#Ruth First Lecture

[mollywog]

Complicated

They've finally made it to a place where they’re stable enough that he doesn’t need to spend every Sunday out in the woods. The girls have stopped outgrowing their clothes and with the spring, Katniss’s morning hauls bring what they need for the week. He still loves it beyond the fence, but after years in the mines, six days a week, even a favorite pastime can make a man weary. So lately he’s forgone his hunts for time on the porch rocker.

But this morning he’s back in the woods at his wife’s insistence. She’d said she was worried about Katniss in an unusually cryptic way that suggested she wanted him to judge for himself. Katniss and Ruth are both headstrong, two peas in a pod, though he knows better than to speak it to either aloud. As a result, the tough conversations come better from him.

He’s paid particular attention all morning, but can’t seem to pinpoint the source of his wife’s anxiety. Though she has only just turned eighteen, Katniss seems to have grown into a woman overnight. Or maybe this has been a long time coming and he’s missed it in the dim light of evening. If anything, she seems to be alight from within.

It isn’t until it’s time to dress their kills that he understands his wife’s concern. Katniss’s glow vanishes, replaced by a palid green hue before she loses her breakfast behind a bush.

Shit.

He crouches beside her, his water flask in hand, “let’s sit down and talk Catkin.”

“Do we have to?”

“I don’t need the particulars, just a few questions,” Where her mother would lecture and fret, he knows there’s no use in the would’ve/should've - what’s done is done. “How far along?”

“Not long, but I’m keeping it, if that’s what you’re after,” she says, clutching her midsection protectively.

He nods, “and you know who the father is?”

“Of course,” she snaps and he’s glad to see she’s still got fire despite her exhaustion.

“I’m sorry, I just didn’t realize you had a boy. Does he know?”

“Not yet.” He lets his silence speak for itself. “It’s complicated,” she adds defensively.

“Is he free?”

“One final reaping. Same as me.”

“That’s not what I meant. Is he free?”

She scowls, “No papa, he’s not married nor bound.”

He tisks, “Then I can’t figure what could be so complicated about it. Unless you don’t think he’ll do what’s right? Or maybe you don’t want him?”

She sighs, “it’s not that either,” she rubs her eyes, “I’m gonna tell him, but if I do it now he won’t want to wait to get married and that would ruin things for him.”

“Hmm, Is he a fool?”

“What? No!”

“If you trust him, you should tell him. If he respects you, he’ll heed your concerns. You’re a smart girl, I’m sure you can figure it all out. If not, you'll always have a home with your mother and I.” He means it, but he feels ten years older than he had just this morning, with the thought of their present security gone.

“Thanks papa,” she says, and he smiles despite his concerns. “I’ll think on it.”

Their trip to town is made in silence as he tries to imagine the man and the circumstance but comes up blank; not even a guess.

Their first stop is the Mayor’s, then Cray’s, then the butcher’s. He stands back and watches Katniss handle the trades. It fills him with pride.

When they arrive at the bakery, she falls in step behind him, and he takes the hint to lead. He’d bet she’s looking for a buffer if the baker’s witch of a wife is around, but fortunately for them one of the sons answers today; the youngest if he recalls. “Is your father in?” he asks.

The boy straightens, “Yes sir, but I’ll be handling trades from now on. Come summer, I’ll be the new baker.” The kid’s eyes flit to his daughter then back to him, “I just got word that my loan was approved. I close on the bakery July 5.”

“Really?!” Katniss’s voice catches him off guard and he turns to find her open delight at this seemingly trivial piece of town news, before she drops her eyes to her bag. He looks back at the boy who’s still beaming at his daughter and the pieces fall into place.

‘It’s complicated’ - hadn’t that been what Ruthie’d told him all those years ago when he’d asked her to marry him? He supposes it might have been even more so if her parents had been considering selling her the business and she’s been expecting his child.

The pair regain their composure enough to complete the trade, though neither quite successful at hiding their giddiness.

“Complicated huh?” He says as they walk back towards the Seam, “let me guess, a little less complicated come July 5?”

“Maybe so.”

He hums, “just don’t wait till then to tell him.”

What If?

[redjoey1992]

So last year, Disney's Wish was supposed to be a celebration of Disney's 100th year anniversary, and everybody was hyped up. Sadly, when it finally got released, people were very, and I mean very, disappointed with it. Yes, Wish has its flaws, and some parts felt rushed undet it's 80 to 90 minute running time, but for me personally, I thought it was good and it could've been better. For everyone else, it was a disappointment.

Then, people keep saying that they were robbed because of two concept arts that have been breaking the internet for over a year. One of them is the idea of a romantic plot of Asha and Starboy, a humanized version of the Star from the original movie (unaware that the humanized star is actually the younger version of Asha's Grandfather and the idea of them having a romance is gross, plus it's questionable because Stars are thousands and thousands of years old). The other is King Magnifico and Queen Amaya as a villain power couple. While those two sound like nice ideas, but in reality, they don't add anything new to it or could make it even more convoluted that it already is. Nevertheless, those two concept art ideas have been the main focus on everybody's Wish rewrite fanfic.

So, if I ever wanted to do a Wish rewrite fanfic, the first thing I do is change the main hero and villain.

ARMAAN:

Armaan is a starry-eyed and optimistic 11-year-old boy from the kingdom of Rosas. He’s energetic and passionate, sometimes rushing into a situation without thinking about it first. Although he considers himself a fish out of water because he has lived in Rosas for almost a year, he’s brave and hopeful and always puts a positive spin on any situation. He deeply loves and cares for his family and friends, especially his paternal grandfather, Sabino.

Armaan was born in a small region in North Africa to a philosopher from Rosas named Tomás and a seamstress named Sakina. Growing up, Armaan would hear his father lecture him about the stars and their connection to all living things. He would also spend time reading books, drawing, and building things. When he was nine years old, his father passed away from an unknown disease. Soon after his father’s death, Armaan and Sakina moved to the Kingdom of Rosas, where they now live with Sabino. He then made friends with seven kids named Ruth (10), Marri (16), Simon (15), Hal (10), Safi (11), Bazeema (12), and Dario (10).

At first, he had a high opinion of Princess Celeste like everybody else in Rosas, but he is rather curious about how she has the power to grant wishes and how the people of Rosas have great admiration towards her. He entered a contest to meet Princess Celeste for only one day on her 18th birthday. He saw this because of Sabino’s wish to inspire people with his music, and his grandfather’s 100th birthday is also on the same day as Celeste’s 18th birthday/wishing ceremony. Armaan won, much to his excitement.

The hangout with Princess Celeste started great in a little brother/big sister way. Then Celeste takes Armaan to her chambers, where she shows him the collection of all the wishes from the people of Rosas. When Armaan saw Sabino’s wish, he asked Celeste to grant it. But she rejected his plea. Celeste also revealed a dark secret to him. She erased everybody’s memories of the citizens’ wishes, rendering them devoid of any ambition and making them rely on her and adore her, which causes tensions between her and Armaan, which escalates into Celeste passing on Sabino’s wish.

Later that night, Armaan feels like he disappointed Sabino on his 100th birthday. Sabino then comes in to cheer him up and shows him to a wishing tree he and Tomás used to go to and says that sometimes wishing on a star can inspire him not to give up hope, something that he gave to Tomás when he was young. Soon, Armaan takes his grandfather’s advice and makes a desperate wish upon a star, hoping everyone in Rosas can make their wishes come true.

His wish is highly tremendous and pure, and he is granted the star itself, which takes on the form of an anthropomorphic ball of light whose name will be called Star. This will lead Armaan on a noble adventure to free all the wishes from Celeste’s wicked clutches.

So, I wanted to make Armaan’s relationship with Sabino as the emotional core as well making Sabino show him the wishing tree just like how he showed his father before him (it's taken from a deleted scene). Based on a friend's suggestion, I would have Armaan be more curious about Princess Celeste, her power to grant wishes, and the people of Rosas' greater admiration towards her, making Celeste’s villainous reveal more shocking. I based Armaan’s character design off of Ravi Cabot-Conyers (my ideal voice actor for him), Mickey Mouse from "The Sorceror's Apprentice" segment from Fantasia, Pinocchio, and Aladdin. There's also a little bit of Antonio from Encanto.

