#everybody hates hitler: part four

[huntertales]

Part Four: Home Is Where The Heart Is. (Everybody Hates Hitler S08E13)

Episode Summary: Sam, Dean and the reader investigate the death of a Rabbi who spontaneously combusted. The case becomes ever more confusing when they learn that the Rabbi was researching Nazi Necromancers. The trio are attacked by a Golem who turns out to belong to the Rabbi’s grandson, Aaron. The key to the case lies with the Golem but Aaron doesn’t know how to control him, which leaves everyone in danger. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Word Count: 2,993.

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You didn’t have much of a choice other than to do what the enemy wanted, unless you preferred the other option they thought was going to come after obtaining what they were here for in the first place. You kept your hands up in the air and slowly sat yourself down on the floor while Sam was dragged a foot away so he was leaning against the wall before sliding himself down on the ground. The attention was taken off you for a moment, giving you a small window of opportunity to try and do something, but you feared it was a little stupid to take on three men at once. So you waited for your next chance to take these sons of bitches down before they could do anything stupid that might get all of you hurt.

You and Sam spent over an hour trying to figure out how to control the golem to help Aaron out in controlling him. But there was too much lore out there to figure it out. Erasing non existent words off his forehead was just a myth, and you had your doubts on the scroll lore. It seemed that one was true from what you witnessed. You just needed to know what to say in order to get the golem to do what you wanted. And Eckhart knew exactly how to.

"I command you by the covenant of your makers—clay of Adam, surrender your bond unto me." A scroll, no bigger than the size of his pinky, fell out of the golem's mouth and into Eckhart's palm. He took it upon himself to untie the little white thread around the scroll. The man who had been standing next to Aaron grabbed him by his shirt and pushed him forward. Eckhart examined it for a moment before he chuckled to himself at the foolish mistake the younger man had made. "So you are the golem's rabbi? You woke him...but you didn't take possession of him. You write your name on the scroll, boy. That's how you...yifalchunbee.”

Aaron nervously swallowed at the pediment he was in, unsure of what the right thing to do was that didn’t end up with him dead. "I didn't know what he meant.”

"Knowledge is power, right?" Eckhart said. He thought the smart thing to do was to backhand Aaron right across the cheek, making the man stumble to the ground. You felt yourself slowly becoming overwhelmed with anger at what was going on. While Eckhart decided to take a seat and make himself comfortable, he nodded his head for one of his men to start searching through the place to find his precious book. “Now, which of you is going to tell me where I can find the a certain red ledger?”

"How about you go screw yourself, you Nazi bastard." Sam decided to lend the man a nice little insult, knowing there was no way he was going to let them back it back so easily.

“Can we…” Eckhart frowned slightly at the title he didn’t like hearing after the name had lost its meaning and purpose after so many decades. He slipped off his leather gloves and put them into his pocket for safekeeping, you noticed he was wearing a ring on his left hand. If you had to guess, it was apart of the Thule society.  “Could we put the Nazi thing aside for the moment and just talk about this like—”

"Nazi necromancer dicks? Pass." Dean said, the man chuckled quietly at the insult.

“So I take it you’re the commandant?” You asked. From your tone of voice and glare alone, it was clear to see you didn’t think very highly of the man you read about in the red ledger he was trying so hard to look for. "The one that authorized all those horrible experiments.”

"Invented.” Eckhart corrected you. He didn't find your glare the least bit threatening when he smiled, almost making it seem like you were complimenting him.He didn't find your glare or harsh words the least bit hurtful, for his ego was too big for anyone to shatter. You found yourself shaking your head in disgust when he smiled, almost making it out to seem like you were complimenting him. "Those experiments. Thank you."

“Du bist nicht willkommen.*" You replied, your lips stretching into a forced smile. While one of his goons was tearing the place apart to find their special book, you noticed the gun peeking out of Dean's jacket that was conveniently not too far away from him. And not to mention the shotgun lying not too far from Aaron. If you distracted Eckhart long enough, maybe there was a chance all of you could get out here alive. "You sick bastard.”

*You’re not welcome.

“Ah. Du sprichst Deutsch?” Eckhart asked you, speaking in his native tongue. You nodded your head slowly, knowing it was the reason why you knew about his experiments in the first place. Dean took his opportunity to look at Aaron and point his attention to the shotgun not too far from where he was sitting on the ground. The man had his perfect opportunity to grab it, but it was Aaron's nerves that made him shake his head no. "Funny. Someone who looks down upon us knows our language.”

*Ah. You speak German?

“The country isn’t a reflection for your disgusting way of thinking. And I always wanted to tell one of you to go ‘screw yourself’ in your native tongue. So, what your deal? I mean, you’re not... undead. What did you do?” You curiously asked him. “You cast a forever twenty-one spell on yourself? Like your little friend at the library?"

"His name was Torvald." Eckhart said. "And you will suffer for that."

“Sort of like how your friend did?” You taunted him, a smirk spreading across your lips.

You weren’t the least bit scared of his threat, knowing if his attempts were anything like his friends, it was going to end with him suffering. You found your head turning slightly to the side when you noticed one of the men discovered the red ledger hiding underneath the bag, a hiding spot that was the last minute place to think of on such short notice. You felt a curse word or two slip underneath your mouth when it was delivered to Eckhart, making things go in the wrong direction.

“You know, I got to say, spell or no spell, he broke easy, so...” Dean said, doing everything in his power to get under the Nazi’s skin.

Eckhart paid no attention to what the older Winchester said, his focus kept on the book that he had searched high and low for. He flipped through a few pages to make sure it was the exact one he lost. “I'm sorry. So…Let me tell you what I see. A magic Jew at my feet, not a master in sight, and, finally, our secrets secret once again. Which reminds me of a story.” You rolled your eyes in annoyance from how he was still talking. He pushed himself out of his chair to stand up for a moment. “‘A Jew, two gentiles, a lady and a Golem walk into a bar’—and it doesn't end with them coming out.” It seemed he gotten the story mixed up where it ended with all the Nazi necromancers dead by three hunters and a rabbi. You made your move when Aaron grabbed one of the legs from the table the golem had broke, taking Eckhart by surprise and knocking him on the back of the head. You went diving for the gun while Sam fought off the one after he saw what you were doing. Before the Nazi could pull the trigger, you pointed the loaded weapon at him, shooting him straight between the eyes to put him down. Dean seemed to have gotten the same idea as you when he reached for his own gun and shot at the other Nazi. Both of the men dropped to the ground, leaving Eckhart all by his lonesome when the other one of his goons attempted to grab Aaron and run, but got cold feet at the sight of two loaded weapons pointing at him. You might have let him run off, you knew well enough his days were numbered. You moved your gun to the last remaining Nazi and gave him another smirk, finding it amusing at how worked up he was getting, knowing the tables had turned on him.

"Fools!" He shouted. "You can kill me. But you will never kill all the Thule."  

You weren't the least bit threatened by his words, because they would be the last he'd ever speak. You shot off another round, putting a bullet in his head, watching as his body drop to the chair he previously had been occupying. While you knew he was right about not being able to take one down hate group today, you felt good wiping out the ones who messed with you, making the group smaller. Every little bit helped. While there is evil out in the world that takes on many forms, it was people like you that put them where they belonged, making everyone just a little safer for everyone.

+ + +

Everything was once somewhat calm in the world again; a handful of Nazi necromancers were dead and rightfully burning in hell where the belonged. Aaron was finally understanding what he needed to do in order to live the legacy his grandfather told him about. All of you headed back into the very trashed motel Aaron had been renting for the meantime, the golem continued to stand where it was since you left him a few hours ago to finish up loose ends, waiting for the man to yifalchunbee. “Well, now we know—paper beats Golem, fire beats undead Nazi zombie freaks.” Dean said, his humor made a small smile and a chuckle escape your throat. A sense of relief came over you, along with accomplishment at what all of you did. You had a feeling Henry and your father would have been proud of all of you for what you did today. “So...What do you say, Aaron?” Sam asked the man, getting down to the giant in the room. Now the Nazis were out of the way, all of you had to worry about the golem that had reeked havoc on Aaron’s life. “I mean, we got a place we can keep him.” “No. I mean... Eckhart might be dead, but you heard him. The Thule are still out there... hidden, active.” Aaron pulled out the small scroll from his pocket, unrolling it just enough to see his grandfather’s last name on the paper. Soon his own would join the legacy. “That's my grandfather. He left me something important. Something only I can do.” Aaron took a pen out from his pocket and wrote down his name on the paper before putting it back into the golem’s mouth like he should have done in the first place. You watched as the golem inhaled a deep breath, coming back to life as he straightened out his shoulders and looked at the man in front of him. “It looks like I'm the Judah Initiative now.” The first word that came out of the golem’s mouth was the infamous yifalchunbee—take charge in Hebrew—that Aaron had grown to think was a bad thing. But when the golem said it this time, it was in respect, Aaron had done exactly what he needed to do. You felt a smile spread across your lips at how everything turned out. Maybe legacies weren’t such a bad thing after all. + + +

You and the boys were back at the bunker by the next morning, and after a hot shower followed by a long nap, you made your way to the library had grown to feel like it was the heart of this place. Somewhere you and the boys were going to be spending a lot of your time in. You made your way to the record player when Sam said he wouldn't mind some music as background noise while he worked and put on a Louis Armstrong record, letting his voice echo through the bunker. Soon enough you joined him at the table, wondering what he had been working on and the things he discovered while doing his own search.

Dean found you and his brother talking among yourselves, you were leaning over the table with your elbow perched up and your palm cradling your head. A look of complete concentration was on your face while you listened to his brother going on about something. Sam had his head down, writing something on a pad of paper, every so often you glanced down to see what it was. Dean found the sight, with the old timey music playing in the background, almost picturesque. The sight gave off an ambience he couldn't quite understand. It gave off...comfort. Content. Relaxed after a long day, happy to be home.

"What're you and Y/N doing?" Dean curiously asked. His voice made you look over to see that it was him. You greeted him with a warm smile before directing your attention back to the younger Winchester.

"Ordering. I'm making a card entry for our copies from the Thule's red ledger for our collection." Sam explained to his brother what you and him had been doing. "And Y/N wanted to know how the filing system works, so I've been going through it with her.”

“It’s very riveting stuff." You might have sounded sarcastic, but in all honesty, you were learning a lot about how the Men of Letters worked. "I mean, the things that found during the time of being active...I can't wait to discover it all. See what else we can learn and add on."

Dean grabbed two beers from the mini fridge, but he found himself feeling like it wasn't right for this moment. He put them back when he remembered there was a scotch he discovered in the kitchen that was dated, but like most things, they got better with age. "So, uh, what? Aaron's a J.I. and you're a Man of Letters now, Sammy? And Y/N, possibly becoming the first Woman of Letters?"

“Hey, it’s the twenty first century.” You said. “Women can do anything men can.”

Dean chuckled to himself at your quick wit, knowing it was something he loved about you. He made his way over a small table to fix himself and two crystal glasses of scotch he'd been eager to try. Dean looked around the place for a moment to really look at the interior; taking in the endless books to hallways of rooms that he was still discovering. A few weeks ago he was a little hesitant about letting himself get used to the idea that this place could be good, because it wasn’t in his nature to settle down so easily, that something good might happen for him.

Dean had a thing about not letting himself get comfortable in just one spot. No home felt safe enough, no woman he loved felt like they would be able to really hold him for long and the insecurities that came with him. And his family slipped away from him too many times to count. Why get comfortable with something temporarily if it only was going to end in misery? Because not everything bad lasts forever. You taught him that.

Here Dean was at thirty-something, his baby brother with the love of his life sitting at one table, in a bunker that kept out everything they hunted. A wicked sweet pad that he had fell in love with and never wanted to leave. Dean grabbed three glasses and made his way over to the table to set two down, one for you and his brother, the other was for himself. You and Sam looked up to see him smiling down at the both of you. He mumbled a good—about the fact that you were warming up to the idea of starting something new in your lives. This wasn't a new chapter, no. This was a brand new book. A new journey all of you were about to embark on.

Sam grabbed his own when his brother took a seat at the other table, giving him some room to kick up his feet and sit back. You found yourself reaching for your drink when you saw both of them about to take a sip. Before they could, you raise your glass in the air, wanting to be a bit cheesy. "To us—the Winchester and Y/L/N, the new generation of the Women and Men of Letters.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Dean said. You smiled to yourself as you put the glass back down on the table, silently adding to your toast about the future generation to come. The man also had something else to say that took you a bit by surprise. “Maybe in the future it’ll just change to the Winchesters.”

You knew well enough what the older man was trying to say. The both of you had talked about marriage once or twice, knowing it was something you wanted to do when things calmed down. Yet he hadn't exactly popped the question just yet. Maybe he would in the near future. You weren't in a rush, but you felt overcome with a sense of happiness at the fact he was still thinking about it.

You looked over at the man, your lips stretching into a bashful sort of smile when he winked at you. You had been with him for almost five years now and he still made your stomach fill with butterflies. You leaned back in your seat and stared at the two men in front of you, three words drifting into your mind that felt right to end with. Home sweet home.

[Next Part]

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[queen-of-deans-booty]

Season 8

Season Summary: A new threat looms over your head when you get your hands on the Demon Tablet. It possesses the one thing that will make all your nightmares go away: shutting the Gates of Hell forever along with every black-eyed bitch there are. Along the way, you find out what it means to be the ultimate witch. What untold powers do you possess? How can you use them to protect your family? Pain, loss, and suffering comes with the job, but no mother should have to ever go through the obstacles you try and overcome. How will you come out on top?

We Need To Talk About Kevin: Part One // Part Two // Part Three // Part Four // Final Part

What’s Up, Tiger Mommy?: Part One // Part Two // Part Three // Part Four // Final Part

Heartache: Part One // Part Two // Part Three // Final Part

Bitten: Part One // Part Two // Part Three // Part Four // Final Part

Blood Brother: Part One // Part Two // Final Part

Southern Comfort: Part One // Part Two // Part Three // Final Part

A Little Slice of Kevin: Part One // Part Two // Final Part

Hunteri Heroici: Part One // Part Two // Part Three // Final Part

Citizen Fang: Part One // Final Part

Torn and Frayed: Part One // Part Two // Final Part

LARP and the Real Girl: Part One // Part Two // Part Three // Final Part

As Time Goes By: Part One // Part Two // Final Part

Everybody Hates Hitler: Part One // Part Two // Part Three // Final Part

Trial and Error: Part One // Part Two // Part Three // Final Part

Man’s Best Friend with Benefits: Part One // Part Two // Final Part

Remember the Titans: Part One // Part Two // Final Part

Goodbye Stranger: Part One // Part Two // Final Part

Freaks and Geeks: Part One // Part Two // Final Part

Taxi Driver: Part One // Final Part

Pac-Man Fever: Part One // Part Two // Final Part

The Great Escape: Part One // Final Part

Clip Show: Part One // Part Two // Final Part

Sacrifice: Part One // Final Part

[huggybearsunshine]

The Things We Left Behind Part 13

[Part 13] Takes place during the first half of 8x13 Everybody Hates Hitler.

They pulled up the next day to an unassuming structure in Lebanon, Kansas.

“When was the last time someone was in this place?” Dean asked as the three got out of the car and approached.

“Sixty-five… Maybe seventy years ago?” Sam looked apprehensively toward the door.

Dean shrugged before pulling the key out, glancing once between the pair of eyes on him before turning the key and opening the door.

All three flashlights flipped on as they entered the pitch black and eased their way in.

As they peered over a landing attached to a staircase, they could see machinery on most of the walls, a map like table at the center and more room than you would know what to do with.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean awed.

“Anyone ever tell you that your lives are kinda like a video game?” Charlie quipped.

“Our lives,” he grinned back, “You’re pretty much part of the team at this point don’t you think?”

“I think I made the right call,” she responded as her light roamed the lower level, “I mean look at this, there’s a ham radio, telegraph, switchboard…”

“This was their nerve center,” Sam finished.

“Exactly,” she nodded in response.

“Henry did say they ran dispatch on their own team of hunters,” Dean roamed a bit farther in, taking note of a clearly abandoned chess board, “Wow, halfway through their coffee and a game of chess… Looks like whoever was manning the hub left quick.”

“On the alarm call that ended the men of letters…” Charlie stated it like she was describing a movie plot.

Dean noticed what looked like a fuse box and swung it open, and just as Sam reached the bottom of the stairs, they were awash with light.

“Son of a bitch…” Sam reiterated and the three approached a library filled with books from floor to ceiling.

“Sammy, I think we found the Bat Cave,” Dean grinned his first real smile.

They each picked a room and stripped the bedding to wash, three or four times if Charlie had any say in it, and Dean ran down the street to get food for the kitchen. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was actually thrilled to have an actual, legitimate kitchen to use.

“Cas, you’d love it,” he prayed as he pulled back up to the bunker, “I don’t know if you want your own room, but there are plenty…” his smile faded before a soft voice pushed out, “Please come back…”

As it went every time he tried, he was left with only silence in response, so Dean pulled himself out of the Impala, grabbed the bags of food, and made his way inside.

Sam was, as expected, in the library when he arrived, and Charlie was trying out the showers so he began cooking to keep his mind busy and away from the sinking feeling he’d had in his gut since Cas disappeared. Now worsened more so by his guilt over Henry.

What if I’d let him go back?

“Nope, not happening,” he shook his head and began humming.

“Smells good,” he heard Charlie’s soft voice break through the room.

“Oh hey, yeah- thanks,” he responded, trying to keep his voice steady, “Hope it tastes good… Been a while since I had a reason to cook…”

“How are you?“ she appeared at his side, hopping up to sit on the counter near him.

“I’m good,” he nodded.

“How ‘bout the real answer this time?” she pressed.

“I don’t know the real answer,” he admitted honestly, a defeated sound to his voice.

“I get that,” she nodded.

“Are you cooking?” Sam poked his head in from the hall before entering properly.

“Yeah, making some pasta,” he called over his shoulder, “I bought some paper plates and stuff too over there if you wanna get those out.”

The evening was probably one of the more pleasant they’d had in a long time, but there was an underlying sadness in Dean that couldn’t be hidden anymore than it could be ignored by the others.

“I think I’m gonna go to bed,” the man in question stood, retrieving a whiskey bottle from one of the bags before disappearing toward the rooms.

“I’m worried about him,” Charlie acknowledged.

“Yeah, me too,” Sam’s voice somberly agreed, “We gotta get Cas back… I talked him into chancing it…” he looked down in defeat, “It’s my fault if he’s…”

“Hey, we’re getting him back,” she touched his arm, “You’re mother fudging Winchesters.”

A grin tugged at Sam’s mouth and a breath of a laugh pushed out.

“Maybe there’s something here that’ll help,” he shrugged.

“I’m not tired yet,” she offered, “I could stand to go a little research mode for a while…”

“Yeah… yeah, why not,” he actually looked excited as they made their way back to the library to scour the shelves.

“Morning,” Dean found them still there, but thought nothing of it, “By the way, the water pressure in the Men of Letters’ shower room is marvelous!”

“Isn’t it?” Charlie emphatically agreed, “Cool robe.”

“Nice, right?” Dean grinned.

“I can’t figure out how we even have water… or electricity…” Sam shook his head, “Also pretty sure I now know almost everything this room has to offer about Angels and still have no clue what’s happening with Cas…”

Dean looked between them, suddenly noticing the tired eyes and repeat clothing.

“You guys were researching all night?” he asked in shock.

“Yeah, we didn’t mean to stay up all night, but yeah,” Charlie shrugged.

“I would’ve helped,” Dean pointed out, feeling guilty at the thought.

“You could make us breakfast,” Sam shrugged with a smug grin.

“Done,” he agreed easily and was on his way.

He was hopeful until two more weeks of exhaustive searching passed, and Cas was still gone.

“Dean,” Charlie knocked at his door, cracking it when there was no answer, “Dean, we haven’t seen you since the night before last…”

The hunter appeared suddenly at the open space in the door, eyes sunken and bloody knuckles.

He looked at the injured digits before releasing the door and hiding his hand behind his back.

“Hey, Charlie…” he looked away in shame, “I just had a bit too much to drink… Got upset…”

“You need water, food, and a case,” she replied firmly, “Sam’s got all of that in the kitchen. Go.”

“A case,” he deadpanned as he was all but forced to sit at the table there.

“Yeah, I think it’ll be good for you to get out of here for a few days,” Sam placed a plate in front of him with a sandwich on it.

“We just got here…” he replied around the bite in his mouth.

“Yeah, but with… everything going on, I just think-”

“You can say his name, you know,” Dean interrupted, voice sounding flat despite his efforts.

“Point is, you’re sinking, man…” Sam looked at him worriedly, “I need you to swim.”

“Fine, whatever, I’ll swim-“ he looked fed up already, “Do I have to go along with the analogy or can I just hear about this stupid case?”

And that was how he ended up in Pennsylvania with two college girls leaning over unnecessarily and pawing at him while he interviewed them about the Rabbi they witnessed catching fire.

“Necromancers,” he caught one of the girls saying as his eye was drawn to a man blatantly staring at him across the bar, “Nazi necromancers.”

“It’s sad, isn’t it?” the dark haired girl added in, “That old people have to go so crazy.”

“I know, it is sad,” the blonde reiterated.

“Mm,” Dean hummed, absentmindedly as the man was yet again trying to make eye contact.

“You uh…” he tried, but stuttered as the man waved, “Sorry- you both saw the accident?”

