#Forget about the prescient signs

[ladycharles]

Game time, can you name the cover I am working on entirely off this wonky toy piano part?

I have been working on a cover album since I started Manic Pixie Dream World, I just had the idea to do this one and can't believe I didn't think to earlier. It's pretty different but you can get it off the chord structure, be forewarned though, the Dm is my substitution.

[eretzyisrael]

by Phyllis Chesler

The day after the pogrom, Amsterdam Mayor Femke Halsema did not call the rioters Islamists, Muslims or Moroccans … she referred to them as “scooter youths” as they rode mopeds to commit their crimes. This “Jew hunt” was not perpetrated by Christian Caucasians as in the past. This time, it was pre-planned and apparently carried out by Holland’s Muslims, some of whom are likely second- or third-generation citizens. How can Holland deport those found guilty of perpetrating a pogrom on Jewish civilians if the perps are Dutch citizens? Can the Dutch, both Muslim and non-Arab, be de-programmed? Probably not, at least not without a major, overwhelming, mandatory re-education plan. In their works, prescient French novelist Jean Raspail and scholar Bat Ye’or, an Egyptian-Swiss woman whose real name is Gisèle Littman, predicted the coming of “Eurabia” and the downfall of Western civilization. So did writers like Andrew Bostom, Oriana Fallaci, Richard Landes, Bernard Lewis, Douglas Murray, Robert Spencer and Ibn Warraq, with some pointing to instances in Europe of so-called “no-go” zones in areas with significant Muslim populations and little police oversight, sexual assaults of women some call “infidels,” honor killings and a refusal to assimilate. Let’s not forget the assassination in 2004 of Dutch filmmaker Theo Van Gogh by Moroccan-Dutch Islamist Mohamed Bouyeri, who was born in Holland and whose hit list included Ayaan Hirsi Ali, a Somali-born Dutch parliamentarian. He stabbed a five-page note into Van Gogh’s body, which he addressed to Ali, who he called a “heretic” and a willing collaborator of “Zionists and Crusaders.” Bouyeri believed that a “Jewish cabal” controlled Holland. Despite such warning signs, those who spoke against the rise of Islamic extremists were called “Islamophobes,” racists, fear-mongers and conspiracy theorists. De Winter wrote that the violence that took place overnight Nov. 7-8 “emerged from deep-seated, historically entrenched antisemitism.” He also noted that “Moroccan youth have participated in weekly anti-Zionist demonstrations through the streets of Amsterdam.”

The attackers in Amsterdam did not paraglide into the city as Hamas did, but many were on scooters. De Winter believes that these Muslims are “collectively humiliated” by the Dutch “indifference” to their religion and by the “infidel” demands placed upon them to assimilate. What next? Well, according to Dutch journalist and editor Esther Voet, the day after the “Jew hunt,” an Israeli TV crew was trying to broadcast a report from Dam Square in Amsterdam and was confronted by pro-Palestinian protesters. “They called for police protection to return to their hotels. The police refused.”

With the protesters behind last week’s pogrom still on the streets, we will likely see more pogroms in Holland and other parts of Europe. Will the police in those cases respond in a more timely fashion than the Dutch police did?

[meezer]

why do I always have to tell you.. forget about the prescient signs, forget about the life we knew. may we never be stripped of anything we love may we grow so gentle never go mental 👽

[ineffable-endearments]

@thundercrackfic A very good, very alarming question. I've been thinking about it all day.

My interpretation of the core premise of Good Omens has always been that there factually isn't a clear separation between "good" and "evil," and the apple incident in Eden was primarily a way of conveying that Adam and Eve had discovered individual judgment (by choosing to listen to the Serpent rather than consulting God on all judgments).

Likewise, Aziraphale's adventures with Crowley - his very own apple of Eden - have pushed him into using his own personal judgment more, rather than just standing back and accepting what Heaven says. However, Aziraphale has always shown this judgment since the very beginning (giving away the flaming sword, for example) - another telltale sign, I think, that the food is symbolic and judgment is not literally magically bestowed by fruit.

About the end of season 2...

The Metatron's behaviors were pretty clearly calculated to separate Aziraphale and Crowley, not just physically, but emotionally. He knew Crowley would never willingly come back to Heaven. He knew Aziraphale would desperately want him to. He almost certainly knew Crowley would feel deeply betrayed by that fact alone, which would cause him to leave Aziraphale, which in turn would cause Aziraphale to feel betrayed, too.

As a result, the Metatron successfully manipulated the two of them into a position where Aziraphale is starting to lose track of the things he always believed he and Crowley had in common. He's thinking Crowley perhaps doesn't care about Earth and being together as much as he thought he did. That's not true! We know it's not true! But because Aziraphale has become so codependent with Crowley, he's vulnerable to perceiving boundaries as betrayals. As a result, Aziraphale hasn't forgotten the difference between Good and Evil - he's forgotten the similarities between what they've always called Good and Evil!

So I think the coffee is symbolic of what the Metatron was doing: manipulating Aziraphale into forgetting his own individual judgment. Not through miracles or poison, but through old-fashioned psychological manipulation.

As cruel as all of this is, it might eventually give Aziraphale a chance to make his own decisions for real instead of being able to tell himself that he's just doing things either to help Crowley out or as an excuse to be rescued by Crowley. It could be another chance to make his own decisions like he did when he gave his sword away to the humans in Eden. Remember when Nina told him he should make his own plans? That felt very prescient.

I've been seeing "the coffee is the apple" which may yet be true.

But what if it's the inverse of the apple (symbolically)?

The apple: Inherently desirable. Serves as its own motivation. Potential reasons to resist are handwaved away because the apple is just SO good/the Forbidden Knowledge so powerful/etc.

The coffee: Not something Aziraphale usually drinks. Asks the Metatron if he's supposed to drink it before doing so. Compliments it when expected. Doesn't appear to show quite the enthusiasm the Metatron was looking for.

[real-jane]

bug and bear

[steve rogers x fem!reader]

summary: you’re set to marry a man you’re not sure you even like, but the person going to all the appointments with you is your life-long best friend.

words: 3.5k

a/n: I got inspired for this watching Toscana on Netflix! the whole idea of helping someone with their wedding while you pine for them… one of my fav tropes. this is my first time writing for steve 👀. enjoy!!

—

He’s attended every appointment with you–choosing flowers, cake tastings, all four caterers (since your mother wasn’t convinced that your idea of a food truck would properly serve a hundred guests, it was thanks to Steve’s meticulous notes that she finally came around… hundreds of dollars saved, too)--and never once complained. 

Your friendship started with playing hide-and-go-seek around your neighborhood the first day your family moved in next door. Steve has been game for whatever you asked since. Friends in a way which makes ‘best’ feel insufficient, and far more fierce about vouching for you than your own brothers ever were. Steve’s a part of you.

The alterations place tried to chase him away for your dress fitting, but you needed his opinion! ‘It’s bad luck’–who cares? Your girlfriends had gushed over your dress when you first tried it, to a degree that you couldn’t remember if it suited you until you were standing there in the damn thing six months later, staring at yourself in the mirror. Steve didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to. He just leaned forward, arms braced on his knees, and smiled. 

His gentle demeanor has grounded you the entire wedding planning process, so when your mother signs you up for a ballroom dance class… he’s affable. He’s unbothered. Of course he’ll go, of course he’ll wait, of course he’ll be your partner when the attendees are unevenly matched, of course he’s good at it, too.

But he isn’t your fiancé, and that’s why you’re fucked. 

Said groom begs out of appointments with such frequency that sometimes you forget to even tell him about one. Did you mention the dance class? Or are you prescient, able to intuit his answer without needing to bring it up? Why would your own fiancé ever willingly join you for something that wasn’t his idea?

Why did Brock ask you to marry him? That question keeps you up at night, as he snores from the other side of your too-large bed. 

You’ve been with Brock since college. You don’t remember what it feels like to get butterflies, just from the way he looks at you. His attention is certainly not as piercing as Steve’s softest gaze, because that man has never had an unsteady blink when you rely on his eye contact for reassurance. He probably wouldn’t blink, ever again, if that was what you needed. Brock doesn’t seem to mind how often you’re around the blond; time and again, he’s said how faithful you are, how loyal. He didn’t agree to Steve being in your wedding party, however, and it’s probably for the best because if Steve stood behind you while you told Brock you’d love him forever, it would feel like a betrayal of a relationship which never was. 

Loyalty to Brock feels an awful lot like mutiny when you’re swaying in circles with the man who keeps his promises. Steve’s hand is warm at the small of your back. When you take an unsure step, he squeezes your joined hands. ‘You can stand on my feet,’ he whispers when the instructor steps out of the room to take a call. If Brock were here, he’d be dragging you along with no discernable rhythm or form.

It’s not that you don’t get along with Brock; you root for the same sports teams, you like the same music, you both like to cook and he’s taken you on some of the best trips you could ever imagine. Sex is infrequent but fine. He’s just not… that nice to you. He says he loves you like he’s forecasting the weather. He wouldn’t let you put the soles of your new dance shoes on his dress shoes so you’d stop tripping. So.

You let yourself slip into the daydream. 

Stepping up onto Steve’s shoes, pressing your chest to his. Leaning your cheek against his chin. Closing your eyes. He’s humming, just a soft little tune. You’ve laid against his chest sobbing, before; touch is not an unfamiliar shared experience. Just not around Brock. Not because Brock would care. You’re not even sure your fiancé would notice. But–

“You don’t like him.” 

It comes out of your lips too fast, on a quick exhale like your mouth knows something your brain hasn’t realized. Steve doesn’t say anything. He rubs a circle over your spine. You try to pull back, to look up at him, but he holds fast. The instructor returns to the room and you hastily step down, catching your heel. Thanks to his steady grip on your hand, you manage to avoid falling, but the woman running the class gives you a disgruntled snort. 

Class is dismissed without Steve looking you in the eye once. He’s still at your elbow, but he’s quiet. He doesn’t turn the radio on in the car. He stares at the road. You can't bring yourself to break the silence, but all you want Steve to do is tell you whether you’ve made the right assumption. The street lights come on and the sky darkens, and you’re glad you can’t see the blank expression on his face anymore.

Two blocks from the apartment you share with Brock, he pulls over, shuts the car off, and rubs his chin. You fidget with your ring. He can’t help but clock your movement, and he grasps your wrist, interlacing your fingers like he usually does when you’re driving long-distance. Steve brings your hand closer, studying the bespoke diamond. 

“You’re not a diamond girl,” he murmurs. Finally, finally… he looks at you.

Two decades of friendship zip through your brain on a reel. Every time he’s given you that look, stripped of any teasing or inside jokes, distilled into one composite realization that Steve Rogers has always looked at you like that. Like you’re sunshine, or something rare and precious. But not a diamond, because he’s right. You hate that ring.

He leans back in his seat, letting your arm drape across the console so he can keep a tight hold on your hand, and he doesn’t look away. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you peep, when he sighs for the thousandth time. 

“You were too excited, bug–how could I? The promising quarterback asked you out! I wasn’t sure your feet were ever gonna touch earth again.”

