#Future New Yorker

[compacflt]

YOU'RE ALIVE??? - my reaction upon seeing your most recent reblog

Anyway, your fic and blog single-handedly kickstarted my U.S. military history obsession <3

im alive!!!! yeah I've been away for a while. it, ah... has not been a grrrreat time to be a military historian or a Big Fan of military propaganda pieces like Top Gun for the last year or so...

lmfao I just saw that the second trump admin plans to haul up all the commanders in charge of the Afghanistan withdrawal (which HE negotiated btw) in front of congress with the plan to charge them all with TREASON per the UCMJ (good fucking luck dude)

but um in my timeline... that includes navy secretary 2021-2022 tom iceman kazansky, bro... so in case you're wondering what these characters are up to in the present day apparently the answer is "getting investigated for treason." sorry to bring down the mood. my happy ending's a little sour now.

mostly I've been insanely busy. I graduate university in may & have to have a journalism capstone, an English research thesis (my paper on military commanding officers in fiction inspired by my top gun fics tbh) and a creative writing capstone (novel) done by march. plus job applications, work for the place where im currently freelancing, apartment hunting... so im a wee bit crunched lately.

some minor updates for anyone who still cares: I am, extremely slowly, still editing WWGATTAI & the other stories. I've finished a complete overhaul of the Carole-dies chapter, chapter 7, but have yet to post it because I'd like to sync a logistical change in the story across the other pieces. and I'm mostly done with a COMPLETE overhaul of chapter 6 (aka "the nineties" chapter where ice & mav move in together & build their family) which goes into much more detail about how... emotionally and logistically... they could pull that off. + a lot more baseball stuff + the Clinton sex scandal. which leaves just chapter 10 left to do. ugh, my least favorite, which is why im putting it off... and then debriefing etc. which won't take as long because I don't honestly care about debriefing at all and I just have very minor changes to make to it. slider doesn't need editing and idgaf about the other pieces.

once I finish with the edits, which will happen eventually I swear because more than anything I just want to hold the updated edited final thing in my hands the way I did with the first draft, I'll upload my pdf (with meta analysis and notes that go back to mid-2022) for u guys to do with as you wish

also for the m:i doubleheaders I am planning on editing my m:i fic pre-m:i8 next year and pending ilsa life status will write much much more

[browsethestacks]

The Marvel(ous) Comics That Never Were

Art by...

1) Trent Troop

2) Dave Bardin

3) Paul Martin Smith

4) Colleen Coover

5) Bill Walko

6) EliteFixtures.com

7) Otis Frampton

8) Joe Albelo

9) Todd Alcott

10) John Trumbull

[el-ffej]

Asher Perlman, The New Yorker 6/17/2024 issue

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

The cover for this week’s issue, “Roller Coaster,” by Barry Blitt.

* * * *

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

August 19, 2024

Heather Cox Richardson

Aug 20, 2024

The Democratic National Committee today released a platform that lays out the history of the last four years and explains how and why the Biden-Harris administration has oriented the United States government toward ordinary Americans. It is in many ways a snapshot of the United States of America in this moment. At the most basic level, it shows how rapidly the political world is changing. Approved on July 16, five days before President Joe Biden announced he would not accept the nomination, it refers to Biden, and not to Vice President Kamala Harris, as the party’s nominee.

At a grander scale, though, the platform suggests the country is entering a new political alignment. In its length and scope it recalls the 1980 Republican platform that launched the Reagan Revolution and the modern Republican Party. Unlike that platform, which laid out what the Republicans hoped to accomplish if voters put them into power, today’s Democratic platform recounts almost four years of work on which to base the Democrats’ future plans. 

As the Republican Party that coalesced under Reagan has crumbled into a Christian nationalist authoritarianism, the Democrats have come together into a pro-democracy coalition. That coalition includes Republicans eager to stop Trump and his allies. They have signed on to elect Vice President Kamala Harris and Minnesota governor Tim Walz in order to preserve democracy, but are clear they are not embracing the Democratic Party’s policies. The Harris-Walz campaign has welcomed them.

The Republicans’ platform is heavy on slogans—many of which are in all caps—saying things like “We will defeat Inflation, tackle the cost-of-living crisis, improve fiscal sanity, restore price stability, and quickly bring down prices,” without any suggestion of how they will bring about such sweeping changes. In contrast, the Democrats laid out their policies today in a detailed 90-page platform that places the accomplishments of the Biden-Harris administration in a larger framework of protecting American democracy. 

The platform lists the landmark legislation the Democrats have passed since 2021 and explains how they designed those measures to address both economic inequality and the historic racial and gender discrimination that has held back women as well as racial and gender minorities. The central theme of the platform is fairness: some version of that word appears in the document 58 times. The nation’s government, and the globe, have been skewed toward a few rich people. The Democratic platform says that they should pay their fair share and that those Americans who have been held back by systemic discrimination should have a fair shot at success. 

“Our nation is at an inflection point,” the platform’s preamble reads. “What kind of America will we be? A land of more freedom, or less freedom? More rights or fewer? An economy rigged for the rich and powerful, or where everyone has a fair shot at getting ahead?” Taking office in the midst of a crisis, “Democrats proved once again that democracy can deliver, and made tremendous progress turning the country around,” but Trump will destroy those victories, focusing “not on opportunity and optimism, but on revenge and retribution…. He and his extreme MAGA allies are ripping away our bedrock personal freedoms, dictating what health care decisions women can make, banning books, and telling people who they can love. They’re rigging our economy for their rich friends and big corporations, pushing more trickle-down tax cuts for the wealthy and powerful…. They are eroding our democracy with lies and threats, have refused to denounce political violence, and are making it harder to vote. And given the chance, they’ll keep stacking our courts, locking in their extreme agenda for decades.”

“History has shown that nothing about democracy is guaranteed,” the platform reads. “Every generation has to protect it, preserve it, choose it. We must stand together to choose what we want America to be.”

The Democratic platform was the backdrop today for the opening of the Democratic National Convention at the United Center in Chicago, Illinois. Today’s theme was “For the People,” and today's speakers hit that goal, aiming directly at voters by telling two compelling stories of America. While the evening was designed to honor President Joe Biden, it did that not so much by focusing on his administration’s achievements—although they were there—as by emphasizing how his qualities, his initiatives, and his faith in America have restored the nation’s better qualities, setting it on a positive path. 

Speakers told a wide range of stories about the many kindnesses of Biden, Harris, and Walz. Representative Jasmine Crockett (D-TX) teared up when she recounted Harris’s kindness to her as a new lawmaker. Golden State Warriors and U.S. national basketball team coach Steve Kerr noted that Harris and Walz have spent their careers “serving other people.” Minnesota lieutenant governor Peggy Flanagan talked of how as Walz does the work for Minnesota, he brings along a "bottomless bag of snacks -- Nutter Butters, cheese curds, and Diet Dew."

Speakers talked about how the Democrats are getting things done: Representative Joyce Beatty (D-OH) said that "J.D. and Trump like to talk about states like Ohio, but Kamala and Joe actually get stuff done for us." United Auto Workers union president Shawn Fain and Representative Alexandria Ocasio-Cortes (D-NY) emphasized the support of Biden, Harris, and Walz for unions and other working Americans, noting that they come from a middle-class background themselves. 

And they talked about what patriotism means. Representative Robert Garcia (D-CA) said: "My mom taught me to love this country. She taught me that real American patriotism is not about screaming and yelling, ‘America first.’ Real American patriotism is loving your country so much that you want to help the people in your country. THAT is American patriotism." 

Senator Raphael Warnock (D-GA) brought the crowd to its feet when he offered the Democrats’ underlying moral doctrine: “I need my neighbor's children to be okay so that my children will be okay,” he said. “I need all of my neighbor’s children to be okay, poor inner city children in Atlanta and poor children of Appalachia, I need the poor children of Israel and the poor children of Gaza, I need Israelis and Palestinians, I need those in the Congo, those in Haiti, those in Ukraine, I need American children on both sides of the track to be okay. Because we are all God’s children. And so let’s stand together. Let’s work together. Let’s organize together. Let’s pray together. Let’s stand together. Let’s heal the land.”

In contrast to this forward looking community vision, the speakers made clear—often with memorable humor—that the future Trump offers is as dark as his own vows of retribution and revenge. They spoke of how he cares only about himself and how Trump has vowed to be a dictator. Several people mentioned Project 2025, which South Carolina representative James Clyburn called “Jim Crow 2.0.” 

Flanagan told the crowd that her brother was the second person in Tennessee to die of Covid; Garcia said his mother and stepfather both died of it. The DNC showed a video of Trump downplaying the disease. Individuals affected by the abortion bans enacted after the Supreme Court overturned the right to abortion care told their heart wrenching stories.

