while.

Dean almost made a sudden stop when he heard what she said but he tried to remain calm composure as he looked at her, nodding worriedly as he did. "That sounds awesome. And please.. please don't hesitate to tell me if you ever see him. That way I'm hyper-aware. I would hate if he hurt you somehow.. again." He said pulling into his apartment complex, parking in his usual spot near his apartment. He soon followed Raven to the door with lots of groceries in his arms, leaving only the gallon of milk and OJ they got to come get. He unlocked the door for her before he came in behind her he sat the groceries down on the counter as well as his keys and wallet.

He looked to Raven once he did, "I'll be right back, I'm gonna grab the milk and orange juice - I think that is all that was left." He said simply before heading back out to the Impala, he had noticed he left his phone in the car also so he grabbed that along with the drinks. He did see the one six-pack he also didn't grab, so he balanced it all and headed back inside with it. He placed it all on the counter also before he checked his phone for a quick moment. An unknown number tried to call him and he looked up to Raven, "Do you recognize this number sweetheart?" He asked showing her his phone screen.

Raven glances at him and gives a slight nod. "I understand, Dean. I promise to inform you if I come across him, but I will protect myself if I do see him," she replies, stepping out of the car and trailing behind him toward the door. Once inside, she tosses her jacket and bag onto the couch, her body mostly covered except for her arms and upper chest, where her tattoos are prominently displayed. She begins to unpack the groceries that Dean has brought in, focusing on the task at hand.

As she observes Dean stepping back outside to retrieve the remaining groceries, she can't help but admire his strength when he returns, managing to carry everything in one trip. "Look at you, Mr. Strongman," she teases, a playful smile on her face. However, her expression shifts when he pulls out his phone to show her an unknown number. A wave of dread washes over her as she recognizes it, but she quickly masks her horror and resumes her grocery duties. "Nope, I don't know that number," she insists, concealing the fact that it belongs to Ash, unsure of how he even obtained Dean's number, perhaps from her phone when he had taken it away. Raven's mind races as she continues to put away the groceries, her thoughts consumed by the implications of that number. She feels a mix of anxiety and determination, knowing that she must remain vigilant. As she finishes organizing the kitchen, she silently vows to protect herself, no matter what challenges may arise.

Dean chuckled when she called him Mr. Strongman, he smiled warmly as she did and he nodded when she said she didn't recognize the unknown number - although he did notice her expression change swiftly but then back to putting away the groceries. He didn't push the matter but he quickly sent Sam a text with the number, so he could search it on his database. He was almost half tempted to call it back - but he decided against it as he wanted to have a peaceful night also. "I texted Sam, just for him to search it up but it could be just one of those spam calls. I doubt that jackass Ash would ever be smart enough to save my number." He said playfully, as he helped her put the groceries away along with the beer in the fridge. His phone soon dinged and he checked it rather quickly seeing it was Sammy. 'I'll check in the A.M. - when I get back to my office then I'll give ya a call bro.' Dean replied, 'Ok, Sammy.' then put his phone on the counter before he headed into his bedroom reaching under his bed and grabbing his shotgun so it was right by the front door as he locked it for an instant amount of protection. He put his pistol in the kitchen on the counter also, from his side. He then looked at Raven, smiling warmly. "Wanna get in our comfy clothes and cuddle on the couch or my bed while we watch a movie? You can pick the movie. Even if it is a sappy one." He said playfully, as he looked at her with anxiety-ridden eyes but also eyes of contentment and peace as he slightly furrowed his eyebrows with a slightly worried look. He tried to hide it but he couldn't mask it - it seemed.

Raven continued to put away the groceries, her mind elsewhere as she absentmindedly organized the items. Suddenly, a loud crash interrupted her thoughts, and she froze in place, realizing she had dropped something fragile. The sound of shattering glass echoed in the kitchen, and panic surged through her. Memories of past mistakes flooded her mind, particularly the harsh reactions she had faced from Ash whenever she had been clumsy. The fear of Dean's potential anger gripped her tightly, making her heart race as she braced herself for the inevitable reprimand.

As she stood there, trembling, Raven's thoughts spiraled into a frenzy of anxiety. "Oh my god, Dean, I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed, her voice shaky and filled with dread. She was acutely aware of the effort Dean had put into earning the money for their groceries, and the thought of disappointing him was unbearable. In a desperate attempt to make amends, she promised to replace the broken item with her own money, her mind racing with guilt and regret. The weight of her past experiences with Ash loomed over her, amplifying her fear of making mistakes and facing the consequences.

With a deep breath, she steeled herself and bent down to gather the shards of glass, her bare hands trembling as she reached for the dangerous pieces. The sharp edges glinted menacingly, but her determination to rectify the situation pushed her forward. She was determined to show Dean that she could take responsibility, even if it meant risking injury. The fear of his anger was a powerful motivator, but the scars of her past made her question whether she would ever be free from the cycle of fear and punishment that had haunted her for so long.

Dean immediately rushed over when he heard the crash of the broken glass on the floor and he quickly grabbed the broom and dustpan. He shook his head as she went to pick up the sharper pieces, "Honey, sweetheart, don't do that. I don't want you to get all cut up." He said gently as he swept all of it up and looked at her after he threw all of it in the trash. He sat the broom against the fridge and pulled her trembling body into his arms, moving hair away from her eyes as he did and looked into her eyes. "Raven, it's okay. It's me, Dean. I'm not him. I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm not gonna make you feel bad. I promise." He said as he looked at her with comforting eyes his mind flashed back to a similar feeling. When he broke his dad's picture on the wall in the living room - all hell broke loose. He took himself out of that memory as it was hell on him to remember. He focused back on her, as he held her closely.

Raven clings to him with a desperate grip, her emotions spilling over as she begins to weep against his chest. The warmth of his body offers her a momentary solace, but the weight of her guilt is heavy in the air. As she gazes up at him, her eyes glisten with tears that cascade down her cheeks, each drop a testament to her remorse. "I truly didn't mean to let it fall and shatter," she confesses, her voice trembling with regret, as she buries her face deeper into his embrace, seeking comfort in his presence.

The intensity of her sorrow is palpable as Raven's arms encircle him, drawing him closer as if to shield herself from the overwhelming feelings of guilt. She feels vulnerable, yet there is a sense of safety in his hold that allows her to express her anguish freely. With each sob, she releases a bit of the burden she carries, her heart aching for the mistake she made. "I never intended for it to happen," she murmurs, her words muffled against his chest, revealing the depth of her remorse and the weight of her emotions.

Raven's tears continue to flow, each one a reminder of her regret, but within the warmth of his embrace, she finds a flicker of hope. She knows that while the object may be broken, the bond they share remains intact, and perhaps, with time, they can mend what was lost. "Please forgive me," she whispers, her voice barely audible, yet filled with a longing for understanding and reconciliation as she clings to him, seeking reassurance in his unwavering support.

Dean felt her cling to him as he pulled her into him as tightly as possible, feeling her tears fall - as he wiped them away with his thumbs gently as he heard her words and his heart completely shattered as he heard them. "I know you didn't, raven. It is okay, I promise." He said, assuring her before he saw her bury her face into him. He held her close to his chest as his heart raced and he held his other arm around her waist firmly and securely. He felt her sob and he couldn't help but tear up some himself as he heard her pained cries. Almost as if he wouldn't let her cry, that he wouldn't let her even make a peep. Dean couldn't help but wonder what exactly he put her through but he didn't want her to have to go into all of it again.. he knew the just she told him and he didn't want her to have to remember it all again.. even though she has the unwanted memories constantly out of her control. "Accidents happen, love. I'm not mad at you. I don't hate you for it. I forgive you, I promise. You ought to know, I have broken many things around here and I can assure you that you didn't do anything wrong." He said softly and quietly, as he felt her cling to him. "I'm not going anywhere either. I promise, babygirl." Dean's heartbeat picked up when he realized what slipped from his mouth and his cheeks grew warmer when he did. But he didn't correct himself. He just let it be for once.

Raven's tears ceased as she processed his words, lifting her gaze from his chest to notice a rosy hue spreading across his cheeks. A gentle smile graced her lips, mirroring the warmth that began to bloom on her face. "Thank you for your forgiveness, Dean. I assure you, I will make amends for what I damaged. However, I think slipping into some pajamas and watching a movie sounds delightful. Just let's avoid anything overly sentimental; I want to share laughter and joy with you, just like we have throughout the day," she expressed, her voice light and hopeful as she gently withdrew from him, yet kept her hand resting against his chest. The atmosphere shifted as they shared this moment, a blend of comfort and anticipation filling the space between them. Raven felt a renewed sense of connection, eager to embrace the simple pleasure of their time together. The prospect of laughter and lightheartedness ahead made her heart flutter with excitement.

Dean nodded, as he looked at her somewhat somber eyes. "Of course, Raven. Accidents happen all the time and I agree. It sounds very peaceful sounding to me, let's watch a comedy then. We can scroll through until we find what looks right to watch and you also.. don't have to make amends. No harm done, sweetie." He said warmly as he looked at her again, "I'm gonna go get into my pajamas - I'll be right back he looked at her once more before holding her into him a bit longer. As he felt the comfort and the passion that lingered among them. He then pulled away, not wanting to but he knew he would go back to holding her as soon as they both changed.

He then headed into his bedroom, going into the closet to get a simple black shirt along with some grey pajama pants after he took his boots off, leaving his socks on. He changed into them rather quickly as he took his watch off and put it on his bathroom sink. He turned on the warm water as he washed his face with some of the water and he looked at himself in the mirror. His peach fuzz was evident and he finished washing his face as he dried with the towel hanging nearby. Once he was finished he came back into the kitchen, grabbing a beer for her and him out of the fridge.

Raven offers a gentle smile and nods as she watches him depart. Once he is out of sight, she heads to the spare bedroom, where she changes into her pajamas. She selects a comfortable pair of shorts and a tank top, removes her shoes and socks, and makes her way to the bathroom to wash her face. As she gazes into the mirror, she notices the bruises and her swollen lip, which appear less severe than before. A soft smile spreads across her face as she acknowledges the progress her body is making in its recovery. Despite the lingering bruises scattered across her skin, she feels a sense of relief that her neck is also showing signs of improvement. Raven takes a moment to appreciate her healing journey, recognizing the strength it takes to recover. The reflection staring back at her is a reminder of resilience, and she feels a renewed sense of hope. With each passing day, she knows she is moving closer to feeling like herself again. After she looks at herself in the mirror she walks back out to the living room.

Chapter 13

[mochaesartcorner]

Research 4/6- Carrie Mae Weems 

Born in Portland, Oregon in 1953, Carrie Mae Weems is most notable for her work through staged black and white photogaphy, and her connection to her identity, personal experiences and overall racism in society. Weems work is a showcase of activism, protest and the lives that we live everyday. Because of her powerful works of art, Weems has been a part of the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York; the Iris & B Gerald Cantor Center for Visual Arts at Stanford University; the Solomon R Guggenheim Museum in New York, and the Centro Andaluz De Arte Contemporaneo in Seville Spain, She has also recevied a plethora of awards that include the Hasselblad Award, a Bernd and Hilla Becher Price, A MacArthur Fellowship from the American Academy in Rome, the Congressional Black Caucus Foundation's Lifetime Achievement Award, and many more. Her most famous pieces include the Kitchen Table Series and Roaming where she sheds light on facing racism across the world and a story of a black woman's complexity, strength and beauty.

Here are a few of her pieces below--

Black Love, 1990

Kitchen Table Series, 1990

Roaming, 2006

These are just a few of the many notable works Carrie Mae Weems has created. I really gravitate and honestly adore/love her photography. It's filled with so much power, strength and struggle. It's beautiful in so many ways that go beyond the surface. I think the reason why I do gravitate so much towards her work is because of her subject matter that she includes. It all tells a story; her story. Each photograph feels so raw in emotion and gives a sense of vulnerability within Carrie's work.

[stanfordlifestylemedicine]

Explore the Strategies of Managing Long-Term Stress

As the gears of modern life grind ceaselessly, long-term stress becomes an unwelcome constant for many. This unrelenting pressure, stemming from the intertwining of professional responsibilities, personal challenges, and societal expectations, can significantly erode one's sense of well-being. Unmanaged, it can lead to a cascade of health issues, both mental and physical, clouding one's outlook on life. This comprehensive guide is designed to navigate the stormy waters of prolonged stress, providing straightforward, actionable strategies to foster resilience and tranquillity. The aim is not merely to survive the onslaught of life's pressures but to thrive despite them by integrating habits and practices that promote a balanced, stress-minimised life.

Building a Foundation with Routine

Stability often begins with structure, and a well-thought-out routine is the cornerstone. Establishing a daily rhythm can act as an anchor, keeping the unpredictability of life's stresses at bay. It's about crafting a schedule encompassing necessary tasks, allocating time for self-care, and still leaving room for spontaneity and joy. Through this balance, one can build a sense of control and predictability, potent antidotes to the feeling of being overwhelmed that accompanies long-term stress.

Nutrition: Fueling the Fight Against Stress

The adage "you are what you eat" holds regarding managing stress. A diet rich in essential nutrients supports the body's complex network of stress-response mechanisms. Foods high in antioxidants, omega-3 fatty acids, and vitamins can fortify the body's defences against the detrimental effects of stress. Avoiding excessive caffeine and sugar, which can exacerbate anxiety and contribute to mood swings, is also crucial. Proper hydration supports every cellular function, including those that regulate our stress levels.

Quality Sleep: Non-Negotiable for Stress Management

Quality sleep is an essential, non-negotiable element in the fight against long-term stress. During sleep, the body undergoes repair and rejuvenation, processes that are compromised when anxiety interferes with rest. To enhance sleep quality, one must establish a pre-sleep routine that includes dimming lights, disconnecting from electronics, and engaging in relaxing activities such as reading or taking a warm bath.

