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nicklloydnow · 2 years ago

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“A wave of terror and horror is breaking over us all. I don’t have the heart to do much besides wait for news to trickle out from the hospital in Pennsylvania where Salman was taken by helicopter and let the memories come back to me—my memories of Salman Rushdie over the 33 years that have passed since Ayatollah Khomeini publicly sentenced him to death.

(…)

Another cowardly soul comes to mind. This one was once France’s foreign minister, Roland Dumas. La Règle du jeu, a literary magazine that Salman and I and some others founded in 1990, invited Salman to come to France to meet up with some of his Parisian friends. As I remember, the minister behaved shamefully, decreeing that Salman, a citizen of Europe, needed a visa to enter France. Then he denied the visa on the grounds that he couldn’t guarantee Salman’s security. Dumas’s own colleague, Minister of Culture Jack Lang, protested. My friend the businessman François Pinault offered to lend us a plane and to provide the necessary protection. President François Mitterrand himself had to settle the matter. And lo, the France that was hoping for trade deals and arms sales yielded to the spirit of Voltaire. Bienvenue, Monsieur Salman.

Yet another spineless individual: Prince Charles. In 1993, I met him at a lunch hosted by the British embassy in Paris. “Salman is not a good writer,” growled the prince when I asked him what he thought of the whole affair, adding that “protecting him costs England’s crown dearly.” On this, Martin Amis, another of Salman’s friends, later remarked: “It costs a lot more to protect the Prince of Wales, who has not, as far as I know, produced anything of interest.” The press and public opinion, for once, took the side of the persecuted writer.

(…)

I remember a conversation we had in front of an audience in London, where Salman said how much he missed the Islam of his childhood in India. “The greatest of Muslim thought has been broad-minded,” he explained. “When I think back to my grandparents’ time, my parents’ time, Islam strove to be cosmopolitan. It raised questions and engaged in argument. It was alive.” Salman is the son of that form of Islam. He obviously has nothing against blasphemy, because blasphemy, in his eyes, is inseparable from freedom of expression and thought; but neither do I believe that he has ever blasphemed against the creed of his parents.

I remember a conversation between us, in Paris, on the Jewish radio station RCJ, when he speculated on what the fatwa would have entailed if it had been issued in the era not of the fax machine but of social media. “A tweet is all it takes,” he said, as I recall, “to stir up the planet. Five minutes on YouTube is enough to trigger simultaneous demonstrations throughout the world. If my fatwa had occurred in the internet age, would it have been fatal? I don’t know.” Now he knows. Alas.

(…)

I remember a day on the beach in Antibes, the pleasure of being alive, the noon sun, heat waves rippling as far as you could see, sharing a love of movies and actresses, especially Jean-Luc Godard’s Contempt, the real owner of the Casa Malaparte in Capri (which Godard used as his film’s main setting). That day, Salman wanted nothing so much as to be able one day to do a remake of Dr. No or From Russia With Love. The good life. An appetite for living and for multiplying the ways of living. The opposite of a condemned man.

(…)

I mull over our dinners together in New York in recent years. He didn’t want to hear any more about the fatwa. We talked about François Rabelais, Toni Morrison’s Song of Solomon, Laurence Sterne, George Eliot (a writer he could never get into), and V. S. Naipaul, whose death had devastated him. Literature before and above all else! The wish, faced with the fracas of the world, to say, “Please, turn down the sound!” Which obviously did not prevent him, a few months ago, at the very beginning of the war in Ukraine, from deciding that it was urgent for us to pen an appeal for sanctions against Russia and to help persuade Sting and Sean Penn to join the campaign.

What has struck me, over all these years, is the quiet heroism of my friend. He understood very well that, from time to time, a Western government would expel a fake Iranian diplomat and that this might be out of concern for his safety because of the fatwa. He knew that self-styled friends of the Muslim people were still insisting, despite the Charlie Hebdo massacre and other slaughters, that no one had the right to offend others’ faith and that, if harm should befall the offender, he had only himself to blame. And never did a speaking engagement go by without his being asked the eternal question: Knowing everything he knew today, did he ever regret having written The Satanic Verses, a work that has followed him like a curse?

(…)

And once—just once, a long time ago—I heard him make an odd remark about the knack master killers have for ruminating on their vengeance and carrying it out coldly when least expected. Think Mussolini and the Rosselli brothers; Stalin and Ignace Reiss; Putin and the poisoned oligarchs. And one day, a Shiite Ramón Mercader whom no one would see coming.

I believe that is where things stood, last Friday at the Chautauqua Institution, when Salman Rushdie saw the man who meant to execute him leap onto the stage.

Will this still be where things stand when he emerges from the hell of pain in which I imagine him? The artist in him will continue to believe that life is a tragedy, a tale full of sound and fury, told by an idiot. And he will not be surprised to hear friends tell him that if one can be Dickens, Balzac, and Tagore in a single life, one could well be considered immortal.

But he will read the article in Iran, the semi-official newspaper of the regime, which, while he was fighting death, rejoiced that “the devil’s neck” was “struck with a razor.” He will see the ultraconservative newspaper Kayhan pronouncing a blessing, while he was recovering, on “the hand of the man who tore the neck of the enemy of God with a knife.”

And Salman will have to get used to the idea, one that always petrified him, of being a human symbol, a hostage in a war of the worlds in which, like it or not, his own life and death have become everybody’s business. That is why those of us who could not protect him—all of us—now have a duty to perform.

This act of terror against his body and his books is an absolute act of terror against all the world’s books. Such an outrage against freedom of expression calls for a ringing response.

Individual nations will have their say. The international community, too, must signal to the sponsors of this crime that this Salman Rushdie affair has created a new division, a time before and a time after.

As for his friends, his peers, media, and others for whom public opinion counts for something, we all have a commitment to make. And that is to ensure that the author of The Satanic Verses receives the highest of literary honors. To see that, in the name of all his fellow authors and in his own name, Salman Rushdie receives the Nobel Prize in Literature that is due to be awarded in a few weeks.”

“In October, the Swedish Academy will have the opportunity both to chip away at its record of overlooking many of the most profound writers in its field of vision and to help correct its woeful hesitation in standing up for the values it ought to champion. In the mid-nineteen-eighties, Salman Rushdie’s masterpieces, “Midnight’s Children” and “Shame,” had been translated into Persian and were admired in Iran as expressions of anti-imperialism. Everything changed on February 14, 1989, when Ayatollah Khomeini condemned as blasphemous “The Satanic Verses,” a novel that he hadn’t bothered to read, and issued a fatwa calling for the author’s death. Khomeini’s edict helped inspire book burnings and vicious demonstrations against Rushdie from Karachi to London.

Rushdie, who could never have anticipated such a reaction to his work, spent much of the next decade in hiding and under heavy guard. The literary world was hardly unanimous in his defense. Roald Dahl, John Berger, and John le Carré were some of the writers who judged Rushdie to have been insufficiently attentive to clerical sensitivities in Tehran. Among the more cowardly acts of the time was the Swedish Academy’s refusal to issue a statement in support of Rushdie. The Academy waited twenty-seven years—a period during which booksellers in the United States and in Europe were firebombed and Rushdie’s Japanese translator was murdered––before it roused itself to condemn the fatwa as a “serious violation of free speech.” Stern stuff.

Rushdie, for his part, behaved with impeccable bravery and, even more remarkably, with good humor. As he put it in a recent essay, “While I had not chosen the battle, it was at least the right battle, because in it everything that I loved and valued (literature, freedom, irreverence, freedom, irreligion, freedom) was ranged against everything I detested (fanaticism, violence, bigotry, humorlessness, philistinism, and the new offense culture of the age).”

Through it all, Rushdie never stopped writing, and, eventually, he emerged from his highly sequestered existence and resumed teaching, lecturing, and enjoying himself. The tabloids seemed aghast that he would dare go to parties, concerts, and ballgames, as if this somehow undermined his standing as a hero of the free word. He didn’t care. He was so insistent on living his life without performing the role of a “Statue of Liberty,” as he put it, that he played himself on an episode of “Curb Your Enthusiasm,” counselling Larry David on the forbidden pleasures of “fatwa sex.” Solzhenitsyn was capable of many deeds, but not that.

At the same time, no one in our era has been a more tireless champion of free speech. As an essayist and as the president of pen America, Rushdie spoke up for artists, writers, and journalists everywhere who were under assault. He has been especially vigilant in recent years about threats to free expression in the two largest democracies: India, where he was born and raised, and the United States, his adopted home for the past two decades. His judgments could sting. When a group of six writers refused to attend a pen gala, in 2015, because it was honoring the editors of the French satirical magazine Charlie Hebdo, Rushdie said, “If pen as a free-speech organization can’t defend and celebrate people who have been murdered for drawing pictures, then frankly the organization is not worth the name.” Of the writers who spurned the dinner, he said, “I hope nobody ever comes after them.”

(…)

As a literary artist, Rushdie is richly deserving of the Nobel, and the case is only augmented by his role as an uncompromising defender of freedom and a symbol of resiliency. No such gesture could reverse the wave of illiberalism that has engulfed so much of the world. But, after all its bewildering choices, the Swedish Academy has the opportunity, by answering the ugliness of a state-issued death sentence with the dignity of its highest award, to rebuke all the clerics, autocrats, and demagogues—including our own—who would galvanize their followers at the expense of human liberty. Freedom of expression, as Rushdie’s ordeal reminds us, has never come free, but the prize is worth the price.”

