#god i NEED to start that newsletter

[cranberrylane]

i don't drink but i'd love to crack one open with the whole trigun crew

[tardis--dreams]

Freed from the chains of academic misery just to immediately be thrown into the dungeon of a Full time position

[redflagshipwriter]

Hot Ghouls in your Area 9

masterpost

“Good morning!”

Jason winced and moved the phone a little further from his face. “Is this Doctor Fenton?” 

“It's one of them! What can I do ya for?” Jack Fenton boomed, just as bombastic as his newsletter made him seem. Jason knew, deep in his heart, that Jack Fenton was indeed the one who had selected green neon bold for his headings and borders. 

Angels wept. Jason scrubbed his palm over his eye. This man had no poetry in his soul. “I, uh, had some questions about a ghost. I've read some of your articles and your most recent published paper on the topic.”

“We love ghosts!” Fenton bellowed. “Ask away!”

“Do you know a ghost called Phantom?” Jason tried.

“...Sure do,” Jack Fenton said. “Whatcha need?” 

Jason cleared his throat. “It's somewhat complicated,” he said evasively, because he didn't need these people to know he was the Red Hood. Fuck. He should have either gotten his helmet stored away or not given his real name. Phantom knew his face and that his name was Jason. Any information that got around via Phantom might tie his face to his alter ego. If Phantom said he got married to Jason, the Red Hood, that could lead to the end of the Bat family vigilantism.

“...He cause you trouble, sport?”

Jason let out a slight laugh. “You could say that, though it wasn't really his fault,” he admitted. He cast a paranoid eye out the window to be sure no siblings were creeping on him. “No, it's really more that…” Fuck, he should have planned this better. “Is there any information you can give me about how a human could contact him?” 

Not that Jason didn't have a phone number for the guy. But it made him very uncomfortable to have any basic knowledge or way to track Phantom down if he decided to leave Jason to whatever was going on. 

“I could probably do that,” Jack Fenton said slowly, now sounding like an entirely different human being. “Say, you wouldn't be Jeremy, would you?”

Jason blinked. “...How did you know?” He went with. Phantom had contact with a human guy named Jeremy? That might be his in.

“Oh, well then, you've definitely got to come over,” Dr. Fenton wheedled. It somehow came across as shifty. “You'll be wanting a whole primer on how the Ghost Zone works, won't ya?” 

“That would be immensely helpful,” Jason agreed. “But I'd hate to take up your valuable time.”

“Nonsense!” Fenton bellowed. Jason nearly lost his grip on his phone in surprise. “Come over Jeremy, I'm dying to meetcha!” 

So, there was a plan. Jason packed for a day trip and dialed up his travel agent. 

“Fuck off,” said Tim. “I'm busy. Christ.” 

“I need an airplane ticket and a rental bike to Illinois,” Jason continued. He tossed his mostly full bag on the sofa and went digging for the socks he knew he had washed the other night. “I'm going to go see some nerds about my impromptu adventure the other day.”

Tim groaned. That was the first Jason had given any hint at all about what had happened to him when he'd been ‘sacrificed.’ “What nerds?” He asked wearily. 

Jason grinned into his sock drawer. Gottem. “Why, do you all know each other?” He asked blithely. 

“Do you always antagonize people you want favors from?” Tim whined. A keyboard clacked rapidly in the background. “Jason, I swear to God, you massive bitch. Cut the crap and communicate, or I'm hanging up.” 

Jason frowned at his socks and grabbed a random pair. “You don't gotta be like that,” he said sulkily. He slammed the socks into his bag with a very unsatisfying silence. “So, the ritual doohickey sent me to the infinite underworld, I met a guy there actually and we are magically connected because he's who that dumb ritual matched me up to. He doesn't want to be stuck with a human so we are on the same page about breaking this. We started looking for answers and he took me back to Earth since it's not good for humans to be in the green dimension for too long.” 

There was silence from the other end of the line for a few seconds. “You're fucking lying,” Tim said. 

“Only by leaving things out.” A bit stung, Jason pulled a hand through his hair and accidentally ruined his good hair day. 

“What are you leaving out?” Tim rejoined swiftly.

Jason laughed at him. “You think you're getting that kinda information in exchange for plane tickets?” He asked incredulously. 

“You are the most annoying person who has ever tried to kill me.”

Ouch. That genuinely stung.

“Fuck off.” Jason slammed the drawers shut. 

“I could guess aliens or supernatural off of what you just said.” Tim ignored Jason’s very good point. “Based off of your trip to the Gotham U campus and-”

“Are you still stalking me?” Jason cut him off, incredulous. He scoffed. “Little buddy, you already got my pixie boots, Red Robin costume, and my Dad. What else do you wanna take from me?”

“I think that you were there to assess Daniel Fenton,” Tim ignored him.

Jason was silent for a moment. There was probably no point in pretending that Tim was wrong. “You already knew about the Fenton’s connection to the supernatural.” He was suddenly tired.

“His older sister is an intern at Arkham, she stepped out of line to get a chance to talk to Jeremy Waters.” Tim didn’t seem to notice that the mood had changed. He was caught up on whatever twenty level plan was whirring away internally.

Jason looked at the wall for a moment, not bothering to think about why that name was familiar. “...and that is…?”

“The guy who kidnapped you, keep up,” Tim snarked. “Her supervisor guessed what she was hinting at, shut her down, put a note about it in the private server so there was a paper trail if she turns out to be a collaborator.”

““Private” is a strong word to describe that server.” Jason rubbed at his jawline and hefted his bag out to the bathroom to gather his shaving kit. 

“Mmhm,” Tim said blandly. “I bugged her phone. The signal is absurdly bad, unexplainably bad. She doesn’t send a lot of messages, but she had a very suspicious call with Daniel Fenton where, among other things, she hinted she had inside knowledge regarding some kind of local mystery, possibly criminal activity. Her brother accused her of supporting crime.”

Jason groaned. “I’m going to interview their parents.” He checked that the razor blades were stowed away correctly before snapping shut the travel case. Then he noticed that his bathroom mirror could use a wipedown. He left his bag for a moment to dig for the cleaner.

“Probably for the best,” Tim said, definitely misunderstanding his purpose. “They seem…” He trailed off when he couldn’t find an appropriate adjective.

“You should read a book,” Jason said, because he saw an opportunity to be an asshole. “Anyway, I wanna get out to the area tonight and see them in the morning. What’s my flight?” He spritzed the glass and watched his reflection blur. It was oddly comforting to not have to stare at his green eyes.

‘That ghost zone was the same green as the Lazarus Pits,’ Jason thought dully. He didn’t really want to think about it. But he had a pretty good idea why he hadn’t had the reaction to the place that Danny expected a human to have.

“Kon could take you,” Tim said sweetly, which was basically a death threat. It was enough to jar him back to the real world. Kon was still not feeling chill about the Titans Tower scuffle. It probably wasn’t good for him to be so petty, but Jason was not going to be the one to tell baby Superdork that.

Jason winced. “I was thinking more like United.”

Tim snickered. 

[officialstrawhat]

The Hate We Love To Make

Roronoa Zoro x Fem!Strawhat!Reader

Summary: You and Zoro hate each other but feelings start to change when the captain of the Barto pirates points out what a great couple you two make.

Word Count: 1.3K

Note: Not Edited!

Masterlist

The grand Colosseum of Dressrosa buzzed with the roars of the crowd. Fighters from all across the grand line had gathered, their minds filled with ambition. Among them stood Bartolomeo, nearly vibrating with excitement. He had just met his hero, Monkey D. Luffy, the future king of the pirates. But now, his attention was completely captivated by the scene unfolding before him. He couldn’t believe it! You and Roronoa Zoro were there standing right there!

Since Bartolomeo’s obsession with the Straw Hats began, he’d held the utmost respect and admiration for each crew member. But your relationship with Zoro held a special place in his heart. He’d heard tales of your synchronized battles, of how you two took down foes with perfect timing, always watching each other’s backs. Now, he watched as the two of you stood so close to each other, sharing what looked like an intimate conversation. 

Oh, how he wished he could hear every word you two were saying to one another…

OoOoOo

“IDIOT!” you hiss as Zoro walks away from you. “You’re going the wrong way!”

Kin’emon, dressed in his disguise, stood nearby with an exasperated look. In his short time knowing you he’d grown accustomed to the daily verbal sparring matches between you two.

Zoro spun around, eye narrowed. Your eyes locked with his, a storm brewing between you. “How would you know that? You’ve never been here either!”

“Because I’m not a moron!” You jabbed a finger in his direction, inching closer. It was infuriating how much Zoro seemed to get under your skin. 

Ever since you joined the crew, Zoro had an uncanny knack for getting in your way. You tried not to let it bother you but every time you were about to defeat an opponent, Zoro would swoop in and take them down first. It drove you insane. So you started doing the same to him, knowing it drove him mad with similar fury. Since then, you’d made it a habit to pick on him with Sanji, drink his alcohol, and “accidentally” wake him up from naps.

“If you’re so concerned about which way we’re going, then leave.” He pointed in the opposite direction with a sharp flick of his wrist. “Go that way.”

Kin’emon’s voice cut through the tension. “Please, there’s no need to argue—”

But neither of you heard him as you stepped forward. Your fists clenched as heat surged through your veins.  Your face was now very close to his,  “I hate you. I hope you get lost and don’t come back.”

Zoro’s lip curled, his head tilting in a mocking grin. “Big words coming from a meek woman!”

“Meek?” you repeated, eyes blazing. “You son of a b—”

A loud, high-pitched squeal erupted nearby. “Oh. My. God. It’s Mister Roronoa Zoro and Miss Y/N!” Bartolomeo’s eyes were wide with admiration, his hands clutched to his chest as if his heart might burst.

Your scowl turned to panic. “Um—no, no. I think you have us confused,” you blurted out, shifting awkwardly as Zoro gave you a look.

“Yeah, we’re just regular citizens of Dressrosa,” he added, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Bartolomeo was undeterred, bouncing with excitement. “May I just say you two are so cute together! The power couple of the Pirate Era!”

The world seemed to pause as you and Zoro exchanged glances, the fierce tension shifting to something strange and unspoken. You watched his eyes soften, only for a moment before hardening again. 

“Oh- No, we’re not a couple,” you protested.

“But you two are my OTP!” Bartolomeo exclaimed, looking devastated. 

“Listen, pal, I don’t know what that means, but she hates me,” Zoro huffed, gesturing toward you.”

“But… you defend each other in battle! Finish off each other’s foes!” Bartolomeo exclaimed. “And according to the Straw Hat fan club newsletter, it says and I quote: Zoro and Y/N’s secret love is a thing of beauty in this rough worl—”

“Yeah, hate to break it to you,” you interrupted, “but we have not, nor will we ever, be a thing.”

Bartolomeo’s face fell, and he broke out into exaggerated tears. “Oh, this is a tragedy! How could I be so wrong!”

Zoro exhaled, breaking eye contact. “Come on. We don’t have time for this.”

A small smile crept onto your lips as you followed him, muttering, “You’re still going the wrong way.”

OoOoOo

Kin’emon directed the two of you to a narrow alley, muttering something about searching for his friend and promising to return soon. As the sounds of the bustling street faded, silence settled between you and Zoro, thick with an awkward tension neither of you knew how to break. You found yourself overthinking the fanatics' odd assumption—why would he (and others apparently) think that you and the green-haired swordsman made a good match? You stole a glance at him. Sure, you didn’t want to admit it, but the scarred man was ruggedly handsome. But he had such an infuriating personality. With his brooding silences, those ridiculous earrings, and his rippling muscles—wait, what!?