PRINCESS CELESTE:

Princess Celeste is the most beautiful, charismatic, and beloved 18-year-old princess of Rosas and the only daughter of Queen Amaya. From the day she was born, she was enchanted to be attractive, sing beautifully, and be beloved by all, but she was born with magical powers. As the princess grows up, she's been learning and mastering all kinds of magic and sorcery and studying astrology and alchemy. But her one extraordinary magic power is that she can grant the wishes of her subjects. She has that ability because, unbeknownst to everyone, including herself, Celeste is born a half-human/half-star hybrid. She considers her magic superior to all others to the point where she lets the power go to her head, leading her to develop a giant, vain, self-absorbed ego.

One day, people forget what they want or desire. Then, on her 15th birthday, Princess Celeste declares that she will be willing to help her people by announcing a ceremonial event where she'll grant only one wish every year on her birthday.

Unbeknownst to the people, including her mother, Celeste is wicked, selfish, devious, callous, narcissistic, and sociopathic. She cast a powerful and dangerous spell that will steal the memories of her people’s wishes and keep them sealed and locked away in her study room forever. Celeste can only grant wishes that would benefit her and keep the rest locked up, especially those that she deems a threat to her. She created the wish-granting ceremony every year on her birthday to maintain her power, beauty, and influence and have people feed her ego. She learned that spell from a book containing forbidden magic, which she uses as a contingency in case something threatens her power.

Despite her potent magic and enchanting appearance, Princess Celeste harbors an intense jealousy and resentment towards her mother, Queen Amaya, who is more humble and caring to the people of Rosas, leaving Celeste to feel overshadowed by her and will do anything to make herself the center of attention.

On her 18th birthday, she can only invite one person to spend one day with her so she can grant one special wish for the winner. When an 11-year-old boy named Armaan was declared the winner, things went wonderfully in a little brother/big sister way. Then she showed him the millions of wishes in her study room. Armaan discovers his grandfather's wish to inspire people to play the guitar. Once he tells her about her grandfather's wish, she assumes that it might be dangerous, although Sabino is mainly kind and harmless.

Then Armaan starts questioning why Celeste only grants one wish while many others will never for another year instead of being given back so the people who initially wished them could achieve them themselves. Celeste tells him that they can't do it on their own because it's unachievable, and they come to her because she's the only one who can grant the wishes to come true, so they don't have to worry about doing it on their own. Armaan is shocked and surprised by how she did it so people would forget the best memories about themselves, with an enraged Celeste declaring that she's the only one who decides what the people deserve. So, she refused to grant Sabino's wish at the wishing ceremony, leaving Armaan crushed and heartbroken.

Later that night, Armaan wished on a star for help, and the star, revealed to be a little, exciting, boundless ball of energy, answered. Celeste saw the light it caused and believed that someone had threatened her power. All this would lead to the events of her downward spiral, building up to her inevitable defeat.

My idea for Princess Celeste is to create an evil Disney Princess, which is something that Disney has never done before, so having a Disney Princess be the main villain sounds more refreshing. Plus, it would make more sense for her to grant only one wish a year every year on her birthday so she can have the people of Rosas feed her ego. I based Princess Celeste's character design off of Chloë Grace Moretz (my ideal voice actor for her), Princess Aurora from Sleeping Beauty, and King Magnifico. Some of her character was inspired by Princess Fiorimonde from the fairy tale "The Necklace of Princess Fiorimonde" and it's a very awesome read. You guys really need to check it out.

More ideas of my Wish rewrite will be coming soon.

[snailsgoingdowntown]

Ruth x maid! Fem! Reader

Ruth is 30 and reader is 24, 6 year age gap cuz I'm turning 23 this year but I think Ruth is supposed to be in his early to mid thirties so I'm being kinda Self-indulent (I didn't want to make the gap 7 years so... Yeah, upped the age).

Not the actual fic that will come out, just a drabble that I came up with

Warnings: slight self-conscious on Ruth's side

Nsfw warnings: fingering, oral (f receiving)

Minors, ageless blogs that barely have anything, dni or you get blocked.

This blog contains/interacts/creates dark content, dni if you are uncomfortable with that.

No tag list for this cuz I'm on the road + I wrote it down on a sheet of paper I left at home.

--

I think Ruth would absolutely have a low sex drive. He just doesn't look like someone who thinks about it often, much less have the urge. I am 100% sure he's a virgin cuz like, look at him. He doesn't know how to rizz ppl up nor does he want to unless it benefits him (having maxi help with making the magical devices, but that was more peer pressure than actual rizz).

I'm just saying, Ruth would be kinda hopeless with asking out the reader, not because he's cluelese (probably seen Gable and the others pick up chicks, so has a vague idea of what and what not to do + can see how unbalanced maxi's relationship with Riftan is. He literally told him to calm down with his antics once, but thats about it if I remember correctly) but because he's just so... Blunt that it comes off as rude.

Maxi literally thinks that in the webtoon when her maid slams his drink down on the table instead of placing it down gently like she did with maxi's cup.

But anyway, I just imagine Ruth as the type of guy who at first, tries to ignore the developing feelings he has for you, and it works, but it gets harder and harder when you smile at him like that, when you return his playful banter and don't get offended at his tone and choice of words. When you don't overstep his boundaries, attempt to get to know him, his likes and dislikes, interests, how you want to learn about magic and you listen to his lectures, hell sometimes he even invites you to sit along with maxi as he goes about teaching her (only if the lady of the castle is comfortable, of course, which she will be after a while cuz I said so).

The way your face lights up in awe and wonder whenever he performs a spell or summons fire from the tip of his fingertips. The very eyes that tend to glance at his lips, and he pretends he doesn't notice. Your hands that are a bit rough from washing clothes, helping in the kitchen, cold water stinging and numbing them when you scrub the castle floors, are the very hands he wants to hold, and sometimes late at night, he imagines them pulling and tugging at his hair as you lean against 'his' table or even the library wall, and fuck if he actually had enough room to use in his tower, he would, his mouth latched onto your clit and fingers pumping in and out of your sloppy cunt -

It's not very often he gets thoughts like that, but when he does, he gets harder than riftan gets with the knights and their training.

He doesn't comment on your efforts to keep the library tidy, organizing his books and research papers to where the place looks presentable, at least. But he shows his appreciation through small favors in return - helps you with the cleaning if times allows for it, showing you flashy yet small spells that don't affect the area or people around (riftan would quite literally kill him if they did), gulping down his embarrassment as he massages your shoulders, ignoring the way you were just a bit too squimish, or how flustered you would get but accept his offer regardless.

It's not even a sexual thing, it just makes him want to wrap his arms around you, take in your scent, confess and just enjoy a simple life with you -

It's not really possible. He's just incapable of showing clear romantic intentions and affections. He's not husband material and he doesn't want kids, and he's very iffy about weddings and marriage in general when it concerns him. Besides, he's older than you, and while age gaps are common, he thinks it'd be better if you were to settle down with someone your own age. Because someone your own age would understand you better, give you children, marry you without worry.

You deserve a loving, caring husband, one who would hug and kiss you, make love to you, respects you, who isn't afraid or uncomfortable with physical affection, and doesn't have a rather bad reputation around the castle because of his personality.

So, when your hands clutch at his shirt, tilting your chin up, mouth pressing against his, he should stop you. He should stop instead of loosely wrapping one arm around your waist, bringing you closer, moving his mouth against yours. He should stop instead of clumsily bumping teeth with you, humming in content as you sigh into the kiss.

He should stop instead of going in for another kiss once you part, finally understanding what makes riftan so crazy about physical affection.

He should stop, but he doesn't.

He can't nor does he want to.

