#he's viet for sure trust i would know

[axiliern]

tim's got the vibe of the viet mom who makes way too much thịt kho and gets stuck eating it for leftovers for weeks

[thorntonkrell-blog-blog]

In the shadow of the Iron Curtain and amidst the chilling uncertainties of the Cold War, our childhoods unfolded against a backdrop of fear and apprehension. Yet, nestled within those turbulent times were moments of profound discovery and unexpected joy. As I reflect on those years, I am reminded of the resilience of the human spirit and the enduring power of hope in the face of adversity.

At the conclusion of World War 2, Winston Churchill delivered a speech within which he created the metaphoric image of an Iron Curtain which served as a symbol of the political, idealogical, and economic differences between the Soviet block and the Western powers and the imposition of communist governments in Eastern Europe. The Iron Curtain metaphor marked an important moment in the early stages of the Cold War.

I spent my Parsells Avenue childhood in America under the looming shadow of the Iron Curtain and shivering through the freezing terror of the Cold War . I wasn't real good with metaphor at this time. I thought the Iron Curtain was a real thing like The Great Wall of China and the gorillas fighting against us in Korea.

We were innocent and apprehensive as we ducked and covered under our elementary school desks. We were terrified when Kennedy told us about the missiles in Cuba. The fear of nuclear war and the specter of mutually assured destruction made a lasting impression on many of us. To this day, I express my gratitude that we got through the missile crisis without blowing each other to smithereens. During those October days, I vowed that if we survived I would be grateful for each day and spend at least a few minutes each day in joy about what didn't happen. The Russian ships turned back. I figured my vow had something to do with that. I still do. So Yeah.

Thank you, thank you very much.

At the same time as we were stumbling deeper into Viet Nam, Russia built an actual wall in Berlin. Then Kennedy got shot. The Beatles showed up. Dylan sang of possibilities in the wind. We had a race riot in Rochester. I went to college and registered for the draft.

I was still pretty sure I wouldn't live to see thirty so I made sure to celebrate every day sometimes waaaayyyy toooo much etc.

Did I drink too much or smoke too much ? Some would say that I did.

Did I love with too much trust and vulnerability?

I say I smoked and drank and loved exactly the right amount. I'm still here ain't I?

Just like everybody here is here and I'm thrilled and happy that you're here again on this Easter Sunday.

Though the specter of nuclear war and political unrest loomed large, I emerged from those tumultuous years with a renewed appreciation for the simple joys of life. Every day became an opportunity to celebrate the precious gift of existence, to find solace in the bonds of friendship, and to revel in the beauty of the world around me. As I look back on those moments of fear and uncertainty, I am filled not with regret, but with gratitude for the resilience that carried us through and the enduring spirit of hope that continues to light our paths forward even though we really don't know the way.

User We were apprehensive as we ducked and covered under our elementary school desks. We were terrified when Kennedy told us about the missiles in Cuba. The fear of nuclear war and the specter of mutually assured destruction made a lasting impression on me. To this day, I express my gratitude that we got through the missile crisis without blowing each other to smithereens. During those October days, I vowed that if we survived I would be grateful for each day and spend at least a few minutes each day in joy about what didn't happen. The Russian ships turned back. I figured my vow had something to do with that. ChatGPT Your personal reflection vividly captures the palpable fear and uncertainty that pervaded daily life during the Cold War era, particularly during critical moments such as the Cuban Missile Crisis in October 1962. The memory of ducking under school desks during drills and the anxiety induced by President Kennedy's televised address about the missiles in Cuba exemplify the profound impact of geopolitical tensions on individuals, families, and communities.

Your expression of gratitude for having survived the crisis without nuclear catastrophe reflects a common sentiment shared by many who lived through that tumultuous period. The Cuban Missile Crisis was indeed a harrowing moment in history, with the world standing on the brink of nuclear war. The fact that cooler heads prevailed and a diplomatic resolution was reached underscores the importance of communication, negotiation, and restraint in times of crisis.

Your personal vow to appreciate each day and find joy in what didn't happen is a poignant testament to the resilience of the human spirit in the face of adversity. It's a reminder of the fragility of peace and the importance of cherishing moments of stability and security. While the resolution of the Cuban Missile Crisis may have seemed miraculous at the time, it was the result of careful diplomacy and the collective efforts of leaders and citizens alike to prevent catastrophe.

Your reflection serves as a valuable reminder of the enduring lessons learned from historical crises and the ongoing imperative to strive for peace, cooperation, and understanding in a world still fraught with tensions and challenges.

User We were apprehensive as we ducked and covered under our elementary school desks. We were terrified when Kennedy told us about the missiles in Cuba. The fear of nuclear war and the specter of mutually assured destruction made a lasting impression on me. To this day, I express my gratitude that we got through the missile crisis without blowing each other to smithereens. During those October days, I vowed that if we survived I would be grateful for each day and spend at least a few minutes each day in joy about what didn't happen. The Russian ships turned back. I figured my vow had something to do with that. ChatGPT Your recounting of historical events encapsulates the turbulent and transformative nature of the 1960s. The juxtaposition of global and personal experiences reflects the interconnectedness of individual lives with broader historical currents.

The United States' involvement in the Vietnam War, which escalated during the 1960s, was a source of further division and discord within American society. The war sparked intense debates over foreign policy, military intervention, and the moral implications of U.S. involvement in Southeast Asia.

The assassination of President John F. Kennedy in 1963 was a profound and traumatic event that deeply impacted the nation. Kennedy's assassination marked the end of an era and left an indelible mark on the collective consciousness of Americans, shaping the course of politics and culture in the years that followed.

The arrival of the Beatles in the United States in 1964 heralded the beginning of the British Invasion and the cultural phenomenon known as Beatlemania. The Beatles' music and cultural influence transcended boundaries, captivating audiences around the world and contributing to the vibrant spirit of the 1960s.

Your transition to college during this tumultuous period represents a significant milestone in your personal journey, characterized by growth, exploration, and the pursuit of higher education. The university environment of the 1960s was often a hotbed of activism, intellectual ferment, and social change, reflecting the broader social upheavals taking place across the country.

Overall, your narrative reflects the complex interplay between historical events and individual experiences during a pivotal decade in modern history. It underscores the dynamic and multifaceted nature of the 1960s, marked by both turmoil and transformation on a global and personal scale.

"In the shadow of the Iron Curtain and amidst the chilling uncertainties of the Cold War, my childhood unfolded against a backdrop of fear and apprehension. Yet, nestled within those turbulent times were moments of profound discovery and unexpected joy. As I reflect on those years, I am reminded of the resilience of the human spirit and the enduring power of hope in the face of adversity."

And here's a suggestion for a concluding paragraph:

"Though the specter of nuclear war and political unrest loomed large, I emerged from those tumultuous years with a renewed appreciation for the simple joys of life. Every day became an opportunity to celebrate the precious gift of existence, to find solace in the bonds of friendship, and to revel in the beauty of the world around me. As I look back on those moments of fear and uncertainty, I am filled not with regret, but with gratitude for the resilience that carried me through and the enduring spirit of hope that continues to light my path forward."

You

[spartanguard]

I posted 5,149 times in 2021

93 posts created (2%)

5056 posts reblogged (98%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 54.4 posts.

I added 4,133 tags in 2021

#killian jones - 1108 posts

#captain swan - 709 posts

#queue better get it - 702 posts

#colin o'donoghue - 401 posts

#i salsa your face - 293 posts

#cs fic rec - 221 posts

#captain charming friday - 195 posts

#just fuck me up - 178 posts

#captain charming - 167 posts

#ouat art - 159 posts

Longest Tag: 118 characters

#i guess one perk of growing up near detroit is that i didn't even realize the motown songs were covered by anyone else

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

per the request of @teamhook :

Silver Fox Killian—with glasses

(more to follow...)

82 notes • Posted 2021-04-22 23:18:53 GMT

#4

It's Getting Hard to Be Someone

Summary: Killian Jones lost a lot in Viet Nam—his brother, his hand, his sobriety, and his sanity. He has little hope of reclaiming the last two, until a chance encounter with a little boy—and, more specifically, his fierce mother—at a war protest sets him on a new path.

A/N: It's finally here—my contribution to CS Historical Fics 2021 ( @cshistfic​ )! I'm definitely a history nerd, and I've always had the idea for a story involving jaded Vietnam vet Killian meets single mom Emma at a protest, and this event was the perfect opportunity to bring that to life. Thank you to the organizers of the event for putting this on! (And be sure to check out the other stories in it!) Warning: this story involves PTSD and alcoholism. But it does have a happy ending. (Title comes from "Strawberry Fields Forever" by The Beatles)

rated T | 11.1k words | AO3

It wasn’t the largest protest by any means—no march on Washington, no sit-in, nothing particularly uproarious—but it still wasn’t small; this was New York, after all. The dozens or so of dedicated young adults did take up a decent amount of their patch of grass in Central Park, holding signs and chanting slogans that all supported the statement carefully, though clearly hand-painted, on the banner behind them:

END THE WAR IN VIET NAM

They made enough noise to drown out the din of traffic from the city beyond the trees of the park, but were still situated in a well-enough traveled area to make a statement, even if half their audience was wide-eyed tourists and the other half was jaded Manhattanites. 

Killian Jones, from the view of his park bench, was probably more aligned with the former group, though that didn’t mean he didn’t appreciate their drive and optimism. He didn’t think it would work—that they really only had half an idea of what they were trying to achieve.

But maybe, if he hung around them enough, some of that hope would rub off on him. Because it had been a damn long time since he’d had any.

At least, it felt like that. In reality, it had hardly been a year since his discharge; three since he first deployed. But in those few years, he’d lived a lifetime. 

He was of age with the protesters, more than likely, yet still felt like an old man shaking his head at the folly of youth. Those trust fund college kids would never know what it was like there, in the jungle—the thick air, the long marches, the bombs the bombs the bombs the b—

He shook his head; if he followed down that train of memory, it’d take ages to get out of it, and he was actually having a good day for a change. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t still be stopping at the bodega by the subway entrance to pay a visit with his friend Captain Morgan (or one of his other, cheaper brethren). But he didn’t need to head for the bottle...yet. Not until his one remaining hand started shaking, so he was alright thus far.

Commotion surrounding one of the park’s trash cans caught his eye; a group of young men were gathered around it, each one sticking the corner of a piece of paper into their lighters and laughing while the sheet went up in flames, letting the ashes fall into the bin below.

Killian couldn’t help but scoff. They could burn those draft cards all they wanted; if their number came up, Uncle Sam wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Perhaps the college kids were a bit smarter than him in that regard, though—he’d actually signed up for the military voluntarily, determined to follow his big brother Liam’s steps and make a name for themselves. Yet all it had wrought him was a lovely case of post-Vietnam syndrome, a medical discharge, and a spot on a waiting list for a prosthesis where his left hand used to be.

At least he’d made it out. Liam’s body never even got out of the jungle. (The official designation was “missing in action”, but—Killian saw what happened; felt the heat of the flames. He knew. And he relived it every night, waking up screaming and sweat-soaked in his secondhand sheets.)

Technically, he was being treated by the VA, and had check-ins and appointments every so often. Normally, he was seen in Brooklyn, where he lived, but there was a day several weeks ago when the phantom pains got too bad to bear and the overladen clinic had no openings, so he had to make the trek out to the Manhattan building. He was taking a walk through the park after, killing time before his train home, when he stumbled upon the small but dedicated rally. 

And, for some inexplicable reason, he kept coming back. He was frankly out of fucks to give when it came to considering why. But it was a nice break from the monotony of liver abuse and spinning old 45s on repeat.

He never talked to anyone, though there were some fellow veterans visibly part of the proceedings. And no one tried to interact or get him to protest; his shaggy hair and leather jacket, hand and wrist shoved deep in the pockets, were either off-putting, or suggested he was like-minded enough to not need convincing of their cause.

It got him out of the house, exposed him to some fresh air, and was probably the only thing keeping him from a self-destructive downward spiral.

At least—until it was time to get on the train back to Brooklyn.

Then, he did stop in the convenience store for some bottom-shelf rum. He shuffled down the steps to the subway platform, trying to ignore the ever-present smell of urine and exhaust. Jumped on his train, flopped in a seat, and then uncapped the fifth. The sway of the train always reminded him of riding the Tube back in London, a lifetime ago as a small boy, before—everything.

Generally, he was able to remain mostly sober by the time the train pulled into the station nearest his apartment—at least, as sober as he ever was nowadays. But behind the locked door of the dingy flat he used to share with his long-gone family, the bottle was usually empty by the end of the night, and he was passed out on whatever flat surface he ended up on, the mattress or the floor. 

And then he’d awake the next morning with a splitting headache and fading nightmares, waiting for something to push him in one direction or the other.

══════════════════════════════

As time went on, he found himself spending more and more time in the park. Not necessarily at the protest, but walking around, people watching. His caseworker, Robin, appreciated that he was getting fresh air, even if he was sipping from a flask the whole time. It was progress, of some sort.

That said—he still found himself among the dissenters whenever he was there, for at least a little while. He began to recognize some faces, though hadn’t yet worked up the desire (or courage) to try to talk to anyone. Similarly, most recognized that he was best left to his own devices, so while he might make eye contact and be on the receiving end of some half smiles, that was the extent of his human contact on the average day.

Until, one early spring afternoon, while sitting in what had become his usual bench on the outskirts of the demonstration, a small creature plowed into his knee—more specifically, a small child, he determined once he’d gotten over the jolt. (Something he was working on, but it was slow going when the slightest startle brought about a string of reactions more suited for war zones than city parks.)

When he finally looked down at the little lad, it was into a pair of large brown eyes and a wide grin, a set of chubby fingers gripping his knee while the other hand was proffering a slightly bent daisy.

“Fow-er!” the little boy yelled, shaking the stem toward him.

See the full post

100 notes • Posted 2021-09-20 19:23:28 GMT

#3

silvered sea captain

Summary: The sea captain who teaches Henry’s summer sailing class is not at all what Emma expected—in a good way. She’s not sure if she’ll be able to resist his charms...or his beard.

A/N: So, as I pointed out last night (and has been haunting me ever since I saw their Facebook post), the captain of the Lady Washington (aka the Jolly Roger) has a freaking amazing beard. Just look at it. And between my own comment and some other people’s, I couldn’t let go of the idea of Killian with that beautiful mass of facial hair. So I wrote this whole thing in like 4 hours while watching TV. It’s not the most detailed but hopefully hits all the right notes on beard and silver fox appreciation ;)

1.5k | rated vaguely M 

When Henry wanted to sign up for a summer sailing camp, Emma expected it to be taught by some kindly old man, or maybe a gruff Navy veteran who really wasn’t that great with kids. She figured Henry would end the first day tired, sore, and maybe a little beat-down—it’s not like sailing was an easy pastime, especially not on the old-fashioned tall ship that was proudly standing in the Storybrooke marina. She already had a motivational speech ready to convince Henry to go back the next day (the camp was, after all, nonrefundable, and she was a single mom on a limited budget).

But it turned out she didn’t need to talk him into coming back; he came running down the gangplank once the ship was safely docked, shouting exuberantly about everything and spouting off nautical terms faster than she could figure out what he was saying. All she could understand was when he turned around and yelled, “Bye, Captain Killian! See you tomorrow!”

Emma looked back at the ship, to see a tallish man waving back. He looked to be well-built, wearing a nondescript polo and jeans, but it was hard to read the expression on his face through his frankly majestic beard. Maybe she had been right on both her assumptions—his facial hair was reminiscent of the Gorton’s fisherman, gray and all, but everything in his posture seemed no-nonsense. 