The silence dragged on until, finally, Zoro broke it, pulling you out of your spiraling thoughts. “Tch, don’t listen to that weird guy. He’s got no clue what he’s saying.”

You let out a dry chuckle, “Yeah, seriously. I mean, can you imagine? You and me?”

Zoro smirked, his sharp gaze flicking over to you. “Yeah, right. Total disaster.”

“One of epic proportions,” you agreed, crossing your arms and leaning back against the wall. You turned your head, pretending to be absorbed by the junk lying around, “The world couldn’t handle it.”

A glint of something unguarded flickered in Zoro’s eyes as he stepped closer, his presence shifting from casual to something more intense. “And yet,” he said, his voice a low, teasing rumble, “you’re still here. You haven’t walked away.”

You raised an eyebrow, turning to meet his gaze. “Maybe I just don’t trust you not to get yourself into trouble the second I turn my back.”

He huffed a short laugh, taking another step that brought him close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off his body. “You think I need you to babysit me?”

“Need? No.” Your voice dropped, matching his tone. “But I know for a fact if it wasn’t for me you’d be neck-deep in trouble twice as often.”

A grin curled at the edge of his lips, his eyes flicking down to your lips and then back to your eyes, lingering for just a second too long. “Guess I’d better keep you close then, huh?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart skipped a beat, the atmosphere between you shifting, the sharp tension morphing into something far more dangerous. The unspoken heat you’d tried so hard to ignore suddenly flared, like a fuse catching fire. For a moment, neither of you moved, as if testing how far this would go. But then, something snapped—years of friction, half-buried glances, and barely-concealed bickering finally erupted. He surged forward, and before you could second-guess it, your lips crashed into his.

The kiss was intense, more battle than embrace, a raw clash of defiance and need. Your hands found his broad shoulders, fingers digging into them as his calloused hands cupped the back of your neck, then tangling in your hair. Everything else faded: the noise of the marketplace, the distant shouts of vendors, even the thought of Kin’emon returning. For this moment, it was just the two of you, like fire meeting spilled oil���volatile, explosive, and inevitable.

When you broke apart, both of you were panting, your breaths mingling in the space between you. Zoro’s lips curved into a smirk, his eyes darkened with something that made your pulse race. “You still hate me?” he asked, his voice a husky drawl.

“With a passion,” you growled, trying to steady your breathing.

“Good.” He chuckled, his hand sliding down to grip your ass possessively. With a rough shove, he pinned you harder against the wall, his lips ghosting the shell of your ear. “Wouldn’t want it any other way.” 

Your retort was lost as his lips found yours again, the world outside that narrow alley slipping into oblivion.

[gone-fish-mode]

hello beasties! apologies for the mass tag- but I thought it would be the best way to get the attention of everyone who showed interest in a nonhuman news letter!

Currently, I am opening up applications to help me out with the newsletter and email updates + subscriptions! You can do both, you can only do one, it doesn't matter.

The newsletter is not ready to open submissions and the website isn't done yet, but the ball is approaching the edge of the hill and, god willing, is about to start rolling.

there are no real requirements to be apart of the staff, I just ask that you are a) nonhuman, b) 16 or older, and c) able to use discord.

If you really wanna help, but don't want to use discord, just send me a dm or comment and we can find a way for you to be apart of this without the discord.

All the information you need should be in the google forms. I'll go in tonight and start adding folks to everything.

If you have questions, comment!!! dm me!! I know the forms say email, but honestly we're not to the point where email is preferable.

There is no age restriction on the updates or subscription list!

updates + subscription

@thatonefurryartist

@drowned-echo

@antecosm

@jungleorangutan

@who-is-page

@that-dreaming-dragon

@vixdesl

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@paws-gone-wild

@virtuallucan

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[solar-sunnyside-up]

I was wondering if you had any resources for people who don't have direct action groups nearby and still want to participate in direct action. I still rely on parents for getting to places and I don't have reliable public transit, so I don't have the option to go to many protests or direct action groups. Do you have any resources on things I can do in my neighborhood (that aren't little free libraries/pantries because my neighborhood doesn't have much foot traffic)

Hey there sprout!! 🌱🌱

It depends on where you live tbh, but given I just did a rural one imma give you some ideas that you could do in the suburbs/urban neighborhoods assuming you don't have a car in a car centric world!

Look into the groups that are in your area and read up on the actions they do. You might not be able to go to events regularly but keeping up with local events is still good to feel like there's momentum! You also wanna look into what programs exist. I'm personally from an Oil loving/God fearing hick town and yet!! There's a million programs going on they just don't advertise or market themselves so you'd never know! Like I just attended an online webinar for Dark Sky Reserve policies for my town this week?? Wild stuff I'd never know if I wasn't researching my own city all the damn time

Cleaning/ gruella building public features are very cool! And something you can do in your own backyard or in the middle of the night in your streets or while your waiting for your shitty transit to get there! (I do that last one a lot, renoed some bus stops and cleaned them up bc I was BORED) Some Secret groups have starting installing benches/painting crosswalks/renovating bus shelters that do exist and technically that is something you can do. Also could look into adopt-a-stop programs.

Gruella gardening! Seed Bombs of native wild flowers and just chucking them around when you go on walks/go out or Moss Graffiti is also an option! Just pick an abandoned spot (on a walk to somewhere or just easily accessible to you in general)

Things like designing your own newsletter/zine/stickers for your community is also neat!

Check in with your Community Association! You'd be surprised at what those guys can do, I've seen anything ranging from movie nights and game nights to craft clubs and yoga classes to pubs/restraunts that fund the CA. Same goes with a community garden/fridge in your area. Those guys need vollunteers

Open up a free toolshed/ clothing closet at a school/library/CA center/abandoned building and hold a drive to fill it up. You'd be surprised at how excited ppl get over those!

[that-one-xachster]

by saying something stupid like 'i love you'

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"I love you"

"What?"

"Nothing."

-> 3 times in which you try to tell him that you love him, but thats not how it goes

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can be taken for any character that you'd like, I was feeling a bit silly haha- might get back into writing

not sorry if this one shot sounds like a comedy show rather than fully angsty, I wrote it based on how I have interactions with people, so im not sorry cause I don't know how you interact with people. please dont come at me for it not sounding angsty or wtv GAAAA I SOUND RUDE LMFAO WHAT

not proofread!

[f/n] = friend's name

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"I love you."

"Huh?"

He looked up from your notebook, holding his pen, explaining the question in chemistry you didn't understand. He sat so close to you, your knees touching, making you feel like a man in the 1800s who just saw a woman's ankle.

You shook your head.

"Nothing."

He just shrugged and went back to explaining the problem to you, and you shifted your weight, resting your head in your palms.

You tapped your foot repeatedly against the table, listening to what he was explaining, before stopping him -

"Wait a second, isn't that the wrong step? You gotta restart-"

"Huh? What are you talking about- oh shit."

"See-"

"Yeah, funny story how about we both just go and ask [f/n]?"

"True. Do that, she's the smarter one."

"Smarter than you for sure."

"No, you're the most idiotic one out of all of us, shut up-"

"No can do-"

You two bickered back and forth until the class ended, never getting to ask [f/n].

Moments like these were what made you fall harder.

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"I love you."

He didn't even hear you this time. Of course he didn't, how would he? He was in the hall, talking to some other friends of his. You're not his only friend, you shouldn't be so selfish-

"Did you say something? Sorry, I was submitting this assignment."

The same friend mentioned before, [f/n] sat next to you in class. She was adamant that you had a thing for the guy, despite your multiple attempts to deny it. No way in absolute hell would you admit that you had a flimsy, silly, teensy little crush on him. No way.

"Nah, you can go back to that."

"I have a better idea, did you hear what happened this morning to-"

And she told you about some events that occurred in the morning, as if she were your personal newsletter. For free of course. She was the nerdy type, but had many friends and always knew what was up with the school, and of course she had to fill you in. You listened to her tell you about random fights, break ups, make ups, and people being stupid in general, enjoying the time you spend with your friend.

Sometimes a distraction is good right? Sometimes.

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"I love you."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"No no no no- what? Repeat that."

"Dude, I said nothing-"

"Nuh uh, you keep mumbling random shit and won't tell me what it is bruh, spit it out."

"The hell you mean 'nuh uh'? Buddy you don't need to peek into everything I say, you see, im a verbal thinker hArDy hAr hAr-"

"..."

"..."

"....for the love of god never do that again."

"....yeah."

Akward silence engulfed you two. The teacher walked in after a few seconds, immediately starting the class.

Recovering from the past embarrassment, you whispered jokes to each other, poked each other with your pens, copied each other's notes when you couldn't finish writing them in time, and got caught laughing too much for a joke, but hey.

At least he didn't hear you mumble another soft, barely audible, "I love you."

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| ennoshita, atsumu, OIKAWA, tendou, hanamaki (hear me out), kirishima, denki (hmo), SERO, honenhuki, muramatsu (a very big hmo), + anyone else you'd like! these were the ones I thought of lol |

hope you enjoyed <3

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bonus ! funny little smidgen- well funny to me lmao

"Do you have the answers for math?" "I thought you did." "..." "..." "Ok- ok well I did half at home, I'll just do the other half now-" "Hold up- which half did you do?" "The first, why?" "Goddammit, I did the first too." "We're screwed?" "We're screwed."

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[player1064]

And as for the prompt two: I would like to subscribe to your "Gary has autism"- newsletter. So something Carraville about Gary being autistic. Could be something like them actually needing to communicate with each other about relationship stuff, because Gary can't do vague and needs to have things spelled at him. Or maybe something more lighthearted, maybe Carra has googled "how to support your autistic partner" and is trying his best and Gary who has no idea he has autism is like "what's all this then?".

Or just go nuts and do what you feel like.

god I LOVE autistic gary so much. I mean I'm always Implying he's autistic in everything I write but it was fun to have a go at making it like,, the Focus...

also sorry guys that I dissappeared from doing prompts again!! Not forgotten them or lost inspiration I'm just. Slow. And I keep starting new WIPs instead...

---

Gary wakes to the feeling of chapped lips pressing against his temple, and he blinks his eyes open to smile up at Jamie and (more importantly) the cup of coffee he’s holding. He’s sat himself down on Gary’s side of the bed and waits patiently for Gary to shuffle upright so that he can pass him the mug, his free hand absently running up and down Gary’s thigh over the covers.

There are worse things to wake up to, Gary thinks generously, and he takes a careful sip of his coffee.

Jamie watches him intently for a few moments, his hand still resting on his leg. “Think I could get used t’ this,” he says softly, “you not runnin’ off to gym at the crack of dawn.”

I could get used to this too, Gary thinks. But he knows it’s not something he can get used to – the minute he lets one thing slip, the whole carefully balanced ecosystem that is his life will come tumbling down and before you know it he’ll be a stone or two heavier. Besides, then he’d have to admit that he likes being here in Liverpool, and that’s obviously never gonna happen.

It’s not Liverpool that he likes, anyway.

“Hmm, I dunno,” he says instead. “My chi’s probably gonna be all out for the rest of the day now.”

Jamie rolls his eyes at the mention of his chi, but he doesn’t try to argue it. Likely because he knows he won���t win, ‘cause Gary’s right.