“I can still hear his screams,” the dark-haired woman nodded solemnly.

“It was like the fire was alive,” the blonde continued, “Like- like it was attacking him.”

But all he could focus on was the man’s continued stare.

“Excuse me,” he nodded to them before standing and crossing the room, “Special agent Bolan.”

He showed the man his badge, and his mouth dropped.

“Oh really? Wow,” he laughed, “I thought you were like a head hunter or something.”

“This is the second, maybe third, time I’m seeing you today,” Dean pointed out suspiciously, “Why are you following me, gingerbread?”

“Oh so, we-um…” he looked away in embarrassment, “We didn’t have a thing back there?”

“B-back where, what now?” his heart dropped out of his chest at the realization that he’d been clocked.

“I’m sorry, man, I-I thought,” he sighed, “I thought we had a thing back at the quad, you know- a little ‘eye magic’ moment…” Dean slowly pulled the badge back toward him and flipped it shut, “I saw you here and I don’t know, I figured I’d wait until you were done with your meeting and then we might, well…”

“Yeah- uh okay, but no,” Dean pocketed the badge, voice growing softer and less confident by the word, “uh… no, no moment,” he cleared his throat, “Just a federal investigation.”

“Is that supposed to make you less interesting,” he smiled, and Dean’s eyes shot up, revealing the panic in them.

“No. I-I’m sorry, man,” he held his hands up in surrender, “I hope- I hope I didn’t freak you out or anything…”

“No,” he tried to play it off, “No, not freaked out… It’s just a,” he motioned to his suit, unsure of what to do with his hands, “Just a federal… thing.”

He cleared his throat again and adjusted his feet awkwardly.

“Okay, Citizen,” he nodded, “As you were.”

His phone rang, giving him an excuse to step back, and his hand practically ripped the device out to see if it was finally Cas, but like every other time, he was disappointed.

“You have a good night,” the man pulled him back to his mortification, and he stumbled.

“You- you-“ another ring and a table to his hip had him practically running from the other man, as he placed the phone to his ear, “Yeah?”

Sam started into his explanation that something might be off before noticing a pair of eyes watching around the corner.

“You’re being followed?” Dean got serious and began moving, “That’s weird, I thought I was being followed earlier, but it turned out to be a gay thing.”

“What?” Sam laughed as he also made his way down the sidewalk.

“Nothing, just apparently I don’t pass for quite as straight as I used to and that’s something my brain is trying to not make a big deal of…” Dean started then shook his head, “It’s nothing. You need a hand?”

“Yes, please,” Sam accepted gratefully, “Got some place quiet?”

“Visitor’s parking… The Boonies,” Dean replied as he sunk into Baby’s driver’s seat, “I’ll park in the back in 30 minutes.”

“What…” Cas came to with a severe headache that he couldn’t seem to heal, “Where…”

“It’s alright, Castiel,” Naomi smiled disarmingly, “I think I’ve fixed the problem…”

“Who are you?” he asked as his brows dipped.

“I’m Naomi,” she replied simply, “I’m here to help.”

“My head,” he went to reach up, but his hands were tied down.

“Oh, you’re fine,” she reassured him, “We’re almost done.”

“Done with… what?” he asked groggily.

“Nothing to worry over, just go back to sleep,” she replied as a sharp, metallic instrument entered his visual.

“Angels don’t sleep…” he heard his voice say as he felt his consciousness slip.

Sam approached the empty Impala, pretending to drop the keys as he neared.

Meanwhile, Dean had approached the on-looker from behind his spot in the bushes.

“Hey, pal,” he called out, but his swagger fell as the giant man rose to his feet.

Next thing he knew, he was being flung into a car as the behemoth came stalking out after him.

Sam scrambled to get the trunk open, swinging a blade as soon as his fingers touched it but it did little more than annoy the imposing figure.

“Stop,” a voice called out as Sam was lifted into the air by his neck and he was dropped almost as suddenly as he was lifted.

“My spleen,” Dean groaned from the ground where he landed.

“What… the hell…” Sam spoke between deep, needy breaths, “Is that?”

“A golem,” the normal-sized man informed them as he approached, “He’s my golem.”

“Right,” Sam stared, still in shock.

Thankfully, as luck would have it, the pair were on their side.

Aaron, Dean managed to catch between groans and pained intakes of breath, was the Rabbi’s grandson.

“When you guys started looking into the case, we started looking into you,” he informed the brothers as they entered the house the odd pair had taken them to.

“So, wait… What you’re saying is that you and me- we, uh, didn’t have a moment?” he asked irritably.

“No, man,” he laughed, “I was tailing you.”

“Told you I was being followed,” he huffed, “He was my gay thing… Had a crisis over nothing…”

“You were having a crisis?” Sam turned to him with interest, “Really?”

“Like… really small one… We’ll talk about it later, okay?” he defended, motioning to the others in the room.

“No, we won’t,” Sam scoffed.

“Yeah, no, probably not,” Dean agreed as his eyes returned to Aaron, “That was good- You really had me there. Very smooth.”

“Yeah, well, smooth’s about all I got,” he shrugged, “What?” He asked the golem as he made a disapproving noise, “Yeah, that’s right. Keep walking, ya chia pet.”

A growl sounded from the other room as the beast did what he said.

After a few questions about the Judah Initiative, the Golem showed reservations about telling the boys anything, but mentioning the Men of Letters seemed to gain them some respect.

Dean took a beer from Aaron with a grateful nod and downed a good bit of it nervously.

“So, your grandfather was into all this supernatural stuff too?” Aaron asked as they all took a seat around the living room of the small house.

“Yeah, grandparents, mom, dad, truckload of cousins…” Dean sunk into a chair across from him, “Whole family’s lousy for it… but…” the giant man circled around them ominously, “We never had a golem…”

“Right, yeah, we uh- grew up in it,” Sam added, “But you… didn’t?”

Dean glanced at his phone for the fourth time since they arrived causing Aaron’s head to tilt.

“Okay, either you have OCD or I’m keeping you from something…” Aaron commented.

“No, sorry… It’s nothing… OCD…” he lied poorly.

“Is that what we’re calling it?” Sam raised a brow, but shut up at Dean’s quick glare.

“All of this was just a story my grandfather told me when i was a kid,” Aaron went on, unconvinced but letting it go, “I thought it was make believe… My parents did too. You know, little fantasies that helped him cope with the horrors he’d seen…”

He took a drink from the beer in his hand, an aged look on his face as he continued.

“But every once in a while, crazy old Grandpa Bass would come home from one of his trips, hand me a $20 savings bond, and say ‘One day you’ll inherit the mantle’,” he sighed, “Sure enough, a few days after he died, this big box shows up at my apartment… He always said I’d know what to do- which was crap because, when I opened that box, this big, naked, potato-faced lunatic wakes up and goes crazy!”

“I didn’t… go crazy,” the golem spoke out in defense from his post at one of the windows.

“You trashed my entire entertainment center!” Aaron bickered back, then turning to Dean, he added, “And my water bed.”

“This boy knows nothing,” the golem grumbled, “Observes none of the mitzvas, labors on sabbath, dines on swine-”

“Everybody loves bacon!” Aaron practically exploded, earning a nod of solidarity from the elder of the brothers.

“He’s no Rabbi,” the golem spat, “Yifalchunbee!”

“Don’t start with that stuff again…” Aaron sighed as his head fell into his hands frustratedly.

“Yifalchunbee!” He repeated louder.

“Enough! Please!” Aaron whipped around, “Quiet time!”

“What does that mean?” Sam asked after a moment, curiosity getting the better of him.

“It’s Hebrew for something like ‘Take charge’,” he shook his head, “I have no idea what he means- look, my parents tried to shield me from all of this… But it was Thule society this and Thule society that…”

“Thule… they were nazis…” Sam recalled from his reading in the bunker.

“Nazi necromancers,” Dean corrected.

“Nec-necro-who?” Aaron looked lost.

“Witches or sorcerers who use dark magic usually involving dead people,” Sam explained offhandedly.

“Right,” Aaron’s mouth snapped shut, “All I know about the Thule is that they were this twisted, secret fraternity hell-bent on world domination that sponsored the early days of the nazi party… Grandpa said the Judah Initiative was started to fight them.”

“And the Thule murdered your grandfather, boy,” the Golem cut in once again as he passed through the room, “Find him so I can do my work!”

A loud crash behind him had the brothers practically jumping out of their skin as the beast of a man-like creature destroyed a piece of furniture with one swing.

“Hey! We’re renting here!” Aaron yelled, receiving a grunt from the behemoth as he left the room, “Renting!”

He pinched the bridge of his nose before letting the hand fall to his lap.

“Look, I think my golem is right…” he added, “My grandfather- he left me this message on my machine the day he died, and he said that he had found something that the Thule were willing to kill him for… said he was hiding it here in plain sight,” his hand reached for his pocket, “He left me this weird- I don’t know- equation..? It’s not a phone number or an address or coordinates…” he pulled out a small sheet of paper, “Q-L-6-7-3-W-3-8…”

He handed the paper to Dean and his brow furrowed in thought, “Is it a combination?”

“It’s a call number,” Sam realized quickly, “Library of congress- their filing system they use in college libraries… uh, Q-L-6-7-3… that’s sciences-“ it hit him then and he looked to Dean, “Birds I’m guessing. Let’s go.”

And he was off without waiting to see if the others joined him.

————————

@spuffy-destiel @destieliscanon5nov @hotsocke

[jbk405]

“Terra Firma, Part 2″ had a lot that worked.

Seeing the Terran Emperor try to fit back into her old role but being fundamentally unable to play the same part was very necessary for the character.  If you all remember my mind exploding in season two over how they handled the character, it was that they just tried to pretend her old Genocidal Tyrant ways had never happened, joking and bantering with her as if her actions simply weren’t that bad.  Here we see that she has changed, her basic core altered by the people she has spent time with and what she has experienced, so the person working with the crew now isn’t still Space Hitler.  I don’t think it quite "redeems” from her original character (Look, sorry to beat a dead horse, but gleeful cannibalism isn’t something you get to sweep under the rug), but they’re at least trying.  They’re making the effort, and they’re trying to work the story, and given the turnover behind the scenes in the showrunner and writer’s rooms I’m willing to say they did the best they could with what they inherited from the season one team.  Combined with Michelle Yeoh’s performance (Dear god, this woman is deific.  How does she do it?) let’s call it a win.

If she does return as a lead character as promised, I’m halfway interested in seeing the Section 31 series after all (but only halfway interested, because totally independent from this character I hate Section 31 and the thought of it getting its own TV series is anathema to my entire vision of Star Trek).

I had halfway called that Carl was the Guardian of Forever, but that was more a knee-jerk rejection to people saying “He’s obviously a Q!”  I was still surprised when he revealed the classic portal.

The shipboard antics aboard Prime!Discovery was more of a mixed bag.  The four characters trying to decode the distress signal was very out of place, and honestly it just looks awkwardly forced into the episode.  I’m guessing they needed to show these actors on-screen somewhere since they didn’t appear in the Mirror Universe at all, so they threw this scene in there.  It’s not a bad scene, it’s just out of nowhere.  It probably would have made more sense to use it as the opening to the next episode, where they will actually be investigating the signal and we will spend more time with all the characters.

I like seeing Book integrate more with the crew, I really like his introduction to the series and I love the relationship they’re developing between him and Burnham.  Seeing him interact more with everybody else helps flesh out his role, expanding him out from “love interest”.  The “conflict” between him and the Admiral, though, was again very forced.  They’re arguing over using a piece of Emerald Chain technology: Not Emerald Chain methods (Which are probably evil), or Emerald Chai resources (Which would invite retaliation), or Emerald Chain access (Which can be used both ways), but just a piece of technology that the Chain also uses.  This is like objecting to using somebody else’s phone because it’s Made in China and maybe that means China is spying on your call.  I would accept that from a paranoid racist or conspiracy theorist, but not from the Tough But Fair Authority Figure.

Still, these bits are only fumbles, not complete losses. This story is still working, and season three as a whole is still certainly in the plus column.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

The Crucible (part three)

[UK Tour; Carrie AU]

Part 1 Part 2

Word count: 10,566

TW: Bullying, vomit

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

-Mind Over Matter-

  “So, you and Anne Boleyn…”

Katherine looked up at Mulaney, her right eye twitching. A barrage of emotions blistered through her whenever she thought about her cousin- anger, sadness, mourning, betrayal, happiness, guilt, pain, longing. It was a flurry of madness that she hated having to deal with. And hearing that name come out of this man’s mouth didn’t make her feel any better. It didn’t sound right when the detective said it, like Anne had just been some character in a movie that was killed off too soon for a cheap sad moment. She was a real person, whether Katherine wanted to remember that or not.

  “Friends until the end?” 

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Katherine said.

  “And why is that?” Mulaney asked.

  “We’re cousins,” Katherine answered. “She was born a little bit before me, and we grew up together, so I guess everybody just assumed we were going to be close forever.” She shrugged. “But we had our differences.”

  “Differences about Joan Seymour?” 

  “Differences about a lot of things,” Katherine clarified. “I played with Barbie. She played with horses. She’s a back to front. I’m a front to back.”

Mulaney blinked at her and then turned his head to look at Madeline, who was trying very hard not to smile in amusement. Katherine set her shoulders back, smirking. It seemed Mulaney didn’t know how to reply to her statement because he moved on, taking a piece of paper out of a yellow folder on the table.

  “Do you know a girl named Donna Kellogg?” He asked.

  “Yeah, I know Kellogg,” Katherine replied smoothly. “Every guy in school had a bowl of her cereal.”

Mulaney stared fixedly down at Katherine. At his side, Madeline snorted a laugh, but was quick to cover her mouth and straighten herself back up professionally. Katherine let out a huge sigh, wiping the grin from her face.

  “She moved to Germany in Year 12.” She said. “What about her?”

  “She got an email from your cousin about four days before the prom,” Mulaney said.

  “What’d it say?” Katherine asked with mock enthusiasm.

Mulaney peered down at the paper in his hands and began to read, “���Dear Dirty Donna--”

Katherine raised her eyebrows and exhaled a rueful breath, rolling her eyes skyward. That DEFINITELY was her cousin's writing.

  “--so I’m out of the prom, but they’re not going to get away with this. I don’t know exactly what we’re going to do, but I guarantee you everyone is going to get a big’-- Expletive--‘surprise.’” Mulaney put the paper down and looked back at Katherine’s pale face. “Now, what do you suppose she meant by that?”

And, for once, Katherine made no snarky reply, only able to shrug silently, as her words were too caught in her throat to answer.

------

Mr. Stephens’s creative writing class was one of those rare cases where everyone wanted to be in it, regardless of whether they could write or not. And for a good reason, too. He was a laid back, supportive, jolly man who always made his lessons fun and engaging. His room was like no other, either, airy and full of light. He rarely ever turned on the overhead lights, opting to instead let the sun come in from blue-and gold-tinted windows he had paid for to be put in himself. 

A jungle of indoor plants snarled the interior, all fit with small golden plaques with names on them (one of the best assignments they had yet was to choose a plant and write a story about it; Katherine, personally, had chosen Hornet, the sassy lesbian honeysuckle). Shined mahogany bookshelves were arranged all around the room with their books sorted precisely in alphabetical order. Putting any borrowed books back into the right place was a rule even the most mischievous of students obeyed. Racks and drawers full of papers and pencils and pens of every color were set up for everyone’s writing pleasure, and there were several places to sit and write when it was time to work. Sometimes the black and pink bungee chair, sometimes the big blue bean bag or the strange egg-shaped cubbyhole you could climb into and nestle in the blankets and pillows that filled it.

The tables were assorted in a very different way, too. There were six in total: Fantasy, Horror, Romance, Sci-Fi, Adventure, and Historical. At the beginning of the year, students got to pick their seats at whatever genre table they were most interested in, letting people meet others with the same interests. Or, if you were like Katherine, you just bustled into the same table with all your friends.

Mr. Stephens was her first class of the day and was always what she needed to get energized for the rest of school. The sun was out again, bleeding its early Monday morning light through the tinted windows and casting beams of gold and blue across the room. All her friends, including her beautiful Anna, were already inside when she got there, along with a few others. Bessie was sharpening several pencils at the expensive electric pencil sharpener by the door, while Maria looked through the Q-T selection of books, and Anne, Maggie, and Anna were sitting at the table they all had claimed at the beginning of the year: Fantasy (although Katherine had debated on going to the Romance table, but several of her friends didn’t like the romance genre, and Anne had proclaimed that the “gang had to stick together,” so she gave up that option).

  “Kitty!!” Anne cried gleefully, throwing her arms in the air.

Katherine smiled as she walked over, sitting beside Anna. The two shared a quick kiss.

  “Morning, gang,” Katherine said. “What’s the tea?”

  “Prom,” Maggie stated. “You guys picked out your dresses yet?”

  “A dress? Me?” Anna snorted. “If I ever wore a dress and heels, I'd look like a freaking giraffe or something.”

  “Anna, shut up!” Bessie suddenly barked, whipping her head around from the pencil sharpener. “You would look great!”

They all stared at her in silence, watching as her face slowly faded to a light red color, a hugely bright contrast with her bleached white hair. She cleared her throat awkwardly.

  “What? Girls eat that shit up!” She said, and then frantically began sharpening her pencils again. The table laughed and nodded knowingly.

  “But no,” Anna said. “I’m not wearing a dress. Your girl is going with a suit.”

  “Ooooo!” The chorus of intrigued coos whisked around the table.

  “How fancy!” Anne said.

  “You are a lucky lady!” Maggie said to Katherine.

Katherine grinned brightly and leaned her head against her girlfriend’s shoulder. She sighed dreamily. “I know…”

  “I have mine picked out,” Maria said, walking over and sitting down with The Great Gatsby in her hands. “It’s orange.”

  “Oooo, nice pick!” Katherine commented. “Orange looks good on you!”

  “Why thank you!”

  “Okay, okay, question,” Maggie butt in as Bessie sat back down. “Do any of you know about waxing or shaving, you know--” She leaned in, “--down there? Like, for sex preparation?”

  “How naughty,” Anne teased, making Maggie stick her tongue out at her.

  “Well,” Katherine said expertly, “there are a few things you can do.” At her side, Anna shook her head and laughed. “There’s the rainforest. That’s where you don’t do anything at all. Hitler’s mustache. The landing strip. The Brazil.”

  “The Brazil?” Maggie laughed. “What does Brazil have to do with getting--your area waxed? Is it, like, the shape of the country?”

  “It’s because things like thongs and Brazil are so small you have to wax EVERYTHING to wear one.” Maria said.

  “Ohhh,” Maggie nodded. “Where is Brazil, anyway?”

Laughter and snickers and whispers suddenly bubbled loudly from the hallway, seeping in through the open door. A moment later, Joan entered wearing an oversized, rather ugly shade of pale yellow sweater and a long maroon skirt with small white flowers. She dragged her feet as she walked, not looking up, clutching her binders and folders close to her chest. 

Seeing her sent a sharp pang of guilt lancing through Katherine.

She had desperately tried to forget about Joan Seymour over the weekend, partially succeeding in that task, even when her father confronted her about it. But seeing the pathetic girl again sent all her shame come barreling back into her at full force. She could now see that she and her friends had ruined this class, once a place of serenity and peace, for Joan. Joan seemed...scared to even be attending.

  “Well, if it isn’t Prayin’ Joan!” Anne exclaimed. She jumped up and blocked Joan’s path, causing the younger and much scrawnier girl to reel back in fright. “I wonder who’s taking her to prom? Her mother?”

Katherine tried to laugh along with Maggie, Maria, and Bessie, but the sound raked her throat fiercely like talons of fire. She glanced to the side and saw that Anna had her jaw set firmly and a grim look in her eyes.

  “Leave her alone, Anne.” Anna said.

Joan tried to dodge around Anne to get to her table, but Anne stepped right back in front of her and she reared away again like she thought she would be burned if they were to make contact.

  “Come on, church girl!” Anne spread her arms in a grand gesture, smirking widely. Everyone in the class, even people out in the hallway, were watching, now. “Dance with me! I will make you see God!”

And then, out of the blue, Anne yelped out in fright as she suddenly crumpled to the floor. Katherine blinked in shock, watching the way her cousin had shifted her weight on her feet and slipped on her Heelys’s wheels--but that didn’t seem right. Anne hadn’t been leaning on her heels at all. It looked more like something had swept under her legs and made her fall--but what? There had been nothing there, nothing to trip her. She shuddered, and her skin began to crawl with goosebumps.

  “How’s your pussy, princess?” A boy at the Sci-Fi table asked over the laughter that had filled the room.

Anne shot up to her feet instantly, her face inflamed with rage. She glared at the boy, and her stared was filled with enough hate to make him snap his mouth shut immediately.

  “What are you laughing at?” She snarled. Her head whipped around to Joan. “The goddamn BITCH TRIPPED ME!!”

Is that what happened? Did Joan trip or push Anne? Had she finally snapped like that kid from Anna’s story on Friday night? But Joan hadn’t moved her arms or legs at all when Anne fell…

Katherine jerked out of her speculations when she saw that Anne was advancing on Joan with a murderous look in her eyes. Joan flinched away, as if she was expecting to be struck, and then there was suddenly the clattering of a chair to Katherine’s left; Anna was standing in between Anne and Joan.

  “What are you doing?” Anne demanded.