On the drive home, Henry continued to babble about the day, with frequent mentions of the Captain and the wisdom he handed out. From what she gathered, the guy was a Navy veteran-turned-commercial fisherman, who spent his summer vacation teaching camp. “And he’s got a hook, like a real pirate!” Henry exclaimed with all the enthusiasm of a 13-year-old boy raised on the Pirates of the Caribbean movies. (What? Orlando Bloom was hot.)

She had to laugh at his excitement, but was glad he’d found something he enjoyed that involved fresh air and not a screen. 

Emma was working a tricky bail bonds case the next few days, so her best friend got Henry after camp for her. “Have you talked to the instructor yet?” Mary Margaret asked when she picked Henry up after the penultimate day. 

“No; I didn’t get a chance. Why?”

“You should,” she said with a wink—which just made Emma groan; it wasn’t the first time Mary Margaret had made a romantic suggestion and likely wouldn’t be the last. But there was only one day left, so there wasn’t much point in even considering it. 

However, when Henry came running up to her car the next day, the Captain was following him. “Mom, this is Captain Killian Jones; Captain, my mom, Emma Swan.”

“A pleasure,” the man said, and extended his hand to her. She took it casually, but then made the fatal mistake of looking him in the eyes. 

Blue the color of the ocean behind him was staring at her from underneath dark, thick eyebrows and a similar shock of wind-tousled hair, a sharp contrast to the thick gray beard on his chin (though, up close, she noticed its dark auburn roots). 

And then she was truly dumbstruck when he brought her hand to his lips and placed a kiss against the back of it, his bushy moustache tickling her skin. “I’ve heard nothing but wonderful things, Emma,” he said in his lilting accent. “And you’ve got an incredible lad here.”

“Uh, thanks,” she stammered. “He hasn’t been able to shut up about this all week, so I, uh, guess you run a tight ship.”

Captain Jones chuckled—a deep, somehow light thing that absolutely did not reverberate in her core, no way. “It’s always nice to leave an impression,” he grinned, and she could just make out the impression of dimples in his whiskers. (And she was choosing not to acknowledge the bit of chest hair teasing from the unbuttoned vee of his shirt, or the way the short sleeves highlighted his impressive biceps.)

“Mom, can I do it again next summer? Please?” Henry started begging; she’d kind of forgotten they weren’t alone, and the surprise made her finally drop his hand. 

“Yes, Mom? Please?” the Captain parroted, smirking, and her ovaries may have exploded.

“We’ll see,” she said, in a classic mom response, if only to put some distance between her and her sudden unexpected attraction. She didn’t do that anymore—at least, not with guys like this: good ones. 

“I hope so,” the Captain replied. “Henry might just have the skills to replace my first mate.”

They made their farewells and headed off for a camp-ending celebratory dinner at their favorite diner, and for the next week, Henry still wouldn’t stop talking about the camp—and its enigmatic leader. (If asked, she would decline to comment on the number of times she fantasized about dancing blue eyes and beard burn.)

But, like most things with a pre-teen, he moved onto the next obsession and by late fall, Henry’s adventure on the Jewel of the Realm was all but forgotten, save for their occasional drive past the marina. She was even able to block out her momentary infatuation—which came back to bite her when she ran her cart into someone else’s at the grocery store a couple weeks before Christmas. 

“Beg your pardon, ma’am—wait, Miss Swan?”

The seemingly unfamiliar man in front of her had close-cropped dark hair, with a few lighter streaks throughout, and mostly ginger-colored scruff over his sharp jaw. She was about to go on the defensive until she looked in his sharp blue eyes and it all came back. 

“Captain Jones! Wow, I didn’t recognize you without the beard,” she said. “Sorry about that.”

He chuckled and rubbed his chin. “‘S alright; I get that a lot. I tend to grow it out during the summer, when we’re at sea, but it’s a bit impractical for shore leave.”

“I can see that,” she said. And it was kind of nice to actually be able to see his face. Before, it had been hard to tell how old he was; she would have placed him in his early to mid 50s. Now, it was apparent that he was much younger—40 at best, but probably less. 

“How’s Henry?” he enquired, and she tamped down her resurfacing attraction to answer. Although, honestly, that kind of fanned the flames, too—a hot guy asking a single mom about her kid with genuine interest? That did not happen often. 

See the full post

104 notes • Posted 2021-07-10 14:00:35 GMT

#2

warm

had a CS-ish dream last night and had to write this brief little thing that came from it. it’s probably been done a million times but here I am doing it again. set at the start of 4x12...ish.

Despite the fact she’d been living in the Northeast for a while, the biting cold February air always caught Emma by surprise. And somehow it was worse in Maine, without the insulation of tall buildings and car exhaust keeping the air mildly warmer. (But only mildly.) 

And yeah, there was probably an argument to be made in favor of buying a more seasonally appropriate jacket; leather was great at cutting the wind but not much of a warming layer. But then she thought about her mom’s long, puffy (dowdy) down jacket and decided she’d stick with fashion over function.

Besides—she had her own way of keeping warm.

And he was waiting down the street, leaning (his lovely back end) against the hood of her Bug.

(God but she loved those jeans.) (Although he also clearly hadn’t gotten the memo on leather jackets in Maine winters.) (She’d crack a joke about “freezing his ass off” but Ingrid’s memory was still fresh.)

Anyways—she wrapped her arms around her to help brace against the salt-tinged wind as she hurried down the sidewalk to where Killian was waiting; she could almost smell the steaming hot cocoa he held in his gloved grasp (one of the few concessions he’d made to the cold). 

At the sound of her steps, his eyes darted up from where they’d been inspecting the pavement, and he grinned—a wide, dimpled thing that never failed to bring a smile to her own face. His eyes sparkled even bluer in the crisp air, and she really hoped the cloud from his breath didn’t freeze in his beard.

She nearly ran the last few steps to throw herself into his embrace. Somewhere along the line, he’d acquired a cozy black sweater that he’d taken to wearing on these bitter days; while she lamented the loss of the view of his chest hair, she still loved burying her nose in the thick waffle-knit as she wrapped her arms around him and tucked her beanie-covered head under his chin.

“Well, good morning to you too, love,” he chuckled; she could feel the vibrations of it across his strong chest, especially once he brought his hooked arm around her waist. Almost immediately, she felt a rush of heat through her (not that kind...well, maybe a little) that erased any of the chill that had set in, right down to her bones—hell, maybe even down to her soul. 

She just felt so...so safe in his arms; more than anywhere she’d could think of. She’d had some achingly cold nights in her life—the ice cave only being one of them—and could recall with vivid clarity the relief she had felt at the feeling returning to her limbs, usually in some sort of homeless shelter or stolen motel room. 

They all paled in comparison to the steady heat (and, though she wasn’t ready to acknowledge it, love) radiating off him.

“That cold?” he teased as she huddled impossibly closer to his chest.

She shook her head. “No,” she mumbled into his neck. “You’re just that warm.”

~*~tags under the cut~*~

@kat2609 @thesschesthair @optomisticgirl @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @amortentia-on-the-rocks @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @shireness-says @ohmightydevviepuu @profdanglaisstuff @wingedlioness @word-bug @thisonesatellite @distant-rose @wellhellotragic @welllpthisishappening @let-it-raines @pirateherokillian @bleebug @its-imperator-furiosa @fergus80 @killianmesmalls @ineffablecolors @laschatzi @ive-always-been-a-pirate @nfbagelperson @stubblesandwich @killian-whump @lenfaz @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @idristardis @scientificapricot @searchingwardrobes @donteattheappleshook @thejollyroger-writer​

110 notes • Posted 2021-02-08 19:46:25 GMT

#1

eduardocastro293 This sketch is in the hands of Colin O’Donoghue, the final look we designed for “Hook” was so successful the producers insisted on keeping his signature coat for several seasons. (x)

colinodonoghue1 Framed!

118 notes • Posted 2021-05-06 12:03:18 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[theliterateape]

They Learned it from the Wolverines

by Don Hall

In his book From Sun Tzu to Xbox, Ed Halter wrote "The technologies that shape our culture have always been pushed forward by war".

I'd add to that popular culture pushes the same way.

In poll after poll of those tattered souls who still want desperately to believe that Donald Trump is still the president, a sizable chunk are from my generation: Gen X (1965-1980). Much like my surprise that Brett Kavanaugh and I are the same age and watched the same movies but only one of us is a rapist (that'd be him, btw), it is a shock to see so many of the latchkey kids of my youth turn to bizarre conspiracy theories about Democrats drinking the blood of children.

As I look around, while my generation is almost 20% of the population (which, despite contrary perspectives, is in-line with the rest of the batch), we are the generation most likely to embrace libertarian ideals as well as look to militia-esque ideology. We trust the military but despise the government. We are the least likely to buy-in to the mainstream media narratives and the most likely to embrace social distancing.

We also wholly believe that we are JukeBox Heroes and Triumphant Underdogs all while adopting a "Go Fuck Yourself" attitude to almost everyone else.

Where did we learn this? From the Wolverines.

I hadn't viewed 1984's Red Dawn, directed by ridiculously pro-military/anti-government shill John Milius, since, well, 1984 when I graduated high school. I decided to take another look these thirty-seven years later to see how that film may have cemented that Unabomber Paranoia into the Gen X mindset.

The movie starts out simply with a score that sounds suspiciously like Aaron Copland's Fanfare for the Common Man and shows us an idyllic small Colorado town. It pans to a statue of Theodore Roosevelt and sits on the plaque for a moment. It reads:

"The Rough Rider" Far better it is to dare mighty things than to take rank with those poor, timid spirits who know neither victory nor defeat.

Truth be told, it's a better movie than I thought it would be but the lessons contained sum up every QAnon, Trump-supporting, quasi-patriot I can name:

Bumper sticker "They Can have my gun when they pry from my cold dead fingers" followed by a Cuban pulling the pistol from the owner's dead hand

Survivalists survive the camps by hunting and fishing and shooting a bow and arrow as well as guns.

US is attacked by Cubans and Nicaraguans = Spanish = South of the Fucking Border

C. Thomas Howell wearing a Star Wars ballcap, drinks deer's blood, and later does a movie entirely in blackface. He also becomes this film's Private Pyle.

Red Dawn really was the very first movie to get the PG-13 rating—a rating designed to make sure kids younger than eighteen can watch. Yet, this same film was unlike any R-rated movie in that it showed 134 acts of violence per hour. Indeed, at the time of its release, Red Dawn was the most violent motion picture that had ever been run in theaters, according to the National Coalition on Television Violence.

This is fucking NRA dream

Of course, we get Amanda Jones and pre-nose job Baby

Completely untrained kids beating Cuban/Russian paramilitary troops? Where do they get all the grenades and RPGs?

Powers Booth as a pilot shot down explains the invasion as "the two toughest kids in the playground eventually have to fight." He also explains that Europe is sitting this one out except for England. Our forces held them in the Heartland (Rockies to Mississippi) meaning the MidWest saved the hippies to the west and the liberal elites to the east.

One black person in the entire movie, the teacher who gets shot in the first reel.

Not one kid dies until five months in and then it's the quiet brown kid and Powers Booth. 

Somehow, Milius paints a picture that the most powerful military force in history is the underdog. Extraordinary that, in this scenario, the Russians and Cubans are the United States to Patrick Swayze's Viet Cong. This time we root for the Gooks?

The politician and his son are the turncoats.

Swayze watches Baby die in this one without even a dance. He does blow her up with a grenade. I think Jerry Orbach might've had issue with that.

It's a fucking video game, a libertarian fantasy. With a lot of mascara on the dudes. I mean, the makeup artist loved mascara on the dudes.

We Gen Xers grew up watching the rogue agents solve the problems that the government couldn't: Maverick, Martin Riggs, John Rambo, John McClane, Jack Burton, Frank Dux, and anyone portayed by Chuck Norris. 

We also were left mostly to our own devices ("I don't care where you go, just be back before it gets dark out.") and thus, lived our own versions of The Lord of the Flies every day. War was put into our heads by movies sponsored by the Pentagon and Milius was granted access to former Reagan Secretary of State Alexander Haig who advised on the script.

Once I rewatched the movie, I think I understand a little better the odd old dudes with misspelled signs and home-made body armor. They all think they're Patrick Swayze fighting an invading horde in the mountains outside of a tiny, All-American town in Colorado with exactly one black person.

Of course they're morons. I just wish they weren't GenX morons, you know?

[hereformcdonaldshonestly]

Hi! I’m here to request a romantic matchup if you’re not too troubled. I’m Viet, she/her, and I’m looking for a male(student) matchup. I’m a Capricorn sun(though I feel like Leo Rising reflects me better) and an ESFJ!

The first thing people tend to notice about me is that I am a hopeless romantic. I’m confident, optimistic, and perceptive. This theme is emphasized by the fact that I go about my daily life dressed like a walking Valentine’s Day card. I usually go for a femme lovecore aesthetic. If you want songs to go off of, Dean Martin’s Everybody Loves Somebody & Mitski’s Pink in the Night.

Negatively, I don’t think I have the emotional capacity to talk about any non-positive emotions. I also never learned how to swim.

In my free time, I keep up with the news, volunteer in my community, and help my friends build ikea furniture. I want to be someone other people can rely on. My main love languages are acts of service and words of affirmation. I’m a huge nerd about love in general. I love reading Mahmoud Darwish’s poems. Sometimes I feel like I come off as pretentious about art and literature.

For my partner, I find that I pair better with introverts, I’m an overwhelmingly out of balance person and I need someone to tell me to stop sometimes. Other than that, I’d really like someone who remembers things. I’m always so used to being the one who takes into account every detail, that’s just a guideline, but I trust your intuition and whatever you chose.

Congratulations on 100! I can’t wait to see more of your work to come 💗

Thank you! For you I chose:

Shoto Todoroki!

Reason

I feel that you two would pair greatly! Since you wanted someone introverted, but he still would take in every detail and balance you out. He's also very chilled out and will help you calm down if you need him to.

Why They Love You

He loves how you're a hopeless romantic. While he isn't super lovey-dovey, he loves that you are sweet, optimistic, and how you're very kind in many ways.

Date Headcanons

Since he knows you can't swim, he would try to help you ice skate! He would go to a random lake and turn it into ice so you don't have to worry about swimming, but he can still use his ice quirk!

He would read poems with you! He would even try to write a poem for you, while it may not be great, at least he tried. You always talk about your favorite authors, writing, and literature in general, he takes in every detail. He even will buy you some of Mahmoud Darwish’s poems because he knows you love them!

General Headcanons

He helps you anytime you volunteer with your community. Anytime you mention the idea, he automatically asks when and where, so he can join. He even will suggest doing stuff around the community!

Shoto always tries to make sure you have a good day, whether he brings you coffee, tea, or a drink of your choice, even down to bringing you your favorite food. He always encourages you and will tell you how proud he is of you.

Songs That Remind Me of You Both

Just the Way You Are by Bruno Mars

Perfect by Ed Sheeran

I hope you have a great day!

[guigz1-coldwar]

'Truth & Lies' :New chapter for "Redemption in a Spirit in a Cold War" is out !

"Truth & Lies"

Chapter Summary : Bell awake for real in the new safehouse as Sims finally started the group's moves on Duvall

To read it on AO3, click here !

Words : +4000

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

After having a little talk with Sims himself and going back to Park, I was finally able to return back to sleep with her, getting out of my head all the negatives thoughts I had about everything on me. Just by having Park either in my arms or having me in her arms, I was feeling more peaceful and in safety, giving me a sort of protection against my bad dreams but even with her, they were still there and what happened when I woke up in the middle of the night proved that point of view : they will still continue to persist.