When he sets his mug down on the bedside table Jamie immediately leans into his space, cupping his cheek with one of his warm dry hands and kissing him gently. This, too, Gary could get used to. He chases all thoughts of working out from his mind and instead focuses on returning the kiss, curling his hands in the fabric of Jamie’s t-shirt.

“’m not much for morning sex, me,” he murmurs when they come up for air.

“I know.” Jamie shifts his face slightly to press a kiss to the corner of Gary’s mouth, then one to his jaw. “This okay though? Or d’you want me to stop?”

“This is okay,” he confirms with a fraction of a nod. More than okay, really, but Jamie doesn’t need to hear that – his head’s big enough as it is.

*

They’re at the studio to film Stick to Football and Gary’s having one of those days where everything feels just slightly off. He’s not sure what it is, really – probably stress, most things in his life are caused by stress – but he’s always explained it away as ‘just a headache’, or ‘didn’t get enough sleep last night’.

Everything’s just a fraction too bright, a fraction too loud – the laughter of his friends feels grating, the equipment being shifted around while the crew packs up might as well be a dozen car crashes all clanging together.

He opens up his phone as soon as they’re done shooting, hoping that sends enough of a ‘don’t talk to me’ message that people will get the hint and leave him alone. Of course, this plan fails to account for Jamie being – well, being Jamie.

He walks up behind Gary and claps a friendly hand on his shoulder, asks in that loud voice of his “’m I comin’ back to yours?” in a way that makes Gary wince.

“Maybe not,” he says apologetically. “Got a lot of work to get through.”

“Have you fuck,” Jamie mutters.

This thing he’s got going on with Jamie is still new enough that he’s not really sure how he’s meant to act in public. Probably just the same as before, but he can’t remember what that was like. He thinks he should be meaner, then he panics that he’s hurting Carra’s feelings. If he’s nicer, he worries he’ll think he’s just being polite because they’re fucking now.

Jamie, obviously, has no such problem. He just does whatever he wants, whenever. For example: right now he’s watching Gary with this piercing sort of look, and Gary finds himself wanting to squirm under the intensity of his focus.

After assessing him for a few moments, Jamie’s tone turns gentle and he asks, “you sure you’re alright?” like he already knows the answer. “Just – thought you might be getting one of your headaches.”

Gary nods, rubs a hand at his temple to really drive the point home. “I can work through it though, it’s fine.”

Jamie looks at him for a long second, his face twitching a bit like he’s trying not to let his expression slip. “At least let me drive you home? Promise I won’t try talk your ear off on the way or anything.”

“Fine,” Gary agrees with a sigh. “Yeah, fine.”

*

“When was the last time you ate?” Jamie asks as he follows Gary through his front door.

Gary shoots him a Look. “Thought you were just dropping me off?”

Jamie ignores this and walks past him and through to the kitchen. “If I made you a sandwich would you eat it?”

He doesn’t really feel that hungry, but he’s also not got the energy to try argue with Jamie. “D’you know how to make a sandwich?”

“Mmm,” Jamie hums as he rummages through Gary’s fridge, which does not fill him with confidence.

“I’m gonna go sit in the living room.”

“Good idea,” Jamie says absently. He opens up a cupboard and grabs a glass out of it, goes to the tap to fill it up right to the brim. “Here, take this with you.”

Gary, too confused by Jamie’s inexplicable behaviour to remember to thank him, takes a careful sip of the water so that he doesn’t have to worry about spilling it on his walk to the sofa and he wanders out the room to the sounds of Jamie muttering to himself about butter knives and bread knives and whether there’s any real difference between them.

A few minutes go by – much too long for any functional person to make a sandwich – before Jamie walks into the living room looking pleased with himself. He hands a plate to Gary – and fair play to him, it looks like a perfectly acceptable sandwich – then hovers awkwardly in front of him.

“Alright if I sit with you?” he asks.

Gary nods, picking up the sandwich with his hands to get a proper look at it. Jamie plops himself down on the next cushion over as he takes his first bite. It’s just ham and cheese and a bit too much butter, but it’s edible. Gary’s stomach grumbles – maybe he’s hungrier than he’d thought.

He eats in silence and finishes off the rest of his water, then when he’s put the plate and glass down on the coffee table in front of him he turns to Jamie and raises an eyebrow. Now what?

Jamie shrugs, then lifts one arm up to rest on the back of the sofa. “You up for a cuddle?”

No, would be Gary’s immediate reaction, but Jamie’s being suspiciously nice to him so he thinks maybe he should try avoid snapping at him. And it might be nice, just for a minute or two. Jamie’s chest is always lovely and solid.

He shuffles over into Jamie’s space, lowers himself down to lean against him. He presses his cheek against the soft fabric of Jamie’s t-shirt, takes a long inhale to try adjust himself to his smell.

Jamie’s arm slips down across Gary’s shoulders, squeezing him with just a bit too much pressure which should be annoying but which just makes Gary feel secure in his place. His other hand comes up to rest on the small of his back and Gary feels his lips brush briefly against the top of his head.

“This okay?” he murmurs into Gary’s hair.

The headache, or not-headache or whatever it is, is already fading to the back of Gary’s mind. He nods against Jamie’s chest, then he lets his eyes flutter closed. Maybe a quick nap won’t do any harm.

[mybookof-you]

My current attitude toward the fast-approaching election day is one powered by mixed emotions. I know it's not over until it's over, but part of me is overwhelmed and slayed by the fact that so many Americans appear to support a man who can stand up and sway to music for what seems to be an eternity during what is supposed to be a critical event designed to convey meaningful information to his supporters. What he seems to be saying here through his actions is that he just doesn't care. He believes he can do just about anything, and his people will follow. Those who disagree can make fun of him all they want, and the result will be the same: his base is solidly sold on his message. It doesn't matter that his message is mixed, fabricated, or totally ridiculous. His people are sold on his promise to deliver specifically to their personal, diverse, contradicting, opposing needs.

It's like prayer. You pray for what you want, and the god seems to be listening, so you keep praying, you keep believing, you keep being a faithful member of the flock. Ut-wo. Instead of a steady, harvest- ensuring flow of steady rain, there came a flood. No worries. god is god. He will come through in the end. It will be heaven. You'll see. Meanwhile, people are drowned en masse, and there is no way to escape it, unless you were faithful enough to build an ark like god told you to. Those are the ones who get to enjoy more fruitfulness and multiplication. The believers. The others got what they had coming to them, but not you. You are special and sinless, because you believe and you confess, and you start over again and again.

Snake oil. When I look at the candidate, Donald Trump, I see a very successful salesman. He knows how to motivate and how to manipulate. He's no dummy. He can speak out of both sides of his mouth, work that groove, and deliver the sheep unto the market all at the same time. He's a multi-tasker, a multi-crafter, and an expert at fibbing. It's all harmless until you find yourself in the mouse-trap. You took the bait, whether you're a believer or not, you deserve what you get. Please, don't take me with you.

Perhaps some join the bandwagon, because, heavens to Murgatroyd, something has got to change, things have to get better, and I know that things that are said don't always mean what they mean, and I am betting that Donald Trump is a better man than all the things he has done before, all the things he has said. He really is talking to me when he says he's going to make things better. Things certainly aren't better now. Not for me. nuh-uh. I want capitalism at its most monopolist, laws at its most freedom-restrictionist, and leadership at its most definitive authoritarian glory. Somebody make a decision, make it happen, and deliver a change. Anything has to be better than what my life is like right now. Poopy-doos.

I really don't get it. Somebody explain why you would want a stacked Supreme Court ready to diminish human rights and call it good when the states can take over and do all that dirty work for them. Why would you bother citizens who are no threat to your lifestyle, those who are making choices for themselves? None of your choices have been eliminated.

Don't let your kid read that book if you don't want them to. That is your right. Read the newsletter that tells you what is going to be covered in your child's classroom. Talk to the teacher who is a trained professional and find that their approach to the classroom is flexible and designed to accommodate your needs and preferences. Your rights are not threated in any way. Someone has been selling you snake oil.

Not communing with anything I said? That's okay. So far, it's still a free country, and I'd like it to stay that way. I don't ever want to fear that I will be sent to jail for having an unpopular opinion. I don't want to find out what this country, whose citizens "will never have to vote again" will look like under the rule of Donald Trump.

I will vote for Harris/Waltz, not because they are perfect representatives of all of my viewpoints, not because they are polite, not because they can magically deliver on all the wish-lists of special interest groups, but because the candidates represent the possibilities of the kind of country I want and believe in. That is a country where no one group is more important than another, where people are heard and listened to, where votes matter, and where the leaders are in alignment with the voices of the people.

None of us are going to get everything we want. That is not possible in a country of such blessed diversity. What we can work toward is a country that values its people and envisions a future which is profitable, sustainable, and inclusive. You can be a bigot and enjoy all the freedoms of the majority of minorities. if you want. Just don't take away my freedoms. I have just as much a right to be here as you do. I have just as much right to be me without the fear of displeasing you to the point of social suicide. I just want to live with the same opportunities, the same resources and economies, and the same respect you seek. I am willing to compromise on what the blueprint to that kind of society might entail, but not on the results. To me, Donald Trump represents the blueprint of a disastrous deluge of inequality and suffocation.

We can't afford to mince words anymore. We can't worry if we are going to offend. We don't have to be rude. We can't stand behind a veil of smoke knit with promises. We may lose, but let's be frank, we see Donald Trump for what he is, and he is not my president.

[secularbakedgoods]

Masterpost: The Casefile of Jay Moriarty

The Casefile of Jay Moriarty is a queer crime series about a modern-day version of Sherlock Holmes' most famous enemy and his romance with Sebastian Moran, his loyal partner in crime.

#1: Jay Moriarty Violates the Official Secrets Act

(11 000 words)

When ex-SAS security consultant Sebastian Moran runs afoul of a rich and powerful corporate client, he's thrown into the path of a brilliant hacker named Jay Moriarty. To survive, both of them must work together to unravel the secrets of Bruce-Partington Aerospace and take down its corrupt CEO, Sir James Walter.

Read as an ebook | Read on Ko-fi

#2: Sebastian Moran Gets Mauled by a Tiger

(16 000 words)

Revenge brings black-hat hacker Jay Moriarty and former SAS operator Sebastian Moran together once again, with an egomaniacal real estate developer in their crosshairs. Derek Chapman is obsessed with high society and will do anything to climb the social ladder--which makes him the perfect mark for a confidence game involving a West End producer, a private sex club, and a live Bengal tiger. What could possibly go wrong?

Read as an ebook | Read on Ko-fi

#3: Jay Moriarty Ruins Everybody's Childhood

(17 000 words)

After famous author Anya Clay incites a hate crime that hits close to home, hacker Jay Moriarty is hell-bent on revenge. To get it, he'll need the help of Sebastian Moran, the former SAS operator he may or may not be dating. But as Jay's plan hits one complication after another and the situation becomes more dangerous, Moran starts to worry just how far this will go—and what it could cost them both.

Read as an ebook | Read on Ko-fi

#4: Jay Moriarty Has Seen You Naked

(26 000 words)

A spur-of-the-moment invitation brings Sebastian Moran along for the ride as Jay Moriarty recovers from surgery in a Spanish resort hotel. When Jay exploits a security vulnerability in the hotel network, he finds an array of exposed cameras — and comes across hints that one of the other guests is hiding a dangerous secret. A secret that, once uncovered, may put Jay and Sebastian's own lives at risk.