Time Management: A Skill Against Stress

Mastering time management is an effective strategy for mitigating the pressures of prolonged stress. It's about prioritising tasks, setting achievable goals, and learning to say no to avoid overcommitment. By understanding that striving for perfection often increases pressure, we can develop more realistic standards for ourselves and find satisfaction in our accomplishments.

Professional Support

Sometimes, despite our best efforts, stress can become overwhelming. In such cases, professional support can be invaluable. Reaching out to therapists or counsellors specialising in stress management can provide a tailored approach to dealing with prolonged stress. These professionals can offer insights, techniques, and support systems that might not be immediately apparent or accessible to someone struggling.

Conclusion

Dealing with stress over a long time is like running a long race that keeps going. It takes steady work and being open to change. To handle stress well, it's essential to have a regular daily plan, to move and exercise often, to eat healthy foods, to take time to relax and be in the moment, to make sure you sleep well, to keep up with friends and family, and to use your time wisely. Getting help from places like Stanford Lifestyle Medicine can help. They share many tips and ideas that can quickly become part of your everyday life. Check out their website for more information Longevity.stanford.edu/lifestyle.

[thekillingjoke-haha]

Just You And Me

Summary: Sam and Dean are on there second hunt to find John. They need help from the one person who hates Wendigos the most Y/n Winchester

Prequel to What's Worse Then Wednesday?

Ten years ago John had his first encounter with a wendigo a family went hiking with a full group of fifteen and no one has came down from the mountain in almost a month. Having asked a more experienced hunter John wrote down things he needed to remember as he went up the mountain a bag with Molotov ,lighters,and flare-up. It took almost a week to find the small mine shaft his brown eyes widened at the seen. Male and female limps were torn of and only some still had enough meat and clothing to be identifiable. Some bodies were on hook that resembled mountain climbing gear. None of them moved except for one. Stepping closer a six year old girl was hanging from her binder wrist her eyes look into his scared before gazing over down a tunnel a thick trail of blood went down it as tears spilled down her face. "Mommy and Daddy are gone. I next." Her voice cracked and a unhuman beastly type growl echoed. "I'm gonna get you out of here, darling." That's how John Winchester met his adoptive daughter Y/n.

Its been seven years since then and the little family the Winchester's made for themselves was falling apart. It broke John's heart that he pushed away his youngest son when he wanted a way out of this life, but when his adoptive daughter wanted to hunt more big league he almost blew a fuse. Y/n was young really fucking young to be hunting on her own,but it could have been worse she could have cut off contact with John and Dean. Now two years later John's missing and the siblings need each other.

The h/c teenager hissed as she cleaned the deep cuts on her shoulder looking into the bathroom mirror. A fucking blood suckered clawed at her shoulder taking advantage of the other two she beheaded. The burner phone on the back of the toilet rings as she grabbed it putting it between her ear and none injured shoulder. "Kinda busy Dean-o." She mumbled slipping the antibacterial cream in the cuts making the surface pink. "Dad went on a hunt and hasn't been back yet. I got a call last night and it sounds Ike somethings under it." He said the sound of baby let be know he's in the car. "Send it over to me and I'll have it back to you by the hour. You leaving New Orleans?" She ask starting to Butterfly stitch closing up the cuts. "Yeah left about two hours ago heading to California." Pausing and shacking her head. "No no no no no! You're not involving Sammy! He got out the life let him stay away and safe." Y/n finished up wrapping her shoulder as she walked out the bathroom to put on a shirt. "I need to,n/n. I won't keep him long we are just gonna check out the place dad was last at. The question is are you coming." Licking her lips she sighed. "I can't I'm in New York right now just took care of a nest in Brooklyn. I won't make it cross country for a couple of weeks." Dean let out a heavy breath. "I know,but I also know you're avoiding Sammy." Maybe the youngest wasn't the only one heart broken after one of her protectors,her best friend left in a huff and hasn't answered a single call.

The silence was drawn out as Dean's phone buzzed against his ear. "There your voice-mail put it through a gold wave. Sounds like a vengeful spirt bring rock salt for the shotgun." Dean chuckled. "Thanks baby sis...wait did you put me on mute to ignore me!?You bit—" That's when the line went dead. The h/c girl giggled as she layed on the stiff musty motel mattress. Her eyes closed,but her mind ran ramped.

The woods they were dark and seemed to loom over her. It was so quite no sound came from anywhere not even the wind dared blow. Crying filled the the air it was that of a child. It grew closer till it disappeared all together the claw marks on the trees marked the familiar place the blood soaked leaves crunched behind her causing the teen to go stiff. She knew what was behind her it was the same thing in every dream for ten convective years even if she knew her body wouldn't allow her to act she was that same scared little girl paralyzed as the horror show continued. The creature yelled,but it echoed in all directions. "HELP US!" Dean and Sam's voices shocked her awake her body pinned in fear as she looked at the Wendigo on top of her. It successfully restricting movement if her whole upper body. Blinking hard it was gone and air filled her lungs like rushing water. It meant nothing...nothing at all.

It's been almost a two weeks since Dean's call. He often text since Sam tried to high jack his phone last time he tried calling. Sam and Y/n didn't exactly end on the best of notes. "Come with me." Sammy looked at a younger Y/n who shook her head. "No. I can't leave dad and Dean. Not like this." The dust has settled after the heated argument between father and son and the rules were clear the moment he walked out those doors he stayed gone. "Don't call him that." His mood seemed to shift back to angry,but something else was there. "Call him what? Dad?" The young girl was confused now. "He's not your dad." It wasn't a secret that Sam harbored negative feeling against his sister they were never anything serious,but he still somewhat loved her just not like a sister. "You're not apart of this family you can get away,but no you're going to stay here and become their weakness!" He points at John and Dean who were just behind her. "I'm not a weakness! I got their back like they've got mine. That's what's family's for!!!" She shouted her eyes welling with tears not letting them fall,but they slip out at his next words. "Your family is dead! Did you save them then?! Maybe if you did we wouldn't be stuck with you!!!" The room was still no one dared breathed Dean stared wide eyed at his baby brother as John grew tense grasping the neck of his beer bottle in a vise grip while same looked like a deer in headlights. A sniffle brought the three men's attention to the girl. Tears streamed down her face before she used a open palm to whip her face dry. "Just go. Cause that's what you do best you runaway from your problems and wait til Dad or Dean can fix it." The thirteen year old snapped at him as she pushed on him as he just stumbled back. "You're nothing,but a coward and a pathetic one at that. I don't want to loss the little family I got for myself you're so willing to walk away from them it shows how different we are...nothing,but two strangers." He stood in the doorways as the h/c teen grabbed his packed duffle bag and threw it into his torso making him fall to the ground.. "So just FUCKING LEAVE!!!" With that she slammed the door shut. What Sam couldn't see as he drove away from the dingy motel was the mess he left behind. A father struggling to keep his kids safe,a brother torn between hunting and normalice,and lastly a adoptive sister that can't help,but be different. Sam Winchester left his family in a worse state then imaginable.

Sitting in bed I looked at my phone hoping it rang or buzzed with a incoming message that said they were fine. Y/n jumped as the screen lit up the name Batman lighting the screen. "About fucking time you jackass!" Her words were harsh,but the relief filled her voice. "Yeah we just got out of Stanford campus heading to .... now." Dean said the sound of cars and wind slightly muffled his voice. "H-how's Sam after...after you know?" One thing that Winchester’s hated was emotions and even if they weren't blood she grew up the same. Nature and nurture going toe to toe. "I don't know. You can always ask him yourself you know." The h/c teen laughed as she ran her hand down her face. "Dean-o he's the same shaggy haired asshole that said I wasn't family. I'll give him a chat when we're cheek to cheek in hell." And another thing Winchester’s sure knew how to hold on to a fucking grudge. "God you sound like Bobby said if he ever saw dad again he'd be looking down his shotgun barrel." They both chuckled as the faint sound of a ding of a convince store rang out. "Well tell Samantha same goes for him." She picked her nails as she decided to get up. "What are you morons hunting anyways did dads ex-marine crap give you a clue?" The crunch a gravel on the line grew louder. "It just had coordinates,my name,and a note saying safe place with your name." Dean opened the car door and got inside as Sam approached him. "I don't know Dean I don't have a safe place in the middle of nowhere so keep me updated,Batsy." Sam looked over at Dean who switched hands to the furthest from his brother. "Copy that talk later,Robin." That's when the keep away match started.

"Dude what the hell I want to talk to Y/n." Sam huffed as his brother closed the flip phone dropping it on the floorboards next to his feet. "Your chances of talking to her are zero to none,man. Sammy she'll talk to you when she's ready." Dean sighs as he starts the car. The youngest huffed he will admit he was a shitty brother that night and everyday following he didn't like it,but he ignored her calls for a months till they just stopped.At first he was still heated,heated, he felt guilty,then he was too busy. Sam tried calling,but it disconnected immediately meaning she blocked him. He thought he'd see her when Dean broke in but finding out she's been taking her own hunts scared him shitless. And from what Dean told him she started after the first month she trained harder taking own bigger hunts with Dad before doing normal ones alone. Sam realized by leaving he took away her only need for normalice,her want to have something other then hunting. He took her slice of the apple pie for himself.

The brothers were in the fucking woods in jeans and flannels walking with a makeshift search party for a missing kid. They were in a abandoned campsite after they lost their supplies. The signal was shot and Dean's phone was useless in most areas. He sent a text as it waited for any signal to send. "' Going in the woods with unknown creature. You know the coordinates I'll call if we need you'" That was a bit of a lie. He knew what it was before nightfall,but he didn't want her to have a panic attack he wouldn't be there to help her. The guide Roy? shot blindly in the woods after something rustled and growled like no animal. The boys ran after him as he got snatched up into the treeline which made them quickly escape back to the camp. As Haley and her brother Ben slept Dean had first watch they weren't prepared and this was the last creature he wanted his sister to hunt. Not after last time.

Dean was on a hunt with Dad and Y/n while Sammy stayed at uncle Bobby's for exam week or some shit. John never told them what they were hunting they had to discover it themselves. The hunt that was suppose to last three days,but took almost a week the tried tracking it yet nothing came up,but more missing persons. The trio decided they'd go back into the national park when it was daylight again,but they didn't need to wait that long. That night they slept Y/n sharing the bed with Dean as dad slept in the bed to the right of them it was probably the quietest night they've every had so the fact that something breezed in under their noses scares them most. Dean rolled out of the bed to the bathroom closing the door after he turned on the light it illuminated the pale skinned beast in the corner. It creeper closely to the only adult in the room gazing at his body before turning to the smaller figure in the bed breathing evenly. It crept onto the bed leaning over her body the old motel mattress creaked as it settled onto her. The weight of the creature was crushing causing her breath to come out in a hissing wheeze as her e/c eyes opened before they filled with shock. Going to scream the crushing weight on her chest pushed all the air out along with breaking a few ribs. Her hand wiggled out from under him as she wiggled her arm to hit the lamp off the table it broke onto the ground and John shot up with his gun and Dean busted out of the bathroom both froze before jumping into action the young boy running to get a lighter while John shot at it just to get it away from Y/n. The boney supernatural creature screeched getting up allowing the girl to try and roll out of the bed it struck her back blood soaked her clothing as she fell coughing roughly knowing the fall made one of the ribs stab into her lungs. The males in the room were able to set the monster ablaze quickly getting out of the room John holding his daughter. Y/n was in shock like many victims they've seen that monster was her nightmare and it casual gazed at her having the ability to kill her at any moment. After going to the hospital she stayed at Bobby's for almost a month to recover physically and mentally. Wendigos are her yellow eyes.

The next day as the followed the tracks of the Wendigo a sigh left Dean's lips as he tried to call her it rung for awhile before dial tone at least it went through,but she must have been busy. About to hand up the girl took off running after the beast made itself know Dean ran to keep up with her Sam yelling for him to wait as he stayed with her brother. She managed to trip as he went to pick her up he was hit over the head as she screamed for help as he started fading in and out and the voice-mail ended with Cries of help.

Y/n sat in her car waiting for a update text form Dean she started driving close to where he was,but didn't involve herself yet she almost got a room at the motel when her phone buzzed with a text. It was a update to come if he ever called to head over and help with a thankful sigh she back tracked from the motel and went to the dinner as she left her 0gonw on the table to order food it vibrated with a incoming call. One missed call and a voice-mail. As she grabbed her bagged lunch she grabbed the stuff off the table going back to her car as she got in the driver's seat she opened her phone to see a missed call and a voice-mail. Dean never sends voice-mails so Y/n opened it and she almost broke her foot as she hit the pedal to get to the woods. "Dean wait up~*crackle of leaves and grunts*~Come on we gotta ge—~*Female Screams followed by a thud*~ DEAN!!! *Inhuman roar before cut off*" Y/n almost had a panic attack in the car,but the adrenaline made her move faster that was sent five minutes ago. Taking a deep breath she began calling any hunter supernatural or not that knew the area well enough. "Hello?" "Hey this is the ARIA. I'm F/n F/L/N you have been hunting in the area for forty years are there any identifying landmarks within those woods? So incase of emergency?" The old man happily spoke about clearings,cabins on the edge,river,and a abounded mineshaft and where they were. She quickly thanked the man before hanging up she pulled out a satellite gps as she got looked over were she needed to go. Grabbing a backpack she loaded it with everything she needed as she took off into the wood watch as she got closer and closer with each click.