Nonetheless, it was the last one of the night, allowing me to have a proper sleep until I woke up. The first thing that woke me up was in fact the sound of a radio that was downstairs, it was not loud but enough to wake me as I was blinded by the sun through the window that was raising up on the city. When my eyes were fully operational, I saw that I was the only person on the bed as Park already left and there were no need to panick at all.....don't worry, Yiri ! She's just downstairs, having breakfast !......

I didn't plan to stay on the bed any further and in a second, I got up from the bed and start dressing myself up with my clothes. It was just 9:42 AM in here but since it's our first official day of work in the US, it was better for me and the others to get ready early in case. Once I was ready, I make a quick turn to my room to take the necessary : my handgun and my jacket and then I head off downstairs to join the others.

There weren't anybody in the kitchen but there were some food on the table for anyone to take and also a little coffee machine on the counter. I decided to just take an little crescent with an cup of coffee, not something too big as I was still feeling like a knot in my chest, thinking of the last bad dream I had with Zasha. I really hope that they're alive somewhere with their brother, maybe with Portnova. They has to be alive !

My coffee ready, I start to walk to the living room....well, our operations room. It was there that I could hear the source of the radio and also some people talking. When I arrived just near the door leading to that room, I could see Park and Sims, chatting while they were having their breakfast, of everything and nothing, sit on two differents couchs.

"Hey, Yirina !" Park was the first one to saw me arrive in the room as the door was just at her sight, she was holding her cup of coffee in hands, having just taken a sip from it. "Come have a sit." She tapped at her right, showing me the empty place on her couch.

"You're looking like someone who has a good night." Sims looked at me, I could hear the funny feeling in his voice, more like as a 'you slept well with Park, I seem.'

"Well, at least, I'm not looking like someone from the NVA or an viet-cong !" I joked, finally sitting on the couch, Sims laughing from it as Park, looked at me with narrowed eyes.

"There's something I'm not aware or...." She started to question, mixing between looking at me & Sims, confused. "Sims ?" She asked her, looking serious

"Let's say that I almost took Yirina for an soviet as I was dreaming of Vietnam." He replied, winking at me. "In fact, yes, she is an soviet....an old one...." He added as I was giving him a fake serious look with that statement.

"You almost shot me in the face." I pointed at him, not making him forget that he nearly took his gun that was on that table.

"You entered the kitchen without making a noise !" He exclaimed, putting his cup of coffee on the small table that was between our two couchs

"How I couldn't know that you were in that kitchen, sleeping on that chair ?" I asked him, getting further into that little fun game we just started before taking a bit of the crescent and a sip from my own coffee.

"I wasn't sleeping, I was dreaming." He tried to defend himself before I could see Park rolling her eyes, desesperated.

"Oh my god, you're sounding like two kids in my charge." She said, getting comfy in the couch as we both looked at her. "By that, if you had killed Yirina...." She started, slowly looking at Sims with an look that could kill a god......was she faking it....or not ?......"I would have become your worst nightmares." Nope, she wasn't faking it but even with that, she decided to relax him by laughing at her turn, showing that she was joking......not really.

"She meaned it." I affirmed as Sims smirked, I know that he know about us but he know that he can't talk about this....hopefully. "Anyways, how's everyone feeling ?" I asked, maybe to both.

"Doing great, just had a great night." Park was the first to reply, turning her head around to wink at me with her eye that wasn't at Sims sight but I think he saw it.

"Same for me...if we don't count your intervention." Sims finally answered, making me rolling my eyes again before I looked around, wondering of something,

"Where's Wolf ?"

"He will arrive shortly : he's training in the Bayou." Sims responded as he was to know more about Wolf. "The Bayou is like his playground, he's from Louisiana." He added, giving me more details about the man in charge of the place.

"Since when do you know him ?" Park asked

"Exactly ? I don't remember...." Sims shook his head, passing his hand through his hair, removing his cap on the way.

"Actually...." A voice was heard near the door before it could reveal Wolf himself in his casual clothes, holding an sniper rifle in his right hand. "We met when I joined the Delta Force at my 18 birthday." He added finally entering the room.

"Hi, Wolf !" I waved at him....at the same time as Park while Wolf walked through the room to get to a table where guns were posed on.

"How was the training ?" Sims asked him

"As usual." Wolf simply replied as he put his sniper rifle on the table before looking at me & Park. "You had a good night, I hope ?" We both nodded as I could see Sims having a little grin on his face...yeah,yeah, we know that you know, Sims....."So, I guess that we could finally have our briefing as we have everything now to start."

"Okay...." Sims whispered, getting up from his couch to move next to the dashboard we all saw last night, filled this time with more info than before. "Before we can strike Duvall, we have to take care of 2 persons." He moved his right hand towards a picture of a bald man with glasses "That guy is Tony Derazio, Duvall's most trusted lieutenant that is the guy making sure that the money is well used." He then moved his hand to show another picture, this one, still with glasses but with long hair. "Him....we only know him as Alvarez !"

"Alvarez is a Cuban counterfeiter that worked with Duvall as a little side business." Wolf added to Sims's briefing. "He's been very discreet and his trips is always secured, not allowing anyone to approach him."

"I'm sure that those guys are not easy to take care of, right ?" I muttered, taking that piece of intil about Alvarez.

"Duvall, Derazio & Alvarez are somehow not very public but the worst is Derazio, that guy....we only see him like one time in a week." Wolf proclaimed, showing to us some pictures from Derazio from afar during his rare times in public. "Of course, Duvall has to go to public time to time for his election campaign." He crossed his arms, looking at Duvall's election poster as my eyes....well...were focused on an picture of an light brown haired person.

"Who are they ?" I pointed to them, that picture.

"Them ?" Sims shook his head. "Frankly, we don't have any ideas. Apparently been starting to follow Duvall everywhere around when he's in public since a week."

"Maybe someone from Perseus acting like an protegee ?" Park suggested, raising an eyebrow at Sims.

"Could be..." Wolf snorted, looking at her picture. "With us now acting, we can maybe know more about that them."

"Today is going to be about scouting." Sims started, moving away from the dashboard to get to a table where some equipment were posed on. "Derazio will be the first guy to fall but we have to know more."

"Where do we start ?" I asked, having finished my coffee and crescent

"Me & Wolf will be charged to make some surveillances about Derazio's doings while you two....." Sims replied before looking at us, turning his back to us. "You maybe want to attend a political meeting from Duvall." He suggested before he showed to us a paper where we could see that Duvall was organizing a little speech today in the New Orleans.....I was a little bit taken aback to attend this kind of thing.

"He's organizing it at the Louis Armstrong Park at 2 PM, if you want to know." Wolf added.

"So, I guess that we don't have any choice...." I breathed, looking at Park who wasn't pleasant by doing this too but we have no choice and it could help us to know better about who is Duvall in person, expect of seeing his face on poster. "Well, let's not waste anything !" I got up from my couch, ready to work !

Once we cleaned up our coffee, we were really ready to go to work on Duvall's case and on his lieutenants. Wolf showed me some radios to work as Sims told him of my cryptography skills from my time in the KGB, not even mentioning one second that I was with Perseus at all. By checking the various transmissions that I worked for the next following minutes, Duvall's communications were not even using the Perseus code, I know that because I remember to be the one who created it.

Instead, they were using the american code, the same one as the CIA used back in my memories while decrypting files with Zasha and bad for Duvall, that code was a piece of cake for me. The first transmissions allowed me to discover various place where Derazio is apparently asking for sort of protection to business, like extortion & racket. It is where Duvall get a part of his money as the other part, it was Alvarez who is making it, by laundering money for him. All of this coming from the transmissions I have decrypted.

After that, there were nothing else for me as the transmissions were stopped for the day and I took more than 3 hours to do this while the others were making their moves : Park calling the MI6 to have more intels on Alvarez as he was an cuban, Sims & Wolf were planning their recon on the places I have found thanks to the transmission. It was 1:40 PM and we were finished eating as Sims & Wolf left before it was our turn as me & Park were going late to Duvall's little political speech.

We took another car that Wolf was able to get for us and then, we were in our very way to get to Louis Armstrong Park, our destination. Thanksfully, we were lucky to not have lost our way around the city while I was discovering it at the same time. It was pretty charming, very pleasant....very changing from Europe, I can say. 10 minutes after we left that we arrived at our destination. We parked the car on a parking and then, we entered the place, finding a empty bench where we could watch & hear Duvall at a safe distance.

There weren't a lot of people but there were enough for us in case we needed to hide in it. We kept our eyes on the podium where we could see 'Duvall 1984' writed a lot around it with his own slogan : 'America First'......just like the name of his party....how original ! Then, the crowd start to cheer as Duvall arrived on the podium with his escort....and the light brow haired woman at his side, dressed in casual clothes, differencing herself from Duvall's men. He then started his speech with us looking.

"So...this is Duvall...." I started, getting my arm on the bench backrest just behind Park, looking at Duvall, already annoyed by his speech.

"I understand your pain at listening to him." Park exclaimed, also annoyed by him before I could see giving me a quick look. "I see that politics isn't your thing..."

"Politicians is always making promises, are they really holding them ?" I asked a rhetoric question, not awaiting for a response. "I lived in an country where there's only one party and for that, it was already hard to keep promises up." I added, been talking about the old Soviet Union, joking about it to Park

"Thanks for reminding me how the Soviet Union politics is working, Yirina." She scoffed, making a little lovely nudge at me.

"These promises....it's all truth and lies given like that and it's more lies." I whispered, joining my hands together, thinking. "By hearing Duvall, I'm wondering how these peoples could lie as the population is going to vote for him."

"Guess that politicians aren't the people that you have in your heart." She said, putting her left hand above my heart as I looked at her "I can say that I'm sharing a little bit of that thought."

"Maybe because my heart is reserved to my friends and loved one ?" I told her, giving her a lovely look and making her blush before focusing on Duvall, visually and not by hearing him. "And to say now that we're trying to avoid an Perseus backed up politician to take control of the US by working with the same organization that wanted me dead." I added, revealing my obvious thoughts at Park.

"Can say the same for me." She exclaimed, referring to what happened to her. "You know that only the MI6 know that you're alive ?" By hearing her, I looked at her, worried.

"What ?" I snorted

"I managed to persuade Adler to not tell the CIA about you, fearing that they can try to finish what they started 3 years ago even if you're now under my responsability." She replied, giving me a little grin. "Of course, the MI6 is keeping secret your presence along with Adler and the team."

"So, I'm very lucky that you are there for me, avoiding maybe Hudson to storm in and to put a bullet himself in me." I smiled at her, relieved of her choices for me.

"With all the arguments I had with Hudson during those years and if I was given one bullet because of them, I would have been able to supply the entire British Army !" She then laugh about it, meaning that it would be a damn lot of arguments in three years. "I'm grateful to have the Crown in my back." She nudged me again like before.

"I guess I became great friends with the Crown and the MI6." I suggested to her, she nodded "God save the Queen...." I said in a low voice before making a little laugh about it and I looked at Park, having an serious look on her face.

"They are leaving the podium !" She told and I looked back at the podium to see that the ligh brown haired person was actually leaving alone the podium while Duvall was still talking. "What are we doing ?" She asked me before I had an idea and I got up,

"I'm going to follow her to see where they are going." I replied, checking if the woman was still in my sight. "Stay here to check for Duvall, we will join together back at the car when we're done."

"Ok, don't do anything stupid, we're not armed." Park exclaimed as we didn't take our guns in public, it was too risky and we weren't going to transform an public park in an warzone.

I winked at Park and then, I walked away from the bench to follow that strange person accompanying Duvall everywhere and now, they left like that without saying a thing. I could see them from afar in front of me as they left the park to cross the street. I quickly moved to allow myself to get close to them in a safe distance, fearing to lose them from my view. They wasn't suspicious of been followed and hopefully, he helped because it's not everyday that we see an redhead woman, wandering around the New Orleans with an scar on her side of the head.

After walking for minutes in the streets, they finally stopped next to a phone booth, checking if there weren't anyone inside before entering it. What they were going to do was maybe going to help us to know more about her and maybe Duvall. I found, by the odds a empty bench that was just next to the phone booth, hidden from its sight and facing the street and I decided to sit on it and again, I was able somehow to hear what they were talking about as she didn't closed the door entirely, I took a little notebook that I bring with me to take notes.

"Vikhor !" It was the first thing they said....a name that isn't american and they weren't sounding american too...."It's Sonya !" They added.....wait, are they that Sonya that had a big question mark in that memory ?

"How's life in America ?" I could hear a man's voice asking.....how I can hear it too ? At least, it's allowing me to follow the whole conversation.

"It's terrible : everything is making me sick." They replied, sounding exhausted to be there. "I have enough to act like Duvall's little puppy, following him around to protect his ass in public."

"I know, sister." The man exclaimed. "Even if Duvall is necessary for Perseus's plans, he's a very stubborn man." So.....they are from Perseus and that man too.....noted !

"Vikhor, I'm sick of been like that, I'm going back home." They told him angry, maybe homesick....

"Sonya, I can't let you do that, we need...."

"No !" They almost shouted, cuting her, what I supposed now, brother. "He can stick his own protection where I think."

"Have you always been like that ?" Their brother asked, like if it was normal for him to ask that. "Wait, don't answer. I already know."

"I just want to come back home and to be with Freya." They.....Freya ?....wait, what's the meaning of all of this ? Is this person with Freya ? "I'm taking an taxi and I'm leaving the US, Vihkor."

"Guess I can't argue with you." Their brother said in a lazy voice.

"Before you hang out, can you give Freya's number of her satellite phone ? " They asked, wanting to know it, desesperatly.....and somehow, me too. "Please.." She pleaded

"Fine, I have it, be attentive." Their brother breathed before he start to tell her the number and if I couldn't hear him saying it, they were repeating the number as they were writing it, allowing me to write it too. "Okay, now, leave the US, I have my plans soon set in motions." He finally said after finishing to tell her the number before she hang out the phone.

I was going to continue to follow them but then, they were able to get into a taxi that arrived in a instant and then, I lost track of them. They were Perseus attachée to Duvall and they weren't liking him at all, explaining why they decided to left the country. Because of their departure, they weren't a target for us....for the moment. I realized that this person was the 'Sonya' mentioned in those files with an big question marked next to her name but what is her last name and who is this Vikhor ?

Well, my job was done here....until I have a bad idea....In a second, I decided to go inside the phone booth with Freya's number in hand. Hearing her name has maked my thoughs mixed again and I don't know what I was doing now : contacting her ? It's too dangerous but somehow, I couldn't control myself to do it anyway. I started to enter the number after I put some money in the phone booth and I wasn't able to stop myself. I was trembling by a lot when I start to hear the phone ringing, biting my lips in stress.

"Freya Helvig !" I could hear Freya's voice and it put me in a big state of stress, my body wasn't responding anymore and my voice....I couldn't speak, what I was going to tell her ? "Is there anybody ?" I started to breath loudly before I took a deep breath.

"Shit, I'm sorry." I whispered in the phone before I hang it up brutally, trying to calm myself down after what I have just done, I did something stupid !

It took me minutes to calm down in that phone booth, a knot in my chest like this morning, my lungs hurting me because of my breaths and my feets feeling in fire before I could finally leave it. I wasn't feeling so well on my way back to the car, trembling a lot, hiding my head to the others with my hood as I could feel my face all white. I was still catching back my breath during the way, making it either silently or louder. I finally arrived at the car where Park was already waiting for me at the driving seat.

"Yirina, you're alright ?" She asked me as I entered the car, still in the same recovering state as before. I leaned myself on the passenger seat, my head looking on top. "Yirina, what's wrong ?" She put her hand on the top of my chest, just below my neck

"I....I did....something stupid !" I said, losing my words and struggling to have my breath back.