Read as an ebook | Read on Ko-fi

#5: Sebastian Moran Inflicts Six Traumatic Brain Injuries

(12 000 words)

When an art heist goes wrong, Jay Moriarty calls for help — and in the middle of the night, Sebastian Moran heads out into the streets of London to find him. But he's not the only one hunting Moriarty, and it's not long before Moran's search leads him into a clash with a rogue mercenary company. To save his partner, Moran will have to take any help he can get … even from an untrustworthy cat burglar named John Clay.

Read as an ebook | Read on Ko-fi

#6: Jay Moriarty vs the Machine God

(16 000 words)

In the wake of narrowly-averted tragedy, Sebastian Moran returns to his old home in Herefordshire; his partner, Jay Moriarty, insists on coming with him. Together, they discover the cash-strapped local council has deployed a piece of software called AlgoDV to prop up its understaffed social services — and that AlgoDV was nearly responsible for the deaths of Moran's only real family. Which means the man behind the whole scheme, Councillor Robert Wallis, is about to have a very bad week.

Read as an ebook | Read on Ko-fi

You can also find The Casefile of Jay Moriarty on Gumroad and itch.io.

If you’d like email updates whenever I publish a new story, you can sign up for my newsletter here.

[dailyanarchistposts]

Is it better to be nice, or to be remembered?

In Banshees of Inisherin, Martin McDonagh’s haunting, beautiful movie of last year, Colin Farrell’s character Pádraic and Brendan Gleeson’s Colm go to war over this question. (And it is such a beautiful movie, for the love of god, don’t read this newsletter until you’ve seen it. Seriously. You will make me very sad.)

Because one day, Colm, the older of this pair of lifelong friends, decides he doesn’t want to waste one more minute of his life talking to Pádraic. He is getting old, he’s starting to feel it, but he has a rare talent with the fiddle. He wants to compose a song, just one song that might have a chance of being remembered.

And everyone knows that Padraic might be one of the nicest fellows on the island (he regularly lets his beloved donkey in the house, because why should he have to stay all bored outside?), but, though no one will say it to his face, he’s a bit dull. And Colm decides he doesn’t have anymore time for dullness.

Padraic just can’t get his simple little mind around this, he keeps challenging and questioning Colm’s decision until the older man lays down, and begins to carry out, an ultimatum: every time you talk to me, I will cut off one of my own fingers.

In one defiant riposte at the pub, when Padraic drunkenly challenges his obsession with legacy, Colm points out that no one remembers if Mozart was nice, they remember him because he did great things, and that’s what’s important.

And here we come across a question anarchists grapple with. Because there are historical figures we celebrate, and whose work still inspires us, but—because of our troublesome insistence on finding an agreement between ends and means—we also wonder, and hope, were they nice people?

One of the most eloquent explorations of this need, and this contradiction, can be found in the tragically under-distributed book, The Unquiet Dead: Anarchism, Fascism, and Mythology by anonymous. What does it mean when people who champion ideas of freedom, respect, and dignity for all don’t put those ideas in practice and treat people poorly in their own lives (often their intimate partners, their children…)? The author of Unquiet Dead embraces the complexity to be found in the tension between both stories. Carlos Tresca, the Italian anarchist featured in the book’s opening was a heroic revolutionary motivated by a love for freedom, dedicated to the cause and willing to risk himself again and again. He fought for downtrodden workers in the IWW, campaigned to save Sacco and Vanzetti from the electric chair, and organized to stem the rising tide of fascism in the Italian-American community, for which he was eventually executed by the mafia. He also beat his wife, left her and their child to be with his lover Elizabeth Gurley Flynn, but then got Elizabeth’s sister pregnant. He caused immense harm to the people he should have taken care of the best. Both of these facets of him are true.

The point is not to tolerate harm as inevitable nor draw up balance sheets between someone’s good deeds and bad deeds as though we had Ma’at’s feather in our back pocket. The point is to recognize that every goddamn person on this planet walks around all day with the capacity to do good and the capacity to do harm and we all do both. Of a completely different nature, however, are the institutions and structures with the most power to shape the entire planet. They are not people, they are not lovable damaged little packages of complexity. Rather, they are social machines that produce harm and exalt harm and metastasize harm and they grind it in to us every fucking day and their only chance for reproducing themselves is to get us to cause harm or to look away every fucking day. Our only single moonshot hope of coming together and generating enough power to destroy them once and for all so we can finally get on with healing is to recognize our potential for harm and for care and do our best to be better. Because otherwise, every time we reach towards liberation, we will be the most effective ones at tearing ourselves down.

I really believe that’s true: I have seen us beat the police, I have seen us outsmart the universities, I have seen us outmaneuver the military, I have seen us drown out the media, and I have seen us create abundance that not even the corporations could buy out or drain dry. But one thing I have never seen us do, as a movement, is to fully adopt lasting practices of conflict resolution and collective, transformative responses to harm. Though some corners of the movement have been working at it harder than others.

Urgently, we cannot support people who have been harmed without cultivating in our social circles and movements a lifelong commitment to healing. Because otherwise, we’ll expect healing to fit within a simple process, we’ll tend towards large, quick gestures that are more designed as loud advertisements that we’re with the good guys than they are designed to create space for hard feelings and messy processes that never entirely go away. Because trauma chooses its own timeline, and we can’t be present to it as long as we stick to the normative, ableist, and neurocompliant ideas of “being okay,” as long as healing continues to be an extra, a marginal space of exception rather than a central feature of everything we do. (And dear god let no one read this as a call for nonviolence. With all the force of Colm suckerpunching policeman Peadar when he starts to run his mouth in that great scene in the pub, we need to insist: fighting institutions of power and the people who choose every single day to be their mercenaries is an integral part of healing.)

Just as urgently, we cannot accompany people who have caused great harm so that they stop causing harm and are present for healing if we cannot see the good in them, and this is a central tenet of transformative justice, no matter how many *white people have started using that phrase when they mean cancellation. Not only because it is scary to admit we have hurt people we care about and we need support in those moments, but because if we cannot empathize with someone else’s ability to cause harm we probably cannot empathize with our own, which means that when we harm someone we will probably not let ourselves see it.

*I wrestled with the possibility of linking to some of the leading white voices totally perverting the concept and disrespecting the legacy of transformative justice, but I wasn’t looking forward to the inevitable flame war and I certainly can’t position myself as someone who understands it all better. So please, if you’re white, whether you have a large platform or not, try to spend some time understanding the abolitionist struggle, the extreme violence of the State stealing away so many Black people and locking them up in prison. Maybe instead of bickering and posturing, we could give more support to the struggle against the prison system and white supremacy, and as a part of that insist that our harm is our own and being a community means calling it in rather than casting it out.

I’ve been learning a little about this as I reflect on one of the various miserable stories that have brought me close to the edge these past few years. A young anarchist in my neighborhood was accused of abusive behaviors by three former partners, and also spent an afternoon trying to convince a nonbinary person that their existence wasn’t real, with transphobic arguments he’d gotten off the internet. I volunteered to talk with him, hoping to offer critical support through some kind of dialogue that would hopefully be transformative for him and supportive for the people he had harmed. It didn’t go very well. Actually, it turned into a dumpster fire. I gave him about five minutes of patience and when he didn’t drop his defensiveness, his proud belief that he was right and innocent as he quoted “radfem” websites and ignored the suffering of his former partners, my ego kicked in and I focused, ever more belligerently, on proving him wrong. As though I were right, as though I were one of the good ones, as though I haven’t also hurt people I care about or clung to wrongheaded beliefs that erased other people’s experiences of pain and oppression.

It didn’t help that his defenses were already up and he had reasons for feeling unsafe. Turns out, the feminist working group in the organization he was a part of knew to use transformative justice lingo but spared themselves the effort of actually learning the practice and the experiences of struggle behind it (they generally haven’t bothered reading or translating Black feminists over here in Catalunya, but then again, the same can be said of too many white anarchists in the States). As their first or second step in the “process,” they published this kid’s name and photo on the internet and demanded his exclusion from everywhere. They also excluded some of the people he had harmed from their decision-making so they could maintain control over the process. The man with the most power in the organization, who has built up his entire identity around being a good feminist ally, didn’t dare contradict them even though it was clear they had no idea what they were doing, so he stayed on the sideline instead of offering resources.

The guy’s former partners, in general, didn’t get support. An internet communiqué and cancellation campaign gets priority, but not their emotional wellbeing. One feminist in the neighborhood offered support, but didn’t have much energy. Other feminists stayed away, because the situation was too conflictive and they were still feeling drained from being exploited or burned playing support roles for other conflicts. I prioritized confronting the dude. It ended up in an actual brawl when I found out he’d been spreading rumors against me, anything to portray his abuse as something else, including twisting information about my mental health to present me as psychotic.

I don’t know where that kid is now. If he’s abusing his current partner or if he’s learned something. All the bridges are burned. The people who published his name and photo don’t follow up on it though. He long since disappeared from their safe spaces so everything’s resolved for them.

Rewatching Banshees, Padraic’s pathetic insistence that kindness was more important than legacy reminded me of a tough fight: someone I love very much, maybe exaggerating a little the staying power of my writing, asking whether when I died people would remember me for my books or for failing to live up to my ideals, for being shitty to people I cared about. That takes me to questions of trauma as an intergenerational legacy, and how mental health and accountability intersect with patriarchal conditioning. Those essays are on a low simmer, as I grapple with how to write them (write from the scar, and not the wound, as Glennon Doyle says). For now, let me underline how anarchism asks us to be our best selves as we move through the world, while at the same time that world as it currently exists, with its layers of harm stretching back millennia, ensures that very few of us will act as our best selves, no matter what ideas motivate us.

***

Ironically, I got on Twitter to help distribution of my writing. I hate social media and all that 21st century noise, but friends kept telling me it didn’t make much sense to put so much effort into writing and none at all into the technologies by which writing is distributed nowadays. So at the end of 2019, never having developed the adequate filters or immunities, I dove in. A couple months later the pandemic started, and I fell hard. In no time, I was fighting with the best of them, disrespecting and insulting people for talking nonsense, or maybe just for not expressing themselves well in two-hundred-odd characters, or maybe for going around with the same kind of arrogance or aggressiveness that I was. Many of you were right there with me, cheering me on. I was also flirting with people, not thinking about how a platform based on algorithms takes status inequalities and amps them up. Not thinking about it because that’s how privilege works: if you don’t do the work to see it, you’re allowed to live like it doesn’t exist.

I usually felt pretty awful after those bitter Twitter fights, but I wouldn’t have gotten to whatever transformation I’m in the midst of now without the loving criticism of feminist comrades who have done the work that transformative justice asks of us. They didn’t think I was a bad person just because I was acting like an asshole. They knew that social media are structured to encourage alienation and polarization along superficial, acrimonious lines, something that on a large scale has injected new life into rightwing politics. They also know that we are the only ones who are responsible for our actions. Making some kind of change, then, requires an analysis of the power structures that condition our behavior balanced with an analysis that centers our own choices.

Often, we can inhabit architectures of power like barbarians, refusing to use them the way they are designed. The same person I mentioned earlier is on sex worker twitter more than anarchist twitter and says that people there are nearly always kind and supportive, while also practicing the forms of security culture obligated by the criminalization of their income, sharing resources in a way certain old Russian geographers might call “mutual aid,” and engaging in the sort of theoretical debates you would expect from smart people who inhabit contradictory spaces created by the hypocrisies in society’s moral norms and who are frequently thrust into a blinding spotlight as props in various debates around patriarchy, harm, criminalization, capitalism, and the State. Yet another reminder that anarchists frequently don’t make the best anarchists.