  “You’re being stupid, Anne.” Anna said calmly. “If you hit her, you’re definitely going to be thrown out of prom. Just sit down.”

Anne growled, but prom seemed to be more important to her than revenge, so she cast one like dark glare at Joan, and then let her anger snuff itself out for now. She returned to her chair like nothing happened. Anna turned to Joan, who was staring up at her with wide eyes as if she were Jesus Christ himself.

  “Are you alright?” Anna asked. She reached out to set a hand on Joan’s shoulder, but respectfully pulled it back when Joan flinched away. “Don’t listen to that gremlin. She’s just messing around.” And then she flashed Joan a dazzling smile that made Joan get an expression on her face that said she’s never been smiled at like that before.

  “Th-th-thank you…” Joan choked out, and then skittered past her to the Horror table, which she shared all alone (��Of course that crazy bitch would choose horror” was something Maggie had muttered the first day of class when Joan had chosen that genre).

Anna righted her chair and sat back down, looking like a true savior. 

  “Well, aren’t you just a knight in shining armor.” Anne said bitterly, and Anna grinned at her.

  “What can I say?” She said with a shrug. “I can never pass up the chance to be the hero to a poor damsel in distress.”

The bell rang a moment later and everyone who wasn’t already sitting down bustled over to their specific table. First period was the smallest class, with Katherine and her five friends obviously at Fantasy, three kids at Sci-Fi, two girls at Romance, three more at Adventure, no one at Historical, and then Joan all alone at Horror. Writing utensils and notebooks filled to the brim with stories and projects are brought out as Mr. Stephens entered from the hall.

  “Good morning, children!” He chimed happily. He was a slightly plump man with olive skin and dark brown hair he always had up in a man bun. The aquamarine flannel shirt he was wearing today made his green eyes pop brightly. “Let’s get this show on the road!”

After the initial opening for class, the lesson quickly curved into the topic of an assignment the students had been given last Friday, probably the only okay thing that happened on that day (aside from Katherine’s time with Anna in her car, of course).

  “As you know,” Mr. Stephens said, “last Friday I gave you all the task to write your own poem after selecting a word from my hat.” He held up the bedazzled top hat for reference. “Now we are going to read them! So…” He scanned the class, bypassing the people who usually always read first, like Bessie and Katherine and the boy with glasses in Adventure, for now. A smile broke out on his face. “Joan Seymour!”

Joan’s head whipped up so fast Katherine was surprised her neck didn’t break. She had been listlessly twirling a strand of her strangely natural white-blonde hair and writing in her small notebook with a black pen, which she accidentally sent flying across the room behind her when she was called on.

  “Present,” She sputtered. 

  “It’s not roll call, Joan,” Mr. Stephens said gently. 

  “Idiot,” Maggie muttered, rolling her eyes, and Mr. Stephens shot a glare at her and some of the other giggling students. He was one of few teachers who actually made an effort to stop the constant bullying Joan got in class. 

  “Did you write a poem?” Mr. Stephens asked. His voice was so patient and kind, his gaze merciful and lacking any irritation or scorn, despite the fact that Joan was floundering like a useless cow in a cattle chute. He never yelled at Joan or even got the slightest bit annoyed with her, even when she was being completely incompetent and probably deserved a good rapping on the knuckles with a ruler to get her head back on straight.

  “Oh-- Y-yes, sir.” Joan nodded.

  “Why don’t you come up and read it to us?” 

That seemed to be a death sentence for Joan, who became very rigid and pale. She opened and closed her mouth like a weird-eyed fish out of water, then finally choked out, “D-do I have to?”

Mr. Stephens tilted his head at her, sympathy in his gaze. “No,” He said. “But I would love to hear what you wrote.”

Joan perked up slightly, a new light flickering ever so slightly in her eyes. “You would?” She squeaked.

  “Yes, Joan,” Mr. Stephens smiled, and Katherine saw that he was telling the truth. He was genuinely interested in what Joan had written.

Joan thought for a second, then grabbed her notebook, stood up, and said, “Okay.”

Shyly, with her head angled to the floor, Joan shuffled up to the short stage-like platform at the front of the class used for reading out loud. Mr. Stephens motioned for her to sit in the big black leather computer chair he would let students use when presenting, but she shook her head, clearly too tense and nervous to sit down. Mr. Stephens respected her choice and didn’t push her.

  “What was the word you selected, Joan?” Mr. Stephens asked.

  “Umm-- Stone.” Joan answered. Now that she was up and centered, Katherine noticed violet and indigo bruises along her jawline and a split in her lip that definitely hadn’t been there on Friday.

  “And what is the name of your poem?”

Joan fumbled. “E-Evening Prayers.”

  “Oh my god.” Anne said loudly. Mr. Stephens shot her a sharp look, and she shut her mouth instantly.

  “Go ahead, Joan. Whenever you’re ready.” Mr. Stephens said kindly.

It took a moment and a few deep breaths for Joan to find her voice, but she eventually gathered all her courage and began to read:

  “Jesus watches from the wall,

But his face is cold as stone.

If he loves me,

As she tells me,

Why do I feel so all alone?”

A few giggles and snickers and mocking whispers whisked through the class, but Mr. Stephens shut them down quickly. Joan looked at him fearfully, and he gave her an encouraging nod to go on.

  “Baby savior, meek and mild,

What do you do with my prayers?

If you hear me,

Why do I feel that no one cares?”

Joan lost some of the tension in her shoulders, easing them back down into a more relaxed position. A strange flicker lit up in her eyes, like the first silvery wisps of a fresh flame. 

  “Mama sees inside my soul,

But her face is cold as stone.

If she loves me

Why do I feel so all alone?”

Was that...hate in Joan’s voice? Katherine tilted her head at the girl, suddenly filled with so many questions. Had she always been this interesting?

  “There's a movement in my head

Satan? Angels? What can it be?

It's growing!

It's stirring!

It's churning, shifting!

Bending!”

Joan released a shaky breath and raised her glowing grey-blue eyes. 

Silence. 

Mr. Stephens would have said anything, but he still seemed to be too enamored to speak, in awe at his timid student’s raw poem.

Then, Maggie raised one of her hands and spoke without waiting to be called on, “Shouldn’t people like that be home schooled?”

Mr. Stephens blinked at her, his eyebrows furrowing together. “People like what, Maggie?” He asked cautiously, falling right into Maggie’s trap.

  “Creepy religious people,” Maggie said blithely.

Joan flinched back as if she had been struck and hunched her shoulders around her neck. Her fingers grip tightly around the edges of her notebook, staring at her poem with a sudden expression of shame and hatred and disgust.

  “Yeah, aren’t we, like, not supposed to talk about religion in school unless it’s in history class?” Bessie piped up.

Mr. Stephens glared at all of them. “Does anyone have anything to say about the poem?” He said, steering the lesson back on track without giving Maggie or Bessie any attention.

  “It was disturbing,” Anne offered. “I think that’s the most little Joey has said in class all year!”

Laughter erupted in the classroom, far too much for Mr. Stephens to wrangle. Joan shrunk back, like she was hoping she could disappear right into the wall, and Katherine thought she could see tears shining in her eyes.

  “Got anything else to share with us, sweetheart?” Anne asked in a sickly sweet voice. “Or are you done scaring us?”

  “Asshole…”

The laughter stopped abruptly. Joan’s head jerked up sharply. All eyes turned to look at Anna, who was leaning back in her chair and pressing her tongue against the inside of her lip.

  “Anna?” Mr. Stephens said. “Did you say something?”

  “Yes,” Anne said, her words sliding slowly from her mouth like slithering snakes. “What did you say?”

  “I said awesome.” Anna said, sitting up. “I just thought that Joan’s poem was awesome.” She looked at Anne. “Didn’t you, Annie?”

Anne glowers at her, growling lowly. Joan, on the other hand, had the exact opposite reaction. Her eyes were wide and lit up, like that had been the nicest thing anyone has ever said to her, and a bright pink blush dusted her cheeks.

  “Yes!” Mr. Stephens nodded his head enthusiastically. “Awesome! That is a great way to describe Joan’s wonderful poem.” He smiled at Anna, then at Joan. “Thank you for reading, Joan. You did very good.”

Joan dipped her head in thanks and hurried back to her table. When she sat back down, she immediately glanced at Anna, a wistful look of adoration in her eyes. Katherine noticed it, and things began to click together in her brain.

  “Anna,” Mr. Stephens said, “since you spoke up, would you like to go next?”

Anna shrugged coolly. “Sure.” She stood up, grabbing her red spiral journal, and walked to the platform at the front of the class. She, like Joan, decided not to sit in the computer chair, opting to stand up tall before her peers.

  “GO ANNA!!” Her friends cheered from the Fantasy table and she rolled her eyes in a good natured way.

  “The word I got was ‘eagle,’” She said, then looked down at the page she was opened up to in her journal. “Dreamer In Disguise. By Anna von Cleves.” She cleared her throat, and then began reading smoothly:

  “An eagle's just another bird

Until he can spread his wings.”

Maggie suddenly leapt onto her chair, flapping her arms and letting out a bird-like screech. The class all giggled, except Joan, who looked startled, and Anna, who looked used to these kinds of antics.

  “Guys!” Mr. Stephens barked. “Quiet!”

The class settled. Mr. Stephens looked at Maggie.

  “Maggie--that was a pretty good bird, but hush up.” He said.

Maggie bowed and then plopped back into her seat. Mr. Stephens turned to Anna, nodding at her to go on.

  “A river is just a sheet of ice

'til winter turns to spring.

And though the clouds may block the sun

Don't mean that it's left the sky.

Just when you think you've seen it all

There's more that meets the eye.

Like things I dream and things I feel

There's more to me than I reveal.

And 'cause I shine in quiet ways

I'm someone you don't recognize.

I'm a diamond in the rough

A dreamer in disguise.

An eagle's just another bird

Until he can spread his wings.”

Applause filled the classroom. Anna smirked proudly, bowing her head.

  “Very good, Anna!” Mr. Stephens said. “Class,” He turned to the others. “Any comments?”

  “Beautiful.”

The marveled comment came before anyone else could say anything, spoken before Mr. Stephens had barely even finished his sentence. Joan had a thoughtful look in her shimmering eyes. A small smile was tugged at the corners of her pale lips.

  “Beautiful, yes!” Mr. Stephens said. “Excellent, Joan!”

  “Yeah, nice one, period girl.” Anne tittered.

Like that, the light in Joan’s eyes is gone. She looked away, suddenly ashamed. Anna seemed to notice this on the platform and glared viciously at Anne.

  “Shut up, Anne.” She snarled lowly.

  “Go on, Joan,” Mr. Stephens said to his shy student. “Tell us how the poem spoke to you.”

Joan looked back up, fidgeting, and then stuttered out, “I-I just think it said that just because something or someone seems one way, doesn’t mean they have to be that way.”

Mr. Stephens beamed. Anne gave Katherine a “what is wrong with this girl?” sort of look, while Anna looked vaguely rapt. She smiled at Joan, and Joan blushed madly.

  “Very good observation, Joan!” Mr. Stephens said.

  “Yeah,” Anna agreed. “I think you have the poem more thought out that I do, and I’m the one who wrote it!”

Joan ducked her head with a shy smile. “Thanks,” She whispered, and all the pieces fell into place in Katherine’s head.

Did Joan like Anna?

Katherine spent the rest of first period pondering this- Joan was hopelessly shy, but it could very well be possible. The way she looked at Anna… There was some form of longing in her eyes. Like she wanted Anna to like her--not even in a romantic way, just to--like her. As a person.

The bell startled Katherine out of her thoughts and she shook her head. Anna had to run off quickly to get to her next class that was all the way on the other side of the school, and Bessie and Maggie left in a hurry, too. Katherine was about to head out with Maria to the next class they shared together when she noticed Joan still gathering her things.

  “I’ll meet you there, okay?” Katherine said to Maria.

Maria shrugged and nodded. “Okay!”

Katherine walked over to Joan, catching the attention of her cousin, who was still in the class and now watching them with interest.

  “Hey, Joan,” Katherine said.

Joan jumped and looked at Katherine, then over her shoulder, as if thinking she were talking to someone else. She blinked up at the older girl with big grey-blue eyes, and Katherine could see so much painful anxiety in them.

  “Earlier--that was nice.” Katherine said. “That was really nice, what you said about Anna’s poem. I thought it was beautiful, too.”

Joan continued to stare at her, frozen like a deer in headlights.

  “Look-- Umm-- About the other day… I don’t know, things just sort of got out of hand and--”

  “Haven’t you had enough?!”

This time, it was Katherine’s turn to flinch, and she stepped back as if she had just been shot. She looked down at Joan and was shocked to see pure rage blazing in her eyes, which flickered like lit embers. Her teeth were bared, mouth pulled back in a snarl, and her fists were clenched into shaking fists.

  “Do you think you can just go on tricking me forever?!” Joan cried.

  “Oh no, Joan, no--” 

Katherine reached for her, but the girl clawed her hand away. She ducked under her arm and ran out of the classroom, leaving Katherine behind in shock.

  “My, my,” Anne said, sauntering over with a chuckle. “Little mousey’s got a temper!”

  “I--” Katherine’s words hitched for a moment. “I’ve never seen her angry before…”

Anne rolled her eyes and slung an arm around Katherine’s shoulder. She began guiding her out of the classroom.

  “Oh, who cares?” She said. “Just forget about it!”

But Katherine couldn’t forget.

Especially when they stepped out of the class and saw Joan, among many others, staring at the graffiti scrawled across the nearby lockers.

“JOAN SEYMOUR EATS SHIT”

Joan turned to Katherine with tears in her eyes, bared her teeth like a wounded fox, and then took off running down the hallway crying.

Guilt roared through Katherine and, this time, she knew it would be staying for good.

------

All the girls in the fourth period gym class got dressed in silence. 

The minute they had walked through the locker room door, conversations died away, giggling dissolved, and horseplay seized. There were no catcalls, no playful wrestling, no pinching or nudging or tickling. They just changed out into their gym clothes without speaking a word, already knowing what was coming.

Some teachers forgot.

Miss Aragon was not one of them.

It was no surprise when the locker room door slammed open with force after the bell rang and Miss Aragon came striding in. Her silver whistle bounced against her chest with every step she took, and a large, bulky black duffel bag was slung over one shoulder. She looked more like a wasp than usual, and not just because her outfit was a bright shade of lemon yellow with bands of black lacing over the fabric. She simply looked like she wanted to prick each and every girl in the locker room with something sharp and pointy until she had them squealing for mercy, just like they had Joan Seymour squealing in the stall just a few yards away. Resentment and disgust twisted her features as she scanned the class with brown eyes so dark they looked black.

None of her students dared to look at her.

  “Well, aren’t you all just the bunch to send off to graduation,” Miss Aragon said after five minutes of just watching the teenagers fumble with their gym uniforms. She had seen Bessie try to stick her head through an arm hole three times and Katherine apparently forgot how bra clasps worked, and she decided that it was more pathetic than anything they’ve ever said Joan had done. “When is it? A month?”

Nobody answered. Miss Aragon sneered. 

  “And then there’s the prom!” Miss Aragon began again. “Katherine, you’ll be going with Anna von Cleves. Maria, William Willoughby.” She turned to Anne, one eyebrow raised. “What about you, Anne? I imagine you can take your pick. Who’s the lucky guy or girl?”

  “Catherine Parr,” Anne said. “You don’t know her, she doesn’t go to this scho--”

  “Who?”

Anne ground her teeth when she was interrupted.

  “I’m sorry, Anne, I can’t hear you.” 

  “Catherine Parr.”

  “Well, isn’t she the lucky one?” Said Miss Aragon. “Are you going to get her a corsage? Or are you just going to tie a bloody tampon around her wrist?”

Anne’s face went red and she growled like a wild animal. Miss Aragon was anything but intimidated, easily towering over Anne and beating her in terms of fierceness and muscle. 

  “Hey, I have an idea!” Miss Aragon said. “Why don’t we skip the sport we were going to be doing today and make boutonnieres and corsages for your prom dates instead!”

The girls exchanged confused looks, finding this awfully suspicious.

  “Yeah? Sounds fun, right?” Miss Aragon said. “We can make them out of these!”

As fast as lightning, she ripped open the duffel bag and began throwing its contents all over her class. 

Tampons.

Their teacher was throwing tampons at them.

The sanitary items flew like a raging blizzard of white plastic and cotton. Bessie got hit in the eye by one and reeled back into Katherine, who nearly toppled over in shock. Another got caught in Maria’s curly hair and she clawed to get it out. Maggie let out a piercing alarmed screech. Miss Aragon smirked at their hysteria, then threw the bag down at her feet, fuming both in rage and pride.

  “I’m leaving.” Anne said, storming past the coach.

Something flashed in Miss Aragon’s eyes. 

Fury. Boiling hot fury.

Miss Aragon hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Joan Seymour at all over the weekend. Every time she closed her eyes she would see that poor child crying out to her for help. Her dreams were tainted by visions of Joan bleeding to death or killing herself because of all the harsh bullying she faced. She kept hearing her scream “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” over and over and over again. She couldn’t keep her wrath tamed any longer, and unleashed the full firestorm on her class.

Miss Aragon reached out, moving as quick as a cracking bullwhip, grabbed Anne by the arm, and slammed her into one of the rows of lockers. The sound of the student’s back smashing against the metal rattled loudly throughout the room, only beat by Anne’s cry of shock. Her eyes went wide in disbelief.

  “You can’t hit us!” She yelled.

  “I barely touched you.” Miss Aragon said, as if she were talking to a whining younger sibling she had just punched in the face. She pinned Anne against the locker in a position that looked to be very uncomfortable on Anne’s shoulder.

  “You’ll get canned for this.” Anne growled, tears of pain springing to her eyes. “See if you don’t, you bitch!”

  “I don’t really care, Boleyn.” Miss Aragon said. “If you--or any of you--think I’m wearing my teacher hat right now, you are sadly mistaken.”

She backed up so she could glare at all the other girls, but Anne didn’t dare move from her spot against the locker. Her eyes darted to Katherine in a sort of plight for help, Katherine looked away uneasily. Her gaze landed on the shower area, where this all began, and she jerked it away to look at something else. Anything else.

  “I hope you all know what you did on Friday was a really shitty thing.” Miss Aragon said. To her left, Maggie snickered and she glared at her so fiercely it was a wonder Maggie didn’t drop dead. “Do any of you ever stop to think that Joan Seymour has feelings?”

She looked around. Her rage only continued to build when she got no answer.

  “Do any of you ever stop to think?” She narrowed her brown-black eyes dangerously. “Katherine? Maria? Bessie? Maggie?”

Another pause. Miss Aragon seemed to be swelling up like a King Cobra.

  “Oh,” She said as if she had just read their minds. “You think she’s ugly, don’t you?”

Maggie snorted and made a “well obviously” face. Miss Aragon rounded on her, eyes flashing.

  “Well, you’re ugly.”

The stupid, shit-eating grin Maggie had been wearing was wiped clean from her face instantly.

  “I saw just how ugly all of you were on Friday.” Miss Aragon said.

Anne suddenly reared up, shaking her head. 

  “You can’t talk to us like that!” She snapped. “My dad’s a lawyer! He’ll sue your ass!”

  “SHUT UP!” Aragon roared. She got in Anne’s face, smoke practically billowing from her ears and nostrils. “Open your mouth one more time, and I’ll plug you up.” She jabbed a finger into Anne’s nose, cracking her head back against the locker. “Want to find out if I’m telling the truth? There’s plenty of tampons here to see.”

Anne said nothing, but that didn’t stop her from glaring mutely at her coach. Miss Aragon backed away from her, smirking briefly. The rest of her girls were exchanging frantic, nervous looks, wondering if they were about to be murdered or beaten to death or something horrible like that. Personally, Katherine thought they all deserved such a fate.

  “Now,” Miss Aragon said, lowering her voice to a slightly calmer tone, “my punishment for this little charade you pulled was a three day suspension and refusal of your prom tickets.”

An immediate uproar of unhappy gasps and murmurs eddied through the locker room. Katherine found herself sighing with them, but did agree that that would be a good way to get back at all of them.

  “That would hit you where it hurts, wouldn’t it? And you would deserve it, too.” Miss Aragon said. “Unfortunately, this administration is staffed entirely by men. I don’t think they have the slightest idea how utterly nasty what you did was.” A sneer tugged on the angered grooves in her face. “So you’ll get a week’s detention.”

Instant relief.

  “But it’s MY detention.” Miss Aragon went on. “Fifty minutes. In the field. Every day. And I’m going to run you ragged!” 

They all could already feel their legs burning from exertion and throat aching from dry heaving so intensely. 

  “I won’t come,” Anne said, shrugging.

  “That’s up to you, Anne.” Miss Aragon said. “That’s up to all of you. But I just want you to know that the punishment for skipping detention is a three day suspension and refusal of your prom tickets.”

There was that wave of unhappiness again, sweeping powerfully through the locker room, and it was music to Miss Aragon’s ears. She smirked wickedly.

  “Get the picture?”

Nobody said anything.

  “Good. Now change out. And think about what I said.”

With that, she turned and surged out of the locker room like a triumphant killer wasp. The tension of her presence quickly lifted, but only slightly. The girls were still mumbling and whispering, not daring to raise their voice in fear their coach may come back in and just take their prom tickets now.

Anne must not have gotten the memo.

  “She can’t get away with this!” She snarled.

  “Anne…” Katherine sighed.