And they talked about Trump’s crimes. Representative Crockett asked voters which of the two candidates they would hire. “Kamala Harris has a résumé,” she said. “Donald Trump has a rap sheet.” Representative Jamie Raskin (D-MD) noted that Trump’s vice president Mike Pence is the first vice president in more than 200 years “not to support the president he served with in a general election.” “Someone should’ve told Donald Trump that the president’s job under Article 2 of the Constitution is to take care that the laws are faithfully executed, not that the vice president is executed…. J.D. Vance, do you understand why there was a sudden job opening for running mate on the [Republican] ticket? They tried to kill your predecessor!” Senator Laphonza Butler (D-CA) told the crowd: “We deserve a president…who shatters the boundaries of what’s possible, not the boundaries of what’s legal.”

The Democrats tonight wove the past into their story of the future, creating a new history in which the present moment is part of a longer trajectory. Civil rights leader Reverend Jesse L. Jackson Sr., who worked alongside the Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King Jr., received a standing ovation tonight. And when former secretary of state Hillary Clinton took the stage, the crowd roared. 

“Something is happening in America,” she said. “You can feel it. Something we’ve worked for and dreamed of for a long time.” She recalled the history of women’s suffrage in the United States, noting that her mother was born before the ratification of the Nineteenth Amendment, and she remembered the pathbreaking leadership of New York representative Shirley Chisholm, the first woman to run for the Democratic Party’s presidential nomination, and Representative Geraldine Ferraro, also of New York, who ran for vice president in 1984. Then she spoke of her own nomination for president in 2016: “Nearly 66 million Americans voted for a future where there are no ceilings on our dreams. And afterwards we refused to give up on America. Millions marched, many ran for office. We kept our eyes on the future.”

“Well, my friends,” she said, “the future is here!” She urged everyone to “keep going…. Kamala has the character, experience, and vision to lead us forward.” 

When Biden took the stage at the end of the night, he was greeted with a long standing ovation and chants of “We love Joe!” He reiterated the deep importance of family and thanked his own before recounting the accomplishments of his administration in rebuilding the damaged country that he inherited in January 2021. And then he turned to democracy.

“The vote each of us casts this year will determine whether democracy and freedom will prevail. It’s that simple. It’s that serious,” he said. “And the power is literally in your hands. History is in your hands…. America’s future is in your hands.”

“Nowhere else in the world could a kid with a stutter and modest beginnings in Scranton, Pennsylvania, and Claymont, Delaware, grow up to sit behind the Resolute Desk in the Oval Office. That’s because America is and always has been a nation of possibilities. And we must never lose that.”

“Each of us has a part in the American story. For me and my family there’s a song that means a lot to us that captures the best of who we are as a nation. The song is called ‘American Anthem.’ There’s one verse that stands out….

“‘The work and prayers of centuries have brought us to this day. 

What shall our legacy be? What will our children say? 

Let me know in my heart when my days are through

America, America, I gave my best to you.’

“For 50 years…I have given my heart and soul to our nation. And I have been blessed a million times in return with the support of the American people…. I hope you know how grateful I am to all of you…. I can honestly say I’m more optimistic about the future than I was when I was elected as a 29-year-old United States senator.

 “We just need to remember who we are.

 “We’re the United States of America.

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[vivitalks]

pjo show better not cut out Crusty's Water Bed Palace i need to see percy bargain a man to his death

[magsyoon]

"Six young adults struggle to pursue their individual goals and navigate their way through adulthood in contemporary Manhattan, only to get unwillingly acquainted with a narcissistic talking macaw."

I've been developing concept stuff for a hypothetical animated series I want to pitch in the future; "New Yorkers" is the pending title but that might change. This series is the focus of my senior thesis (and it's why I've been so busy lately), though I've also worked on it in my other classes.

I'm still trying to figure out the story, though I'm intending on it being a lightly serialized sitcom with some urban fantasy elements. Influences include Durarara, Regular Show, Close Enough, and Bojack Horseman.

CHARACTER BIOS:

Ace | Wolfe | Leona | Trevor | Min | Hideki | Alexis

[alanhunt]

(The first Microwave Oven)

From the New Yorker, Feb 5, 1949

THE Raytheon Manufacturing Company, of Waltham, Massachusetts, an old hand at turning out radio tubes and radar equipment, has now produced the Radarange, which, as its name implies, cooks food by radar. The most astonishing aspect of this spooky invention is the speed with which it operates. A large pan of gingerbread can be baked in twenty-nine seconds, and water comes to a boil faster than you can say "instantaneously." At the moment, the Raytheon Company is still experimenting with Radaranges and, instead of selling them, rents them to hotels and restaurants, at a charge of five dollars a day. The only local hotel equipped with Radaranges is the Roosevelt, which has two and is delighted with them. We stopped in there the other day to try a few samples of radar cooking, and we're delighted, too.

It will be some time before the department stores have Radaranges. The present model would have to sell for twenty- five hundred dollars a unit, if the Raytheon people were willing to sell it at all, and they haven't even got around to drawing up plans for a home model, We were escorted into the Roosevelt kitchens by Louis Del-Coma, assistant to the general manager of the hotel, who informed us that the bulk of the hotel's cooking is still being done on regular, old-fashioned stoves but that the Radaranges have been very useful in emergencies. Faced with an unexpected run on baked potatoes, Del-Coma said, the chefs turn calmly to the Radaranges, which can bake a potato in four and a half minutes, as against an hour in a conventional oven. The Roosevelt Radaranges stand about five feet high, are about two feet wide and two feet deep, and have a control panel of comforting simplicity: an on-off button, a high-low switch, and a five-minute timer, calibrated in seconds. The oven is of stainless steel and has a steel door perforated like acoustic tile, so that a cook can see in. The ranges produce energy the way a radar transmitter does, but it is directed into the ovens, for cooking purposes, instead of out into space, for detection purposes. The heart of the device is the magnetron, a tube of very high frequency and very high cost, which sends out microwaves at 2,450 megacycles, spang in the middle of the band the Federal Communications Commission has assigned for cookery and other industrial transmissions. Most affected by that particular foods are frequency. They are, in fact, practically given a nervous breakdown by it, and the heat that cooks them is a product of friction among their agitated molecules. One odd thing is that while water boils so promptly, paper, which has molecules that react to a different frequency, is unaffected, and if you put a paper cup full of water in a Radarange the water will all boil away, but the cup will remain undamaged. Metal reflects the microwaves, so the oven itself never warms up; glass and china conduct the waves, so plates and casseroles stay cool while the food on or in them gets piping hot. Mr. Del-Coma turned on one of the Radaranges, set the timer for four and a half minutes, and put a large, unpeeled potato in the oven, on a plate. The potato immediately began to sizzle and jiggle. "You see how fast it is," Del- Coma said. "As a matter of fact, it's too fast for some foods. Eggs, for instance. One of the boys put a whole egg in a Radarange one day and it blew up with a terrific pop." When the oven shut itself off, Del-Coma removed the plate and potato. The plate was cool, but the potato was too hot to touch. Del-Coma slit it open, tucked in a pat of butter, and handed us a fork.When it had cooled enough to eat, we sampled it and found it to be done to a turn and fluffy-the best baked potato we've had since our Second-Class Boy Scout days. Then Del-Coma cooked us a hamburger patty, in two minutes. It couldn't have been better. "The Radarange cooks foods evenly all the way through," he said, "and this means people are accustomed to. If we're cooking a mackerel fillet, we get around that problem by using a special seasoning, which has a coloring effect. Steaks cook perfectly in these ranges but end up looking gray. Our solution to that is to sear them for a few seconds in a broiler, then put them in the Radarange. We cook a ten-ounce steak forty seconds if you order it rare, forty-five seconds for medium, and fifty seconds for well-done. Up in Massachusetts, there's a quick-order place with a Radarange, and when they get a takeout order for a hamburger, they put the raw meat in a bun, smear on mustard, wrap the sandwich in wax paper, put it in a paper bag, and toss the whole works in the oven. They say it tastes fine."

[meteorologistaustenlonek]

"For part of almost every day this spring, the state produced more electricity than it needed from renewable sources."

“Fossil gas, coal, and nuclear are quickly becoming the ‘alternative energy.’ ”

California Is Showing How a Big State Can Power Itself Without Fossil Fuels by @billmckibben @NewYorker

[xtruss]

The Future of Democracy: The Last Time Democracy Almost Died

Learning From the Upheaval of the Nineteen-Thirties.

— By Jill Lepore | Published: January 27, 2020 | Sunday October 8, 2023

It’s a paradox of democracy that the best way to defend it is to argue about it.Illustration by Joan Wong; Photograph by Massimo Lama/Getty Images

The Last Time Democracy nearly died all over the world and almost all at once, Americans argued about it, and then they tried to fix it. “The future of democracy is topic number one in the animated discussion going on all over America,” a contributor to the New York Times wrote in 1937. “In the Legislatures, over the radio, at the luncheon table, in the drawing rooms, at meetings of forums and in all kinds of groups of citizens everywhere, people are talking about the democratic way of life.” People bickered and people hollered, and they also made rules. “You are a liar!” one guy shouted from the audience during a political debate heard on the radio by ten million Americans, from Missoula to Tallahassee. “Now, now, we don’t allow that,” the moderator said, calmly, and asked him to leave.