***

Our many collective failings around accountability and harm should also be a reminder that even an emphasis on acting in accordance with our values can become the front lines of a new war. In Banshees of Inisherin, it is shortly after Pádraic cements his identity as a nice fellow that he stops acting nice. After confirming with his sister, and the bartender, and his young friend Dominic that he is in fact kind, he proves to himself that Colm is in fact unjustified in ending their friendship, and therefore he must be justified in continuing to violate the boundaries that Colm, however unreasonably, is trying to lay down. Justification in hand, he sets out to sabotage Colm’s newfound pursuit of musical composition.

The moment he is the one holding the flag of kindness, he no longer has to be kind.

Some people have vastly misunderstood Banshees as an allegory for the Irish Civil War, and it is true that Inisherin, the fictional island the movie takes place on, translates as “island of Ireland.” Instead the Civil War, which is occurring on the mainland as Pádraic and Colm’s feud plays out, is a foil to the movie’s plot.

I think it could be argued that the sounds of artillery bombardment coming across the channel, and then the staccato report of executions—traitors killed by the victorious side—and then the silence of a troubled peace, herald the three acts of the movie’s dramatic script. Rather than an equivalence, Mcdonagh has drawn poetic contrasts between the civil war on the mainland and the civil feud between the two ex-friends.

The feud is frivolous, coming down to Colm’s vanity and Pádraic’s stubbornness. I would be a little scandalized by anyone implying that the causes of the war were also frivolous; everyone knows it was caused by British imperialism and the forms of oppression that become inevitable when people confide in a new state for their liberation. No one on the little island understands the reasons for the war, but neither are they held up as paragons of discernment capable of even noticing injustice. On the contrary, island society is portrayed as conservative, moribund, and incapable of fixing itself. Its solutions are escape, whether through emigration or suicide. Furthermore, the maximum exponent of the idea that the difference between the two sides is meaningless is the cop, Peadar. And the movie’s most eloquent explorations of morality, in the confessional dialogues between Colm and the island priest, make it clear that non-human animals deserve compassion, whereas cops do not. Like I said earlier, cops were people who have instead decided every single day they wake up to be mercenaries for a system that makes life impossible.

The war best expresses itself as a foil to the feud in the uneasy peace of the conclusion. Standing side by side looking out over the channel to the now quiet mainland, Colm offers a truce which Pádraic flatly rejects. The audience will watch the scene in a present in which Ireland is bound fast to a moldering peace process that we can trace back to 1923, the year Banshees takes place, agitated by Brexit and every year’s new revelations of brutal tactics employed by the British and their lackeys. Peace, nowadays, does not have an immaculate reputation and it is on that stage that Pádraic insists, heart full of love and hate, that some things cannot be forgiven.

And yet, even though he says they will never have peace, even though he has just burned Colm’s house down and tried to kill him (though he gave fair warning), both of them still commit to a minimum of decency. Pádraic takes care of Colm’s dog when he sets the house on fire. Colm picks Pádraic off the ground and silently takes him home after the copper beats him up. Colm also accepts the legitimacy of Pádraic’s arson, given that he had accidentally killed Pádraic’s dear little donkey.

Those minimums of decency, of course, were lacking in the Irish Civil War, just as they are absent from most political conflicts. And that’s the world we live in. The banshees that haunt us no longer wail and cry over the tragedies of this life. They grin wickedly, jaded, pointing out each lifeless body as we drag it out of the lake.

***

Banshees, actually, does not present us with a simple dichotomy between legacy and kindness, though a tendency to recognize male protagonists would lead us to that conclusion. That would be a false contest, stacked so that everyone, performing, would say of course kindness is more important, even if we will rarely live that way. Instead of a dichotomy, it is actually a triangle holding up legacy, kindness, and the ineffable. The latter, of course, is represented by Siobhán. She is the only one who is capable of understanding the other two, in their intractable conflict.

She prizes her brother’s kindness and for the most part she is kinder than he is, though she can also call bullshit in the face of nonsense (and we have to understand her hostility to young Dominic in light of the gendered way he, himself damaged and friendless, projects and presumes rather than respecting her boundaries). But at the same time she feels the ineffable pull of that spirit Colm tries to satisfy with his music, and eventually she follows it off the island. In her case, though, it does not manifest as something as vain as legacy. I think what keeps her awake at night is the burning need not to just move unthinkingly through life, satisfied and inert, but to be nourished by the world and to also give something back.

When you write a book, you realize it may well survive longer than you do. If you write many books on revolutionary theory and practice, people might start to assume you embody those ideas better than they do, when all you know how to do is write them down, and you’re just describing things you’ve learned from people around you, or people you’ve had the good fortune to correspond with, or people who died long ago and have been preserved by these mischievous little publications.

In a couple decades and change in the anarchist movement, I have lived through moments when the enemy really was the systems of power that are killing all of us, slowly or quickly, and the mercenaries whose very sense of self is based on defending those systems with whatever weapons, whatever cruelty, they can muster. Other times, the people on the other side of a line of conflict were people little different from me, but whom I had decided—with some justification, but probably not enough—were representatives of the ideas of power that animate the systems that are destroying us. So if they were the bad guys, as I was telling myself to justify fighting them, I must have been telling myself I was a good guy.

But how many people would have an easy time of putting me on the other side of that line? After all, I’m a settler who hasn’t found the resources to ameliorate his traumas nor the time to check his privileges, stumbling through a world created by people who look a lot like me. What I know is that people who have put me there, who have treated me like an enemy when I’ve messed up, haven’t helped me grow or make amends, they were usually an obstacle to those things, and the ones I’ve gotten to know have messed up just as bad as I have. It’s the people who have treated me like a person who might want to live in a world together with other people who I have learned the most from. And it’s thanks to those brave enough to have shown me love when I’ve messed up that I’ve survived. And they’ve helped me realize that there are many different versions of ourselves. That we live in some hellish architecture that keeps encouraging the worst versions of ourselves to rise to the top, and they will unless we specifically choose otherwise. And that fact alone warrants some kindness.

I probably shouldn’t think of myself as a good guy, because I honestly haven’t been successful at much in my life. I have been lucky, though, to be there a few times in electrifying moments, to hear ghosts who have a lot to say, and maybe to pass a little of that on in ways others have found helpful.

I think I no longer want to win. I think what I want to do is to tell stories about our failures, and my failures, but tell them with compassion. To tell stories about people I admire. About battles that were worth fighting, and peaces that weren’t false. And to try, impossibly, to strike the exact note of that ineffable music that calls on us, every day, to be better.

***

Unending thanks to R, who took me out to see Banshees, and held my hand through many of these realizations, most of them ones I should have come to a long time ago. For much of these last few years, I was dangling over the edge. Because I hadn’t done the work of putting my ideals into practice, I almost dragged her over with me. She’s also, not coincidentally, the person who taught me about memoir as a tool for healing the past, which has an eerie parallel with the vision of history set forth by Walter Benjamin, one of the favorite theorists of the author of The Unquiet Dead, who launches into Benjamin immediately after sharing the heartbreaking story about Carlos Tresca.

Get on her newsletter here if you’re not already reading her, and check out her first book: https://beltpublishing.com/products/rust-belt-femme

(The original quote from Glennon Doyle is alternately “You need to write from a scar, not an open wound,” or “if you’re going to share widely – make sure you’re sharing from your scars, not your open wounds” and in the interview where it seems to have first come up, she attributes the phrase to a friend of hers, but it’s been made more aerodynamic as feminist writers share the aphorism back and forth. All of which is a lovely counter to the white and patriarchal notion of knowledge in which the truest expression is singular in its source, traceable back to an original utterance, and written down.)

Postscript: Citations and Tangents

anonymous, The Unquiet Dead: Anarchism, Fascism, and Mythology

Kai Cheng Thom, “What to do when you have been abusive”

Alex Gorrion, “Kafka Reloaded: Redefining Apparatus in a Series of Government Waiting Rooms”

Henry McDonald, “Revealed: Five British spies inside the IRA” - Just a note that Scappaticci admitted to being a spy in the years since this article was published.

[loveroftoomanyfandoms]

A Little Angel (Or Devil?) Chapter 2

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Story Summary: Matt and Reader, happily married at the end of Angel of God, my Guardian Dear, start the next chapter in their life together -- parenthood.

Warnings/Tags: Smut, Unprotected Sex (I mean obviously, Matt and Reader are trying for a baby), Pregnancy and all the fun stuff that comes with it (sarcastic), no graphic depiction of childbirth

Word Count: ~1600

A/N: Warning for folks with emetophobia for this chapter!

Tag List: @nommingonfood

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged!

Matt whistled cheerfully as he walked home from the office a few weeks later. He had just wrapped up a case for an affluent client which meant that the firm was going to be able to keep the lights on for another few months, Foggy had told him that he had finally asked Karen out on a date, and it was Thursday, which meant that he and Y/N would be spending the weekend breaking in the new living room furniture that would be arriving Saturday morning.

He walked up the steps to his and Y/N’s house and unlocked the door, frowning when he was greeted with silence. 

Normally on the days Y/N arrived home before Matt he would hear her getting started on dinner in the kitchen or at the very least moving around upstairs, but today there was no sound. 

Matt stepped further into the foyer, trying to remember if Y/N had told him that she had made plans with Jessica for after work. “Y/N? You home, angel?”

He tilted his head as he heard the slow, steady rhythm of Y/N’s heartbeat coming from the back of the house.

He headed down the hall towards the dining room. “Sweetheart?”

He paused as he reached the garden room and realized that Y/N was fast asleep on the couch.

He crept closer to her and knelt on the floor, gently brushing his hand across her forehead and frowning when she felt a bit warmer than usual. “Y/N? Angel?”

Y/N stirred and let out a soft sigh. “Matty?”

Matt nodded. “Yeah, sweetheart, it's me.”

“What time is it?”

“About 7:15.”

Y/N groaned and sat up. “Shit, I'm sorry, honey. I wasn't feeling well after I got home from work so I laid down in here for just a second. I must've fallen asleep. ”

Matt's brow furrowed at the weak sound of her voice. “You okay, angel?”

“Mm mmm.” Y/N sighed. “I feel drained. Hope I'm not coming down with something.”

Matt felt Y/N's forehead again. “You do feel a bit warm. Maybe you should take tomorrow off to rest.”

Y/N shook her head. "I can't, I have that --"

She suddenly cut herself off and jumped up, running through the dining room towards the first floor bathroom.

Matt winced at the sound of Y/N throwing up and followed, pausing at the doorway. “You okay, angel?”

Y/N groaned from where she was hunched over the toilet. “Maybe you're right. Maybe I should take tomorrow off to rest.”

Matt entered the bathroom and knelt down next to Y/N, reaching his hand out to rub her back soothingly. “I'm sorry you're not feeling well, sweetheart.”

“Ugh, this is the worst time for me to have to be sick. I'm supposed to be recording the audio version of our newsletter tomorrow morning, plus we're gearing up for the start of summer reading next week.”

Matt shook his head. “Your health is more important. Hopefully you'll be feeling better and can do the newsletter in a few days, otherwise I'm sure someone else can fill in. In the meantime you need rest.”

“Mmm.”

Matt went to the kitchen and filled a glass with some water before bringing it to Y/N. “Here, you need to stay hydrated if you're throwing up.”

Y/N hummed. “Thanks, Matty.” 

She took the glass from Matt and swished some water around in her mouth before spitting it into the toilet, then took a cautious sip. “Ugh.”