[pixthefuckup]

things that happened to me that i think hatchetfield teens would experience

richie: got chosen as a throwaway member for a sports team in gym and ended up being the goalie. i had an entire sports anime arc with these guys (the captain learned how to develop and delegate better, the strikers were foils of each other with one learning to be more smooth while the other learned to be more aggressive, the midfielder realized that he was super important and his good stamina wasn't the only reason he got the role, and i learned to stop doubting myself, how to use all my experience to realize flaws in the other team, and go for it) we were literally a thrown together team because the captain just wanted the role for more credit. we somehow won the entire tournament.

ruth: im in a theatre group that makes its own original play through january to february. now, the plays are always hitting and they're incredibly. but... each time i improvised a random filler line, it ended up getting stuck in the show no matter how bad it was. i was performing night after night the same shitty "we're friends! friends are supposed to tell each other things!" because i couldn't figure out how to start an argument weeks ago and nobody could either apparently. i mean, i apparently got laughs but i couldn't hear shit over the rushing embarrassment in my ears. i can commit to the bit but not without internally dying ig

either side of potseed: i got high once in a park surrounded by theatre kids and instead of being chill or dazed, like i imagined, i started yapping about dante's inferno and fanfiction, their connections to each other, and then their connections to the veil and reaching past human life to things unable to be held but yet taken as precious things to be obsessed over and analyzed. mind you, it sounded incoherent af because i was high. this was also my first time getting high (if this sounds familiar and you follow me NO IT DOESN'T HAHAHA I NEVER USED THIS EXPERIENCE FOR ANOTHER FANDOM) steph: had a 10 minute compilation of me tweaking out over essays i did not give a single fuck about until deadline day (all the videos were in timelapse) bc i thought it was funny (i eventually deleted it for storage but im sure i can recreate it this year since it's my junior year) pete: i once managed to get the tea about my entire middle school hierarchy and secret dynamics because i had been sat at the table of two popular kids who didn't notice me. so while they were gossiping, i was sitting there, quietly doing math and also listening in. i was a goddamn master at multitasking. ziggs: me and my friend were trying to get weed so we followed a stranger who promised to lead us to a shop where he would buy the weed for us (dumb idea i know). instead, we got a bunch of lies about his backstory, an entire lecture on buying weed a certain way, and then he guilttripped me. thankfully, my friend got us out. we ran back to our group and we lied to them about all the shops being closed because it was too crazy and too embarrassing to admit what actually happened. hannah: my family has weird psychic experiences. it's really long to explain in detail but essentially: my grandaunt could hear ghosts and have dreams convening with spirits as well. my mom could have odd dreams and convene with people, whether overseas or dead. my brother used to see ghosts and predict the future. short example: he once told my dad their airplane home would break down. he was right. he forgot his experiences and abilities as he grew up. (the lex to my hannah fr fr) as for me, i could see past demons and had weird companions to warn me. the story's a bit long when properly told but tl:dr: white bear tried warning me of demon dad, i didn't listen, had to try and see past demon dad to get to real one. demon dad was standing in front of regular dad. i manage to walk through demon dad (freezing btw) and hug regular dad. white bear sees this as i go back to sleep on the pull out couch with dad, thumbs up.

[posttexasstressdisorder]

Hugh Hewitt Resigns as Washington Post Columnist After Storming Off Paper’s Livestream

‘I’M DONE’

The conservative had argued with two progressive columnists amid the backlash at the paper over owner Jeff Bezos’ endorsement decision.

Grace Harrington 

Breaking News Intern

Updated Nov. 1 2024 2:28PM EDT / Published Nov. 1 2024 12:52PM EDT 

Conservative columnist Hugh Hewitt resigned from The Washington Post on Friday, shortly after exiting a stormy livestream debate, the New York Post reports.

Hewitt‘s is the latest resignation to rock the Post but this time unexpectedly from the right. It shows Bezos’ crisis isn’t easing up but instead hitting both sides of the political divide.

Hewitt walked off the Post‘s show “First Look,” with liberal columnists Jonathan Capehart and Ruth Marcus, after a heated discussion on Donald Trump’s lawsuit about alleged voting irregularities in Pennsylvania.

Capehart started by asking Marcus if Trump is “laying the groundwork for contesting the election by complaining that cheating was taking place in Pennsylvania?” He cited Trump’s lawsuit against Bucks County for alleged irregularities.

“No election can be fair in Donald Trump’s mind unless Donald Trump wins it,” Marcus said. As Hewitt tried to interject, Capehart said, “Let Ruth finish, Hugh.”

“Well, I’ve just got to say, we’re news people, even though it’s the opinion section,” Hewitt said. “It’s got to be reported. Bucks County was reversed by the court and instructed to open up extra days because they violated the law and told people to go home. So that lawsuit was brought by the Republican National Committee, and it was successful... We are news people, even though we have opinions, and we have to report the whole story if we bring up part of the story. So, yes, he’s upset about Bucks County, but he was right and he won in court. That’s the story.”

After a pause, Capehart said, “I don’t appreciate being lectured about reporting when Hugh, many times, you’ve come here saying lots of things that aren’t based in fact.”

Hewitt then called the livestream the “most unfair election ad” he’s ever done and left the set.

Hewitt has been at the Post since 2017. He also hosts a radio show where he recently interviewed Trump.

The newspaper has been under fire this week over its owner Jeff Bezos’ decision not to allow it to endorse a presidential candidate.

[timeguardians]

✌- Who would you most like to go to jail with? Rose Dewitt Bukater, Philomena Cheer, Belle, Stephanie, and Bri

Rose gives off an undignifying laugh. If she was going to spend the night in a prison, she might as well make it exciting and to select her company by who would piss off her mother, RUTH, the most. I'd spend my incarceration time with Jack Dawson or Murphy Michaels @avictimofthejazz

Miss Cheer roars with bemused laughter, though for her incarceration had been quite real. "As long as it isn't that fool Charles Lee or Petty Shippen, I don't suppose I would mind much." Then drawing her shoulders up a little she adds, @vicictimofthejazz/ @anoseforrottenapples would bail me out. Huffing out a breath, she continues. "Perhaps, @honorhearted, if he'd spare me the lecturing. Otherwise, it won't be worth it."

Belle winces. "Imprisonment isn't a preferable pursuit. However, if I must be behind bars it would be with Patrick or Elsa @avictimofthejazz, Adam @brotherhoodwarlord, and Cyneric @swevene.

Stephanie is grumbling already. How does America's golden girl get in SOO much trouble? Of course, her first inclination is to name her childhood best friend Bucky Barnes and then Howard Stark @protectxthem. Immediately following them she adds, @agentnamed, Seg or Thor @menxyouxneed, @bloodyxballet, & Wally and Diana Prince @offwithhishat

Brianna glowers, the glass of champagene in her hand clutched indelicately tighter in her grasp. "Surely you must be jesting. They don't lock-up billion heiresses!! And even if they did, I'd take Alfred with me." @palaceofmuses. Oh, she knows her guardian is likely less than thrilled to hear this quip.

[luminouslywriting]

Chapter 14 (Mastermind)—MOTA Fic

A/N: This one is a lot.....so buckle up and put up with Bucky one more time (for now at least haha). As always, let me know what you think! Sorry I'm a little behind on answering requests....work has been insane this week and I haven't really written anything either!

The next morning came early for everyone—but for Ruth Sharpe, who had not slept at all, it was not early.  It was just another day.  In fact, when Helen and Tatty were just barely stirring from their precious few hours of sleep, they found that Ruth was already up, completely dressed, and busy at work with letters and paperwork. 

Helen blinked a few times, stifling a yawn that would surely carry over to Tatty.  “Don’t you sleep?” She questioned, giving a slight hiccup.  

Ruth glanced over in her direction, noting the messy hair and bags under Helen’s eyes.  “Finals week in law school had me up for a full 52 hours.  This is perfectly doable.” 

“You are truly terrifying, you know that?” Tatty said, finally pulling herself out of bed and slipping on her shoes. 

“So I’ve been told,” Ruth said, rising to her feet.  “I got you some water since you were both a little tipsy last night and there should be some ginger in the bathroom.” 

“You love us,” Helen chirped with a smile. 

“That I do,” Ruth replied, a small smile slipping onto the edges of her lips.  “Now if you ladies will excuse me, I want to talk to my brother before he goes up today.” 

“Ooh tell him we say hi!” Helen insisted. 

“And good luck,” Tatty murmured, pinching the bridge of her nose as her headache spread across her forehead. 

With that, Ruth exited the Red Cross hut and set out towards the mess hall—where the men would surely already be eating their food, or at least attempting to anyway.  The mood in the mess hall was a strange amalgamation of stress, nerves, excitement, and courage.  She wasn’t sure how they dealt with the plethora of emotions every single time a mission came up. 