“When the Rushdie affair took off in early 1989, America’s campus culture wars had only just begun. Although I was riveted by both controversies, I would not have connected them at the time. What was then called political correctness (now called “woke”) seemed to be something of a different order than the command of a religious ruler to execute a literary figure in the name of the Muslim faith.

Yet the professors who kicked off the campus culture wars did see a link. They argued that globalization requires us to demote or abolish the Western civilization narrative. Eurocentrism must go, they said, since the sensitivities of ethnically non-Western students were on the line.

(…)

In those days, there was plenty of academic controversy around Samuel P. Huntington’s 1996 book, The Clash of Civilizations. Probably no book has more successfully predicted the war on terror that soon followed, or the rise of China that preoccupies us today. Yet academics uniformly slammed Huntington’s book for the sin of “essentialism.” Huntington was supposedly guilty of overplaying cultural difference, while underplaying the extent to which cultural borders overlap, interpenetrate, and blend. In other words, the same academics who treated cultural difference as real and significant — especially when criticizing the West — could turn around and “deconstruct” the supposed illusion of culture when the issue was non-Western intolerance. For academics, Huntington’s book became one more reason to shun the teaching of Western civilization, and indeed to abandon the word “civilization” itself.

(…)

Surveys now show that up to two-thirds of students approve of shouting down campus speakers, while almost a quarter believe that violence can be used to cancel a speech. These are the views of the generation that grew up without required courses in Western civilization, a course the core theme of which was the long, bloody, and difficult path by which our freedoms were conceived and established. Those courses nurtured a sense of reverence around our liberties, and a sense of shame in those violating the liberties of others. We have lost both the reverence and the shame.

The upshot is that globalization has made us more vulnerable to foreign threats, while our misguided response to globalization has damaged our greatest weapon against those very threats: our regard for our own tradition of liberty, and the principles that lay behind it. Our horror at the assault on Rushdie is a sign that there is life in our tradition still. The culturally alien nature of the attack reminds us that our tradition of freedom is real, distinctive, and worth preserving. Yet our continuing reluctance to affirm our own history and principles — especially in our schools — means that time is running short. Freedom, so to speak, is on a ventilator. We cannot remain a “safe haven for exiled writers” if we are not a safe haven for ourselves.”

#rushdie #salman rushdie #bernard henri levy #levy #huntington #samuel huntington #clash of civilizations #free speech #freedom of speech #first amendment #nobel prize #western civilization #stanley kurtz

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delaber · 4 years ago

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Just Friends (Part 9)

Story Summary: After moving to America for a 3-month long internship, you meet two interesting characters on a boring night out.

Word Count: 4.6K

Pairing: Rafael Casal x Reader

Warnings: Alcohol, minor drug use, smut, slight dom!Rafa, swearing, and loads of British references (sorry not sorry lol)

Chapter Note: smut smut smut smut smut smut smmmmmuuuuttt

Tag List: lonelydance mysearchforgratification ramp-it-up blndspotting summerofsnowflakes exrthangel honeysucklechocolatedrippin captaintightpants58

Other Parts: See Masterlist

"What did I tell you?" He laughed as he closed the door behind him, "you don't have to take off your shoes when you're here."

"It's the polite thing to do," you smiled goofily up at him, "what if I stepped in something icky earlier."

"I suppose I'd have to clean the floor tomorrow then," he shrugged, his eyes still bloodshot from the joint, "it's a risk I'd be willing to take."

Easy to giggles, you shot him a laugh.

"You want a drink?" he asked you and held up his index finger, "a quick word of warning; my margarita game is off but I do make a mean Long Island."

You arched an eyebrow at him, "Long Island? Are you trying to get me drunk?"

He sent you a smirk, "Your senses are already dulled from the reefer. How much more could a strong drink possibly do?"

"Okay," you laughed, "Long Island it is then - I do hope it's better than the 'Rafa Special' that you made me on New Years."

"Ouch, you big bully," he pretended to be hurt, "I lay down my guard and show you my true self and this is what it gets me? Some ignorant European tearing apart my cocktail game? I'm telling you; if I had just an ounce of self-respect, you'd be in an Uber on your way home right now!"

"I guess I'm lucky that you're completely spineless," you shrugged.

"Did you just say that?" He put down the lime he'd been holding and sent you a bemused smile.

"Let me just check; uh yes I did."

"Say it again and I'll definitely throw you out," he took a step closer to you trying to look dangerous but failing miserably.

"You're spineless," you whispered.

"One more time for Big Rafa, come on," he motioned a come on sign with his hand, stepping even closer to you.

"Spineless," you squealed and ran away from him as he started running towards you.

"I'll get you for this," he chased you into the living room where he grabbed you around the waist and threw you down on the sofa. He sat down on top of you and grabbed your wrists, "say it again," he urged you, as he easily forced your hands above your head, pinning your wrists together with just one hand. It reminded you of the night after New Years and you became strangely aroused by it.

"Okay, I'll stop," you squealed as he tickled your sides, "just let me go."

He stopped tickling you and went completely still, "never," he leaned in and whispered, lips hovering dangerously close to yours, his right hand warm against your ribs. He could feel your fast heartbeat through your black t-shirt as you made a quick decision and lifted your head up to kiss him softly on the lips.

He gladly reciprocated your tender kiss, looking pained as you withdrew your face after just a couple of seconds.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, "I don't know what just came over me."

Rafa let go of you and got up from the sofa, "Yeah," he cleared his throat, "I'm sorry too," he took your hand and helped you up on your feet, "I'll go mix us those drinks," he said quietly.

While he went to the kitchen, you studied the guys' living room. You had only been in here once before and back then, you had been far too concerned with locating your clothes to really have a look around at the colourful posters and their personal belongings scattered around the room. Your eyes were drawn to a small shelf at the back of the room where miniature figures of Calvin and Hobbes stood. You took Calvin in your hand and examined him more closely before putting the figure back on the shelf, moving along to the next item; a gilded gramophone reading 'National Academy of Recording Arts and Sciences, Daveed Diggs, Principal Soloist, Best Musical Theater Album - 2015, Hamilton (Original Broadway Cast)' along with what appeared to be a Tony award inscribed 'Best Performance by a Featured Actor in a Musical: Daveed Diggs as Marquis de Lafayette/Thomas Jefferson, 2015 - Hamilton.'

You did a double take as you read the text on the two awards again.

Rafa came in with two drinks in hand, "I see you've found Diggs' awards," he smiled, handing you a drink.

"Are these real?"

"Very real," Rafa smirked.

"Why didn't you tell me? I had no idea!"

"I wanted to see how long it took you to figure out where you know us from," he shrugged.

"Were you in this... Hamilton as well?"

"Oh, god no," he laughed, "and by your tone of voice I'm guessing you have no idea what it even is."

"Not a clue," you shook your head and took a big gulp of the drink, "So let me get this straight: Daveed is a hardcore rapper and a Broadway musical star? I never would've guessed that!" you laughed.

"Yeah, remember the first night when you came up to us and you couldn't remember where you'd seen us before?"

"Of course."

"We thought it was a weird trick just to get us to talk to you. Ever since performing in Hamilton, Daveed has been dubbed as America's fast-rapping sweetheart," he rolled his eyes.

"Are you jealous?" you chuckled.

"Not the least. But we can never go out anymore without people feeling the need to constantly come up to him and introduce themselves. It was fun at first but now it's kind of lost its glory."

"So you thought I was a groupie or something?" You laughed, "yeah, your reactions definitely make more sense now."

"Sorry for being a dick," Rafa looked pained, "Sometimes it's necessary when you just want a quiet night out with your best friend."

"So you were a dick on purpose yet you still came over to me and apologised?"

"I did," he laughed, "I thought you were too sassy to just let go. Especially after I realised that you'd been completely innocent and that you actually thought you just knew us from work or something. It was kind of cute so I felt bad for acting like a douche."

"I still feel like I know you from somewhere else apart from that night though," you mumbled.

"Yeah, I know. Come here," Rafa said and took your hand, leading you to a room in another part of the house where you hadn't been before. The room was lined with different recording equipment and movie posters.

"What is this?"

"Our workspace," Rafa said matter-of-factly, "We record music in here or write lyrics, scripts for sketches or plays. You know. Anything creative."

"I've never met anyone with a workspace like this," you took in the room with awe.

"...and this," Rafa continued, "I'm guessing is where you know us from," he pointed to a poster titled Blindspotting with a laughing Daveed and a tough-looking Rafa facing you.

"Yeah! Yeah that's it! I remember seeing this at the movies back home," you said excitedly as you took in the poster. You remembered thinking that the two leads were cute even back then, "so you're a musician slash actor?" you looked back at Rafa who was smiling at you.

"I prefer creative genius, but whatever..." he hugged you from behind, "your term is just as good I guess."

"Why didn't you tell me that I'd probably seen you in a movie."

"You were so unfazed by me and Diggs. And I knew it wouldn't impress you so I kept my mouth shut and told Daveed not to say anything," he snickered from over your shoulder, "I wanted you to spend time with me because you like me. Not because I'm semi-famous."

"I can't believe you thought I was a groupie," you chuckled and leaned into his arms.

"You're so much more," he groaned. His lips brushed against your neck and he kissed you softly below the ear.

His movements brought you back to reality, "Rafa," you sighed, "I know you're drunk and high but we can't be doing this."

"Mmh..." he hummed against you as he pushed your hair aside, his lips still tracing along your neck.

Slowly, you turned around, his arms still around you. "I'm serious," you said.

"I know," he groaned and let his arms fall flat to his sides with a sigh.

"Maybe I should go," you said, "this was clearly a bad idea. And I have to work tomorrow."

"On a Saturday?" he arched an eyebrow at you, "or are you just saying that so you have an excuse to leave early?"