“Better?”

“Little bit. Thanks, honey.” Y/N took another sip of water. “Maybe I should sleep downstairs for a few days. I don't want to give you whatever this is I've got.”

Matt shook his head. “We've already been in extremely close contact so if whatever you have is contagious chances are I've already caught it. Luckily though, I've got a pretty strong immune system so if I haven't already gotten sick I'll probably be fine.”

He went to help Y/N up. “Besides, what kind of husband would I be if I didn't take care of my wife in her time of need? After all, our wedding vows did say ‘in sickness and in health’.”

Y/N leaned against him. “I love you, you know that?”

Matt planted a kiss on her forehead. “I love you too. Now, we're gonna get you in bed, then I'm gonna go get you some chicken soup.”

Y/N hummed. “Could I have some egg drop soup from the Chinese restaurant on the corner instead?”

Matt chuckled. “Of course, angel. I'll call in a delivery order for dinner, how about that?”

Y/N nodded against him. “Okay.”

Matt helped Y/N up the stairs to their bedroom and paused in their doorway. “Want to shower first?”

Y/N hummed. “Yeah, that might help.”

Matt nodded. “Okay, you go do that, I'll order our food.”

“Okay.”

Matt called in their delivery order while Y/N gathered her pajamas, then waited until she had headed into the bathroom before making a second call. 

“Mr. Murdock?” said the voice on the other end.

“Yeah, kid, it's me,” Matt replied. “Are you going to be patrolling tonight?”

“Yeah, I was planning on it. Why?”

“I was wondering if you could make a couple of passes around the Kitchen for me. Something came up so I'm staying in.”

“Everything okay?”

Matt winced as he heard Y/N throwing up again. “Yeah, it's just that my wife's not feeling well and I don't want to leave her home alone.”

“Oh, okay, it's no problem, Mr. Murdock, I can do that for you. And I hope Mrs. Murdock feels better soon.”

Matt nodded. “Thanks, Peter, I owe you one.”

“Okay, talk to you later!”

“Bye.”

Matt hung up then texted Foggy as the shower turned on. Working from home tomorrow. Y/N’s sick.

Oh no, was Foggy's reply. Hope she feels better soon. Let me know if you two need anything. 

Thanks. Will do.

He put his phone away and headed downstairs, the scent of Chinese food wafting towards him as their delivery order neared.

He grabbed two bottles of water out of the refrigerator, waited until the delivery person rang the doorbell, then accepted the order and took it upstairs, setting it on the dresser as Y/N walked out of the bathroom.

Matt turned towards her. “Feeling better?”

Y/N hummed. “I think so.”

Matt gave her a kiss, tasting the slightly minty flavor of toothpaste on Y/N’s lips. “You get settled in bed and I'll bring your soup to you, okay?”

“Okay.”

Matt set his takeout container on his nightstand along with one of the bottles of water before handing Y/N her soup. “Here you go, angel.”

Y/N gave an appreciative hum. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

Matt set the other bottle of water on Y/N’s nightstand along with an extra bottle of ginger ale he had added to their food order. “Here, I'm hoping the soup and ginger ale settle your stomach.”

He moved to his side of the bed to eat, keeping his attention on Y/N in case she got sick again.

Once Y/N was finished, he took her empty container. “Feeling ok so far?”

Y/N was quiet for a moment. “Yeah, it's staying down.”

Matt nodded. “Okay, good. Let me go take care of this stuff, I'll be right back.”

He ran downstairs, rinsing out their containers before placing them in the recycling bin.

He headed back upstairs, grabbing a clean pair of boxers from the dresser. “I'm gonna go grab a quick shower. Need anything?”

“Mm mmm.” Y/N shifted against the bedsheets as she settled in. “Tired.”

“Okay. Be right back.”

Matt hurried through showering and brushing his teeth then headed back into the bedroom, climbing into bed next to Y/N. 

He wrapped his arms around her and leaned back, pulling her to him. “Come here, sweetheart.”

Y/N snuggled up to him. “You aren't going out Daredeviling tonight?”

Matt shook his head. “No, not tonight. I asked Spiderman to keep an eye out for me in case anything pops up, and I also told Foggy I was working from home tomorrow. You're my number one priority, angel, I'm not going to leave you here alone when you're not feeling well.”

“Thank you, Matty.” Y/N nuzzled her nose into Matt's chest. “Mmm, you smell good.”

Matt chuckled and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Get some rest, okay? I'm not going anywhere.”

Y/N nodded. “Mmhmm.”

Matt gently stroked her hair until her breathing turned deep and even.

After she was asleep he slowly reached over and pulled his ear buds out of his nightstand drawer, then connected them to his phone so the noise wouldn't disturb Y/N.

Matt had sworn back when he and Y/N were kids that he would always do anything and everything he possibly could to take care of her when she wasn't feeling well. I'll always take care of you, Y/N, he had said the time Y/N had been ill with the flu when she was 14 and Matt had been 15. That's what best friends are for.

He opened the online ordering app for the grocers a couple of blocks over and ordered the ingredients for homemade chicken soup along with some peppermint herbal tea for delivery the following morning in case Y/N still wasn't feeling well.

He put his phone and earbuds away then settled in to sleep. He just hoped that Y/N felt better soon.

[kooki914]

Which part of the Undertale/Deltarune fandom do you just hate?

Part of me doesn't want to spread hate in an already divisive community, and a different part of me loves complaining. So, readmore added for the sake of a "warning" aka if you don't want to read my entitled whining just scroll past this.

TL;DR: petty bullshit that's hardly even relevant anymore.

I kinda see the Undertale and Deltarune fandoms as two separate entities at this point. From the original Undertale fandom, what it was all the way back when the game first came out and before Deltarune was a thing, god I hated the moral policing. "You can't do this" or "you have to do that" and the fact that something as small as Drawing A Character In A Dress caused an artist to nearly get chased off of tumblr? Fucking insanity. And the constant character assassinations? What they did to Asgore? What they did to SANS? If I ever get started talking about all my gripes with that old fandom I'd never stop.

For the Deltarune fandom though, at least what it is now, god I hate the hype. I'm not subscribed to the newsletters because I hate the general culture around waiting with baited breath for new breadcrumbs, as that just manifests as Dread for me rather than positivity. Like if I start thinking too hard about Deltarune's potential release dates I start biting people's heads off. (No offense Salt lmao) It sucks because even when I DO get somewhat excited (like I did with the latest newsletter) it's immediately followed by the fandom running everything from the newsletter down into the ground, which... on the one hand is understandable because we're all starved for UT/DR content but on the OTHER hand it really feels like we all need a new hobby, like collectively. I'm happy for you if this brings YOU joy but personally I'm a little tired of seeing the 1000th artist interpretation of yet another scene that's literally best conveyed through text.

Also if I can be EXTRA petty, I dislike a lot of "making my own tenna" or "my own deltaswap" things rattling around in the fandom right now. This is entirely Being A Whiny Little Baby™ syndrome from me because I do the EXACT same shit, I just don't have anything good enough to post don't follow fandom trends when it comes to that sort of thing. You know that meme about two wolves inside a person? One of my wolves is like "cringe is dead and this is a harmless creative activity that gets people together and talking about things they love therefore its Good™" and the other wolf is like snarling and barking like "but it doesn't appeal to MEEEE" Like if I see one more TVhead Tenna I'm actually blacklisting his tag. If I see one more deltaswap that entirely misses the mark on what I like in role-swaps I'm gonna start killing.

So, yeah, I guess I just hate things that feel like they're outside of my control/don't appeal to my extremely hipster contrarian tastes. Aka petty bullshit no one cares about go figure

[lordeemailarchive]

Pure Heroine turns 10

(27/09/2023) (PH 10 YEAR ANNIVERSARY DISPATCH)

Living in Ruins of a Palace within My Dreams

Photo by Simeon Patience

Hi,

Firstly, I wanna say thank you for your extremely supportive and kind messages after my last newsletter. I genuinely feel deeply cared for, less alone, and more sure that things will be okay after sending it! Albeit with a slight overshare hangover. I think a part of me knew that I had hit a wall, and that I needed to invite in the compassion and understand I’d been struggling to generate on my own, and then I’d have something to draw from and mirror. It feels like it’s working. I feel incredibly grateful that we have this relationship, that we can each give when the other needs it. Beautiful stuff x

Now, might U have noticed it’s 2013 mode round here????????? Yes that’s right, it’s a very special anniversary… Pure Heroine is... ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡TEN ˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚ YEARS ˚༘♡ ⋆｡˚ OLD ੈ✩‧₊˚ TODAY ! ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

You may (like me most of the time) hold the opinion that this album has been MYTHOLOGISED QUITE ENOUGH, but a milestone is a milestone, so I thought coming here and typing some shit to u about this time would be a fun thing for those who care.

2 xxxxtra special ltd time only commemorative designs by Hassan, who did the original of this bootleg tee 10 years ago❤️

It’s close to midnight, and I’ve just finished scrolling through my entire computer and phone archive from 2011-2013. Going on this memory lane ride has reminded me, for one thing, what a different time it was technologically. We were just starting to be able to see ourselves in real time, but we weren’t constantly connected. I had an iPod touch until halfway through 2013, which didn’t have a front camera or internet access, and my sister and I shared a MacBook, which is where we did our schoolwork and I wrote my lyrics. I took my first few years of selfies on Photo Booth…. Just let that… sink in!!!

Note the Royals Nat Geo pic in background— it’s happening...

When I was fourteen, my greatest work of art was my bedroom. A very cool, very classic teenage bedroom, Andie’s and Duckie’s from Pretty in Pink meets the Virgin Suicides— fairy lights, fabric on the ceiling, candles, stolen road signs (badman), paper lanterns, beer crate shelves, magazine pictures and club night posters and permanent marker on the walls. Bliss! I’d sit up there and vibe out, taking a lot of selfies. Creating a small-scale work of art using the self, and then examining the product from every angle, was the best method I had to express myself and exercise creativity at that time, and I now see it as an important PH incubation phase, whether I knew it or not. Something really amazing about a young person starting to see their own face and body for the first time, coming to a very secret understanding that they are beautiful. 

I started to smoke weed, which gave me a deeper understanding of sensory pleasure, and allowed me to start to see my world as a possible work of art. I’d go on long walks around the neighbourhood, and began to mythologise the stuff around me (big empty floodlit rugby fields/bus rides/dark streets/boredom/isolation) into the motifs that would become Pure Heroine. I wore a lot of like, navy lipsticks from the 2 dollar shop. God, this aesthetic, It’s just TOO MUCH.

At some point in here, I met Joel, and another piece of the puzzle clicked into place. When you’re a teenager, you’re particularly sensitive to adults being condescending to you, not respecting the specific and finely tuned skills you have because of the ones you don’t. I was always on the look out for it, and from the first day meeting Joel, I knew that he would never give me that feeling. Which I’m sure wasn’t easy — my wallet at the time was the foot of a pair of tights that I cut off and knotted at the top — but somehow from the very beginning he made me feel like my ideas had value, like we were peers, in the most sensitive and age-appropriate way. 

My view for thousands of hours making this album

We got on a call earlier this week and broke down the complete history of making the album. We both agreed that making Pure Heroine was deeply exciting and intimate and free, and still one of our most treasured experiences. I’ve linked it here.The second half of 2013 is when I really met the world, went to America and Australia and Europe for the first time. I found an incredible (for some reason Christmas themed) disposable camera image of my stage outfits all over the floor of my hotel room, which really sums up how ad hoc everything was at the beginning — a jetlagged sixteen year old, late for lobby call and frantically stuffing thousands of dollars of borrowed clothes into a suitcase. 