In the nineteen-thirties, you could count on the Yankees winning the World Series, dust storms plaguing the prairies, evangelicals preaching on the radio, Franklin Delano Roosevelt residing in the White House, people lining up for blocks to get scraps of food, and democracies dying, from the Andes to the Urals and the Alps.

In 1917, Woodrow Wilson’s Administration had promised that winning the Great War would “make the world safe for democracy.” The peace carved nearly a dozen new states out of the former Russian, Ottoman, and Austrian empires. The number of democracies in the world rose; the spread of liberal-democratic governance began to appear inevitable. But this was no more than a reverie. Infant democracies grew, toddled, wobbled, and fell: Hungary, Albania, Poland, Lithuania, Yugoslavia. In older states, too, the desperate masses turned to authoritarianism. Benito Mussolini marched on Rome in 1922. It had taken a century and a half for European monarchs who ruled by divine right and brute force to be replaced by constitutional democracies and the rule of law. Now Fascism and Communism toppled these governments in a matter of months, even before the stock-market crash of 1929 and the misery that ensued.

“Epitaphs for democracy are the fashion of the day,” the soon-to-be Supreme Court Justice Felix Frankfurter wrote, dismally, in 1930. The annus horribilis that followed differed from every other year in the history of the world, according to the British historian Arnold Toynbee: “In 1931, men and women all over the world were seriously contemplating and frankly discussing the possibility that the Western system of Society might break down and cease to work.” When Japan invaded Manchuria, the League of Nations condemned the annexation, to no avail. “The liberal state is destined to perish,” Mussolini predicted in 1932. “All the political experiments of our day are anti-liberal.” By 1933, the year Adolf Hitler came to power, the American political commentator Walter Lippmann was telling an audience of students at Berkeley that “the old relationships among the great masses of the people of the earth have disappeared.” What next? More epitaphs: Greece, Romania, Estonia, and Latvia. Authoritarians multiplied in Portugal, Uruguay, Spain. Japan invaded Shanghai. Mussolini invaded Ethiopia. “The present century is the century of authority,” he declared, “a century of the Right, a Fascist century.”

In 1922, Benito Mussolini (Center) marched on Rome. A decade later, he declared, “The liberal state is destined to perish.” Photograph from Getty Images

American democracy, too, staggered, weakened by corruption, monopoly, apathy, inequality, political violence, hucksterism, racial injustice, unemployment, even starvation. “We do not distrust the future of essential democracy,” F.D.R. said in his first Inaugural Address, telling Americans that the only thing they had to fear was fear itself. But there was more to be afraid of, including Americans’ own declining faith in self-government. “What Does Democracy Mean?” NBC radio asked listeners. “Do we Negroes believe in democracy?” W. E. B. Du Bois asked the readers of his newspaper column. Could it happen here? Sinclair Lewis asked in 1935. Americans suffered, and hungered, and wondered. The historian Charles Beard, in the inevitable essay on “The Future of Democracy in the United States,” predicted that American democracy would endure, if only because “there is in America, no Rome, no Berlin to march on.” Some Americans turned to Communism. Some turned to Fascism. And a lot of people, worried about whether American democracy could survive past the end of the decade, strove to save it.

“It’s not too late,” Jimmy Stewart pleaded with Congress, rasping, exhausted, in “Mr. Smith Goes to Washington,” in 1939. “Great principles don’t get lost once they come to light.” It wasn’t too late. It’s still not too late.

There’s a Kind of Likeness you see in family photographs, generation after generation. The same ears, the same funny nose. Sometimes now looks a lot like then. Still, it can be hard to tell whether the likeness is more than skin deep.

In the nineteen-nineties, with the end of the Cold War, democracies grew more plentiful, much as they had after the end of the First World War. As ever, the infant-mortality rate for democracies was high: baby democracies tend to die in their cradles. Starting in about 2005, the number of democracies around the world began to fall, as it had in the nineteen-thirties. Authoritarians rose to power: Vladimir Putin in Russia, Recep Tayyip Erdoğan in Turkey, Viktor Orbán in Hungary, Jarosław Kaczyński in Poland, Rodrigo Duterte in the Philippines, Jair Bolsonaro in Brazil, and Donald J. Trump in the United States.

“American democracy,” as a matter of history, is democracy with an asterisk, the symbol A-Rod’s name would need if he were ever inducted into the Hall of Fame. Not until the 1964 Civil Rights Act and the 1965 Voting Rights Act can the United States be said to have met the basic conditions for political equality requisite in a democracy. All the same, measured not against its past but against its contemporaries, American democracy in the twenty-first century is withering. The Democracy Index rates a hundred and sixty-seven countries, every year, on a scale that ranges from “full democracy” to “authoritarian regime.” In 2006, the U.S. was a “full democracy,” the seventeenth most democratic nation in the world. In 2016, the index for the first time rated the United States a “flawed democracy,” and since then American democracy has gotten only more flawed. True, the United States still doesn’t have a Rome or a Berlin to march on. That hasn’t saved the nation from misinformation, tribalization, domestic terrorism, human-rights abuses, political intolerance, social-media mob rule, white nationalism, a criminal President, the nobbling of Congress, a corrupt Presidential Administration, assaults on the press, crippling polarization, the undermining of elections, and an epistemological chaos that is the only air that totalitarianism can breathe.

Nothing so sharpens one’s appreciation for democracy as bearing witness to its demolition. Mussolini called Italy and Germany “the greatest and soundest democracies which exist in the world today,” and Hitler liked to say that, with Nazi Germany, he had achieved a “beautiful democracy,” prompting the American political columnist Dorothy Thompson to remark of the Fascist state, “If it is going to call itself democratic we had better find another word for what we have and what we want.” In the nineteen-thirties, Americans didn’t find another word. But they did work to decide what they wanted, and to imagine and to build it. Thompson, who had been a foreign correspondent in Germany and Austria and had interviewed the Führer, said, in a column that reached eight million readers, “Be sure you know what you prepare to defend.”

It’s a paradox of democracy that the best way to defend it is to attack it, to ask more of it, by way of criticism, protest, and dissent. American democracy in the nineteen-thirties had plenty of critics, left and right, from Mexican-Americans who objected to a brutal regime of forced deportations to businessmen who believed the New Deal to be unconstitutional. W. E. B. Du Bois predicted that, unless the United States met its obligations to the dignity and equality of all its citizens and ended its enthrallment to corporations, American democracy would fail: “If it is going to use this power to force the world into color prejudice and race antagonism; if it is going to use it to manufacture millionaires, increase the rule of wealth, and break down democratic government everywhere; if it is going increasingly to stand for reaction, fascism, white supremacy and imperialism; if it is going to promote war and not peace; then America will go the way of the Roman Empire.”

The historian Mary Ritter Beard warned that American democracy would make no headway against its “ruthless enemies—war, fascism, ignorance, poverty, scarcity, unemployment, sadistic criminality, racial persecution, man’s lust for power and woman’s miserable trailing in the shadow of his frightful ways”—unless Americans could imagine a future democracy in which women would no longer be barred from positions of leadership: “If we will not so envisage our future, no Bill of Rights, man’s or woman’s, is worth the paper on which it is printed.”

If the United States hasn’t gone the way of the Roman Empire and the Bill of Rights is still worth more than the paper on which it’s printed, that’s because so many people have been, ever since, fighting the fights Du Bois and Ritter Beard fought. There have been wins and losses. The fight goes on.

In the thirties, community leaders across the country ignited debate on the meaning and the future of democracy, inviting Americans to assemble in the same room and argue with one another—to stretch their civic muscles. Courtesy Library of Congress

Could no system of rule but extremism hold back the chaos of economic decline? In the nineteen-thirties, people all over the world, liberals, hoped that the United States would be able to find a middle road, somewhere between the malignity of a state-run economy and the mercilessness of laissez-faire capitalism. Roosevelt campaigned in 1932 on the promise to rescue American democracy by way of a “new deal for the American people,” his version of that third way: relief, recovery, and reform. He won forty-two of forty-eight states, and trounced the incumbent, Herbert Hoover, in the Electoral College 472 to 59. Given the national emergency in which Roosevelt took office, Congress granted him an almost entirely free hand, even as critics raised concerns that the powers he assumed were barely short of dictatorial.