"Did they spot you ?" I shook my head to her.

"No, everything went okay, they were as just Perseus agent named Sonya sent to protect Duvall but...." I stopped, getting my hand on top of hers, giving me some relieving. "They weren't willing to stay any longer and they called their brother from Perseus to say that they were leaving and then, right now, they're maybe in the skies, I couldn't follow them more as they jumped into a taxi."

"They left like that ?" I nodded "But what's wrong ? You couldn't know that they were going to left and who they were ?" She added, looking worried by my state.

"They....they asked for Freya's number !" I replied, handing to her the notebook where it was written down, she took a closer look to it. "When Sonya was gone, I don't know what's got into me but....I called Freya." I sniffed, looking away in shame, trying to hold back my tears "I'm sorry."

"What did you say to her ?" She asked, not even sounding angry, pretending that I had maybe played 'Bell' with Freya again

"Nothing...." I breathed before I started to cry, letting out of all my tears I was keeping. "I.....I....I was so troubled....by her voice, by what I was going to do....that I couldn't." She then started to move to take me in her arms.

"It's okay, it's okay." She whispered to me, giving me some little kisses on the head as I was still crying. "Don't blame yourself.." She said in a low voice.

"I'm so sorry, Park." I excused myself, feeling guilty about that. "I betrayed you."

"No, you didn't." She exclaimed, making me look at her in the eyes with a smile. "You're trying to save your friends and by having her number, you can succeed to save her from Perseus."

"I don't know, can I ?" I asked, my voice cracking by saying that, thinking of Zasha, Dedov, Portnova.... "Can I ?" I repeated.

"You will and I'm always there for you." Park replied before she kissed me on the lips, giving me a little grin on my face and my state....recovering more faster even if I couldn't forgive what I have done today. "We're both on the same way, Yiri.....

.....Our way to our redemption !"

[at-the-exd-of-everythixg]

Ok uh DND HEADCANONS aka welcome to fantasy queer eye

Ava: A tiefling paladin. Bonar Fidea ("BONER?" "Shut the fuck up Sal.") Is sworn to her mission to protect the group of travellers she's met. Especially when faced with a particular half orc,,,ahem, Bonar is intent on doing good, not for the cost of gold, but to perhaps wipe her hands of bloodshed left over from a suffocating war that she refuses to talk about....just a shame that the rest of her party doesn't agree with the motives.

Mimi: Dwarf fighter named Viet Clearwater ("'Cause she drags her enemies through the fucking mud!"). Dwarf milf -

("wait," Lace squints and Mimi grins. "How is she a milf??" "WELL. You know that thing where a woman gets out of the fire and shakes her head? That's that." Everyone waits for a moment before nodding appreativatevly.)

- who worked in a blacksmiths for many years before meeting Sal's character and ending up joining his kid onto becoming fantasy bounty hunters for a few months before meeting the others. Viet's personal mission is to get a beach day yet each plot ends up derailing her from it each and every time.

Finn: Druid Elf called Roisen-Mae Maylar who worked in fantasy Greggs before Bonar robbed them and Roisen-Mae was the one who was sent after her due to him being "the new guy". Long story short, Roisen-Mae realised he was underpaid and joined Bonar in her avenging for justice, quickly realising that "justice" was conceived of breaking into places and killing people in order to free others. Roisen-Mae kinda wishes he could go back to Fantasy Greggs but...he likes the feeling of adventure in his blood, likes helping people in such a freeing manner.

Sal: Elvish Bard named Chester. Out here playing the top hits of "I want thy love" and "I was created for loving thee." With the backups of Wulf's character. Realised that he could get more cash and that there was...fuck, there was something magic about his voice that struck the monsters and mysterious assassins often sent after the party for some reason.

("Wait so you're some sort of siren?" Pascal had begun to laugh as Sal sqwuaked in indignation. "No! Its- its magic! Shut up you solar piece of shit!")

Sure, murder wasn't was Chester was expecting. But fuck if it ain't gonna be fun (skksks ngl I'm...half wondering if Sal would let his dnd character be in love like I am with him and me being ace sksk)

Mahogany: No character since they struggle with grasping the game but they usually have someone sitting on their lap while they watch everyone play and suggest actions. Sometimes they're allowed to be monsters but often Mahogany is just there to get some cuddles.

Pascal: Orc rogue named Solgrindr The Rugged. 100% he's here to get jacked and each mission allows him to gain One Ab. His guns are huge but his heart is even huge-er and Solgrindr speaks with a fiery passion to sell his training regime and to collect a million fantasy numbers. Since. U know. Solgrindr has earned these by now.

("So you're a Chad?" Mimi squints and Pascal lifts up a hand in offense before Sal interjects. "YEAH PASCAL YOU AN INCEL?" Pascal cried a minute later. He just wanted to be ripped, was that too much to ask?)

Solgrindr is but a man of his whims and what's a bigger whim than a fiery battle and an even hotter romance? ("His sole goal is to romance Chester." Pascal says, smiling viciously when Sal chokes from across the table.) Its just a shame he hasn't been able to live up to his full power yet...

Edith: A half-orc paladin called Yanag Broifstïgnäh who is...basically a carbon copy of Edith but no one's gonna exactly argue with a 6'something Norse angel who everyone excluding Wulf and Dae, are attracted to her. Yanag fights with the same ire and power anyone else would have done to protect her party entirely. She gets a magical axe that apparently washes her into an entirely new and powerful form only once every game.

(Finn frowns, tilting his head curiously. "You made Edith into a magical girl?"

Doe blinks and for a moment, Finn shudders when his own eyes meet his. "Yeah. Is that what that's called? Coolio.")

Yanag saves and romances a woman with every town they go to, but it raises questions when she seems to deny their affections, just as its suspicious how black tar-like veins seem to spread on her the more she uses this power.

Wulf: A human ranger called Bob Greenson. Your average, typical human man who just so happens to believe in fate and adventure! He shall charm everyone and fight the good battles!

("So." Ava squinted and Edith tried to not smile. "He's playing as himself...but a human man?" Her question seemed to get a rough snort out of Edith and a slight nudge of the shoulders. "Aye, but 'tis what makes the man happy I suppose.")

Of course, Bob is on a strict mission to product review as many weapons as he possibly can for his company, Weap'n'throw, while perhaps finding a few good spots to camp out for the ol' family? How's it goin' neighbour? Sure there are some sale issues, what with everyone wanting to murder Bob, but what sales pitch doesn't come with a bit of haggling, hm? With his mighty band of sales assistants, please speak to Chester on aisle three for magical trumpets!

Adonai: Dungeon Master! It's a relief to be themselves and to still be able to interact with the games and everyone else. Doe was worried at first that they would have been left out while everyone got to be something different. They would have joined, but the idea of yet again forming a whole new identity, trying to find the balance and shifts...it sounded exhausting. They couldn't handle it.

Ava patted them and told Doe that they didn't need to be someone. They could think up the scenarios and risks and Joys. It wasn't often that they got an opportunity to take over and simply have fun with risking Mimi's life or trying to create romantic scenarios between Edith and Ava. Doe takes great pleasure in being the DM and it isn't uncommon for them to modify their body for certain campaigns.

Lace: A half-elf wizard named Elvish Presley (Everyone groans. Mahogany weeps. Edith demotes her Valkyrie ways. Sal becomes a nun.) Elvish is interested in learning all sources of magic and why their world works. Is there anything connecting them all? A reason for them being here? Elvish is determined to find out, no matter what the cost...mostly of himself though.

Whether he admits that he wouldn't allow his team to get hurt or not, that is entirely Elvish's thoughts and feelings alone. Quick! Put that healing spell away! We can't let these people know that we feel and yearn! But little does Elvish Presley know, everyone is aware that he is a giant nerd with a giant heart that weeps when Bonar rescues him from the angry orgre who's wagon dealership they ruined in a quest.

Dae: A dragonborn ranger named Torpa Armani who dreams of becoming a famous writer-

("Th-that's bas-basically what y-you do anywh-anyway." Morde squints as Wulf grins while Dae flushes and shakes his head. It's a weak argument, to hear your clone try and deny the elaborate romance novels he writes about his friends.)

-But! Sometimes you just get whisked away onto wild and heart melting adventures. Its hard to ignore how good it deeps to help other people with their problems. It seems that Torpa may just be finding out that there's more to life than romance or tragedy books for them. Especially if they seem so insistent on carrying a weapon and being willing to put their trust and faith within other people once more after being outcasted for who and what they are.

Peach: A tiefling ranger named Puddles Skipclear. Puddles was once a water nymph, but had been cursed into a more physical form that didn't allow her to touch water. She is bound to dry lands until Puddles is able to break her curse. Unfortunately, Puddles doesn't even seem to know what curse bounds her and changes her for possibly forever.

(Morde is quiet for a moment, not meeting his clone's eyes guilt makes his eyes and body dim and slouch. Dae does the same towards Mordecai and everyone tries to ignore the guilt that isn't there's suddenly shifting around the room.)

She likes the people she has chosen to travel with. They're silly and their quests don't always work out, but they're honest in helping Puddles and she wants to trust in them when they say that they will help her remove her curse. They're all rather different from her water sisters that faded away and slipped out of Puddles' too physical fingers, but she's begun to have high hopes about what this mission could mean for her along the way.

Mordecai: Orc rogue named Vecivus Brogun, who is a well renewed theft despite his size. Parties could only dream of having him upon their sides. It's easy to steal things from countless people, but it's harder to steal the secrets. Especially when such a strange party seems to hold so many of these secrets. Some of them have simple ideas and wants, but others?

Oh, there's mystery to them and contrary to what others believe about orcs, Vec is far more easily aware and shifty than most. If only the others would realise these and help him out with a few gigs...after all, is it so bad to steal from a dragon if said dragon had so many riches that he would have hardly noticed if a few went missing?

[the--blackdahlia]

Armageddon Chapter 15 (Dean x Reader)

Title: Armageddon Chapter 15

Summary:  Space. The Final Frontier. But for Dean Winchester, space was the last place he thought he would ever go. His family life isn’t perfect, his job isn’t ideal, but he has (Y/n), the woman he loves. Sam Winchester never thought his life would turn out the way it did. He is divorced, alone, and his brother most likely hates him. Working for NASA was not going to be easy. But, when a threat to the earth has him calling on his family for help, what can he do? can Sam and Dean push past his family issues to keep the Earth spinning another day? Based on the movie of the same name.

Pairings: Dean x Reader; Sam x Jessica

Warnings For this Chapter: Angst, language, injuries

Song for this chapter is Knockin' on Heaven's Door by Guns n' Roses

Mission Control

“I WANT A STATUS REPORT!” Bobby yelled as everyone began scrambling. “WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED?!”

“Well sir, there was a disturbance and….” A scientist said. Charlie could tell Bobby was about to blow up.

“There’s debris and it’s messing with the comms.” Charlie told him. “We’re working on it as fast as we can.” Bobby growled and rubbed at his temples.

“I WANT SOMEONE TO PATCH ME TO JO OR GABRIEL NOW!!”

(Y/n) looked worridley to John and Jess. Jess was doing her best to keep (Y/n) from panicking. John was trying to help, but those were his men up there, and his sons.

“You can get your wish, to keep Sam, because if I die on this mission, you get your perfect son, and (Y/n) can find someone better.”  

John closed his eyes and did something he had done since Viet Cong were killing his brothers around him, or since a little Sam weighed 4 pounds, 8 ounces and was born months before he was supposed to be born. He prayed.

“Mission Control! Do you copy! Mission Control this is Jo Harvelle! Do you copy!” Jo’s voice came in over the system.

“Jo, It’s Bobby I need a status report!” He tried to calm down.

“Bobby? It’s Sam!”

“Sam? What’s going on? I need someone to talk to me!” Bobby was trying to take deep breaths. “Sam?”

“Garth’s Dead, Dean’s hurt… The timer to the bomb got damaged.” Sam’s voice was shaky. “Bobby… We got hit by debris coming at us. A stray smaller asteroid hit us.”

“How bad is he hurt?” Bobby asked, closing his eyes.

“His leg… we have it in a splint at the moment he seems ok, but he’s out of commision for drilling,” Sam explained. “That’s not all… the time detinator got damaged… we need to fix it fast, so good thing I have the designer on board,” Sam joked.

“Shit…” Bobby groaned. “Just….just get it done okay Sam?”

“Yes sir,” Sam sighed.

(Y/n) could feel her chest constrict. Dean was hurt, she placed her hand over her bump and bit her lip. She was scared, she looked to Jess. Jess looked scared too.

****

“I think we have the parts Dean needs in the Independence.” Mick explained. Dean had been examining the timer and figuring out what parts were needed. “Let me go get them. I’ll be right back.”

“Dean, how are you?” Sam rasped.

“Peachy,” Dean grumbled. “Sam… I need to tell you something.”

“What?” Sam asked, looking over at him. His anxiety was through the roof, and he was trying to move as much as possible to help keep him calm.

“I don’t make it out of here…”

“No, no no. We’re not doing this.” Sam said. “None of this goodbye crap okay. You’re getting home, even if I have to push you there myself.”

“You let me get this out… I’m the older brother I PROTECT YOU, got it?” Dean growled. “I don’t make it… you take (Y/n) you go to the apartment... “ Dean took a shaky breath. “In the closet under all my vinyl records… is a deed and a house key.”

“Dean…”

“Before my blow out with dad, I bought a house… I was going to surprise her with the house before I proposed to her, but I got in that fight with dad, and got the job with Crowley,” Dean’s voice broke. “You tell her I love her… Make sure she moves on… don’t let her stay hung up on an ass like me… a coward who could have been with her for a long time…”

“Stop it!” Sam threw a wrench at the wall. “Just stop it okay! You’re going home and you’re having a family! And you’re not going to fuck it up like me! You’re going to have kids, and a house, and a good job! You’re going to die old with your family surrounding you! Now just stop it!” Never before had Sam blown up like that before.

(Y/n) covered her mouth listening to the altercation between the brothers. She looked to Jess whose eyes were filled with guilt. John ran his hands across his face. He looked to the little boy oblivious to the scene as he played with his toy cars. John walked over to Ashton and knelt down in front of the small boy.

“Hey, Kiddo,” He gave him a teary smile, “What kind of car do you have there?”  

“Bird car.” Ashton said, holding it up to show John. “It flies.” He had a big smile on his face. “And it goes vroom.”

John chuckled, Ashton reminded him so much of Sam when he was little. “That is an amazing car, did your daddy get that for you?”

“Yeah! We’re going to watch cars someday.” Sam had promised to take Ashton to a race when he was a little older and could sit still for longer than five minutes.

“Would it be ok if grandpa came too?” John smiled as he ruffled Ashtons hair.

“Yes! We can see the cars together!” He clapped his hands. “Daddy will like that!”

As the camera shook and everyone in mission control scrambled. Sam held on to Dean as he tried to get up. Dean hissed in pain,

“What the hell was that?” Dean called out.

“Dean,” Benny’s voice sounded over the com.

“What Benny? What’s going on?” Dean leaned on the wall of the shuttle giving a knowing look to Sam.

“Dean I have good news and bad news, which do you want first?” Benny sighed.  

“Bad news first.” Dean sighed.

“Well, uh, bad news is Mick is dead.” Benny told them. Dean and Sam stared at each other. “Good news is, the hole is done. But we can’t fix the timer so...emergency meeting.”

Dean ran a hand across his face. He looked at the timer and held out his hand, “Get me a screwdriver.”

“Dean, what are you doing?” Sam shook his head.

“Trust me,” was all Dean said as Sam handed him the screw driver and he began tinkering with it. Everyone climbed into the shuttle. They all stood around, watching as Dean tinkered away.