Sam's eyes fluttered open as he grabbed his bearings. Dean was next to him which mean he got captured not long after Dean and got taken. Haley,Ben,and Tommy were to the right of him they were stuck as he tried to move or at least hit Dean and wake him up. His brothers eyes sluggishly opened as he looked around before turning back to Sam in shock. The heavy foot steps creeped closer as the half clothes supernatural being looked down at them even though they were hanging on meat hooks. It moved down the line of people about to grab Tommy when a soft cry echoed in the cave. It turned around and listened closely. The brothers strained their ears to hear what it was. The Wendigo sprinted off to investigate when something else came into the Winchester’s view. Y/n stood infront of her brothers mud,sticks,and leaves on her body to mask her sent. Walking forward with a knife she cut Dean down before doing the same for Sam. The oldest went to cut down the siblings as Sam stopped his sister. "Y/n how did you get here? You shouldn't be here the monster is a—" She cut him off with a anxious smile in her face. "A Wendigo I know,but you guys needed a hero so I'm here." Dean came over to them as he stood next to his taller brother. "Sammy's right though,N/n. You got to get out of here after what happened last time. This thing is different from the last one it won't sit still for us to shoot it." He had a point, but he knew that was years ago he was still scared he couldn't protect her. "I got this I can defend myself. Get these people out of her I can distract the man eater." Handing them both a flare guns She turned towards the opposite tunnel the beast went into. "That leads straight to a river follow the flow and after it stops you're only two miles from Baby." About the protest they hear a growl. Y/n quickly sprinted further into the cave making enough noise to cover them escaping.

"OH OH HERS SHE COMES WATCH OIT BOYS SHE'LL CHEW YOU UP! OH OH HERE SHE COMES SHES A MAN EATER!!!" She sung running lighting flares leaving a trail as she ventured deeper. Y/n pulled the rubber top igniting another about to drop it when a snarl came form behind her. "Well hello beastie." She didn't turn around evening her breathing before spinning. The red light illuminated the monster in a devilish glow she wasn't a scared little girl anymore she was a Winchester and Winchester’s chase after their demons. "Just you and me now." A roar sounded throughout the damp cave. The boys turn to look back they both wanted to run back,but both of them would have pit her in more danger they were injured and a extra body to look after would put her at risk. They saw the orange hue of flames and the sound of glass breaking. Standing anxiously waiting for her to come out they were thrown back by the force of a explosion pressurized by the small space. The rock of the cave entrance was about to crumble when a head of h/c hair running out with a limp as it collapsed dust clouded the scene before them they could tell if she even got out until it settled. The youngest Winchester stumbled forward as she smiled at her brothers blood coming from her head and her split lip. "That was awesome. I did a Indian John's." Dean ran as fast as he could capturing her in a bone crushing hug. "Do some shit like that again I'll kill you then myself." She giggled as she hugged him back. "Sorry can't hear you. Explosion ya know deafening me." Y/n joked as her brother pulled away from the hug. Sam walked over slowly almost testing the waters. "Hey Y/n." He said shaky as he looked down at her. She's grown alot since last time he saw her she had more scarred and hard exterior. "Heya Sam." Her e/c orbs looked up at him they were uneasy as she smiled at him before hugging her as well. "I missed you,Jackass." Her voice was muffled by his shirt as he returned the hug. Their relationship will never be the same they both had Dean as a buffer between them,but for right now in this moment it was just the two of them Just you and me against the world.

[moviemunchies]

Ever since it became a hit on Broadway there were attempts to turn In the Heights into a film, but studios stalled because they figured that they needed a big name bankable star to lead the movie. It ended up not going anywhere until Lin-Manuel Miranda hit super stardom because of Hamilton. With the direct of Crazy Rich Asians and Miranda’s name on all the marketing materials, they hoped this movie would be a smash success.

It… wasn’t. 

The movie got rave reviews, and to be clear, deserved them, but it did not make the oodles of money. There are think pieces on why, exactly it didn’t make that much money–the pandemic didn’t help of course, some people blame that it was streaming on HBO Max at the same time, and you have weird conservatives decrying it as “woke” because… it features Hispanic protagonists, I guess? But really I don’t know. There are a butt ton of reasons any good movie can do badly in theaters.

So.. I dunno, who cares why, should you see the movie now?

Yes.

In the Heights is meant to be a slice-of-life story about the community of Washington Heights in New York City, a predominantly Hispanic neighborhood, as it struggles through the summer. Our narrator and main character is Usnavi, the Dominican-American of a corner star who wishes to go back to the Dominican Republic. He’s also got a massive crush on Vanessa but can’t work up the nerve to tell her that. Vanessa herself is desperately trying to move uptown to become a fashion designer, but is struggling to make that plan a reality. Usnavi’s friend Nina just got back home from college at Stanford, but the news she brings (that she’s planning to drop out) isn’t what everyone expected. And Usnavi’s cousin Sonny wants to be politically active, but soon finds that he’s got his own problems blocking his dreams.

As you can probably tell, this is not a Plot-heavy story. Yes, there is a Plot, but the story is driven more by character than it is by Plot. Unlike Hamilton it isn’t as if we’re leading up to the founding of a nation or anything like that. If you aren’t interested in a story which, in its own words, is trying to show you what everyday life is like in Washington Heights, then I don’t know that you’ll have much fun with this movie.

Indeed, I suspect that contributed to the marketing problems. It was not a show very familiar to general audiences, and it isn’t as if the previews did a great job of telling you what the movie is about, instead focusing on “This is from the guy who made Hamilton and the guy who directed Crazy Rich Asians!” And it’s difficult to really tell people the Plot because it’s… kind of things happening

I wondered, given that this is also a musical, originally a play by Lin-Manuel Miranda as _Hamilton_ is, if like that play this story would be a series of musical numbers without much spoken dialogue. But that is not the case. Obviously there ARE musical numbers (though some from the play have been excised), but there’s also plenty of dialogue connecting them. So if that was something you too were wondering or were worried about, there ya go. Question answered.

The main problem I had with this movie was that I felt like it went on too long? There’s this whole conflict about whether or not Usnavi is going to leave Washington Heights. And this conflict gets old by the movie’s end. There’s a good half hour that the movie’s just kind of built on this and while I enjoyed the film, I think this could have been sped up. It probably didn’t help that I already knew what the choice would be before I started the movie (accidentally picked it up from an interview with Miranda several years ago).

If you enjoyed Lin-Manuel Miranda’s other work in musicals, I can’t imagine you wouldn’t enjoy In the Heights. If you were hoping for a serious, Plot-driven movie than I expect you’d rather watch something else. But for musical theater fans 

[sweetprettygeek]

Whumptober Prompt 3

STICKS AND STONES MAY BREAK MY BONES BUT…

taunting | insults | “Who did this to you?”

Fandom: Gravity Falls

Whumpee: Stanford Pines

Ford twists his wrist to look at the time on his watch. Stan’s detention should be done in about fifteen minutes. He doesn’t mind waiting. It’s easier to read here than at home.

He turns to the next chapter of his book on theoretical physics. He lets himself get lost in the complex sentences and the feel and smell of the pages. He leans back against the inbuilt bench and feels the stone dissipate as he’s sucked away from the deserted schoolyard and into another world: a world of dark matter, black holes, extra dimensions…maybe even a multiverse beyond that. He wonders if there’s a place—in the theoretical multiverse, or in any of the millions of galaxies beyond theirs—where he would fit in. Be normal. When he drifts like this, he can almost picture it: a world of anomalies, a world filled with the fantastic and unexplained. What would it be like to go there? To a world of mystery and adventure away from the mundane and everyday? Away from cigarette smoke, broken bottles, and disappointed frowns?

He can almost see it. Can almost step through the invisible rift and be there.

Then the book is ripped out of his hands and the dream world falls to pieces like a shattered window.

He blinks, confused by the loss at first, then looks up into an unfortunately familiar face.

Crampelter. The guy must have no hobbies for all the time he spends harassing him and Stan. His expression twists into a familiar sneer as he glares down at Ford. “Hey there, nerd.”

Ford’s brow furrows in annoyance. “Give it back, Crampelter.” He tries to grab the book back, but the bigger boy holds it up and out of his reach.

“Got left behind today? Only one seat left on the Loser Bus?”

“Give it back.” Ford stands and reaches for the book again. Crampelter holds it over both their heads.

“Why don’t you come and get it?” he taunts, waving the book back and forth. “You need your big dumb brother here to fight your battles for you?”

Ford’s cheeks burn. “He’s not dumb!” he shouts out Crampelter, focusing on that instead of the embarrassment coiling in his gut. He lunges forward, trying to snatch the book midair.

Crampelter catches him in the stomach with his foot, kicking Ford away and into a wall. The air whooshes out of Ford’s lungs and he doubles over, clutching his stomach and riding out a wave of nausea and breathlessness.

“Your brother thinks he’s a real tough guy now that he’s learned to throw a punch.” Crampelter spits into the dirt and rubs his jaw with the back of his hand. He rubs right over a dark bruise that Stan had given him a few days ago when they’d gotten in a fistfight. “We’re gonna show him what happens when he tries to be a hero.”

A cold prickle crawls down Ford’s neck. When they were kids, Crampleter’s antics never went further than insults and a bit of roughhousing. But they’re older now. Crampelter’s altercations with Stan have escalated to full-blown physical brawls. And right now, as Ford looks into their old bully’s face, he sees the logical progression of a kid used to pull the wings off bugs for fun.

Ford braces a hand against the ground. He has to get up and out of here. He’ll wait for Stan somewhere else, preferably somewhere with more people. He pushes off the ground and rises to his feet.

He doesn’t get far.

His face smashes into warm concrete. His vision blurs instantly; he’s lost his glasses. His mouth tastes like copper. There’s a sharp pain in his back, between his shoulder blades. He tries to roll onto his back. There’s a weight on him, above his waist, and a barrier at both his sides.

He’s trapped.

He struggles against whatever is holding him down, but it feels like his body has slowed down and the outside world has sped up. He can’t keep up. Before he can get his bearings, his arms are grabbed and pulled behind his back. He hears a loud ripping sound and laughter before something wraps several times around his wrists, securing them tightly together. He shouts something—maybe a stop! or a what are you doing? or even a someone, help me! The only response he gets are fingers in his hair, yanking and snapping his neck backward. The ripping sound again. Something rough and sticky covers his mouth and seals it shut.

“Let’s take this somewhere a little more private,” Crampelter’s voice hums. Ford hears heavy footfalls tread closer and closer. He sees two dark shapes enter his vision, just inches from his face. The weight lifts from his back and a moment later Ford is hauled to his feet by a pair of arms on either side.

Through the daze of shock and pain Ford’s panic suddenly cuts through. He doesn’t want to know what plans Crampelter—and his goons, presumably—have for him. His feet aren’t bound; he doesn’t have to go with them. When they try to drag him off, he digs in his heels and refuses to budge. When they try to lift him, he lashes out with flailing legs and feet. He hears a yelp and a curse and knows that he must have kicked one of them.

Slap

The hit is forceful enough to knock his head to the side. He feels his cheek stinging right before he gets another blow to the stomach. He chokes behind the gag. He can’t breathe. There’s a tight pang in his sternum. It feels like there’s a rubber band around his lungs. He already can’t get air through his mouth, and now his nose is rejecting every frantic breath he tries to take.

He feels so dizzy. He shuts his eyes, but that does nothing to help. The world spins like a tilt-a-whirl he can’t get off of.

He’s moving and bobbing and being jostled back and forth. When the temperature changes and the sunlight disappears behind his closed eyes, Ford realizes he’s been taken inside somewhere. The hands holding him upright drop him onto the floor. He whimpers and curls into a ball, trying to ease the fresh surge of pain. He’s hurting, but it’s better to be on the ground. At least he has a solid surface to brace against.

“Aw, is the nerd twin crying already?” one of Crampelter’s minions cackles at his sounds of distress.

“Your brother can’t help you now, six fingers.” The click of a lock turning into place echoes in Ford’s ears like a gunshot. His eyes shoot open and he tries to get his bearings.

It’s dark. There are lots of objects filling the space, but Ford can’t tell what they are. The air has a cramped feel to it that Ford recognizes from the pawn shop: the odor of too many things crammed into too small a space.

When he shifts, he feels an unsteady object teeter against his foot. He kicks at it, hoping for some kind of distraction so he can…okay, he doesn’t have a plan. But he feels more in control doing something rather than lying on the floor and letting his tormentors have their way with him.

Whatever he kicks falls with a loud clack and he can hear one of the boys jump backward. They recover quickly, though. They’re the ones holding all the power.

“That your best idea, loser?”

“Maybe he only looks smart ‘cause his twin’s an idiot.”

“You’d think you’d have learned your lesson the last time you waved those useless twig legs around,” Crampelter scoffs. “Looks like someone’s gotta teach you.”

The weight is back, now on his upper legs. He’s not been taken by surprise this time, so Ford can finally identify the pressure as another body pinning his down. He hears the dreaded ripping sound again—duct tape—and knows it means nothing good. He kicks his legs against the floor, but whoever’s sitting on him leans forward to press Ford’s shins into the ground. He’s helpless as the duct tape wraps once, twice…three times around his ankles. The weight shifts forward onto Ford’s quads so that the one with the duct tape can bind him above the knees too.

When they’re finished, when they’ve climbed off him, Ford flexes in his bonds. He can’t move. Can’t escape. His eyes do sting now. He tries to blink the tears away. He won’t give them the satisfaction of really seeing him cry.

“He looks like a chicken, all trussed up like that,” one of the bullies snickers, then begins bwoking loudly in Ford’s ear.

“He went down so easy, too! What a pussy!”

“Where’s your brother now, Stanford?” Crampelter asks mockingly. “Not coming to save you this time, is he? Finally realized what a weirdo you are and ditched you.”

It’s not true. Ford knows it’s not true. Stan would never ditch him.

“I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t want to be seen with a freak like you.”

Ford’s stomach churns. Freak. He’s heard the word countless times, but it always sounds exponentially worse in Crampelter’s mouth. It makes him feel like a creature, like something you would dissect in science class. It makes him feel worthless.

“That’s why you don’t have friends either. ‘Cause you’re disgusting.”

“You should do everyone a favor and disappear.”

Ford inhales sharply through his nose. You should do everyone a favor and disappear.