“Steve–I’ve been seeing him for almost a decade!” Heat rises in your cheeks. “Why didn’t you tell me the second you met him?”

He frowns. “Don’t think I haven’t been counting the days,” he says, and your heart lurches. 

“You should’ve said something.”

“Would you have listened?” Steve bites his lip for a second like he doesn’t want to let you know the whole truth. He thinks better of it, squeezing your hand. “I don’t have to live with him, buggy, so what does it matter? If you’re happy, I’m golden, you know that.”

You sink into the passenger seat. The inside of his car blurs into a landscape of watery glowing lights. 

“It’s just–” he stops. You turn your head away from him so he can’t see a droplet zing down your cheek. He plays with your engagement ring, twisting it. It doesn’t fit you but Brock never bothered to try to get it resized, so you figured you’d wait and get it sized with your wedding band. “This feels like the end,” Steve says.

“Tell me not to do it, then.”

He balks at the challenge just long enough that it hurts. “I’ll support whatever choice you make,” he says, knifing you between the ribs with his nobility. 

This isn’t your best friend, who drove three hours to help you move into the dorms freshman year and gave you all his unsolicited opinions about placement of your unironic Shrek poster. This isn’t Steve, who tells you if your spaghetti sauce needs more garlic, or your plants need less water, or your car needs an oil change. Whoever this is, he’s not the Steve you… you love. He’s hiding behind good intentions, and it is painful enough trying to riddle through your own muddled feelings about your impending wedding without him coming up short for reason, too. So, you push open the passenger door, and rip your hand out of his hold.

“Bug–” You slam the door on his pleading call, striding down the sidewalk in your flip-flops, with your dance shoes dangling off two fingers and your phone clenched in your fist so tight you’d surely shatter the screen (if it weren’t for the heavy-duty cover Steve bought for you). His door opens and shuts behind you, and he’s running after you. You’re at the corner when he catches up, snagging your elbow. “Listen to me–” he breathes. 

“What kind of girl am I?” you demand, forcing him to follow you over the crosswalk. Your tears are furious, and your feet ache. 

“Hey–”

“Steven!” You rip your arm free, dodging around an annoyed older couple who you nearly barrel into. “You exploded my life,” you say, swiping your hand under your nose. “You think I can marry a man I know you hate?”

“I don’t, honey, I don’t.” He pulls you to a bench and forces you to sit with his hands on your shoulders. He kneels in front of you.

“Oh my god! Do you know how many people spit on the sidewalk?”

He rolls his eyes and cups your cheeks. “You’re hysterical. I’m–shit, bug. I envy him.” Steve wipes away the fresh tears, and he chuckles at the stunned look on your face. “You’re my world. My buggy. How could I interfere in your happiness? Even if it hurts me not to. You’re allowed to make choices without my influence, and you should. Hmm? You went three hours away for college without asking if it was gonna rip my heart out of my chest.”

You can’t help the hiccough of a laugh. “There she is. It wasn’t very nice of you, you know.”

“You don’t own me,” you manage, despite the smile which threatens your cheeks. 

“I’m acutely aware of that, thank you.” He brushes your cheekbone. “I’m… trying. To make peace with the idea that You and Me aren’t always gonna be attached at the hip.”

“You did follow me to the city, you stalker.”

“You begged me for months!”

“You caved!”

“I did,” he says. His cheeks flush. Steve’s eyes can’t decide which of yours to study, but his stare is intense. “I don’t know what I’m doin’, here. But all I know is, if it was my name in curly script that you hand-wrote on a hundred invitations, you couldn’t keep me away from one second of planning our day.”

“I can’t even get rid of you now,” you say with a sad smile. You pull one of his hands from your face and press it between yours.

“So.” He shrugs. “Where is he? Huh? I feel like I’m the proxy for a dead man.”

You sigh. Your thoughts coming straight off Steve’s lips. “He says I’m better at ‘all this’ than he is. He ‘trusts me.’” 

“He’s–fuck.”

“You’re cursing a lot, bear.” 

His face lights up at the affectionate title. “I’m sorry I haven’t been truthful.”

“Lay it on me. Please.”

Steve promptly sits beside you, shoulder pressed to yours. You loop your arm with his and wait.

“I… yeah. I hate him,” he admits. “Brings out the ugliest parts of me. I never got jealous when you dated in school, but he made you draw a line, and I assumed (incorrectly or not) that it meant one day you’d have to stop talking to me. Which–when I called you from the bar? Remember that?”

You smile. “The day after Sam’s birthday? When you were shouting over the aggressive ABBA sing-along?”

“Yeah. I called Bucky, and I told him I needed him to take me out and get me wasted, and not ask me any questions.”

“He succeeded. You were barely intelligible–”

“Brock talked to me.”

The way your eyes widen has him nodding right away. “Yeah. He told me to play my little game, because you were never gonna leave him.”

“When the fuck did he say that?”

“After you told me he didn’t feel comfortable with me being your Man of Honor. I approached him on Sam’s birthday while you were doing the cake prep. Told him I hoped there were no hard feelings, that I was happy for you guys… he laughed in my face. He’s got a real ugly side when he drinks, bug.”

You swallow hard. “Jesus. I sent our invitations out before the party.”

“Yep. Which is why I couldn’t bring myself to tell you. The panic you would’ve had after two margaritas…”

“I would’ve gotten sick.”

He rubs your arm. “You were already so stressed out–”

“I had a panic attack at the post office. Mom had to pry the box out of my hands in front of a very concerned postal worker.”

“What–you did?”

“That’s why I cried when you handed me a drink,” you snort. Your head falls onto his shoulder. “Can I ask you a question? No frills.”

“Shoot.”

“Would you feel differently if I was engaged to someone you liked?”

“Hmm.” He glances down at you, but his face is shadowed with the street lamp behind him so you can’t fully tell what he’s thinking. But he points at your ring and holds out his hand. You slip your fingers into his without question. You know every groove in those fingers, by touch. He lifts your ring towards the amber glow. 

“No. I wouldn’t. I’d still lose you in every way that matters.” Your blood thrums in your ears as he works the massive diamond from your finger with ease. “If he knew you at all,” he murmurs, “there would be a garnet on this finger. 14k gold, small band. Initials engraved in the band–E.M.R.”

“Bear,” you breathe. The corner of his mouth turns up. He wiggles the end of his pinky into your ring, and then leans forward so he can kiss the imprint of the stone on your skin.

“But then–I’d be pretty pissed if he proposed with my grandmother’s ring,” he says softly. “You ever thought about it, buggy?” When he looks at you next, he’s so close to your face that you shiver. It doesn’t take much to press your forehead to his.

“At first, no… especially with our moms always talking about it,” you say. He laughs. “But you asked Peggy to prom senior year and I thought the earth was gonna fall out from under me.���

“I know the feeling.”

“Once I went off to school, I dreamed about you showing up at my dorm in the middle of the night to tell me you needed me. Breaks were worse, especially Summer when I could set my watch by your morning text, asking me what we were gonna do that day. But you grew up quick, and way less awkwardly than I did, and there was no way you’d ever, ever like me. So, when I met Brock, and he was the first guy besides you to ever think I was worth spending time around, it sorta felt like my only chance. I think… I think I knew you didn’t like him when I brought him home that first time. I convinced myself that you wouldn’t let me move to the city with Brock if you didn’t like him. I still can’t believe you moved here, too. Or that you’re here, right now–”

He kisses your temple, and your throat closes off for a second. “I have loved you since you hopped outta that moving truck when we were ten. I wanted to ask you to Prom, by the way, but you told me you were gonna go with Carol and Maria.”

Your eyes flutter open and you glare at him, mouth agape. “We’re idiots.”

He laughs. “Yeah, bug. A pair of dumbasses.”

“God.” Your fingers trace his jaw like it’s new territory. “I–I don’t think I like Brock, either.”

“No?”

You shake your head. “He’s not–whatever. He’s not you, Steve, and that makes him deficient in every way.”

He sits back from you, carding a hand through his hair, almost like he doesn't believe you. “What are you going to do?”

“Ask me.”

“What–”

You cup his cheek. “Not to marry him.”

It takes him two seconds to get with the program. Steve holds the engagement ring which is wrong for you between two fingers. He slides off the bench and kneels on the sidewalk once again, making you cringe, but at least you can see his eyes again—nearly green from the lamplight. He rubs your knee with his free hand. 

“Don’t put this back on. It’s not right for you to be with somebody who doesn’t jump at the chance to watch you learn to waltz.” When he smiles, your whole future settles into view. “But if you want to spend every day feeling like someone breathes because you do, then… I know a guy. And I know a ring, with my name on it. And if you’re game… could be your name too.” 

The lights bathe the entire street in some kind of magical glow, and this is exactly how you dreamed of Steve Rogers when you were a smitten teen. Well… not with his knees on concrete, with another man’s promise in his hand, but with that sweet smile… offering you a world which was always yours. You just didn’t know it until he offered. 

“My mom is gonna be pissed,” you breathe. “She just picked out her dress.”

Steve’s face breaks into a triumphant grin and he swoops his arms around you, twirling you around and around until you’re dizzy with laughter. When he sets you on your feet again, he hugs you so tight that you can feel his heart thumping. 

“She will get over not hosting a hundred person party. Your mom loves me, bug,” he murmurs.

“It’s easy to love you. Wait—“

He hovers over you, so tempted to kiss you, but he holds off when you touch his lips. 

“Once I give it back. Then I’ll kiss you.”

“And?” His ears perk up, and you can’t help but laugh.

“I’m yours.”

“Better get you home, then.”

“You are home, bear. Since we were ten.”

“If you don’t stop that, I might cry.”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Come on.” You nod towards the prior block, where he is parked. He tucks Brock’s ring into the toes of your dance shoes, and practically skips back to his car. He pulls open the door for you, and jogs around to the driver’s seat. You’re hardly buckled before he’s peeling out.

–

Brock isn’t home. 

Leaving is easy when you look around a place where you lived with a person, who never liked your taste much. Staring at art he chose, and the colors he likes, and the fireplace he refused to use so he’d never have to clean it… it’s strange that you would ever have thought this was a life you could settle into comfortably. It’s not Steve’s place, which is filled with antiques from going upstate in the Summer with you, and funny paintings found at flea markets, and the constellation motif he let you paint on the ceiling of the bathroom when you both had one too many tequila shots. Nothing about Brock’s apartment draws you in, or makes you want to stay.

You set the ring on the counter, spotless from his meticulous cleaning routine, with a short note vague enough to leave Steve out of it, and clear enough to let him know that you’re calling off the wedding.

Then, you take your wedding dress out of the spare room closet where you buried it behind golf clubs Brock never used. Turns it out was bad luck for your impending nuptials for Steve to see you in it. 

When you descend the front stairs of your building, Steve is leaning against his car, nervously tapping his foot. 

“How’d it go?”

“He wasn’t there. I have no idea where he is. Haven’t heard from him all day,” you realize. “Couldn’t think of anything else to take.”

He clocks the garment bag over your shoulder and holds out a hand for it. “Ooh, you grabbed the gown,” he says appreciatively, hanging the hook over the ceiling handle behind the driver’s seat. 