Ruth was not surprised to find Abe, already chattering away at his table with his new squadron.  “Your six o’ clock,” Rosie said to Abe in a warning tone. 

Abe had no more turned around when he found Ruth standing behind him.  “Ruth!” Abe exclaimed.  

“Mind if we take a quick walk?” Ruth questioned, doing her best to keep her tone steady.  Truth be told, she felt as though she were going to be sick.  As though her knees were just going to collapse and she was going to just sink in on herself and never come back up. 

Abe shoveled the last bite of banana in his mouth, giving a nod.  “Yeah!” He gave a muffled reply that nearly had him spitting out food.  

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Came the united response from both Ruth and Rosie—both of whom just gave the same annoyed glance towards each other. 

“Sorry,” Abe said, cheeks burning ever so slightly.  He was quick to follow after his sister into the crisp fall air outside of the mess hall.  

Ruth’s burning gaze seemed to seep into his very soul as she looked him over.  She gave only a slight sigh as she adjusted his collar, hands resting on his shoulders.  “Have you prayed today?” She asked in a soft voice. 

Abe had been steeling himself for some sort of lecture or some sort of ploy of infractions to get him out of today’s mission.  What he hadn’t been prepared for was the softness and worry that was in his older sister’s tone.  Ruth was normally fearless—but right now, she just seemed very human.  Very motherly, too. 

“Yeah.  First thing I did this morning,” Abe promised her. 

“Me too,” Ruth replied softly.  Staring into his eyes, it was as if they were looking into a mirror.  They had the same eyes, they always had.  When Ruth was younger, she liked to go out with him and pretend that he was her baby.  That had quickly faded when she realized how much work children actually were—but the lingering thought that Abe was her responsibility, was part of her as much as she was a part of him—that hadn’t gone anywhere. 

And given the fact that their mother was an ocean away and had no idea that Abe was here or safe, Ruth felt the weight of that pressing down upon her shoulders. She was Atlas, she was Reuben, she was the one who was supposed to prepare the way for Abe. 

“Be on guard up there.  Don’t get distracted.  You just focus on your job.  Rosie and God will do the rest.” 

“That’s a lot of faith in Rosie.” 

“It’s a lot of faith in God,” Ruth corrected in a gentle tone.  “But I mean it.  You come back or I’ll have to move heaven and the earth to bring you back myself.” 

A soft smile spread across his features.  “You could certainly try.” 

“I’ll wrestle with the angels if I must.  Now go, you sweet boy.  And I’ll see you after it’s over.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Bremen mission had Ruth more nervous than she had ever been in her life.  It felt like her stomach was tied up in knots and someone was tugging on the rope holding the knots and swinging it back and forth like some sort of damn jump rope. 

At the moment though, she was solidly locked into the single most distracting conversation of her life—compliments of Jack Kidd being way too aware of her anxiety, given the fact that Abe was in the air.  “You’re kidding, right?” Kidd demanded, eyes wide as he nearly fell off his chair in the tower. 

“No, I’m not kidding,” Ruth said, setting her book down. 

“But—but—she’s the worst!  She’s practically the villain!” 

“I never said she wasn’t the worst.  I still like her.” 

“But she treats Rhett terribly.  And she was trying to steal Ashley the entire time!” Kidd exclaimed, nearly throwing his hands up in the air. 

“Yes,” Ruth agreed.  “She’s terrible.  She’s flawed.  But she’s also an ambitious woman.  Scarlett O’ Hara is many things.  But they could never make me hate her.  She’s a strong character in trying to achieve her goals.” 

“Shit, Ruthie,” Kidd just shook his head at her.  “And here I thought you’d like Melanie.” 

“I do…..I also think she’s rather boring,” Ruth admitted with a slight shrug. 

“But Melanie is so—” 

“Pure and good and kind and everything a mother wants in a daughter?  I suppose I find myself aligning more with Scarlett O’ Hara in the sense that my family thinks that I’m altogether too ambitious and ruthless.  That doesn’t mean I condone any of her actions.  I just like that she keeps trying to achieve what she wants and doesn’t give up.” 

“Maybe they ought to just put you in charge of a squadron,” Kidd cracked a smile. 

“I have no appetite for destruction and war.  Only justice,” Ruth retorted.  “It’s why I like Mr. Smith Goes to Washington.” 

“I forgot about that movie.” 

“It’s a favorite of mine,” Ruth said proudly.  “Now there’s a character who understands passion about what they believe is right and has the moral conduct and code to go after it.” 

Kidd didn’t get a chance to respond to that.  When the planes came flying into sight, it was as if the two of them were stuck.  And Ruth silently counted the planes, wondering where the hell in the lineup her brother would be. 

“Rosie’s plane is there,” Kidd said, eyes locked onto the skies. 

Almost immediately, a breath of relief tore from her throat like a cat’s snarl.  Ruth nearly collapsed on the spot, the knowledge that at least the plane had returned giving her a modicum of comfort.  

“Buck’s plane isn’t there,” Kidd’s expression was grim and Ruth felt like her stomach had just dropped an octave. 

“What?” 

“Shit….Bucky—” Kidd ran a hand through his hair. 

Ruth just placed a hand on Kidd’s shoulder.  “Interrogation first.  And then I can be the one to tell Egan.” 

“He’s not going to take this well.” 

“No.  He’s not.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ruth felt as though she were walking through some sort of damn graveyard.  Everything was grim and the men wore the faces of shells and haunted eyes seemed to jump out at her as she walked amongst them.  She caught sight of Bubbles, locked into a conversation with Crank. 

Nearly tripping over her own heels, Ruth made her way over to them.  “Who’s gonna tell Bucky?” Crank questioned, eyes flicking to Bubbles. 

“Don’t worry about that now,” Ruth insisted—her voice an unnaturally gentle thing on the wind.  

Crank just gave a nod.  “Thanks, Sharpe.” 

“Yeah,” Ruth’s gaze turned onto Bubbles and the way that he was nearly shaking like a leaf.  “No Crosby then?” 

“No, ma’am.” 

Ruth gave him a sympathetic look.  “I’m sorry about your friend.  He seemed nice.” 

“He was the best.” Bubbles just shouldered his pain and followed the men into interrogation.  

And there, as Ruth was watching the doorway of the interrogation room and the floods of pilots streaming in, her gaze caught onto the boy that she desperately wanted to just take far from this place.  Abe’s steps were slow, gaze down on the ground as he walked.  

But Ruth wasn’t about to let him just go in by himself.  Not after knowing what terrors the skies held and the things that he had probably seen.  No, Ruth wasn’t going to let him suffer silently in this pain.  So Ruth caught onto his arm and Abe flinched violently at the contact, turning to look at her. 

It took him a moment to realize that Ruth was there.  That she was in front of him.  A waiting presence for him to need her.  And the thing was that he did need her.  Badly.  

Abe practically spilled into her arms and Ruth just held onto him.  He clung to her, hands fisting in her JAG-Corp jacket, face buried in her shoulder.  And it was all Ruth could do to just hold onto him.  No sobs came from his throat—he wasn’t sure he could even muster the energy to do so. 

When he finally broke apart from his older sister, he just felt like he was a little kid again.  And in a very small voice, he looked up at her with cracks in his armor.  “Nash is dead.” 

All at once, Ruth understood.  He lost his friend.  And Ruth still had to send him into Interrogation.  That was the protocol.  “I know, darling,” Ruth murmured in a quiet tone.  “Come find me after you’re done.  We’ll talk, alright?” 

Abe just gave a half-nod.  And she watched with a heavy heart and soul as her fearless little brother, no more than a child himself, walked into the Interrogation.  And she could do nothing to ease his pain.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The phone call to Bucky Egan had damn near put a crack in Ruth’s own heart.  For as long as she had been at Thorpe Abbotts, she and Bucky had maintained an antagonistic friendship of needling and light teasing.  It was just their way of expressing fondness for the other.  And for as long as she had been on the base, she had known that Bucky was the beating heart and soul of the Hundredth. 