Anne yanked her gym shoes out of her locker and hurled them across the room, as if she were hoping for Miss Aragon to materialize inside and get hit.

  “This isn’t over!” She screeched. “It’s not even in the same area code as over!!”

And she was right.

------

Meanwhile, skipping gym class like she was told, Joan was in the library.

For most of her life, books had been her only friends.

Books accepted you the way you were and shared all their secrets with you.

Books never told you that you were creepy or called you a monster or a freak or a pig or any other mean names. Books never said, “Joan Seymour eats shit.”

Joan had hid out in the bathroom after she saw the writing on the walls, rocking back and forth in one of the back stalls and crying to herself until her throat ached and she felt like she couldn’t breathe anymore.

She remembered the bathroom door opening and somebody walking in. She had tried to keep quiet as the girl was reapplying her makeup in the mirror, but her lungs began to burn and she let out a choked sob that seemed to echo throughout the room.

Silence.

  “Hello?” Called a voice Joan didn’t know or recognize. “Are you okay?”

  “I-I’m f-f-fine.” Joan choked out.

  “You don’t sound fine.” The girl observed. “Is this your stuff on the ground?”

Right. She had just thrown her belongings on the floor in her panic to get away from prying eyes to cry alone.

  “U-umm--” Joan sniffled.

Outside the stall, she heard the shuffling of feet and the rustling of papers. Her binders and folders were slid underneath the door a moment later.

  “There.” Said the stranger. “Just so nobody will take it if anyone else comes in.” She paused for a moment. “Are you alright?”

Joan tried to answer, to lie, even if God would strike her down for it, but all that came out of her mouth was a sob. She curled up tighter in the stall, burying her face in her knees. Fresh tears ran down her cheeks like streams of molten lava.

The girl outside made a sympathetic noise. “You poor thing.” She said. “Crying in the bathroom at school. I know that feeling.”

Joan’s crying halted for a moment. She sniffled and looked up slightly.

  “Y-you do?” She stammered.

The girl laughed. “Oh yeah.” She sat down on the other side of the stall, her back pressed against the door. “I got dumped in Geometry in Year 11.”

  “Oh no…”

  “Oh yes,” The girl laughed again. “I wanted to hide in the bathroom forever, but I eventually went back to class. Trust me, crying in here is completely normal. I’ve seen tons of girls do it.”

  “Did you talk to them, too?” Joan asked quietly.

The girl thought for a moment. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “...Then why are you talking to me?”

  “I had this feeling.” The girl said. “That you just--needed someone. More than those girls did. You know?”

She didn’t, but she still said, “Uh huh.”

The girl outside shifted slightly. Joan wished she could see her face.

  “So...what was it?”

  “Huh?”

  “What brought you in here to cry?” The girl specified. “If I may ask… You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, though.”

She was giving Joan an option, Joan realized dizzily. She wasn’t forcing her to answer.

Sniffling, Joan said, “I-it’s, umm--kinda silly…”

  “Nonsense,” Said the girl. “Was it a breakup?”

  “Umm-- N-no.” Joan said shyly. “I don’t date…”

  “Good for you.” The girl chuckled. “We love a strong, independent woman.”

Joan felt a flurry of butterflies flap wildly in her stomach and she bit her lip to keep from grinning like a giddy idiot. She was always flattered way too easily.

  “School problems?” The girl guessed again.

  “Kinda, yeah…”

  “I feel you, girlfriend,” The girl said. “They expect so much from us, you know? It’s like, do this research project in a week, but I’m only giving you one day to work on it in class so you’ll have to try not to procrastinate when you do the rest on your own and do this math assignment I barely taught you at all, oh and also, find the cure for cancer!”

Joan couldn’t help but giggle. She thought the girl outside the stall may be smiling.

  “It sucks, but you’ll get through it,” The girl said. “It’ll all be over soon.”

Joan nodded slowly. “Thank you.”

The girl got up. “No problem.” She said. “I gotta run. My teacher is probably going to tear me a new one for taking so long.” She laughed. “I hope you feel better soon!”

  “Thank you,” Joan whispered again. “Bye…”

And then, her savior was gone. Joan hadn’t even known her name. She wondered if the girl would have treated her any differently if she knew who she was…

Joan had managed to make it to third period after finally coming out of the bathroom, and then got to retreat to the one place in the school where she felt at peace.

The library.

Nobody was ever mean to her in the library. They were always too busy to pick on her, and that was one of the reasons why she liked it so much. People didn’t care about her in there, instead hunched over tables with research spread out over the surface, clicking furiously on computers, scribbling in notepads in the windowsill nooks, and reading, reading, reading.

A kind of peace settled over her as she stepped inside, breathing in the crisp smell of books. She felt like she belonged here, with all the oddities of literature, even if she didn’t belong anywhere else. In here there were answers and information and thousands of stories waiting for her to read...right behind Mama’s back. 

Mama didn’t like her reading a lot of things, especially young adult novels. But what Mama didn’t know was that she was already ankle-deep in a franchise about wild cats who were in clans and several other standalone books. When she was at school, the Bible was not Her Holy Book.

Shelves radiated out from every direction like a burst of sun, and more aisles with more books filled the overhead balcony ring. Yes, her school technically had a two-story library. A DOUBLE-DECKER library! You had to take a narrow wooden staircase to get up to the top ledge, which wrapped around the upper perimeter of the room and had a few private rooms to study or read in. The guard rail was laced in white fairy lights, causing the ceiling to glow beautifully.

Another thing Joan loved was the statue at the front, poised below the two entrance ramps and short staircase. It was of a long, serpent-like dragon made of white marble, coiled up on a mound of books with its snout dug in a thick, bulky novel. Its name was Haze, and it looked as though it might glance up at any moment, see Joan, and say, “Oh my gosh, have you read this one? It’s amazing!”

Joan gently brushed one of the claws as she passed by. There weren’t many kids in the library, rather in class, but there were a few Year 13’s in there for a free period. None of them even glanced up at Joan.

  “Mrs. Johansen?” Joan called meekly as she walked up to the librarian’s desk.

Mrs. Johansen was the blatant stereotype of a librarian- big, wide-rimmed glasses, older, warm amber eyes, curly brown hair. She looked up from the book she was reading to smile at Joan.

  “Yes, dear?” She said.

  “C-can you show me how to do a search?” Joan asked. She felt painfully awkward asking that, especially to an older woman, who apparently supposed to know nothing about technology, but Mrs. Johansen smiled kindly and nodded.

  “Of course,” She said. “Come on.”

It took a good five minutes, but Joan was eventually adept enough in computers to search things up. The first thing she did was look up ‘miracles’ and began to scroll through the search results, hoping to find some answers to the strange sensation she had been feeling in her veins ever since Friday.

mir·a·cle

/ˈmirək(ə)l/

noun

a surprising and welcome event that is not explicable by natural or scientific laws and is therefore considered to be the work of a divine agency.

Joan blinked, tilting her head at the definition as if she thought the words may start explaining their meaning to her even further if she stared hard enough.

Surprising? And welcome? She looked down at one of her hands, flexing her fingers. Mama didn’t seem to think her...issue...was either of those things. She clicked down to keep searching.

Miracles of the Renaissance

Jesus - Man of Miracles

Apparitions and Eucharistic Miracles 

Miracles on the internet!

Pray for a miracle

Herbal Miracles

Miracles and Modern Scientific Thoughts

Miracles: HIDDEN POWERS OF THE MIND

Joan paused. That last one seemed interesting. She clicked on it and was opened up to a page using big, fancy words she couldn’t really wrap her head around. But there was one in particular that caught her attention-- /telekinesis/. She had no idea what it meant, but something inside of her seemed to latch onto it and tug her interest towards the word until she searched it up in the search bar.

Psychokinesis (from Greek ψυχή "soul" and κίνησις "movement"), or telekinesis (from τηλε- "far off" and κίνηση "movement"), is an alleged psychic ability allowing a person to influence a physical system without physical interaction.

Joan’s eyes go wide with interest. Isn’t that what she did to that annoying neighborhood boy? And to Anne Boleyn? She moved them with her mind? 

She looked down at her hands again, but didn’t see anything special about them. They just looked like normal hands, just more bony and scarred than usual. Suddenly self conscious, she rubbed the old burn over her knuckles while clicking on a video about telekinesis.

And it was like watching a dream come true. Joan’s eyes widened even further as she watched as a man simply held out his hand and began to move the pages of a book without even touching them. Just like she did with Anne and the biker boy! He must have the same powers as her! Oh how she wished she could reach into the screen and pull this man out and ask him all the questions now running through her mind. Like, how are you doing that? And when did you know you could do it? And are there others like us? And will you teach me how to do that, too?

She was so enthralled with the video that she didn’t even realize someone was creeping up behind her…

  “Sorry! Sorry.” The brown haired boy with a camera around his neck said when she flinched around to look at him. “I just-- You can make it full screen, you know? Watch.” 

He reached over Joan and clicked the ‘f’ key and the video filled the entire computer screen. Joan’s eyes glimmered in awe.

  “Thank you,” She whispered.

  “No problem!” The boy said with a cheeky grin. He quickly hurried off to an empty table, leaving Joan alone.

He...wasn’t mean to her.

How strange...

------

Katherine quickly realized she had a lot less stamina than she thought she did. She has always been a perfect, well-behaved girl, always slipping out of punishment during the few times she wasn’t, so there wasn’t ever a need to have tough endurance for running because she never thought she would piss off a gym coach of all people.

But here she was, running Suicides in the field after school, fighting the urge to dry heave every few seconds.

The sun seemed to be unnaturally, blisteringly hot that evening, like it, too, was punishing her and her classmates for what they had done on Friday. Katherine doesn’t think she’s ever been so hot before. Her skin felt like it was baking, her hair was tassels of golden fire, and her back was a plateau of roaring flames. Gleaming yellow sunlight made her eyes prickly and sore, and if she squinted through the haze of exhaustion, she swore she thought she could see a big black buzzard circling overhead that seemed to be just waiting for one of them to drop dead.

  “Come on, ladies!” Miss Aragon shouted from the side of the field, looking absolutely delightful. “Lift those legs up! Faster! Faster!”

  “She--she can’t do this to us,” Anne wheezed as she careened up next to Katherine. She was absolutely dripping with sweat and red in the face, but Katherine couldn’t tell if that was from the sun, the exertion of the Suicides, or the fury from both.

  “Just--let it go, Anne. We’re almost done.” Katherine said through her teeth. It took a great effort to speak; she could feel bile curling in the back of her throat like bubbling acid.

  “And then every day this week?” Anne spat. “All because of Joan Seymour?”

  “Anne.” Katherine hissed. She picked up her pace to get away from her cousin, but when she turned to run back to the starting line, her foot slipped in the slick turf of the football field and she was sent sprawling on her stomach. The impact jarred her heavily and she dry heaved painfully until her lunch finally came rushing out of her mouth. A few girls winced, but mostly everyone kept running--not that she blamed them. Anne, however, darted over to her side, and she wasn’t sure if she was happy about that or not.

  “Are you okay?” Anne asked. Her concerned Big Cousin voice was slipping into her words and Katherine couldn’t help but crack a tiny smile at that. This was the side of Anne she liked, not the evil, cruel one who liked to pick on kids three years younger than her.

  “Y-yeah--” Katherine answered, spitting out the last of the bile in her mouth. “I’m fine.”

  “Howard,” Miss Aragon called, walking over, twirling her whistle on her finger. “Are you alright?”

  “Like you care…” Anne muttered. Miss Aragon gave her a dangerous glare, and Katherine set a hand on her knees to not only calm her cousin, but to also boost herself back up.

  “Yes ma’am,” Katherine said. “I’m okay.”

  “Good.” Miss Aragon rumbled. “I’m glad.” She shot Anne another look for a brief moment. “Get back to it. You’re almost done.”

Katherine nodded and then took off again, shortly followed by Anne, who was muttering something about this being “child abuse”.

Ten minutes of running in the searing heat passed and Miss Aragon’s whistle finally pierced the field. A collective sigh of relief swept through the class as girls skidded to a halt and instantly doubled over or completely collapsed to the floor in moaning, groaning heaps of soreness. A few scrambled for their water bottles and began drinking like it was the end of the world. Miss Aragon walked over to them, amusement painted brightly on her face.

  “Don’t drink too fast,” Their coach said to the girls guzzling down water, “or you may throw up.”

  “My legs are gonna fall off,” Bessie said in a woebegone voice. She was flopped over on her back, spilling her bleached white hair all across the green grass.

  “Now you know how it feels to be Joan Seymour, don’t you?” Miss Aragon said, looking down her nose at the girl.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her have to run before,” Maggie pointed out grumpily. “Even though she’s the worst at literally everything we do in class…”

Miss Aragon glowered down at Maggie for a moment, then began marching up and down the cluster of girls. They all watched her tensely, waiting for her to exact an even harsher punishment than Suicides.

  “Life’s all about making choices, ladies,” Miss Aragon said. “And, last Friday, you made the wrong one. So here’s how it’s going to go.” Her eyes flashed like gleaming pieces of onyx in the sun. “You’re all going to apologize to Joan.”

There was an uproar of annoyed confusion. Miss Aragon rolled her eyes.

  “You are all going to apologize to her in front of everyone.” Miss Aragon said. 

  “And if we don’t?” Anne challenged.

  “Do you really want to find out?” Miss Aragon said scathingly. She turned and strode away from the field to go retrieve Joan Seymour from wherever she was, swathed in gleaming gold. 

The minute she was out of sight, Anne let out a roar of fury.

  “That goddamn pig!” She yelled, working herself up to a proper fit. “This is all her fault!!”

  “Let it go, Anne.” Katherine said tiredly. She carefully eased herself to the ground, wincing when her throbbing muscles pulled and bent. Relief was short lived, because Anne came charging up to her a second later.

  “Why are you taking her side?!” Anne cried.

  “This isn’t about taking sides!” Katherine cried back, a new sharpness in her voice. “What did Joan Seymour ever do to you? Or to any of us?”

A few of the girls exchanged looks, seemingly only now thinking about that, while others, like Anne, looked unfazed. Katherine saw Anne’s fists clench tightly at her side, but she didn’t back down her own defense. She didn’t think Anne would strike her, but if she did, she liked to think she could take her in a fight.

  “My, my,” Anne said with sickly sweet venom in her voice. “Look who’s become the little Joan of Arc around here?” Her demeanor then switched, flaming into seething resentment, and Katherine could now see that her older cousin hated Joan Seymour with every inch of her being--simply for existing. There was no rhyme or reason, she just despised the girl. “Oh yeah, remind me. Who was in there pitching with the rest of us?”

Katherine sucked in a sharp breath, but blew it out in a sigh. “I was.” She admitted.

  “Yeah.” Anne sneered. Several of the other girls were packed behind her, backing her up, while a few, like Bessie and Maria, stood or sat in the middle, looking from the swarm of sweaty, angry teens to Katherine and then back to the swarm. 

  “But I’m sorry.” Katherine said.

Anne barked a laugh. “Sorry?” She laughed again, then turned to the girls behind her. “Hey, everyone, little Miss Perfect is sorry! She’s so sorry! Oh, Kitty’s sorry!”

  “Anne!” Maria hissed, then jerked her head to the side, where the yellow figure of Miss Aragon could be seen walking back over. The group quickly dispersed and Katherine shook her head.

Miss Aragon stopped in front of them. At her side, little Joan looked absolutely horrified. Her eyes are wide and paler than the moon in the sunlight, and she kept fidgeting like she wanted to run. She was trying very hard not to look at any of the girls, but didn’t know where else to stare, so her gaze kept shifting around everywhere in a panic.

  “Now, do you all have something to say to Joan?” Miss Aragon said sternly.

  “Joan--” Katherine stood up, gritting her teeth through the awful wave of pain that burned through her muscles. She slowly walked up to Joan as to not frighten her, but Joan still backed up into Aragon’s side anyway. “I’m sorry.”

Joan hunched her shoulders in and looked away. 

  “Maria.” Miss Aragon said.

Maria hesitated for just a moment, then gave in. “Sorry.”

  “Your turn, Maggie.”

Maggie pressed her tongue against the inside of her lip and spat an uncaring, “Sorry.”

  “Bessie.”

Bessie squinted up at Joan through the sunlight, then said, “Oh. Sorry.”

  “Alright, Anne,” Miss Aragon said. “Let’s hear it.”

  “When goddamn pigs fly…” Anne muttered stubbornly. A few giggles broke out around her. Miss Aragon narrowed her eyes dangerously.

  “What was that?” Their coach said. “We’re waiting, Anne. I can’t hear you.”

  “Please, it’s okay,” Joan squeaked, gripping onto Miss Aragon’s sleeve. She looked up at her with the saddest, most scared eyes Katherine had ever seen before. Miss Aragon gently touched her head in a form of reassurance, then instantly glared at Anne.

  “I said--” Anne growled lowly.

  “You don’t have to do this!”

Joan is in front of Anne, now, hands outstretched like she wanted to grab onto her. In the sun, Katherine could see the silvery scars on her hands more clearly, whorled in strange patterns in her skin. The light made her long white-gold hair look like it was charged with glittering electricity or made of jeweled silk. Anne looked down at her, and Joan backed up, clasping her hands together against her chest nervously.

  “Joan Seymour?” Anne said softly, stepping towards the girl. She stooped down to her height and spat, “Eats shit.”

Joan flinched backwards as if she were just sprayed with venom. Miss Aragon instantly got between her and Anne, acting as a protective shield of sorts.

  “Good news, ladies!” She announced. “Because of Anne’s comment, you will all be getting another week of detention with doubled time!”

The class simultaneously groaned, now turned against Anne. Anne clenched her fists, smoldering with rage.

  “I’m not running another goddamn inch,” She snarled, “because Joan Seymour got her period and was too stupid to know what it was.”

Joan flinched again, and Katherine had the unbearable urge to run over to her and cover her ears so she wouldn’t have to hear this. Her own blood began to boil and she glared at her cousin.

  “That’s it.” Miss Aragon said. “You’re suspended.”

That seemed to hit Anne like a punch to the gut. Her eyes bulged hugely out of their sockets.

  “What?”

  “You’re out of prom and you’re out of my class.” Miss Aragon stated firmly. “Now.”

  “No!” Anne shouted.

  “NO?” Miss Aragon towered over her, eyes ablaze. She looked ready to rip Anne’s throat out, and Katherine found that she wouldn’t quite mind seeing that happen.

  “You can’t decide that!” 

  “Watch me.” Miss Aragon said. She turned her gaze to the other students, as if she were challenging them to try and speak out. “The rest of you. Another lap. Come on.”

  “You can’t do this to us!” Anne squawked. “Someone could die of dehydration! Bessie, you have a heart condition, don’t you?”

Bessie apparently decided that she didn’t know who Anne was, because she was looking at everything but her.

  “If we all stick together, they can’t suspend all of us!” Anne said fervently. There was a spark of craziness in her eyes as she watched her group of friends crumble around her, suddenly not backed up anymore. “We didn’t do anything wrong!”

Joan’s quiet whimper begged to differ. Miss Aragon looked at Anne in disgust. 

  “Come on, guys!” Anne desperately attempted to rally them together. “Haley, Allie? Maria? Heather?” She spun around for somebody, anybody, and then her eyes landed on her cousin. “Katherine!” She strode over to her and clasped their hands together. “You’re with me on this, right?”

  “Katherine…” Miss Aragon warned.

Katherine’s heart ached in her chest. Anne was looking at her with so much desperation and need. There were flickers of love in her gaze, love for her little cousin, love that showed that the old Anne was still in there somewhere and ready to play harmless pranks with Katherine again. But when she looked right into her eyes, all she saw was Joan on the floor of the stall, crying and hyperventilating and surrounded by blood.

Her mind was made up.

  “Come on, guys,” Katherine pulled out of Anne’s grasp and jogged over to the starting line to get the last bout of Suicides over with. The others followed, and out of the corner of her eyes she saw Anne staring at her with a look of heartbreak and betrayal. 

Heartbreak and betrayal that morphed into something awful and sinister.

  “You fucking bitch,” Anne seethed lowly, wheeling around to glare at Joan. The poor girl was shaking like a leaf in the wind, practically cowering behind Miss Aragon. “I’ll get you for this! See if I don’t, you filthy pi-”

Anne’s words were silenced by a fierce slap across her face. She tottered backwards, and all the girls running stopped to gasp and ogle the scene with wide eyes. Miss Aragon was scowling and rubbing her hand.

  “You can’t--” Anne sputtered, and then yelped loudly as her collar was grabbed. Miss Aragon shook her roughly, screaming in her face.

  “ONE MORE WORD OUT OF YOU AND I’LL MAKE YOU WISH YOU NEVER SHOWED UP TO SCHOOL TODAY!!” Miss Aragon roared. She shook Anne again, then drew her in close. Her words came out barbed and wrapped in shards of glass. “Do you understand me?”

Whimpering, Anne nodded. Miss Aragon released her and Katherine watched as her cousin took off, crying. Miss Aragon looked at the rest of them and shook her head.

  “You’re all dismissed,” She said. Then, she turned, gently took Joan by the hand, and guided her back inside.

Everyone else dispersed pretty quickly, not caring enough to change clothes. Katherine, however, had to trudge to the locker room because she stupidly put all her stuff in there. When she entered, she could hear voices coming from Miss Aragon’s office.