"As I told you; I'm not even halfway done with the project I came here to do, so I actually do have to work tomorrow," you booped his nose, "I'm probably going to be quite busy the next week to be honest."

"So I really won't get to see you?" Rafa furrowed his eyebrows.

"Minimally," you frowned back.

"Okay, I have an idea; since my place is closer to your lab, I'll cut you a deal; how about you stay over, I cook you a nutritious breakfast tomorrow morning and then I take you to work?"

"I don't know," you said even though you really wanted to spend the night.

"No funny business, okay? This time I'm serious," he grinned.

"You said that last time as well," you laughed, "and the time before that."

"Look, I'll even take the couch and let you have my bedroom. I just want to spend the last few hours with you if I won't get to see you for the next couple of days," he shrugged.

"Okay," you gave in, "on one condition!"

"Anything," he said honestly.

"You go for a dip in the pool," you laughed devilishly up at him.

"What, now?"

"Yep!"

"You're not serious?"

"As serious as a heart attack," you said as seriously as you possibly could in your high.

"Okay. If that's what you want," he sighed dramatically before he turned around and discarded his t-shirt in one swift motion.

"Oh, you're really doing this," you laughed as you followed him out to the pool via the sliding doors in the living room next door.

"There's a lot at stake," he said as he pulled off his sneakers and socks.

"So for this you take off your shoes?" you teased him.

"Shut up," he grinned up at you before his hands started unbuckling his belt, his pants falling onto the tiles with a loud clank.

"Okay, I was kidding," you said as he was standing on the edge of the pool wearing only his boxers, "you don't have to do this."

"Oh, I'm not taking any chances. I'm definitely doing this," he said before he took a deep breath and jumped into the freezing water. He emerged spluttering, "shit, it's so cold," he bellowed as he whipped his hair out of his face and took a few strokes, "are you just going to stand up there and admire me?"

"Oh, the deal was for you to jump in. Not me!"

"Boo, you chicken!" he grinned up at you.

"Well, you're not exactly making a single selling point."

"If you don't jump in, you're not allowed to sleep over."

"You're not serious."

"As serious as a heart attack," he grinned up at you, as he mimicked your words from earlier.

"Oh my god. I cannot believe you're making me do this!" You squealed involuntary but ended up taking off your t-shirt and jeans, dipping your toe in the cold water as you stood in front of the pool in just your underwear.

"Just jump in," Rafa laughed, "What you're doing up there is pure torture."

"Okay. You're right," you took a few shallow breaths before counting to three, jumping in the pool close to Rafa. As you emerged, you pushed your hair out of your face, "so cold!" you squealed, "why did we do this?"

"I did it for you," Rafa laughed, treading waters in front of you, "I actually don't find it as bad as I had anticipated."

"You stay then! I'm getting the hell out of here," your teeth clattered as you began climbing the ladder, a laughing Rafa following close behind you.

You were shivering as you reached the top of the ladder, desperately clutching your arms to keep what little warmth you had left.

"Hot shower?" Rafa laughed.

"Yes, please," you nodded and followed Rafa to the bathroom where he turned on the shower for you as you immediately started undressing, ready to step in as soon as the water turned warm.

"It'll only be a minu- Oi!" Rafa said and quickly looked away. He had turned around from the faucet only to be met by you standing in front of him wearing only your soaking panties.

"Oh relax," you rolled your eyes at him, "you've seen me naked before."

"That doesn't mean it isn't just as... exciting," he gulped, desperately looking at the ceiling, "Uh, there are towels over there and I'll - uh - I'll find you something comfortable to wear for afterwards, okay?" he edged out the door still not looking at you. From the other side of the door he bellowed, "Uhm, on second thought. You can just use my bathrobe - if that's alright with you."

"It's fine Rafa," bellowed back with a laugh as you stepped into the warm water.

You stayed in the shower for a couple of minutes until you felt the heat return to your fingers and toes. You quickly dried yourself off, and pulled on the only bathrobe you could find, assuming that it was Rafa's. "That was lovely," you said as you met him in his bedroom. He was wearing the same trackies you'd seen him in before. "No shower?" you lifted your eyebrows at him.

"We have a cold shower by the pool," he said slowly with a laugh, "and I desperately needed it."

"Oh how old are you?” You laughed at him, “you can't even see breasts without getting turned on?"

"Not when they're yours," his face reddened slightly suddenly matching his eyes, "and especially with your nipples all hard like that."

A cold shiver went down your spine. "Yeah, sorry," you ended up saying.

"Oh don't be," he grinned, "it was a marvelous sight that I'll definitely cherish when I'm alone in bed at night," he winked at you, "it just excited me... Excites me now just thinking about it to be honest," he looked away from you with a small grin, clearly uncomfortable in his own skin.

"Yeah me too," you admitted, "it feels stupid to not be allowed to touch when we're so close to each other in so little clothes."

"We could just say 'to hell with it'?" He smirked.

"No, Rafa," you said sternly as you sat down on the edge of his bed.

He sent you a challenging look, "...or we could - you know - just... talk about it if you want to?"

"Talk about what?" you arched an eyebrow at him. Your decision was non-negotiable.

"Just talk for a while about what we'd like to do if the situation was different," he shot you a wink, "That's innocent."

"No it's not?" you laughed, "Not at all."

"I know," he smiled at you, "I'm just trying to get creative. We have to work with what we got, you know."

"Friends don't talk about what sexual stuff they'd like to do to each other," you shot him a look.

"Hey - can we just cut the bullshit for a few seconds?" Rafa said quietly, his Adam's apple bouncing in his throat as he swallowed hard, "don't call us friends when we clearly aren't,"

"Maybe this wasn't a good idea," you looked at him carefully

"You keep saying that," he sighed, "yet you're still here."

You put your hand on his arm, "I'm having a hard time too, you know. You're not the only one who wants this."

He shot you a sideways glance, "why can't we just say to hell with it then?"

"Because I know myself and this is what I have to do if I want to return to England with a somewhat sane mind."

"Whatever you say," he groaned as he threw himself down on the bed, his legs dangling over the side.

You lay down next to him and you put your hand on his chest, playing with the straps of his hoodie. He pulled you close and caressed your back with his fingertips, "do you want me to go sleep on the couch?"

"You can sleep in here with me," you said softly, "I'm going to miss you the next couple of days."

He kissed the top of your head, "yeah, me too," he said, "the last time you stayed over, my pillow smelled like you for days. It was pure torture. But it came at a price; your hair was everywhere. It was like having a dog again," he laughed.

"A small souvenir," you laughed, "sorry."

"I forgive you. But only because you look so soft in my bathrobe," he brushed his fingers over your back, "do you want me to get you a t-shirt to sleep in?"

"Yes please," you said and let him go to his closet where he pulled out an old tee with the words Raiders written on the front.

"A pirate shirt?" you eyed the logo.

Rafa shot back his head and laughed whole-heartedly, "Damn girl, don't you dare disrespect my favourite football team like that."

"You mean American football team. Your favourite football team better be Chelsea!"

"I'll be partial to Chelsea in soccer if you're partial to the Raiders in football."

"I can pretend I like the pirates," you teased him.

"Oh shut up," he chuckled and walked towards the door, "I'll let you get changed," he said and closed the door behind him.

You disrobed and pulled on his Raiders shirt, glad that it covered you like a dress as you didn't have any dry underwear to wear. A short dress albeit, but still a dress.

"Are you decent?" Rafa asked from the other side of the door.

"Yep," you said and let him in.

"Ah!" he said when he saw you in the Raiders shirt, "my favourite girl sporting my favourite team."

"Don't get any ideas," you grinned as you crawled under the covers.

He stripped down to his boxers and joined you under the covers, pulling you close, "just a bit of friendly cuddling," he whispered against your neck, his hand trailing up and down your sides.

"Okay," you whispered back, enjoying his arms around you.

His fingers brushed from your waist and down your sides all the way below the hem of the t-shirt, fingers coming to a halt on your upper thigh. He lifted his head from his pillow and whispered, "are you not wearing any panties?"

"Uhm no," you said sheepishly, "they were all wet from the pool."

You felt the outline of a bulge emerging against your backside right before he pulled back from you with a groan.

You turned around and faced him, "I didn't mean to torture you on purpose," you snickered.

"I know," he said in a strained voice, "just give me a minute to calm down." He blew out some air and stared determined at the ceiling.

"What are you thinking about?" you asked him after a couple of seconds.

"I'm trying to remember all the players on the Raider's team," he said, "and I definitely try not to think about you on top of me."

A familiar warm feeling spread in your abdomen. Now you were thinking about riding him as well.

"Too much?" he looked over at you when you didn't answer him.

"Ehm," you cleared your throat, "no. No, it's a... nice image," you smiled at him, the heat between your legs growing more and more.

"It got to you too, huh?" he laughed at you.

"Uhm, yeah," you said, "it's probably because we're high."

"That Long Island didn't exactly help either."

"Definitely not. It's too bad we're not allowed to touch..."

"Yeah..." he agreed, "we could... you know... just go to sleep."

"Yeah..." you said. His suggestion from earlier about talking dirty to each other without touching flashed in your mind. It wasn’t as if it would break your code. “Or we could just lie here next to each other and talk for a while..."

"Yeah?" he looked over at you with an excited smile, "what do you want to talk about?"

"Definitely not riding you slowly," you grinned, "or your lips around my nipples."

He gulped, "Yeah, and not your mouth around my cock either. Let's not discuss that."

"Or how you feel when you're inside me," you breathed heavily.