He knows he’s weird. It’s not just his hands, either. He likes weird things. He talks weird. He actually likes going to school and learning. He’s not good with people. His dad thinks he’s a wimp. His mom thinks he’s annoying. And Stan…

Maybe Stan wouldn’t draw so much bad attention if he didn’t have a twin. Maybe he wouldn’t get pummeled as often if he didn’t have Ford to protect.

Why couldn’t I have just been born normal?

Ford gets literally yanked out of his self-pitying mess. The lackeys pull him onto his knees. Crampelter crouches in front of him, close enough that Ford can smell tuna on his breath. They’re close enough that when Crampelter holds up an object in the narrow gap between their faces, Ford can tell what it is without glasses.

He squirms, trying to twist himself out of his forced position. He shrieks muffled protests into the gag.

“Stop moving,” Crampelter growls into his ear, “unless you want me to cut you on accident.”

The fear is enough to stop Ford from thrashing around, but not enough to keep him from trembling. He’s never seen Crampelter with a weapon before. Unless rocks and soccer balls counted as weapons. But those were nothing compared to a knife.

Crampelter shoves his head down and leans over the top of him. Ford feels a light pressure travel down his arm, over his sleeve. His breath hitches as he feels the knife push into the narrow gap above his bound wrists. For a terrifying moment he’s sure that the blade is going to dig sideways into his arm. That moment stretches on and on until he loses it and lets out an involuntary high-pitched while that would have been a please if he could speak.

The knife slices straight down through the duct tape, freeing Ford’s hands.

Ford blinks, confused. Why would they tie him up only to free him when he was finally defenseless? Was this some kind of twisted psychological warfare? If so, it was horrendously affective.

He brings his hands around, intending to rub some circulation back into his wrists. He doesn’t get that far. His left arm is seized and twisted behind his back, eliciting another cry of discomfort. Crampelter grabs his right, rolling up Ford’s sleeve with the dull edge of the knife.

“I’m gonna make sure you remember what you are. Gonna make sure your brother remembers what I can do.”

Crampelter presses Ford’s palm into the floor, holding his wrist in a crushing grip. The stooge twisting his other wrist pushes him forward into a hunchbacked position, keeping him bent and pinned.

The blade flashes and Ford screams.

---

Stan groans and stretches his arms over his head. Finally, freedom! Old Ms. Carbuncle sure knew how to make detention feel like an eternity. Ford probably hasn’t even noticed how long it’s been—too engrossed in some new nerd book to care about Stan’s suffering.

Stan thinks he’ll sneak up on him. Just for kicks. Just to even things out a little.

“Heyyy Sixer!” he jumps out from behind the corner, pouncing on the stone bench where Ford always waits for him.

But Ford isn’t there.

Stan turns his head right and left, thinking that maybe Ford heard him coming and moved to avoid the sneak attack. “Sixer?” he walks around the area, looking over and under and around everything that Ford could possibly use to hide. “Ford?”

No answer. He’s not there.

Stan flattens down the rising feeling of something like worry in his throat and replaces it with annoyance instead. So Ford hadn’t wanted to wait for him. Too smart and well-behaved to stay behind and walk with his delinquent brother. Stan sees how it is. Oh, he’ll get Ford for this later. He’ll hide his favorite telescope or eat the last pudding cup in the fridge and maybe that’ll teach Ford it’s not nice to ditch his twin.

He sighs and hefts his backpack over his shoulder, walking to the school entrance. He’s almost to the wire fence when he sees a figure sitting on the curb past it. The bubble of irritation and not-worry in his chest pops and he jogs down the walkway to reach his brother.

“Ford!” he exclaims, bending over to catch his breath. “You could’ve told me you were waiting someplace different today!” He lifts his head to look at Ford, expecting some dry quip or—more likely—a huh? Oh, there you are Stan as he blinks up owlishly from his book.

But Ford isn’t looking at him at all. Or at a book. His eyes are glued to the ground. He looks a mess: clothes rumpled and hair askew. His glasses sit crookedly on his nose. Bent again. Stan’s surprised their mom can still twist their glasses back into shape, considering the damage they’ve taken over the years. Ford’s hands are in front of him and he’s wringing them nervously.

“What in the heck happened to you?” Stan forces himself to laugh, ignoring the ache in his gut. “Alien abduction?”

“Let’s go home.” Ford sounds exhausted. He wobbles a little when he stands up. There’s no way sitting on the sidewalk took that much energy out of him.

“Hey, c’mon man.” Stan grabs his twin by the shoulder and turns him in his direction. Now that they’re both standing, Stan can see that the skin around Ford’s lips looks swollen. He’s about to either praise or scold Ford for getting some action while he wasn’t around, but then he feels his hand start shaking.

No, it’s not his hand that’s shaking. It’s the arm under his hand. In fact, Ford’s whole body is trembling like a leaf.

“Stanford…”

“Let’s just go home, please?” Ford’s voice is hoarse. He must be getting sick. Stan feels terrible for scolding him.

“Yeah, sure. Let’s go this way; I know a shortcut.”

He reaches down to take Ford’s hand. Ford jumps and pulls his clasped hands out of Stan’s grasp.

“Don’t!” he shouts.

“What is wrong with you?” Stan yells back, a little annoyed and a lot frantic. “I just wanted to help! Why are you acting so…?”

He trails off as he takes a good look at Ford’s hands. He’s not wringing them. It’s just one hand pressed tight over the other, rubbing occasionally. And the fingers of the top hand are stained with something rust-colored.

“Ford, you’re hurt!” Despite his previous bad results, Stan reaches for his brother again.

Ford stumbles backward. “It’s nothing…”

“Like hell it is! You’re bleeding!” He can see in the panicked dart of Ford’s eyes and the tensing of his muscles that he’s about to bolt, but Stan is stronger and has faster reflexes. He grabs Ford’s wrists and pulls the top hand away.

The back of Ford’s right hand is crossed with angry red cuts. They don’t look super-deep, but they are welling with blood. Stan’s about to freak out and demand to know how Ford got his hand messed up, but then he notices something that makes his heart drop into his stomach.

The cuts aren’t just random lines. There’s an F shape along the ridge of Ford’s knuckles and an R disappearing under his sleeve cuff.

His own hand tenses, and Ford must know what he’s thinking because he shouts, “Stanley, don’t!”

But Stan does.

He pulls up Ford’s sleeve as far as it can go. Traveling up his twin’s forearm are the letters E A K.

FREAK

Stan freezes for a good second before he feels his blood boil over. His head snaps up and he looks into Ford’s pale face. It’s no better than looking at the bloody letters. “Who did this to you?”

Ford presses his lips into a tight line and shakes his head.

“Stanford Pines, you tell me who did this right now!”

He shakes his head again. Tears escape from the pinched corners of his eyes and run down his cheeks. Stan is horrified. Ford doesn’t always take pain or disappointment well, but he never cries. It’s a side-affect of being raised by Filbrick Pines.

“Tell me so I can go bash their faces in!” He’s furious and he feels sick and so, so guilty. This would have never happened if he’d been there. If he hadn’t gotten that stupid detention…!

“Please…” Ford’s fingers curl into his Stan’s shirt. “Please just drop it. I just want to go home.” He sounds so small and helpless and lost. “Please, Stan.”

Stan’s anger crumbles. He’s sure to revisit it later, but right now he has a brother to take care of.

“Okay. Okay. Let’s go home. Oh hey, hold on a second!” Stan reaches down and pulls his shoe and sock off. He stuffs his bare foot back into the shoe and wraps the sock around Ford’s injured hand. “Yeah, I know it’s gross. But it’ll do for now, right?”

Ford nods tightly. His body looks ready to fold in on itself. Stan wishes he knew what to do. All he can do is wrap an arm around Ford’s shoulders as they walk home and tell him that it’ll be okay. That they’ll be okay.

He’s not sure which of them he’s trying to convince.

[jawritter]

His Old Ghost

Created For: @spndarkbingo

Summary: Some things from the past just never really want to let go, do they?

Square Field: Mobster AU

Rating: Explicit 

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader x John Winchester

Word Count: 1672

Warnings: Heavy Trigger warning!! Suicidal!Dean, heavy suicidal ideals and implications as well as prompts, control, manipulation, talk of death past and present, depression, language, angst, I think that’s it. Sorry if I missed something.

Beta’d by @deanwanddamons! <3

A/N: As always please do not copy my work! Feedback is golden! This is the last fic for this Bingo! Hope you all enjoy!

**Masterlist**   ~  **Become A Patreon**

The deep amber brown liquid swirled easily around the tumblr that Dean  held tightly in his grip. His gaze was fixed on large rain drops falling against the window that was behind his desk, blurring the lights of the city that seemed to sit miles below his penthouse office on the 51st floor. 

Below him were thousands of people, young and old, going about their daily lives, only worried about their own little bubble of problems. Most of them were unable to even see past the cell phone that seemed to captivate their attention as they moved about amongst each other. 

With a disgusted snarl on his lips, Dean lifted the tumbler, and downed it in one pull. The burn of the alcohol has stopped affecting him a long time ago. Now it was the only warmth he felt.. 

“Those people, they’re ungrateful for what we do son,” John’s voice sounded from somewhere in the back corner of the room. 

Dean had known he was standing there watching him. When you have lived many years with people trying to kill you, tend to heighten your senses in a way you couldn’t turn off. 

“Get out of my head old man,” Dean’s voice drew out unamused. “I couldn’t give a fuck what they want or don’t want, see or don’t see. It doesn’t matter anymore.” 

Dean could hear John moving closer to the desk, and the wood creaking attop it, as the smell of cigar that seemed to constantly linger around his father, misted with just a hint of some expensive Italian cologne and whiskey let Dean know he’d perched himself on the corner of the desk.

“If it weren’t for us, half of this city would be in ruin. Their businesses  would be shut down, their schools and churches would be sitting empty, and they wouldn't even have a roof over most of their heads. Still, look at them down there, walking around without a care in the world, and you’re  telling me that doesn’t bother you? Not in the least?” 

In truth, it didn’t bother him. He wasn’t mad that most of them were ungrateful, and lived in blissful ignorance.In fact, he envied them. He wished he could walk around in the same happy little bubble they walked and lived in everyday, not knowing what really went on behind closed doors, or the sacrifices other people made at their expense. “It’s just good business,” or so his father always said. Dean was starting to beg to differ. 

He hadn’t  known when he’d take over his father’s ‘family business’ it would come with so much pain, and heartache or so much death. Now here he was, The Godfather, as it were, but it wasn’t anything like it was in the movies. No, it was darker, and colder, and lonely as the grave he’d seem to keep lowering his friends into. 

He thought he could have it all when he was younger. He thought that he could have it all, ruling the city on his throne of control as the people  moved about like his little pawns in a game of chess only he could master. He was wrong. So very fucking wrong, and now? Well, now he was just left with the ghost of the past.

“It doesn’t bother me,” Dean said with a slight shrug of his broad shoulders. John’s dark chuckle sounded from behind him as he got up and moved closer to the window, putting a hand on the cold glass as he watched the rain slip down the pane, determined to ignore the old demon that seemed to come and visit him after every failed job. 

“Sure is a long way down isn’t?” John’s voice said from directly next to him now, as if he was looking down at the city below him just as Dean was now. “You know, it wouldn’t be hard right? The fall? In fact, it would almost be peaceful. Hell, they say by the time you hit the ground from this height your heart’s already stopped anyway, and you're dead before you even hit the ground. It’s as easy as falling asleep.” 

Dean’s jaw clenched as he closed his eyes and fought against the thoughts that were clouding his judgement. “Fuck off,” he growled, but John just laughed in earnest, sending a familiar shiver down Dean’s spine. 

“Come Dean, what do you really have to live for anyway?” John taunted, walking around him like a lion stalking down his prey, getting ready to land the deadly pounce that would ultimately destroy the poor, worthless beast that was weaker than he.

“She will never love you Dean, you know that right? First time shit goes sideways, she’s gonna do the same as every other bitch you have ever used to get your dick wet. She’s just there for the money you hand her, and you know it.” 

John’s hot breath blew against the back of his neck as the next passing words were made in a whisper against his sweat damp skin. 

“But, you had to fuck around and get feelings, didn’t you boy?”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Dean roared, but it only seemed to edge on his torturer even more. 

“No! Feelings make you weak, make you vulnerable!” John’s voice sounded louder than his own, and Dean flinched as if he’d raised his hand and struck him. 

“I shouldn’t be surprised, you always were too weak. You and your feelings were the reason I’m dead today Dean. Sam would have made a better leader. He was smarter, stronger.  You were never even able to protect him.That’s why you let him go off to Stanford, isn’t it Dean, because he’d be safer out of the life.” 

Dean’s fist pounded against the glass in a hollow thud, and he gritted his teeth almost painfully, “Sammy deserved better than this. He deserved to get out.” 

“Is that what Benny deserved today Dean? Was that round through the heart his way of ‘getting out of the life’.He’s in the ground right now because you sent him on that delivery Dean, he’s dead because of you.”

“I said, fuck off!” Dean growled, but to no avail. 

“Do Y/N a favor. Open the drawer where you keep that 45, and end it. A simple shot to the temple and it’s done. She’ll be free of the coward that she’s tided too.”

Dean’s eyes shot to the small drawer at the bottom of his desk, and his pulse quickened.

“That’s it son, do it, end it.” John's voice growled deep in his ear, as one large tear rolled down Dean’s face. 

His legs felt weak. His breath was coming in short spurts as a grip tightened around his pounding heart, like a vise in his chest. John’s voice repeated, growing in his ear to “end it, do it now.” the same tone he’d used his whole life to order him around, and Dean had never been able to disobey an order. 

Maybe his dad’s ghost was right, and was weak. Maybe you would be better if he just ended it, took the cowards way out of this shit show, and let you move on. He’d make sure to leave you enough money to live comfortably for the rest of your life.You’d be better off if he were dead.