But the thing about a heart is that it needs blood to pump.  Is that it requires other things to function.  The heart can’t propel the body on its own.  It needs others.  And Bucky needed Gale Cleven like he needed air to breathe.  When they were together, they were better.  When they were together, morale was high and the men believed that the war could be won. 

Buck Cleven going down in the Bremen mission had fundamentally changed things for everyone on the base in a way that Ruth had not foreseen.  She knew that by leaving Bucky Egan on his own, it was opening a door to recklessness, impulsivity, and danger for every single man that would go up in the skies. 

And truth be told, being the person to force him to sober up after his meeting with Harding was the last thing that Ruth wanted to do.  She had responsibilities, work to do, people to confer with, paperwork to be done.  She did not need to be Bucky Egan’s personal babysitter because he couldn’t keep himself sober. 

Grief was a funny thing.  It tended to do funny things to people. 

So as she stood there, watching him dunk his head in the water trough for a third time, Ruth just felt weary.  “You shouldn’t be flying today,” Ruth said in a steel tone. 

Bucky was still in a kneeling position as he wiped at the water beads on his face and head.  He nearly threw up as he tried to get to his feet.  He stumbled, ground feeling uneven beneath his feet.  Ruth just took a step back, a frown set on her features. 

“Do you—” Bucky bit down on his tongue and he tasted copper.  “Do you care about anyone?  Or are you just a cold and emotionless bitch?” 

To her credit, Ruth wasn’t offended by the word.  She knew what the men called her behind her back.  She largely preferred her reputation as a bitch.  At least she wasn’t easy.  At least she had a semblance of control in her life and in her relationships, unlike the man in front of her. 

“I care a great deal,” Ruth retorted.  “Why else would I be sitting out here and ensuring your sobriety during a mission that could endanger your men?” 

His eyes flashed dark with guilt and he had to rip his gaze away from the woman of steel.  “I’m trying my best,” Bucky finally bit the words out.  “It’s not enough.” 

Ruth let out a deep sigh, leaning against the combine behind her.  “I hate to be the one to inform you of this.  But life is rarely fair.  And nothing we do is ever enough.  But that doesn’t mean we stop trying.” 

“They all deserve to die,” Bucky’s voice was like gravel as he whispered out the truth that had been building in his throat. 

From within her bag, Ruth withdrew two cigarettes.  After lighting her own, she tossed him the other cigarette and her lighter.  Taking a large inhale of smoke, Ruth just sighed.  “I don’t think that they do.” 

“Is that your version of justice?” 

“No, it just is justice.” 

“Seems biased.” 

“Unfortunately, everyone is,” Ruth removed the cigarette from her mouth as she stared at the pitiful figure of Bucky Egan in front of her.  Hunched and drenched, still reeking of alcohol, grief spilling out at every single seam.  She was quiet for a long minute.  “I understand revenge, contrary to your beliefs.” 

“No you don’t—” 

“I’m Jewish.” The silence that fell was deafening.  Bucky blinked once, then twice, trying to process that.  “My cousins.  My grandparents.  My aunts and uncles.  They’re all just gone,” Ruth said quietly.  “Old people.  Innocent children. Good people.  And when I came over here to see if I could find them, there wasn’t anything I could find.  They’re somewhere in a camp or already dead and we have no way to know that.  So don’t presume that I don’t think about revenge.” 

“Ruthie,” Bucky started, chest aching with a cavity of guilt. 

“This war may have just taken Buck from you,” Ruth said slowly.  “But it’s been taking people for years.  And dropping bombs on civilians and children—women and kids—it is not going to make you feel better.  And it is not going to bring him back.  So get over your own grief and start focusing on the bigger picture.” 

“I—” 

“You should shower.  You reek of alcohol.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ruth didn’t leave the tower.  She didn’t move a single inch the entire time that the men were gone.  Three missions in three days was a lot for anyone—even the best of the best.  And three missions in three days was taking its toll on everyone.  She didn’t agree with Harding’s decision to bomb the railroads and the towns near the railroads.  So many innocent people were going to get caught in the aftermath. 

In the quest of revenge. 

Today there was no talk of books or movies or characters between her and Jack Kidd.  The quiet solemnity of the situation was weighing on them both.  Almost as much as that damn sheepskin jacket that Kidd had been left with.  A surefire sign that Bucky Egan had no intention of returning without Buck Cleven. 

And if Bucky Egan went down, then surely the Hundredth would be left without a leader.  Ruth had never felt so much hate for war, for Hitler, for every single Nazi, bubbling up in her stomach as much as she did at this moment.  Because if all of this ended with her brother’s death, Ruth knew that she would never recover from such a thing. 

It would be impossible to move forward or not blame herself for sending him home immediately. 

And when one plane came into the tarmac, not a plane that any of them recognized, Ruth felt as though Death itself had come to haunt her. 

“It’s one from the 390th,” Red mumbled out. 

Everything that was happening just felt as though Ruth had been shoved underwater.  She could hear Harding questioning the plane about the Hundredth.  About the others.  But Ruth couldn’t even form a word, she couldn’t even inhale properly. 

“Where are our boys, Chick?” Kidd questioned. 

“He said none of them made it.” 

“None of them?” Crosby’s voice floated across the air.  It was a poison to her throat and to her gut. 

“Here comes another,” Ruth could barely form the words. 

“That’s one of ours!” Red exclaimed. 

“Who is it?” Harding pressed. 

“It’s one of the new guys.  Rosenthal.”  And right then and there, Ruth couldn’t help the fact that silent tears were spilling from her eyes.  Thank God, thank God, thank God.

[blakegopnik]

THE FRIDAY PIC is “Newspaper No. 3,” a 1961 work by the artist known as Chryssa, from a wonderful series where she took bits of discarded printing plates from the newspaper industry and stamped their images onto her paintings. The piece is from the Guggenheim’s collection, and is now in the  long, long overdue show called “Chryssa & New York,” at the Dia Art Foundation space in Chelsea. I gave a lecture there last night on the important relationship between early-’60s works by Chryssa and by Warhol.

Here — in rather telegraphic form, I’m afraid — are some of the ideas I proposed:

1) That Chryssa, a rising art-star with a Guggenheim solo in the fall of ‘61, had a direct influence on Warhol, still completely unknown.  And that this influence centered on an “alloverism” that took details direct from the world and spread them evenly across the surface of a picture.

2) That in postwar American culture, this alloverism was strongly associated with femininity and female creativity. Lucy Lippard, answering the question of whether there was such a thing as “woman’s art,” cited “a uniform density or over-all texture, often sensuously tactile and repetitive to the point of obsession” — as she would have seen in works by Chryssa but also by Yayoi Kusama, Ruth Asawa, Agnes Martin, Louise Nevelson and others. (Not of course because they were born with two X chromosomes, but because they were gendered female at that particular moment in Western culture.)

3) That Warhol could adopt such a feminine aesthetic as a counter-establishment, avant-gardist move that was also wrapped up in what his homosexual identity meant — to him and to straights — at that moment in cultural history.

4) That this “feminine” alloverism was closely linked to ideas about textiles and the decorative — concepts that threatened the manliness of what passed as “serious” fine art at the time. In a Life magazine roundtable that discussed a Jackson Pollock painting, doubters compared it to “enchanting printed silk,” to “a pleasant design for a necktie” and to “a panel for wallpaper” — all code for “it looks too feminine.” Which many AbEx paintings manifestly did, by the standards of the time — hence the exaggerated machismo adopted by Pollock and his defender Clement Greenberg, as a defensive move. “That such pictures should escape collapsing into decoration, mere wallpaper patterns, is one of the miracles of art in our age,” said Greenberg, with a good dose of special pleading. (And yet Greenberg chose to title one of his favorite Pollocks “Lavender Mist” — the name also of a pale purple flower very popular at the time.)

5) That, in 1961, Chryssa took up the challenge presented by an alloverism  that was derided by the male art establishment for being tied to decorative “women’s work.” And she did that by daring to bring her feminine alloverism into collision with the all-male culture of the American newspaper.

Chryssa always talked about her first encounter with the “vulgarity” of Times Square — then still the home of the New York Times — and about how it led to her artistic awakening. The landmark series of newspaper paintings that came out of that encounter show Chryssa proudly planting her flag — a cloth allover covered in patterns — in the midst of that distinctly masculine vulgarity.