"Oh fuck, no, no we definitely can't talk about that. Or how I'd start off by kissing you all over your body. All the way from the top of your head and down your neck, leaving small teasing kisses down your breasts and all the way down to your ankles. And then back up again to your little hotdog," he said darkly.

"Yeah!" you imagined his warm lips against your skin and felt the goosebumps emerge on your arms, "...and we can't discuss how I'd respond to your teasing lips by pulling your hair while I open my legs for you. Or what you'd do next.”

"Well... in that case, we probably shouldn't discuss how I'd bring out my tongue and taste you while my fingers were slowly working their way in and out of you," he panted. You let out a moan as you arched your back and Rafa continued, "yeah, and you'd moan just like that for me."

"But regardless of how good it felt, I'd still push you away from me and get on my knees in front of you."

"Fuck!" Rafa hissed beside you, fighting hard to keep his hands above the covers.

"I'd take you in my hand and lubricate your glistening head with pre-cum before I slowly move my hand up and down you a couple of times to warm you up."

"I'm already warm, love" Rafa chuckled.

"Good! I'd grab you by the root and I'd lick you all the way from the root to the tip, bringing extra attention to that particularly sensitive spot just below your head," you said slowly, "my soft tongue would be all wet and sloppy as I run it up and down your length while I maintain eye contact with you, showing you that you're in complete control of the situation. And I'd make sure to massage your balls as I continue to pleasure you with my mouth," you breathed heavily, "and you'd look down at me and caress my hair while my mouth was full of you, slowly bucking your hips bringing you further down my throat. And I'd groan around you as you hit the back of my throat, sending vibrations all the way up to your balls."

"Okay, fuck it, I can't take this," Rafa said resolutely and pulled the covers away to reveal the enormous erection tugged away in his boxers. He pulled out his cock and started stroking it slowly in front of you with a few shallow breaths. He shot you a look, "not... against... the rules," he panted as he continued to pump his hand up and down his length.

"Well, if you're doing it, I'm doing it!" you said as you spread your legs, your fingers immediately flying to your core as you looked at Rafa's movements. "What happens next?" you panted.

Rafa took a couple of shallow breaths before he continued, "I pull out of your mouth just before I come down your throat because you know I'm close and you beg me to fill you up instead. So I pick you up from the floor and throw you on the bed and you're looking at me with this hungry look. And I kiss your tits while I slide inside you. And you're so warm and so wet for me," he groaned.

You moved your fingers up and down your slit, fidgeting with your clit with your right hand, while your left hand pushed up the Raider's t-shirt and started massaging your nipple. A small moan escaped your lips as you imagined what Rafa was explaining to you, "and you fill me up completely," you panted, "and you turn me around before you slam into me from behind, smacking my ass and pulling my hair. And you're so good that I grow tight around you, begging for you to let me cum."

"Yes," he groaned.

"- and you pull my arms and fixate them around my back so you have the perfect angle to fuck me while I grow tighter and tighter around you as you slide in and out of me. And I feel this raw heat starting in my stomach and it's spreading fast to the rest of my body as you fuck me faster and harder than you ever have before. And you pull my hair and I moan helplessly for you."

Rafa started moving his hand faster and faster as he was looking at you narrating your own orgasm.

"- and when you finally let me topple over the edge, I scream out your name with my release like this; Rafa," you moaned, "oh Rafa".

"Fffffuck," you heard Rafa hiss beside you right before he came with a loud groan, cum staining his stomach and chest, "fuck!" he continued to pant beside you with his eyes screwed shut, cum still leaking from his tip. His hand was still laced around his throbbing cock, but no longer moving when he desperately opened his eyes and turned his head. "Fuck," he repeated when he looked towards you with your fingers still at work.

"Fuck you're hot!" you panted beside him, looking at him as you drew in sharp breaths, your fingertips slowly entering yourself.

Rafa's eyes flooded with lust once more, "Fuck this," he spat, "come here," he took your hand and pulled you on top of him, your back lying flat against his cum-stained chest. His right hand found your core immediately and he started working his long fingers in and out of you while his left hand was circling your clit.

"Not... part of... the plan," you panted on top of him while his fingers moved in and out of you, his lips kissing your throat and neck.

"Oh, do you want me to stop?" he said and removed both of his hands from your throbbing core.

"No!" you whimpered on top of him, moving around desperate for friction.

"Shut the fuck up then," he whispered darkly against your neck as his hands resumed their positions. He worked like this for a couple of minutes while you writhed and moaned on top of him, your walls tightening around his fingers as he kissed and licked your neck.

"Fucking cum for me," he whispered as he hit your g-spot repeatedly and sent you over the edge crying out his name with pleasure.

His hands moved slower and slower, until he pulled his fingers out of you, his palm travelling all the way up your body, coming to a halt as he cupped your breasts lovingly, "I could get used to this," he whispered, kissing your neck and sending shivers down your spine.

You stayed on top of him for a couple of seconds while he continued to caress your breasts and nipples, kissing your neck occasionally with small sounds of affection.

When you had come down completely from your high, you climbed down from him and positioned yourself under the covers. Rafa pulled on his boxers and snuggled up against you.

"That was not part of the plan," you yawned as he held you tight.

"It won't happen again. Now shut up and go to sleep," Rafa smiled against your neck

#rafael casal x reader #rafael casal #daveed diggs #blindspotting #rafael casal imagine #smut #rafael casal fanfiction #bay boys

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auroraluciferi · 4 years ago

Text

a white supremacist apparently had an issue with this random post I made.

my post was about the shocked reactions people all over the world were apparently having to American ads for prescription drugs played on the break during the Meghan Markle interview.

the point I was trying to make is that the avalanche of consumer ads for prescription medicine is yet another insane hallmark of the profit-driven US healthcare system which most people fortunately do not experience and no one seems to fully understand.

I feel this one detail helps to breach the facade shielding the dystopian reality which divides us, and it helps to explain for many why the United States has been especially crippled by the effects of the global pandemic. the suffering, deprivation and cruelty of our health infrastructure is an essential feature of capitalism, not a glitch. For many people it has been a time of reckoning.

so this worthless asshole clearly decided now was the time to plant his racist flag - he messaged several times over two days, then I guess he got upset with what I was saying and blocked me.

what follows is unpleasant and contains racist and deeply offensive language, copied verbatim from my inbox and chat.

it has been formatted to fit your television screen.

dee6000 submitted:

Can your socialist BS. The ads/big pharma are separate from or profit medicine. What harmed US medicine was result of democrat politicians copying Europe’s socialists that treated citizens rights with contempt. In the past US medicine was the envy of the world, British, Europeans, Canadians many others would travel here to receive care. Dems blocked enforcement of immigration laws hospitals went bankrupt and taxpayer funded medicaid was overburdened. Just as the influx of tens of millions of illegal aliens and migrants caused rents to skyrocket and wages to be dragged down. Hospital based infection skyrocketed as well hospitals started hiring illegal aliens who did not follow cleaning rules. These infections weren’t new, they are the norm in Latin America and other third world countries. Years later these hospital infections started showing up. Obamacare requires doctors under threat of fines to refuse to perform some diagnostic testing on some patients. Socialist and communist countries have even worse outcomes. And Britain and Europe are experiencing the results of 3rd world imported substandard doctors and nurses.

@auroraluciferi:

lmao. "ads/big pharma" are somehow "separate" from for profit medicine and everything else is the fault of these filthy immigrants from the third world

good luck with whatever ax you're trying to grind

dee6000:

Lmao, people controlling their own labor, by charging for their work, unlike in your communist, socialist sewers where the government elites enslaves people and profit off those slaves like parasites.Big pharma came about under globalism, globalism is Trotskyite international communism. Prior to Clinton’s pushing manufacturing out of the US, US pharmaceutical companies manufactured product here, under fda law, the drugs were tested. Now drugs made in communist China and socialist India are not manufactured safely, there is no oversight, illnesses have resulted as a result and while workers in those countries are abused hypocrite Chinese and Indian elites profit. You might resent truth but that is your problem. Superbugs took hold in western countries as they started allowing displacement of their citizens in health care jobs, from cleaning, nursing, etc with third world people, who yes do not respect hygiene and health and safety rules. That is a fact. When US citizens cleaned hospitals and nursing homes there were no superbug outbreaks, before illegal aliens were illegally working in US food manufacturing, children weren’t being sickened and killed from eating ecoli, salmonella, and mold contaminated peanut butter and peanut products as dozens of children and adults were in 2008-2009 when Peanut Corporation of America machinery then operated and “maintained” by illegal alien Mexicans, had developed toxic black mold because the illegals didn’t bother cleaning the machinery despite knowing that was the jobs they were paid to do. Hearings in congress were held and parents spoke about it. I don’t care what you think, I know you are a fascist

@auroraluciferi:

Okay then, I'll humor you - honestly I feel sorry because it clearly took a lot of effort and mental gymnastics to type up that word salad you sent me. Let's look at each of the "points" you just tried to make.

"People controlling their own labor by charging for their work" - that is a laugh. How exactly do you control your own labor if you are forced to sell it to the lowest bidder, competing against millions of others? If a business lays you off or goes bankrupt due to mismanagement, market fluctuations, accidents or a natural disaster, your labor then becomes worthless. The choice you are given as an employee or contractor unsupported by social welfare programs is "accept whatever pathetic wage we decide your labor and time is worth" or "lose your home and starve to death".

Your idea of "control" is an illusion in an economic system where human survival is based on abritrary market conditions and greed rather than the quality of life itself.