“You never said you liked it on me.” You wink when he turns on you with panic. He scoffs.

“The things it made me think of were not gentlemanly to say at the time,” he chuckles, sitting in the driver’s seat again. Once you’re seated, he leans over and kisses your cheek. “You didn’t wanna grab clothes, or anything?”

“…Steven, I have two drawers of clothing at your place, and most of the time I’m over, I steal your shirts.”

That makes him grin. “What’s mine is yours, bug.”

“Your… lips?”

“Especially those.”

You’ve dreamed of kissing him since puberty. An embarrassing amount. Your first kiss was abysmal on principle, because it wasn’t with Steve. This kiss is twenty years of loving each other at arm’s length, demolished. He’s gentle, and the angle is difficult across the center console, but boy if it doesn’t feel like he was put on this earth to kiss you.

Part 2

--

thanks for reading! :)

Kate’s masterlist - Marvel Masterlist

[mariacallous]

A growing chorus of voices is warning that our democracy is in grave danger, but there is much less discussion of the exact nature of the threat. Recently, President Biden emphasized the severity of the threat by going to the place where the constitution was signed to give what the White House described as “a speech on the continued battle for the soul of the nation”.

Biden specifically named “Donald Trump and the Maga Republicans” as the ones carrying out the attacks, and that is accurate, on the surface. The deeper, more longstanding threat, however, was articulated by historian Taylor Branch in a 2018 conversation with author Isabel Wilkerson recounted in Wilkerson’s book Caste. As they discussed how the rise of white domestic terrorism under Trump was part of the backlash to the country’s growing racial diversity, Branch noted that, “people said they wouldn’t stand for being a minority in their own country”. He went on to add, “the real question would be if people were given the choice between democracy and whiteness, how many would choose whiteness?”

Whiteness is the deeper threat because championing whiteness is what makes Trump powerful. People forget that Trump was not particularly well-regarded before he started attacking Mexican immigrants and signaling to white people that he would be the defender of their way of life. In the months before he launched his campaign, he was polling at just 4% in the May 2015 ABC/Washington Post poll. After stirring the racial resentment pot, his popularity took off, growing exponentially in a matter of weeks and propelling him to the front of the pack by mid-July 2015 when he commanded support of 24% of voters, far ahead of all the other Republican candidates.

As his support grew with each racially infused statement – such as banning Muslims from entering the US – Trump marveled at the unshakable passion of his followers, observing quite presciently that, “I could stand in the middle of Fifth Avenue and shoot somebody, and I wouldn’t lose any voters … It’s like, incredible.”

Trump’s 2015 discovery of the power of whiteness is the same lesson that Alabama’s segregationist governor George Wallace internalized in the crucible of southern politics during the civil rights movement in the 1950s. “I started off talking about schools and highways and prisons and taxes – and I couldn’t make them listen,” Wallace said, adding, “Then I began talking about n-----s – and they stomped the floor.” After Trump began talking about Mexicans, and then Muslims, many white people from coast to coast stomped the floor and even stormed the Capitol to keep him in power, seeking to destroy the democratic tradition of a peaceful transfer of power.

As Wallace’s words show, Trump is not the first leader of a movement to make America white again, and for more than a century we have consistently underestimated the political power of whiteness.

The clearest example is the start of the civil war itself. A hundred and sixty years before the January 6, 2021 insurrection, the legislatures in one-third of the states passed laws rejecting the outcome of a presidential election and then issued a literal call to arms where hundreds of thousands of people picked up their guns and, in the name of defending whiteness, proceeded to shoot and kill hundreds of thousands of their fellow Americans.

In 1968, Alabama’s Wallace saw that the audience for white nationalism reached far beyond his state’s borders and mounted a presidential campaign that secured 13.5% of all votes cast. The strength of Wallace’s showing influenced Richard Nixon’s presidential administration to the extent that historian Dan Carter wrote: “When George Wallace had played his fiddle, the President of the United States had danced Jim Crow.”

In 1990, an actual Klansman, former Grand Wizard of the KKK David Duke, mounted a bid for the US Senate and was initially dismissed as unable to win because of his unapologetic white supremacist views. Duke shocked the establishment by attracting the support of 44% of Louisiana’s voters.

The good news is that the proponents of whiteness do not command majority support. The original Confederates themselves were in the minority and represented just 11% of the country’s white population. People who enjoy majority support have no need to unleash fusillades of voter suppression legislation in the states with the largest numbers of people of color. Yet, from the grandfather clauses of the 1800s to the restrictive voting laws passed last year in the south and south-west, we are seeing an unrelenting practice of trying to depress and destroy democracy by engaging in what the writer Ron Brownstein has described as, “stacking sandbags against a rising tide of demographic change”.

Just as the enemies of democracy know that they must destroy democracy in order to prevail, the clearest way to defeat them is to aggressively expand democratic participation. Mathematically there is a clear New American Majority made up of the vast majority of people of color in alliance with the meaningful minority of white people who want to live in a multiracial nation. With the sole exception of the 2004 election, that coalition has won the popular vote in every presidential election since 1992.

In order to defend democracy and win the fight for the soul of the nation, two things must happen. One is to make massive investments in the people and organizations working to expand voting and civic participation. Coalitions like America Votes Georgia and Arizona Wins played critical roles in bringing hundreds of thousands of people of color into the electorate, helping to transform those former Confederate bastions.

The second step is to directly challenge the nation to choose democracy over whiteness. When Taylor Branch posed his provocative question in 2018, it was in the wake of tragedies such as the killing of Heather Heyer, a white woman protesting the 2017 Charlottesville, Virginia, march of white nationalists incensed at plans to remove Confederate statues. Trump’s response to Heyer’s killing – she was intentionally struck by a car driven by a white supremacist – was to shrug and note that there were “very fine people” on both sides of the march.

When he launched his presidential campaign in 2019, Biden explicitly invoked Trump’s post-Charlottesville embrace of whiteness, saying “We have a problem with this rising tide of white supremacy in America,” and went on to oust a defender of white nationalism from America’s White House. Far from being chastened, however, the enemies of democracy have only intensified their efforts. To ultimately prevail in this defense of our democracy, we must clearly understand the underlying forces imperiling the nation, name the nature of the opposition, and summon the majority of Americans to unapologetically affirm that this is a multi-racial country.

Steve Phillips is the founder of Democracy in Color and is a Guardian US columnist. His book How We Win the Civil War: Securing a Multiracial Democracy and Ending White Supremacy for Good will be published October 18th

[sgtbradfords]

"Sorry, were you sleeping ?" with Chenford ?

Love your writing

Thank you for the prompt anon, I hope you enjoy! :)

Tim Bradford’s Thursday shift had been one of the longest he had experienced in a while. Not that it was a hectic night, especially for a Thursday but it all started after he had dismissed his officers on the nightshift to hit the streets.

“Hey Sarge, got a second?” Officer Amelia Hatch asked as she walked to the front of the room, the room clearing out as everyone went their own way. “That kid from that domestic the other night, can I contact the school, see if she will talk to me or maybe the guidance counselor?”

Tim sighed, “It wouldn’t be a bad idea, the kid doesn’t need to be bottling that shit up.”

“I think she would have talked to me the other night, but the mother pulled her away before I could ask any questions.”

Tim took a second to think before giving her advice, his lips forming a thin line, “Swing by the elementary school near their address tomorrow after shift, see if that’s where she attends and go from there. But Hatch, don’t blame yourself if she has no intentions of talking now.”

“Understood Sir.” The officer told him before walking away.

Tim had a pile of paperwork in the metal basket on his corner of his desk that grows by the minute that he knew he needed to get a start on, but being a man of few habits, he had gotten in the habit of visiting booking just after the start of the shift.

“Evening Luke, any regulars in yet?” He asked the intake officer who was typing away at the computer behind the counter.

“Not yet Bradford. But there is a full moon and a bad batch of drugs going around.” The officer spoke, never looking up.

Being the nightshift Sergeant of the Mid-Wilshire prescient of the LAPD, Tim had gotten to know his fair share of regulars, the junkies, druggies, and the few prostitutes that frequented one of the three holding cells.

“Great.” He mumbled under his breath. When you work in law enforcement, you always keep track of the moon cycle, the brighter and full phased the moon was, the crazier everyone got. Though it is not a proven fact, it is just a well-known fact that you learn comes with the job. “Let’s get those in, processed out soon, the quicker the better.”

“Wreck on I-10, van’s stuck in traffic. According to radio traffic they should be here within the next thirty or so minutes.”

Tim was about to thank the officer for keeping him updated when a loud disturbance stopped him, the door of the garage flying open.

“I didn’t do shit, you motherfucker!” yelled the man that was being escorted through the door.

The Sergeant moved closer to assist, the man fighting the two officers every step of the way.

“Harper, you good?” Tim asked, grabbing onto the other man’s upper arm.

“Fine. Found this one defacing the side of the church on Harrison Avenue, drunker than a skunk.” She told him as she secured him to the bench.

“You bitch, I told you I had to piss! You can’t prove nothin’.”

Nyla rolled her eyes. “There’s footage on the camera in the alley and on my vest.”

“You fuckin’ lyin bitch.”

“Enough.” Tim glared. “Get him booked, then throw him in the drunk tank to sober up.”

Nyla nodded as Tim walked away, heading back to his office.

He sat down behind his desk, keeping an ear open on the scanner that sat in the corner of the bookshelf in his office. He picked up the reports, reading them one by one as he began sorting through the pile in the basket, checking, filling, and signing the reports filled out by his officers. The report in his hand was particularly captivating when the shaky voice of Officer Hunt came over the radio.

‘7-Adam-22. Shots fired at my location. Suspect gave chase but is now in custody. Roll back-up and EMS.’

Tim stood, grabbing the keys for his shop out of the top drawer of his desk. The rest of the evening was spent documenting the crime scene and making reports before he headed to the hospital, checking on the suspect and now patient, the man getting stitched after cutting his leg while hopping over a fence. Tim made it back to the station thirty minutes after his shift was intended to end, preforming the daily maintenance on the shop before he made his way inside, heading for the office of the day shift’s Sergeant, Wade Grey. He brought the other man up to speed, filling him in on what occurred overnight, by the time he was done updating his fellow superior it was well past eight in the morning and Tim was dead on his feet.

Tim hastily went to the locker room, changing out of his uniform and back into his normal clothes before heading out of the department. He was lucky that he only lived twenty-three minutes away (on a good day) from the department and for a Friday morning, his commute was harmless besides the lingering effects of the morning rush hour traffic.

He pulled the vehicle in, parking his truck in the drive, reaching over for his duffle bag from the passenger seat before he exited the extended cab. He pulled the ring of keys from his front right pocket, unlocking the wooden door as he made his way inside, disabling the alarm system before reengaging the security system as he kicked off his shoes. The silence of the house had always been strangely comforting, the quietness enveloping him as his sock clad feet padded through the dark bedroom, heading for the bathroom. He tiredly stripped of the clothes, throwing them into the hamper before he walked back out into the bedroom, blindly grabbing a pair of black boxer briefs from the top drawer of the dresser, sliding them on before he pulled the covers back and falling into bed.