Before he could even move from his spot against the window, two hands, much smaller than the ones that felt as if they were gripping his throat, slipped around his chest, and your scent seemed to push through the fog of self hate and regret that was weighing on him from years past. 

“Dean, baby breath, it’s okay,” your voice soothed over him, and he turned to lean into your embrace, thankful that you had come in just in time to once again chase the old ghost away. 

“I know, it’s just one of those nights,” Dean murmured into your hair, letting the scent of his favorite shampoo that you always used calm his racing pulse. 

“It wasn’t your fault baby. I can see you literally blaming yourself. Benny knew the risk of what he was going to do, he knew that it could go the way it went. You couldn’t have stopped it if you wanted to,” you try to sooth him. 

Dean’s eyes flickered to the corner of the room, where a pair of glowing yellow eyes shone like cat eyes in a dark alley, and his father’s face disappeared into the darkness. He was never gone forever. He was always there, always lurking, always haunting, taunting him. 

“Come on handsome, let’s get some sleep,” you tell him, grabbing his hand, and leading him from the dark, cold office to the master bedroom were you could keep an eye on him, keep him close to you, and help fight off the old ghost of his past that never seemed to want to let go. 

Tonight he’d win against them again, but there would always be a battle, always a struggle with demons that had their hooks in him so deep, that one day they’d drive them to his grave. Tonight though, he’d hide in the safety of your arms, and your warm embrace to get up and do it all over again tomorrow. Until one day, by an enemy or by his own hand, he’d be lowered into the ground, and with a hero’s funeral to cover up a black soul that had more blood on his hands than the devil himself. 

As long as he had you, and as long as you were here, he could find his resting place here. This was as close to heaven as he’d ever get, and when he’d died, and they covered him in gold, he’d be able to say he had you, for just a little while. For just a little while, he got to see heaven, and it was all because of you. His hiding place. His sanctuary. A place where his ghost couldn’t find him. 

Forever Tags: @deanwanddamons @rvgrsbrns @bi-danvers0 @onethirstyunicorn @i-love-superhero @akshi8278 @lyss-dw79 @magssteenkamp @lemondropirwin @squirrelnotsam @hobby27 @spnbaby-67 @mrsjenniferwinchester @defenderrosetyler @screechingartisancashbailiff @thecreatiivecorner  @aflamboyanceofgays @vicmc624 @busy-bee-angel-misska @justanotherwinchester @brilovesdeanwinchester @idksupernatural @lyarr24 @amandamdiehl @love-jackles-37-blog @miraclesoflove @Waywardsistershy @emoryhemsworth @dean-winchesters-gardian-angel @softsebastian @tatted-trina6 @deanmonandnegansbitch @hayleeharling   @flamencodiva @coldmuffinbanditshoe @bxbyizzy @dirty-pan-goblin @itmejado @supernatural3002 @teresa-67 @thoughts-and-funnies @hearteyes-j2​ @miss-nerd95​

[featherthiefdean]

Small Everyday Deeds

The day Jack is born something happens that changes everything. Cas survives just barely and Dean is forced to retire.

Sam and Eileen come to visit 3 years later and things are different than what they expected.

Alternating timelines between Dean's struggles from the day of the accident with a now human Cas and Baby Jack to Sam's week long stay three years later.

Start the story here!

Time was a funny thing.

The weekend Sam was supposed to spend helping Dean look for their Dad before returning to Stanford never ended. The divine apocalypse Sam and Dean stopped allowed the world to continue relatively unscathed. All the stuff after that with Metatron and Amara, tablets and trials, marks and spears, angels and demons never slowed time down. Time just kept on spinning.

Time was an especially funny thing when it took a small two-hour road trip to travel a distance Sam had been meaning to go for a long time. Almost two years and a half years, if Sam was remembering correctly.

The drive was smooth and about as picturesque as one could take on a warm June night. Eileen had the windows rolled down and her hair was blowing in the breeze as they pulled down the long lane that led to the farmhouse. The tires crunched over the dirt and rocks. Dusk was settling around them and fireflies illuminated both sides of the drive. The heat from the early summer day was slowly dissipating leaving behind the promise of a cool evening. It was the perfect night for a drive to visit family and Sam was so glad they decided to come tonight instead of waiting until the following afternoon like they had originally planned.

Eileen parked the car in front of the two-story farmhouse. Soft lights filtered through the windows making the house look cozy and serene. Sam could hear crickets and frogs singing from the nearby pond now that the crunch off tires overturning gravel had stopped.

The house had transformed since the first time he had laid eyes on it. Curling paint and broken shutters had once decorated the exterior of house. The house had looked sad and pitiful when he had first viewed it. A lifetime of neglect had made the house looked like it was hunched over in sadness and shame. Vines and bushes had overrun the place nearly hiding it altogether. Now, thanks to the gentle ministrations from Cas and long hours of repair from Dean, the farmhouse stood proud and emitted a warm glow. A true reflection of the little family that lived inside her.

Sam had barely gotten out of the car when he heard the front door open and out came Dean and Cas with Jack in tow. The smell of burgers wafted through the air as Sam and Eileen ascended the front steps onto the large front porch. Sam felt his stomach growl in anticipation. Yep, he was definitely glad they came tonight.

After brief greetings, claps on the back, and hugs to go around, Sam and Dean made their way back to the car while Cas and Eileen stood under the porch lights. They were too busy gossiping to care that the brothers had departed to start unloading the car. Cas was smiling as he signed one-handed to Eileen with a sleepy Jack perched in his hip. Jack’s eyes kept fluttering closed and his sandy hair was tucked into Cas’ neck.  Sam shouldered Eileen’s duffle from it’s place in the backseat and grabbed the handle of his own. They had a few more bags in the trunk but Sam was hit with another waft of the burgers and he felt the growl of hunger deep in his stomach even more this time.

“Dean, should I bring everything in tonight or can we wait until tomorrow to unload?” Sam asked.

“We can probably wait until tomorrow if you want. Just grab whatever you’ll need for tonight. Dinner’s almost done and I made a whole spread including burgers. After that, we’ll get you settled in.”

Dean glanced back up the porch and Sam followed his line of sight. A smirk hit Dean’s face and he continued, “I don’t know if Jack will last much longer unless we get some food in him anyway.”

Read the first and second chapter here!

[wonder-kid-pugh]

Remember the Night - (Kelley O'Hara x reader)

I smile as my phone lights up as it buzzes on the bed beside me as I'm getting ready. "Hey love". Her face lights up on my screen she's already dressed in her training gear and on the bus by the looks of it, "Hey Y/n. You nearly ready?"

I chuckle, "Shouldn't I be asking you that? I'm not the one about to play in a world cup final". "Yeah but I want to make sure your in the stands cheering me on" she gives me a cheeky smile. "I'll be in the front row cheering like mad as you plough through Dutch players the whole game" I roll my eyes. "So you think we're going to win?" She asks. I smile at her, "I know your going to win. You believe in your team and I believe in you".

A big grin spreads across her face but before she can say anything a blonde blue drops in her lap and snatches the phone from her. There a bit of a struggle before the screen focuses and I'm met with the face of Emily Sonnett, "Hey Mom!" I chuckle, "Hey Sonny". "Sonnett give me back the phone!" Kelley whines as she thumps Emily as she tries to steal back her phone. "Ow! Mom! Dad hit me" Emily whines. I laugh, "Sonnett give Kelley back the phone". She pouts but complies as Kelley soon replaces her on screen. "I better let you get zoned in on the game. I love you and I'll see you at the game" I tell her. She sighs but nods, "Okay I'll see you at the game".

I nod, "Yep I'll be in the front row wearing my favourite players jersey". Kelley's face is overtaken by a smile and she awes. "Yep my best friend number 23 Christen Press what a hero". I can see Kelley's look of shock while Christen climbs over the back of her seat and smiles at me, "Love you too Y/n". Kelley face turns sour quickly as we both laugh. "You should be thanking me Kels, remember I'm the one who introduced you back at that Stanford party" Christen teases.

I grin, "She's right Love. Christen told me about this absolute nut of a teammate she had and then introduced me to you". The people her laugh while she pouts at me with red cheeks. "And then I spent everyday after that falling more and more in love with you" I smile. Her frown is replaced with a smile while it sounds like the whole bus awes at us. "Anyways I better let you all prepare for the game. Good luck girls! Love you Kels". I hear an array of "bye" and "See you later" and a "bye mom!" from Sonnett. Kelley smiles at me, "Bye Y/n". I blow her a kiss before I end the call.

I take one last look around the room making sure I have everything I need. I pat my pocket one last time and take out the small box and open it. I bite my lip as I look down at the box in my hand and sigh.

Just a few more hours

----------------

I was on my feet when Kelley went down after going in for a tackle against the Dutch player. I guess it was clear I was anxious as Kelley's mom stood beside me, "I'm sure she's fine. She's tough". I nod mutely as I bite my thumb praying she'll be okay.

The crowd cheered when she got up but she was led over to the sideline by the medic and subbed off. I could see her scan the family section until she landed on me. I held up a thumbs up and mouthed at her, "You okay?" She nods with a small smile but I could see she was still annoyed but she still mouthed back, "Fine. Just a precaution".

I let out a sigh of relief thank god it's nothing bad. I pointed to my heart and tap it three times and she smiles and does the same. Our own little way of saying I love you.

The rest of the match was insane. Pinoe's penalty and then sweet baby Rose's goal had every US supporter buzzing waiting for the match to end and for the US to be two time reigning world champions. The whole of the family sections was on its feet as there was only a minute left in the game. When the final whistle blew everything went wild.

The atmosphere was electric and full of buzz. The subs charged the field in celebration the whole team jumping around the field. I spot Kelley hugging Julie as she whispers something to her before Kelley runs off towards Alex and Allie. I hug Kelley's family while Kelley celebrates with her team.

Before long I see my red head sprinting over to us and hops up on a box to talk to us. I let her family speak with her first before I'm pushed forward by her sister. I lean down over the barrier and hug her tight, "I knew you would win". She nuzzles into my neck before she pulls me slight and the look she gives me. She eyes glazed over and a complete look of love in her eyes, "Can I kiss you?" I smile down as I rest my forehead against hers, "Are you sure?"

But she just beams up at me, "Never been more sure of anything in my life". I lean down and cup her face and kiss her. I smile into the kiss as I shut out everything else around us. When we break apart we're both wearing matching smiles. "I'll see you later yeah?" I smile and nod rapidly, "Definitely". Kelley gives me one last kiss before she hops off the box and rejoins the team.

I move back so other family members could talk to their loved ones. My hand slips into my pocket as it plays with the box. Watch as they receive their medals and parade around the pitch for a victory lap. I bite my lip, the tiny box in my right pocket seems to be getting heavier and burning a hole right in my pants leg. I slip my phone out of my pocket as I send a quick text off to Kelley.

Do you think you could slip

away for a few minutes?

Yeah for sure

Meet me at players entrance

I make my way to meet Kelley as I push myself through crowds of people. When I spot her waiting for me I pick her up and spin her around in my arms. She giggles and gives me a quick but firm kiss, "What did you need to see me for?" I drop her back on her feet as I take her hand a drag her behind me, "Cmon I need to show you something!"

"Y/n where are you taking me? I can't stay away long from the team" Kelley slurs slightly obviously the effects of having a few drinks before meeting up with me. "I just need to show you something really quick okay. Just follow me!" I call as I drag her through the streets.

I pull her all the way to the bridge with locks decorating the wiring of the railings. "I could be getting drunk right now, why did you bring me here?" Kelley jokes. I grinned as I looked over my girlfriend. She was still wearing her shorts and jersey but she had thrown on her zip up over her jersey and she had traded her cleats for her trainers. Her baby strands were stuck to her face and her cheeks are flushed with a red tint.

"I know your suppose to be celebrating right now and I had planned to to this later but I just can't wait any longer" I admit. My hand slips into my pocket as I get down on one knee. Kelley gasp while her hands clasp over her mouth and I can already see her eyes start to water.

"I had it all planned out. I would take you here after dark and the street would be all light up and it would look like something out of a fairytale. But I honestly couldn't wait any longer to ask you and I wasn't sure if you would be drunk to remember" I laugh. She chuckles as the tears are now streaming down her face.

"We've been together a long time, way back since you were this cocky little hotshot in Stanford. And everyone tells me how much you changed after you met me but I don't think they give you enough credit because you changed me too. I become a better person when I'm with and I think we bring the best out of each other. I love how your so determined and passionate about everything you do but you always know how to get a laugh with your childlike behaviour. I want to want to spend the rest of my life waking up next to you and reminding you everyday how much I love you. So Kelley Maureen O'Hara will you please marry me?"

She doesn't say anything but instead tackles me in a hug which sends us toppling to the ground. I grunt from the impact but she doesn't give me time to recover as smashes our lips together in a heated kiss. We only part when air becomes an issue as we're both breathing heavily.

"Is that a yes?" I breath out as I stare into her hazel orbs. "Put that ring on my finger" Kelley lets out a watery laugh. I chuckle as I slide the ring onto her finger. I get up off the ground and lift her into my arms, "I love you so so so much Kel". She grins at me, "I love you more". I brush my nose against hers and kiss her forehead, "Not possible". "Well it is because I do" she fires back. "Everything's a competition with you" I roll my eyes. "Yep" she giggles and kisses me.

She holds my hand as we walk back to the stadium. "Do you think that they noticed I was gone?" She asks as she entwines our fingers. "Are you trying to tell me that they wouldn't notice their Frat Daddy Senior not there with them celebrating and getting shit faced drunk" I raise an eyebrow at her. She laughs, "True". We stop outside the door and we can still hear the massive party raging inside the dressing room. "You better go back inside. You got some catching up to do" I laugh. She shrugs, "I'll still be able to drunk everyone in there under the table".