"Big pharma came about under globalism, globalism is Trotskyite international communism." - are you suggesting that some of the largest and most profitable companies on earth are the result of a global, communist conspiracy? Johnson & Johnson, Bayer AG, GSK and others follow the corporate conglomeration and consolidation model pioneered and perfected by 19th and 20th century capitalists and industrialists like John D. Rockefeller, Andrew Carnegie, William Hearst, and Cornelius Vanderbilts. Hardly a group of jaded communist revolutionaries.

The multinational companies they founded and combined have systematically destroyed competition within their respective industries, forced both their consumers and employees to accept substandard, dangerous products and poverty wages, then used their wealth to influence both conservative and liberal politicians to deregulate industries and labor laws for their own benefit. All done by willing and eager students of Adam Smith, not Karl Marx.

"Prior to Clinton’s pushing manufacturing out of the US, US pharmaceutical companies manufactured product here, under fda law, the drugs were tested." - I assume here you're talking about NAFTA and Clinton-era regulations, both of which were enormous gifts to those same companies I just described.

These manufacturers left America to gild their pockets by voluntarily exploiting the workers of countries that do not have labor laws, have substandard or nonexistent environmental protections, and would accept even lower wages than Americans. They could have easily remained in the US, paid higher wages to American workers, followed the most basic regulations, and still would have made obscene levels of profit - the demand of shareholders for more profit motivated the outsourcing of US jobs, not because a spineless corporate lackey like Bill Clinton forced them to.

At the same time, NAFTA enabled US agribusiness to flood the Mexican and Central American economy with cheap, government-subsidized corn - instantly destroying the ability of Mexican farms to collectively set fair prices, driving millions facing starvation and poverty into cities and ultimately North into the United States. It's pretty ironic that your illegal immigration crisis was created by massive corporations supported by the US government, but I guess that's inconvenient history for you.

Again, this is another pretty obvious feature of capitalism, not communism or socialism. Businesses have a natural tendency to cut expenses and maximize profit any way they can. In an actual socialist system, there would be no incentive to do that - healthcare and medicine would be provided as a right, rather than a paid-for privilege as exists in our current system. Workers would not have to compete with each other to survive if their basic needs were provided for.

Also just thought you should know, the FDA regulations apply both to drugs that are imported just as they are to drugs that are manufactured in the US. Furthermore, there would be no FDA at all without American socialists, reformers and consumer advocates pressuring Congress into creating it - not sure how you can pretend otherwise. It was made specifically to address how the 19th-20th century market failed to "self-regulate", resulting in toxic food and drugs manufactured here, in the US.

"Superbugs took hold in western countries as they started allowing displacement of their citizens in health care jobs, from cleaning, nursing, etc with third world people, who yes do not respect hygiene and health and safety rules." - This is pretty racist, and also the opposite of reality. "Superbugs" are the natural result of bacteria and viruses adapting and evolving to ever increasing levels of antibiotics, antivirals, and hyper sanitation in our food supply and cleaning products, as well as natural mutation. Diseases like the coronavirus are inevitable - the US has failed to respond effectively because our for-profit healthcare system does not have a market incentive to create stockpiles or public infrastructure to combat an outbreak, whether it's from China or Cleveland, Ohio.

People from other countries know how to wash their hands. They know how to clean. You have absolutely no evidence which would dispute that, just your own feelings and the idea that filthy brown people caused this totally avoidable disaster rather than a lack of basic planning.

Finally, when people are sickened by improperly cleaned equipment or tainted food and medicine, it is the result of a failure by the manufacturer or producer to properly train and supply their facilities out of negligence, to save on operating expenses, or because they ignore existing regulations and are not penalized for doing so - not because there is an army of dirty, ignorant Mexicans at the controls. Untrained, underpaid, and unsupervised workers will have a greater tendency to make mistakes regardless of if they are White Americans or immigrants.

"Facts" and "truth"? I don't see anything besides your own personal bias, poor logic and uncited bullshit that you have no proof of. The American healthcare system and things like advertising for drugs on TV are mocked and reviled across the rest of the world because people can clearly see how vulnerable it is to inevitable pandemics like this.

But I guess there will always be people like you who are happy to ignore reality and instead demonize normal working people for fleeing their capitalist-raped economies and come here in an attempt to provide for their families - exactly the same thing you would do in their situation.

dee6000:

Lmao! Then explain why for decades and they, the WHO, Doctors Without Borders and other wastes of resources still bemoan the fact that in Latin America, take Mexico for example the majority of the people not only don’t wash their hands before eating a meal, they don’t wash their hands after going to the bathroom. They send nurses into schools to make a game of washing one’s hands but it doesn’t take. Next you’ll tell me that it isn’t true that child rape is part of Latin American culture. Mexico is so substandard health and hygiene wise that it’s water supply is contaminated with feces. Which is why foreigners are warned not to drink it or anything with ice in it. Because intestinal diseases, parasites are the norm. Go into any hospital in the US that employs illegals and they do not smell like antiseptic but dirty. I do not care what you think, the data shows superbugs started showing up in the US a decade after hospitals and nursing homes felt entitled to ignore employment laws and hire illegals. And yes, US corporations that off shores and were indulged by communist China and the rest that have no environmental regulations, no labor laws (because under communism and socialism the people are slaves of the state) are only paid what the government thinks they deserve which is very little) they could profit more, or so they think. They became addicted to it and allowed their patents etc to be stolen. Under capitalism a worker has the right and power to reject a low wage. Under capitalism in the US a middle class grew and flourished, and poverty shrank. Under democrats and RINOs, who serve the same interests as democrats, the Clinton, Bush’s and Obozo the middle class was decimated, and poverty skyrocketed. Under Obozo more people became homeless, more so than during the Great Depression. You can spin and spin all you like. Your lies fall apart easily. Under illegal alien invaded democrat run California, the streets are tent cities, cholera, typhus and the plague have been found in Los Angeles, as well as other diseases.

At this point, he apparently blocked me. I didn’t realize this until after I was done writing my response, but here it is anyways

@auroraluciferi:

It's pretty clear you feel all of your grievances can be blamed on those black and brown people and "Communist" China that you hate so much. I feel sorry for you, but I don't actually believe that anything I say is going to change that.

Your illusions are so wrapped up this weird ethnocentric pride and your comforting blanket of privilege that you're basically helpless against what's coming. You're burning all this energy being angry at people of color for "wasting" resources you apparently feel you are especially entitled to, when you can't even see that the scarcity of those resources is a dominant feature of capitalism.

The wealthy and powerful who benefit from that scarcity - both here in the US and in China - look down at sad little racists like you and they clink their champagne glasses together and smile. By blaming their crimes on Mexicans or whoever it is you clutch your pearls about, you're just making it easier for them to divide and conquer the working class globally.

So go ahead, do their work for them - whatever makes you happy.

Waste all your time and energy hating someone you do not know, whose experience and culture you do not know. Blame all the diseases and scarcity and crime on them, instead of on the cruelty and pointless waste of capitalism

Squabble over the pathetic little crumbs they kick down to you from above or whatever you can compete with against your neighbors for, then proudly claim your little dirt heap for an imaginary concept of white culture.

Like I said before, good luck with that.

#2021 #us #united states #healthcare #health #racism #meghan markle #oprah #interview #pharmaceutical industry #big pharma #ads #advertising #racist ask #@dee6000

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solesurvivorpaigeargot · 4 years ago

Note

Instinctssss

WIP Sampler Basket

[Summary on this one is a re-write of Hancock’s first affinity dialog, within the context of his and Paige’s relationship. I shall post a snippet. EDIT: I attempted to put a read-more in this, but something fucky is going on with Tumblr’s dash rn. Apologies for the long post]

The cork came loose with a satisfying pop, and Paige found the now-opened bottle being offered back to her.

“Everything... okay?” Paige quested gently, hand wrapping around the glass neck. She didn't take a drink though, watching him curiously. Next to him, she saw him both in profile and more head-on in the reflection of the dirty mirror as he turned his attention back to the bag to rifle through its contents. His affect had changed-- he'd been on a grinning high when he handed the whiskey over, but now? His brow furrowed down over dark eyes, and the smile had turned into a pensive, flat line across his face.

“Yeah, yeah, it ain't the bad kind of talk. Just... what went down. I know it was a bit ago, now, but... I guess I just wanna say my piece and get it off my mind. When I sent Fahrenheit down there, I figured someone was gonna end up with a bullet in their head. I didn't like it-- that sorta dictatorial shit, ain't usually my style-- and you got caught up in the middle of it.” He scoffed, shaking his head as his hand emerged from the bag with a tin of mentats between his forefinger and thumb, the other three fingers curled around the long end of an inhaler for jet. “Hell, you managed to talk Bobbi down.” “Wasn't easy-- it could have gone either way; she tried to trick both of us.” Paige noted, finally knocking back a swig from the newly opened bottle-- damn if that wasn't a blast from the past. The taste was different, of course- two centuries of aging tended to have an effect, but she could still recognize the base flavor, and the nostalgia went well with the burn when she swallowed.

“And most folks woulda blasted her brains out for that-- Fahrenheit was ready to, on my say-so.”

Hancock departed from the bureau, snagging the armrest of the nearby chair and noisily dragging it across the patched floor until he could pitch it back, turn it on one of its wooden feet, and plonk it down near the bed before letting himself down into the seat with all the grace of a ton of bricks getting dropped off a roof. He splayed out, elbows out past the armrests and his legs kicked all the way out; heels on the floor and the toes of his boots pointed up and out.

“Guys like me use their sway to do that kinda harm, to folk who don't deserve it... makes me sick.”

Paige had followed after him, bottle in hand, to eventually pass him and put herself down on the edge of the bed. She didn't speak-- she didn't need to. He wanted to talk; all she had to do was listen.