He stretched out, laying on his stomach, an arm under the pillow and one over his head, sleep claiming him within minutes of his head hitting the pillow, the comfort of the memory foam mattress with the coolness of the multitude of pillows creating the perfect combination.

The dream he was having was one he wanted to stay in forever, the scene his dreaming brain had concocted was perfect, the sunset hitting the woman in front of him, casting her in the hues it was projecting.

“Lucy, I-“

Lucy smiled as she stepped forward, moving towards him. “It’s perfect.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” She grinned, staring at him the sounds of the ocean before them began fading into the background as she leaned in, the buzzing in his ears growing louder.

“What the hell?” he mumbled in his dream as the image began to dissipate.

The buzzing of his phone bringing his sleep addled brain back to reality. There were only four people that could get past his do not disturb settings, and out of the four of them he could immediately eliminate two.

“Hello.” He grumbled into the phone, sitting up as he let out a yawn.

“Tim! You are not going to believe this. Wait- shit.“ she said as the sound of shuffling came through the receiver. “Sorry, were you sleeping?”

“No I wasn- actually yeah, I was.”

He could picture Lucy grimacing on the other end. “Shit. I’m so sorry, I forgot that you worked last night, and that tonight is your night off. I got my days mixed up. I’m just- I’ll just hang up now.”

“Lucy.” He sighed, laying back onto his pillows. “What did you need?”

“It’s not important, I can just tell you tonight wh-“

“Luce, I’m awake now, might as well tell me.”

“Are you sure?” she hesitated as he grunted on the other end. “Ok, so remember me telling you about that high-speed chase we had the other day on I-10? The whole thing is about to get weirder…”

Tim grunted, listening as she continued in her story, her voice becoming softer and softer the longer she spoke and before he knew it, he had fallen back asleep, lulled by the sound of her voice.

“Tim? Babe?” she asked, smiling when she heard the even breaths and soft snore coming from the other end. She ended the call, placing her phone back into her pocket as she made a mental note to make it up to him when she seen him after shift tonight.

Working on two separate shifts and trying to maintain a relationship was difficult, sometimes they would call the other, forgetting that they were likely asleep. Other times, one of them would stay awake for the other, long after their shift had ended, just to catch up. Tim and Lucy have always been a different couple but when all the pieces fall into place, it makes the perfect puzzle.

[socratoteles]

A year to get Ph.D in letting go

The last time I was here, I wrote that perhaps it was time for me to go out and just enjoy the world. And amid the global pandemic, I sort of managed to do that. It was such a lifesaver in a year of goodbyes. I`ll get to that, but let me begin with my coronavirus scare.

On March 4 last year, I was away in Bandung, aware but not worried of some obscure virus that triggered a total lockdown in some Chinese cities. That very same day was also the time when my colleagues came in contact with a man who later confirmed of having contracted COVID-19.

That was how close I was of contracting the virus. Had I not taken a paid leave to write last year’s essay in the city where I was born, chances were high that I was another case as well, at that early stage of the pandemic too. I`m still familiar with the helplessness that came after I checked in to a hospital only to being denied the test (the nurse reasoned that the contact with my colleagues, who might catch the virus from the confirmed man, cannot be categorized as close contact).

And that experience, of confusion and fear of infecting loved ones, left a lasting impression that shaped my behavior going forward. After all, it takes a pandemic to make wearing mask and washing hands could made the difference between life and death.

Covid-induced isolation meant that I spent most of my time being holed up in my room for the past 12 months. To this day the side effects of this solitary existence is still beyond my full grasp. On one hand, this situation had brought out my inner resiliency, resourcefulness and adaptability in the long days and night when things were just so dark. On the other hand, it also forced me to deal with unresolved traumas and numerous intrusive thoughts, which I will get into later.

People get really creative during the long locked-down days, spending it doing viral social media challenges one after the other. Videoconferencing become a thing on its own and for some reason loads of folks played a game named Among Us too, perhaps to remind themselves of the interactions cruelly torn apart because of the virus.

There was also a newfound awareness on class too, because the coronavirus disproportionately affected different individuals with different income level. At least on my part, I was lucky that essential workers (the pandemic elevated the phrase into such a buzzword) near my place were safe and somehow never contracted the virus. It is worth mentioning that I definitely cannot survive this long if not for the minimarket workers, ride-hailing drivers and dozens of cooks, all of whom must have worked in long hours, despite knowing the risk, just to keep their families fed.

Others, however, were not so lucky. the SARS-CoV-2 had infected more than a million Indonesians a year after it was officially detected in these shores. Millions have lost their jobs as economic activities ground to a halt. The place I currently work was not an exception. Massive layoffs would have happened in my office had the shareholders have enough money to properly compensate their workers.

It was an obviously eye-opening experience to calculate my own severance pay and make sure I could survive on that for as long as possible. The prospect of losing your income during the pandemic –which should be that particular time for anyone to hold on to their what-ifs money– was really awful.

This is the paragraph where I say that I wish nothing but the best for those who left the company simply because they deserve nothing less than that.

But there was another reason why I signed up for a help from professional therapist last year. In the latter part of last year, things got very, very grim. At the risk of oversimplification, let’s just say that I was unable to express my feelings properly to a girl that I really liked, right at the most critical moment when probably both of us needed support from each other. She eventually left with another guy.

Days before that fateful event happened, I was quietly bearing my own burden. After years of convincing myself that I was okay, I was, in fact, not okay, at least mentally. Years of trauma have caught up. It’s too personal to even spell that out here but I`ll just quote this Youtuber just to describe a fitting metaphor. 

“You see, human identity is like a house of card. One that’s always expanding. A story that is ever developing and always referred back to because every memory becomes a new card. Trauma is when a card doesn’t fit because the experience itself is so painful that it’s incompatible with everything else and if you become obsessed with making it fit the whole house of cards can fall apart and you lose the confidence to build anything new.”

Basically, my house of cards came crashing down, hard. At a time, it reduced me into this insecure soul who were unsure that people will accept me for who I was.

The last time I felt this way was a couple years back when my parent’s divorce was formalized. A girlfriend turned ex-girlfriend at that time too. Apparently, the universe has a cruel sense of timing to combine existential crisis with a relationship one.

The road to recovery was rocky, to say the least. I know something fundamental must be addressed, hence the therapy session.

I`m grateful for the company of my friends, either offline or online. (yes, I had become quite loose in terms of isolation because I know I had to prioritize my mental health; COVID-19 be damned). I`m also glad to say that because I talked with my friends about this issue, some of them were also encouraged to seek professional help.

At the height of my despair, I watched La Grande Bellezza (probably for a half a dozen time already) again and found this quote, spoken by the protagonist Jep Gambardella:

“We’re all on the brink of despair. We can only look each other in the face, keep each other company, kid each other a bit. Don’t you agree?”

Someone was kind enough to upload the entire scene on Youtube.

I decided that all bets are off, so I purchased books, many of which had been on my to-read list for years because I know I`ll have to read it when I search for a catharsis. That was how I finally read the Camus’ Myth of Sisyphus, from which I managed to understand what he meant by the absurdities of life. Into the Wild, excellently written by Jon Krakauer, broke my heart too because of Chris Mccandles’ tales somehow mimicked my own, minus the grand adventure part. I finally read Alan Watts too, from whom I learned that efforts to avoid from pain is painful in itself.

And music, a constant part of my life as I know it, helps too. I was saved because Fleet Foxes released a life-affirming record that fittingly spoke about relief, gratitude, and seasonal rebirth. During the darkest days I was just alone with my guitar in my room, terribly singing out the words that these musicians carved out of their soul to release my emotional burden. I was particularly grateful for being reminded time and again that “no one gets it right” but “we’re all supposed to try”.

I made a playlist containing songs that for me served as a reminder to be gentle for myself. You can check that here.

All of that was a roundabout way to say that I indeed, was able to go out amid the pandemic. On one afternoon I just said fuck it, I need to go out and see things. That led me to a weekly socially-distanced walk around the neighborhood, which was therapeutic in itself because the walks allowed me to be fully present and be sensitive to the sights and sounds and smells around me. Nothing is more liberating that allowing your feet to go where it you to go.

I don’t have the full answers yet, but as I wrote his essay, I`m glad to be able to say that I have rebuild my house of cards, with some of the bad cards included as well. It was quite a bumpy ride but when I looked back, this particular tweet was eerily prescient because it rings true today as was the day I tweeted it.

But I walked away from the depths of that bottomless pit not only with knowledge, but also of understanding the parts that made me who I am. I`m also humbled after I saw the abyss for the second time because it suggests that there might be another time when I found myself on the edge of despair.

I`ll never forget the fact that these hard-won lessons came on the back of years of pain, grief and suffering. But it also came on the heels of moments of simple walk in the setting sun and feeling the breeze on the beach too. In fact, I have made it my mission going forward to acknowledge both good and bad things as they are. Because forcing yourself to remember all the bright things when you were in the dark, and vice versa, is a form of self-torture. I hope this essay somehow do that mission justice.

I have said goodbyes to many things in life as the crisis comes and goes, but 2020 goodbyes were simply different. So much so that I thought I have a PhD in letting go already, however absurd that idea is.

[valkerymillenia]

Umbrella Academy

season 2, episode 5

As usual I'm going to put all my reactions and live-blogging in this one post to avoid spamming.

1962, Cape Canaveral

So Pogo is from Congo?

Wait, is that Grace? is Grace some sort of biologist or scientist?

Is Pogo supposed to be one of the chimps for the space program?

I love this song. Oh look, there's Reggie!

Oh, that nod between Reggie and Grace... What are they up to?

Yep, definitely the space program.

Little astronaut Pogo... Wait, what's happening?

Who's the shady guy in the sunglasses behind Reggie?

Aww, poor Pogo...

SO THAT'S WHERE THE SERUM USED ON LUTHER CAME FROM! I figured but it's still interesting to see the origin.

Oh, there's the ancient Greek! Did Reggie read to the kids like this too? I doubt it but one can hope.

So Reggie and Grace basically treated Pogo like their child... And Reggie was actually a decent parent... ? Dude, you couldn't do that for your actual kids?!

Wait, does this make Pogo the seven's big brother? 😆

And there's the Magnificent 12. Oh, Pogo's drawing is so cute.

Five really is onto Lila... and he's right!

Diego onto Lila as well!

Hungover Klaus 😅 and Ben asking what we all want to know but it comes from a place of love and concern. Still sassy though.

Why won't Klaus just tell Allison that he is talking to Ben? Also, cowboy? Is that a comic reference? Or just a Texas reference?

Oh, I love Ben and Klaus banter. XD

Klaus does have a point, Allison.

*Allison throws the flask away* Ben: "attagirl!" Allison: "i have a blender and some much better booze" *cue Ben sulking*

"I love you so much!" Awwww, Klaus-Allison bonding! ❤️❤️❤️ this show is really giving me everything I want, huh?

Sissy and Vanya in bed together 👀😏 that's hot.

So she brought her coffee and then took the coffee away? XD

Is Vanya offering to take Sissy to the future? 👀

Oh no, Carl!