New Dealers were trying to save the economy; they ended up saving democracy. They built a new America; they told a new American story. On New Deal projects, people from different parts of the country labored side by side, constructing roads and bridges and dams, everything from the Lincoln Tunnel to the Hoover Dam, joining together in a common endeavor, shoulder to the wheel, hand to the forge. Many of those public-works projects, like better transportation and better electrification, also brought far-flung communities, down to the littlest town or the remotest farm, into a national culture, one enriched with new funds for the arts, theatre, music, and storytelling. With radio, more than with any other technology of communication, before or since, Americans gained a sense of their shared suffering, and shared ideals: they listened to one another’s voices.

This didn’t happen by accident. Writers and actors and directors and broadcasters made it happen. They dedicated themselves to using the medium to bring people together. Beginning in 1938, for instance, F.D.R.’s Works Progress Administration produced a twenty-six-week radio-drama series for CBS called “Americans All, Immigrants All,” written by Gilbert Seldes, the former editor of The Dial. “What brought people to this country from the four corners of the earth?” a pamphlet distributed to schoolteachers explaining the series asked. “What gifts did they bear? What were their problems? What problems remain unsolved?” The finale celebrated the American experiment: “The story of magnificent adventure! The record of an unparalleled event in the history of mankind!”

There is no twenty-first-century equivalent of Seldes’s “Americans All, Immigrants All,” because it is no longer acceptable for a serious artist to write in this vein, and for this audience, and for this purpose. (In some quarters, it was barely acceptable even then.) Love of the ordinary, affection for the common people, concern for the commonweal: these were features of the best writing and art of the nineteen-thirties. They are not so often features lately.

Americans reëlected F.D.R. in 1936 by one of the widest margins in the country’s history. American magazines continued the trend from the twenties, in which hardly a month went by without their taking stock: “Is Democracy Doomed?” “Can Democracy Survive?” (Those were the past century’s versions of more recent titles, such as “How Democracy Ends,” “Why Liberalism Failed,” “How the Right Lost Its Mind,” and “How Democracies Die.” The same ears, that same funny nose.) In 1934, the Christian Science Monitor published a debate called “Whither Democracy?,” addressed “to everyone who has been thinking about the future of democracy—and who hasn’t.” It staked, as adversaries, two British scholars: Alfred Zimmern, a historian from Oxford, on the right, and Harold Laski, a political theorist from the London School of Economics, on the left. “Dr. Zimmern says in effect that where democracy has failed it has not been really tried,” the editors explained. “Professor Laski sees an irrepressible conflict between the idea of political equality in democracy and the fact of economic inequality in capitalism, and expects at least a temporary resort to Fascism or a capitalistic dictatorship.” On the one hand, American democracy is safe; on the other hand, American democracy is not safe.

In 1939, the World’s Fair opened in Queens, New York, featuring an exhibit called the Democracity, a model of utopia that was in keeping with the event’s chipper motto, “The World of Tomorrow.” Photograph by Fritz Goro/Getty Images

Zimmern and Laski went on speaking tours of the United States, part of a long parade of visiting professors brought here to prognosticate on the future of democracy. Laski spoke to a crowd three thousand strong, in Washington’s Constitution Hall. “laski tells how to save democracy,” the Washington Post reported. Zimmern delivered a series of lectures titled “The Future of Democracy,” at the University of Buffalo, in which he warned that democracy had been undermined by a new aristocracy of self-professed experts. “I am no more ready to be governed by experts than I am to be governed by the ex-Kaiser,” he professed, expertly.

The year 1935 happened to mark the centennial of the publication of Alexis de Tocqueville’s “Democracy in America,” an occasion that elicited still more lectures from European intellectuals coming to the United States to remark on its system of government and the character of its people, close on Tocqueville’s heels. Heinrich Brüning, a scholar and a former Chancellor of Germany, lectured at Princeton on “The Crisis of Democracy”; the Swiss political theorist William Rappard gave the same title to a series of lectures he delivered at the University of Chicago. In “The Prospects for Democracy,” the Scottish historian and later BBC radio quiz-show panelist Denis W. Brogan offered little but gloom: “The defenders of democracy, the thinkers and writers who still believe in its merits, are in danger of suffering the fate of Aristotle, who kept his eyes fixedly on the city-state at a time when that form of government was being reduced to a shadow by the rise of Alexander’s world empire.” Brogan hedged his bets by predicting the worst. It’s an old trick.

The endless train of academics were also called upon to contribute to the nation’s growing number of periodicals. In 1937, The New Republic, arguing that “at no time since the rise of political democracy have its tenets been so seriously challenged as they are today,” ran a series on “The Future of Democracy,” featuring pieces by the likes of Bertrand Russell and John Dewey. “Do you think that political democracy is now on the wane?” the editors asked each writer. The series’ lead contributor, the Italian philosopher Benedetto Croce, took issue with the question, as philosophers, thankfully, do. “I call this kind of question ‘meteorological,’ ” he grumbled. “It is like asking, ‘Do you think that it is going to rain today? Had I better take my umbrella?’ ” The trouble, Croce explained, is that political problems are not external forces beyond our control; they are forces within our control. “We need solely to make up our own minds and to act.”

Don’t ask whether you need an umbrella. Go outside and stop the rain.

Here are Some of the Sorts of people who went out and stopped the rain in the nineteen-thirties: schoolteachers, city councillors, librarians, poets, union organizers, artists, precinct workers, soldiers, civil-rights activists, and investigative reporters. They knew what they were prepared to defend and they defended it, even though they also knew that they risked attack from both the left and the right. Charles Beard (Mary Ritter’s husband) spoke out against the newspaper tycoon William Randolph Hearst, the Rupert Murdoch of his day, when he smeared scholars and teachers as Communists. “The people who are doing the most damage to American democracy are men like Charles A. Beard,” said a historian at Trinity College in Hartford, speaking at a high school on the subject of “Democracy and the Future,” and warning against reading Beard’s books—at a time when Nazis in Germany and Austria were burning “un-German” books in public squares. That did not exactly happen here, but in the nineteen-thirties four of five American superintendents of schools recommended assigning only those U.S. history textbooks which “omit any facts likely to arouse in the minds of the students question or doubt concerning the justice of our social order and government.” Beard’s books, God bless them, raised doubts.

Beard didn’t back down. Nor did W.P.A. muralists and artists, who were subject to the same attack. Instead, Beard took pains to point out that Americans liked to think of themselves as good talkers and good arguers, people with a particular kind of smarts. Not necessarily book learning, but street smarts—reasonableness, open-mindedness, level-headedness. “The kind of universal intellectual prostration required by Bolshevism and Fascism is decidedly foreign to American ‘intelligence,’ ” Beard wrote. Possibly, he allowed, you could call this a stubborn independence of mind, or even mulishness. “Whatever the interpretation, our wisdom or ignorance stands in the way of our accepting the totalitarian assumption of Omniscience,” he insisted. “And to this extent it contributes to the continuance of the arguing, debating, never-settling-anything-finally methods of political democracy.” Maybe that was whistling in the dark, but sometimes a whistle is all you’ve got.

The more argument the better is what the North Carolina-born George V. Denny, Jr., was banking on, anyway, after a neighbor of his, in Scarsdale, declared that he so strongly disagreed with F.D.R. that he never listened to him. Denny, who helped run something called the League for Political Education, thought that was nuts. In 1935, he launched “America’s Town Meeting of the Air,” an hour-long debate program, broadcast nationally on NBC’s Blue Network. Each episode opened with a town crier ringing a bell and hollering, “Town meeting tonight! Town meeting tonight!” Then Denny moderated a debate, usually among three or four panelists, on a controversial subject (Does the U.S. have a truly free press? Should schools teach politics?), before opening the discussion up to questions from an audience of more than a thousand people. The debates were conducted at a lecture hall, usually in New York, and broadcast to listeners gathered in public libraries all over the country, so that they could hold their own debates once the show ended. “We are living today on the thin edge of history,” Max Lerner, the editor of The Nation, said in 1938, during a “Town Meeting of the Air” debate on the meaning of democracy. His panel included a Communist, an exile from the Spanish Civil War, a conservative American political economist, and a Russian columnist. “We didn’t expect to settle anything, and therefore we succeeded,” the Spanish exile said at the end of the hour, offering this definition: “A democracy is a place where a ‘Town Meeting of the Air’ can take place.”

Public forums that began in Des Moines grew so popular that the programming became a part of the New Deal. The federal government paid for it, but everything else fell under local control, and ordinary people made it work. Photograph from Alamy

No one expected anyone to come up with an undisputable definition of democracy, since the point was disputation. Asking people about the meaning and the future of democracy and listening to them argue it out was really only a way to get people to stretch their civic muscles. “Democracy can only be saved by democratic men and women,” Dorothy Thompson once said. “The war against democracy begins by the destruction of the democratic temper, the democratic method and the democratic heart. If the democratic temper be exacerbated into wanton unreasonableness, which is the essence of the evil, then a victory has been won for the evil we despise and prepare to defend ourselves against, even though it’s 3,000 miles away and has never moved.”