I shake my head, "It will be a miracle you remember I proposed tomorrow between your head injury and the amount of alcohol your going to consume tonight". She wraps her arms around my neck, "Well if I don't it just means we get to celebrate all over again". I smile and pat the small of her back, "You better go back in there". She stands on her tippy toes and gives me a quick peck, "I'll see you at the party and then we can celebrate together".

I nod and watch as she skips back into the dressing room. I can hear everyone inside cheer as she walks in. I start to walk down the hallway when I hear a shout from the locker room

"WORMIE WHAT IS THAT ON YOUR FINGER!"

[architectuul]

Let's Build Pyramids: Why to Destroy Cities and Capitalism!

“We must fill our eyes and ears with things that are the beginning of a great dream. Someone must shout that we’ll build the pyramids. It doesn’t matter if we don’t. We must feel that wish. We must stretch the corners of the soul like a sheet.”  — from Domenico’s speech, Nostalghia

For a series of different reasons, Andrej Tarkovski’s Nostalghia seems very actual as it portrays the image of the cities during these days of lockdown. In the most emblematic scene of the film, Domenico, the old madmen who enclosed his family at home for seven years attending the end of the world, gives a public speech from the top of the Equestrian Statues of Marco Aurelio in the Campidoglio square in Rome. Listening to him are a very few groups of mad, foolish and ordinary people standing on the different monumental stairs of Michelangelo’s piazza. In the scene, actors are symmetrically positioned on a precise and identical large-distance from one another echoing, in some rhetorical but also poetical terms, a sort of future scenario on how we’ll have to imagine one of the most crowded spaces in Rome and elsewhere if social distancing becomes a new way of living.

Apart from the poetics of social distancing and its anticipation, what emerges from Tarkovski’s film is also a different perception of space and time opposed to our everyday-life habits: namely when Gorchakov, the protagonist, steps in his large hotel room, where it is shown only the bed and the sink, when he meets Eugenia in the hotel hall and when he visits the thermal bath of Bagno Vignoni. In two hours of film, all these few passages and dialogs are shown very slowly, slow shootings with only a few actors, offering a sort of dilated space, which again recalls how cities and metropolis have been spatially transformed from when silence and emptiness reigns supreme since Covid-19 spread globally. In these days, which seems that will last for a long time, seen from the point of view of domestic segregation (mediatically called quarantine), comes clear on how much we are used to and educated to live in cities and how we suffer it now. We all work in offices, study in schools and universities, consume in supermarkets and shops and do travel for all these reasons abroad, away from home, which we use only as a sleeping-place when we turn back from outside by car, tram or bus.

Assuming all these activities and rituals as fundamental aspects for reproducing life, while thinking also to the urban form of contemporary towns, historical centers, metropolis and megalopolis, it clearly emerges that the very reason behind these common rituals are mobility and circulation. As we all can observe, without working infrastructures, without metros, tram-lines, car roads and highways, cities would have no sense. I thus argue that this is related to a contemporary crisis of space, which is a very tangible condition in actual problematics such as climate change, pandemic crisis, scarcity of land in cities as also in the countryside, as well as the property issue and housing shortage, the problem of minimum dwellings and high rents, conditions that are strongly related to the existence of the city and its urban form.

Wuhan: No One Cares

Who did theorize well the dialectic between circulation and the crisis of space was Karl Marx. In his Grundrisse Notebooks, Marx argues that within the circulation process, which is part of the whole process of production, Capital through the concept of time destroys the concept of space itself: “Capital by its nature drives beyond every spatial barrier. Thus, the creation of the physical conditions of exchange – of the means of communication and transport – the annihilation of space by time– becomes an extraordinary necessity for it.” [1] The circulation process, namely the process of exchange of goods, labor force, money and capitals, is the process where products are transformed into goods and this takes place within the so-called global market. 

As Marx put it out, in order to surpass any barrier, the production of cheap means of communication and transportation is fundamental to capital, that is why their realization is promoted by capital itself: “The sea route, as the route which moves and is transformed under its own impetus, is that of trading peoples ϰατ᾽ ἐξοχήν [pur excellence]. On the other side, highways originally fall to the community, later for a long period to the governments, as pure deductions from production, deducted from the common surplus product of the country, but do not constitute a source of its wealth, i.e. do not cover their production costs.” [2] To say it in more simplistic words, it is capital alone or through the intervention of the State that needs to build streets and communication routes connecting cities (market centers) through the territory, and doing so as quick as possible.

As we think to the form of the city since its origins, as highlighted by Henry Heller in his book The Birth of Capitalism: A 21st Century Perspective, the urban fabric of the medieval town was a fundamental apparatus in accelerating the passage from feudalism to capitalism. Collecting different arguments of historians and researchers on feudalism, Heller tries to explain the role of the formation of towns in a passage that coincided with the rise of the town both as a marketplace and as a terrain of class struggles. 

From the contemporary point of view of its most sophisticated form that is financial capitalism, David Harvey have always asserted that this aspect of accumulation and exchange is embodied in the ideology of the political agendas of growth. As highlighted by Harvey in one his lecture at Harvard Senior Loeb Scholar, after the 2008 crisis, while the UE promoted austerity policies, on the contrary, countries like Brazil or China pointed towards extreme growth (and urbanization) implementing large investments in order to increase employments and escape from economic depression. Examples like the Chinese project launched in 2013 to merge together Beijing, Tianjin and Hebei into a megalopolis of 130 million people called Jing-Jin-Ji, demonstrates not a mere imperialistic geo-strategic plan, but it also reconfigures the logic of financial capital applied to an archetype which does exists as capitalism does too: the city. In such a context, criticizing the city means contemporarily criticizing capitalism and its logics of production and reproduction. For this reason, through the history of architecture and urbanism the unbearable aura of capitalism and its logics has produced many alternatives by proposing models that served as attempts to escape from, to govern and to destroy it.

University of North Carolina Campus (1860). | Source: Turner, Campus: An American Planning Tradition

Escape was one of the main reasons behind the invention and ethos of campus planning in the USA in late 1700s. When university and education in the United States became a political project, for many campus planners the only way to make education efficacious was to build them far away from the city, in order to avoid its corruption, distractions, profligacy and chaos. The word campus, coming from Latin campo that literally means an open field, according to Paul Venable Turner was first used at Princeton College in the 1770s referring to the property land of its first college building [3]. 

From then, putting a group of buildings within the idyllic nature enhanced an alternative to organize life differently. Eliphalet Not, president of Union College during 1804-66, became popular through college pioneers for having invented a way of living and a new governance based on family life principles. During Nott’s governance, each professor was responsible of his class and had to consider it as his enlarged own family. This model of less-control over students structured a new democratic life that corresponded also to the architectural form of the college designed by French architect and landscaper Joseph-Jacques Ramée: a rotunda at the center of the campus and symmetrical wings of dormitories and classes limiting a natural common space where students and professors could live and work together as members of a large family. 

Union College, Schenectady (NY), Project and drawings by Joseph-Jacques Ramée (1813). | Source: Turner, Campus: An American Planning Tradition

Revisiting the same architectural and organizational model, the spread over the American territory of almost identical models such as Thomas Jefferson’s Virginia University, first projects for the Davidson College in North Carolina, plans for a National University near Washington and the Stanford University, echoed in certain ways Robert Owen’s parallelograms for a socialist utopia where mutual-cooperation based on living, working and centralized education could be organized within self-sufficient bodies spread over a farming landscape [8]. Everything but socialism, American university campuses however represented a dilated spatiality inhabited by students moving around in groups, social distanced or close to each other, and with buildings placed here-and-there into an open field full of trees, lakes, forests and idyllic green.

Ville Contemporaine. | Source Der Stadtstreicher

Fascinated by this same depiction of university campuses, yet operating through the same ideals of nature, but more perverse and decisive, Le Corbusier’s plans of Ville Contemporaine for three million inhabitants of 1922 and Plan Voisin of 1925, strongly opposing urbanism as we are all used to know it, can be considered as one of the most radical attempts to destroy the city and its historical aura. 

Plan Voisin. | Source Charnel House

While in both the two proposals the Swiss architect insisted on demolishing an entire piece of historical Paris for erecting his prototypical settlement with towers and low-rise buildings into an enormous park, the very response to the logic of capitalism was his Industrial Linear City elaborated together with the CIAM-France group of the ASCORAL in 1942-43 [5]. In the latter, Le Corbusier imagined a series of territorial strips (with highways and railways) connecting European most important historical centers through horizontal and vertical territorial axis containing housing, productive buildings and free-standing agricultural settlements. 

Diagram of the Industrial Linear City through Europe and fragment of the linear city connecting two historical centers (1942-43), Le Corbusier + ASCORAL. | Source Le Corbusier - Œuvre complète Volume 4: 1938-1946

In his vision he literally stretched the typical industrial city assuming the highway, that became a greenway, as its structural form: thus, historical centers in Le Corbusier’s vision were reduced into ordinary administrative bodies and exchange hubs—likely in the same way we intend Amazon distribution centers operating today—connected to each other by highways bordered with a green belt and rhythmed through factories and isolated Unité d’Habitations, horizontal garden-cities and facilities. The linear form assumed the infrastructure by explicating it in a new architecture dispositive for a new dilated city, the habitability of which could be imagined by thinking to the point of view of an adventure foreigner-guy traveling and sleeping in highway motels when stopping in filling stations.Though, rather than a real alternative to the capitalistic city, Le Corbusier’s linear city can be considered as a design diagram to control and govern accumulation and to give a specific form to the logic of growth against that neoliberalist laissez faire model that came after Le Corbusier era.

Detail of the Industrial Linear City (1942-43), Le Corbusier + ASCORAL. | Source: Le Corbusier - Œuvre complète Volume 4: 1938-1946

What Le Corbusier presented as a mere opposition, the disurbanization of the world imagined by the Italian collective Superstudio with their Continuous Monument, an enormous infinite white-grid element cannibalizing the city, to quote a very potent expression used by the Italian architectural historian Roberto Gargiani, collects all the frustration of an entire young generation emerging from the political struggles between 1968 and 1977 against industrial capitalism in Europe. While in the first collages of 1969-70 this imposing element cannibalizes the city in the sense that it really penetrates it by destroying emblematic landscapes such as Graz, Madrid, Rome, Florence and New York, in the latest collages of 1970-72 this immense monument could finally run through in full liberty: into world’s nature, canyons, deserts, valleys and rivers [6]. 

As Gargiani and Beatrice Lampariello have carefully narrated in their book Il Monumento Continuo di Superstudio, tracing its origins, infrastructure highways and viaducts were crucial references on the Superstudio research discourse by images as these infrastructures really addressed them on how to use one of the most emblematic inventions of capitalism for circulation in favor to a new spatial alternative. Inside the Continuous Monument, echoing Joseph Paxton’s Crystal Palace interior,—there have to be no rooms, no labor-division, no hierarchies, no typology and no program—just a free and pure envelope of nothingness. Rituals and forms of life had to take form in the same way urban communes and hippies did and, perhaps, life inside has to be governed in the same way the Italian autonomists were politically organized: through their same historical effort that helped to understand and made visible the inhabitability of the city.  

Fragment of the Continuous Monument entitled Manhattan Empire State Building, Superstudio (1969-70) 

It was nevertheless auspicabile that such critics emerged in times of gran abundance, on the apogee—to put it with Adam Smith terms—of the wealth of the nations. Although during modern and post-modern history of architecture there were many other examples going on the same direction, even more radical and polemic (i.e. soviet disurbanism linear aggregation of individual cells with episodic collective buildings is the most emblematic example towards the destruction of the capitalist city) [7], the three strategies analyzed above should tackle not a new projective aura, but, on the opposite, a ferocious critic to what have been done till now. The point is not to advance specific solutions but to raise questions and to address a hysterical reaction to everyday obviousness: Why are we at this point? Why streets and squares are there and we cannot reach them? Why did we all build them if, in a snap of fingers, they become inhabitable? Perhaps, because they have always been inhabitable—inhuman.

Fragment of the Continuous Monument On the River, Superstudio (1969-70) 

Going back to Tarkovski’s message, the invitation to build Pyramids should be read not as a mere nostalghia of how we were living before the global lockdown. It should rather serve to think on an historical moment that is yet to come and could give the possibility to share that common anger that lays in our souls and spirits; to finally express it in the form of a common effort for destroying the command of capitalism and building marvelous pyramids for a new form of democracy.

- Marson Korbi

---

[1], [2] Marx, K. (1073). Grundrisse. Foundations of the Critique of Political Economy, London: Penguin, 442, 449.

[3] Venable Turner, P. (1984). Campus: An American Planning Tradition Cambridge, MIT Press, 47.

[4] Benevolo, L. (2005). Le origini dell’urbanistica moderna,  Laterza.

[5] Le Corbusier, eds. Willy Boesiger, Oeuvre Complète (1991). Zurich: Les Editions D'Architecture, 72-75.

[6] Gargiani, R., Lampariello,B. (2019). Il Monumento Continuo di Superstudio. Eccesso del razionalismo e strategia del rifiuto, Genova: Sagep Editori.

[7] Aureli, P. A., Martino, T. (2018). The Forest and the Cell: Notes on Mosej Ginzburg's Green City. Harvard Design Magazine, no. 45.

[skittles1229]

Old Expectations Die Hard (Dashie x Reader Fanfic)

Chapter One: Weird Circumstances

You know your life is complicated when the friend you always complain to says "you never have a dull moment do you?" I sigh as the weight of the world seems to make it impossible to breath. You see recently things have been rough. I lost my job and my fiance all in the same day, that itself was an unbelievable story. I was so upset and strung out on thoughts of what to do that once i got home early from work i didn't notice the extra car in the driveway. i stepped into my home and my own floors felt as if they'd given way when i saw the guy i thought i'd be spending my life with in bed, with my sister... my sister and i hadn't been on good terms for a while and for a good reason! The drugs she took either made her unreliable and selfish or crazy and murderous. He, of course, pulled the its not what you think, id never hurt you, it was a mistake, and honestly i could write a book out of the excuses i heard in the time of two minutes but maybe another time. Needless to say i left. I never thought about going back and to be honest my sister looked more hurt then i was. I took a job in California a few weeks ago and moved in with my friend (BFF Name). They always seemed to know what to say and honestly i truly believe They  knew me better then i know myself. 