[nyx-lyris]

best laid plans - h.f.

fighting your own heart is among the hardest battles in the world.

ruth erwin is a college student at nyu in pursuit of a degree in english literature. though a bit older and more experienced than most of her peers, she has no trouble settling into university life once again. she decides to take a class in coding to spice up her schedule a bit - only to find herself struggling more than she would like.

in search of assistance, she finds herself in the office of one harold wren, her gentle and mysterious professor. she finds herself drawn to him, wanting more from him, despite the forbidden nature of such a relationship.

harold, too, despite his better judgment, finds himself wanting more and more of this lovely student of his. he knows there are a hundred and one things that stand between them, but he can't help but feel drawn to her.

but, when her number comes up, the two are placed in an impossible predicament. with so many dangerous secrets standing between them and so many unforeseen variables tying them inextricably together, the way forward seems cloudier than ever. what, in the end, will prevail?

chapter two: something new

weeks passed, each one finding ruth in harold’s office at least once, if not twice. harold had to admit, he’d been taken aback by her desire to do so well in his class - she was majoring in english literature and was hoping to teach someday, either as a high school creative writing teacher or as a university professor. and yet, she came in once or twice a week, like clockwork - always with a new question, a new problem to solve. she invigorated him in a way he hadn’t known was possible.

harold hadn’t been terribly sure of himself at first, taking a job as a college professor. he knew most of his students were fulfilling a requirement for a major. though there were a few bright, passionate students he’d encountered over the years, they were fleeting. His students mostly did the work and attended the lectures, behaving more like automatons than human beings. he’d virtually lost hope that any of them really cared about anything beyond grades - moving on to the next activity, the next job, the next paycheck - existing day to day, without truly living.

then he met ruth erwin. she was older than most of his students - somewhere in her thirties, he guessed - but she had ambition and curiosity that rivaled most of them. she didn’t speak much of her personal life or even of her educational life - not that he expected her to - but he found himself unusually curious about who she was. he often found himself looking forward to her visits - a fact which terrified him.

why did she capture his attention so fully? she was intelligent, determined, beautiful - but there were plenty of students he’d met over the years who fit at least one of those criteria. there was nothing about her that should have piqued harold’s interest. and yet.

a knock sounded at the door and harold jumped, cheeks coloring as he realized he’d become absorbed in his thoughts. rather inappropriate thoughts about a student, who was likely standing behind his office door at this very moment.

“it’s me, professor wren,” ruth’s voice called, confirming his suspicions.

“come in, miss erwin,” harold answered, shifting his attention to the papers in front of him.

the door opened and shut. harold ignored the inappropriate flip of his stomach, the skip of his heart, as she entered the room.

“i have something for you,” he heard her say and he looked up in curiosity. her blue eyes glittered cheerfully behind her glasses and she smiled. his heart fluttered again.

“oh?” he responded, giving her his full attention. wordlessly she handed him a circular tin. a small smile flickered across his face and he carefully removed the lid, the smell of warm cookies filling his nose.

“i hope you like chocolate chip,” she said, drawing harold’s attention back to the girl in front of him.

“is today some special occasion i should know about?” he asked. her smile widened.

“no,” she answered simply, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “i just made these for you because... well, you’ve helped me so much over the past several weeks and i wanted to say thank you.”

harold couldn’t help the smile that spread across his features. “thank you very much, miss erwin,” he said. “this means a lot to me.”

his stomach flipped at the way her face brightened, and he turned away to organize some papers, inwardly chastising himself. she was a student and far too young for him. this must be what a midlife crisis feels like, he thought, helplessly thinking of nathan and the young woman he’d been seeing when he was in the midst of his divorce. he thought of grace.

“so,” he said, forcing himself from his dismal reverie. “what seems to be the trouble today, miss erwin?”

the rest of the hour was spent assisting her with her work. harold was grateful for the distraction - coding and programming, computers, and machines had always made more sense to him than people. he was so dismally ill-prepared to deal with human emotion, especially his own. he was not one to act on impulse, to let his feelings on a matter interfere with his principles - but this young woman...

she was so close now as she looked over his shoulder at her computer, watching his demonstration of an example of the code she was trying to replicate for her homework assignment. the scent of her perfume tangled with the smell of the cookies from the still-open tin, creating a heady mixture that harold was surprised didn’t have young men swarming about her for her attention. he could smell a tinge of what he suspected was her conditioner as well, her long, light-brown hair falling in gentle waves as she leaned forward to inspect the screen.

harold closed his eyes for a moment, allowing himself a respite while she was distracted. this was getting out of hand, fast. he knew it had to stop. if he allowed this to continue... he shuddered quietly at the thought. he couldn’t allow himself to become absorbed by passion. she was a student. even if she was an adult she was still too young - vulnerable. he had a duty to protect his students, even if that meant protecting them from himself.

he would resign. it was the only option he had. if feelings got hurt, so be it.

“professor wren?”

harold’s eyes snapped open and his cheeks flushed red. her eyebrows wrinkled together in concern.

“is everything alright?” she asked.

“yes,” he answered, clearing his throat. “yes, i’m quite alright, i just... didn’t get much sleep last night.”

that wasn’t entirely a lie. he rarely got much in the way of sleep these days, between the numbers he worked with john and the pain caused by his injury.

she nodded, though he could see the disbelief in her eyes. she didn’t ask any questions though, merely typed the required code into the program. then she ran it, grinning when the desired results came through. harold couldn’t help the small, proud smile on his face.

“thank you, professor wren,” she said, turning to him, a playful glint in her eyes. “you’ll make a master coder of me yet!”

harold’s smile widened and he chuckled warmly, rising with her as she gathered her things to leave.

“have a good afternoon, miss erwin,” he said, watching her leave. “and thank you for your gift.”

she paused in the doorway, an odd smile on her face. “you’re very welcome, professor wren.”

and just like that, she was gone.

the relative warmth of september gave way to the chill of october. harold and john managed to save investigative reporter maxine angelis without becoming a front-page news story. ruth erwin continued to stop by harold’s office. the resignation papers remained unfinished on harold’s desk.

a few more numbers came and went. graham wyler and his family. the brilliant dr. madeline enwright and her wife amy. daniel and sabrina drake, co-owners of a publishing company. ruth continued to ask for help and harold continued to give it. the resignation papers became buried under a swath of papers in need of grading.

he knew he needed to finish them, submit them to his employer, and find somewhere else to work. maybe go into insurance, as he had initially planned, or find some smaller community college, somewhere more low-profile. after all, the further under the radar he could stay, the better. but, despite his inner chastising and determination to finally sit down and finish the job, he always seemed to find some excuse not to do it. he told himself he was doing it for his students - at least waiting until the end of the semester, so his employers wouldn’t have to go through the hassle of finding a new professor in the middle of the term.

otherwise, things seemed to be going just fine. it was a saturday and harold was out for a walk on new york’s busy streets, bear trotting along contently beside him. despite the general hubbub around him, the day felt strangely peaceful. however, as with most good things in harold’s life, the peace didn’t last long.

the sound of a payphone ringing pulled harold from his thoughts and he paused, giving himself one more moment before limping over to the booth and picking up the phone. he’d long since figured out a way to memorize the string of words the machine gave him, so he had no need for a pen and paper. it was safer, he figured - he couldn’t risk someone finding his note, should it fall out of his pocket, and use it to find him and john and potentially expose the machine.

he contacted john, informing them they had another number, then returned to their base of operations. he moved with ease through the library, finding the three books he needed, then settling down in his chair to type in the number.

his eyes widened at the image of the young woman who appeared on the screen, his blood running cold.

their new number was ruth erwin.

prev chapter - next chapter

a/n: i hope you guys enjoyed this chapter from harold's perspective! the perspective will jump around a bit as the story needs it to, so i hope that adds something to the story. i'll post this chapter to ao3 tomorrow if you want to read it there. hope you guys are doing well and thank you so much for reading! let me know if there's anything i can do to improve my writing :)

ao3 link to best laid plans

[halfpintpeach]

Would love to request some Tutor Neil again :)

Tutor Neil || WIP Wednesday 11/8/23 (closed)

The lecture hall had two levels, the main section of seats accessible from both the second and first floor. Neil always entered and exited through the first-floor side door. He sat in the front row, not because he wanted to be a model student, but because it provided the most space for Babe Ruth. With everything packed up, he took hold of Babe Ruth’s leash and stability handle. 