The most ambitious plan to get Americans to show up in the same room and argue with one another in the nineteen-thirties came out of Des Moines, Iowa, from a one-eyed former bricklayer named John W. Studebaker, who had become the superintendent of the city’s schools. Studebaker, who after the Second World War helped create the G.I. Bill, had the idea of opening those schools up at night, so that citizens could hold debates. In 1933, with a grant from the Carnegie Corporation and support from the American Association for Adult Education, he started a five-year experiment in civic education.

The meetings began at a quarter to eight, with a fifteen-minute news update, followed by a forty-five-minute lecture, and thirty minutes of debate. The idea was that “the people of the community of every political affiliation, creed, and economic view have an opportunity to participate freely.” When Senator Guy Gillette, a Democrat from Iowa, talked about “Why I Support the New Deal,” Senator Lester Dickinson, a Republican from Iowa, talked about “Why I Oppose the New Deal.” Speakers defended Fascism. They attacked capitalism. They attacked Fascism. They defended capitalism. Within the first nine months of the program, thirteen thousand of Des Moines’s seventy-six thousand adults had attended a forum. The program got so popular that in 1934 F.D.R. appointed Studebaker the U.S. Commissioner of Education and, with the eventual help of Eleanor Roosevelt, the program became a part of the New Deal, and received federal funding. The federal forum program started out in ten test sites—from Orange County, California, to Sedgwick County, Kansas, and Pulaski County, Arkansas. It came to include almost five hundred forums in forty-three states and involved two and a half million Americans. Even people who had steadfastly predicted the demise of democracy participated. “It seems to me the only method by which we are going to achieve democracy in the United States,” Du Bois wrote, in 1937.

The federal government paid for it, but everything else fell under local control, and ordinary people made it work, by showing up and participating. Usually, school districts found the speakers and decided on the topics after collecting ballots from the community. In some parts of the country, even in rural areas, meetings were held four and five times a week. They started in schools and spread to Y.M.C.A.s and Y.W.C.A.s, labor halls, libraries, settlement houses, and businesses, during lunch hours. Many of the meetings were broadcast by radio. People who went to those meetings debated all sorts of things:

Should the Power of the Supreme Court Be Altered?

Do Company Unions Help Labor?

Do Machines Oust Men?

Must the West Get Out of the East?

Can We Conquer Poverty?

Should Capital Punishment Be Abolished?

Is Propaganda a Menace?

Do We Need a New Constitution?

Should Women Work?

Is America a Good Neighbor?

Can It Happen Here?

These efforts don’t always work. Still, trying them is better than talking about the weather, and waiting for someone to hand you an umbrella.

When a Terrible Hurricane hit New England in 1938, Dr. Lorine Pruette, a Tennessee-born psychologist who had written an essay called “Why Women Fail,” and who had urged F.D.R. to name only women to his Cabinet, found herself marooned at a farm in New Hampshire with a young neighbor, sixteen-year-old Alice Hooper, a high-school sophomore. Waiting out the storm, they had nothing to do except listen to the news, which, needless to say, concerned the future of democracy. Alice asked Pruette a question: “What is it everyone on the radio is talking about—what is this democracy—what does it mean?” Somehow, in the end, NBC arranged a coast-to-coast broadcast, in which eight prominent thinkers—two ministers, three professors, a former ambassador, a poet, and a journalist—tried to explain to Alice the meaning of democracy. American democracy had found its “Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus” moment, except that it was messier, and more interesting, because those eight people didn’t agree on the answer. Democracy, Alice, is the darnedest thing.

That broadcast was made possible by the workers who brought electricity to rural New Hampshire; the legislators who signed the 1934 federal Communications Act, mandating public-interest broadcasting; the executives at NBC who decided that it was important to run this program; the two ministers, the three professors, the former ambassador, the poet, and the journalist who gave their time, for free, to a public forum, and agreed to disagree without acting like asses; and a whole lot of Americans who took the time to listen, carefully, even though they had plenty of other things to do. Getting out of our current jam will likely require something different, but not entirely different. And it will be worth doing.

A decade-long debate about the future of democracy came to a close at the end of the nineteen-thirties—but not because it had been settled. In 1939, the World’s Fair opened in Queens, with a main exhibit featuring the saga of democracy and a chipper motto: “The World of Tomorrow.” The fairgrounds included a Court of Peace, with pavilions for every nation. By the time the fair opened, Czechoslovakia had fallen to Germany, though, and its pavilion couldn’t open. Shortly afterward, Edvard Beneš, the exiled President of Czechoslovakia, delivered a series of lectures at the University of Chicago on, yes, the future of democracy, though he spoke less about the future than about the past, and especially about the terrible present, a time of violently unmoored traditions and laws and agreements, a time “of moral and intellectual crisis and chaos.” Soon, more funereal bunting was brought to the World’s Fair, to cover Poland, Belgium, Denmark, France, Luxembourg, and the Netherlands. By the time the World of Tomorrow closed, in 1940, half the European hall lay under a shroud of black.

The federal government stopped funding the forum program in 1941. Americans would take up their debate about the future of democracy, in a different form, only after the defeat of the Axis. For now, there was a war to fight. And there were still essays to publish, if not about the future, then about the present. In 1943, E. B. White got a letter in the mail, from the Writers’ War Board, asking him to write a statement about “The Meaning of Democracy.” He was a little weary of these pieces, but he knew how much they mattered. He wrote back, “Democracy is a request from a War Board, in the middle of a morning in the middle of a war, wanting to know what democracy is.” It meant something once. And, the thing is, it still does. ♦

[weirdasscomments]

[tinyowlthoughts]

YEEEEEESSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!

Edit to add:

"But this doesn't mean he's going to jail."

You're absolutely right, it doesn't. But you know what it does mean, now that Donald J. Trump, former 45 president of the United States is a convicted felon?

He had to sit there as 12 New Yorkers (the state that 'turned their back' on him) said, 34 times, that he was guilty.

That they didn't believe him.

That they had no faith in his/the defenses version of events.

That they believe he not only cheated on his just-gave-birth wife with a porn star (and damn, is Stormy Daniels a motherfucking star!), but that he also paid her off to hide it before his election.

That they believe Cohen over Trump.

That they think he is a lying sack of shit and weren't afraid to call him out on it (not literally).

Statistically, someone on that jury voted for Trump to be president.

That same person voted for him to be guilty.

And he just had to sit there and take it. No rebuttal. No interruption. No insults or name calling.

He couldn't defend himself, because his defense already failed.

Is he going to jail? Highly unlikely (unless he does something stupid like threaten the jurors/their families/the prosecution/the judge/etc. again, I'm pretty sure the Judge is on his very last tether with Trump).

But the sentencing is July 11.

4 days before the Republican National Convention.

Where it's assumed Trump is going to be their nominee.

Will they nominate a convicted felon?

(...I'm trying to be dramatic and mysterious but let's face it, the RNC would nominate a rotten banana if it was racist and money-grubbing enough.)

What happens in the future is uncertain, but today - right now - Trump WAS convicted.

He is now a convicted felon.

And as a convicted felon there is one very important thing he cannot do.

Vote.

So yeah, he probably won't go to jail, but for now we can just enjoy that 12 New Yorkers called him out to his face and that he, a former president, can't even vote in his own (potential) election.

<3

[probablyasocialecologist]

Degrowth basics

"The word degrowth stands for a family of political-economic approaches that, in the face of today’s accelerating planetary ecological crisis, reject unlimited, exponential economic growth as the definition of human progress."

What is Degrowth? | Caracol DSA

Why degrowth is the only responsible way forward | OpenDemocracy

Degrowth and MMT: A thought experiment

We Need A Fair Way To End Infinite Growth | Current Affairs

Degrowth: A Call for Radical Abundance | Common Dreams

Can degrowth save us and the planet? | Nottingham Trent

Defending limits is not Malthusian | Undisciplined Environments

Can We Have Prosperity Without Growth? | New Yorker

The Urgent Case for Shrinking the Economy | The New Republic

Giving Up on Economic Growth Could Make Us Cooler and Happier | The New Republic

A guide to degrowth: The movement prioritizing wellbeing in a bid to avoid climate cataclysm | CNBC

What is ‘degrowth’ and how can it fight climate change? | Popular Science

Enough for Everyone | Yes! Magazine

Toward a Post-Capitalist Future: On the Growth of “Degrowth” | Lit Hub

All we are saying is give degrowth a chance | The RSA

A pathway out of environmental collapse | newsroom

On Technology and Degrowth | Monthly Review

What is degrowth (and more importantly, what is it not)? | META

Green growth

"There is no empirical evidence that absolute decoupling from resource use can be achieved on a global scale against a background of continued economic growth."