“... hell, that sorta bull's the whole reason I became mayor in the first place.” He continued. “Some ass named Vic ran the town for I don't know how long before that. Guy was scum. Used us drifters like his own personal piggy bank. He had this... goon squad he'd use to keep people in line. Every so often, he'd left them off the leash; go blow off some steam on the populace at large.”

The memory made him angry; he couldn't stay slouched in the chair. The chems he'd picked up got stashed in some pocket inside his red coat as his body came up and pitched forward, and he gathered in his legs to brace his elbows on his knees, hands gesturing along as he recounted the leadership he'd replaced.

“Folks with homes could lock their doors, but us drifters, we got it bad. There was one night, some drifter said something to them. I don't even remember what, but they cracked him open like a can of Cram on the pavement, and we all just stood there. Did nothin'.”

Paige had heard stories like his before-- not exactly the same, of course. No, her stories came from before the bombs fell, when she'd been working public defense-- a lawyer for those who couldn't afford defense in a court of law. Working for those at the bottom of the ladder? Fear was the driving motivation of most things. Fear for life. Fear for family. Fear for oneself. It drove a lot of good people to do terrible things-- all because they were trapped at the bottom of the heap.

She recognized the edge in his voice. It was angry... and ashamed.

“Outnumbered and outgunned, sometimes nothing is the only thing you can do that doesn't get you killed.” Paige noted, softly. “You can't blame yourself for that.”

He scoffed. “You're right... but it was still spineless.” He rebutted, shaking his head. “I felt like I was less than nothing. Afterwards, I got so high, I blacked out completely.”

His eyes closed for a second, as if reflecting back to that exact moment. Maybe he was.

“When I came to, I was on the floor of the old statehouse. Right in front of the clothes of John Hancock. John Hancock, first American hoodlum and defender of the people.” He paused a moment, possibly second-guessing telling the story but going on anyway. “I... might've still been high, but those clothes spoke to me, told me what I needed to do. I smashed the case, put 'em on, started a new life; as Hancock.” The name was practically growled out-- there was weight to it for him, even now. “After that, I went clean for a bit. Got organized, convinced Kleo to loan me some hardware... Got a crew of drifters together and headed out into the ruins, started training. Next time Vic's boys went on their tear, we'd be ready for 'em.”

“Guessing that was one hell of a negotiation with Kleo.” Paige posited with a faint smirk. “You try to charm the bolts off of her?”

He blinked, and actually let out a faint laugh that interrupted the gravity of the story he'd been telling. “You'd be surprised how quick she warms up to someone who knows how to work munitions into sweet talk... plus she didn't have any love for Vic's crew-- not that it's my story to tell.”

“Still, it's smart; gather up support, make allies, get armed, fight back... Vic may not have been the British Empire, but sounds like you got the right kind of inspiration going.”

“Right?” There was a note of relief, at being understood. “Same wavelength-- justice for the oppressed.”

“So you got a militia together.” Paige encouraged. “What came next?”

“We waited for the next time they were gonna go through and raise hell-- night of, we all got loaded, let Vic's boys get good and hammered, and burst from the windows and rooftops where we'd been hiding. They never even saw it coming; we didn't have to fire a shot. We didn't have to, but we sure fucking did. It was a massacre. Once we'd mopped up, we strolled right into Vic's quarters in the statehouse, wrapped a rope around his neck, and threw him off the balcony.” He straightened up, recovering from the slouch he'd been holding for the majority of the story so far and letting his hands hang between his thighs. “And there I am, gun in hand, draped in Hancock's duds, looking at all the people of Goodneighbor assembled below. I had to say something-- the first time I said 'em? They didn't even feel like my words: Of the people, for the people... it was my inaugural address. Became Mayor Hancock of Goodneighbor that day. And from then on, I vowed I'd never stand by and watch. Ever. Again.”

Paige was quiet for a moment, considering the story, sensing it as he looked to her for some kind of assessment or reaction-- or maybe just an opening to ask questions.

“Vic woulda shot me for not killing Bobbi.”

He blinked. Another beat of quiet, as he considered that.

“... yeah, he woulda. Or worse-- you're too pretty to just shoot...” He made a face, not elaborating on that particularly disgusting thought. “You got a point, though. I ain't Vic... just didn't like that what I did made me feel a little closer to him; sitting up in the statehouse and deciding someone's gonna die who might not have fully earned it. Getting innocents caught up in the crossfire who definitely didn't.”

“You were worried you'd become him... is that part of why you decided to go with me? Climb back down and remember what it was like to look up at the balcony, rather than stand on it?”

“I ain't really the ponderous type.” He reminded her, picking up that smirk of his again. “When an instinct takes hold, I listen. This time around, instinct said I should join up with you... seems it was a good one.”

“Maybe your instincts are just a sucker for a pretty face.” Paige suggested with a sly smile of her own before kicking back another swig of her whiskey. “Or is it just girls with hardware?”

“That would explain why I bet on Kleo.”

#wip #meme #writing sampler #Paige #Hancock #kaybrandchaos #Ask The Author #long post

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monicalorandavis · 5 years ago

Text

MTV’s ‘The Challenge’ is still quite good

If you are a person in your early 30′s (like me) who grew up watching Carson Daly’s TRL and got AIM around your 11th birthday, you know ‘The Challenge’. You also know that Freddie Prinze Jr and Sarah Michelle Gellar are Hollywood’s stealthiest romantic success so please keep your voice down when you whisper their sweet names (they deserve our support).

You might remember ‘The Challenge’ of yore, way back when it used to be called ‘The Real World Road Rules Challenge’. Oh how Veronica would yell at anyone! We had fun. And guess what? It’s still a good time. Even Veronica herself still pops up from time to time. She’s much older and out of shape but that’s the thing with aging reality stars, they’re just like us. Let the record state, I love my veteran players. But V just didn’t make the cut this season. It was a Veronica (and Shane!!!) free season. And you’re wondering if that left space for the realest ‘Challenge’ competitior of all time, the one, the only...Chris Tamburello aka CT aka dad-bod CT aka the highlight of the whole season. This season, though it didn’t look like it was going to, belonged to Chris Tamburello. But we’ll get there later. For now, let me sing the praises of this season’s ‘Challenge’ and drop some serious *spoilers*. Proceed with caution if the finale means anything to you.

First, a teensy bit of backstory. ‘The Challenge’ is in a very interesting global iteration that has really livened up the brand. Not like it needed livening up. I eat this shit up with a spoon. But, perhaps for the sake of international brand partnerships, it’s broadened its appeal and recruited some UK talent. Fine MTV, you might know a thing or two about business...

At any rate, it’s successfully brought in international reality stars and the show has been on an uphill climb ever since. For those of us British reality aficionado’s this has been a major win. While you’ll still gladly root on your longtime faves (Johnny Bananas, Wes, Jordan and yes, CT), you might be glad to see Theo from Love Island and Georgia from TOWIE fame. There are other international folks on the show who have no significance to me. But they make for interesting television (sometimes). For instance, Rogan’s slimy ass swindled his beefy thighs into a ‘Challenge’ final through sex appeal (and pathological lies) alone! You might argue that that sounds base and stupid and you’d be correct, sir. But what are you, the Queen of England? Why are you reading this blog?? Don’t you have a whole country to serve and more hats to buy??? Get out of here! Leave us commoners with our feeble minds (and bank accounts) alone!

I think the British contestants inspired a little British tangent there but the show does benefit from having the Brits on board. The set-up for the season was US v. England and it was not as tidy of a us versus them as you’d think. The man of the hour, CT himself got shafted and stuck on the British team from the beginning. It seemed like his weight gain and poor attitude had officially relegated him to a stud of the past. He was “dead weight” and Jordan and Paulie made the cutthroat (of many) decision to pass him over for eternal hothead, Turbo. Yes, his name is Turbo. He’s from Turkey and he’s hot. Deal with it.

That first decision by the US team to eschew loyalties and “trim the fat” set the tone for the shadiest season of all time. But the US had too many leaders and would corrode quickly. In the first episodes of the season, big time favorites Wes and Johnny Bananas got the boot. Cara and Paulie made for a weird Slytherin bid at alliance leadership and, unfortunately for everyone at home, succeeded in building the strongest team that crossed over party lines. They had swindled Rogan and his hair-brained buddy, Joss, into working for them and cutting the strongest players from the Brits’ team. All of that is well and good but it’s not actually the most interesting part of the game. The interesting part is the final episode and you have to dig through the weeks of broken promises and hook-ups to get there. And for a messy bitch like me, I’ll do it.

So fast forward, it’s the end. The US has a stupidly bloated team left of mediocre players that stayed true to the alliance and earned protection from being voted off. The Brits are Jordan, Tori (a now-engaged US defected pair) plus CT (early US cast-off), Rogan (slimeball) and Dee (Australian spineless could’ve been shero). The British team ended up being a weirdly streamlined and athletic powerhouse while the US quickly crumbled and Paulie started physically breaking down on the first lap of the final. It seriously felt as though all of his backstabbing shittiness crashed onto his shoulders and attacked his muscles. It was strange how fast he folded while everyone (even the very, very un-athletic slew of women he protected) looked on at him with growing contempt. Cara Maria, the world’s most annoying girlfriend, kept pleading for the team to wait up and let Paulie regain his will to live while Kam and Leroy (another romantic pair) made it their mission to push through. And let’s pause and discuss Leroy for one moment.