[lboogie1906]

William A. “Bill” Hilliard (May 28, 1927 - January 16, 2017) was the first Black editor of the Portland Oregonian, the largest daily newspaper in Oregon, and the first Black president of the American Society of Newspaper Editors.

One of four children, he was born in Chicago to Ruth and Felix Hilliard. His parents divorced and his mother re-married St. Clair Little. The new family moved to Oregon in 1936 so they could work as a domestic and a laborer for a family. He was turned down for a paper route with the Portland Oregonian because managers believed white subscribers wouldn’t want a Black paper boy.

He graduated from Pacific University with a BA in journalism. He started a weekly Black newspaper, the Portland Challenger, while he worked as a redcap at Portland’s Union Station. He became the first Black employee in the Oregonian newsroom, where he landed a job as a “copy boy.” He earned promotions to sports clerk, sports reporter, and religion and general assignment reporter. The Oregonian offered him his first management job as assistant city editor. The paper became the first on the West Coast to cover the national meetings of the NAACP and the National Urban League. He earned successive promotions to city editor, executive editor, and editor.

The paper started suburban-zoned coverage, boosted circulation, nearly tripled its ethnic minority staff, endorsed a Democratic presidential candidate for the first time, and became the first paper in the Pacific Northwest to hire a full-time foreign correspondent. He traveled to colleges and newsrooms around the country to lecture about the benefits and importance of newsroom diversity.

He made the Oregonian the first mainstream newspaper to bar sports team names that are racial slurs. He implemented the policy after Native Americans protested the Atlanta Braves and Washington Redskins, who had played in the World Series and the Super Bowl.

He lived with his wife, Dian. He had three children from a previous marriage. His honors included a Distinguished Service Award from the University of Oregon and membership in the Oregon Newspaper Hall of Fame. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence

[coochiequeens]

Sarah Parker Remond (June 6, 1826 – December 13, 1894) was an American lecturer, activist and abolitionist campaigner.

Born a free woman in the state of Massachusetts, she became an international activist for human rights and women's suffrage. Remond made her first public speech against the institution of slavery when she was 16 years old, and delivered abolitionist speeches throughout the northeastern United States. One of her brothers, Charles Lenox Remond, became known as an orator and they occasionally toured together for their abolitionist lectures.

Eventually becoming an agent of the American Anti-Slavery Society, in 1858 Remond chose to travel to Britain to gather support for the growing abolitionist cause in the United States. While in London, Remond also studied at Bedford College, lecturing during term breaks. During the American Civil War, she appealed for support among the British public for the Union and their blockade of the Confederacy. After the conclusion of the war in favor of the Union, she appealed for funds to support the millions of the newly emancipated freedmen in the American South.

From England, Remond went to Italy in 1867 to pursue medical training in Florence, where she became a physician. She practiced medicine for nearly 20 years in Italy and never returned to the United States, dying in Rome at the age of 68.

Early years

Born in Salem, Massachusetts, Remond was one of the between eight and 11 children of John Remond and Nancy (née Lenox) Remond.[1] Nancy was born in Newton, daughter of Cornelius Lenox, a Revolutionary War veteranwho had fought in the Continental Army, and Susanna Perry.[2] John Remond was a free person of color who immigrated to Massachusetts from the Dutch colony of Curaçao as a 10-year-old child in 1798. John and Nancy married in October 1807, in the African Baptist Church in Boston. In Salem, they built a successful catering, provisioning, and hairdressing business, becoming well-established businesspeople and activists.

The Remonds tried to place their children in a private school, but they were rejected because of their race. When Sarah Remond and her sisters were accepted to a local high school for girls which was not segregated, they were expelled, as the school committee was planning to found a separate school for African-American children. Remond later described the incident as engraved in her heart "like the scarlet letter of Hester."[1] In 1835, the Remond family moved to Newport, Rhode Island, where they hoped to find a less racist environment in which to educate their children. However, the schools refused to accept black students. Instead, some influential African Americans established a private school, where Remond was educated.[1]

In 1841, the Remond family returned to Salem.[1] Sarah Remond continued her education on her own, attending concerts and lectures, and reading widely in books, pamphlets and newspapers borrowed from friends, or purchased from the anti-slavery society of her community, which sold many inexpensive titles.[3] The Remond family also took i

n as boarders students who were attending the local girls' academy, including Charlotte Forten (later Grimké).[4]

Three of Remond's sisters built a business together: Cecilia (married to James Babcock), Maritchie Juan, and Caroline (married to Joseph Putnam),[4] "owned the fashionable Ladies Hair Work Salon" in Salem, as well as the biggest wig factory in the state.[5] Their oldest sister Nancy married James Shearman, an oyster dealer. The Remond brothers were Charles Remond, who became an abolitionist and orator; and John Remond, who married Ruth Rice, one of two women elected to the finance committee of the 1859 New England Colored Citizens' Convention.

Anti-slavery activism and lecturing

Salem in the 1840s was a center of anti-slavery activity, and the whole family was committed to the rising abolitionist movement in the United States. The Remonds' home was a haven for black and white abolitionists, and they hosted many of the movement's leaders, including William Lloyd Garrison and Wendell Phillips, and more than one fugitive slave fleeing north to freedom. John Remond was a life member of the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society.[2] Sarah Remond's older brother Charles Lenox Remond was the first black lecturer of the American Anti-Slavery Society's and considered a leading black abolitionist. Nancy Remond was one of the founders of the Salem Female Anti-Slavery Society.[1] Nancy not only taught her daughters the household skills of cooking and sewing but also to seek liberty lawfully; she wanted them to take part in society.[3] With her mother and sisters, Sarah Remond was an active member of the state and county female anti-slavery societies, including the Salem Female Anti-Slavery Society, the New England Anti-Slavery Society, and the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society. She also regularly attended antislavery lectures in Salem and Boston.[2]

With the support and financial backing of her family, Sarah Remond became an anti-slavery lecturer, delivering her first lecture against slavery at the age of 16, with her brother Charles in Groton, Massachusetts, in July 1842.[6] Remond rose to prominence among abolitionists in 1853, when she refused to sit in a segregated theater section. She had bought tickets by post for herself and a group of friends, including historian William C. Nell, to the popular opera, Don Pasquale, at the Howard Athenaeum in Boston.[7] When they arrived at the theatre, Remond was shown to segregated seating. After refusing to accept it, she was forced to leave the theatre and pushed down some stairs.[3] Remond sued for damages and won her case. She was awarded $500, and an admission by theatre management that she was wronged; the court ordered the theater to integrate all seating.[7][8]

In 1856, the American Anti-Slavery Society hired a team of lecturers, including Remond; Charles, already well known in the U.S. and Britain; and Susan B. Anthony, to tour New York State addressing anti-slavery issues. Over the next two years, she, her brother, and others also spoke in New York, Massachusetts, Ohio, Michigan and Pennsylvania.[2] She and other African Americans were often given poor accommodation due to racial discrimination.[3] Although inexperienced, Remond rapidly became an effective speaker. William Lloyd Garrison praised her "calm, dignified manner, her winning personal appearance and her earnest appeals to the conscience and the heart."[9] Sarah Clay wrote that Remond's every word "waked up dormant aspirations which would vibrate through the ages."[1] Over time, she became one of the society's most persuasive and powerful lecturers.[10]

Abby Kelley Foster, a noted abolitionist in Massachusetts, encouraged Remond when they toured together in 1857.[11] On December 28, 1858, Remond wrote in a letter to Foster:[12]

I feel almost sure I never should have made the attempt but for the words of encouragement I received from you. Although my heart was in the work, I felt that I was in need of a good English education ... When I consider that the only reason why I did not obtain what I so much desired was because I was the possessor of an unpopular complexion, it adds to my discomfort. see rest of article

[westdallasgang]

Charles Stanley was in the entertainment business all his life. The opportunity presented itself for him to first rent and then purchase the so-called “Death Car” of Bonnie and Clyde. After the ambush, the Ford was returned to its owners, Jessie and Ruth Warren of Tokepka, Oklahoma. The Warrens were in a quandary about what they should do with it until they were approached by a local carnival operator named Charles Stanley. In addition to his entertainment business, Stanley also worked at the National Anti-Crime Association (NACA) in the area. Stanley approached the Warrens with an offer to rent the car. His plan was to travel with the car, offering exhibits where he would lecture on law and order and that crime doesn’t pay. Stanley was also able to persuade Bonnie’s mother Emma Parker and Clyde’s mother Cumie Barrow to join his lecture tour after they were released from jail for haboring Bonnie and Clyde. At times, the troupe also included Clyde's father, Henry Barrow, and the father of John Dillinger.