Is Green Growth Possible? | Jason Hickel & Giorgos Kallis

The Myth of America’s Green Growth | Foreign Policy

The decoupling delusion: rethinking growth and sustainability | The Conversation

Is green growth happening? | Uneven Earth

Green Growth | Uneven Earth

The Delusion of Infinite Economic Growth | Scientific American

Degrowth is not austerity – it is actually just the opposite | Al Jazeera

A response to Paul Krugman: Growth is not as green as you might think | Timothée Parrique

Deceitful Decoupling: Misconceptions of a Persistent Myth | Alevgul H. Sorman

Degrowth isn’t the same as a recession – it’s an alternative to growing the economy forever | The Conversation

Degrowth and the left

"In the middle of an ecological emergency, should we be producing sport utility vehicles and mansions? Should we be diverting energy to support the obscene consumption and accumulation of the ruling class?"

The Left should embrace degrowth | New Internationalist

Ecosocialism is the Horizon, Degrowth is the Way | The Trouble

Degrowth: Socialism without Growth | Brave New Europe

Toward an Ecosocialist Degrowth: From the Materially Inevitable to the Socially Desirable | Monthly Review

For an Ecosocialist Degrowth | Monthly Review

Degrowth and Revolutionary Organizing | Rosa Luxemburg NYC

The necessity of ecosocialist degrowth | Rupture

Degrowth is Anti-Capitalist | Protean Mag

Degrowth Communism | PPPR (Part one | Part two | Part three)

Economic Planning and Degrowth: How Socialism Survives the 21st Century | New Socialist

Degrowth and the South

"Southern countries should be free to organize their resources and labor around meeting human needs rather than around servicing Northern growth."

Who is afraid of degrowth? A Global South economic perspective | IBON Foundation

The anti-colonial politics of degrowth | Jason Hickel

Unlearning: From Degrowth to Decolonization | Rosa Luxemburg NYC

Degrowth requires the Global South to default on its foreign debts | Resilience

Journals/Reports

Degrowth: a theory of radical abundance | Jason Hickel

A systematic review of the evidence on decoupling of GDP, resource use and GHG emissions, part II: synthesizing the insights

What does degrowth mean? A few points of clarification | Jason Hickel

Providing decent living with minimum energy: A global scenario | Global Environmental Change

Urgent need for post-growth climate mitigation scenarios | Nature Energy

Degrowth and critical agrarian studies | Julien-François Gerber

Decoupling debunked – Evidence and arguments against green growth as a sole strategy for sustainability | European Environmental Bureau

Incrementum ad Absurdum: Global Growth, Inequality and Poverty Eradication in a Carbon-Constrained World | David Woodward

Degrowth can work — here’s how science can help | Nature

A New Political Economy for a Healthy Planet | Jason Hickel

Planning beyond growth. The case for economic democracy within limits

Millionaire spending incompatible with 1.5 °C ambitions | Cleaner Production Letters

Is green growth happening? An empirical analysis of achieved versus Paris-compliant CO2–GDP decoupling in high-income countries | The Lancet

Books

Exploring Degrowth: A Critical Guide | Pluto Press

A People's Green New Deal | Max Ajl

Less is More: How Degrowth Will Save the World | Jason Hickel

Breaking Things at Work: The Luddites Are Right About Why You Hate Your Job | Verso Books

The Future is Degrowth: A Guide to a World Beyond Capitalism | Verso Books

The Imperial Mode of Living: Everyday Life and the Ecological Crisis of Capitalism | Verso Books

Marx in the Anthropocene: Towards the Idea of Degrowth Communism | Kohei Saito

Degrowth & Strategy: how to bring about social-ecological transformation

27 Essays and Thoughts on Degrowth | Giorgos Kallis

Videos

Yes To Limits To Growth! | The Other School

How Degrowth Can Save the World | Andrewism

How We End Consumerism | Our Changing Climate

Demystifying Degrowth | Rosa Luxemburg NYC

Degrowth is not Austerity | John the Duncan

Degrowth and Ecosocialism | Planet: Critical

Degrowth in 7 minutes: Fighting for climate by living better | Think That Through

The Future is Degrowth (w/ Aaron Vansintjan) || SRSLY WRONG

"Degrowth means power to the working class!"with Jason Hickel | GND Media

Others

degrowth.info

Degrowth Journal

Doughnut Economics

[anotheroceanid]

hehehehehe snipped of my fic :3

Athena: do you believe the future can be changed?!

Perse: Athena-

Athena: [desperate] PLEASE! …I need to know

Perse: I hope it does. 

Athena: then i swear to you, what you see shall not come to pass. The vile, cruel version of me that you saw, it shall not be so. I shall make it so. You are my daughter and you have changed me for the better, I see it, but please don’t tell me that I will revert back to my coldness. I swear upon the sacred River Styx that I shall not become the vision you fear!

Perse: … I hope for- for [she wants to say for annabeth’s sake but she cant] my sake you keep your promise.

My poor girl Percy (is not even Perse in this moment, this is my New Yorker Demigoddess speaking at this point 😭😭😭)

It’s actually sad the decline of Athena from the Ancient Times to the 21th century 😭😭😭 (I’m kinda dramatic about it rk because I’m working on my other’s fic chapter 7 and that’s a discussed topic)

[writing-intheundercroft]

Tis the Damn Season - Garreth Weasley

Read on AO3

Word Count: 4,145

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Smut, Oral and Vaginal Sex, NSFW, MDNI

Summary: You're back from five years of traveling the world and living in America, and Garreth Weasley invites you on a foraging trip down to his family cottage in Cornwall. You accept, having regretted not sharing your feelings when you last said goodbye. Or, the origin story of the Weasley knitted sweaters.

A/N: An exercise in writing smut turned into a delicious one shot for Garreth. I've clearly been listening to too much Taylor Swift.

“Welcome home!” Leonora giggled, over the sound of merriment in the Leaky Cauldron.  The class of 1893 was celebrating their five year reunion, with almost all of the graduates in attendance. Sebastian and Ominis had decided to sit out the reunion, staying at your shared home in New York, sending their well wishes with you as you boarded an ocean liner back to London.  Cross-Atlantic apparition had never been your thing.

“I’m glad to be back,” you smiled honestly. London had never really been home, not really.  You’d landed in a shared flat with the boys for a month after graduation before embarking on your world tour, but you hadn’t stayed long enough to make it feel like home.

Leonora and Poppy started detailing the whereabouts and day to day lives of your classmates. Violet McDowell had married, as had Grace Pinch-Smedley. Duncan Hobhouse was still painfully single and afraid of not just puffskeins, but now nifflers too after an incident with Amit Thakkar at the bank.  Leander Prewett was still gangly, and proudly wearing his ministry of magic badge for all to see.

“Oh, and Garreth–I’m sure you heard about him and Samantha Dale,” Leonora giggled, pointing across the room.

Your heart sank as you thought of him.  If you had wanted to know who Garreth had been dating while you were away, you would’ve brought it up yourself–now, you had to face the burning jealousy that bubbled in your throat as you thought of the pretty Ravenclaw who currently had her hand placed on his forearm.

Poppy sensed your emotions, elbowing Leonora to stop. “They broke up,” she cooed softly. “Months ago. They’re just friends now.”  Poppy cradled her swelling stomach, your future niece or nephew growing inside.

“Good for them,” you said blithely, trying to feign indifference.

“He’s coming over here.” Leonora whispered. 

You adjusted your skirt as Garreth cheerfully bounced over, red waves crashing over his head.  He’d grown since you last saw him, thicker and sturdier than the stocky teenager you’d last seen.  No wonder Samantha Dale had been interested in him, you thought.  He was impossibly handsome, with emerald green eyes that shined at whoever he spoke with.

“You’re monopolizing our New Yorker,” Garreth announced, cheeks tinged pink from the alcohol.

“Excuse us, then.” Poppy grinned, winking at you as she tugged Leonora away.

You smiled at your Gryffindor friend, who leaned against the bar next to you. “Are you having fun?”

He nodded eagerly. “It’s good to be back together again, you included.” he nudged. “I wish we could spend more time together before you go home.”

“What are you doing tomorrow?” You asked, trying not to sound too eager.

“Taking a trip down to my family’s cottage in Cornwall,” he sighed. “I need to gather some more horklumps for my potions.” Garreth took a lengthy sip from his beer, but his eyes never left yours. “How about you come with me?  Been a while since we had an adventure.”

You blushed. “Are you sure I won’t just get in your way?”

Garreth smiled earnestly at you. “Anything to spend a little extra time with you.”

So, you agreed.  Garreth spent the rest of the evening by your side; you felt smug when Samantha Dale stared at the two of you, and the little bubble of regret in your heart grew when Garreth leaned against you.  It had been five years since you’d said goodbye, and you wished you’d been honest about your feelings with him the day you both left Hogwarts.  

Instead, he’d given the back of your hand a chaste kiss, letting you go for the last time.

“Don’t mind the dust,” Garreth advised, pushing the door in. “Mum usually cleans up before we all get in for the holidays.”