  “Joan, sweetheart? I’m so sorry, if I had known it would have gone like that--”

  “Oh, Miss Aragon, you just have to let Anne go to the prom! You got to!”

Those were Miss Aragon and Joan. Now Katherine had to stay and eavesdrop on their conversation. She shut the door silently so as to not alert them and crept closer to hear better.

  “Joan--”

  “Prom is very important to her…”

  “And what’s right is important to me.” Miss Aragon said firmly.

  “But prom is everything to those girls!” Joan warbled. “It’s the one night they get to dress up and be beautiful! It’s like a dream!”

  “But what about you?”

Pause.

Hesitation.

  “No--” Joan said, and Katherine thought she may have been shaking her head. “Oh, no, I’m not going. I’m--I’m /different/.” 

Was that disgust in her voice? Why?

  “Not that different.” 

  “Yes, I am.” 

That was sadness and grief. 

Joan added a moment later, solemnly and slightly envious, “They all got someone…”

  “And so will you one day, things change.” Miss Aragon told her.

There’s a moment of silence. Katherine could bet a million dollars that Joan was looking at Miss Aragon in disbelief right now.

  “I tell you what. Let’s pretend--”

  “Miss Aragon…”

  “Just for a minute! Pretend that the right someone comes up to you and says: ‘Joan, will you be my date to the prom?’ What would you say?”

A beat of silence.

  “No.”

  “J--”

Miss Aragon sighed heavily. Katherine struggled not to laugh.

  “Joan, why not?”

  “I’m not--” Joan fumbled. “I’m not--pretty.”

Miss Aragon gave a tiny gasp.

  “Oh, sweetheart… Sure you are! Look--” Katherine can faintly hear her root around for something, most likely a pocket mirror. “See there? That’s a pretty girl.”

Katherine’s mind was spinning. She kept thinking “poor Joan” over and over and over again. The girl’s self esteem was so low. It was normal for people to make comments about their body, but there was a sort of deep hatred in Joan’s voice when she said that she wasn’t pretty that made Katherine think all of this ran a lot deeper than she thought.

Would there ever be a way to make things right?

[thewebcomicsreview]

Can you maybe contextualize the Homestuck epilogue for someone who has never read Homestuck but is curious what all the hullabaloo is about?

It’s 200,000 words following 8,000 pages of comic, so I’m not sure if I can really explain it “simply”, but I’ll do my best. *ahem*

Spoilers, obviously. 

tl;dr;, by the way, I actually really liked it. But I can see why a lot of people didn’t. 

So, I can, have, and will rant about the myriad of reasons everyone hated the ending, but for the sake of context let’s only focus on the main ones:

1. The climax of the story was meant to be “John masters his powers, goes back in time, and undoes a lot of the terrible things that happen”. This didn’t at all feel like a climax, so everyone expected a “real” climax and was confused when we didn’t get one. Worse, because the solution to, say, Rose’s alcoholism was that John changed things so that she never started drinking, it felt less like characters overcoming their struggles and more like the characters we loved being replaced with alternate, better versions, and we never saw how things went for the “real” characters (John’s main change, preventing Vriska’s death in Act 5, invalidates something like 15% of the entire comic!). 

2. Because the climax fell so flat and the big bad wasn’t defeated (and because [S] Collide ended with the music turning all sinister), everyone went in to Act 7 expecting one last huge twist. But while we were given enough information to figure out the basic gist of how Lord English was defeated, we don’t actually see it.The above screenshot, of Caliborn powering up into his Final Form, comes in the last fifty seconds of Homestuck.  

So, that’s kind of the context of the ending. Everyone went in expecting like a full act, was wildly confused that Act 7 was a victory lap, and then we all kind of figured out eventually what Hussie was going for and we were like “Oh. Okay” in a monotone. So, everyone hoped for the epilogue to “fix” the plot, but the plot wasn’t so much broken as it was badly told.

Phew. Okay, now lets talk about the epilogue. 

So, John is given the choice of whether to actually go back into the comic and kill the bad guy or not, represented as a choice of eating meat or candy for lunch. The canon, alpha timeline choice is to kill Lord English (”meat”), and the choice to stay behind and leave a time loop/plot thread unclosed (”Candy”) creates a doomed timeline. Doomed timelines in Homestuck exist as physical bubbles you can fly to, so the two “timelines” are really physical places in Paradox Space. There are three such location in the epilogue 

1. The “meat” timeline, which is the actual “canon” alpha timeline with no unbroken time loops, where most of the Meat Epilogue takes place. It takes place in the normal universe 

2. The furthest ring, a void above and around all timeline bubbles where John fights Lord English. This is normally where all the doomed timelines are, but they are getting sucked into a black hole that’s sweeping out all the “irrelevant” stuff

Nepetaquest 2019 was never meant to be

3. The “candy” timeline, which is doomed, irrelevant, and thus sucked into the black hole. The whole thing looks like this

The reason I’m explaining all this is because the two epilogues are actually one epilogue, and one affects the other such that you need to read them both. 

In the Candy timeline, Dirk immediately realizes that he’s no longer canon/alpha, and immediately kills himself. Rose and Kanaya are happily married and adopt a troll. Roxy goes all stepford wife and decides all she really wants is to crank out babies with John. John is all “you seem to be wildly out of character for reasons that won’t be explained but okay”. Jade, Dave, and Karkat have a miserable polyamorous relationship where the boys don’t admit they want to each other’s dicks but are willing to settle on Jade’s furry knotted dog penis, which she apparently grew after becoming a dog girl in [S] Cascade

Pictured: The exact moment in Homestuck that Jade Harley grew canine genitalia. I had a print of this artwork and I’ll never look at it quite the same again

There’s relationship drama, but the most important part is Jane, who is now TrumpHitler for basically no reason,. She marries Jake but Gamzee cucks him and, well

There’s a scene of Jake talking to Jade and thinking about maybe murdering a baby while his wife has rape-play sex with a clown in the next room. We don’t have time to unpack all that, because Jane is also TrumpHitler now, and sets out to commit a literal holocaust on all the Trolls for….um…..well for no reason. She’s just evil now. Jade’s corpse crashes from the sky, which is a shock to everyone, most of all Jade. Then Aradia and Sollux show up and Jane’s corpse comes to life as a god and everyone kind of just….nods…..and ignores it. The JadeCorpse is possessed by a version of Calliope who’s basically God, whom Aradia serves. Calliope explains that nothing in this timeline matters and it would normally just dissolve but she’s keeping it around because letting everyone dissolve into nothing when you can stop it seems like kind of a bitch thing to do and also she needs somewhere for Lord English’s body to land. Everything in Candyland gets as comically terrible as possible, full-on civil war. John has an existential crises about being irrelevent but gets over it, and Calliope finally finds Lord English and eats him, gaining the power to escape the black hole. Somewhere all this Dave meets up with Barack Obama (??!!?!?!) who is a god (!!!!!!!!!!!) that fucked Dave’s bro (!efefiebnfuewf) and merges all Daves together into one Ultimate Dave that he puts in a robot. Davebot, Aradia, and Calliope all leave the black hole and close the door behind them such that nothing inside (which includes the “canon” Vriska and every single alternate Timeline that existed or will ever exist) can ever get out to interfere with the canon timeline ever again. 

Also 16-year-old Vriska fucks 40-year-old Gamzee and is so embarrassed about it that she kills him. 

Feel free to take a break here

==>

In the Meat timeline, Dirk has ascended and god from God-Like-Thor to God-Like-God, and can now manipulate the story in a fourth-wall breaking way that’s effectively nigh-omniscience and mind control. He’s also evil now, but that makes more sense then Jane being Hitler. 

John recruits the pre-retcon versions of Dave, Rose, and Jade, who with John are the closest thing to the “original” versions of the main four that Homestuck is gonna give us at this point. They fight Lord English and successfully boot him into the black hole, but all die in the process. John is mortally wounded but survives long enough to bang Terezi in the back of his dad’s car and get them both home (said car ends up in Candyland, where Candy John finds it and recognizes Terezi’s cum because thanks Hussie). Jade lives long enough that she could get to Earth C herself, but this version of Jade doesn’t even know about Earth C and decides to die via black hole. Dirk tries to stop this, but Calliope, who is more powerful than Dirk, pulls her in

It is indeed to late, and OG! Jade gets sucked into the black hole, crashes into Candyland, and leaves behind a fresh corpse for Calliope to control and all the people in Candyland to be weirdly blase over because deep down they know their world doesn’t matter. Having control over this Jade lets her possess the alpha Jade in Meatworld, which in turn lets her influence things there. She and Dirk fight about who gets to be president of earth (which doesn’t seem important unless you read Candy and know what president Jane will do), and Dirk manages to tranquilize Jade and keep Calliope from affecting anything else. 

Jane becomes president of Earth and starts off and the path of becoming God Empress of Mankind. John dies, and we get more than a hint that Dirk killed him for being insufficiently grateful of their paradise planet

With things on Earth taken care of, Dirk mind controls Rose into become his (sex?) slave, and mind controls Kanaya into thinking that’s cool. He tells Terezi (who he can’t control, since Mind is her power) that if she comes with they can maybe revive John, and they all home into a spaceship and fuck off to a new planet. Dirk is the new Lord English, Jane is the new Condesce, and Rose -now a dreambot - is the new Handmaid. And Terezi is….also there. They find a new M-Class planet and set up to evolve some life there for a Sburb game. On earth, now of of range of Dirk’s mind control, everyone realizes that him kidnapping Rose was actually kind of fucked up, and they hop a spaceship to chase after them, with Jade-possessed Calliope giving them advice.  

And that’s the epilogue! Dirk has kidnapped Rose and become unto god, and is setting up a nefarious plan we don’t know the details of, and a the heroes are racing to stop him. Good night everybody!

I’m assuming there’s going to be an Epilogue Epilogue, because this was just a straight-up cliffhanger, and I’ll guess I’ll see when I think when that happens or when it becomes clear that won’t happen.

Hopefully that was easy enough to follow, I did my best. 

[tessatechaitea]

Justice Society of America #6 (1993)

Weak as an asthmatic kitten in light!

Do cats get asthma? I'd hate for somebody to fact check and discover I once said an incorrect thing! My reputation as a staunch teller of ultimate truths is on the line here. Anyway, if it turns out cats can't get asthma, I was speaking euphemistically and you were too dumb to understand that. Dumby. I don't want to call my readers "dumby" but you remember that part about me being a staunch teller of ultimate truths? Well, sorry to reveal something your parents were too cowardly to confide to you. I was too busy contemplating how incredibly fucking cute and sweet a little coughing asthmatic kitten would be pay attention to the cover of JSA #6. But now that I've really looked at it, I'm confused as to why Doctor Mid-Nite is beating up zookeepers. I hesitate to assume the reason is that he's blind because that would probably be ableist. Maybe he was just molested by zookeepers as a young man. An aside: the family member I admire most on Facebook is the one who posts absolutely nothing about anything but every now and then unlocks a badge from Untappd.

Is this an historically accurate Nazi uniform? It looks like she's trying to make the shape of a swastika.

Ugh. I can't believe I just became one of those people who put "an" in front of "historically." It's weird how a little bit of side-boob can make me start thinking, "Were the Nazis really so terrible?" But this is a fictional world where they actually weren't that terrible! They even had a giant war Ferris wheel that would roll around ravaging the world and genociding people. Kind of exactly like a carnival, really. In the real world, Nazis were super bad and they are the villains of every action movie ever set from 1938 to, I'm assuming, 2021. I'm sure we're right around the corner from a Wicked-style Broadway musical from the perspective of Adolf Hitler where the audience learns that he wasn't really the bad guy the earlier protagonists made him out to be. If you don't want that to happen, you'll probably need to go back in time to murder John Gardner before he writes Grendel because I'm pretty sure that's where this whole "let's examine the life and motivations of the bad guy outside of the light of the previous protagonist's propaganda!"

I was thoroughly anti-Nazi when I began reading this comic book but these side-boob arguments are really winning me over.

How are the JSA going to win me back to their side?! They only have one woman on the team and Hawkgirl doesn't ever show any side-boob! I'm afraid America is about to fall and all I can think is, "Hee hee hee. Hee hee hee. Boobies." The Justice Society flies in to spout some patriotic garbage about liberty while The Flash beats up all the Nazis during the first third of the speech. I wonder if The Flash ever gets emotionally exhausted having to bear so much of the load of battling the bad guys. It's a good thing he's not one of those jerks you always wind up working with who never wants to do more work than the next guy so he always works as slowly as possible. But the problem in blue collar work is that most of the people you wind up working with are that guy! So their work output winds up being that of the lowest common denominator. Imagine if The Flash was one of those guys! He'd have to wait for Doctor Mid-Nite to throw a smoke bomb and fist fight a guy for five minutes before The Flash would take out his man in one second (after standing around for four minutes and fifty-nine seconds). The battle goes poorly for the Nazis which I'm elated to see because, you know, proud patriot here and all. Boo Nazis! Boo? Boob! Nazi side-boobs! Go Nazis! As the Nazis nearly defeated, they launch a huge bomb at the White House (which is where this fight is taking place because the Nazis are trying to kill Roosevelt).

"Look! Up in the sky! A noise!"

Yes, you perverts. That's the leg of the side-boob Nazi on the left and if I'd scanned a little bit more, you would have had a nice crotch shot. Sorry to disappoint you, horny nerds. Green Lantern lets the bomb explode on a big green patriotic shield because the Nazi's were too dumb to make the bomb out of two by fours. Wildcat says, "Yay!", as Roosevelt watches through a nearby window. His nurse, Nancy, approaches him slowly from behind. She pulls a Nazi pistol on him, full of Nazi bullets! It looks like the end! But then a bag of sand hits her in the side of the face and she forgets to pull the trigger as she says, "Gast! I'll...ooooh!" Then she dies, I guess? The Nazi story was being told to Jesse Quick by Alan and Jay. It was never reported because the American populace is too weak to hear certain news items. Why when we think about a population as a whole, we attribute all of the worst attributes to them? Cowardly, stupid, irrational. Why don't we think, "I would react fine to that news so I'm assuming everybody else would too." Instead, we simply assume everybody is a bigger and weaker jerk than we are. Weird that I'm as cynical as you can get but I'm somehow not as cynical as the average person? No, no! I'm more cynical! I just use my cynicism for good!

He didn't say that, Jesse. What he might be trying to express though is that coming down hard on criminals when much of the crime is driven by systemic problems resulting in an abundance of poverty for which the government takes no action to mitigate might be a bigger evil than the crime itself. Much of crime is a symptom of a bigger problem that is harder to fix so people ignore it and try to just hide the symptoms by putting them in jail.

Alan just doesn't quite have the words (or the real world experience of the 60s, 70s, and 80s because he was in Valhalla) to express how the constant lowering of taxes on the upper brackets of income have caused the slow destruction of the middle class by allowing CEOs and upper management to keep more of their money instead of reinvesting it into the business because they'd rather improve their business than give away 99% of their income after a certain point to the government. And by allowing them to keep that money, they stopped putting it into the business which meant salaries stagnated, pensions disappeared, and health care was no longer an automatic company benefit. I'm sure that's what he was getting at though. Jay's wife interrupts so we can finally see she exists six issues into the series. Alan's beard, Molly, also arrives. You might be wondering why "Jay's wife" is only "Jay's wife" but you shouldn't ask me that question. Ask the comic book who thinks I'm supposed to remember her name from whenever it was last mentioned, if at all. Maybe Linda? Let's just go with Linda. The Justice Society is on a ship because they're headed to Bahdnesia which doesn't allow plane travel in and out of its country. That's probably because air traffic control would be a nightmare with all the genies flying around. That was a joke but I bet it's the actual reason as well. Oh! It's Joan! Ted mentions it to Al after he gets tangled up in his deck chair while wearing an ice bucket on his head. I think Al might be having some old person cognition problems.

Nothing suspicious about a country run like a well-armed Applebee's.

Doctor Mid-Nite decides to check behind the scenes to see what's going on. The place is run like Disneyland so he enters the employee only backstage section to investigate. He's eventually attacked by some guards (see the cover!) and his story ends mid-fight. Meanwhile, Ted winds up climbing into a boxing ring to stop a fight that he believes is a huge mismatch. He knocks out the big guy even though the big guy doesn't necessarily mean he's the bad guy. Ted is basically interfering in a business transaction or, even worse, a staged event! Which means he climbs in the ring and begins beating up one of the actors. Guards also swarm him and he thinks, "What are these guys doing here?!" As if what he's doing is just fine and dandy. Didn't he hear the announcement about how nobody breaks the rules here? This is why! They get swarmed with violent guards! Justice Society of America #6 Rating: B-. Nothing says "The titular team's best days are behind them!" like a story where the only interesting thing that happens happens in a flashback. The whole cruise and island exploration part of the story was a big snooze. And it only ends in two members battling guards who are only doing their jobs to keep the JSA members from breaking the rules. Poor guards are going to get their asses whooped when they're only doing their job! I'm totally into the whole "I was just following orders" excuse thanks to the unbeatable side-boob argument.

[rheyninwrites]

Old Friends Part 8

We piled into Charles’ giant suv, Javier in the front, while I sat in the back between Arthur and John. John had plenty of room, but Arthur’s shoulders were so wide he had to either sit at a sideways angle, or basically rest his hand on my leg. I told him it was fine & I didn’t take it personally, but he just kept fidgeting, until at last he opted to drape his arm across the backseat. But because he was trying not to invade John’s space, he ended up basically having his arm around me. I tried my best not to think about it, but it was a little difficult when Charles kept giving me looks in the rear view mirror. I’m not sure if Arthur was more relieved when we finally got there, or if I was. I just know I was a bundle of nerves, and more than happy when Arthur took command of the situation.

“Listen, we ain’t here to cause trouble, we just want to get our girl’s things back. If trouble comes, we’ll respond to it as best we can, but I don’t want anyone getting hurt. Now, what are we looking for?”

“Not much. My paintings, in the living room, tucked behind the sofa ‘cause he hated seeing them. My clothes, from the bedroom closet. My coffee press, my laptop and iPad should all be in the kitchen or dining area. All my work ids should be on a lanyard on the dresser. I had some paint somewhere, but I don’t know where it ended up, and I can replace it.”

“Alright, everybody got that? You go first, ‘cause he knows you, but I’m right behind you, and I’m gonna stay right with you. We’ll get the kitchen area. Javier, John, you get the bedroom stuff. Charles, I want you to grab the paintings. You got them boxes I asked you to bring?”

“Sure.”

“Good. Makes getting in and out faster. We take it in one trip if we can. I’m gonna drive her home in her car, just in case she gets a little shaky afterwards. Obviously we’re gonna meet back at my place.”

With that, he turned to me and spoke quietly.

“Now you go on, I’m right here.”

I marched forward, four strong men behind me, up to the front door. I had a key and could have entered, but I took the time to knock instead, giving him a chance to see what he was up against before opening the door. I hoped it would scare him into behaving. He could have an unpredictable temper, and I didn’t want anyone getting hurt. It turns out I didn’t have to worry about scaring him, because the second he opened the door, Arthur spoke over my shoulder in a booming voice that nearly scared me, and I’d heard it before.

“Now I see you looking, and I know you’re thinking ‘who the hell are these guys, and what the hell do they want?’ The fact is, it don’t matter who we are, the only damn thing that matters right now is that this lady wants her stuff. You are going to stay out of the way and let her take her stuff, and I’m not gonna hear one damn word out of you, understand?”

At that point I pushed past him, practically dragging Arthur behind me as he continued to glare in the way of my now, at last, ex-boyfriend. He didn’t even break eye contact until I pulled him through the kitchen behind me. Once he looked at me, I raised my eyebrows at him, hissing through my teeth.

“What the hell happened to ‘we ain’t here to cause trouble?’”

“I ain’t causing trouble. I’m just making sure he don’t cause none!”

Exasperated, I rolled my eyes and set about finding my items from the kitchen. It took me a little longer than I had hoped, because I had to take time to search for the power cords to both the iPad and the laptop, but, at last, I was satisfied that I had gotten everything that was mine, at least in that area. I started to shove everything over to Arthur hold, until I remembered he’d said he was going to drive. Instead, I pulled the keys out of my pocket and tossed them to him before picking it up myself.

“Let’s get the hell out of here.”

I made my way to the front door and let Arthur open it for me. He stood at the doorway and watched as I carefully stowed my things in the back of Charles’ car, then called upstairs to see if Javier and John were done. John answered.

“Just about. Gimme a minute!”

I waited by my car to watch the procession as each of my friends walked by, their arms loaded with stuff. John was last, and after he passed by and nodded at Arthur, he gave me a smile that I just knew meant he had done something sneaky. Then Arthur turned around scowling, and snarled at my ex-boyfriend.

“I’m telling you now, you’d better not aim one more damn word him her direction. Not now, not ever. If I hear you so much as breathe in her direction, you and I are gonna have a problem. She’s done with you.”

Then he turned on his heel and stomped in my direction, unlocking the car as he went. As soon as I heard the chirp that meant it was unlocked, I flung open the door and collapsed into the passenger seat. Arthur’s eyes positively stormed as he came around the car, and as soon as the door opened, I heard him uttering a string of curses that didn’t stop until we were well on the way back to his house. Then I saw his face soften as he turned to me.

“You okay?”

“A bit. Honestly a little scared.”

“He ain’t gone bother you no more.”

“I meant scared of you. I’ve known you for how many years now? And I’ve never in the whole time seen you lose your temper like that. I get the feeling you were restraining yourself a good bit, too. What the hell happened?”