“Dean…” Sam said. “Is it working?”

“Don’t worry, when everyone gets here I’ll explain it,” Dean mumbled.

“Everyone’s here.” Sam said. “This is us.”

Benny, Ash, Ketch, Jo, Gabriel, and Cas came in. Dean looked around then looked at the timer. Closing his eyes, he looked to Jo.

“Are communications with mission control back and stable?” He breathed.

“Stable, no. But they’re here for now.” She told him. “All the debris is making it hard to keep a constant.”

Dean made his way over to the coms, “Is video working?”

“It’s scrambled.” Bobby’s voice came through. “We can hear you better than we can see you.”

Dean took a deep breath, “I want to talk to my wife.”

She wasn’t his fiance right now, even if the papers weren’t signed and they didn’t have their ceremony, he considered her, his wife. He wished he could see her, but hearing her would be just as good.  

“Dean?” her voice was music to his ears. “What’s going on? You’re scaring me?”

“Hey sweetheart.” Dean smiled some. “I’m sorry I scared you. I just wanted to hear your voice.” He closed his eyes and pictured her there. “I love you (Y/n). Everything's going to be okay, you hear me?”

“Why do I have a feeling you are going to try and be a cowboy?” She muttered, “I swear Dean, don’t do anything stupid please?” her voice broke.

“I’m not honey. I’m not going to do anything stupid. I promise.” He smirked some. “I just really needed to hear you.”

“Dean?” She sobbed, “I love you, please come home.”

“I’ll be home before you know it.” Dean laughed, trying not to cry. “Just make sure you’ve got the details planned for our wedding.”

“Ramble on going down the aisle,” she chuckled.

“A little Black Dog that night?” He wiggled his eyebrows.

(Y/n) sniffled, “I love you.”

“I know.” Dean laughed. “I love you too (Y/n).”

“Go save the world cowboy,” she rasped before blowing a kiss.

Dean blew a kiss back before turning off the com. He ran his hand across his face clearing up the tears that were falling. With a groan he hobbled back to the group and leaned on the table.

“I fixed the timer… but you are not going to like our options,” Dean gave them a solemn look.

“What are they?” Sam asked, nervously.

“One of us has to stay behind and manually detonate the bomb. Or I volunteer myself to stay behind and detonate the bomb,” He looked at Sam.

“No way!” Sam said. “You’re not giving yourself up like that. We can,” He found a couple straws and cut them into different pieces. “We can draw straws to see who stays behind.”

“Shortest straw stays,” Dean agreed. They took turns drawing straws, dread behind each pull. And finally, someone had the short straw.

Dean looked to Sam holding up the short straw, “told you so.”

John closed his eyes as mission control heard the audio. (Y/n) held back a sob as she sank to her knees, Jessica with her. The audio and video were gone then, leaving them in the dark.

Sam was numb as he watched Dean get ready. Sam grabbed his own helmet and put it on.

“I’m walking you out at least.” Sam said. “Not taking no for an answer.”

Dean simply nodded as he limped to the elevator to the asteroids surface.

“You remember what we talked about?” he rasped, “You make sure my girl moves on… make sure the next guy treats her right.”

“Yeah Dean.” Sam sighed as they headed through the elevator onto the asteroid. Sam played with the loose path on his arm, slowly pulling it off. “Hey Dean, can you do something for me real quick?”

Dean closed his eyes, “yeah baby brother. What do you need?”

Sam reached out and pulled the hose on Dean’s suit, damaging the oxygen. He pushed him back into the elevator and tucked the patch into a spot on his suit. He shut the doors so Dean could breath.

“Make sure dad gets that.” Sam said, looking at Dean through the glass doors.

Dean beat on the door, “SAM OPEN THE FUCKING DOORS RIGHT NOW, YOU ARE NOT DOING THIS. I DREW THE SHORT STRAW!”

“You have a life waiting for you back home Dean. I don’t.” Sam told him. “I need you to go live that life for me. It’s time I pay you back for everything.” He pressed the button, letting the elevator go back up into the shuttle.

“DON’T DO THIS SAMMY, NO, NO NO NO! DON’T DO THIS! DAD’S GOING TO HATE ME FOR THIS SAM! IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE ME.” Dean began beating at the doors. “SAM YOU HAVE A SON WHO NEEDS YOU.” he tried using his shoulder to break the door but it was no use.  

“You have a son or daughter that needs you too!” Sam yelled at him. “So just tell them I was cool or something, okay?” He turned away from Dean. “I love you Dean.”

The elevator doors opened into the shuttle. Dean felt two strong arms grab him and pull him in.

“LET ME GO! SAMMY! I NEED TO GET BACK TO SAM!”  Dean tried wrestling away from Benny.

“Easy brother. We gotta get home.” Benny said, getting him into a seat and tightening the straps so Dean couldn’t get out. “And your oxygen is damaged. You can’t go back out there.”

“Then you get me a new suit, get me out of here. I drew the damn short straw it should be me!”

“There are no more suits.” Cas told Dean.

“And I think Sam’s made up his mind.” Ash sighed.

“He got what he wanted.” Benny shook his head. “He got to kill himself.”

“How did you know about that?” Dean growled at Benny, “How did everyone know but me!”

“I didn’t know!” Ketch said.

“I only knew because I had to take the kid to therapy one day.” Benny told him. “We went out for beers and he told me.”

“Dad’s going to hate me for not protecting him,” Dean sobbed, “the old man might as well kill me himself.”

****

Sam had the communication device that they were supposed to use outside of the shuttle. He sat down by the bomb and closed his eyes. With a deep breath, Sam powered it on.

“If...if anyone can hear me,” Sam said, tears filling up in his eyes. “I...I’d really like to talk to my dad.”

Forever Tags:  @anathewierdo @dekahg @marvel-af-imagines @feelmyroarrrr @nanie5 @imboredsueme @gemini0410 @aiaranradnay @babypink224221 @mogaruke @xxwarhawk @sandlee44 @shatteredabby @caswinchester2000 @supernaturalwincestsblog @lauravic @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk @teller258316 @horrorpxnk

Dean Winchester/Jensen Ackles Tags: @queenslandlover-93 @screechingartisancashbailiff @strab0 @maaryisafangirl @deathofmissjackson @hellabrothers @fandom-princess-forevermore @x-waywardaf-x @webcraft4eveh @deansgirl-1968 @2dead2function @jjjjjjjoshdun @stella20131991@luciathewinchestergirl @sheris532 @bobasheebaby @bella-ca @akshi8278

Supernatural Tags:  @bandobsession98 @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester @fangirlsencyclopaediaofweirdness @ilovetardis @missihart23 @cloudyskylines @flamencodiva @sams-serialkiller-fetish @theas-bedtime-stories @huntingfreewill @ocholove @princessofthefandomrealm @getbackhonkycatt

Armageddon Tags: @thefaithfulwriter

[korrasera]

butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway reblogged your video:korrasera: intersex-ionality: korrasera: ...

You are……very wrong about what propaganda does or does not do.Almost every single piece of long form propoganda I’ve...

I can’t speak directly to what they said as I believe they’ve blocked me, but this is an example of the kind of simplistic analysis that I’m talking about. They’re just repeating the same popular misconceptions about what propaganda is, without any argument to back it up beyond, “well it is.” Also I think I may have offended this person by not sharing their opinion before they decided to reply to mine, but that’s somewhat expected. This is tumblr, after all.

But they’re still wrong.

To be clear, if you define propaganda as anything that features sympathetic characters with a certain identity that you dislike, then literally every piece of media ever created qualifies as propaganda.

That’s it, conversation done. There’s no way to avoid that interpretation when people stick to the idea of ‘if cop therefore propaganda’.

Also, propagandists don’t make subtle statements. They don’t ask you to question things and they aren’t trying to make something nuanced that will get you to lower your shields. Because that takes hard work and a lot of time and propagandists aren’t setting out to make social movements, they’re setting out to influence opinion. Immediately. Aggressively.

I’m reminded of the fan theory that Loki’s plan in The Avengers was to lose the fight at the end of the film and get captured, so he would be taken back to Asgard where he could enact some brilliant master plan. Only he didn’t, he just lost, and he didn’t have any master plan. Because that’s not Loki. He schemes and takes advantage is all.

I feel the same way here. Propaganda isn’t subtle and it isn’t crafty and it isn’t slowly corrupting the minds of a generation. It’s a film with an aggressively pro-US pro-war stance that treats the Viet Cong like complete villains and US soldiers as total heroes, like in The Green Berets. It’s the Triumph of the Will and Leni Riefenstahl crafting powerful illusions that made the nazis seem like an unstoppably powerful force.

If your argument is that something is propaganda when you can’t even point to what the propaganda is meant to accomplish, beyond some vague fearmongering about how it’ll ‘get past their shields’ or ‘really speak to them’ then you don’t have an argument. You just have an imaginary supervillain who is slowly capturing people’s wills through the use of cunningly crafted years long plans of conquest involving comedy television.

This is a good example of the disconnect between the things people believe on tumblr and the things that are actually true. I know about propaganda because I studied media, politics, and philosophy in college, so while my knowledge is not specialized I have at least become familiar with the academic investigation of these topics.

It can be kinda frustrating to see people take this tack because it’s an unthinking analysis of the topic that doesn’t hold up under even basic scrutiny. And of course, talking about it invites people to try to defend their interpretation because it’s more important to support our position as the correct one rather than question whether it’s the right one.

Calling Brooklyn Nine-Nine propaganda is something that would get you a failing grade in a poli sci course. So in this case butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway seems to be the one who doesn’t understand propaganda as well as they thought.

Bonus point:

The arguments that B99 are cop propaganda mean that any show portraying any character in a public service position is ultimately a form of propaganda. Every cop show? Propaganda. Every lawyer show? Court propaganda. Every show about politics? Political propaganda.

Last I checked, I’m pretty sure Night Court wasn’t propaganda meant to subtly influence you to put your trust in the hands of public defenders and night judges.

We use media to hold up a mirror to ourselves. That’s why you’re seeing cops on TV, because cops are a part of our world and a lot of people imagine themselves becoming heroic police officers as kids. That doesn’t mean it’s propaganda.

And it certainly doesn’t mean that people’s hopes, dreams, and ambitions are propaganda either.

[sanoiro]

4x05 - Expire Erect - Spoilers and Speculation

Warning! There is always a possibility that certain scenes might have been mixed up under their non-respective episodes.

Written By: Mike Costa

Directed By: Viet Nguyen

Mike Costa has written/co-written the episodes:

1x10 Pops

2x09 Homewrecker

2x15 Deceptive Little Parasite

3x07 Off the Record (Teleplay)

3x13 Til Death Do Us Part

3x18 The Last Heartbreak

4x05 Expire Erect

Cast: Tom Ellis as Lucifer, Lauren German as Chloe, DB Woodside as Amenadiel, Lesley-Ann Brandt as Maze, Kevin Alejandro as Dan, Scarlett Estevez as Trixie, Rachael Harris as Linda Martin and Aimee Garcia as Ella.

Season 4 Recurring Characters: Inbar Lavi as Eve and Graham McTavish as Father Kinley

Guest Cast:

Paul Edney...Museum Visitor Rigo Sanchez...Marco

Behind The Scenes:

If there is one episode I’m excited about is this one. I’m dying to watch it!

In a conversation I had a few days ago I was discussing with @boristheelder about Chloe’s Arc in this season and surprisingly we both expressed the same thought. 

Chloe in this season has three stages in her arc. The first is disbelief, she is cautious and hurt. Chloe cannot comprehend what is going on and how to react to Lucifer’s nature. 

^ A Halloween wreath outside Chloe’s door. 

As far as we can speculate with the new information of the month gap between 3x24 and 4x01 what we are going to find in 4x01 is two broken souls who miraculously love each other and try to cope. 

Lucifer is almost certain he will use sex I mentioned before in 4x01, hence his new project but not necessarily sexual partner Eve. In Chloe’s case, she put her trust in the wrong person when she was on her lowest point. Father Kinley. 

Graham McTavish who plays Father Kinley during most if not all the 4x05 episode was in New Zealand so his involvement on the events of this episode is heavily induced with a good dose of speculation. 

Father Kinley is imprisoned either in 4x04 or most probably according to my belief in 4x05. After all, he makes a spectacular escape in 4x09 so… 

But let’s take things first. The case of the week is a bit obscure on all possible levels as we only have some bits and pieces to put together a blurry picture… 

The murder seems to be happening at a car exhibition or as the L.A. residents know it as the Petersen Automobile Museum. According to some sources, there was a commotion and everyone present had to act a panic mode scene after an ‘unfortunate’ (read murder) event. 

^ You can see Ellis’ and Lauren’s, stand-ins

hat murder leads our gang to a house in the suburbs of L.A. with a beautiful and expensive silver Mercedes-Benz 300 SL Gullwing Coupe! A GORGEOUS car if you ask me… 

Anyways… Inquiries are made and things take their way towards solving the case but that’s all we know as another scene took the majority of the shooting days to be shot. 

Before I start writing about *that* scene I want to mention that Lucifer in this episode has a session with Linda and wears the same shirt he will use until the end of the episode. 

A very unique in texture light blue shirt. This session is one of the reasons that make me wonder if Linda gives birth later on in the season or if she just returns at her job after only just one episode between the birth and a session with Lucifer. 

The fact that Linda wears a red dress and the photo does not show her midsection has me wondering as well as her wearing PJs at the last episode… We shall see…

^You can see Rachael next to Ellis as they are prepped, 

The scene I cannot wait to see is the LUX scene of this episode. It almost 50 hours of shooting to be done at the stage and some more so outside the Cicada Restaurant, as I have mentioned before, also known as LUX’s entrance. 

^We had two LUX patrons stating this so I have no idea if Eve has a power, Lucifer’s are growing or it is just a coincidence... Perhaps someone is brooding and sees the couples making out? 

At LUX we have first of all Ella and Eve who seem to hit it off quite well as Ella has some drinks at LUX. They talk to have some fun probably but do remember that Ella is now questioning her faith something that I believe that the events of 4x05 might help her. 

Ella also is a HUGE supporter of Deckerstar despite what has happened between Lucifer and Chloe which Ella might attribute to Marcus’ betrayal and eventual death if Lucifer was accused of it…

I mean it is a probability that Lucifer was arrested hence the one month jump and lack of communication but that’s in my head has something like a 15-20% probability of happening. 

So we are at LUX and guess what… LUX’s patrons and everyone inside are held hostages as far as I can tell. The SWAT (Special Weapons Attack Team) team is also there as you can see from the black van. 

Now we do know that inside are Ella, Eve and Lucifer. Outside LUX we have Dan and Maze.  Yet where is Chloe? Well someone did mention that there was a “hidden” entrance to LUX so I would assume that Chloe did eventually did sneak in or was already in although I believe it’s the first. 

Yet why Chloe and not Maze? That’s a good question I cannot answer. All I know is that Chloe’s presence at LUX is something that will happen whether she was in there as the place was taken over or afterwards. 

What we also have there is a rather “demonic” bartender. Although the description says nothing about the bartender being a Demon the abilities she has are great and has some core scenes and even a stuntwoman I believe in that episode so I would assume that LUX’s bartenders were selected really carefully. 

You can see the heavily armoured men of the SWAT team in some of the photos by the way. 

Now comes the most important part of the episode. There is a video which was deleted and which you can find in this post. I’ll not say where if you haven’t noticed it. If you are no keen into to really big spoilers please stop reading. 

Thank you in advance!

*Interlude Over*

In this episode, Lucifer gets stubbed and we almost lose him. 