They have a point, Five. Everything starts taking apart at soon as you arrive. Repeatedly. I actually pointed this out yesterday.

You're burning the eggs, Luther.

"That boy stinks" poor Luther 🤣

Where exactly was Luther going? Chicago? Detroit?

Wait, is that the academy pre-academy? Wait, so it's not in Texas??? Then what about Argyle? What the hell? I'm so confused now. 😵

Luther, you need a bath.

Reggie in a party xD that must be an odd sight for Luther.

"The world's never going to end in such a cliché. Believe me. I know how endings feel" -what does it mean???? Does it mean he knows how the world ends? Or does it mean politically as a member of the 12? Is it a double entendre? Foreshadowing? Does he have some sort of prescient power?

Still want to know who the shady guy in the shades is.

"No, you're not" "no, you're not" "no, i didn't" 🤣🤣🤣🤣

"I have a deep dislike of children" -yeah, we been knew. 😒😒😒

"your grotesque simian proportions"??? Those are entirely your fault, Reginald! 😠

"But...i took a bus" - oh, honey... Luther, you adorable, naive, sweet, innocent, awkward little dork... Let me hug you, i don't care if you stink! 😢

Man, Reginald is still such an asshole. (I'm glad for that though, I was afraid this season would try to play the 'he wasn't really so bad, just misunderstood' card and that would piss me off, you can show him actually caring for the children but no excusing goddamn child abusers in this house!)

"At least he didn't shank my ass" "no, bro, he shanked your heart" -awww, dudebro affection. Diego does have a sensitive side!

I didn't realize i needed Luther-Diego bonding this badly but i do. I really, really, really do.

"It's time to get the umbrella academy back together." "hell yeah, family meeting." -since when is Diego so happy to get the family together? 😆

But hell yeah, let's get the family back together!!!

"you two still a thing? Do we need to talk?" (Diego's face though 🤣) "no, she's married." "Whoa, dude. That's rough."

Diego is the new Zuko, it all lines up!

"I can handle it" he nervous chuckles while stress eating in a stolen robe, after ruining his own life and getting in trouble with the mob and getting high.

"can you get Vanya without, uh, squeezing her to death?" - ouch 🤣

I'm loving the boys bonding.

Yikes, Sissy looks so uncomfortable with Carl...

"Harlan doesn't care" -oh, he does, he reeeeally does, you just can't read the signs, you clueless dumbass.

Oh, the powers... Oh, Harlan initiating touch with Vanya! Boy is more perceptive than they think.

Why does Sissy look so scared?

Sissy's reactions to Carl have been suspicious from the start. She's given a lot of red flags (the anxiety, the body language, the hoarding money in secret, the reluctance to speak up, the desperation to keep Vanya near her at all times, etc) and I've wondered if he's been abusive but he seems more pathetic than purposely malicious, he even showed vulnerability and admited to loving her and fearing that she doesn't feel the same, so I was starting to think Sissy's fear and paranoia had more to do with a fear of Carl leaving her (and thus taking away the only income and leaving her and Harlan with nothing).

However, I'm rethinking things and I'm starting to suspect abuse again (at least psychological, if not physical)... I think the only reason we don't see it yet is because Vanya is there and Carl won't act out on front of a witness.

I could totally be wrong though, I could be seeing signs that aren't there because of my own issues. We'll see.

Is... Is Handler actually a good mother?

Nevermind, she's gaslighting.

But she cares enough to give first aid and admit she lied so... Definitely a better parent than Reginald at least. I actually want her to be a decent parent, I'm tired of the narrative where villains all have to be abusive parents, villains can love too and that makes the story so much more complex and dramatic when people finally have to choose sides.

Felt, Diego's knife... what is she up to?

Sandpaper, steel wool, round metal parts, skewers, spray lubricant, and something cylindrical with the name of a plumbing service? Is she making pneumatic canisters? The ones the Commission uses to send messages?

Also, what's with Commission training and using plumber stuff? Five also used a plumbing company's van in season 1.

Elliot really likes Jell-O, huh? Very 50s housewife of him.

"how are feeling?" "Pretty shitty, to be honest" "Where would you say you are on a scale from one to ending all life on this planet?" 🤣🤣🤣 They are never going to let her live this down, are they?

I need more Vanya-Diego bonding. ❤️

Diego accepted Vanya's apology???😲 AWWWWWWWW 🥰🥰🥰🥰

Diego about to ask girl advice from his sister? So cute, why did they interrupt, I wanted to see that! 🥰

I miss Diego's nervous stutter though.

"you don't speak French" -doesn't he? If Allison can read seven languages, logically so can all the others, right? And Klaus is constantly using French and German, how are you telling me he doesn't know French? 😆

"did we all get sexier?" -pretty much and you're not done yet.

Aww, awkward Vanya-Allison hug... Let them bond! 💖💖💖

Klaus and Diego hugging!!! And Diego calling him out on being drunk like the overprotective brother he is 💖💖💖

Klaus hugging the girls! 💖💖💖

So much love. So much growth since all the bitterness from season 1. I NEED MORE OF THIS, DAMN IT!

Who knew it took Vanya snapping and killing everyone for this family to finally bond?

OH COME ON, KLAUS! Just tell them poor Ben is there, that's so mean.

Ah! Allison and Diego with pure sibling banter. 💖

What is with the Handler family and red shoes?

Handler's style changed a bit, went from retro femme fatale on s1 to matronly debutante in s2... Interesting.

Don't hurt the kitty, you bitch! 😡

The Swedes have become crazy cat people. I'm starting to love these weirdos.

Is that their mama?

Pneumatic tube! CALLED IT!

Ah, I see. That's why she wanted Diego's knife. The Swedes are getting set up.

"oh my God, again?" ... "all of you knew? Why am I always the last one to find out about the end of the-- oh, my God. My cult is gonna be so pissed. Five, I told them we had until 2019!" -that's why you're the last one, Klaus, your priorities.

"is it Vanya?" "Klaus!" "What? It's usually Vanya." - one time. you end the world ONE TIME and nobody ever let's you live it down.

"find dad" "kill dad" -well, Diego learned from Five *shrugs*

"has anyone here done anything to screw up the timeline?" -literally everyone except you, Vanya.

( well, unless saving Harlan with your magic lights messed up the timeline...)

Yup, here they go calling each other out. Hilarious 🤣🤣🤣

"THANK you" - I love Ben 💙

Diego, you idiot, saving Kennedy is what wrecks everything! Stop being stubborn.

Aww, traumatized Five... Please just listen to him, he just wants to save you all because he loves you 😢

Five deserves more love from the family. PLEASE.

Wow, Luther is reeeeally bitter about daddy, huh? What is Lila doing?

"I've missed you all... So much" BEN! 😭😭😭😭😭

Ok, now I'm crying.

Klaus, let your brother talk to the rest of the damn family, he misses them! 😭😭😭😭

Yay, more Luther-Diego bonding!

"since the last time I destroyed the world by overestimating my own importance" -I'm so glad he owns up to this, it's very important but he needs to get over his self-hate and gain some confidence again.

Diego, stop acting like you don't have daddy issues, you are riddled with them.

Diego's hero complex again... Which comes from the daddy issues. Luther is right.

"you are so goddamn big that sometimes I forget what a sensitive bastard you are." 🤣🤣🤣 He's absolutely right!

Brotherly bonding ftw!

Oh, they got daddy's attention!

AHAHAH! Allison bitching and rambling while doing Klaus's hair, Vanya miming shooting the bottles ("pew pew" 🤣). I'm sorry but this whole scene is adorable as fuck.

Girl's day!

"wouldn't it be weird if Five grew up all hot?" 🤣🤣🤣 Klaus asking the real important questions here!

Vanya confused by the Luther/Allison crush 🤣 "aren't we all related?"' -yes, honey, that's why it's weird.

"if you have to use the word 'technically' you're already in trouble" -THANK YOU, KLAUS!

Klaus's ENTIRE speech about their love lives is the most perfect thing EVER 🤣🤣🤣👌👌👌💯💯💯

Really alarmed Vanya finding out she dated a serial killer: "what?!" / Allison, whispering casually: "Later." 🤣

"the healthiest long-term relationship in this family was when Five was banging that mannequin." 😂😂😂😂😂 The best part is- HE'S NOT WRONG

Vanya's weirded out face is priceless 👌👌👌

"the only thing the umbrella academy knows about love is how to screw it up" "cheers!" 💯👏👏👏

These babies really need a hug. Let me hug them!

"how do you guys deal with this?" -look at them Vanya, they day drink.

"well, I get reeeeally high, Allison... Allison... Lies to herself. And you supress all your emotions deep, deep down until you... Blow shit up." -Klaus really is serving up all the wisdom in this little outing, isn't he? Maybe being a cult leader actually did him some good? Or maybe it's just that his family is FINALLY listening to him.

"yeah, I'd really like to not do that anymore" 😂 -ah! Is Vanya graduating out of the awkward dork sibling category and into the sassy queen one?

Omg, the drunk decisions...

"I just hate group backups, that's why I stopped dating twins" 😆😆😆😆

"this family is amazing" - DAMN RIGHT, VANYA! ❤️🧡💛💚💚💙💜

Awww, the HUG! The DANCING! MY BABIES! Fav scene, fav scene!

I want to adopt this family so bad.

And here's the Swedes being set up...

There goes baby Swede! I kinda feel bad for them.

Uh oh, now they want revenge of poor Diego.

Gotta hand it to Handler, she played this one very well. Parallels Five tricking Hazel and Cha-Cha into fighting each other in season 1. Very cool.

BAD GUY! I like this version better than the original, great song and fits Lila perfectly.

Holy shit!!!!!!!!! We all knew Five had moves but THESE MOVES!!!!!! 😲

How did Lila do that? Is it with Handler's time stopping thing? I always wondered how she did that too.

Holy shiiiiiiiiit. This whole fight was FANTASTIC! 😲

Oh Vanya... 😢

Oh Sissy... 😩

Sissy has been so desperate to keep Vanya tied to her but the moment Vanya asks her to make the slightest sacrifice for their relationship Sissy balks and pulls away... Not a balanced relationship at all.

I understand Sissy's fear, it's not selfishness, it's literal fear of change, but it's still sad and it's going to wreck them.

Oh, so this is where the swedish cover of "Hello" comes in... Very fitting.

Viking funeral, huh?

Ok, I never thought I'd have feels for the Swedes but I do. 😢

Luther eating AGAIN. But hey, he and Diego didn't the whole day together! Why can't we see that too? I need more brother time between these two.

Oh Klaus, is so uncomfortable but he can't stand disappointing the cultists, can he?

Still shocks me how all those people just invaded his house while he was away and thought that was perfectly acceptable and cool, it shows they really don't respect him as a person, he's just an object to make them feel better and give them purpose... It's terrifying and really sad when you think about it.

"sit your ass down." -you go, Allison! Tell him everything!

This episode gave me SO MANY FEELINGS! It might read like (extremely good) fanfiction but it's exactly what we all needed and it might be my favorite episode so far.