“Truthfully? I don’t know. I know I was a little crazy. . .”

“And Hitler was kinda bossy.”

“Okay, a lot crazy. I just - I started thinking about the things you said he did, and how he didn’t let you have things you wanted, and . . . I guess I just lost my head.”

Silence filled the car as I thought about what he said, and tried very hard not to think about what it could possibly mean. I looked at him, sitting there, driving my car. He looked confused and unsure of himself, and I didn’t know what to make of it. Finally he cleared his throat and spoke, his voice only a little above a whisper.

“I’m . . . sorry.”

I wasn’t sure what to say to that, so I just looked at him, already looking at me as we sat in his yard. God, he looked so sad, and tender, and . . . really beautiful.

Oh my God, if he keeps looking at me like that, I’m going to just kiss him right here and now and ruin everything.

Slowly, I reached my hand over to where his was resting on his leg, and placed mine over it. He looked down at our hands, then up at me and smiled a soft smile, barely visible.

And then we heard the screaming.

[bezrat-ha-shem]

A gunman armed with a semiautomatic rifle walked into a suburban San Diego County synagogue and opened fire on the congregation Saturday, killing one person and injuring three in an attack that authorities believe was motivated by hate.

A 19-year-old was arrested in connection with the shooting, authorities said. The gunman entered Chabad of Poway on Chabad Way about 11:20 a.m. and started firing.

He was identified as John T. Earnest, a Rancho Penasquitos resident. He is being questioned by homicide detectives.

Earnest appears to have written a letter posted on the Internet filled with anti-Semitic screeds. In the letter, he also talked about planning the attack.

“How long did it take you to plan the attack? Four weeks. Four weeks ago, I decided I was doing this. Four weeks later, I did it.”

Earnest, who is white, wrote that he was willing to sacrifice his future “for the sake of my people.”

In the manifesto, he took credit for an arson fire that blackened the walls of the Islamic Center in Escondido on March 24. There were seven people inside the building at the time the fire erupted about 3:15 a.m. but no one was injured.

The arsonist left a note referring to a shooting rampage at two New Zealand mosques on March 15 that left 50 people dead.

“I scorched a mosque in Escondido with gasoline a week after” the New Zealand shootings, Earnest wrote in his letter. But the people inside “woke up and put out the fire pretty much immediately after I drove away which was unfortunate.”

The suspect also championed Robert Bowers — who killed 11 people and wounded six others in the Tree of Life synagogue shootings in Pittsburgh six months ago — and Adolf Hitler.

Poway Mayor Steve Vaus called the shooting there a “hate crime,” based on statements the shooter was heard making as he entered the synagogue.

A large group of congregants had gathered behind the temple after the shooting, sheriff’s Sgt. Aaron Meleen said. About 100 people were inside the synagogue at the time celebrating Passover.

“As you can imagine, it was an extremely chaotic scene with people running everywhere when we got here,” he said.

An adult woman was killed in the attack and three others — a young female and two adult males — were wounded, authorities said. The injured were taken to Palomar Medical Center in Escondido, the Sheriff’s Department said.

As the attacker was fleeing the scene, an off-duty Border Patrol agent who was at the synagogue shot at the suspect’s vehicle, but he got away, authorities said. He was captured a short time later.

Adam Pringle, 32, said he was sitting at a 76 gas station parking lot when a swarm of San Diego police, county sheriff and California Highway Patrol cars descended on the scene less than 50 feet away.

Pringle watched as police officers pulled over the man he believed to be the shooting suspect.

“Hands up or I’ll shoot you!” Pringle heard the officer yell.

The driver quickly put his hands up, and the officer walked over with his gun drawn, Pringle said. The officer quickly arrested the man, Pringle said.

Witnesses said Rabbi Yisroel Godstein was among the injured, reportedly shot in the hand. He apparently kept trying to calm the congregation after being wounded, telling people to stay strong.

“The rabbi and two other people were injured,” said synagogue member Minoo Anvari, whose husband was inside when the shooting broke out. “One guy was shooting at everybody and cursing.”

“One message from all of us in our congregation is that we are standing together. We are getting stronger,” Anvari said. “Never again. You can’t break us. We are strong.

“Why? The question is, why? People are praying.”

President Trump offered condolences from the White House lawn Saturday.

“At this moment it looks like a hate crime,” he said. “My deepest sympathies to all of those affected. And we’ll get to the bottom of it.”

Authorities have cordoned off the area near Rancho Bernardo Road and West Bernardo Drive, about two miles from Chabad of Poway, he said.

Several neighbors reported hearing the gunshots, and some were evacuated from nearby homes to the school temporarily as a precaution.

Cantor Caitlin Bromberg of Ner Tamid Synagogue, which is down the street from Chabad of Poway, said her congregation learned of the shooting at the end of their Passover services. Saturday marked the final day of Passover, a holiday that marks the Jewish people’s exodus from Egypt and freedom from slavery.

Bromberg said her congregants were en route to Chabad of Poway to show support and help in any way they can.

“We are horrified and upset, and we want them to know we are thinking of them,” she told The Times. “The message of the final day of Passover is to be looking forward to … the time when all the world will be at peace.”

Bromberg said someone from the congregation had received a text that there was a shooting at a synagogue in Poway. The person who sent the text did not know which temple was targeted and wanted to make sure the congregant was OK.

The cantor said she has not heard from Chabad of Poway leadership because they would not normally use the phone during the Sabbath.

“They would only do that on emergency basis, if they do it at all,” she said.

Across the street from the synagogue Saturday evening, people left bouquets of flowers on the sidewalk to honor the victims.

Tanya Werby, a member of the Chabad of Poway congregation, said she was planning to take her four-year-old son to the Saturday morning service but ended up staying home.

She has told her son, who attends preschool at the synagogue, that Rabbi Goldstein was was among those wounded in the shooting. But the boy is too young to understand much more.

“It’s heartbreaking,” said Werby, 42, who works at a nonprofit on the synagogue’s campus. “I never expected it to happen at our house of worship.”

Werby said Goldstein was well-known in the area because he often works with leaders of other congregations.

She said she was not surprised by reports that he did his best to defend his congregation after the shooter entered.

“I’m sure he kept his cool. He’s very strong,” Werby said. “He built this community since the 1980s. Everybody knows him. He’s a big part of this community.”

Werby described the woman who was killed as a “very generous person” who was a constant presence at the synagogue.

As the owner of a print shop, the woman donated shirts for a friendship walk and gave money as well, Werby said.

Werby’s friend, Jackie Zucker, drove from Carlsbad to join her after hearing the news.

“People came here in the morning just wanting a lovely Saturday to finish the holiday,” said Zucker, 78. “Instead, this happened. We need to stop this.”

Nami Rajaei, a high school senior who lives nearby, brought a large peach-colored flower for the impromptu memorial.

Two of Rajaei’s classmates at Rancho Bernardo High School placed candles amid the flowers at the memorial.

The three teenagers said their quiet suburban neighborhood, where children are taught to value diversity at school and at their houses of worship, was the last place they expected this to happen.

“It’s shocking to think that this type of thing would happen here,” said Rajaei, 18. “I would like to think that our community is very tolerant.”

In a statement, the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum said it was “shocked and alarmed” at the second armed attack on a synagogue in the United States in six months, this time on the on the last day of Passover.

“Now our thoughts are with the victims and their loved ones,” Museum Director Sara J. Bloomfield said. “But moving forward this must serve as yet another wake-up call that antisemitism is a growing and deadly menace.

“The Holocaust is a reminder of the dangers of unchecked antisemitism and the way hate can infect a society. All Americans must unequivocally condemn it and confront it in wherever it appears.”

San Diego police were keeping watch on other local synagogues as a precaution. “No known threats,” Chief David Nisleit said on Twitter, “however in an abundance of caution, we will be providing extra patrol at places of worship.”

In Los Angeles, police said they were closely monitoring the synagogue shooting in Poway and “communicating with our local, state and federal partners.”

“At this time, there’s no nexus to Los Angeles, but in an abundance of caution, we will conduct high visibility patrols around synagogues and other houses of worship,” the department tweeted.

Passover is one of the most sacred holidays in the Jewish faith. The eight-day festival is typically observed with a number of rituals, including Seder meals, the removal of leavened products from the home and the sharing of the exodus story.

The attack comes six months after a man with a history of posting anti-Semitic and anti-immigrant social media messages opened fire at a temple in Pittsburgh, killing 11 people and wounding six more.

The Anti-Defamation League called that incident “the deadliest attack on the Jewish community in the history of the United States” and it underscored growing hate against Jews.

The leaders of many national Jewish groups heard about the attack hours after it happened because they were observing the Sabbath and last day of Passover.

“This shooting is a reminder of the enduring virulence of anti-Semitism,” Jonathan Greenblatt, president and CEO of the Anti-Defamation League, said in a statement. “It must serve as a call to action for us as a society to deal once and for all with this hate. People of all faiths should not have to live in fear of going to their house of worship. From Charleston to Pittsburgh to Oak Creek and from Christchurch to Sri Lanka, and now Poway, we need to say ‘enough is enough.’ Our leaders need to stand united against hate and address it both on social media and in our communities.”

Michael Masters, CEO of the Secure Community Network, an group that offers training and resources to synagogues on security, said his group was working with local and federal officials to help the Poway community.

“We remind synagogues and Jewish facilities everywhere that we must take steps to prevent and protect against attacks,” he said in a statement. “Today’s shooting is a sad reminder that the need has not gone away.”

[partlycharlie-archive]

february 20, 1937

part 1 of lines don’t have ends

summary: So. Now they’re here, in a tiny one-bedroom apartment a couple blocks east of the Brooklyn Bridge, in a neighborhood with the most queers east of Greenwich. Sharing a room, and a bathroom, and a kitchen, and a living-dining-office type room. It’s everything Bucky had been dreaming of, and he can’t even get the goddamn chance to enjoy it. word count: 1568 warnings: n/a a/n: welcome to the first part of LDHE! posting this for @fandomtrumpshate 2019 - hope y’all enjoy!

read on ao3

---

It’s been a couple of months since Momma - Miss Sarah Rogers, as most other people knew her - died.

It seems wrong, almost, that after everything Momma’s been through, it was the tuberculosis that eventually got her.

(Bucky had tried everything he could think of - lit rosemary in Momma’s room, knelt and prayed next to her bed (only the one time - holding Steve’s rosary felt too wrong), helped Steve with filling baths and getting water and buying jars of honey for tea whenever he could get his hands on it. He even spoke with Rabbi Joseph almost every day, that week, and Ma hadn’t even tried to stop him. He probably shouldn’t have, in retrospect - Rabbi Joseph almost definitely knows something’s wrong with how attached Bucky is to Steve and Momma - but it’s too late to change anything now.)

He knows it’s bad, but Bucky can’t help being grateful Momma was the one who passed, not Steve. Those few weeks before when Stevie had been sick - not with tuberculosis, with scarlet fever, which wasn’t as bad but still so, so worrying - had been the worst of Bucky’s life. Steve couldn’t get out of bed on his own, and Momma had to cover too many shifts to help, so Bucky ended up staying home most days to take care of him. He’d always known Steve was sickly - he’d been catching colds left and right ever since they met - but it was one thing to know that, and another to see him on death’s door and be terrified he might step over.

He knows it was worse for Stevie, though. Not catching the fever - Steve’s been dealing with sickness all his life, by this point he’s pretty much used to it - but having to watch his mother go through almost exactly what he had most of his life and fail to survive? It tore Steve apart. He was wracked with guilt, and what made it even worse was that Bucky could understand why.

And Bucky hated to even think about it, and he’d never dare say it to Steve, but.

But nothing, really.

It’s over now - Momma’s resting, wherever she went, and all they can do is grieve and tell themselves she went to someplace better than the shithole they’re all in.

Grieving is hard, Bucky gets that - Ma went through a miscarriage and a stillbirth before they got Annie, and losing Emma and Aidan still gets to him when he lets himself think about it. Steve, though. It almost seems like Steve’s just… drifting, really.

Bucky hasn’t said anything to him about it; to be honest, he’s mostly just grateful Steve agreed to live with him at all. He's not gonna lie - there’d been a couple of weeks there right after Momma’s funeral where Steve had flat out refused to move in, and it had driven Bucky crazy . He didn’t really sleep, during those days, too busy tossing and turning to the thought of Steve, alone in that tiny apartment that feels far too big without Momma’s spirit filling it up.

It had taken Winifred Barnes herself - with a personality louder than her voice - to finally shake some sense into Steve’s odd sensibilities. She filled up that apartment to bursting without even flinching and took joy in reminding Steve about the family he’d been ignoring in his grief-fueled isolation.

There was a sort of smug satisfaction, Bucky can admit, in seeing Steve get chewed out by the woman who was basically his mother at this point. He got to see the expressions on Steve’s face - righteous indignation when Ma started to yell… slack-jawed surprised when the first tear dripped down Ma’s face, followed by another, and another…

And Steve can’t help it, really - he’s a sympathetic crier, always has been, especially with Ma. Bucky can count on the fingers of one hand how many times he’s seen her cry, so he was almost as shocked as Steve was when Ma’s voice had started to shake.

She’d gotten over it soon, though - gathered herself together in that certain sort of way he’s only ever seen her do, grabbed Stevie by the ear, and told him to pack up his stuff.

He did, obviously. He’s not an idiot.

At that point, Ma’s relatives in Europe had been talking for a while about coming over to America. The whole Hitler business is frightening for everyone over there, not just the Jews, but it doesn’t help that they’re the ones being blamed. Something dangerous is about to happen, and everybody knows it.

It wasn’t until recently, though, that Ma had been able to save up some money to sponsor their immigration. Four kids under one roof is a hell of a lot to take care of, so Bucky had officially dropped out of school (not like he had been going much before that, anyway - he’d been taking shifts down at the docks since he was fourteen and they went four days without anything but beans and bread to pave the way) and got his own place.

It was a little tenement in Gairville, just big enough to fit him and Becca and not much else - except Stevie, maybe, who was small enough to share Bucky’s bed without people saying much of anything, (not that they would, in a place like this), who ended up moving in with the both of them.

So. Now they’re here, in a tiny one-bedroom apartment a couple blocks east of the Brooklyn Bridge, in a neighborhood with the most queers east of Greenwich. Sharing a room, and a bathroom, and a kitchen, and a living-dining-office type room. It’s everything Bucky had been dreaming of, and he can’t even get the goddamn chance to enjoy it.

“Steve?” he calls, noting the hunch in Steve’s posture and the way he keeps flexing his fingers - subconsciously, as if he’s been working for too long but hasn’t realized it yet.

He doesn’t look up, just hums and picks up the pencil-type-thing laying by his waist.

Bucky sighs. This is Steve on one of his good days - too wrapped up in whatever he’s doing to notice anything around him.

Bucky thinks maybe he’d have more energy to be annoyed by the shit Stevie pulls if he wasn’t so hopelessly gone on him.

He leans against the wall, rubbing a hand down the side of his face.

Shit like that only gets more dangerous the more you think about it.

“Stevie?”

Steve looks up, eyes unfocused and squinting, from where he’s hunched over the old desk in the living room/dining room/kitchen (when Bucky says they don’t have a lot of room, he means it). “Hey, Buck,” he says, setting down his pencil.

“Y’know, one day your back’s gonna get stuck like that, and no braces or stretching is gonna be able to fix it.” Bucky crosses over to where he’s sitting, grabbing the other stool and plopping himself down.

Steve rolls his eyes, leaning over the back of the chair and groaning softly as his spine pops. “Yeah, yeah - tell me something I don’t know, why don’t you?”

“Well, it’s one AM, for starters.” Steve jumps, a little bit, obviously surprised at the time.

“What?” Bucky nods, a small smile on his face. “But - shit. I could’ve sworn we just had dinner…”

“Mmm… yeah, around four hours ago. C’mon buddy, let’s get to bed.” Bucky presses a hand to the small of Steve’s back and pushes lightly, feeling almost no resistance as Steve lets his body go limp.

“I don’t want to,” he says mulishly, closing his eyes against the weight of Bucky’s stare.

He rolls his eyes. “Hoo boy. Yeah, no, we’re not doing this. We’ve both got early days tomorrow.” In one smooth motion, he lifted Steve out of the chair, bending to slide an arm under his knees and lifting him up with nothing so much as even a grunt.

(Steve weighs approximately a pound - it doesn't feel like there's anything to lift, really.)

Steve doesn't even fight it, he's too tired; he just curls up a little bit more, huffs a sigh into Bucky's chest, folds his arms over his own. "I could walk, y'know."

"Yeah, I know, but you won't if you don't have to, so I may as well carry you." Bucky stands up fully and walks to the bedroom, shifting Steve's weight in his arms to turn out the light.

"Ugh... I gotta finish my project - art class t'morrow, you know that -"

“I gotta say, I don’t think it’ll make much of a difference. I mean - you know Jenny loves you, right? I don’t really think she’s gonna care all that much about whether my eyes are the right shade of gray.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I’m well aware, asshole. Sorry if I’m not tryna slack off for this class - she’s already letting me in for cheaper than she should, I don’t want to take advantage of her.”

Bucky dumps him on the bed, tugging off Steve’s pants and shirt. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

Steve huffs out a long sigh, sinking into the mattress. He rolls over. “Mmmf.”

“Uh-huh.”

Steve shoves an arm out, flailing it around until Bucky grabs it, and then he pulls (with a surprising amount of strength, considering the size of him) Bucky into bed. “G’night,” he says.

He twists as Bucky watches, not moving, just watching Steve make himself comfortable. Eventually, they end up so that Steve’s back is facing him, pressed all along his front, knees curled up somewhere by his chest.

Bucky huffs out a breath, smiling helplessly. “Night, Stevie.”

[cyarskj1899]

Never again is now. I’ll never forget or forgive anyone especially Kanye and kyrie for their recent antisemitism leading to all this hatred and you can’t tell me to do otherwise. This hatred for these hateful antisemitic bastards is like motivation for me to never be even half of what they and several people like them are.

PURE EVIL: Orthodox Jewish kids traumatized by school bus hate crime

Tara Dublin

Tara is a reported opinion columnist at Occupy Democrats. She's…

[Writer’s note: I was raised Jewish and now am an atheist, for reasons I’ll make very clear very fast.]

I don’t care who you hate. Why can’t you just keep it to yourself, though? Why do you have to show the world how you were carefully taught to hate others who aren’t like you? And why do you have to take your self-hate out on anybody else? Yell at your terrible parents, it’s their fault they taught you to be angry instead of loving.

I don’t care if you believe in a God/dess. Why can’t you keep that to yourself, either? Why do you have to be so pushy with your beliefs if someone doesn’t align with you? If you believe in the Sky Daddy/Mommy, I hear tell s/he’s supposed to belong to everybody.

But yet here we are, in the year of your chosen Lord 2022, and people are still going around hurting each other over a book that didn’t fall out of the sky which is all about a being no one’s ever proven to exist. Meanwhile, Kanye and Kyrie did a whole lot of antisemitisms that went unpunished for far too long, because all of the worst people have been emboldened by the other worst people over the last seven years.

But yet here we are, in the year of your chosen Lord 2022, and people are still going around hurting each other over a book that didn’t fall out of the sky which is all about a being no one’s ever proven to exist. Meanwhile, Kanye and Kyrie did a whole lot of antisemitisms that went unpunished for far too long, because all of the worst people have been emboldened by the other worst people over the last seven years.

And that’s just part of what led to a horrific hate crime against CHILDREN.

The Chicago Tribune reports that local police are looking for a group of men who stormed a school bus, where they “spewed antisemitic slurs and threatened to harm a 12-year-old boy in the West Rogers Park neighborhood on Wednesday, according to officials. The bus was dropping off elementary students from a local Orthodox Jewish school when, around 5 p.m. in the 2800 block of West Jerome Street, the men entered the bus, according to Chicago police, who said nobody was physically injured.”

No one was physically injured, but those kids were fully traumatized by those Nazis. And yeah, I’m calling them Nazis. Because they acted like NAZIS: At one stop, four men jumped into the bus, hurled antisemitic slurs, and performed the ‘Heil Hitler’ salute at terrorized children,” according to a statement from the Simon Wiesenthal Center. After the men threatened to hurt a 12-year-old boy, they fled in an unknown direction, police said.

My heart breaks at this. Those poor kids. They don’t understand why anyone hates them when they’ve been taught to love everyone. It’s SO WRONG.

Tara Dublin

Tara is a reported opinion columnist at Occupy Democrats. She's a woefully underappreciated and unrepresented writer currently shopping for a super cool novel that has nothing to do with politics while also fighting fascism on a daily. Follow her on Twitter @taradublinrocks

[radfemandreadaly]

The news that Jorg Haider - the Austrian fascist leader - spent his final few hours in a gay bar with a hot blond has shocked some people. It hasn't shocked me. This is a taboo topic for a gay left-wing man like me to touch, but there has always been a weird, disproportionate overlap between homosexuality and fascism. Take a deep breath; here goes.