In this stage, it felt like I pulled everything off by the skin of my teeth. Every week was the most exciting week of my whole life, I was so tired and still didn’t have a winter coat and took everyone clamouring for a piece of me completely for granted. I had zero cultural context, had no idea if an interview or TV show was huge or small, and so breezed through it all truly not giving a fuck. I am not a naturally nonchalant person, it was literally just too much to care about, I could hardly get up in the morning, so I just said absolutely whatever I felt like, all kinds of wild shit, if someone did something corny I’d say so, I was ruthless in that way that only teens are. Then through that year we went on our first tours, met you guys for the first time, hours and hours of hugs after the show, my favourite part so far and where it started to feel real for me. James took a lot of beautiful film photos through that time, and I’m really grateful he did.

Ten years goes really fast. One minute you’re wearing a leather collar with a giant crystal hanging off it to a Chanel party, and the next you’re blonde. A lot of stuff isn’t good after ten years. But I am still totally touched by this sweet record. I have deep respect for the vision of the little one making it. 

Going back through all of this has reminded me of something that feels important to point out, whether you make art or not: everything starts out as a bunch of bullshit in a laptop. Pure Heroine was a handful of Photo Booth selfies and emotional Word documents and Tumblr posts (and a gorgeous over-decorated bedroom) before it was even one song. I had no reason, on paper, to believe that I was capable of anything. But if you can trust that the first impulse you had to create came from a place of deep wisdom, develop a few principles for your decision-making, and absorb a lot of stuff you find inspiring, you’ll have something special on your hands. Pure Heroine exists because I had the tiniest inkling of what I’ve now come to see as one of my guiding principles: that each of us have a handful of songs inside us that are ours, and only ours, to sing. Your specific interests and upbringing and physiology and experiences exist only in you; you are sitting on a gold mine that no one can rob. Whatever that means to you, whatever that statement you were born to make is, I invite you to take a big breath and make it.

All my love for another ten years of all this, and more, and more—

Ella XXXXXXXXXX

(source: received this email)

[limetameta]

Can you write about your balkan beast au? Maybe his mother is coming for a visit. Da vidimo kako se Enoch snalazi kad mu svrati svekrva :>

ooooohh nice prompt! You can find it under the cut.

Oliver isn't a chain smoker. It just isn't healthy. Besides, he used to think of himself as something of an athlete when he was young. That he took after his father (the future and pride of whatever sport at the time was popular) who due to a sport's injury (never quite specified, but always something that would hinder him in doing housework if his mother ever asked) had to quit the Yugoslavian national team. There might have even been a chance to participate in the 1984 Winter Olympics in Sarajevo, but alas, God had other plans for this specific communist. The inconsistencies would just continue to pile up, but Oliver always made sure to nod along to the entire story. But no, it's the principle of the matter - cigarettes kill your lungs and your athletic capacity. So, he doesn't chain-smoke. But he'll have a few in the morning right after he gets out of bed, so his day starts off right. You don't drink rakija and turkish coffee without a cigarette...you're not a barbarian. There's an order to these things. There's a culture involved you can't simply destroy just because you live with a nurse who's worried about your unhealthy habits (who says? literally WHO.)

It's during breakfast that Oliver gets a ping on his phone (an android, of course, because he doesn't trust apple and he likes it when Lorna makes spotify premium free for him). He drinks the coffee a little too long and the toz from the bottom of the mug hits the back of his throat. So he starts heaving coughs. To help his lungs and his mouth manage this horrific taste, he takes a drag of a Marlboro cigarette, and it just...it doesn't help. None of it is helping. Finally, he takes a swig of his rakija and that does help.

Off to the side, eating bacon and eggs like a proper American child he's raising, sits Lorna. She's eyeing him worriedly, grimacing, her mouth full of eggs and orange juice. With a hand gesticulation, she demands to know what's wrong with him.

That seems like something Oliver can't get into over breakfast. All he does is slide his phone over to her. She reads the message and out pours the cocktail of eggs and orange juice. It spews out of her mouth in a riveting fountain of bad choices, projected in such a perfect arch over the table that surely...an engineering student would have won first place if it were a competition. Now she's coughing.

Oliver's put his child at risk. He hands her rakija. She takes a swig. It helps. Atta girl, she's his child all right. No paternity test needed. ''Baba dolazi???'' Lorna all but screeches.

''Ah eto.'' Oliver shrugs his shoulders. ''Your grandmother won't stay for long. She'll be repelled by Enoch very quickly.''

Speaking of Enoch. He is a victim of that arch. There's egg and orange juice stains on his shirt. It's flannel. He looks down on it and sighs. Guess he has to change into something a little lively now that he knows his mother-in-law will be gracing them with her presence. ''I thought she was in Cetini?''

Both Lorna and Oliver automatically correct: ''Cetinje.'' Then look at one another. Then back at Enoch. ''And she isn't even from there. She's from Žabljak.''

''When did she come back to the States?'' Enoch boggles, wiping fruitlessly at the stains with a napkin.

Oliver and Lorna shrug. Like they fucking know. Enoch shakes his head. He, unlike both Lorna and Oliver, talks to his mother and father and extended family near every day. They have family group chats. And a holiday newsletter.

Lorna doesn't know where her mother is. Oliver does because she sends him nude photographs of herself with enticing captions begging him to leave Enoch every other month.

Oliver, while better at communicating with his own mother and keeping in touch, isn't one to actually care where she is? Like he'll talk to her on the phone for hours, but come next morning he'll simply forget everything they spoke about. So, it might be that Oliver's mother told him she's coming by, and it might be that Oliver himself greenlit this, but that current Oliver has completely forgotten.

It's a challenge living with these two. Enoch doesn't know how he'll survive when there'll be three of them.

[isabelpsaroslunnen]

My best friend and I have been watching Star Trek: The Original Series for months, mostly because we're both sometimes busy and can't coordinate, but he does adore Star Trek (it is hard to overstate how much, except with regard to Picard) and even though I'm a TNG kid, I am almost always having a great time with it.

Overall: I love the stage-y Pepto-Bismol meets bisexual flag aesthetic of so much of the show, the actual bisexual vibes of so many characters (unintentionally? allegedly? I guess?), the effects that have aged remarkably well almost as much as the ones that have aged terribly, but are part of its charm, and of course, many of the characters. And I definitely have enjoyed the mixture of cheesy silliness with deeply earnest aspirations towards transcending its own era, even though it falls short (I'm an early modernist; I have a high tolerance for works that are ultimately of their times, but visibly trying to cut through the miasma of their eras' norms).

Anyway, some thoughts on each episode I've seen thus far!

[It's every episode up to "Metamorphosis", so there are a lot.]

1— "Where No Man Has Gone Before" - a pretty solid way to start the experience for me, and I see the religious skepticism has been baked in from very early, even though it's obviously still finding its footing at this point. I actually enjoyed seeing the wobbly character dynamics and world-building as it's figuring itself out.

2— "The Man Trap" - I really enjoyed this one! Despite some fundamental silliness, there's an interesting mix of horror and pathos (I support the salt vampire!).

3— "Charlie X" - a mixture of "oh God, poor Janice" (an impression that will repeat often) and an interesting take on the interaction of power and youthful masculinity. Charlie's outrage at his desires being stymied by literally anything or anyone at any time feels unfortunately timely, as does his petty vindictiveness against ... um, every woman ever, and Kirk's entirely correct lecture about it. I also found something particularly intriguing in the contrast between Charlie's admiration of Kirk's form of masculinity and how viscerally threatened he is by Spock.

4— "The Naked Time" - I adored this episode with zero irony. I particularly loved the revelation that Spock is ashamed of his feelings for Kirk (......) and the guilt he feels over his emotional distance from his mother combined with his understanding of how isolated she must feel in Vulcan culture. But I also laughed through the entire rest of the episode. Just a great time.

5— "The Enemy Within" - oh, hella yikes take on, uh, the inherent need for a good leader to have an anxious, violent, rapist side to his personality kept under control by a fearless, but vacillating and cerebral other side. (The premise seems even more egregious after "The Galileo Seven" makes a whole episode out of the idea that Spock's intellectual discipline and reserve undermine his leadership capabilities unless he behaves in a way that can be seen as fitting into human emotional norms.) I did cackle over the space dog fluffy alien creature and its evil twin, but poor Janice x100 :(

6— "Mudd's Women" - easily the worst episode to date, good God. Quite apart from "I guess sometimes you just have to be complicit in sex trafficking carried out by a lovable scamp who definitely hasn't gotten the post-capitalism newsletter" and the godawful ending, I am baffled by everyone on the Enterprise acting like they've never seen a beautiful woman. None of Mudd's women can hold a candle to Uhura (who I think isn't even in this episode?) and women getting obsessed by eternal beauty and devoting themselves to unappealing men is a tiresome aspect of ST that I wish had stopped here. Or never shown up at all.

7— "What Are Little Girls Made Of" - ah, the iconic phallic stalagmite! Nice to have context. I appreciate how smart and resourceful Kirk ends up being here. I liked Shatner's performance as the Kirk clone (he's actually been good in all the various Evil Kirk performances I've seen thus far), too. But I also really liked Spock's entirely justified annoyance at Kirk using racial slurs to communicate IT'S NOT ME.

8— "Miri" - this one is unfortunately dragged down by Kirk using his femme fatale allure with a girl framed as barely pubescent even if the actress was technically an adult. He's clearly not remotely attracted to her and working to save his crew, but it's still really unpleasant to watch, especially with a very young-looking actress. That said, the disease is creepy as hell, and it's a great McCoy episode. I was pretty fascinated as well by the concept of a drastically protracted childhood where the horror is not being trapped in the body of a child, but of actually remaining a child for enormous lengths of time.

9— "Dagger of the Mind" - this one would have been pretty mediocre, in all honesty, if not for the existence of Helen Noel. Helen is staggeringly beautiful, yes, but she is also better than everyone else in this episode, even my usual fave Spock. I like Kirk a lot and I still don't know what she sees in him.

10— "The Corbomite Maneuver" - it's a fun episode with some very good lines, but a bit like cotton candy.

11— "The Menagerie" - I had heard about this one, but didn't know all the details! The show-within-the-show only slightly strains credulity, and the plot is certainly more compelling than SNW (sorry to SNW fans; I watched a few episodes and it was fine, but too polished and heterosexual to feel like a true prequel to the boundary-pushing Candyland of TOS).

12— "The Conscience of the King" - this one was a bit over-theatrical in the most literal way, but I still really enjoyed it. The episode provides a genuinely fascinating backstory for Kirk, revealing that in his youth, he was a survivor of a terrible atrocity (and from what else we've heard, it seems he was moved elsewhere and became a bullied nerd for awhile before finding his true calling in space). The "real" villain of the episode doesn't really work for me, but doesn't need to, because her villainy is vastly and rightly overshadowed by the atrocity.

13— "Balance of Terror" - I can't describe this episode any other way: it fucking rules. This is maybe my favorite Star Trek episode that I can remember ever seeing. The revelation of the Vulcan-Romulan kinship is super compelling, and the intensity to this episode's take on the frequent Spock vs the Microaggressions subplot feels entirely organic and believable.