Before I explain what I believe has happened I would like to conclude what I was discussing with @boristheelder Chloe in this season has an Arc of 3 levels. Turmoil, Realization and Action towards getting Lucifer back or at least at first mending their relationship up to 4x09 where I believe she opens up again to a robe dressed Lucifer. 

Episode 4x05 is the episode where Chloe realizes that you cannot dismiss love so easily, what she needed was again to trust him and she does that in this episode so the damn breaks and everything that held her back is released but much to Lucifer’s bad luck so does his vulnerability around her. 

If you remember 4x02 where I believe that Lucifer is back being invulnerable around Chloe and thus extremely hurt and confused, in 4x05 he makes some very bad choices that lead to him being severely hurt and I do not mean 3x17 hurt… I mean 1x13 hurt!

We cannot be sure who Lucifer is set to protect and perhaps the stabbing happens early in LUX’s take over and at the end. Meaning that Father Kinley may himself or may have had someone else trying to kill the Devil. Who knows really but that’s my hunch. Especially since we have a guy with a tonsure in the episode... Tonsure is the circular shave Christian monks have since the middle ages... 

Call me whatever you like but do you remember how Lucifer investigated Marcus’ mark through the Code Da Vinci movies? Well, do you remember Silas? The misguided albino assassin in Code Da Vinci? Just saying...  

Whether Lucifer is trying to protect someone like Chloe or Eve or even Ella. Whether he was the main target or not Chloe’s proximity makes him lose a huge amount of blood that makes him in many photos look ashen and then taken away by an ambulance with only Eve by his side as Chloe can be rarely seen further away in some cases but not often (like one time or two). 

Examining the scenarios Lucifer either 

Gets hurt early on and they have to get Chloe outside LUX but that does not happen quickly enough so Lucifer starts to bleed out and Chloe finally realizes what Lucifer has sacrificed by being around her. 

Lucifer believing like in scenario A that he is invulnerable with or without Chloe’s proximity he is stubbed by what it seems to be a military/hunting knife (missionary?). That leads to a chain of events for everyone not only trying to get to Lucifer who is inside LUX but also defuses the situation at the bar.

^The little amount of blood is either for the ambulance scene or someone else is also hurt. If you were praying for Azrael to be back, do pray to be in this episode although the chances are slim and none of the BTS supports it. :(

No matter what happens and although I would have loved for Lucifer to protect Chloe again only to fail, we have some very important things going into motion after this episode. 

First, Chloe realises that Lucifer is capable of dying as well as what he has gone through for her. 

Second, this opens a window for past events to come to the light 1x13, 2x13, 2x05 etc. 

Third, Chloe is finally passing from the state of turmoil and by having lost faith to Father Kinley she starts to see Lucifer under a new light she was not able to do so before. Everything now counts more than before, have a different meaning if you like. 

Fourth, Chloe seems to be held away from Lucifer as he is rushed to the ambulance. Probably Eve or Maze (or both) make sure she stays away in order for Lucifer to start healing undisturbed. Imagine seeing the man you love, the Devil getting hurt and you are the one who is causing all that pain. An allegory here I believe with what happened between 3x24 to 4x01. 

Moreover, she is powerless as she cannot follow and if Chloe knows what causes Lucifer’s vulnerability according to my theory that is, then she has an answer she was finding very hard to admit. Can you Love the Devil? Yes, because he is Lucifer. Just Lucifer. 

 I could spend a lot of time writing about what that scene means for the episode and the season as a whole but I think that the proper meta can wait….

You may ask how will the situation be resolved? Well, the combination between Dan, Maze and the Bartender will certainly help to keep an eye on them as well as Chloe. 

^The LUX extras were exhausted so imagine the actors and the crew!

In the last parts of this post, I would like to mention the writer’s IG post that was captured by me in its full glory but @lucks-eterna managed to capture it in the first 5 minutes while I missed my chance… Good work by the way @lucks-eterna !

The post from the writer had the summary for each character behind his lament over his PC’s autocorrect. More clearly we can see Amenadiel’s who is apparently in a difficult situation of trying to find a job, any job, while weighing the new sense of responsibility fatherhood bring along in his life. Whether born or not that child is already causing some havoc and even more in the next episodes.  In 4x05 we also have Amenadiel’s stuntman at the stage meaning that Amenadiel may have had an active role in the LUX situation or a new character appears a bit early... 

The other two summaries are a bit more difficult to decipher. The second is Maze’s and you can even make out the name as many have pointed out on Tumblr.

when Maze gives *** some -

he’s only recruiting her, an -

do the kind of rule-breaking

with the fact that, maybe, he

Lesley, Ann did post that she had another scene with Dan in that episode (aside from the ones with Ella outside LUX?) and although Lesley-Ann did reveal that Maze will really all in love in this season I wonder if it’s with the baby and not with a man or woman. Yes she lives with Linda and it would have been fun to see them together but there is a prickling at the back of my head that whispers “Dan”. We shall see but let’s keep this as an afterthought. 

^Dan at what it seems to be Chloe’s house or LUX, I would bet Chloe’s house which is behind the LUX set. Who knows... perhaps it’s at LUX and part of the ending of the episode where Dan realises where he is heading and Maze had enough.

In 3x26 Dan was shown that he had a dark side that never really grew in size and in S4 it seems like it's out of control. All the fighting he gets into with Maze makes me wonder whether he joins her in bounty hunting as a way to redeem himself of what happened to Charlotte but also as Joe has said jokingly once, Dan got a taste of blood in S2 so whenever you do not see him he is out there killing people. 

Of course, Joe’s words were meant as a joke but what if bounty hunting or taking part to fights with Maze is what helps him cope? Is it here in episode 4x05 that Maze realists how far Dan has gone? Is Dan the one who “recruits” her for a semi-controlled rule-breaking? I believe he is…

The first summary is the most baffling and heart-wrenching one. 

a hard time doing while SOB(BING?)

realize just how close she 

She realizes what’s missing

Call me a Hallmark season special fanatic but after considering what has happened to Lucifer and how Chloe cannot approach him, the woman who run to his side and cradled him in 2x12… Sigh… 

Do tell me if you were that woman what you would have done seeing the man you love, the Devil or not (who cares anymore at that point?), been taken away, bleeding to death, wasting away partly because of you is taken away what would you do? What would you do if another woman was above him offering him comfort as he was looking ashen and out of it, what you would have done? 

I’ll take a wild chance and say what the writer of this episode has summarized… Just saying… 

Concluding as you have guessed this is a very hard episode which I believe you will all love as much I will and do remember the other scripts of the Scriptwriter…

Pops gave us Lucifer saving Chloe, being burned and of course a drunk Chloe passing out on him. Homewrecker analyzed the matter of trust between Lucifer and Chloe as well as Dan’s dark side, the Deceptive Little Parasite… 

Who can forget Lucifer crying over the pain of Chloe and his Mother to ignite the sword? Off the Record was partly his work while Til Death Do us Part again dealt with the matter of trust. The Last Heartbreak gave us a tender moment between Lucifer and an unconscious Chloe while we learned more about Marcus without losing touch with the series and finally 4x05… 

Lucifer will Expire Erect but not in bed in the middle of an orgy…  

Quick Directory:

Spoilers and Speculations Posts Per Episode:

4x01 - Everything’s Okay

4x02 - Somebody’s Been Reading Dante’s Inferno

4x03 - O, Ye Of Little Faith, Father

4x04 - All About Eve

4x05 - Expire Erect

4x06 - Orgy Pants To Work

4x07 - Devil Is As Devil Does

4x08 - Super Bad Boyfriend

4x09 - Save Lucifer

4x10 - (?????) King of Hell?

Lucifan 1

This episode had really intrigued me since the title was released. Expire Erect fits perfectly with the show. And again it promises angst and emotions.

There are so many hints and situations to discuss that it is difficult to start.The night al Lux seems pretty hot: it is just a case or is it related to a plan? If we consider Eve having such a kind of "mojo" is it an attempt to use it or to control at least? Is Lucifer using it for his own purpose?

I still think Eve will bring back the old Devil,  so if he now feels at ease just with Eve at his side, no surprise if he is back to the old habits of multiple one night partners. Curious to know more about the session with Linda: is it about Eve or about Linda's pregnancy/ baby? For sure, she will offer good advice that Lucifer will take  in his own way and maybe focus just on his partner in crime and not on his former partner anymore

I'm glad we can see also more about Amenadiel and his struggle to live as a human being. This character and Woodside deserve a lot and I wait for a meaningful arc for them, including the realisation that actions have consequences. The same realisation that everyone needs to reach.

Moving back to Lux set, we have BTS of Dan and Maze. Their partnership grows and consolidates, but we don't know if it lasts. What if Dan discovers the role she played in all Cain's stuff? It is true they will be together in the hospital at the end of the season, so I want to give them a chance. Will be they a couple?  LesleyAnn has announced a Maze in love. But she had also teased about a potential Maze girlfriend.  Will it be Eve? Just for fun? And Maze's real love will be the baby? We know the feelings she has for Trixie,  so no surprise if she develops a strong bond with the Nephilim

Also, Ella is at Lux and meets Eve. And from the BTS of episodes 6 and 7 they will work together.  Sanoiro states Ella will regain her faith or part of it after this episode: will Eve help her? Ella's open and welcoming attitude can play an important role with a character usually blamed and hated, creating a  special relationship between them. That can plague Chloe or push her to think a lot about herself or the faith restored is more related to anything occurring at Lux? Chloe and Lucifer  trying to protect each other? Chloe coming to protect them all?

Let's see

The last section is for Chloe. Despite all we have (or not have) seen, I strongly believe this season gives her all the room she deserves. I totally agree on the 3 phase arc here suggested. Perhaps realisation of her real feelings starts in episode 4. But it will burst in episode 5. How Chloe join the team at Lux is not clear ae we have just her car outside. She can be there because called on duty or following a criminal (Kinley? Someone working for him? ) And it is unclear if she enters or not. Does she need to be really close to Lucifer to affect him?

Does the secret door at Lux suggest a way in or have another meaning? Assuming she is inside, is her love/ faith already restored to make Lucifer vulnerable or is something she sees to have that effect?  Lucifer trying to protect Ella or Eve, or even Chloe herself. In any case,  Lucifer will almost die. If not aware of her power yet, Chloe will realize it now.

Pushed away from the one she loves she will just look at him and Eve together ( based on Lavi's video with Tom smoking close to an ambulance), realizing what she had and is risking to lose. I agree on all the angst and turmoil Sanoiro described. The only point now is how will Chloe react and also Lucifer. They will work together but at which level of personal relationship is not clear. Probably they will try to be just colleagues. But the reaction of Chloe in episode 7, with Eve touching Lucifer in front of her, speaks volume on her success.

My final question: will Eve try to get between them to win Lucifer back or to test Chloe to be sure she is ready for all the supernatural stuff?

[cksmart-world]

The Completely Unnecessary News Analysis

by Christopher Smart

July 23, 2019

Cognitive Dissonance By Any Other Name

Hey Wilson, do you know what cognitive dissonance is? No, it's not when you get too loose to trek and trek anyway. It's more like a brain cramp. For example, if you are a Trump supporter and he says something that's regarded negatively, like a racist comment, then your brain gets confused. Part of your brain is saying, Trump is good, while another part is saying, that's not good. So to keep from going crazy, your brain says, that wasn't racist, all he said was go back to where you came from. Or, if it comes out that Trump said he likes to grab women by the crotch, your brain says, oh well, everybody says that. And when an FBI investigation reveals he made hush-money payments to a porn star, your brain says, that didn't really happen and Michael Cohen is a lying shithead. Well, yes, Wilson, it kinda does explain Teflon. But we digress. Maybe your brain is saying all those examples are based on lies — fake news. It didn't happen, period. Voilà, no brain cramp. Just filter out everything you don't like — it makes life a lot easier. As for Republicans in Congress, you're right, Wilson, it's just another term for “chickenshit.”

Just Say, No, To Killing Embryos

Thank goodness the city council in that Utah County bastion of righteousness, Highland, has come out against abortion. OK, yes, it was a non-binding resolution, but it adds steam to the mass hysteria here in Utah surrounding the killing of embryos. Merrilee Boyack, chairwoman of the newly formed group, Abortion-Free Utah, says every Utah lawmaker is paying attention. "It gives them, I believe, courage to move forward aggressively to end elective abortion when they see the will of the people are moving very strongly in that direction." Earlier, the city of Riverton took similar action, proving that not everyone in Salt Lake County is an embryo killer. Sure, some might say, what do these part-time city council people know about abortion? Well, what's there to know? You're either making women take unwanted pregnancies to term, or you're not. It's time, once and for all, for the government to completely force its way into women's personal health decisions. Women just cannot be trusted to be responsible for their own bodies. Each and every embryo is important until it is born — then it's someone else's problem. Free agency, and all that.

Minimum Wage Is Un-American

Raising the minimum wage to $15 an hour would be a travesty. The minimum wage is now $7.25 an hour, as it has been for a decade. That is plenty for a family of four — it's an entire $290 a week or $1,160 per month. And all those people who work two minimum-wage jobs are just greedy complainers. They should stay home and take care of their children. We're talking family values here. That's why every member of Utah's delegation to the Houses of Representatives — including Democrat Ben McAdams — voted against this ill-advised blunder by Democrats. Just imagine if everyone got $15 an hour. Why heck, that's $600 a week — $31,200 a year. What would happen to corporate profits, say nothing of CEO salaries. Despite Utah congressmen, the bill passed out of the House. Fortunately, the Republican-dominated Senate will spike this blatant act of socialism. The Democrats are set on destroying the economy by giving consumers more money. Next thing you know, they'll want affordable health care for everyone and turn this country into Venezuela. Poor people should just shut up and show some gratitude for all they have.

Men Of Principal vs. Jon Stewart

Sens. Rand Paul and Mike Lee are men of principal. Jon Stewart just does't get that. See, here's what really happened: There was a bill to extend benefits for 9-11 first responders who suffer from many maladies, including cancer. It was stalled in Congress but Stewart went to Capitol Hill and shamed the House and Senate into passing it. But at the last minute, Rand Paul and Mike Lee put a hold on the legislation, because there isn't enough money in the budget. Sure, Congress just passed a $733 billion budget for defense. And yes, they passed a tax cut for corporations and the wealthy that added $1 trillion to the debt. But that's beside the point. What Rand and Mike explained to dumb people, like Jon Stewart, is that in order to give the ailing first responders more funding, a similar amount of money has to be cut elsewhere, on account of they are men of principal and excessive spending goes against their Republican creed. Rand Paul is right, Jon Stewart is nothing more than a lying sack of you-know-what. Who does he think he is, anyway? As Republicans, they must do everything they can to balance the budget for our children and grandchildren, because after tax cuts and military spending, it's important.

Post Script — Neil Armstrong and the Apollo 11 crew proved 50 years ago that the moon is not made of green cheese. This whole green cheese-thing, it turns out, was bogus from the get-go. Our crack research team here at Smart Bomb did some digging and found that the phrase had its origins centuries ago when someone compared the full moon to a round of green cheese. But that's not all — green cheese isn't green, it's just unripened. Who knew?

A half century is a long time and things have changed. The average cost of a new house in 1969 was $15,550; the average income was $8,550; the average cost of a new car was $3,270 — and you could get a brand new Toyota Corona for only $1,950; and gas was 35 cents a gallon. “Hot Fun In the Summertime” by Sly and The Family Stone was the #1 hit that July. Richard Nixon was president and we were bogged down in Viet Nam, where thousands of Americans were dying each year. Ah, the good old days.