[setmeatopthepyre]

The moon was sagging in the sky as I held her face to mine All our thoughts were coming in so clear beyond the myopic mirror We were darting from the place where we just couldn’t fit Far away from all the violence, safely flying in our own orbit

Why do I always have to tell you Forget about the prescient signs, forget about the life we knew May we never be stripped of anything we love May we grow so gentle, never mental

May we never go, go mental May we always stay, stay gentle

[eponymous-rose]

WIP Word Memes

Rules: Find the assigned words in your current WIP, then pick 4 new words and tag some peeps to find them.

I tag specifically anyone who’s feeling stuck on their WIPs at the moment! A lot of this for me is stories I might not revisit, so it’s fun to give them some life here. My words for you are lose, shift, smile, and take.

I was tagged by @lumateranlibrarian, so let’s make this a double-dose meme night! The words I was given were light, space, time, and breath.

---

light - (a seriously weird CR fic I fell off writing waaaay back in mid-campaign 1 mainly because it was an exercise in mood more than any sort of plot, but hey, there’s some prescient stuff here)

“It’s like this,” says Vex, a piece of gold between her fingers, drawing light like a mirror. “Every person you meet is a coin toss.”

“A coin toss,” says Keyleth, nonplussed, watching.

Vex makes the gold disappear into the palm of her hand; a flick of wrist, a glint of light and it’s gone. “A coin toss,” she says. “Every person you meet. You don’t get to choose which way it lands, but you know, every time, that a wish isn’t enough. Won’t keep it from landing.”

“I don’t think I catch your meaning.”

“Catch this,” Vex says, tossing the coin onto the wooden table. It rattles, collapses with one stamped face to the sky. “Every time you meet someone, you know it’s an inevitability that one of you dies first. Neither knows which, or why. That’s just how it goes, but it happens every time. And so by all means, go through life looking for the inevitable loopholes: meet people and forget them, leave them behind, not knowing. But the coin still falls.”

Keyleth tilts her head back. “Does it?”

---

space - (a half-finished CR Jester-centric fic that I think was the first thing I ever wrote for the second campaign, as an exercise in learning character voices)

She stares at the strange nightmare-creature with a sense of satisfaction for a moment, then bellows, at the top of her lungs, “Hey, is anybody else there?! Are you all super dead?! Because they’re not real monsters!”

The words sound weird to her ears, and she realizes belatedly that it’s because she keeps expecting them to echo in the small space, and she’s not actually in a small space, which is starting to get a little confusing. “I hope they’re not all super dead,” she says, to cover a sudden sinking feeling in her gut. She’s not much help with super dead, or even with other kinds of dead beyond ‘almost’, and she’s sort of The cleric, so. “I guess you’re with me, still,” she says, and the universe shifts into something that feels like warm acknowledgement.

“All right,” she says, and sucks in a deep breath. “Sorry about your everything,” she tells the monster, and steps through the wall.

She blinks at the immediacy of the transition into a warm, sunny day; she would’ve at least expected some neat twinkly effects or a shimmer in the landscape, but no, just one step to go from damp cavern to let’s-have-a-picnic.

Which, she remembers, is exactly what she’d been saying when they’d turned the corner and seen this amazing meadow in the middle of the rolling hills, with birds singing and, like, blink dogs frolicking (there may not have been any blink dogs) and celestial beings descending from on high to serenade them (there may not have been any celestial beings, either). So they’d stopped, mostly to let W.C. rest, but mostly mostly for a picnic, and---

She turns slowly enough to keep her dress from whirling out in a really cool way, because this isn’t cool, this isn’t good, this is very, very bad.

---

time - (chapter 3 of a CR novella I need to go back and rewrite because canon keeps doing my plot twists better than me)

Towns on the mainland always seemed to Fjord to be a bit too quiet.

In coastal towns, things changed. Things changed by definition. New faces coming through meant everyone, from the cutpurses on up, had to be adaptable to thrive. He’d always put a lot of stock in adaptability. Always had to.

These landbound towns, though, felt stale, entrenched in their ways. Granted, Port Damali had sometimes been far from a progressive, cosmopolitan outpost, but compared to towns like Crossroads, well. He’d already caught more than a few strange looks---not to mention a couple of hastily stifled signs against evil---aimed at him and Yasha. Nott, in disguise as a young halfling woman, was beginning to attract an even more worrying series of concerned looks. It seemed like it was only a matter of time before someone intervened and demanded to know what she was doing in such mixed company, which would just be all kinds of awkward.

So Fjord slouched a little as he walked, avoiding direct eye contact, matching his posture and stride to that of the quieter breed of workers wandering the town this evening. His fingers twitched with the urge to summon his blade, but he channeled that nervous energy into making himself as unassuming as possible, as near to invisible as he could manage without some sort of magic.

He glanced to his left, where Yasha strode proudly, destruction and devastation writ large on her dramatic features, her piercing, mismatched eyes seeking out challenges in every passerby.

With a sigh, Fjord abandoned all attempts at blending in and nudged Nott in the shoulder.

---

breath - (this is the one I’m most actively working on that I don’t want to say much about, but it’s a Beau-centric CR story with a bit of a weird perspective)

The sound of high, wheezy breathing was audible almost immediately, which meant that this mysterious woman had made it relatively close to the cabin, which in turn meant that she’d bypassed a number of traps along the way. Viev wasn’t yet willing to chase that particular sentence to its logical conclusion, but the heft of the weapon in her hands would provide ample punctuation if she needed it.

As they drew nearer to its source, the breathing halted for a moment, then started up again, faster, more frantic. Jui touched Viev’s arm, either to advise caution or seek reassurance, then backed off while Viev shoved her way through the last stand of bushes, toward the clearing where the trap had been laid.

The figure on the ground was unmoving except for the too-quick rise and fall of her chest, and she seemed really committed to pretending to be unconscious, so Viev was just going to let her go on doing that while she assessed the threat. Looked human, with the kind of wiry, absurdly well-defined musculature that could only be about nine parts extensive martial training, one part vanity, and approximately zero parts farmhand or laborer. The clothing was well-made and richly dyed; Jiu was growing out of half the clothing she owned these days, so if the crossbow did come into play, well, waste not, want not.

[absentauthor]

Something to Behold

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Based on a post by @sebstanwassup and sent to me by the wonderful @chipilerendi . Based off the song Georgia by Vance Joy.

Warnings: Angst. Fluff. Mild smuttish activity/implied smut. Implied PTSD.

Words: 1400+

He hid things.

He didn't mean to, it was never his intention. He never meant for his soul to be something he stowed away from you, pieces scattered behind his eyes, well-hidden beneath his stoic and often brooding facade.

He hid them in the morning, when he'd trek into your tiny apartment kitchen to find you dancing around inn his shirt to some soft, Sunday morning kind of tune.

He hid them at night, when he'd carry you to bed and spend hours kissing every inch of you, quietly hoping that if you're crying out his name, you won't ask why there's a crinkle in his forehead, a tell-tale sign that he's thinking too hard and has been for too long.

He kept the hiding places close, retreated to them when he would retreat into himself, drowning in post-nightmare panic or the unmistakable jolt he sometimes had when there was a loud pop; like fireworks or even a champagne cork.

You'd always been one to extend those little arms wide at those times, ask him if he wanted to talk about it. Never pushed hard enough to make him say anything, giving him the respect he wasn't sure he deserved. Because you cared and he knew it, but he wasn't sure if he was wearing down your sunshiny resolve, slowly making you lose the sparkle behind your eyes.

You waited for him anyway. And waited. You seemed perpetually prepared to wait for him. He was afraid the day would come when you would finally give up on him and leave for good.

It made him question the hiding places, why he always felt the need to choose them over you. Kind, warm, generous you. Maybe he didn't want those hiding places, could never be bound to them. Had never reconciled their existence, accepted their place in his heart as he had yours.

Because you are a part of his heart. He feels you with every breath he takes, has you on his mind with every racing thought, memorized to the best extent his memory will allow. The sound of your voice in the morning, when you'd coax him back into bed with your wicked yet innocent eyes; the dimple in your cheek you get when you're thinking; your brash and bold laugh; the way you make him laugh so easily (sometimes it only took a glance); the way you kissed him and he'd promptly forget everything save for his own name.

They were things he held onto, the things he would choose over the warm and worrying you that was often right in front of him, begging him to tell him what was wrong.

He knew it was better this way. He never wanted to burden you. He didn't want you to worry, didn't want him to become a prescient source of anxiety to you.

You're the good things, Bucky's decided. The smell that comes after a thunderstorm. The feel of the sun on his face. The warm feeling of laughing too hard. The safety of his journal pages, the only place he could ever seem to tell you the things he wants to without feeling the guilt of dampening your shine.

Because it's not like he didn't want to tell you when he came home all those nights, bloodied and bruised, only to find you waiting up on the Commons couch, wearing your adorable reading glasses with your nose buried in a book. Sat beside a pile of his clean clothes you'd put together for him and a first aid kit, ready to be there for whatever ailed him.

He wanted to accept your help, live in it, but he never could. He always flinched when you went to touch him, went to nurse the wounds he'd garnered in fighting things he never really wanted to.

He always wanted to keep you separate from this life.

From HYDRA, the Avengers. Part of him always had to wrestle the urge to amend that list with a third item: James Buchanan Barnes.

But he couldn't. He could only hold his problems close and urge you in the opposite direction. Because his demons were persistent; had walked beside him for decades. They'd taken up residence in his bones, ached every time he pulled a trigger or threw a punch.

He was a man with a talent for violence, for better or worse. You were a woman with an innate kindness and generosity, an elegance others would tremble to behold. One he felt privileged to touch, to feel.

Neverthless, he'd always been pushing you away, not that he truly wanted it.

He was biting at times, mean. He'd snap and yell or go silent altogether when all you would ask is how he was. He would see the way your smile would fall and the light would dim in your eyes. He'd chastise himself silently, watch from afar. Stop that! Don't treat her like that! Don't take her for granted!

He could never listen. God, he could never listen.

You were bold and bright, a jolt that had taken his life and lit it up. If he lost you -- had a hand in losing you -- his life would dull forever and he may never recover.

It was a powerful hold to have over someone and he couldn't bring himself to tell you that you had it over him. He knew you'd never take advantage of it, manipulate him like he had been for almost a century, but he was wary.

He couldn't tell you. He had to work it out. . .somehow.

So, he wrote it down.

He put it all into words. What he felt for you, the nature of his demons, your hold on his heart. It took up pages and pages in his journal, ensuring you'd have to read it straight from the book. He’d kept it forever and was finally ready for you to see it.

He wrote it all down, despite the voices in his head screaming.

Don't tell her. She's too good. You're going to ruin her, but with this, it'll be sooner rather than later.

And when he was finished, he sprinted from his bedroom and down into the garage.

He hopped on his bike with the note in his back pocket for safe keeping. Your apartment awaited.

___

He had a key. You'd given it to him with a timid little smile, making a joke about how he was much better security than the old field hockey stick you kept beneath your bed. He'd smiled back, kissing your forehead and attaching the keys to his others with a flourish, just to make you giggle. 