You peered over his shoulder as he guided you into the cottage. It was dark, clearly uninhabited over the colder months. You settled the bag of horklumps the two of you had foraged on the wooden table as he walked around the kitchen, lighting candles. Waves crashed outside the walls of the cottage; you imagined how this place might look during the summer time.  Visions of Garreth and his many siblings running around the beach flashed in your head, leaving a lump in your throat.

“There,” Garreth said proudly, assessing the lighting situation. “And we can start a fire in the living room.  Will probably be too cold to sleep upstairs anyways.” He led you to the living room, a small den with two loveseats opposite one another, and a stone fireplace in the center.  

“You just had to drag me on a foraging trip before a snow storm,” you teased.  

“What can I say? You’re an awfully great helper,” Garreth said sweetly, casting his wand at the fireplace.  It lit up beautifully, and the room started to warm.

You hadn’t seen Garreth since you and your Slytherin boys had left school for a worldwide tour at eighteen. Eighteen became nineteen, and then twenty.  Suddenly, London no longer felt like home, and the boys wanted to go to America.  You’d tagged along, their third wheel as you’d been all throughout your Hogwarts years, because there was no one else in London for you; why not experience New York?

Correspondence from your classmates steadily declined as you all got older and busier.  Some had started families (Poppy was pregnant with her first child already) and others were dominating their careers (Imelda was quick on her way to captain of the Holyhead Harpies at twenty three).  

Only one remained constant.

Garreth Weasley never stopped writing it seemed.  A letter once a week; two in one week if he missed an owl.  You shared your adventures, and Garreth told stories of the little potions stand he’d opened in Diagon Alley. It wasn’t glamorous, he wrote, but it paid a living, and he was finally able to move out of his family home and into a modest flat he shared with Lucan Brattleby. Garreth was the one who’d arranged the five year reunion, right before Christmas time. He had convinced you to attend when Sebastian and Ominis declined, claiming everyone would be glad to see you.  He was there to pick you up from the dock when you landed, and had escorted you to the room you were renting for the week at the Leaky Cauldron. 

Garreth–the sweetest Gryffindor you’d ever known.

“You alright?” Garreth asked, breaking you out of your thoughts.  He stood before you with stacks of woolen blankets in his arms.  

“I’m fine,” you uttered. “Just thinking,” you shrugged, grabbing some of the blankets to spread on the loveseat. Garreth did the same, setting the one opposite you, and your heart sank into your stomach.

Why had Garreth invited you to Cornwall?  Was it really just to forage the finest horklumps for his potions?  You’d assumed that he wanted to get you alone, and that you could finally confess your long held feelings for him.  Instead, he’d made you stomp through the brutally wet weather, stashing the spiky bastards in your bags for his famed wiggenweld brews. Your heart had done flips when he assessed the weather, claiming it was too cold and too far to apparate back to London.  He’d offered up the Weasley family’s summer home for the night, claiming the two of you could catch up over a bottle of firewhiskey instead of trekking home in the snow.  You felt that familiar warmth in the lower part of your belly when Garreth held you by the waist as you walked down the dune towards Shell Cottage.  

You’d only spent the last six years of your life dreaming of a night spent with Garreth Weasley, after all, and now he was tucking the sheets onto the couch opposite of you, preparing for an innocent sleepover.  You couldn’t help the flutter of disappointment, both emotionally and sexually. 

“Well I think we should drink, and then we can properly catch up, just the two of us.” Garreth announced.  “Be right back.”

You let out a hot puff of air, sinking to your knees in front of the fireplace.  So much for seducing him, you thought.  

Garreth returned with two glasses and a near full bottle of firewhiskey.  He landed on his arse next to you and you smiled, remembering the clumsy, boisterous teenage boy he’d been when you last saw him.  That boy seemed to live inside this grown adult–all muscle, shaggy hair, and hints of red scruff on his chin. He pushed his hair back as he held up his glass to yours, clinking them softly.  You caught up on everything you’d missed in the past five years; how Leander was still his best friend, despite being an annoyance, and how Lucan was a messy roommate.  You told him about your travels around the world, how Ominis snored, and Sebastian was a terrible cook.

“How is Samantha Dale?” You asked, breaking the ice. “I heard you two dated.

Garreth chewed on his lower lip. “Not very long, I’m afraid.  We didn’t have much in common.” he wrinkled his nose.

“Oh,” you said softly. He seemed to want to leave it at that.

“How are Sebastian and Ominis?” Garreth asked tentatively.

You rolled your eyes. “Still a pain in my arse, after all these years. I love them, but I’m not sure how much longer I can live with them.” You sighed.

Garreth snorted. “You’re the one who chose to follow them.”

You hummed quietly, knowing he was right. 

“Is it weird?” Garreth asked after a long sip. “Living with Ominis when you and Sebastian are together?”  He was looking down at his glass, avoiding eye contact.

You sputtered the firewhiskey, coughing at the thought. “Me?  With Sebastian?” You wheezed.

Garreth knitted his eyebrows together in confusion. “Well, yeah.  Because you’re together, aren’t you?”

You laughed, and then laughed some more.  Tears were coming out of your eyes while Garreth gaped at you, eyes wide as saucers.

“How could you think Sebastian and I are together?” You wiped your eyes with the sleeves of your sweater, chuckling.

Garreth’s face was red. “I–we–everyone assumed!  You two were attached at the hip, and there was a rumor you two…” he trailed off, face as red as a tomato. 

“A rumor that we what?” You demanded.

“That you two had slept together in seventh year.” Garreth said sheepishly. “Leander told me.”

“Ah, yes. Well, that was a lie,” you chuffed. “I was only covering for him and someone else.  It was easier to let everyone think I was slag than for them to face the criticism.”

Garreth cocked his head. “What?  Who?”

You leaned back onto the carpet. “Let’s just say Sebastian and I have very different taste in sexual partners.  For example, I prefer men who are actually into me.  And two, Sebastian prefers Ominis.”

Garreth stared at you, blinking as he put two and two together. The blank look on his face disappeared, eyes widening in shock as he blushed.

“What…oh… oh .” he stuttered. “Wow.  I mean, I guess that makes a ton of sense. Good for them.”

You grinned, laying back on the floor with the glass balanced on your stomach. “Yeah, the two of them are pretty happy together. I think they’ll get married soon.  Bit loud, for roommates though.  I’ve been looking to find my own place.”

Garreth rolled onto his stomach, leaning his head on his hands as he laid next to you on the ground. “In New York?”

“New York, Paris, Buenos Aires…Madrid, Rome, or Berlin.  I could go anywhere in the world,” you declared, stretching out. “I’m a nomad now.”

“Not London?” Garreth asked softly.

You tilted your head to look at the redhead next to you.  His eyes were glistening, a perfect pout as he frowned at your list of locations. You fought the urge to brush his fiery hair out of his eyes.

“I’d come back to London,” you echo, “If there was something here for me.”

“Your friends are here,” Garreth reminded you. “Poppy, Imelda, Natty.”

“Poppy is about to have a baby,” you remind him in return. “Imelda is busy with Quidditch, and Natty splits her time between London and Matabeleland. There’s really no one else.”

“What about me?” Garreth’s voice was small. “I’m here.”

You dig your face into the carpet, hiding the blush that crept up your face. “You’re busy with the shop. I wouldn’t want to be in your way.”

Garreth suddenly pulled you close, his large hand traveling up to cradle your chin so you couldn’t hide your face. “You’d never be in my way.” he said firmly.

“I’m sure no woman would want me constantly hanging around you either,” you breathed.

His eyes flitted down to your lips. “I think you can tell from the way we’re sitting, there won’t be any other women,” he whispered.  His thumb ran over your lips, pressing against your pout.  Garreth rolled you onto your back, hovering over your body as he slotted a knee between your legs.

“You put the blankets on the other loveseat,” you whisper. “I didn’t think you liked me.”

“Because I wanted to be respectful,” Garreth added, brushing his nose against yours. “I’ve been thinking you were with Sallow for years , when I could’ve been doing this.” Garreth’s lips brushed against yours sweetly. “Fuck Leander–I knew I shouldn’t have listened to him.”

You gave a breathy laugh, putting an arm around his neck. “Yes, well, Prewett can fuck off.”

Garreth gulped. “I watched you leave, all those years ago, because I thought you were in love with Sebastian. I thought so long as you were happy, I’d be happy for you.”

“No,” you breathed in sharply. “I was in love with you .”

Garreth wasted no time pressing the weight of his body against yours.  You moaned into his mouth, letting him slip his tongue between your lips. He was everything you’d dreamt of and more since you were seventeen–hard muscle under soft warm skin, his freckled forehead pressed against yours.  You let your legs fall to the side, his thick body slotting between them perfectly–the most natural fit. 