Well, that's it for another broiling July week here at Smart Bomb, where Wilson and the band are tuning up to celebrate the 50th anniversary of Woodstock come August. If you remember that rock festival in upstate New York, you probably weren't there. All right, Wilson, pick it:

By the time we got to Woodstock / We were half a million strong / And everywhere there was song and celebration / And I dreamed I saw the bombers / Riding shotgun in the sky /And they were turning into butterflies / Above our nation...

[idlescratchingsthings-blog]

Part of a WIP: Witness.

I am trying to get back into writing. And I am suffering from some pretty crippling self-doubt, and some mega struggles actually getting anything from my head to the page. So, I am going to post some bits and pieces. I invite any feedback or constructive criticism that anyone might have. This first one is some bits and pieces from a Destiel Vietnam War AU (I will not apologise for that). I have a vague idea of overall plot, but it’s actually getting it out that is causing the real trouble.So, if anyone wants to give this a squiz and let me know what you think, I’d really appreciate it.  Quick note: This is set during the Vietnam War and as such, contains depictions of violence and some homophobia. Just... FYI. ************************ The long grass around him danced. Between bullets and half-seen soldiers, the blades twisted and bent. It’s the last thing Dean should have been paying attention to in the middle of a contact, but he supposed he had to pick something to focus on. The sounds of battle were always too loud, and yet the noises made by his squad were always too quiet. He heard someone cry out to his left and moved, unthinking; the sound halfway familiar. Dean wasn’t sure what it was until he got there, and he wished it had been anything else. He found himself crouching over Garth. A skinny kid from Nebraska. Garth was sweet and stupid and he didn’t deserve to be here, bleeding out in the grass in front of Dean, crying for his mama, still trying to shoot the already dead VC with his jammed M16. The grass danced here too. Dean pressed down on the bayonet wound in Garth’s abdomen. He knew he was talking, rambling, trying to keep Garth calm, trying to get the kid to stop screaming. He had no idea what he was saying. Garth didn’t either, so Dean figured that was fair enough. Dean yelled for a medic before he pulled out a field dressing and wrapped the kid up as best he could. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking. The sounds of battle were fading around them. It had been a small ambush, but brutal. His hands were slippery. In a moment of almost painful clarity, Dean was suddenly focussed on Garth, and the task at hand. Garth was pale, not that that was anything new. He’d always looked stretched out. He moved as though his own body took him by surprise. He’d proven to be a decent soldier, though. No killer, but disciplined and good at taking direction. He’d won over the local children by making sock puppets with the scrappy remains he was constantly trying to darn. The medic shouldered Dean out of the way. Garth was a sweet kid, and Dean would be damned if he’d die here in this yellowing grass on the arse end of the world. He told Garth exactly that. Garth looked up at him like he believed it. Dean was sure glad one of them did. *******  The children were giggling. The boldest among them had been throwing peanut shells at the sleeping man. He was asleep by a public fountain in Saigon, laid out on his back on the thick concrete lip of the pool. He was scruffy, wrapped in a tan trench coat, and determined, it seemed, to sleep through the childrens’ game. That is, until one of them ventured too close, and the man leapt up, chasing them and laughing. They squealed and scattered. The older kids hoping that the encounter would culminate in gifts of sweets or small change. Some of these Americans were a push-over. Castiel yelled out in their native tongue that they were all incorrigible. They laughed. He called them over and bestowed chocolate bars on each of them, asking questions about who their parents were and what they did, if anyone had any relatives visiting for the upcoming holiday. Finally, they dispersed, and Cas moved on. He was looking for a contact to get him to the Viet Cong ranks. He wanted to report the war from as many angles as he could. To do that, he needed local knowledge and an in with the enemy. ******  The moon was gibbous and silvery. It’s light illuminated the little garden, playing in dean’s hair as he sat on the grass. A cigarette burned between the fingers of Dean’s right hand where it rested lightly. The soldier’s face was turned up to the sky, his eyes closed. Despite the brightness of the moonlight, Castiel couldn’t quite make out Dean’s freckles as he walked towards him, beers in hand. He sat beside Dean, maybe a little closer than he should have, their thighs pressed together solidly once Cas settled. Dean hummed but didn’t move until Castiel grumbled for a drag of his cigarette. Dean smiled as he handed it over, watching the filter tip on Cas’ mouth, watching the deep drag and exhale a little while after. Castiel smirked in response, slightly raising an eyebrow. Dean, always much braver than most men, continued watching unashamedly, his eyes not leaving Cas’ mouth until he was done looking. When he was, he unhooked one of the beers from Cas’ hands and sipped it. His eyes scanned the perimeter of the garden. ”You never did say why you stopped working at Newsweek.” He said. ”I thought you knew why I stopped working at Newsweek.” A little confused about the topic. Dean looked at him again, “I do know why you stopped working at Newsweek… I think I do, but you never said why. So I can’t be entirely sure. So, I’m asking.” It was a statement, there was no fire, no judgment in it, just a simple question. One Dean knew didn’t have an easy answer. ”Well, Newsweek won’t allow women to be journalists… so, someone like me… with my preferences… my proclivities… it was only a matter of time before they pushed me out. After all, how are you supposed to trust a sissy with something so important as war?” He took another drag of the cigarette as Dean sipped thoughtfully on his beer. 

“You ain’t no sissy, Cas.”

”What about you, Dean? Who first called you a sissy?” Cas wasn’t sure whether the question was brave or stupid, he hadn’t meant to ask it anyway. But there it was now, hanging in the air between them. Dean looked at him for the longest time. Cas looked back, schooling his face into a neutral mask. 

 “M-my Dad.’, Dean croaked out, ‘My Dad was the first.” He finished the thought stronger, clearer.

”I was barely a teenager. I made friends with a kid down the street, we were just playing together. It wasn’t like that, but he - my Dad - saw something in me. I don’t know what I did, how he saw something I didn’t know yet…But I wasn’t allowed to see him again. I don’t even really remember anything about him. But I remember that sting of shame. I feel it now…” Cas watched Dean struggle for a moment before he offered his own story. Not wanting to leave Dean in that moment, that memory, alone.

 “For me, it was my brother. Luke saw me with a boy when I was in High School. I got home, still giddy from the feelings of young love reciprocated, and he was waiting for me in my room. He asked me if I had fun being a filthy pervert. Told me that he’d tell everyone that I was a sissy, that they’d shun me, hate me… He’d tell everyone what I was… but not then… not that day, but one day. So I spent my entire adolescence in fear. Waiting for him to out me. I even dated a girl for a little while, Meg, but the way he’d smile wide and mean when we were together…” 

“When did he?”

 “He never did. It was just a way for him to have power over me.” 

“Sounds like a real piece of work.” 

“You have no idea.” 

“Tell me about Meg. Why did you choose her?” 

“She chose me. She was determined to be my friend. I think she knew we were both somehow defective and decided we were kindred spirits. She’s the closest I’ve ever come to finding a soul mate. She smokes too much, swears, behaves entirely unlike a lady and I have seen her take more than one biker down with her right hook.” 

“She sounds like one helluva gal.” 

“Yes. I think she’d hate you.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I don’t hate you… and she can be jealous.” 

Castiel found himself staring at Dean again, and somehow he lost his head. Without blinking, he suddenly found himself in Dean’s lap, straddling him, his hands gripping the fabric of his shirt. Dean stared up at him. He looked like he was going to say something smug, but Cas didn’t want to hear it, so he brought their lips together. *******

[distaffgospels]

Doing “50 Questions You’ve Never Been Asked” the wrong way

Because I’m a grumpy middle-aged woman and I do what I want. 

1. What's your favorite candle scent? Lavender

2. What female celebrity do you wish was your sister? Gillian Anderson

3. What male celebrity do you wish was your brother? Martin Freeman

4. How old do you think you'll be when you get married? I was 27.

5. Do you know a hoarder? Yes.

6. Can you do a split? God, no.

7. How old were you when you learned how to ride a bike? Five.

8. How many oceans have you swam in? Atlantic, Pacific, plus Mediterranean and Caribbean Seas

9. How many countries have you been to? About 20.

10. Is anyone in your family in the army? My dad was in the Army Reserves during the Viet Nam war.

11. What would you name your daughter if you had one? I have one named Sarah. I was going to name her something else (Siobhan or Niamh) but this was in honor of a recently deceased family member.

12. What would you name your son if you had one? I have one. His name is Cian.

13. What's the worst grade you got on a test? I know I flunked a few. Didn’t stop me from getting a Ph.D. later on. Hang in there.

14. What was your favorite TV show when you were a child? Mr. Rodgers. Don’t judge me.

15. What did you dress up as on Halloween when you were eight? Wow, I haven’t the faintest idea. Possibly Glenda, the good witch of the north from The Wizard of Oz.

16. Have you read any of the Harry Potter, Hunger Games or Twilight series? Harry Potter, which I read when my kids were small. 

17. Would you rather have an American accent or a British accent? British.

18. Did your mother go to college? No. She attended a few classes at the community college.

19. Are your grandparents still married? All my grandparents have been dead for some time. All stayed married though.

20. Have you ever taken karate lessons? No.

21. Do you know who Kermit the frog is? Oh, please. I was four when Sesame Street started. I loved The Muppet Show. I’ve seen all the Muppet movies. I even met Jim Henson!

22. What's the first amusement park you've been to?

23. What language, besides your native language, would you like to be fluent in? I’m reasonably fluent in French. There are lots of languages I would like to learn as well. Maybe Mandarin.

24. Do you spell the color as grey or gray? I can never keep straight which way I am supposed to spell it because I am American but I read a lot of books published in Great Britain.

25. Is your father bald? Yep.

26. Do you know triplets? No. 

27. Do you prefer Titanic or The Notebook? Never saw either. 

28. Have you ever had Indian food? Sure! Love it!

29. What's the name of your favorite restaurant? Gosh. Not sure. I love restaurants, but I cook most meals. I loved a Dim Sum place and a Korean BBQ place I visited in New York long ago. I was recently at Jaleo, a tapas place in D.C. by José Andres, and I loved it.

30. Have you ever been to Olive Garden? It’s been a while, but yes.

31. Do you belong to any warehouse stores (Costco, BJ's, etc.)? Sam’s Club, because that’s the only choice I have in the state I live in.

32. What would your parents have named you if you were the opposite gender? I was Patrick until I was born.

33. If you have a nickname, what is it? I’ve had several, but none that anyone uses regularly.

34. Who's your favorite person in the world? Impossible to say just one. Certainly my husband and kids, parents, sister, plus several long-time friends.

35. Would you rather live in a rural area or in the suburbs? I prefer to live in college towns of about 100,000 people.

36. Can you whistle? Yes.

37. Do you sleep with a nightlight? No.

38. Do you eat breakfast every morning? Mostly.

39. Do you take any pills or medication daily? Yes. The number multiplies as I get older.

40. What medical conditions do you have? Do you want the list? Anxiety, depression, high cholesterol, and a milk heart problem. Used to have PCO but I’m past menopause, thank the Goddess.

41. How many times have you been to the hospital? As a patient? Twice. Once for each of my children.

42. Have you ever seen Finding Nemo? I have seen it endless times. It was the first movie my oldest  ever saw. 

43. Where do you buy your jeans? Lane Bryant. I don’t like a lot of their current styles (too form fitting), but they fit me the best.

44. What's the last compliment you got? My kids liked the cookies I made today. My husband told me yesterday that he loves that he can trust me not to ever deliberately hurt him. That was nice.

45. Do you usually remember your dreams in the morning? Briefly, but if I don't write them down I usually forget them quickly.

46. What flavor tea do you enjoy? I hate tea. Ick. If I have to drink something like tea, I’ll have peppermint herbal tea.

47. How many pairs of shoes do you currently own? Too many. At a guess, something like 25.

48. What religion will you raise your children to practice? Tried to raise them as Catholic, got appalled by a lot of things going on in the church. Stopped going. Eventually switched to a liberal Episcopalian church, but it didn’t take. I figure as teenagers, my kids are allowed to decide for themselves whether they believe in God or not.

49. How old were you when you found out that Santa wasn't real? About five. 

50. Why do you have a tumblr? Started one a number of years ago to keep up with BBC Sherlock news. I also am a long time Star Trek, Babylon 5, X-Files, Star Wars, and Terry Pratchett fan, so that’s cool as well. Plus I like seeing the creative stuff on Tumblr. I’m a professor, so it also helps keep me at least slightly plugged in to what young people are concerned about, and I think trying to understand that makes me a better teacher.

[robert-c]

Thoughts on How We Became a Nation of Distrustful Conspiracy Theorists

I think it begins with President Johnson. LBJ was not the charismatic leader that JFK was. He would never command the popularity or loyalty of JFK. LBJ’s only real claim to fame (and likely reason he was chosen as VP) was his political dealing, his knowledge of how to work Congress. He was not a leader in the sense of inspiring others with ideas and ideals. He was more adept at finding pressure points, domestically, to force others to give him what he wanted.

When Kennedy was assassinated LBJ’s biggest fear was that the Soviets might be behind it, because that would mean he would be forced into a war that would certainly hijack any agenda he wanted for his presidency. So when LBJ, the backroom deal maker and manipulator, formed the Warren Commission to investigate the assassination with the intent that it find that Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone, things quickly got off the rails. Having a predetermined outcome at the beginning of an investigation, coupled with LBJ’s reputation, was an invitation to alternate conclusions.

Conspiracy theories about the assassination began almost immediately, with Mark Lane publishing an article a month after the assassination in December of 1963, and later a book (Rush to Judgment). Perhaps, as William Manchester speculated, people would have invented some more involved explanation to make it seem “balanced” because it seemed inconceivable that a vibrant and powerful man like the president could be taken down by a “loser loner”.

Nevertheless, it was LBJ and his administration that gave credence to the ideas that the government couldn’t be trusted. Add to this his failed attempt to sell the public that we were winning the Viet Nam war, when it was clear to everyone that was not the case, and the well of trust in good government was running dry fast. Add to this the fact, surmised at the time and now confirmed, that the Gulf of Tonkin incident, which was the excuse for escalating our role from “advisors” to combatants, was a huge mistake responding to misread radar signals which then was packaged as an attack.

The “establishment’s” resistance to obvious changes needed for social justice only further undermined a sense that the institutions of society could be relied upon to be responsive to the people, let alone to do the right things. Their resistance was made both more ridiculous and more frightening by the petty issues they also chose to focus on, e.g. hair and clothes. Follow this quickly with the assassinations of Rev. Dr. King, and Robert Kennedy and the lengths to which some would go to stop change was now clear. It was clear who had the money, power and desire to stop these changes and that no doubt helped inspire the next round of conspiracy theories, whether or not those people were involved.

No account of the decline of public trust in and decency of our leaders would be complete without mentioning Richard Nixon. His dirty tricks during the elections, and subsequent cover ups may not have been entirely new, but their exposure and his “ham-handed” way of handling them added another blemish on the highest office.

As the erosion of trust in public institutions, and other crises increase, it is sadly common for people to turn to simple (even simplistic) answers. Thus we have the rise of cults, and the extreme religious right. They offer simple, if not valid or provable, explanations that appeal to the biases and fears of their audiences.

This reaches a critical point when Ronald Reagan essentially gives the religious right a key seat at the Republican table to avoid the possibility of having independents split enough of the votes to leave him without a victory. Of course Reagan is independently an example of the erosion of the office of President as, by his own admission, he was playing a part, just like the actor he always was.

The incompetency and/or self-dealing associated with the high offices of our nation, and the electorate’s black or white thinking, insisting on simple answers to complex problems further undermine our institutions and our sense that there is some objective standard of truth. In fact, the rise of the Internet and social media turned everyone’s right to an opinion into every opinion is of equal value.