This was Leroy’s 11th season. He’s never won a final and wanted it so bad. He even patched things up with Kam as if to buoy him up spiritually. And yet, I hate to say it, we all knew this still wasn’t his year. He just doesn’t have it - the ego, ruthlessness, whatever you want to call it - to win. He’s too kind, too good-natured for the show. All his pep talks and volunteering tired him out quick whereas Ninja’s sorry ass was full of vim and vigor in the last puzzle challenges. It never pays to play the nice game. Ever wonder why Ashley and Cara do so well? They’re heartless.

Which leads us to C motherfuckin’ T. Oh baby, I saved this for last and I’ll make it quick because I could go on and on about that boy (just like the blue of his eyes seem to go on and on like an ocean...) CT played a scared game up until the episode before the final. It was uncharacteristically tentative. It was as if his early rejection had scarred him. He wasn’t the same boisterous, and frankly, terrifying man we all remembered. But as the show progressed, and UK players kept getting cut, I wondered how much longer he’d be able to vote against his team. The writing was on the wall. The final was coming but nobody knew exactly when. The British team had been decimated. All of their best players were kicked off because they threatened the US’ odds at a sure win. So when players realized that the final had to be the next challenge, their true colors emerged. Jordan and Tori plead their case. They had defected to the UK team out of spite (Cara and Paulie really made it their mission to punish them in a weird, old-world Catholic vengeance king of way) and they were sick of losing. Plus, the US couldn’t protect all their alliance members. Somebody was going to be collateral damage, but who? As soon as it was final time, it would be team versus team, just as Jordan and Tori had suspected. It was time for CT to protect himself and vote with his team and against the alliance. And up until the last second, he pretended to be a loyalist. Then, at the final elimination he voted against Cara and Paulie and boy, were they mad. Even host TJ had his wig snatched. CT, ‘Challenge’ champ and Diem’s former beau (RIP), came through with a fabulous ‘et tu Brute’ moment and Julius Caesar himself would’ve been like, “Oh shit, son...you did that.”

You might assume, incorrectly, that I keep up with MTV’s other programming but I do not. I make a strict exception for ‘The Challenge’. You surely won’t catch any ‘Floribamashore’, ‘Catfish’ or ‘Wild ‘N’ Out’ viewing around my way. I have some modicum of class left from the last season of ‘Jersey Shore’ (because of course I watch the roommies!). I hate ‘Ridiculousness’. I tried ‘Are You The One’ and it has its moments but it’s just so sad and the people are so vulnerable and clingy, and quite clearly in need of therapy. So, ‘The Challenge’ is it for me. Say what you will. I regret nothing. CT forever. Paulie is whack. Johnny Bananas is a Republican.

Peace.

#mtv #the challenge #CT #chris tamburello #johnny bananas #tj lavin

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1wngdngl · 5 years ago

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Pokemon Shield playthrough

I’ve been playing this game a lot since last night, and I still haven’t gotten on the train yet ;) I like to take games slowly to make sure I notice and experience everything along the way. It looks like the best way to share my game progress is through screenshots, so that’s what I’ll do. Cut for length and spoilers - I’ve been trying to avoid spoilers and leaks for the past couple weeks, so if you want to be able to experience the games fresh yourself, now might be a good time to click away. [This post covers up thru getting the Dynamax band]

I went ahead with the “standard” female character, but you can bet I’ll be customizing her as soon as I can. What’s with that knock-kneed stance, anyway? Pokemon trainers should stand strong and confident!

Chairman Rose greets us. Everyone online was guessing he’ll turn out to be evil or something. He certainly looks suspicious, doesn’t he?

And here comes the first surprise of the LP - a brand-new Pokemon, not even seen in trailers! (except for that fuzzy 1-frame image from a while back.) Its trunk looks kinda like a soup ladle. Maybe it’s a play on a teacup/teapot elephant? I wonder if it evolves...

Here’s Leon fighting an unknown trainer - maybe a Gym leader?

I really like the art style of the map - it’s so whimsical :)

The map also shows current weather for all locations. Look at all the different stuff going on in the Wild Area at the same time! I’ve been to the real England, and I don’t remember it having such extreme weather...

The map also has a few useful features, like displaying your next objective, and showing the facilities in a town (but only once you’ve been there yourself). The towns and such all have really interesting names that emulate that old English sound.

First thing I do when I gain control in a new Pokemon game? Change the battle style to “Set”. It seems more fair, plus it helps make the game just a bit more challenging.

I’m a little sad that the old option to change menu/text box borders seems to be forever abandoned, though... >.>

My house. It’s a pretty decent-sized place. We have a pet Munchlax and a few Budew outside. My character practices her whistling.

My mom. Or “mum” as the game calls her. The dialog is noticeably slanted toward a more British dialect - I wonder how they handled the accent in other languages?

Speaking of my mom, she seems rather big compared to me, doesn’t she? Quite a bit taller. I’m guessing my character is around 12 - when I was that age, I was the same height as my mom and done growing. Maybe they think people won’t believe this character is the mom’s child if she’s too tall?

Also, my dream is to one day have a /dad/ in a Pokemon game. Seriously, why does every other house I visit have a husband and wife, and my character is always stuck being the only child of a single parent? What if in one of these games, my dad was the champion or the evil team leader - how fun would that be?

My bedroom. The pink clock on the wall reminds me of one from a previous Pokemon game - was it ORAS that had those round clocks on the wall that you could set?

My first step on my journey. Looks like my mom spends every minute gardening - I guess the Budew help her?

Ah yes, every Pokemon game needs a “power of science” guy :)

Here’s another surprise - how many Pokemon games give you a fishing rod right at the start?! Usually you have to track down three different fisherman to get the three versions of the fishing rod. I’m also happy to see that Pokeballs have their own pocket again :)

The handy map tells us where to go next, with even a little picture of our destination.

The champion of Galar, of course, has a huge house.

Wow, a Purrloin! I forgot that they stood on two legs. I like its little bed.

Also, Leon’s family decorate their house mainly in trophies.

I guess this is Hop’s room - I like his artwork. I know Leon has a Charizard - does he have these other two Pokemon too, and that’s why Hop has posters of them?

Leon’s room is mostly a shrine to hats.

Speaking of Leon, he really knows how to play to the crowd ;)

So, some people are wondering if /Leon/ will turn out to be evil in the story. I didn’t really get that vibe from him. He seems like a genuinely nice guy, but he does seem like he has some worries on his mind, like his cheer is sometimes forced?

Maybe he actually hates the limelight and gets uncomfortable with attention? Maybe he’s secretly terminally ill? Maybe there’s some massive threat about to attack the Galar region? He seems really concerned with making sure that Galar has lots of strong trainers. Maybe he knows something about the legendaries?

Alternately, some people were saying that maybe Leon isn’t actually a great champion, and his fights are rigged in his favor by the chairman. /If/ that were the case, I bet that Leon is actually unhappy with that situation and wants to make the tournament more fair.

Or maybe everything in the game is exactly as it seems ;)

Nothing important here, I just like this screenshot. I wonder if Fletchling are native to Galar too?

My first Pokemon! (in this game, at least...) I picked Sobble because he’s the most endearing.

My first battle! I like how the interface is laid out, and how detailed the background is beyond the fighters - you can even see Leon standing there.

My Pokemon's details. I don’t play competitively so I don’t know if it’s a particular “good” Sobble. It seems like this species is a fast special-attacker, so I’ll have to keep that in mind.

The Slumbering Weald (my spellchecker doesn’t even recognize that word :) ) It’s very spooky and seclusive - and it’s right next to the starter town too! You’d think if it was really that dangerous, people would put up more than a flimsy wooden gate to keep trespassers out...Hop, of course, is an idiot and runs right into it; and I, the spineless protagonist, have no option to say no. >.>

My first wild encounter! This starts the trend I noticed all during the opening hours of this game - most of the wild Pokemon are brand-new, totally-unrevealed species. Like this squirrel thing. (Although some people guessed we would get a new squirrel based on that shirt design). I wonder if it evolves?

This part was actually pretty scary, with the Pokemon (I can’t remember its name...) suddenly appearing out of the fog. The Pokemon acted almost like a hologram in battle though - my attacks couldn’t touch it.

What if the twist is that the legendary wolf Pokemon are just illusions, perhaps even man-made ones created to keep intruders from discovering some secret in the forest?

Anyway, we escape from the situation perfectly fine, because of course we do ;)

I noticed that this particular generation gives you quite of a bit of money at the start, but I guess that’s because you encounter the first boutique so early. There’s a fair number of affordable options too. Some of these Pokemon shirts I wish were /real/ shirts.

My new look :) Mostly I just ditched the dress for jeans. This looks like a comfortable outfit, although that knapsack is a bit unwieldy.

We visit the professor’s lab. She has a lot of books, plants, and a tea set. I wonder if she ever has problems with Polteageist?

The new Pokemon center design. I love that the move deleter/relearner and nickname functions are all in one place - I always hated flying around the map trying to remember where they were.

That Pokemon behind the counter is another totally new one. Could this be a Galarian Audino?

Using mystery gift, I was able to get this “Gigantamax” Meowth. However, due to my rule of only using Gen 8 Pokemon, it’s just gonna chill out in the box >.>

Leon is very generous with Pokeballs. Even the items you find on the ground are generous, often containing 2 or 3 “copies” of an item when you check it out. Is that a new thing for Pokemon?

Here I battle my first trainer that isn’t named Hop. He has that squirrel shirt and is a total pushover.

Just chilling by the professor’s house. It looks like maybe you can only fish in fishing spots (those darker circles on the water), but at least you get your fishing pole right away.