He'd been better at hiding the demons back then. Could summon his former self at will; the shameless flirt, the boyish charm. Part of him was convinced that was the part you loved, but he'd always known better. 

In his darkness, he was always inconsistent. Your response? Steadfast.

He heard your sobs from the moment he crossed the threshold of your place. He could've collapsed. The sound was too much for him, a prescient reminder of every way he'd done wrong by you.

He entered your room and there you were. Puffy eyes, messy hair. Your eyes met his and he wanted to go back. He wanted to revisit every moment you had every tried to get to know him, to memorize him and what made him tick, the way he'd been able to do for you.

You curled into yourself, hiccuping softly as he fell to his knees in front of you.

"Bucky, why won't you let me in? What am I doing wrong?"

He could tell you. He could push aside the demons, emerge from his hiding places and bolt them up forever. Because you were the love of his life. You were it for him.

And he'd always been right, without even knowing it; if he'd lost you -- had a hand in losing you -- his life would dull and he would never recover.

"Doll, read this." He wiped the tears from your soft cheeks. "Read this and I swear. . . I'll do better."

You took the letter from his hands, eyes remaining on it. You wiped them with your hand, reaching over to your nightstand for those big reading glasses. His chuckle was watery, half fond and half crying.

I hide things. I don't mean to, it was never my intention.

But there are demons I have that I want to keep you safe from. Things that sometimes are simply just. . .me. I go about it the wrong way, somehow find a thousand different ways to tell you to let it be. And I hope you can forgive me for it.

Because your are all the good things in my life, darling. My bold, elegant, brilliant girl.

I could easily lose my mind without you. I'm not easy, I have no illusions that I am. But I am trying. Struggling, but trying.

I love you and I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me and continue to be ever-so patient with me. I'll do better and I'll tell you the truth.

Forever yours no matter where you go (and if you stay),

Your James

He watched as you read, hoping and hurting, convinced he’d been complicit in breaking your heart and turning you off to him forever.

Until you looked up, those teary and beautiful eyes finding his as you crawled into his lap, pressing a deep kiss to his lips. Warm, wanting. He felt scorched, a man on fire.

You were his. Thank god.

___

A/N: My first request! Super fun. Thanks to @chipilerendi for sending it to me. I enjoyed putting little breadcrumbs from the song in the prompt into this piece. I’m working on part 3 of Too Attached, which I’m going to do my best to put out tomorrow. Hope you all enjoyed this piece, you should totally give the song a listen, and my requests are still OPEN. Feedback is always appreciated!

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters from Marvel or the MCU. Nor do I own the lyrics to the song Georgia by Vance Joy.

Permanent Tags: @lovely-geek

[bbclesmis]

David Oyelowo on 'Les Miserables,' Making Directorial Debut With Oprah Winfrey

The Emmy- and Globe-nominated actor, who directs 'The Water Man' with Winfrey as co-producer, also discusses taking on the most iconic and tragic antagonist in literature and not wanting to be "the token person of color" on the PBS series.

David Oyelowo has always been a fan of the Les Misérables musical, but it wasn't until he picked up Andrew Davies' script that the star — who's been Emmy- and Golden Globe-nominated for his work on HBO's Nightingale and in Ava DuVernay's Selma — fully appreciated the villainous Inspector Javert. "There was so much more depth and complexity to this character than I ever realized from any iteration I had seen," he says. Oyelowo, 43, spoke with THR about executive producing and starring on PBS' six-part Les Mis miniseries (which debuted April 14) and developing his directorial debut, The Water Man, a fantasy drama co-produced by Oprah Winfrey — "or Mum O, as I like to call her."

Javert is one of the most iconic and tragic antagonists in literature and theater. How did you key into his psychology?

One couldn't earn the way Javert comes to an end in such a dramatic, violent and self-inflicted way without a very clear runway and emotional, psychological and spiritual journey. The biggest clue to me was that he was born in prison to criminal parents, yet he is now a man who detests criminality to an obsessive degree. You go, "Well, it's fine to hate criminality, but to be so obsessed with Jean Valjean­ — what's going on there?" Victor Hugo actually based Jean Valjean and Javert on the same person, this gentleman he knew who had both sides within himself. To that extent, Javert transposed all the criminality he loathed in his own upbringing onto Valjean, and that justifies his obsessive pursuit of him. But when he recognizes that this man isn't just criminal, he is worthy of redemption, he is someone who somehow has been able to transcend his criminality; he realizes that this pursuit has been futile. The criminality that he loathes is still within himself, which is why he chooses to destroy himself.

Did you and Dominic West know each other before this?

We didn't know each other well. He's such a lovely guy and incredibly funny. I had to do as much as I could to stay away from him while we were shooting. For me, I need to inhabit and feel every tendril of the character, and I couldn't entertain the idea of being jokey-jokey with him and then go into the level of acrimony between us. There's such a cat-and-mouse element to Javert and Valjean's relationship that was so satisfying to play. As an actor, a lot of the time you are trying to find the subtext to a scene, to imbue it with interest. With this, it was absolutely inherent. These characters had so much history that was always present in every scene they had together. But we've become great friends ever since.

Was using the music from the stage adaptation ever a consideration?

It never was, no. We all discussed that if we're going to do this, there has to be a real reason why this should exist so soon after Tom Hooper's [2012] filmic musical. We wanted to make it a much dirtier, grittier, immediate, politically prescient version. Being a producer, I didn't want to be the token person of color within it. I was very clear that we need to have that be something organic and truthful to the time. We've done a terrible job of representing just how many people of color were inhabiting Europe at that time. And not just in subjugated roles. Anyone who's read Tom Reiss' The Black Count will know that Thomas Alexandre Dumas was a general in the French army in the late 1700s [one of the highest-ranking men of African descent ever in a European army]. So, it's not beyond the realm of possibility that Javert was indeed someone like me. You want people to see themselves onscreen.

I've read that you've specifically asked your reps to seek out roles where you might not be first in mind. For this miniseries, did your casting come first or did you initially come on as an executive producer? Did you feel like you had to fight for the role at all?

I signed on as an actor first. They approached me and I was actually the first person to be cast in it. But yes, what you mentioned is absolutely true. Early on in my career I felt the need to say to my representatives, “Put me out for roles that are not race specific.” Because the truth of the matter was, the more interesting roles were inherently going to white actors. I am just so elated to now be going into a phase of my career where I am being approached with those kind of roles. It's not something necessarily I'm going to seek out. So yeah, Les Mis is something I was approached with, and that is incredibly gratifying because a decade ago, 15 years ago, I just don't know if that would have been the case.

As an EP on the series, was there a time where you felt like you had to take off your actor hat and fix a problem? Or did you feel like it was generally smooth sailing throughout the shoot?

It was pretty much smooth sailing. Tom Shankland, our director, had such a handle on the piece. You couldn't ask him a single question that he didn't have an answer for both on the basis of the script and the book itself. I was so impressed by him. Our producer Chris Carey also was just a monster when it came to making everything work in a beautiful way. For me, my primary function was just keeping on it when it came to representation within the piece. I think that is when sometimes things slip within the cracks. We all go to the movies and watch TV in the hope of seeing ourselves represented. We all have bias, we all lean into things that are more akin to our own experience. And of course, I have a bias toward seeing people of color in something like this. So it was very helpful, I think, to have me around to say, "Guys, let's remember the nature of the piece we're doing. We need more extras of color here. Let's not forget what we're trying to do here." Some of the development of the script I was very much a part of, and then a lot of the distribution and the marketing and the release dates and all that kind of stuff. Postproduction is a big side of getting a six-hour piece to be its best self. I got my hands quite dirty with that process as well.

This spring, your slate is pretty packed in addition to Les Mis. You had Relive debut at Sundance, you're in production on Peter Rabbit 2, and you have Come Away and Chaos Walking in post. How are you doing?

It's a very, very good question. I literally was in Sydney doing Peter Rabbit. We then went to London last week, and I'm now here in New York. Then, I leave here to go into preproduction on my directorial debut, The Water Man, in about three days. I have an incredible wife who makes it all work. We actually run our production company together. We have four children and they are with me a lot of the time. We scheduled the shoot for The Water Man over the summer holidays so that they can be with me. I really, really love what I get to do, and I don't take it for granted at all. I'm just trying to have as much fun and tell as many great stories as I can, while I can. But my wife and I have a two-week rule. We're never apart for more than two weeks, and so that means a lot of flying, and a lot of crazy scheduling.

You must have a lot of frequent flyer miles.

I have an enormous amount. So if you ever have any trips that you're planning, please hit me up because I have plenty.

Why did you select The Water Man for your directorial debut?

I was looking for a film that was akin to the ones I loved growing up — E.T. or Close Encounters of the Third Kind or films like The NeverEnding Story, Labyrinth, The Goonies. They don't have to be $200 million extravaganzas, but they can have a fantasy element and be grounded in realism and truth with poignant themes. This script by Emma Needell was on the Black List. I fought hard and thankfully got it, and myself and Oprah Winfrey — or "Mum O," as I like to call her — came on as producers to develop it. Another director was going to direct it, but he fell out. My fellow producers turned to me and said, "Well, you've been working on this passionately for five years. Do you want to do it?" I took two weeks to really mull that over.

What was the deciding factor in those two weeks that made you say, "Yes, I will; I’m ready"?

Realizing that I was passionate enough about the story to dedicate as much time to making a film as is necessary. And the fact that the story is just so moving to me. It's about an 11-year-old boy who's on the hunt for a mythical figure who he believes can save his mother from an illness. I also love the fact that it is an adventure movie. Basically, this boy teams up with this girl and they go into a forest hunting for this mythical figure called “the Water Man.” So it has elements of Stand by Me and Pan's Labyrinth, both films I deeply love. I'm always looking for opportunities to scare myself, and this is the most dramatic example of that I have had in my career thus far. So I jumped in.

Was there ever a seed earlier on where directing first sprouted in your mind?

Very early on. It's something I've always wanted to do. I remember seeing Kenneth Branagh's Henry V and that being one of the earliest moments. I thought, “Whoa. That guy directed that and is in it. How on Earth is that possible?" And then he did it again with Hamlet. I think the seed just kept on being replanted of the idea of doing it one day. So when the opportunity presented itself, it had been long gestating.

https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/david-oyelowo-les-miserables-making-directorial-debut-oprah-1213657

[batcatromance]

The BatCat (non) Wedding: Everything Wrong with DC Comics.

First off, I have to apologize for being absent from this blog for so long. The events leading up to, and continuing from Batman issue # 50 had a very demotivating effect on my desire to post any content. Also, to all the people who sent me questions which have remained unanswered, I am sorry. Hopefully I will address some them here. Back to the business at hand...

By now, everyone knows what happened (or did not happen) in the “Wedding Issue” of Batman. My goal here is not to review the issue, but use it as an example of how DC Comics has lost the plot and are sticking a proverbial middle finger to all of its readers. I am quite aware of my bias when it comes to Batman and Catwoman’s relationship, however this is not merely a case of me throwing a temper tantrum because my ship is being sunk (for the umpteenth time). This is my general dissatisfaction with DC Comics, its leadership and complete lack of connection with its readers.