“If I had known,” Garreth groaned into your mouth, “I would’ve asked you to stay.  I would’ve begged .”

“Gar,” you whimpered as he ground his hips into yours, arousal digging into your thigh.

“I would’ve been on my knees,” Garreth’s voice was gravelly now, pressing sloppy kisses against your neck. “Fuck, I would’ve had my mouth against your cunt, begging you to stay with me. It’s all I’ve dreamt of.”

“No use for regret now,” you manage to gasp. “No time like the present.”

Garreth grinned devilishly down at you as he pulled away.  He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face. “Tell me you want this.  Tell me, and I’ll give you all the reasons to stay.”

You licked your lips, nodding at him. “I want you.”

Garreth went to work–your sweater was torn off, trousers rucked off your hips as he stripped you of all your clothing.  His damn near tore off his own sweater, throwing it absentmindedly as he worked on the buttons of his pants. The room was warm–whether from your passion or the heat of the fire, you weren’t sure–but you stared up at the man, who’d tugged his pants and undergarments down far enough to free his length. You couldn’t help but admire the freckles all over his body, peppering his skin down to his groin. He pumped his deliciously thick cock in his hand, the tip glistening as he prepared himself.

“All this from a foraging trip,” you joked.

Garreth laughed, his whole body rippling.  He released his length, dipping down to kiss you again. “I promised I’d make the trip with your while,” he teased, fingers dancing over your core.  You shuddered, eyes shutting as he massaged your clit. “I intend to make good on that.”

His teasing words had you unbearably wet, the vulgar sound of his fingers pumping in and out of you filling the room.  Garreth laughed again, the sound music to your ears as he leaned down, pressing his lips to your nub.  He closed his mouth around it, and you let out a stuttered moan as he sucked.

“So sweet,” Garreth groaned. “Fuck, I’ve been thinking about getting you off for years.” Opening one eye, you saw him thrusting his hips against the air, desperate for friction.  You nearly stopped him to help his situation, until he curled his fingers inside of you.  Thankfully you two were the only ones in the house, with no neighbors nearby–the scream you let out rippled through the air, Garreth’s name rolling off your lips as he guided you through your orgasm.

“Reason one to stay,” Garreth announced, your slick glistening around his mouth as you panted. “I can do that, every morning and every night.”

Nothing could have stopped you from pouncing on him, pushing him back onto the floor.  He gave you his signature mischievous grin, hands falling to the side of his head. “Go on,” he said lazily, as you straddled his midsection. “You can do whatever you want with me.”

You scooted backwards, his impossibly hard cock brushing against you as you adjusted your body.  His hands slipped to your waist, holding you up as you took him in hand, pressing the tip to your cunt. Garreth looked so beautiful, pupils blown with pleasure as he stared at the two of you, about to join.

“If you hadn’t been listening to your stupid friends, this could’ve been yours years ago,” you breathed.

“I’ll never listen to another soul besides you, ever again.” Garreth rasped. “Only you.”

Garreth’s head tipped back, hitting the ground with a loud thud when you slid onto him.  His hands snaked up to your hips, holding you as you took him in, inch by inch.  He held onto you so tightly, he could’ve bruised you–not that you would’ve cared. You would’ve claimed those marks as a badge of honor, knowing they were left by him .

“Fuck, you feel amazing.” Garreth sputtered. “So–so good around me, so tight.”  

“Tell me to stay,” You whispered, slowly circling your hips as you leaned down to brush your lips against his. “Ask me.”

“Please,” Garreth moaned. “Stay.  Stay with me.”

You picked up speed, cantering your hips.  It was picturesque–the fire crackling in the background, Garreth spread beneath you, coming undone. You raked your hands down his chest, fingers catching on the red hair that dusted his chest.

“Beg me,” you demanded, planting your feet on the floor as you bounced up and down his cock.

“Come home to me,” Garreth whimpered. “Please, please, please come home.  I’ll do anything to have you here with me, always.” He gritted his teeth, pushing his hips upwards. “Gods, I’ll make you come every day, twice a day, for the rest of your life if you just stay.”

“More,” you breathed.  You weren’t sure what you were asking for–more of his pleas, or more of his body.

Garreth started pistoning his hips upwards, meeting you with every bounce.  You couldn’t help letting out the desperate cry that tumbled out of your mouth when he sprung forward, pushing himself even deeper into you.  You were now fully seated in his lap, grinding against one another as you raced to the finish line.

“I’ll worship you,” Garreth growled, peppering kisses on your face. “No need to run anymore. You’ll have a home–I’ll be home for you.” Despite his hand that had slithered up to your neck, pressing light pressure against your pulse, Garreth’s words were wholesome, sweet. He meant them, you realized.  It wasn’t just the sex, or years of pent up feelings coming out into the room. The realization that Garreth Weasley loved you, had loved you for all these years apart, made you feel as if you were about to snap–and without warning, you did.  

Garreth let out a guttural groan as you wailed atop him, cunt clamping down on him as you finished.  You pulled his face onto yours, kissing him as you rocked yourself back and forth on him, riding out your climax.  From his breathing, you knew he wasn’t far behind.

“Come in me,” you whispered. “Make me stay.”

Garreth choked as he let it out, his release filling you to the brim.  You clung your sweaty bodies to one another, gasping for air.  He gave you another sweet smile, brushing your sweaty hair out of your eyes. 

“Do you mean it?” he asked quietly.

“Mean what?”

“That you’ll stay this time.” His big green eyes stared down at you hopefully, peeking through his red lashes.

You bit your lip, pressing your nose against his. You thought of the last day at Hogwarts, how Garreth had held your hand, wishing you well on your trip.  How if Garreth knew the truth, he probably would’ve asked you to stay. And now, after all these years, the road you hadn’t taken and had always regretted was now an option.

“I’ll stay,” you assured him. 

Garreth gave you the goofiest, most hopeful grin you’d ever seen before pressing his lips against yours.  You were still joined, and you could feel him stiffening again inside you as you wriggled your hips.  You would’ve picked back up on your lovemaking, if it weren’t for the smell of singed wool filling the room.

“Damn,” Garreth cursed, gently pushing you off of him.  He crawled over to the fireplace, patting down on his sweater, which had a black burn mark in it. “Must have kicked it into the fireplace while we were…” he trailed off, giving you a sheepish look.

You laughed, pulling blankets from the loveseat. “I’ll knit you a new one,” you assured him. “It’ll be your Christmas present.”

Garreth rolled back over to you; he looked silly, six feet tall and rolling on the floor like a boy. “You knit now?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

“I had to pick up some hobbies,” you snorted. “Keeps me calm, considering my roommates are sex fiends.”

Garreth laughed, pressing a kiss to your hair. “Tell Sebastian and Ominis you’re moving out.” he said firmly. “I’ll tell Lucan to beat it, and we’ll have a home all to our own.  You can knit tea cozies and make sweaters for the cat.”

You leaned up, nosing his chin. “And sweaters for the family.” you whispered.

Garreth gave you a lazy, proud grin. “Especially for the family.”

You cuddled him in front of the fire, stroking his chest hair as you spoke freely about the future. You would have to write to the boys in the morning, you realized.  Perhaps they could send your clothes in trunks so you wouldn’t have to go back.  Ominis had been begging you to clean your room anyways, and Sebastian could finally walk around nude without you screaming at him.

You could spend Christmas with the Weasleys.  You could meet Garreth’s many siblings, as he’d promised long ago.  You’d knit him a sweater with your own hands, claiming him as yours. And perhaps, one day, you’d be knitting sweaters for your children, who’d run around the very fireplace you were currently laying in front of.

“What are you thinking about?” Garreth asked, stroking your hair.

“How nice it is to be home.”

The children ran around Shell Cottage, shrieking with laughter as they chased one another.  The Weasley wives sat in the living room, in front of the fire as they sorted through piles of yarn.

“Who started this bloody tradition anyways?” Hermione whined. “I’m rubbish at knitting.”

“It was Arthur’s great-aunt,” Molly Weasley laughed.  “She and Great-Uncle Garreth lived here when they first got married, and they started the tradition of new sweaters, every Christmas. Everyone in the Weasley family has followed it ever since. You know, she's actually got a very interesting story...thought she was a squib, didn't go to Hogwarts until she was fifteen...ended up becoming a world traveler before she settled down with Great-Uncle Garreth...” Molly trailed off, but no one else was listening over the sound of Celestina Warbeck over the radio.

Her daughter and daughter-in-laws sat on the floor, learning how to make sweaters for their babies.  Fleur had taken quite well to it, all of her children wearing knit sweaters in Beauxbatons blue, and it was now Hermione’s turn to learn, her daughter laying in a woven basket on the floor next to them, cooing softly.

“Thanks a lot,” Hermione grumbled, looking up at the photograph on the mantle. The young couple smiled for the camera, with Garreth Weasley proudly wearing the first Weasley Christmas sweater recorded in family history.