[mercurygray]

(If you're still taking asks for TDS behind the scenes)

🎥 Ruth and the aftermath of Joe's injury, or maybe what the actors learned from talking with Ruth.

She's eighty years old, and she is the smartest dresser - she ran her own dress shop after the war, and she's got opinions about what everyone is wearing, always. She really gave the costume department what for about a couple of things. And she still gets her hair dyed - it's this very soft red, almost a pink, so she stands out in a crowd. She sounds like every New York grandmother they've ever put on a television show. She's this tiny little pixie of a woman and she's adorable.

It's because they were short. That's what Ruth said. They were short, and Ruth noticed Doris knew how to dress, after working at the department store. So of course they were best friends from that point on, because they could share clothes.

The first time I met her, she looked me over, from her wheelchair, and then she nodded and said "She'll be okay." I think inside she was really emotional. Her husband's been dead for a while, and it kind of…brought her back, I think. But she shared everything. She volunteers at a local Jewish historical society as part of their lecture bureau, and she gives talks to schoolkids about the Holocaust. She talks about her life during the war all the time, because she says it's important to remember. I got to meet her daughter, Mary Ellen, and her grandchildren - they invited me over for Shabbat, and she said the blessing for children over me like I was her daughter. I'm not a religious person, but I cried. It really made me think about the story we were telling here very differently.

The one thing she wouldn't talk about is the day Joe was shot. I don't think she remembers much of it, actually? Doris told us more about that day than Ruth did.

That was a rough day. They lost a lot of people. She'll talk about the camp, because she can, and some of the others won't, but she wouldn't talk about Joe getting shot.

She'll talk about Joe all day long if you let her, though. He was the love of her life.

-Cast Commentary, "Meeting The Girl Gang" Behind The Scenes featurette, The Darkening Sky Extended Edition Box Set

[denimbex1986]

'Christopher Nolan, the mind behind cinematic masterpieces like Inception and The Dark Knight, has once again captured audiences with what may well be his magnum opus: the explosive and devastating Oppenheimer.

Renowned for his ability to craft intricate narratives, bolstered with unprecedented advances in practical effects that leave viewers both awed and introspective, a new Nolan film will always send shockwaves throughout the cinematic landscape.

His recent foray into the life of J. Robert Oppenheimer, the “father of the atomic bomb”, is no exception: from its staggering central performance from Cillian Murphy, its exquisite IMAX photography and its physical reproduction of a ‘nuclear’ explosion, to sit in the theatres and watch Oppenheimer is a cinematic experience like no other. What you may be surprised to learn, however, is that the film has a connection to another titan of cinema, one from over 15 years ago: Paul Thomas Anderson’s own opus, There Will Be Blood.

In a recent video for Konbini‘s Vidéo Club to promote his new feature along with Murphy, Nolan was given free roam in an extensively catalogued library. The purpose of these videos is usually to follow a prominent actor or director on a journey through their own viewing experiences, singling out certain movies that speak to them. With Nolan, it was no different, and it was particularly telling that the very first project he goes for is There Will Be Blood. “An excellent film,” Nolan calls it, further clarifying, “I think Paul’s best.”

He continues, suddenly revealing a particularly pertinent connection between his new film and Anderson’s 2007 western epic: “So Ruth De Jong, our designer on Oppenheimer, was an art director on it – working for Jack Fisk”. Now, you wouldn’t be blamed for dismissing this as one of countless examples of heads of department and crew working on other movies. It’s true – it’s their job, after all. But if you inspect the visual identity of Nolan’s new project closer and combine it with his very vocal admiration for There Will Be Blood, it seems like the connection deepens.

While De Jong was the visionary behind the designs of Oppenheimer, from the lecture halls of Oxford University to the very shell of the first atom bomb, her journey in cinematic design was heavily influenced by a stalwart in the field – the aforementioned Fisk. Fisk, perhaps one of the greatest production designers still alive today, was behind the design of such films as Days of Heaven, The Thin Red Line, Eraserhead, Carrie, The Revenant, and dozens more.

Working closely under Fisk during the making of There Will Be Blood, De Jong procured a specific aesthetic and design philosophy that she would later bring into her own projects, which range from Manchester By The Sea, the third series of Twin Peaks and the middle-American supershow, Yellowstone. Fisk’s visionary designs, combined with De Jong’s budding brilliance, helped Anderson’s film paint a vivid picture of Daniel Plainview’s tumultuous journey in the early 20th-century oil rush – and in Oppenheimer, De Jong incorporates what she learned.

Oppenheimer borrows visuals from There Will Be Blood

Most visibly and significantly are the similarities between Los Alamos, the land seized by the US Government and converted into the secret ‘Trinity’ testing base in Oppenheimer, and the town of Little Boston in There Will Be Blood. Both are ramshackle, temporary, cobbled-together bits of infrastructure that look like a single match could (and probably would) set the whole thing ablaze. In fact – Anderson’s film even has its own explosion set piece.

Then there are the sequences where Oppenheimer sets off from his New Mexico ranch on horseback, camping out in the desert, drinking liquor in his tent and staring up at the clear cosmic vistas, searching the stars. Anyone that’s seen There Will Be Blood will know that at least half the movie has Daniel Day-Lewis camped around some fire in the barren wilderness of the Colorado Desert. Both were shot on glorious, grainy celluloid film. Clearly, for these moments, at least, Nolan has taken very direct cues.

Now, while There Will Be Blood is centred around the early days of the American oil industry and Oppenheimer delves deep into the complex psyche of the physicist behind atomic oblivion, the thematic parallels are evident. Both films deal with ambition, moral dilemmas, and the lengths to which individuals will go to achieve their objectives. De Jong’s understanding and interpretation of these themes, perhaps subtly influenced by her time with Fisk, provide a consistent and atmospheric bridge between the two.'

[kissofthemuses]

THE RANI

Background:

Ushas, better known as the Rani and known more formally as Ushas of Miasimia Goria, or, in other accounts, as simply Rani, was a renegade Time Lady and member of the Deca. A brilliant but cold neurochemist, she knew the Doctor and the Master when all three were young, and became an enemy of the former and an unwilling ally of the latter.

The Rani was, regardless of incarnation, a brilliant scientific genius whose villainy came not from the usual variety of lust for power and suchlike, but from a mindset that treated everything (including morality) as secondary to her research. She was highly intelligent but extremely arrogant, narcissistic, ruthless, powerful and intensely cruel.

The First Rani was a cruel woman whose evil deeds and notoriety had made her the second most wanted criminal in the galaxy, after the Master. Much like the Doctor, she had a considerable presence. This presence, however, rested not in a fondness for the planet but as a focal point for her research projects.

Just as amoral as her previous incarnation, the Second Rani always believed that the end always justified the means. Not above making jokes at the expense of others, she held a great disdain and disinterest in the Doctor's antics. Unlike her previous incarnation, she had a certain level of anxiety in breaking the Laws of Time.

At some point, the Lord President reintegrated several barely-reformed renegades into Gallifreyan society. One former renegade Time Lady, who was known for her engineered creatures, became a tutor to newly-loomed soldiers. Holsred remembered a lecture in which she connected an artron energy generator to a white rat's brain and then let the rat use the energy to kill a hungry Gallifreyan cat.

Her following incarnations lost that brief fear of breaking the laws of time.

INCARNATIONS

1st Rani- fc Kate O'Mara 2nd Rani- fc Siobhan Redmond 3rd Rani- fc Ruth Wilson 4th Rani- fc Indira Varma 5th Rani- fc Aiysha Hart