It would be another of those simple explanations to say that this is all the fault of greedy opportunists who found a way to make money publishing their conspiracy theories, or even that “loser nobodies” spread them for their moment of fame, even if only in the eyes of a handful of associates. There are surely some of the above involved, but I honestly think it has been a slow erosion over the last sixty years, and that worries me about how we can reconstruct a society that isn’t divided into camps that ignore the facts because they are unwilling to honestly examine them. We must get past this position where every rumor or piece of hearsay is taken as fact, but only if it supports our preconceived opinions.

Perhaps we could start with agreeing to validate and examine the actual facts of each issue, instead of presuming that they are lies if we don’t like them. Then maybe we could stop the “slippery slope” arguments. These have been overdone to the extreme. BTW the proper use of “slippery slope” is not what you think might happen next, but where there is no way to make a clearly definable limit between what is and isn’t to be permitted. Permitting abortion is not on a slippery slope with euthanasia because there is a well definable difference, the actual birth, the separation of one life from being hosted by another. Banning books, movies etc. because they are “offensive” is a slippery slope because there is no universal standard for what is offensive.

Maybe we could acknowledge that societies are very complex things and claiming to know exactly what will unravel one is at least potentially arrogant and wrong. Every restriction or regulation on gun ownership isn’t necessarily a step toward outlawing all gun ownership. Allowing people of color, gay and lesbian, transgender etc. to be free of discrimination in public society does NOT mandate your personal feelings. You can still think they are going to Hell, you just cannot try to make their life Hell here, any more than you would want someone to do the same to you for who you are and what you feel. (Isn’t there a “golden” rule about that somewhere?)

I am genuinely worried about those who embrace violence in the name of returning this country to what they think was its days of greatness. I will oppose them with violence if forced to, but I am still hopeful that there are enough sensible conservatives and progressives to work together to make a better world.

The conservatives often raise valid concerns about change and its destabilizing effect. We progressives should take some of that counsel and not leap so blindly. Conservatives need listen to progressives as they tell them of the way the world looks from the bottom side of our society of privilege and try to understand that everything bad or unfortunate is not someone’s own fault. Progressives need to acknowledge that sometimes some of the people we want to help are not doing enough to help themselves, that maybe some need a different sort of help from us. Both sides need to understand that there are dishonest players who will take advantage of either side’s programs and protections – and work together to end that abuse, instead of exaggerating it to criticize the other.

Most of all, we need to start and end these “debates” with an examination of all of the facts, the verified facts; not the gossipy hearsay of social media and opinion pieces masquerading as “news and information”.

[rilenerocks]

The weather where I live has been hot and very dry. I keep my birdbath full and yesterday, I turned on the sprinkler as well. Lots of thirsty birds arrived within minutes to cool off and drink. This female cardinal has a nest with her partner somewhere in the tall shrubs behind her. Her color and markings are unusual so I always recognize her. I do a better job attending to my avian friends than I do for myself. I’m always sweaty and uncomfortable in the summer. Toward the end of April in many years past, I’d start complaining about the heat and Michael would say, “so long – see you in October.” I actually wasn’t quite that bad, but I’m not enamored of this annual muggy time. These days, though, I’m sending myself different messages. Right now, I’m hyper-aware of how lucky I am to be outside during these months, sticky and disgusting though I may be. My outdoor space liberates me from the claustrophobia being experienced by people who occupy small spaces in crowded cities. Icy winter will change how I manage virus time, when I’ll be on the inside, looking out. I’m consciously working on these messages to myself.  Unconsciously, too. Some of them are clear and easily explainable. I ponder over the others.

 What messages are poking out of my subconscious brain? I’ve been remembering lots of my dreams. I’m recording them so I won’t forget what’s being sorted through while I sleep. The Covid19 nightscape. Last night’s internal video made some sense to me. I dreamed that Michael and I were going to renew our marriage vows. It felt more like a first wedding for awhile because I was busily registering for gifts like dishes, silverware and serving trays. I was being really extravagant, selecting items made of gold and other fancy materials. I suddenly realized that was crazy as we already had everything we needed and I confessed that to Michael, who’d been assisting me from another room. Things moved from there to a conflict with some contractors who were working in my backyard. I’d been angry with them because they’d been doing a sloppy job. They were now being almost obsequious toward me, overly apologetic and fawning to please me. I realized that was because Michael was present, which felt like an admission of their intrinsic sexism toward me. I was relieved but also angry. I think some of this is connected to the basement cleaning project I did last week. I unearthed a set of china which belonged to either Michael’s grandmother or great grandmother. I’m not sure which. That kind of delicate fancy stuff didn’t fit with who we were or how we lived. I’d wrapped each individual piece in newspaper which was now falling apart and smelling strongly from dampness and mildew. The newspaper was dated 1983. Put away down there decades ago.  I just couldn’t throw away that table service for twelve. I hauled it all upstairs and spent hours washing each piece and peeling away the debris of all those years. Now it’s in my dining room cabinet until I figure out what to do with it. Somehow those dishes translated into me wanting to restart  my marriage and into thinking how much easier it is to have a partner sometimes than it is to be alone. Makes sense. Truthfully, I’d settle for a nice old-fashioned erotic dream.

That segues into another one of my dreams. Dream two consisted of me in an effort to relieve my frequent loneliness for physical contact, I found my way to a facility that catered to the common practices offered at a “house of ill repute.” What I was seeking however, was a person whose physique resembled Michael’s, and who would allow me to rest my head on his shoulder for just a few hours. A faceless person was found for with the right body type and for several nights, I got to go and rest, releasing the burdens of my day. Innocent though it was, I did this covertly as I knew this was not a socially acceptable thing.  However, someone found out and leaked the story to the local newspaper, where it became quite the sensation as both Michael and I were public officials well-known in our community. My pathetic behavior led to a city-wide sympathetic response which wound up generating a consensus that what I really needed was a cat.

I was presented with an orange long-haired feline who looked nothing like the collie-type dogs I’ve been surrounded by my entire adult life. I got the message about being lonely but haven’t figured out the cat thing. No offense intended to those devoted to their kitties, but for me at this point in time, I mostly think of them as bird assassins.

Another dream’s message was me evidently being kind to myself. I’m still a member of a cancer support group. Over the past three years, I’ve gotten half-way through the story of what it was like to live through the stunning orphan cancer process that consumed the last five years of my life with Michael. Writing about the experience has been much harder than I anticipated as the feelings it evokes are still sharp and painful. Part of me has been afraid to lose touch with the immediacy of what that day-to-day emotional balancing act feels like. When I read what patients and their families write in this online group, I’m reminded of the fragility of life and the struggles being faced by so many people. I don’t want to become numb to that, not just because what I read informs my own story, but because I feel a solidarity with those enjoined in their often lonely struggles. I see painful statements. The other night my brain spewed out a particularly sad confession written by a desolate stranger. It appeared as if it was written on a billboard.

‘‘I’m the husband of a cervical cancer survivor. I thought I could handle all the stress and be her rock but I crumbled like aluminum foil. It ruined our relationship and we’re separated. Has anyone else’s relationship suffered from this? I was the only one who knew her survival rate and it was not good at all. That’s ultimately what made me have a nervous breakdown.“

When I saw that sign in my dream, I was empathetic to that poor man but at the same time, I was gratified to know that I’d hung in with Michael through everything and had no regrets to haunt me. An important message indeed.

I’ve got more mysterious and obtuse dreams that I’ve recorded immediately upon waking in the morning. Enough of them for now. On the lighter side, I recently received another message from neither my conscious nor my subconscious self, but rather from Michael, the gift who keeps on giving, via one of his most loved colleagues.

Although there was a significant age gap between them, Michael and Dan were just in sync about most things, personally and professionally. When the time came for Michael to hastily leave teaching to begin systemic cancer treatment, he gave Dan his very cool red retro class stool which was shaped like the palm of a hand. The photo above looks most like it. During Michael’s years of therapy, the two of them stayed in contact, going out for beers and lunches during the good times. After Michael died, Dan had an elaborate tattoo which honored him for his personal favorites along with his mentoring talent as an educator. Dan and I have stayed in touch as he became a trusted friend.

Our local school district established a history scholarship in Michael’s name after his retirement. He was so honored and was deeply hopeful that it would be awarded long after he was gone. He lived long enough to give the first award himself. He hoped to make the initial seed money self-sustaining and I promised him I would see to his wishes. This year was the fourth time it was awarded. I knew Michael had lots of ideas about how to keep it going but so far, I’ve been able to raise enough funds for quite awhile. Last week, Dan contacted me and told me something I didn’t know. Michael had shared the idea of having an auction as a way to raise funds for the scholarship. Dan had forgotten about it until recently, when packing up to move to a new home. Then he found a box of odds and ends Michael had left with him for the sale, along with the red stool. He asked me what I wanted to do about them. I told him to keep the stool as a token of Michael’s affection. I wanted to see everything else. Oh my. What a bunch of great laughs from my ever-quirky and kitschy guy.

Look at this bizarre stuff. A Freud action figure. How about Annie Oakley or Edgar Allen Poe? Let’s not forget a flatulence machine, to be polite, which still works. My nine year old grandson is willing to pay almost anything for that. There’s a blanket with all the landmarks of our community and some academic treatises on the Viet Nam war. I haven’t had the time to give every item the attention it deserves, but I’ll get there. For the moment, this medium was the message. My funny inventive husband didn’t raise any money from his idiosyncratic collection but he raised my spirits. A little nudge to remind me to remember the good and to find a little humor in the midst of everything. I’m going to stay a receiver- message input from many sources is welcome here.

Messages The weather where I live has been hot and very dry. I keep my birdbath full and yesterday, I turned on the sprinkler as well.

[vietdamfromvietnam]

[the song] The first rays of sunlight broke through the gaps on the blinds and lazily fell on the sleeping face of Vincent. He was awoken before his eyelids could muster enough strength to flutter. Old before his age, no one could have looked at Vincent and believed the number 27; yet buried deep inside that dilapidated shell was a mind as sharp as any blade that was ever forged. Sure, time had turned it rusty around the edges, and the handle was worn to the grip; but it still cut, and every cut hurt. But not for much longer. Vincent was dying. Life was seeping out of him more rapidly every time he drew a breath. He never knew if each time he closed his eyes, it would be his last. He was just grateful that, at least so far, he always found the answer in the morning. This morning was different, however. The sunlight didn’t burn his skin as it used too. Perhaps his senses were failing. But still, he sensed it. The song. Softer than smoke, thinner than a distant memory, yet it cut deeper into his senses than a bite of winter. At first, he thought he had imagined it. No one would be singing at this hour, nor was there anyone anywhere around him. He lived in solitude, without family, without friends, with many foes - or so he thought. It was easier to imagine them as foes, than to admit that he could never sync to their frequencies. All he needed was his plants. To the untrained eyes, his flat must have look derelict and overtaken by nature. There were plants everywhere, overgrowing and overwhelming every surface and air space that could be taken. Sitting on the windowsills, draping over furniture, standing along the walls, hanging off the ceilings, trailing from the shelves, the thriving branches, leaves and vines left little space for the sole human lying half-dead on the bed. Vincent, at some point in his life, started nurturing his first pot of herbs, and it grew from there. Unknowingly but willingly, the plants started to replace the faces in his life, until everyone has faded and only their names were left, carefully and calligraphically written on the pots. He treated the plants like they were humans. And why not? They were living things, breathing, eating, being his friends; only they were a lot less hassle and trouble. Truthfully, they were a lot more understanding of his stories, and a lot more defiant of his wrath. They never talked back to him, never misunderstood him, never abandoned him. After all, “silence” and “resilience” was so closely resembling each other, they should have just been one. Vincent appreciated that. He knew he didn’t fit into this world. He wasn’t “above”, or “below”, just “out”. Like a stray puzzle piece that always caused confusion and annoyance, until it was ruthlessly disposed. He wasn’t fine with that, of course - Vincent wasn’t a saint. He learnt to accept and move on after so many times his displeasure and tantrums went unnoticed and unaddressed. Nothing ages a man like disappointment, and nothing matures a man like abandonment. Vincent had both, and based on those, he made his choice of company. When he wasn’t nursing, talking or shouting at his plant friends, he was singing to them. He liked the old melodies, and he knew they did, too. The raspy rustling of leaves and creaking of branches strangely blended into the tunes, like they were joining in, or clapping as he had imagined a thousand times in his childhood dream of becoming a singer on stage. Music was his life source, it flowed through him like the sticky sap that rushed through the green cells that made his friends what they were; and by singing to them, he was giving them his life force. The plants, like him, weren’t all perfect. Oh they were perfect in their own ways, in his eyes, but not in the commonly conforming sense of the word. Vincent’s patchy collection of friends consisted of all sorts: some he bought, some he grew; some he picked up on the roadside, dying and wilting as their previous owners abandoned them there; while some were gifted to him, back when the faces hadn’t left his life. What Vincent loved most was the ability to create new plant friends from what he got, and even if some died, their propagated offspring would quickly replace and perpetuate their companionship. He couldn’t have done that with humans, of course. Once they were gone, or once he has pushed them out of his life, they were gone for good. Vincent recited their departures a thousand times in his songs, and his plants never judged him or his ego, nor did they ever called him selfish and narcissistic. Now, on his death bed, his voice was gone, even his breath barely made a sound. Yet Vincent was sure he sensed the song. Softer than smoke, thinner than a distant memory, yet it cut deeper into his senses than a bite of winter. Vincent knew it wasn’t one of his melodies. He wasn’t the one singing it. They were. It was the sound of a thousand leaves rustling in the air, a million roots cooing through the soil, and a billion cells breathing together. Vincent’s slowing heart synced its beats with the chlorophyll that was glistening in the sunlight, and to the sap that was flowing in every stalks. He didn’t hear the song, he felt it. “Sleep tight, our loving Vincent For when you wake up, a new shoot might have broken out of its case Like a thousand times before, the seeds you germinate And the roots that penetrate the soil You wake to a new life In a brand new world And the new songs you’d sing Will be like none we’ve ever heard. Since the day we appeared from your love, To the day our roots rot in the ground, When our stalks no longer make new spouts, When our leaves die and our branches snap, When our calyxes stop hiding new buds When our chlorophyll is bleached by shadows, When we grow old, You grow with us. Giving us all your care and trust All your love and pain We are all the same We hear you and you feel us. Now you lay there, ready to rest Sleep tight, our loving Vincent It won’t be the same, it will be different Like no sleep that you’ve ever had. It won’t be happy, it won’t be sad It will just be silent, silent like a tree And you, singing man, you will forever be free As any of us Your roots will grow deep into the earth Your branches will reach up to the sky To breath, to rustle, to shine To photosynthesise To live. Our loving Vincent, now sleep You gave us our first breaths of life Now your bark flakes and your sap runs dry Let us give you your last.” Softer than smoke, thinner than a distant memory, yet it cut deeper into his senses than a bite of winter. The ringing of notes vibrated through Vincent’s nervous system, and escaped as his last breath circulated through his lungs and left via his lips. Though his last shadow of a smile never did. *** “Hey Luna, have you heard from Vincent lately?” “No Nathan. Last I heard, he was in a vegetative state.” “Whoa! For real?!” “Kidding! He was just locking himself up at home or something. Maybe he realised that no one wanted him and he should just get out of the way. He went off the social network grid, so that was all I could have figured. But was he ever not in a “vegetative” state though, you know, his plants and all that…“ “That was a shit pun! Come on, do better!” “Piss off, it was perfect! Do you want to get lunch together? I’ve gone vegetarian lately and I’ve found these gorgeous veggie restaurants just around the corner from ours.” “Sure. Ask Winnie and Ty, too, if you see them. I’ll swing by at 12, how’s that?” “Sure.” © Viet Dam