Some 10,000 gay people were slaughtered in the Nazi death-camps. Many more were humiliated, jailed, deported, ethnically cleansed, or castrated. One gay survivor of the camps, LD Classen von Neudegg, has written about his experiences. A snapshot: "Three men had tried to escape one night. They were captured, and when they returned they had the word 'homo' scrawled across their clothing. They were placed on a block and whipped. Then they were forced to beat a drum and cheer, 'Hurrah! We're back! Hurrah!' Then they were hanged." This is one of the milder events documented in his book. So the idea of a gay fascist seems ridiculous. Yet when the British National Party - our own home-grown Holocaust-denying bigots - announced it was fielding an openly gay candidate in the European elections this June, dedicated followers of fascism didn't blink. The twisted truth is that gay men have been at the heart of every major fascist movement that ever was - including the gay-gassing, homo-cidal Third Reich. With the exception of Jean-Marie Le Pen, all the most high-profile fascists in Europe in the past thirty years have been gay. It's time to admit something. Fascism isn't something that happens out there, a nasty habit acquired by the straight boys. It is - in part, at least - a gay thing, and it's time for non-fascist gay people to wake up and face the marching music. Just look at our own continent over the past decade. Dutch fascist Pim Fortuyn ran on blatantly racist anti-immigrant platform, describing Islam as "a cancer" and "the biggest threat to Western civilisation today." Yet with two little fluffy dogs and a Mamma complex, he was openly, flamboyantly gay. When accused by a political opponent of hating Arabs, he replied, "How can I hate Arabs? I sucked one off last night."

Jorg Haider blasted Austria's cosy post-Nazi politics to rubble in 2000 when his neo-fascist 'Freedom Party' won a quarter of the vote and joined the country's government as a coalition partner. Several facts always cropped up in the international press coverage: his square jaw, his muscled torso, his SS-supporting father, his rabid anti-Semitism, his hatred of immigrants, his description of Auschwitz and Dachau as "punishment centres". A few newspapers mentioned that he is always surrounded by fit, fanatical young men. A handful went further and pointed out that several of these young men are openly gay. Then one left-wing German paper broke the story everybody else was hinting at. They alleged Haider is gay. Rumours of an Indian waiter with "intimate details" of Haider's body broke into the press. The Freedom Party's general manager Gerald Miscka quickly quit, amid accusations that he was Haider's lover. Haider's close gay friend Walter Kohler - who has been photographed showing off a holstered pistol while Haider chuckled - declared his opposition to outing politicians. Haider - who was married and has two children - kept quiet while his functionaries denied the rumours. The revelation that he died after leaving a gay bar suggests these rumours were true.

On and on it goes. If you inter-railed across Europe, only stopping with gay fascists, there aren't many sights you'd miss. France's leading post-war fascist was Edouard Pfieffer, who was not batting for the straight side. Germany's leading neo-Nazi all through the eighties was called Michael Kuhnen; he died of AIDS in 1991 a few years after coming out. Martin Lee, author of a study of European fascism, explains, "For Kuhnen, there was something supermacho about being a Nazi, as well as being a homosexual, both of which enforced his sense of living on the edge, of belonging to an elite that was destined to make an impact. He told a West German journalist that homosexuals were 'especially well-suited for our task, because they do not want ties to wife, children and family.'" And it wouldn't be long before your whistlestop tour arrived in Britain. At first glance, our Nazis seem militantly straight. They have tried to disrupt gay parades, describe gay people as "evil", and BNP leader Nick Griffin reacted charmingly to the bombing of the Admiral Duncan pub in 1999 with a column saying, "The TV footage of gay demonstrators [outside the scene of carnage] flaunting their perversion in front of the world's journalists showed just why so many ordinary people find these creatures repulsive."

But scratch to homophobic surface and there's a spandex swastika underneath. In 1999, Martin Webster, a former National Front organiser and head honcho in the British fascist movement, wrote a four-page pamphlet detailing his 'affair' with Nick Griffin. "Griffin sought out intimate relations with me," openly-gay Webster explained, "in the late 1970s. He was twenty years younger than me." Ray Hill, who infiltrated the British fascist movement for twelve years to gather information for anti-fascist groups, says it's all too plausible. Homosexuality is "extremely prevalent" in the upper echelons of the British far right, and at one stage in the 1980s nearly half of the movement's organisers were gay, he claims.  

Gerry Gable, editor of the anti-fascist magazine 'Searchlight', explains, "I have looked at Britain's Nazi groups for decades and this homophobic hypocrisy has been there all the time. I cannot think of any organisation on the extreme right that hasn't attacked people on the grounds of their sexual preference and at the same time contained many gay officers and activists."

Griffins' alleged gay affair would stand in a long British fascist tradition. The leader of the skinhead movement all through the 1970s was a crazed, muscled thug called Nicky Crane. He was the icon of a reactionary backlash against immigrants, feminism and the 'hippy' lifetsyle of the 1960s. His movement's emphasis on conformity to a shaven, dehumanised norm resembled classical fascist movements; Crane soon became a campaigner and leading figure in the National Front. Oh, and he was gay. Before he died of AIDS in the mid-1980s, Crane came out and admitted he had starred in many gay porn videos. Just before he died in 1986, he was allowed to steward a Gay Pride march in London, even though he still said he was "proud to be a fascist." The rubber-soled friction between gay fascists and progressive British gay people sparked into anger in 1985 when the Gay Skinhead Movement organised a disco at London's Gay Centre. Several lesbians in particular objected to the "invasion" of the centre. They felt that the cult of "real men" and hypermasculine thugs was stirring up the most base feelings "in the very place, the gay movement, where you would least expect them." And this Gaystapo has an icon to revere, an alternative Fuhrer to worship: the lost gay fascist leader Ernst Rohm. Along with Adolf Hitler, Rohm was the founding father of Nazism. Born to conservative Bavarian civil servants in 1887, Ernst Rohm's life began - in his view - in the "heroic" trenches of the First World War. Like so many of the generation who formed the Nazi Party, he was nurtured by and obsessed with the homoerotic myth of the trenches - heroic, beautiful boys prepared to die for their brothers and their country.   He emerged from the war with a bullet-scarred face and a reverence for war. As he put it in his autobiography, "Since I am an immature and wicked man, war and unrest appeal to me more than the good bourgeois order." After being disbanded, he tried half-heartedly to get a foothold in civilian life, but he saw it as alien, bourgeois, boring. He had no political beliefs, only prejudices - particularly hatred of Jews. Historian Joachim Fest describes Rohm's generation of alienated, demobbed young men humiliated by defeat as "agents of a permanent revolution without any revolutionary idea of the future, only a wish to eternalize the values of the trenches." It was Rohm who first spotted the potential of a soap-box ranter called Adolf Hitler. He saw him as the demagogue he needed to mobilize support for his plan to overthrow democracy and establish a "soldier's state" where the army ruled untrammelled. He introduced the young fascist to local politicians and military leaders; they knew him for many years as "Rohm's boy." Gay historian Frank Rector notes, "Hitler was, to a substantial extent, Rohm's protégé." Rohm integrated Hitler into his underground movement to overthrow the Weimar Republic. Rohm's blatant, out homosexuality seems bizarre now, given the gay genocide that was to follow. He talked openly about his fondness for gay bars and Turkish baths, and was known for his virility. He believed that gay people were superior to straights, and saw homosexuality as a key principle of his proposed Brave New Fascist Order. As historian Louis Snyder explains, Rohm "projected a social order in which homosexuality would be regarded as a human behaviour pattern of high repute... He flaunted his homosexuality in public and insisted his cronies do the same. He believed straight people weren't as adept at bullying and aggression as homosexuals, so homosexuality was given a high premium in the SA." They promoted an aggressive, hypermasculine form of homosexuality, condemning "hysterical women of both sexes", in reference to feminine gay men. This belief in the superiority of homosexuality had a strong German tradition that grew up at the turn of the twentieth century around Adolf Brand, publisher of the country's first gay magazine. You could call it 'Queer as Volk': they preached that gay men were the foundation of all nation-states and represented an elite, warrior caste that should rule. They venerated the ancient warrior cults of Sparta, Thebes and Athens.

Rohm often referred to the ancient Greek tradition of sending gay solider couples into battle, because they were believed to be the most ferocious fighters. The famous pass of Thermopylae, for example was held by 300 soldiers - who consisted of 150 gay couples. In its early years, the SA - Hitler and Rohm's underground army - was seen as predominantly gay. Rohm assigned prominent posts to his lovers, making Edmund Heines his deputy and Karl Ernst the SA commander in Berlin. The organisation would sometimes meet in gay bars. The gay art historian Christian Isermayer said in an interview, "I got to know people in the SA. They used to throw riotous parties even in 1933... I once attended one. It was quite well-behaved but thoroughly gay. But then, in those days, the SA was ultra-gay." On June 30th 1934, Rohm was awoken in a Berlin hotel by Hitler himself. He sprang to his feet and saluted, calling, "Heil Mein Fuhrer!" Hitler said simply, "You are under arrest," and with that he left the room, giving orders for Rohm to be taken to Standelheim prison. He was shot that night. Rohm was the most high-profile kill in the massacre known as 'the Night of the Long Knives'.   Rohm had been suspected by Hitler of disloyalty, but his murder began a massive crackdown on gay people. Heinrich Himmler, head of the Gestapo, described homosexuality as "a symptom of degeneracy that could destroy our race. We must return to the guiding Nordic principle: extermination of degenerates." German historian Lothar Machtan argues that Hitler had Rohm - and almost all of the large number of gay figures within the SA - killed to silence speculation about his own homosexual experiences. His 'evidence' for Hitler being gay is shaky and has been questioned by many historians, although some of his findings are at least suggestive. A close friend of Hitler's during his teenager years, August Kubizek, alleged a "romantic" affair between them. Hans Mend, a despatch rider who served alongside Hitler in the First World War, claimed to have seen Hitler having sex with a man. Hitler was certainly very close to several gay men, and never seems to have had a normal sexual relationship with a woman, not even his wife, Eva Braun. Rudolph Diels, the founder of the Gestapo, recorded some of Hitler's private thoughts on homosexuality. "It had destroyed ancient Greece, he said. Once rife, it extended its contagious effects like an ineluctable law of nature to the best and most manly of characters, eliminating from the breeding pool the very men the Volk most needs." This idea - that homosexuality is 'contagious' and, implicitly, tempting - is revealing. Rohm is venerated on the Homo-Nazi sites that have bred on the internet like germs in a wound. They have names like Gays Against Semitism (with the charming acronym GAS), and the Aryan Resistance Corps (ARC). Their Rohmite philosophy is simple: while white men are superior to other races, gay men are "the masters of the Master Race". They alone are endowed with the "capacity for pure male bonding" and the "superior intellect" that is needed for "a fascist revolution." The ARC even organises holiday "get-togethers" for its members where "you can relax amongst the company of our fellow white brothers." So it's fairly easy to establish that gay people are not inoculated from fascism. They have often been at its heart. This begs the bigger question: why? How did gay people - so often victims of oppression and hate - become integral to the most hateful and evil political movement of all? Is it just an extreme form of self-harm, the political equivalent to the gay kids who slash their own arms to ribbons out of self-hate?   Gay pornographer and film-maker Bruce LaBruce has one explanation. He claims that "all gay porn today is implictly fascist. Fascism is in our bones, because it's all about glorifying white male supremacy and fetishizing domination, cruelty, power and monstrous authority figures." He has tried to explore the relationship between homosexuality and fascism in his movies, beginning with 'No Skin Off My Ass' in 1991. In his disturbing 1999 film "Skin Flick', a bourgeois gay couple - one black, one white - are sexually terrorised by a gang of gay skinheads who beat off to 'Mein Kampf' and beat up 'femmes'. He implies that bourgeois gay norms quickly break down to reveal a fascist lurking underneath; the movie ends with the black character being raped in front of his half-aroused white lover, as the racist gang chant, "Fuck the monkey." I decided to track down some gay fascists and ask them directly. Wyatt Powers, director of the ARC, says, "I always knew in my heart racist and gay were both morally right. I don't see any conflict between them. It's only the Jew-owned gay press that tries to convince us that racialism is the same thing as homophobia. You can be an extreme nationalist and gay without any contradiction at all."   One comment board on a gay racist website goes even further into racist lunacy. One gay man from Ohio says, "Even if you are gay and white, or retarded and white, YOU ARE WHITE, BOTTOM LINE! Instead of letting the white race go extinct because of worthless races such as the Africans or Mexicans popping out literally millions of babies a day, we have to fight this fucked up shit they are doing. They are raping our country." It's true that racism and homophobia do not necessarily overlap - but as Rabbi Bernard Melchman explains, "Homophobia and anti-Semitism are so often part of the same disease." Racists are usually homophobic. Even after reading all their web rantings, I didn't feel any closer to understanding why so many gay men ally themselves with people who will almost always turn on them in the end, just as the Nazis did. Gay rights campaigner Peter Tatchell has a sensitive and intriguing explanation. "There are many reasons for this kind of thing," he says. "Some of them are in denial. They are going for hyper-masculinity, the most extreme possible way of being a man. It's a way of ostentatiously rejecting the perceived effeminacy of the homosexual 'Other'. These troubled men have a simple belief in their minds: 'Straight men are tough. Queers are weak. Therefore if I'm tough I can't be queer.' It's a desperate way of proving their manhood." 'Searchlight' magazine - the bible of the British anti-fascist movement, with moles in every major far-right organisation - offers an alternative explanation. "Generally condemned by a society that continues to be largely hostile to gays, some men may find refuge and a new power status in the far right," one of their writers has explained. "Through adherence to the politics espoused by fascist groups, a new identity emerges - one where they aren't outcasts, because they are White Men, superior to everyone else. They render the gay part of their identity invisible - or reject the socially less acceptable parts, like being feminine - while vaunting what they see as superior." But there's another important question: will fascist movements inevitably turn on gay people? In the case of the Nazis, it seems to have been fairly arbitrary; Hitler's main reason for killing Rohm was unrelated to his sexuality. From my perspective as a progressive-minded leftie, all fascism is evil; but should all gay people see it as inimical to their interests? Is it possible to have a gay fascist who wasn't acting against his own interests? Fascism is often defined as "a political ideology advocating hierarchical government that systematically denies equality to certain groups." It's true that this hierarchy could benefit gay people at the expense of, say, black people. But given the prevalence of homophobia, isn't that - even for people who don't see fascism as inherently evil - a terrible risk to take? Won't a culture that turns viciously on one minority get around to gay people in the end? This seems, ultimately, to be the lesson of Ernst Rohm's pitiful, squalid little life. The growing awareness of the role gay men play in fascist movements has been abused by some homophobes. In an especially nutty work of revisionist history called 'The Pink Swastika', the 'historian' Scott Lively tries to blame gay people for the entire Holocaust, and describes the murder of gay men in the camps as merely "gay-on-gay violence." A typical website commenting on the book claims absurdly, "The Pink Swastika shows that there was far more brutality, rape, torture and murder committed against innocent people by Nazi homosexuals than there even was against homosexuals themselves." Yet we can't allow these madmen to prevent a period of serious self-reflection from the gay movement. If Bruce LaBruce is right, many of the mainstream elements of gay culture - body worship, the lauding of the strong, a fetish for authority figures and cruelty - provide a swamp in which the fascist virus can thrive. Do some gay people really still need to learn that fascists will not bring on a Fabulous Solution for gay people, but a Final Solution for us all?

Johann Hari is a writer for the Independent newspaper. To read more of his articles, click here.

[bendthetrendshop]

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The spread of this disease count of those briefly but the establishment of travel restrictions aggressive quarantine effort of Americans there returning declaration of public health emergency in establishing the White House Corona task force all reflective urgency that the president has brought to a I Am His Eyes He Is My Wings I Am His Voice He Is My Spirit I Am His Wife He Is My Guardian Angel Butterfly T-Shirt whole of government approach as a former governor from the state where the first mers case emerged in 2014 I know full well the importance of presidential leadership the importance of administration leadership and the vital role of partnerships estate and local governments and health authorities in responding to the potential threat of dangerous infectious diseases and I I look forward missed president to a serving in this role bringing together of all the members of the Corona task force that you’ve established HHS CDC DHS the department of transportation and state that this team has been at your direction as president meeting every day since it was established that my role will be to continue to bring that team. 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[impalaimagining]

PittCon Sunday

(sorry this is so late. my mind has been reeling since I stepped into Jensen’s hug. cut comes after the gold panel)

My heart was racing as I typed this because it contains the letters to Jared story and the interaction between he and I as I gave him the binder and reliving that moment is everything I ever wanted. My liiiffeeee <3333 

Part One (Gold Panel): 

They come walking down the glass bridge. Jensen waves. Jared pushes him aside and becomes the star of the show. Jared takes off his beanie and everybody screams (still don’t understand how he does it).

Someone in the second row continues to talk to Jared from her seat instead of waiting to be selected for a question. (*heavy eye rolling from me*)

Jared and Jensen are sleepy little dorks and I love it. They’re still running on Vancouver time. Jensen didn’t sleep Saturday night, he watched the hours roll by. Jared says we should’ve called Jensen and invited him out with us. Jensen’s got “about two hours of solid” him left before it gets either “really interesting or really boring.”

Jared realizes the actress who plays Hitler granddaughter is from Pittsburgh. They’re “chuggin’ along” with filming - already on episode six. 

Jared says they’re still waiting for the call for season 14 renewal.

Fan is upset because Jensen promised to sing at SNS this year. He laughs and asks, “You believed that?!” He blames timezone switches and Rob, because Rob “likes Pittsburgh to himself.”

They’ve been on a juice diet because “summer was hard” on them (specifically Jared - who still looks incredible, by the way). As Jensen was walking on stage, he found a cup of goldfish crackers and stuffed a handful in his mouth. He comes on stage still chewing. They’re already talking about getting burgers for dinner Sunday night.

Jared envies people who can draw because he loves to do it but is “really bad at it.” Jensen makes a “mean stick figure.” They joke about they wish they could take their profession anywhere the way musicians and sketch artists/painters can. Jensen laughs and says he envisions Jared standing in front of a t-rex exhibit “To be! Or not to be!”

Jared takes on “Misha form!” while answering a question about their childhood memory. Jared tells the story of Tom starting kindergarten. He was flooded with emotions while the other parents were already used to taking their kids and just dropping them off. Meanwhile Jared is crying. Jensen says he has a lot of good childhood memories, but one of his favorite is his sixth birthday. He woke up and put on his cowboy outfit, complete with six-shooters and a sheriff’s badge. He walked outside and there was a horse in the yard for him to ride. Their yard wasn’t big, but he rode the horse in circles and shot his cap guns.

Jensen was never “into” sports medicine, but it was what he chose as he selected college major originally. Jensen says he thinks it would be fun to be a boat captain. Jared planned on going to school for engineering to follow in the footsteps of his brother. Instead, his brother ended up becoming a surgeon, and Jared thinks he would’ve followed that path as well. Jared’s other career options are doctor or teacher. “It’d be fun to be a wildlife photographer,” according to Jared. Jensen decides he wants to be a food and drink writer. Jared mocks avocado toast, Jensen says he’ll wolf one down if it allows him to travel to Italy.

Jared has so much trouble with his microphone.

They’ve never dreamed as Sam and Dean, but they dream about them and the set. Jared has had dreams about Kim Manners since his passing, where they talk, “which is... interesting.”

Danneel has to tell Jensen to stop using the Dean voice. Other times she’s like, “Can you please use the Dean voice...?”

Fan says alternate universe in s12 was out of left field but it was awesome. Asks if the boys have been surprised by anything the writers have thrown into the plot. Jensen says French Mistake. Jared says his big left field moment was when he traveled to Los Angeles before season 6 and met with Sera. She told him about soulless!Sam and he had to hide his gut reaction because he was right in front of her instead of being on the phone like he normally would be. Soulless!Sam is one of Jared’s favorite character twists. 

Jensen would never rule theatre out of his life as a future option. He doesn’t currently have plans to return to the stage, but he wouldn’t mind going back. Jared says he hasn’t done theatre in a long time, and he loved it. It’s the “best training ground possible,” but it’s hard to keep it fresh. Jared compares theatre to doing squats for thirty minutes. Jensen laughs and mocks him. joking about never skipping leg day.

A fan is getting fired for being at the convention. Asks about binge watching because she has a lot of free time now. Jensen says he watched Ozark in a week. Jared says Breaking Bad, but he’s on to Ozark because of Jensen’s recommendation. 

Fan gives suggestions for food places. A place called Burgatory. Jensen asks if there are any exits. 

“Did someone say Sanchez?” - Jared... why

Unicorns or dragons? Jared: unicorns ‘cause they’re not going to kill me, and they fart rainbows. Jensen: I’m gonna go dragons. Speaking of dragons... anybody watch game of thrones? Jared jokes about Jensen ruining the show for him by mentioning dragons. Jensen asks if everyone is caught up. Fan says no. Jensen: “earmufffssss!” He thinks they totally ripped off the demon!Dean transformation scene.

Part Two:

Jensen Ackles photo op! 

Was a little nervous but not really because like yeah he’s adorable and Jensen friggin Ackles but I didn’t have anything to tell him or show him so it was nothing like Misha (or Jared).

I walked up and said, “Hi! How are you?” He smiled and said, “I’m good. Tired. How are you?” I kind of yelled a little bit when I responded but it was so worth it. “Great now!” And then I proceeded to throw my arms around him and Chris took the picture. Jensen rubbed my shoulder as I was walking away. 

His hugs are so soft and gentle. His voice is so sweet and smooth. Jensen Ackles smells amazing and he’s so... *sigh* 

Part Three: 

JARED. PADALECKI.

This is the motherfucking ultimate high point of my weekend. I met. I hugged. I got a photo with. Jared. Padalecki. 