Let us begin with the whole bait and switch that the BatCat wedding ended up becoming. A couple months before the wedding issue, I could see the signs that it was not going to happen. There were so many little signals that Batman plus happiness was impossible. I continued to see them and that little alarm bell in my logical mind went off: this whole event is going to crash and burn. I did not want to believe that it was strictly a promotional ploy, but I was obviously wrong.

This soul-sinking feeling was the reason why I stopped posting during the wedding build up. To use an analogy, I felt like the supervisor at a company who knew that people were going to lose their jobs, but I still had put on a fake smile and tell everyone they had nothing to worry about. Seeing all the positive views towards the wedding, but knowing deep-down that it was not going to happen, I could not in good conscience continue the conversations.

Besides the blatant cash grab the wedding became, I am also very disappointed that the past two years have essentially been a waste. In 50 issues of Batman, what has changed? The answer is nothing. He’s back to being hurt, unhappy and alone. Give yourself a hand DC, you really came up with something original that has never been done before. You know what would have been original? Actually following through with it.

Think about all the wasted stories: the confrontation with Talia, the Superfriends date night and the Prelude to the Wedding one-shots. Now, they are all irrelevant. Seeing Selina and Lois becoming friends had such potential, but now it’s gone. Watching Selina and Damian bond had potential too, now that story might as well be erased as it no longer has any relevance. There is a funny pejorative comment towards comics - they take two years to tell a story that goes nowhere. Well, that has been proven to be extremely prescient here.

Getting back to DC as a whole, I am very concerned with the future. The reason is Dan DiDio, plain and simple. When he and Jim Lee replaced Geoff Johns as the creative leadership for DC, I had a cold shudder. For those who do not remember (or tried to forget), DiDio was the driving force behind the New 52 reboot. He’s the one who wants superheroes to be miserable and thinks reboots and constant “crises” are a good thing. Well, the sales of New 52 proved that the fans did not agree and DiDio was pushed aside as Geoff Johns took over and went forward with Rebirth. Sales and critical reception were much better and things were looking up for DC.

Well, DC decided to shake things up at the top and out went Johns - and somehow, DiDio is back in charge with Jim Lee. And right away, you can see that he wants to go back to the New 52. What bothers me the most his is arrogance to what he thinks the audience wants. In one of the DC Nation issues, he talked about “confounding expectations” for the readers. So instead of having Batman be married for the first time, you decided to keep him alone like he has been for 75+ years. Nice work, my expectations were definitely confounded!

Here is another pearl of wisdom from DiDio when asked about the fans’ disappointment to the cancelled wedding:

“You asked about us taking the audience for granted; actually, if you want to be perfectly honest, I think the audience took the story for granted.”

Wow, so basically you are saying that us in the audience were stupid to believe that the wedding would actually happen. Go f**k yourself DiDio!

And this is not just happening in Batman. Ask Superman fans how happy they are with the current Bendis run? Look at Doomsday Clock and how it went from the crossover event of the year, to a mere afterthought which has completely lost all momentum. I will put it simply: I have no interest in this direction that DC appears to have chosen.

Anyways, it took me a long to decide if I even wanted to comment on the current state of affairs. I am at a point where I do not really care and apathy is the worst place to be. I remember when Tom King originally said that his 100 issue run was about Batman and Catwoman’s love. Well, that seemed to change at San Diego Comic Con, where he suddenly changed his tune and said “from day one, this was always going to be a story about someone breaking Batman”.

Hmm, I would comment, but I simply do not care anymore.

[mindalpaeng-i]

was tagged by @lesbianminyoongi ty i haven’t done one of these in years

name: well i go by shake on here for some reason

sign: i have no patience for astrology. astronomy on the other hand i love very much. i have a telescope and do astrophotography and stuff

height: 5′2”

time: rn it’s 11pm 💤

birthday: it’s in may. so i guess if you have to know i’m a gemini

fav band/artist: it’s not even bts lmao i’m sorry 😔 i only got into them last year and they sure are a fave artist if all time but. uhh Fave Of All Time probably the smiths or bob dylan

last movie: the lady from shanghai 1947 dir. orson welles

last show: been catching up on extraordinary attorney woo 😘 also marathoned blindboy undestroys the world yesterday

when i created this blog: a few months ago

what i post: my insane autistic special interest thoughts that i can’t embarrass myself on main with bc no one would get itttt. pics of yoongi that make me go aha i do that. pics of joon that make me go wehhhhhh.

other blogs: @radicalposture is my main shh 🤫

do i get asks: not here thank goodness i don’t want to Get Into it with anyone. and when i do get insane ask on my main i tend to forget them in my inbox for six months it’s a good system

followers: 5 here lmao…

average hrs of sleep: not enough

instruments: guitar

what i’m wearing: pjs bc i’m in bed

dream job: unknown experimental animation director whose films are watched by like 20 people at an obscure film festival and maybe five people on vimeo and i never make any money but after my death the film critics are like she was too far ahead of her time if only she’d lived to see how prescient her films were……..

dream trip: the moon may i live to see it in my lifetime

favorite songs: cannot pick a fave song of all time so here some from my spotify on repeat:

bubblegum bitch - marina

should’ve been me - mitski

song about the moon - paul simon

there is power in a union - billy bragg

invaincu- stromae

shelter from the storm - bob dylan

heaven - taemin

people - agust d

down by the glenside - the clancy brothers

[spider-moon-princess]

Tension Part 3

Gasping and grasping the sheets, Shiori sat up, her hands searched for the body next to her.

"Shiori?" The light turned on and she grabbed his hand, squeezing it tightly. He was real. It was just a dream. It had all been a dream. Thank God.

"Fuckin hell. That was some dream." She glanced at the book next to her, the one Etsu had lent her. Some Victorian romance that she'd been raving about for the past month, so Shiori decided to read it. It was very interesting, but perhaps she should refrain from reading it before bed.

"Mm, are you okay, darling?" Iba yawned and cracked his sleepy eyes open to look at his girlfriend. He wrapped an arm around her and brought her close, burying his face into her violet locks.

Sighing a bit, she closed her eyes and clutched his shirt. "Hachirō."

"Hmm?" He placed little lazy kisses on her cheek and looked into her cyan blue eyes. "I'm a little surprised you didn't protest at all tonight." He chuckled. "It's a work night."

"Don't you ever, ever give yourself up for me." She grabbed his cheeks and stared into his eyes. "Ever."

"But I would because I love you. I know you'd do the same for me, right?" Iba brushed his nose against hers and kissed her softly. "What did you dream about?"

"Still…I love you, so…I don't want to lose you. Don't do any stupid shit." Shiori yawned and shook her head, reaching over to shut the light off. "I'll tell you later. Just…let's stay like this. Chinatsu-chan and Etsu-chan are coming over…they want you gone so we can get ready for the ball."

"Very well, as long as you're not reckless." Iba softly chuckled and nodded, running his fingers through her violet hair. "Mm, I'm going to Okita-kun's. Apparently, he bought us all costumes…I am a bit worried about that, so I suppose I'll meet you there."

She let out a little grunt of agreement and settled into his arms. She wanted to forget about that dream about losing him. She hoped for a restful sleep in the arms of her boyfriend.

---

"I am not wearing that."

Etsu pouted as she held up the purple ball gown. "Why not? It's just one night! The theme is masquerade!"

"And who the fuck decided that?" Shiori grumbled, her hair and make up already done. The last step was getting dressed. Chinatsu was already dressed in her own red ball gown and Etsu in a light blue one.

"Kondo-san did." Chinatsu smirked as Shiori narrowed her eyes at her. "Just wear the dress. We're going to be late. We told the boys we'd meet them there."

"Besides, I don't think Iba-san has ever seen you in dresses or skirts, has he?" Etsu handed her the ball gown. "Just once, you'll look so beautiful!"

"I'm a cop! Dresses and skirts are harder to move in. I can't kick the shit out of perps in them." But she imagined the look on her boyfriend's face when he saw her dressed in the ball gown…Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to humor them.

-----

"Mind givin' me this dance?"

Shiori rolled her eyes as she was twirled into a pair of arms. "Detective Sakamoto…I suppose we can dance for a bit. What are you supposed to be?" She'd been looking around for Iba, but there was no sign of him yet.

Ryoma winked and tipped his hat at her. "A pirate that steals a maiden's heart."

"Please. You seem more of the type to pickpocket."

"I had a record when I was young, but I turned my life around. And the Icy Princess's heart stays frozen." He looked around and spotted Kondō-san taking his leave with Hijikata-san. "Hm, there they go again. Seems like they can't get away from work."

Shiori snorted and shook her head. "Sakamoto, you haven't heard about Kondō-san and Hijikata-san?"

"Eh? What do you mean, Shiori-chan?"

Rolling her eyes, she sighed. "They're together."

"Yeah, I'm sure they have plenty to talk about, they run our prescient."

Shiori shook her head. "Ya idiot, they are together. As in, a couple. Everyone's known about it for months. I can't believe you didn't know."

"Wow, that's news to me. How do you know, Shiori-chan?" Ryoma led her through the dance, gracefully, across the dance floor. She still had her eyes open for her boyfriend.

"I've…walked in on them in Kondō-san's office a few times. It's a bit of an unspoken secret."

"Well then. I'll make sure to knock." Chuckling, he continued to dance with her until a hand took a hold of Shiori's hand.

"Allow me to cut your dance short." Iba spun her right into his arms. He kissed her, which caused her to blush. "My, I didn't recognize you, Shiori, until I danced with Etsu and she told me what you were wearing."

"Hachirō!" She flushed and looked away as they danced. He looked so dashing in his suit. "Please...we're in public…"

"You look so beautiful, I can't help myself." He hovered over her lips and stole them again.

Shiori flushed again and continued looking at him through her her white mask. "God, I'm remembering that dream form last night."

"You haven't told me about it."

"I'll tell you later." Sighing, she shook her head to clear her head of thoughts, focusing on dancing with him and feeling his body pressed against hers. She couldn't wait to get home.

"Darling," Iba peppered kisses along her jaw. "Perhaps we can head home…a bit early?" He leaned in to whisper in her ear. "I'd love to get you out of that dress."

"Hachirō!" She quickly pulled away and looked down at their feet. "But…I'm not opposed to the idea."

"We should stay here for just a while longer, or we'll never hear the end of it from Okita-kun."

"Yeah, but I'm pretty sure he's already gone. I don't see him or Chinatsu anywhere, so he can't even talk shit." Shiori leaned in to kiss his cheek. "So, we'll give them shit for it." She grinned. "So, let's get out of here."

"Yes, your Highness."

------

Notes:

LOL YES, IT WAS ALL A DREAM, COP SHIORI DREAMT IT ALL. Sorry not sorry LOL.

Chinatsu belongs to @resshiiram

Tagging: @resshiiram​ @hakuouki-or-hakuoki​  @sabinasanfanfic​ @flower-dragon​ @lescahiersdesable​ @221bbakerstreetirregular​ @meredith-stannards​ @hidetheremote​ @hakuyamazakisensei​ @shell-senji​