14— "Shore Leave" - fine, but rather a letdown after the glory of the previous one. The back rub early in the episode is as hilariously unsubtle as reported, and Spock's emphatic indifference to the sexbot ladies is, hmm, interesting. Otherwise, it is silly, entertaining-enough ST ephemera for me. I like these episodes existing as part of ST as a whole, but also don't feel especially invested in most individual cases of it. And God, Kirk's youthful nemesis Finnegan is so incredibly obnoxious and his little jig motif is so awful that (given "The Naked Time") I'm starting to wonder what gripe Star Trek has with Irish people.

15— "The Galileo Seven" - you know how I said that Spock vs the Microaggressions is a frequent subplot in these episodes? This one is "what if that was just the whole episode?" It's not terrible, but it's not terribly interesting, either, and the implications are pretty gross if you think about them.

16— "The Squire of Gothos" - I guessed the reveal a bit early in this one, but not in a way that made me feel like it was super obvious. The hints were there if you were paying attention, so it was rewarding to figure it out, but not obvious. Spock's speech about intellectual discipline and power really speaks to me right now, by the way.

17— "Arena" - the Gorn finally appear! Or a Gorn, anyway, and it's kind of wild that the 1967 episode's twist is that the real villain is colonialism, not the Gorn at all. Yet in 2020s Star Trek ... well, anyway, it's a good episode despite the incredibly dated monster effects.

18— "Tomorrow is Yesterday" - time travelllllll hell yeah, and it's quite a decent plot.

19— "Court Martial" - this one was tense and interesting, though I don't have much to say about it apart from really liking the lawyers.

20— "The Return of the Archons" - this was actually very effective, quiet terror for me (maybe extra for me as a queer person raised Mormon, lol). I think it also has one of the better instances of Kirk Fries A Machine With Logic.

21— "Space Seed" - an absolutely fascinating villain alongside absolutely dire gender politics. I did like seeing Khan for the first time.

22— "A Taste of Armageddon" - this had a very interesting war game concept, but I don't remember much about the episode beyond the concept tbh. It was fine.

23— "This Side of Paradise" - this one was interesting, especially given the allure of the "paradise" for Spock specifically (also for everyone else, but there's something especially bitter about whatshername's total indifference to his consent, and yet how complicated his feelings end up being about the whole thing). Kirk's fixation on his authority!!!!! in this episode feels unappealing and rather strange, but I didn't think it was really all about authority and The Human Need For Struggle(TM) that ST will keep returning to (don't like that aspect, though!).

24— "The Devil in the Dark" - an excellent episode IMO, including the incredibly dated rock alien special effects. Wouldn't have it any other way! I honestly appreciate how often the reveal in TOS has been that a scary "monster" is just some innocent person from another species getting screwed over by human ignorance and colonizing.

25— "Errand of Mercy" - Kirk is a patronizing asshole in this episode, can't lie, but given that he's being very obviously paralleled with the Klingon officer, it serves a function that's at least interesting. I'd like if that aspect of his personality went somewhere a bit more cohesively, but I'd rather have the episodic yet forwards propulsion of TOS as a whole, so it's okay.

26— "The Alternative Factor" - this has an interesting concept, but I remember thinking that it was forcing a bunch of usually competent people to make some very stupid decisions (though, tangentially, the fact that this is a change from the norm is at least something: I really enjoy that TOS in general avoids my beloathèd "our protagonists are the protagonists of the entire setting and every other character is an NPC who lacks moral vision and competence independent of the protagonists' influence"). I will say that the repetition of the alternate-universe effect is honestly pretty bad even when I'm grading on a 60s curve.

27— "The City on the Edge of Forever" - this is a very compelling, tightly-written episode that does good character work for Kirk, Spock, and McCoy, even if its underlying premise is a bit challenging to buy at points. I always enjoy getting to see McCoy's medical ethos at play, as we do here. Spock's jealousy is also amusingly transparent against all the high drama.

28— "Operation -- Annihilate!" - this is a hilarious title for a pretty good episode, actually. I enjoyed it and especially enjoyed Leonard Nimoy's performance as Spock here. It's not like I ever don't, but it did some substantial heavy lifting.

29— "Amok Time" - so it turns out, the Spock/Kirk fans have not been exaggerating all these years. I didn't think it was likely they had, just given what I've seen this far, but damn. This is a fantastic episode, it's got interesting world-building for Vulcan, it's incredibly homoerotic even by TOS standards, and despite my fondness for Spock and Kirk, goodforher.jpeg with respect to T'Pring. If Vulcan men don't want their childhood brides plotting their deaths, maybe they should legalize divorce! Just a thought.

30— "Who Mourns for Adonais" - so this episode relies on "actually, every broadly appropriated cultural detail from an exotic distant land was just given to its people by ancient aliens," only this time, it's targeting Greeks! It does get details about ancient Greek culture and religion very wrong, if anyone was wondering. In any case, I guess Star Trek's weird issues with "ethnic whites" is not only with the Irish, though given that my father's background is specifically Greco-Irish, it feels like a weird personal attack. That aside, while "ancient aliens did it all!!!" was not as much of a thing at the time as now, Greek people were definitely more racialized in the USA then, so the use of the trope here was not as trivial as I think it can "read" to modern audiences, esp in the USA.

Apollo's actor does a good job with some hard dialogue, I will say, but I really wish Carolyn had just been playing along and biding her time rather than obviously being a silly female swayed by flattery of her beauty and delusions of vicarious power. Kirk's speech to her is good, but really dragged down by how bad the writing for her is. I did like Kirk's "actually, I'm a strict monotheist" retort to Apollo, though. I know Kirk's characterization eventually goes down a different route, but given the heavy involvement of Jewish people including Shatner in Star Trek (despite Roddenberry's antisemitism), and the historical use of the Greek and Roman pantheons in the oppression of Jewish communities, Kirk's indignation at the idea of worshipping any other god feels apropos.

31— "The Changeling" - Jim Kirk DESTROYS another implacable machine foe with LOGIC!!!! I can just imagine the YouTube series now. Seriously, though, it's fine and a drastic improvement from the previous episode, and I always enjoy a solid ST:TOS episode while I'm watching it. But it was not exceptional IMO.

32— "Mirror, Mirror" - YESSSSS I TOO GET TO EXPERIENCE THE MIRROR UNIVERSE. I loved this episode, honestly. The Mirror Universe is terrible, but super fun both in concept and execution. I love the competence of the prime universe team in the brief cut to them immediately clocking Mirror Kirk's group as imposters (though I did want more from Mirror Uhura who is just kind of there, though...). I love Mirror Spock being this warped but recognizable version of the character. I love the concept of Mirror Kirk being the perpetrator of war crimes exactly like Kirk's formative trauma back in "The Conscience of the King." I love the evil cutthroat BDSM space Byzantines vibes of the Terran Empire (is there an unimaginably decadent and deadly Byzantine Empire in the history of the Mirror Universe? I hope so. We deserve it after "Who Mourns for Adonais" tbh).

33— "The Apple" - this is a pretty fun one. The protagonists as the sort of serpent of this "Edenic" garden, coupled with the awful god creature is super entertaining, and it works well enough despite the show's erratic approach to religion.

34— "The Doomsday Machine" - damn, the commander in this episode is such an asshole. He's clearly meant to be, though, and his Ahab campaign turning out to not be entirely in vain at least makes it seem like there's a point to spending so much time on him being the worst.

35— "The Catspaw" - by coincidence, my best friend and I ended up watching this not far into November, just a few days after Halloween. About five minutes in, I said to him, "Is it just me, or is that castle clearly just Spirit Halloween?" He delightedly said, "This planet is Spirit Halloween!"

There's a bit of racial essentialism about ALL HUMANS that would be uncomfortable if it were not so patently ridiculous. The idea is that human beings have a basic racial fear of cats that the tiny aliens exploit—yes, "cats" in this episode refers mainly to the human fear of the house cat, aka the most successful and beloved domestic species on Earth, not lions or even cougars. The alien terrorizes the cast by taking the shape of a fluffy black house cat of varying sizes, but never any other kind of cat. This concept is hilarious, just to be clear. I enjoyed every moment. Even a super-large house cat is just even more friend-shaped floof to your basic human, let's be real, so the deadly threat is impossible to take seriously even before the giant house cat is revealed to be an incredibly horny alien lady with illusion powers (this persona is also an illusion, but the horniness is real). But are not all cats at some level horny alien ladies with illusion powers? I feel pretty sure that Star Trek thinks so.

36— "I, Mudd" - and the award for Most Improved Character has got to go to Harry Mudd. My bff and I actually had a great time with this episode, in part because the entire cast seem to be having a great time with it. I especially loved the twist with Uhura seeming to fall to the womanly weakness of desiring eternal beauty and the easy life only for it to be a trick. Mudd is still a sleaze, but a much funner one to watch this time, and we've just started quoting Spock's "He didn't pay the royalties" at random moments. The stereotypical nagging wife is what it is, but I'm grading Mudd episodes on an extra curve.

37— "Metamorphosis" - and at least, we've reached the most recent episode I've seen, so my impressions of this one are much more fresh. Somehow, I had no idea we first met Zefram Cochrane in TOS and not in First Contact. Also, wow, the actors for him and for the Commissioner are really attractive—not quirky 60s attractive, either. Cochrane reminds me vaguely of Henry Cavill and the Commissioner is simply gorgeous despite the blinding color scheme of her costume.

The gender essentialism sure is something at this point, I've got to say, when the characters are blandly agreeing that of course a sentient electric cloud must have a fundamental gender that you can kind of tell by the color scheme. Uh huh, but it is genuinely interesting that Cochrane clearly cares about the cloud and tries to protect her from our heroes until he realizes she loves him, but is so affronted at the idea of the cloud being in love with him and his (very obviously sexualized) communion and companionship with her being part of that.

He projects his revulsion primarily onto Spock (Spock vs the Microaggressions strikes again!), but literally everyone finds his attitude narrow-minded and weird. The feeling is kind of like if you met an idolized long-dead relative only for them to use a homophobic slur you've never even heard of.

The resolution of this little drama comes from the cloud bodysnatching the dying Commissioner, a young woman who longs to be loved by anyone at all after a life of being a loveless career woman. She is, to be clear, a career woman whose job is all about preventing warfare and who is deeply stressed about it, which seems a kind of love to me. But she is mostly framed just as this super abrasive, loveless career woman because it's TOS (and they eventually conclude that any woman could do her job and they'll just find a different one to stop the war).

Anyway, all this results in the somehow-female cloud fusing with what remains of the Commissioner's consciousness, curing her body of some fatal disease. Now that the cloud is fused with an actual (hot) human woman, Cochrane is totally chill with her love for him, and decides he can have a very strange threesome love her after all, and they'll live out these bodies' natural lives together until they both die (since she lost her electric cloud powers of healing and immortality when she bodysnatched the Commissioner, I gather). It feels weird and low-grade shitty on his part, although I like his actor's performance, because it makes it so clear that his aversion was only about appearances.

I think the cloud should have moved onto someone who would appreciate her devotion and restorative powers, like, say, the dying Commissioner lady who actually has this whole speech about how badly she longs to be loved and how she doesn't get why Cochrane is being such a baby about the adoration of a cloud. Look, I'm just saying the cloud could be bi and deserves someone who would appreciate her.

I know this was never going to happen on a nationally syndicated show in 1967, but I think it would make more narrative sense and be much more satisfying! Cochrane would love space adventures 150 years in the future—he was thrilled and excited about the idea of seeing the reality of the Federation and alliances with other species! And the Commissioner would appreciate a cloud girlfriend and immortality so much more than him. Hire me, Paramount.