As I walked up, my heart was pounding let me tell you, boy. He smiles and says, “Hi!” oooh lawd his breath smells like booze and it’s something of my dreams (don’t ask.). I can smell his cologne. Y’all weren’t kidding when you said he uses a fuckton. I love it. I’m all giggly and nervous and I’m like, “I wanna show you something!” 

I spin around and pull my hair back off my ear and show him my tattoo. He - I kid you not - screams over the music playing. “NO SHIT!” I nod and give him this giant smile. “That’s my handwriting!!!” Yes it is you big, beautiful man. “That’s awesome!” I’m in fuckin euphoria and I don’t even feel him lean against my head when Chris snaps the photo. I have no idea if I even looked into the camera at this point. I’m praying to God I did and as I leave, Jared gives me a little pat on the back and when I turn around, he’s still smiling at me. “Thanks so much!” I get a wink. I GET A MOTHERFUCKING JARED PADALECKI WINK I AM SIMULTANEOUSLY LIVING AND DYING. (the next person in line was already next to him while this is all happening, LOL)

I practically skip out of the room but there are no tears. How did I do this??? This man makes me so fucking happy I didn’t even cry??? Jared is my savior. That’s it. 

Part Four: 

Jim Beaver. What an adorable father-like man.

I’m thoroughly convinced he’s drunk when he comes on stage. Jim Beaver danced. Like... heavy footwork, light on his toes danced. He’s holding a coke can and I can pretty much guarantee it wasn’t just soda in that can. 

I don’t remember much of his panel but the first thing he said was, “Hey idjits!” 

A fan asked him to say balls. It was... kind of awesome. 

A young girl came up to the mic to ask a question. He called her on stage and knelt down at her eye level. “Is that all you see???” She laughed. She has the same name as his daughter. They’re spelled the same way. “Are you my kid?? How weird would that be if my kid came all the way here and I didn’t know it. I didn’t buy her a plane ticket, I know that!” She asks her question (which I forget because I suck) and after he answers, he hugs her and sends her back off the stage. 

Part Five: 

J2 main panel. Boys come running down the center aisle through the crowd. Pretty convinced their body guards/handlers hate them lmao.

I’m not going to go through every question like I did for the gold panel. Jared and Jensen are perfect. That’s just about all you need to know. 

Jared’s pretty sure he’s going to get in trouble for jumping. His back has been hurting. “The medicine, it works!” 

It’s a glorious Sunday because “Dallas hasn’t played yet.”

Jared’s pretty sure turning 35 makes everything stop working.

Jim Beaver walks by in the glass bridge. Jared has the crowd yell “come back!” 

Jensen thanks football fans for giving up opening day to be at the convention. Says it’s hard not to be in front of a tv on the first football Sunday. Terrible towels come out.

Jared compares having three kids to “drowning... and then someone throws you three kids.” Jensen originally only wanted one kid, but Danneel wanted three. They compromised on a second pregnancy. ... “You always find a way to get what you want, don’t you, ladies?”

Jensen apologizes for having to leave the J2 photo ops earlier in the day because Danneel had called him multiple times. He thought something was really wrong. When he called back, she asked if he could FaceTime quickly. Arrow was saying “dada.” “Unfortunately, it was our plumber that was there...”

If I had been playing the SPN Con drinking game I would’ve been wasted the entire weekend. Good Lord. 

Jensen’s favorite episode to film was Baby. Jared’s favorites include episodes like Baby, French Mistake, Changing Channels, and Hollywood Babylon. It was the first time they were allowed to make fun of themselves and the industry. After filming Hollywood Babylon, they convinced the crew to give them the bigger trailers since they were already on set. 

Working with kids depends on their parents.

Jared mentions GameBoy. Jensen has a moment like dude you’re so old why are you bringing up GameBoy. It becomes a running joke throughout the panel. 

“Does your face hurt, Jensen?? Because it’s killin’ me!” ... dorks. 

They turn off Sam and Dean when they go back to their real lives. It’s easy for them at this point to flip the switch of the emotional pain Sam and Dean go through because of their friends and especially their family.

Part Six: AUTOGRAPHS AND THE BINDER (!!!!!!)

Guys guys guys I’m freaking out at this point. I know how much trouble I could get in for giving something to Jared. The handlers are going to hate me. According to a friend, “They’ve kicked people out for less.” hashtag fuck.

Something happens with another fan and the woman announcing rows to head back to autos is wrapped up with other things. I waited so much longer than I should have. It was horrendous and put me that much more on edge. 

Finally my row is called. I’m only in the fourth row. Why did it take this long. 

Steve Miller Band is playing from Jared’s phone onto a bluetooth speaker while I’m standing in line. When I get to him, it’s Fly Like An Eagle.

“How’re you, sweetheart?” *dies* He signs my book. “Did you read it?” I nod and say yes, of course. “And...?!” I told him I loved it and I thought it was very brave of him to share as much and as honestly as he did. He smiles and then I bring up the binder. 

Me: “I actually have something to give to you, and I know it could get me in a lot of crap for doing it this way. This is a project I put together. It’s letters from me and a lot of my friends because we just wanted to thank you for what you’ve done and let you know how much you mean to us. I don’t expect you to read them all, there’s a lot of them in there.” J: “I do like to read! *he’s flipping through them, paging to see just how many there are* No way! Damn girl!!!” Me: “It’s just something we did for you.” J: “Thank you. Thank you very much. Please pass on my gratitude to whoever sent you a letter.” Me: “I will, thank you!!!” J: “Thank you.” AND THE FREAKIN’ SMILE OMG. 

I don’t know how I lived. I don’t know how me and my shaky knees made it to Jensen’s autograph line but I did and he is such a sweetheart, my goodness. 

I slipped Jensen my book and he was just so tired omg it’s so sad and adorable. He signed the wrong page of my FDEWB book because sleeeepy. 

He slid it across the table to me and I thanked him for everything. He said “You’re welcome.” And patted the back of my hand and again, *i die*

THUS CONCLUDES MY FIRST EVER CON WEEKEND MY LIFE HAS BEEN MADE AND JARED HAS THE LETTERS AND MY SHIRT /STILL/ SMELLS LIKE HIM.

[joyofcrime-elinorhigh]

Powerpuff Grils 2016 REVIEW: Part 1

So for those who are somehow unaware, the Powerpuff Girls has recently gotten a new rebooted series that premiered on Cartoon Network on April 4th 2016. People's opinions have been varied on the series, some people say it's worse that Hitler, while other people are saying that it's worse than the illegitimate lovechild of Hitler and some kind of eviler Super-Hitler. Okay, before you kill I'm obviously joking, but yeah people really REALLY hate this reboot! People are comparing it to Teen Titans Go! While I agree with some of the criticism made I feel people are being a bit...harsh on the reboot. And if you don't like the series I get it. I understand why people wouldn't like this show, it has serious problems. I'm not going to call you hater or anything if you don't like this show. I just want to give my opinion because everybody seems to have unanimously decided that this show is bad and somebody has to have the unpopular opinion. If nobody does then the majority opinion will be seen as fact, and I believe that there is always pros and cons to any piece of art. All I ask is that you don't hate me to much for having this opinion. I'll respect you and you respect me, and if you have some thoughts about the reboot leave it in the comments bellow, I would love to have a  civil discussion about it. Also I will be breaking this review up into multiple parts because have a lot I want to talk about. And if you don't want to read something this long that's fine, but if you like deep analyses about a cartoon for children and watching some idiot try to be insightful and funny than strap on in and get ready, this is my Review of the 2016 Powerpuff Girls Reboot. Point One: The Talent Behind the Show. It must suck to be Craig McCracken. According to the man himself Cartoon Network did approach him to be in charge of the reboot but he declined because of him contract with Disney. Than Wander Over Yonder ends and he's out of a job and has to watch commercials for the new Powerpuff Girls show, that could of been his new job but he said no. This isn't even I joke I kind of feel bad for him. Anyway on to the point, a lot of people where angry that Craig McCracken is not in charge of the reboot, saying that without the original creator of the show the series cannot be good, as the 98' series dropped in quality according to most fans after he left the show after season four to work on Foster's. I understand this argument but I disagree with it. This show is a reboot. Now everyone has a different internal definition of what is and isn't a reboot, but to me a reboot is when you take the same characters but set the story in a new universe, while changing the details of the show to fit a new tone or style. In my opinion getting Craig McCracken back to remake his own show doesn't make much sense because he most likely wouldn't make the show that different form the 98' series. Craig McCracken may have created the girls but personally I would mind seeing some new talented artist put there own spin on the property. Powerpuff Girls has always been a franchise, remember Powerpuff Girls Z? People are getting so mad at this reboot and it's not even the only reboot. People seem to only care about who isn't working on the show in stead of focusing on who is. This show has some good people being it, such as Bob Boyle who worked on "Clarance" and created "Wow Wow Wubzy", Nick Jenning's who was an art director on "Adventure Time", and painted many of the title cards, and Julia Vickman the creator of the popular pilot "12 Forever." While Craig McCracken has criticized the show for not getting the original voice cast back, and criticized a few bad looking shots he has given this show his blessing, at least according to voice of the Mayor himself, Tom Kenny. I mean it's possible Tom Kenny was lying and Craig McCracken doesn't approve of the show but I see no reason to assume this. And speaking of the voice cast... Point Two: The Voice Cast. I'm going to be honest, I'm a little disappointed in the choice of voice cast, but not necessarily for the reasons you might think. I think they should of changed more. I was hoping for a fresh, new interpretation of the characters of the Powerpuff Girls universe, but in stead we're just getting the same voices we already got for six seasons. And if you wanted the old actors back that's fine, I understand why. The old show had an all star cast of great voice actors but for me and what I was looking for I was a little let down. What I kind of don't get though is why everybody is mad at the new voice actors when there are only a few new voices and 90% of the cast are people from the original series, but whatever. I don't mind the new voices for the girls honestly, I mean there not great but I wouldn't call them bad. Kristen Li is probably my favorite of the new voice actress, as she just has a really cute voice. Though I will admit she can't really yell very well in the Bubbles voice, which makes things kind of awkward when things are suppose to be intense or if she's suppose to be angry. Haley Mancini is a lot less whiny in her version of Princess, whether or not that's a plus or not is up to you. Jennifer Hale is now Miss Bellum and she seems about the same as Jennifer Martin, at least to me. There's a lot controversy over the original actresses for the girls not being called back to reprise there roles. While I find weird that everybody except them was called back I just don't feel like this is a big issue. They've talked about how there mad that they weren't even offered there old roles back but why should they automatically get first dibs? Just because they voiced them in the old show? They don't own the characters, and on the matter of Bubbles Tara Strong wasn't even the ORIGINAL voice, Kath Soucie was (She voiced Bubbles in the pilot, technically making her the ORIGINAL voice.) I mean just because an old cast member is still willing to reprise a role doesn't mean they always get it, and they way they seemed so angry about it on social media just seems weird to me. I mean it's not like when Ben Affleck was announced to voice Batman in "Batman v Superman" Christian  Bale went on twitter was all like "Well, I didn't order a stab in the heart today!" It would be like if in the upcoming "Justice League Action" people where angry that they didn't get Adam West back to voice Batman. I mean he was the original voice of animated Batman and he still does voice acting. I don't want to be mean to these actors, as they did pretty much voice my childhood, I just really don't understand why these actors seemed to think they deserved first dibs on this show. If you wanted the old cast back I'm not bashing you at all, I would never do that. They are great voice actors, I just feel like this whole controversy was handled very unprofessionally (But what the heck do I know?) Point Three: The Animation. I want to make it clear here that I'm not going to just blindly praise everything in this show. If I did that I would lose all my credibility as a critic and I've only had that credibility for four paragraphs so far. Anyway back on point I think the animation has it's advantages and it's disadvantages. The colors are really bright and the girls are particular in this version which makes things even brighter. This is actually a flaw to the show, at least for me, because it can often come off as to bright. That being said scene at night or with special lighting makes things look really awesome! The dark colors contrast the bright colors and looks really good. It feels like the writers knows this because a lot of episodes seem to take place at night, or in the rain, or with some kind of special lighting, so they do work to there strengths. Now that being said that doesn't mean the animation is always good. If you look online you will see a lot of awkward shots of off model animation or janked up perspectives. I don't mind this two much as there usually on screen for less than a second but technically speaking it's not very good,. Granted a lot of shows have animation errors, but this series seems to have a lot more than other shows Cartoon Network out there. My theory is that it's because it's a lot of modern animators with 90's character designs and they don't know how to draw in that style as well as they would a modern style. There's also one scene where they use a live action stock photo as a background and while that is bad, especially sense it wasn't even treated like a joke it was only one joke and it was in a dream scene where things are suppose to look off. It's not like in Teen Titans Go! Where they use stock photos as backgrounds all the time, so I don't feel like it's anything to get that worked up about. The designs of the characters are pretty much the same as the old show except more circular. Bubbles has scrunches now, which I like because now there's an actual reason on why and how Bubbles has her pigtails. Buttercup has a cow lick and Blossoms bow is bigger, but those differences are so small I'm not even sure if there worth talking about in detail. I like the changes, again I wish they altered the designs more, especially with the villains. I mean look how different the characters look in each TMNT or Batman incarnation. Now the biggest problem with the animation is that for some reason the animation is really slow. I don't get why as the theme song music video has some of the most fluid animation I've ever seen in a Cartoon Network series. This slow animation really hinders the action sequences and I really hope this improves in later episodes. I mean some fight scene look good but it could definitely use some work. The impact of the punches just don't feel like they have the same amount of weight as they should and it makes the girls feel a lot less strong than in the old show. Granted this show focuses on the fight scenes a lot less than in the old series but I still think it's a pretty big problem. And that is part one of my multi-part Powerpuff Girl reboot series review. I know I haven't really talked much about the show yet but other people have been talking about these points for months and I just wanted to give my opinions on what other people have been saying. If you disagree with my point that's fine, I'm not try to convince people to agree with me, I just want to show a new view point, and show that not everyone has to like or hate something for the same reasons. I hope that even if you disagree with me you still found this review entertaining. What do you think of the new reboot? I would love to know in the comments (as long as we can keep it civil.) Part two should be up soon, where I'll talk about the show proper. Please Fav, follow and comment if you liked this review and tell me if you would want me to do more of these. Since I can do this all on my tablet it would not effect Elinor High or Joy of Crime in anyway as of right now. And if you like things like this maybe check out some episodes of my Cartoon Thought series (sorry if I may have repeated some things from my Reboot Cartoon Thought and my PPG Cartoon Thought, but I feel it was kind of inevitable.

DA Link: https://www.deviantart.com/joyofcrimeart/journal/Powerpuff-Girls-2016-REVIEW-Part-1-602969689

[nebris]

The significant, neglected role of Russian women in World War II.

Early in “The Unwomanly Face of War,” Svetlana Alexievich’s harrowing and moving account of female Soviet soldiers during World War II, there is a scene where a group of female fighters arrives at the front. Wearing army shirts and forage caps — shorn of the long braids they once felt proud of — they are crack graduates of a women’s sniper school, assigned to the 62nd Rifleman’s Division. Their commander is not happy to see them. “They’ve foisted girls on me,” he complains.

The commander orders them to prove they can shoot and perform other key tasks such as camouflaging themselves in the field. Skeptically watching their training exercise, he steps on a hummock and is taken aback when the ground below him speaks. “You’re too heavy,” the hummock tells him. It is a female sniper, embedded in the landscape. “I take back my words,” the commander admits amid their laughter.

The woman recounting that anecdote killed 75 men in the years that followed, receiving 11 combat decorations and becoming renowned for her skill at picking off Nazis. She and her companions were among some 1 million women who fought in the Soviet army, helping repel the Germans during four bloody years of siege, occupation and combat. For many Allied countries, World War II was the watershed conflict that brought women into the military (and intelligence) in significant numbers; with fighting taking place in so many quarters, it proved impossible to staff a global war using only men. But the Soviets deployed theirs most fully. At the outset of American involvement, U.S. officials dithered over whether to admit women even in non-combat capacities — it was feared that they might become hysterical if permitted to work as, say, air traffic controllers. Soviet women, in contrast, served as fighter pilots, tank drivers, infantrymen, antiaircraft gunners. “The Unwomanly Face of War” tells the story of these forgotten women, and its great achievement is that it gives credit to their contribution but also to the hell they endured.

“At nineteen I had a medal ‘For Courage,’ ” says one. “At nineteen my hair was gray. At nineteen in my last battle I was shot through both lungs.”

Alexievich, a Belarusian journalist and author, in 2015 received the Nobel Prize in literature. She has been saluted for writing intricately braided oral histories that give collective voice to the suffering caused by cataclysmic events including the Chernobyl disaster and the occupation of Afghanistan. “The Unwomanly Face of War” began in the late 1970s, after she read a newspaper article about a female accountant retiring from a Minsk auto factory. The article mentioned that the accountant had been a sniper — the one with 75 kills. Alexievich sought her out; one interview led to hundreds. Soviet publishers at first rejected the book as overly naturalistic and insufficiently admiring of the Communist Party. Perestroika was more receptive. Two million copies were printed in 1985.

The English translation arrives at a time when women in combat remain a fraught topic. Anyone who thinks that a female soldier cannot carry a wounded man off the field of battle — a frequent argument and a wrong one — need only read this book. One medic hauled 481 men from under fire. “I myself find it hard to believe,” she reflects.

During the book’s journey to publication, a censor urged Alexievich to tell heroic stories. But, growing up, she had heard enough of those. Men start wars, she holds, and glorify them. She wanted to write a book “that would make war sickening.” She succeeded. There is the radio operator who drowns her baby so its crying won’t give away partisan fighters hiding neck-deep in water. There is the medic — 16 when she joined — crawling to rescue a man whose blasted arm is hanging by a few sinews; lacking scissors, she “bit his flesh off” so he could be bandaged.

Starting out, Alexievich wanted to understand why “the girls of 1941” came forward. “How is it they decided to take up arms on a par with men? To shoot, mine, blow up, bomb — kill?”

In part, the answer lay in the gender egalitarianism of their communist education. “Girls — at the wheel of the tractors!” one recalls being taught. “Girls — at the controls of a plane!” But it’s also because the loss of men was so swift and massive. After Hitler’s 1941 invasion, “millions of soldiers and officers were captured,” as one man recalls. “In six weeks Hitler was already near Moscow. . . . And girls were eager to get to the front voluntarily. . . . Those were brave, extraordinary girls.”

Many admired Stalin and believed in Soviet power. The “frontline girls” were full of fervor, feted by their neighbors, eager to defend the Motherland. One danced while waiting for her troop train. Nobody ever thinks a war will be long. But there were other reasons. “We were starving,” recalled a lathe operator who became a submachine-gun platoon commander. She yearned for the front because there “would be rations there. Rusks and tea with sugar.”

The girls were unbelievably young. One enlisted after the seventh grade. A sapper contracted a fever and realized that her wisdom teeth were coming in. Some had not yet started menstruating. Those who had often stopped. “We were so overworked we ceased to be women,” said an armorer. The loss of femininity bothered them. They hated wearing men’s underwear, feared looking ugly in death. They struggled to keep their legs out of caterpillar treads while pulling men out of burning tanks. Nobody would marry a legless woman. The difficulty reconciling conventional femininity with killing and fighting is at the heart of this book. One gunner confided that those she killed — “my dead” — still came to her in her sleep.

The assault on their femininity got worse; after the war, front-line girls found that their service marked them, and not in a good way. “Everybody knows you spent four years at the front, with men,” a girl was told by her mother. “ ‘Army whores. . . . Military bitches . . . .’ They insulted us in all possible ways. . . . The Russian vocabulary is rich,” recalled another. In the United States, military women also faced slanderous accusations of immorality, though not to the same degree. So the front-line girls were well-advised not to talk about their service. There is another reason their story was buried: People everywhere wanted to put the war behind them and return to normal life, but in the Soviet Union, forgetting became crucial.

That’s because anybody could be branded an enemy of the people for saying the wrong thing. As one woman puts it, after all the sacrifice — some 20 million war dead, military and civilian — “Stalin still didn’t trust the people.” One fighter lost her highly decorated husband to 10 years of forced labor when an informer turned him in for remarking that heaps of Russian corpses blunted his sense of triumph. “After the Victory everybody became silent,” the author writes. “Silent and afraid.”

Alexievich did an enormous service, recovering these stories. The outsize Soviet role in defeating the Nazi army and liberating Europe is often neglected. If men who fought on the eastern front have gotten short shrift, how much truer of the women. As a female rifleman scrawled in charcoal on the Reichstag: “You were defeated by a Russian girl from Saratov.” That may be an overstatement, but it is not altogether untrue.

https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/the-significant-neglected-role-of-russian-women-in-world-war-ii/2017/08/04/534e0598-67f2-11e7-9928-22d00a47778f_story.html

jeglackin5:20 PM PST I took flight lessons from an American woman, one of the "99s", the first women's flight group (there were 99 licensed women pilots then). She was a WASP in WW II, transporting planes to men who would fight with them. She told me she flew a B-25 to Alaska for delivery to the Soviet Union. A Soviet woman pilot came to pick up the plane. She checked every part, every engine bolt, and every wire. She spent hours asking questions. Finally she said, This is MY plane! I will fight with this plane! It must be the best!

The woman said the flight home was the longest, saddest of the war. She could not do what this girl was going to.