California gave me the biggest culture shock I've ever had. I came from Mississippi, the bible belt and the most rural part of the world. California was sooooo different then what i was use to. The weather is awesome. There's lots of jobs for technical people, at least until you're 45 and then you're considered ancient and you can't possibly know anything when some 23-year old out of Stanford tells you that they know it all. (a little bit of sarcasm there) It's a great place to start a new company, money is available as is talent. The risk of starting a company is lower since you can always find a new job The politics are insane, if you aren't towing the progressive party line you should just STFU. If you even once say that Trump has done something positive, or that Obama did something negative prepare for the wrath. Read the stuff behind the recently filed lawsuit against google for a taste of what it's like. Seriously, don't say a word. The state if structurally bankrupt, although the finances look good because so much stuff is off of the balance sheet. The public pension liability dwarfs the "good" part of the budget, and some day it is coming home to roost. Watch out when it does. The cost of living is absurd, really absurd. I'm not talking just a place to live but gas, electricity, haircuts, milk, pizza, you name it. The traffic is absurd too. (can you tell i like the word absurd) The public transit, although usually on time, is a mess. People are pigs, they throw trash everywhere, the cars are overcrowded almost all the time. 

I've got to say, from how much it sounds like i hate California, i actually don't.  Mainly because its so far away from my original family, leaving really helped me start to grow up and feel like maybe i was getting a hold of my life again. Only problem has been getting to my new job on time. I work as a barista and a waitress at a brunch place a good minute away from the apartment. The money is good, otherwise i wouldn't waste my time with the commute everyday. i keep being late to work because i still haven't adjusted to how terrible traffic is and so my boss was "nice" enough to switch me to the later shifts. The hours are long and boring because my shift starts in the middle of rush hour to the slowest hours at the end of the day meaning you have to find things to keep yourself busy with. the only good thing is, we can wear pretty much anything we want as long as its black. all i wear is dark colors so i didn't have to spend any extra money on a uniform and i didn't have to wear the same thing everyday. Today i decided i wear a v-neck shirt that with an emperor waist (body forming) with black skinny jeans and my regular converse. i decided against driving to work and decided it would be far smarter to catch a bus to the nearest destination. My (hair color) hair was done is a fishtail messy braid, i always liked this style because it made me look like i had a head full of hair when in reality i thought i was going bald. 

My personality was a little odd, you see some days i felt like the beautiful nerd who has no confidence and wants to hide away in a hole. other days i feel like a model from Victoria secrets, of course those are the days i get the most tips. today was honestly a mutual day, where id rather be at home in my bed asleep, or listening to music. The bus finally stopped a block away from my job and i sighed obviously not wanting to go into work. surprisingly there wasn't nearly  as many cars as there usually is around this time but i wasn't complaining. i walk in to see that most of the downstairs was empty but whoever was upstairs definitely had a loud mouth. i walk to the back in order to clock in and i bump into melany ( the girl im shifting with). "wow you actually got here on time! Maybe the boss's mood will cheer up." i huffed a little. "yea, i dont know why i thought id need a car in California, say whats with the low level of customers? its NEVER this slow." she looked at me in disdain, "some guys reserved the entire upstairs and we had to make this huge table out of all our tables up there, glad im not gonna be the one fixing it later." i rolled my eyes, i hated when a huge family came in and they just had to move everything around because little johnny wants the sit next to suzzie and suzzie HAS to sit by her parents bc she likes to throw her food on the floor, all fake names but a real situation ive been in before. "well have they at least been fed so that i only have to clean up after them?" she shook her head while hanging up her apron. "nope, they've only ordered their drinks and they are getting those onto trays now." so today was gonna be like every other day. "guess i better go help them take those upstairs then, have a good rest of your day." i walk away and slip on my apron, grabbed one of the trays of drinks while another waiter grabbed the rest of the drinks. Once i got upstairs, that's when i met him...

Chapter Two: Last Will and Testament

          He was sitting on the far end of the long table of people laughing and joking. everyone seemed to be loud and all had their own inside jokes. This guy, he stuck out. i changed my attention to the task at hand, finishing this shift. i hated when people moved all the tables and seating around. all the waiters and waitresses have to go back behind them and look at the layout of the floor to put them all back exactly as they were before. it was a struggle and because of this nobody actually wanted that job so usually the manager gives it to her least favorite workers and i happened to be one. "who all had coke?" nobody answered me so one of the men bellowed out the same line and somehow was able to get a show of hands. i walked around handing  out drinks, catching the lingering smell of strong liquor. i could tell by the end of tonight they would all be wasted and loud. please, just don't make more of a mess then you have to, i thought to myself. i had one drink left on my tray, "sweet tea?" the guy i saw before at the end of the table waved his hand and i dreaded going over there, i always seem to make a fool of myself when it matters. 

     i make my way slowly down the table with the tray under my arm and the tea in my hand. i lean over to sit his drink on the table.."here's your t-" *CRASH* while joking with one of his friends his elbow crashes into my hand sending the tea flying all over me and the cup crashing to the floor, thank god i wore black. he turned around and looked more horrified then i did. "i'm sorry! i'm so sorry!" his voice was deeper then i imagined it'd be. "no, it my fault i'm sorry ill get you a new one." i turned away to hide my embarrassment and walked away really just trying to get away from the situation. i could tell from the silence behind me that all eyes were on me. i ran to the back where the lockers were for the service. i went to the bathroom and stripped the sticky clothes off throwing them aside. i sat on the toilet  trying to catch my breath, my social anxiety had struck me  hard. a feeling of worthlessness and dread fell over me like a blanket. after the past few months i've had just one day without something terrible happening would mean the world to me. i heard a knock on the door, it was melany, she walked in with a towel from the kitchen. "hey, i heard what happen upstairs are you ok?" i covered my breast trying keep myself as unexposed as possible. "oh yea im fine, im just cold, and sticky, and... covered in tea." melany and i made eye contact and both laughed just to lift the dread in the air. "let me guess, all the guys are getting a kick out of watching me fumble again huh?" i said a little less concerned and more annoyed. she rolled her eyes "they are boys, they get a kick out of picking their own nose. we both slid to the floor beside each other, she hands me the damp towel. i get most of the sticky off as possible, throwing my hair up to make it look less clumped together by the sugar. "i have an extra black t shirt in my locker but i don't know how it will fit you. your breast are at least a size larger then mine." i shrugged my shoulders, "who cares ill make do. thanks for your help melany." she smiled her weird anime girl smile and ran to get the shirt from her locker.

     ill have to admit, she was right about the size thing. it was far to small around the chest area but the rest fit fine. after the incident my boss stuck me down stairs wiping tables and sweeping the floor, i dont mind though because i get to experience the day coming to an end with a beautiful sunset over California. i secretly kept the the window to watch as the sun fell from the sky. the sky seemed to burn and darken while the clouds began to glow with the last bit of sunlight left. the sky filled up with burning Burgundy and faded orange and yellows, the tallest buildings seemed to reach for the skyline as if it were a sunflower moving to the last drip of sunlight. moving here had been hard, and this had become one of the things i looked forwards to. living in the apartment with my friend was nice, buts its not the same as coming home to someone you use to lay with every night. sleeping alone seemed so much colder and emptier then i remembered from childhood. my mother would be so disappointed in the way i turned out, in the places id gone and the decision to spend my life with someone who was most obviously the wrong one. she would have told me to slow down and to take my time, that growing up wasn't everything. she would have said love isn't something you just wake up and have, its something you make. i wasn't anywhere close to where i thought id be by now, and i could see that. it tears at my heart everyday, not being able to see her or any of my family. sometimes it felt as if they'd all died in the fire that night. 

     i suddenly heard a boom of voices making their way down the stairs, i hadn't realized how close to closing time it had become. all of them walk out stumbling and laughing at their own jokes, seems they all got a good bit of drinking in, all except one. The guy i ran into on accident seemed as sober as ever, designated driver i think, he was much taller now. he seemed muscular but in such a fitting way for his body. his teeth sparkle because their so white, his smile complimented him best. his high cheekbones made his chocolate brown eyes his best feature. His skin was glowing with a sweet honey hue and before i could notice that i was staring he turned his head. his eyes met mind before i could think twice and that's when i felt the heat rise to my cheeks. weather it be from embarrassment or silly school girl shyness i didn't know . i turned my face away but it was too late, i turned my face a little just to catch a glimpse of him before he made his way out of the door and that's when i noticed his cheeks had gone from a burnt caramel to a rosy color. i felt my body shiver at the thought that maybe, just maybe he found me as attractive as i found him. i shook the thought from head realizing they had began locking the place down. as i helped close up shop and wash dishes i couldn't help but to let my mine wander to all different kinds of thoughts, funny thing was they always fell back to him and his rosy  cheeks. i couldn't help but smile as i felt my heart race at the thought of him, even though id made a fool of myself today i was glad i hadn't ruined my chances. Even if he'd never get with me or i wouldn't ever see him again, i'd still take it as a compliment that he even looked my way. 

     before long we were all outside laughing and talking about today. The manager locked the doors and said his goodbyes. i turn to walk towards the bus station when i see a man standing aside awkwardly between the restaurant and the parking lot. suddenly my eyes adjusted and once they did, the joyousness butterflies came back and the blush suddenly reappeared on my cheeks..

There are lots more chapter after this if you are interested you can find them here

https://my.w.tt/sosFRmianbb

[thewnchstrs]

ONESHOTS

PAIRINGS

*** = smut

Dean

Scarred: after a hunt gone wrong, the reader has to undergo surgery leaving her with a permanent memory of what happened that night.***

Meet the Family: meeting your boyfriend’s family for the first time at Thanksgiving is already a nightmare, but sprinkle in a little suppressed family drama and you get a recipe for disaster. (AU where Sam and Dean were never hunters)***

Hold On: the life of a hunter becomes too much for the reader to handle.

The Waiting Room: Dean and the reader’s world collide when they meet in a hospital waiting room.

Hit Me With Your Best Shot: sparring practice with Dean turns into something much more.

Back in Black: it’s all fun and games until Dean Winchester catches you dancing in your room with his clothes on.

Twenty Years too Late: the reader has to come clean about the horrible things that happened to her in the past.

Friends: in times like these, it’s not safe to love who you love (based off of the song Friends by Ed Sheeran). *male!reader

Exorcist?: the reader uncovers something that leads Dean to have to reveal the truth about the Family Business. | Part 2

Hopeless: when Sam finds out about how the reader self harms, he urges her to tell Dean.

Not to Blame: reader has a history of self harm and is finally forced to open up about it.

Devil’s Backbone: the crucifix around your neck seemed to burn the moment you laid eyes on Dean Winchester, but you couldn’t find it in you to care (based off of the song Devil’s Backbone by the Civil Wars).

Wings: when the reader falls into a coma and is met with an unlikely circumstance, will she try to fix her rocky relationship with Dean or fall for someone new?

Just a Number: the reader and Dean are in an established relationship but there’s one aspect of it that Dean can’t get past.

Happier: even though Dean knows you’re happier now, he can’t help but miss you (based off of the song Happier by Ed Sheeran).

Sam

Death Wish: after Sam dies, Y/N knows what she has to do in order to bring him back.

O’ Death: a hunt gone wrong leads to the reader finding herself facing Death one last time.

Help Me Help You: after Sam finds out the reader has a prescription pill problem, he knows he has to confront her about it.

Underworld: Sam, Dean, and the reader run into one of the toughest demons they’ve come across in a long time. But she needs their help. male!reader

Here For You(Always): the reader struggles with anorexia, and when there’s an incident during a hunt, she has to come clean.

The Day: the reader is head over heels for Sam but doesn’t know how to act around him so Dean tries to help.

Chuck

More Than a Secret: when the reader finds out Chuck is God, she battles with how to deal with it.

NON-PAIRINGS

Sam & Dean & Reader

Multilingual: the reader has more skills than the Winchesters seem to know about.

Team Free Will & Reader

The Vessel: unaware that Lucifer is pulling the strings, Sam, Dean, and the reader have Castiel send Dean back in time to a doomed WWll submarine to retrieve the Hand of God. episode rewrite

It’s a Midwest Thing: TFW visits the reader’s hometown.

Sam & Dean

Barnum & Bailey: Sam and Dean meet a group of hunters who disguise themselves as a traveling circus.

Stanford: Dean finds Sam’s Stanford application.

FAMILY FICS

Daughter!Reader

Fifteen Going on Thirty: finding a box of condoms in your daughter’s room never goes over well.

It’s a Two Way Street: Sam’s seven year old daughter becomes possessed.

Runaway: when the reader tries to go on their first hunt alone, Sam is reminded of a time when he almost lost them. gender neutral!reader

Top Secret: Sam’s daughter is planning his birthday present until it all goes terribly wrong.

I Loved Her First: Dean reminisces on his life with his daughter on her wedding day. (based off of the song I Loved Her First by Heartland)

Winchester Sister

Dream On: after being captured by a demon, the Winchesters are faced with a decision to make. (OC Ellie)

Rescuer: when celebrating a hunt gone right, the reader receives some very unwanted attention from a man in a bar.

Fade to Black: after being injured during a hunt, Sam and Dean aren’t sure their sister will make it out alive.

A Very Supernatural Thanksgiving: what’s Thanksgiving without coming out to your family and then getting the sex talk.

#thinman: when a teenage girl is killed, the final selfie she took before the attack shows a shadowy figure in the background. Can Sam, Dean, and the reader find the ghost? episode rewrite

Burden: drinking and driving never mix.

Side Effects: the reader has been abusing her medication, and it’s only a matter of time before her brother’s find out.

Forbidden Love: the reader’s relationship with Lucifer is hidden for nearly a year until her brothers find out about it.

Torture Makes the Dead Man Talk: Sam and the reader are taken by Toni Bevell, a British Men of Letters who tortures them for information. | Part 2

Show and Don’t Tell: the reader has been with Charlie for almost six months, now comes the part of breaking the news to her brothers.

The Main Event: being a deaf hunter is just as hard as you’d expect.

Baby Blue: the reader gets caught doing something her brothers are less than thrilled about.

Mystery Spot: while Sam, Dean, and the reader are investigating a mystery spot, the reader is sent into a time loop where everyday is Tuesday. episode rewrite

Goodnight, Moon: when the reader runs away in order to get out of the Family Business, she finds herself ten years later in front of the two people she thought she’d never see again.

Home is Where I’m With You: the reader goes away to college, but leaving home is going to be harder than she thinks.

The Cure: watching after a demon is much harder when A) that demon is your brother, and B) when that demon escapes. | Part 2

She’s a Winchester: when Sam and Dean suspect that their sister is dating, they find something in the far corner of her bedside table that confirms their suspicions.

4 AM: the reader comes home drunk, but her brothers are up waiting for her.

Yellow Fever: the reader is infected with an illness that starts as anxiety, but moves to full-blown terror and stops the heart. episode rewrite

Dancing Queen: the reader gets an invitation to a school father-daughter dance, but John hasn’t been home in a few days.

The Babysitter: the Winchester brothers need a babysitter for their younger sister.

RPFs

Jared & Jensen & Misha & Reader

Captain America?: the reader has a secret boyfriend, and Jared, Jensen and Misha want to know who he is

Jensen & Jared & Reader

Lean On Me: all of the times the reader, Jared, and Jensen had to lean on each other when it seemed like they were all they had. (based off of the song Lean On Me by Bill Withers)

Jensen

(There’s No Place Like) Home for the Holidays: the reader’s first Christmas with her new family. (daughter!reader)

Midnight Dreamer: the reader hears something from Jensen’s side of the bed in the middle of the night.***

OTHER

Partner in Crime: Gabrielle meets the angel she’s been dying to meet.

Rock Never Dies: the reader intends to find and kill Lucifer except he’s now he’s international rockstar Vince Vincente.

With a Little Help From My Friends: a church sermon offends Lucifer, the angels and the reader defend him.

What Do You Expect?: Crowley is dragged to Comic Con. | Part 2

I Guess Angels Are Real: when Charlie is in a desperate situation, the reader agrees to help out, which leads to major flirting with the reader from Dean.

[bonesandblood-sunandmoon]

Article from The Atlantic “This Is Not a Normal Mental Health Disaster” (posted July 7th, 2020). Excerpt:

In any case, the full extent of the fallout will not come into focus for some time. Psychological disorders can be slow to develop, and as a result, the Textbook of Disaster Psychiatry, which Morganstein helped write, warns that demand for mental-health care may spike even as a pandemic subsides. “If history is any indicator,” Morganstein says of COVID-19, “we should expect a significant tail of mental-health effects, and those could be extraordinary.” Taylor worries that the virus will cause significant upticks in obsessive-compulsive disorder, agoraphobia, and germaphobia, not to mention possible neuropsychiatric effects, such as chronic fatigue syndrome.

The coronavirus may also change the way we think about mental health more broadly. Perhaps, Schoch-Spana says, the prevalence of pandemic-related psychological conditions will have a destigmatizing effect. Or perhaps it will further ingrain that stigma: We’re all suffering, so can’t we all just get over it? Perhaps the current crisis will prompt a rethinking of the American mental-health-care system. Or perhaps it will simply decimate it.

Shared in entirety under the cut for those who can’t access it:

This Is Not a Normal Mental Health Disaster by Jacob Stern

If SARS is any lesson, the psychological effects of the novel coronavirus will long outlast the pandemic itself. 

The SARS pandemic tore through Hong Kong like a summer thunderstorm. It arrived abruptly, hit hard, and then was gone. Just three months separated the first infection, in March 2003, from the last, in June.

But the suffering did not end when the case count hit zero. Over the next four years, scientists at the Chinese University of Hong Kong discovered something worrisome. More than 40 percent of SARS survivors had an active psychiatric illness, most commonly PTSD or depression. Some felt frequent psychosomatic pain. Others were obsessive-compulsive. The findings, the researchers said, were “alarming.”

The novel coronavirus’s devastating hopscotch across the United States has long surpassed the three-month mark, and by all indications, it will not end anytime soon. If SARS is any lesson, the secondary health effects will long outlast the pandemic itself.

Already, a third of Americans are feeling severe anxiety, according to Census Bureau data, and nearly a quarter show signs of depression. A recent poll by the Kaiser Family Foundation found that the pandemic had negatively affected the mental health of 56 percent of adults. In April, texts to a federal emergency mental-health line were up 1,000 percent from the year before. The situation is particularly dire for certain vulnerable groups—health-care workers, COVID-19 patients with severe cases, people who have lost loved ones—who face a significant risk of post-traumatic stress disorder. In overburdened intensive-care units, delirious patients are seeing chilling hallucinations. At least two overwhelmed emergency medical workers have taken their own life.

To some extent, this was to be expected. Depression, anxiety, PTSD, substance abuse, child abuse, and domestic violence almost always surge after natural disasters. And the coronavirus is every bit as much a disaster as any wildfire or flood. But it is also something unlike any wildfire or flood. “The sorts of mental-health challenges associated with COVID-19 are not necessarily the same as, say, generic stress management or the interventions from wildfires,” says Steven Taylor, a psychiatrist at the University of British Columbia and the author of The Psychology of Pandemics (published, fortuitously, in October 2019). “It’s very different in important ways.”

Most people are resilient after disasters, and only a small percentage develop chronic conditions. But in a nation of 328 million, small percentages become large numbers when translated into absolute terms. And in a nation where, even under ordinary circumstances, fewer than half of the millions of adults with a mental illness receive treatment, those large numbers are a serious problem. A wave of psychological stress unique in its nature and proportions is bearing down on an already-ramshackle American mental-health-care system, and at the moment, Taylor told me, “I don’t think we’re very well prepared at all.”

Most disasters affect cities or states, occasionally regions. Even after a catastrophic hurricane, for example, normalcy resumes a few hundred miles away. Not so in a pandemic, says Joe Ruzek, a longtime PTSD researcher at Stanford University and Palo Alto University: “In essence, there are no safe zones any more.”

As a result, Ruzek told me, certain key tenets of disaster response no longer hold up. People cannot congregate at a central location to get help. Psychological first-aid workers cannot seek out strangers on street corners. To be sure, telemedicine has its advantages—it eliminates the logistical and financial burdens of transportation, and some people simply find it more comfortable—but it complicates outreach and can pose problems for older people, who have borne the brunt of the coronavirus.

A pandemic, unlike an earthquake or a fire, is invisible, and that makes it all the more anxiety-inducing. “You can’t see it, you can’t taste it, you just don’t know,” says Charles Benight, a psychology professor at the University of Colorado at Colorado Springs who specializes in post-disaster recovery. “You look outside, and it seems fine.”

From spatial uncertainty comes temporal uncertainty. If we can’t know where we are safe, then we can’t know when we are safe. When a wildfire ends, the flames subside and the smoke clears. “You have an event, and then you have the rebuild process that’s really demarcated,” Benight told me. “It’s not like a hurricane goes on for a year.” But pandemics do not respect neat boundaries: They come in waves, ebbing and flowing, blurring crisis into recovery. One month, New York flares up and Arizona is calm. The next, the opposite.

That ambiguity could make it harder for people to be resilient. “It’s sort of like running down a field to score a goal, and every 10 yards they move the goal,” Benight said. “You don’t know what you’re targeting.” In this sense, Ruzek said, someone struggling with the psychological effects of the pandemic is less like a fire survivor than a domestic-violence victim still living with her abuser, or a traumatized soldier still deployed overseas. Mental-health professionals can’t reassure them that the danger has passed, because the danger has not passed. One can understand why, in a May survey by researchers at the University of Chicago, 42 percent of respondents reported feeling hopeless at least one day in the past week.  

A good deal of this uncertainty was inevitable. Pandemics, after all, are confusing. But coordinated, cool-headed, honest messaging from government officials and public-health experts would have gone a long way toward allaying undue anxiety. The World Health Organization, for all the good it has done to contain the virus, has repeatedly bungled the communications side of the crisis. Last month, a WHO official claimed that asymptomatic spread of the virus is “very rare”—only to clarify the next day, after a barrage of criticism from outside public-health experts, that “we don’t actually have that answer yet.” In February, officials from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention told Americans to prepare for “disruption to everyday life that may be severe,” then, just days later, said, “The American public needs to go on with their normal lives,” then went mostly dark for the next three months. Health experts are not without blame either: Their early advice about masks was “a case study in how not to communicate with the public,” wrote Zeynep Tufekci, an information-science professor at the University of North Carolina and an Atlantic contributing writer.

The White House, for its part, has repeatedly contradicted the states, the CDC, and itself. The president has used his platform to spread misinformation. In a moment when public health—which is to say, tens of thousands of lives—depends on national unity and clear messaging, the pandemic has become a new front in the partisan culture wars. Monica Schoch-Spana, a medical anthropologist at the Johns Hopkins Center for Health Security, told me that “political and social marginalization can exacerbate the psychological impacts of the pandemic.”

Schoch-Spana has previously written about the 1918 influenza pandemic. Lately, she says, people have been asking her how the coronavirus compares. She is always quick to point out a crucial difference: When the flu emerged in America at the end of a brutal winter, the nation was mobilized for war. Relative unity prevailed, and a spirit of collective self-sacrifice was in the air. At the time, the U.S. was reckoning with its enemies. Now we are reckoning with ourselves.

One thing that is certain about the current pandemic is that we are not doing enough to address its mental-health effects. Usually, says Joshua Morganstein, the chair of the American Psychiatric Association’s Committee on the Psychiatric Dimensions of Disaster, the damage a disaster does to mental health ends up costing more than the damage it does to physical health. Yet of the $2 trillion that Congress allocated for pandemic relief through the CARES Act, roughly one-50th of 1 percent—or $425 million—was earmarked for mental health. In April, more than a dozen mental-health organizations called on Congress to apportion $38.5 billion in emergency funding to protect the nation’s existing treatment infrastructure, plus an additional $10 billion for pandemic response.

Without broad, systematic studies to gauge the scope of the problem, though, it will be hard to determine with any precision either the appropriate amount of funding or where that funding is needed. Taylor told me that “governments are throwing money at this problem at the moment without really knowing how big a problem it will be.”

In addition to studies assessing the scope of the problem, which demographics most need help, and what kind of help they need, Ruzek told me researchers should assess how well intervention efforts are working. Even in ordinary times, he said, we don’t do enough of that. Such studies are especially important now because, until recently, disaster mental-health protocols for pandemics were an afterthought. By necessity, researchers are designing and implementing them all at once.

“Disaster mental-health workers have never been trained in anything about this,” Ruzek said. “They don’t know what to say.”

Even so, the basic principles will be the same. Disaster mental-health specialists often talk about the five core elements of intervention—calming, self-efficacy, connectedness, hope, and a sense of safety—and those apply now as much as ever. At an organizational level, the response will depend on extensive screening, which is to the mental-health side of the pandemic roughly what testing is to the physical-health side. In disaster situations—and especially in this one—the people in need of mental-health support vastly outnumber the people who can supply it. So disaster psychologists train armies of volunteers to provide basic support and identify people at greater risk of developing long-term problems.

“There are certain things that we can still put into place for people based on what we’ve learned about what’s helpful for PTSD and for depression and for anxiety, but we have to adjust it a bit,” says Patricia Watson, a psychologist at the National Center for PTSD. “This is a different dance than the dance that we’ve had for other types of disasters.”

Some states have moved quickly to learn the new steps. In Colorado, Benight is helping to train volunteer resilience coaches to support members of their community and, when necessary, refer them to formal crisis-counseling programs. His team has also worked with volunteers in 31 states, the United Kingdom, and Australia.

Colorado’s approach is not the sort of rigorously tested, evidence-based model to which Ruzek said disaster psychologists should aspire. Then again, “we’re sitting here with not a lot of options,” says Matthew Boden, a research scientist in the Veterans Health Administration’s mental-health and suicide-prevention unit. “Something is better than nothing.”

In any case, the full extent of the fallout will not come into focus for some time. Psychological disorders can be slow to develop, and as a result, the Textbook of Disaster Psychiatry, which Morganstein helped write, warns that demand for mental-health care may spike even as a pandemic subsides. “If history is any indicator,” Morganstein says of COVID-19, “we should expect a significant tail of mental-health effects, and those could be extraordinary.” Taylor worries that the virus will cause significant upticks in obsessive-compulsive disorder, agoraphobia, and germaphobia, not to mention possible neuropsychiatric effects, such as chronic fatigue syndrome.

The coronavirus may also change the way we think about mental health more broadly. Perhaps, Schoch-Spana says, the prevalence of pandemic-related psychological conditions will have a destigmatizing effect. Or perhaps it will further ingrain that stigma: We’re all suffering, so can’t we all just get over it? Perhaps the current crisis will prompt a rethinking of the American mental-health-care system. Or perhaps it will simply decimate it.

In 2013, reflecting on the tenth anniversary of the SARS pandemic, newspapers in Hong Kong described a city scarred by plague. When COVID-19 arrived there seven years later, they did so again. SARS had traumatized that city, but it had also prepared it. Face masks had become commonplace. People used tissues to press elevator buttons. Public spaces were sanitized and resanitized. In New York City, COVID-19 has killed more than 22,600 people; in Hong Kong, a metropolis of nearly the same size, it has killed seven. The city has learned from its scars.

America, too, will bear the scars of plague. Maybe next time, we will be the ones who have learned.