Also, I discovered that while I could not sit on beds or chairs inside, I am able to sit on this bench :)

The way the Pokemon mill about in the tall grass is very interesting. Some will try to avoid you, others like this Yamper will chase after you. It makes the routes feel a lot more populated.

I guess this is Sonia’s room. It’s very pink. I wonder if she even /wants/ to do Pokemon research, or if she’d rather be a fashion designer or something.

The in-game time of day doesn’t seem to match up with the Switch system clock, at least not from what I’ve seen so far. For example, suddenly it is sunset and I catch a falling star. (look how the reflection in the water changes :) )

I haven’t decided yet if I want to buy the Switch online service, but in the meantime I decided to at least pick my profile picture. The icons you can choose from actually reveal quite a lot about the trainer classes and gyms that are in the game. For the first time ever, we have a Dark-type gym! Their logo is a sideways version of Team Yell’s logo - does that mean that Team Yell or Marnie is the Dark gym leader?

I spent a while catching Pokemon around the professor’s house. I can’t tell if I got every possible species without looking online, but I did build up a good roster.

I found it really cool how many new, surprising Pokemon showed up this early in the game. There’s the fox one (which is a Dark type and reminds me of Zoroark), the turtle one (which has got to be a pre-evolution of Dreadnaw, probably the 1st of 3 stages), the bird one (based on the “Rook” in its name and the fact that it learns Dark-type moves early, I’m guessing it’s a pre-evolution of Corviknight), and the bug one (can’t wait to see what its final stage looks like).

I went through the party to find the best Pokemon that fit my self-imposed rules (only new, Gen 8 Pokemon, no overlap of types). I know that this means I won’t be able to use Galarian forms or Gigantamaxes of old Pokemon, but just because I’m not using them in my main playthrough doesn’t mean I can’t catch them :)

Next time: I step onto the train and leave my home behind.

#pokemon #pokemon shield #pokemon gen 8 #let's play #lps

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claudia1829things · 6 years ago

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"HE KNEW HE WAS RIGHT" (2004) Review

”HE KNEW HE WAS RIGHT” (2004) Review My knowledge of 19th century author, Anthony Trollope, can be described as rather skimpy. In fact, I have never read any of his works. But the 2004 BBC adaptation of his 1869 novel, ”He Knew He Was Right”, caught my interest and I decided to watch the four-part miniseries.

”HE KNEW HE WAS RIGHT” told the decline and fall of a wealthy gentleman named Louis Trevelyan (Oliver Dimsdale) and his marriage to the elder daughter of a British Colonial administrator named Sir Marmaduke Rowley (Geoffrey Palmer) during the late 1860s. Louis first met the spirited Emily Rowley (Laura Fraser) during a trip to the fictional Mandarin Islands. Their marriage began on a happy note and managed to produce one son, young Louis. But when Emily’s godfather, the rakish Colonel Osborne (Bill Nighy), began paying consistent visits to her, the house of cards for the Trevelyan marriage began to fall. Doubts about his wife’s fidelity formed clouds in Louis’ mind upon learning about Osborne’s reputation as a ladies’ man. His insistence that Emily put an end to Osborne’s visits, along with her stubborn opposition to his demands and outrage over his lack of trust finally led to a serious break in their marriage. What followed was a minor public scandal over their estrangement, a change of addresses for both husband and wife, Louis’ kidnapping of their son and his final descent into paranoia and madness. The miniseries also featured several subplots. One centered around the forbidden romance between Emily’s younger sister, Nora (Christina Cole), and a young journalist named Hugh Stansbury (Stephen Campbell Moore), who happened to be Louis’ closest friend. Another featured the efforts of Hugh’s wealthy Aunt Jemima Stansbury (Anna Massey) to pair his younger sister Dorothy (Caroline Martin) to a local vicar in Wells named Reverend Gibson (David Tennant). Unfortunately for Aunt Stansbury, her desires for a romance between Dorothy and Reverend Gibson ended with Dorothy’s rejection of him and his lies about her moral character. Later, Dorothy and Aunt Stansbury found themselves at odds over Dorothy’s friendship and burgeoning romance with the nephew of her old love, Brooke Burgess (Matthew Goode). Gibson found himself in hot water with the socially powerful Aunt Stansbury over his lies about Dorothy. But that was nothing in compare to his being the center of a bitter sibling rivalry between two sisters, Arabella and Camilla French (Fenella Woolgar and Claudie Blakley). One last subplot evolved from Nora Rowley’s rejection of a wealthy aristocrat named Mr. Glascock (Raymond Coulthar). While traveling through Italy, he became acquainted with Caroline Spalding (Anna-Louise Plowman), one of two daughters of an American diplomat; and began a romance with her. Most of the subplots from ”HE KNEW HE WAS RIGHT” proved to be mildly entertaining or interesting. But the one subplot that really caught my attention featured Reverend Gibson and the French sisters. There were times when I could not even describe this story. I found it hilarious in a slightly twisted and surreal manner. Considering the vicar’s sniveling personality, there were times I felt it served him right to find himself trapped in the rivalry between the sweetly manipulative Arabella and the aggressive Camilla. But when the latter proved to be obsessive and slightly unhinged, I actually found myself rooting for Reverend Gibson to be free of her grasp. In some ways, Camilla proved to be just as mentally disturbed as Louis Treveylan. For me, the best aspect of ”HE KNEW HE WAS RIGHT” proved to be the main plot about the Treveylan marriage. I have to give kudos to Andrew Davies for his excellent job in adapting Trollope’s tale. I found the Louis and Emily’s story to be fascinating and well written. When their marriage ended in separation at the end of Episode One, I wondered if Davies had rushed the story. Foolish me. I never realized that the separation would lead toward a slow journey into madness for Louis and one of frustration and resentment for Emily. Her resentment increased tenfold after Louis kidnapped their young son, Little Louis; and upon her discovery that as a woman, she did not have the law on her side on who would be considered as the boy’s legal guardian. For me, the most surprising aspect of ”HE KNEW HE WAS RIGHT” was that despite all of the hell Louis forced Emily to endure, I ended up feeling very sorry for him. Due to his own insecurities over Colonel Osborne’s attentions to Emily and her strength of character, Louis ended up enduring a great deal of his own hell. Another aspect I found rather interesting about ”HE KNEW HE WAS RIGHT” was the topic of power abuse that permeated the tale. Many film and literary critics have used the Louis Trevelyan character as an argument that the story’s main theme was the abuse of paternal or male power. I heartily agree with that argument. To a certain extent. After all, Louis’ hang-ups regarding Emily’s relationship with Colonel Osborne seemed to be centered around her unwillingness to blindly obey him or his fear that he may not be enough of a man for her. And Sir Marmaduke’s insistence that Nora dismiss the idea of marrying the penniless Hugh Stanbury for a wealthier gentleman – namely Mr. Glascock. But the miniseries also touched upon examples of matriarchy or female abuse of power – something that most critics or fans hardly ever mention. Jemima Stanbury’s position as the Stanburys’ matriarch and only wealthy family member gave her the belief she had the power to rule over the lives of her family. This especially seemed to be the case in her efforts to control Dorothy’s love life. Camilla French struck me as another female who used her position as Reverend French’s fiancée to abuse it – especially in her aggressive attempts to ensure that he would give in to her desires and demands. And when that failed, she used her anger and threats of violence to ensure that her sister Arabella did not win in their rivalry over the spineless vicar. Some would say that Camilla was merely indulging in masculine behavior. I would not agree. For I believe that both men and women – being human beings – are capable of violence. For me, aggression is a human trait and not associated with one particular gender. In the end, both Sir Marmaduke and Aunt Stanbury relented to the desires of their loved ones. Camilla had no choice but to relent to Arabella’s victory in their race to become Reverend Gibson’s wife, thanks to her mother and uncle’s intervention. As for Louis, he continued to believe he was right about Emily and Colonel Osborne . . . at least right before the bitter end. Oliver Dimsdale proved to be the right actor to portray the complex and tragic Louis Trevelyan. He could have easily portrayed Louis as an unsympathetic and one-note figure of patriarchy. Instead, Dimsdale skillfully conveyed all of Louis’ faults and insecurities; and at the same time, left me feeling sympathetic toward the character. Dimsdale’s Louis was not a monster, but a flawed man who believed he could control everything and especially everyone in his life. And this trait proved to be his Achilles heel. But despite my sympathies toward him, I could never accept the righteousness of Louis’ behavior. And the main reason proved to be Laura Fraser’s portrayal of the high-spirited and stubborn Emily Rowley Trevelyan. One could say that Emily should have conceded to her husband’s wishes. As the spouse of a pre-20th century male, one would expect her to. I could point out that she did concede to Louis’ wishes – while protesting along the way. And Fraser not only did a marvelous job with Emily’s strong will and stubbornness, but also anger at Louis’ paternalism. Amazingly, she also effectively portrayed Emily’s continuing love for Louis and doubts over the character’s actions with a great deal of plausibility. This last trait was especially apparent in Emily’s conversations with Hugh Stanbury’s sister, Priscilla, in Episode Two. And both Dimsdale and Fraser created a strong and credible screen chemistry, despite their characters’ flaws, mistakes and conflicts. Another reason I managed to enjoy ”HE KNEW HE WAS RIGHT” turned out to be the solid performances by the supporting cast. However, several performances stood out for me. Three came from veteran performers such as Bill Nighy, Anna Massey and Ron Cook. Nighy, ever the chameleon, gave a delicious performance as the mischievous and rakish Colonel Osborne; who proved to be something of a blustering phony in the end. Anna Massey gave a wonderful and entertaining portrayal as the wealthy matriarch of the Stanbury family, Jemima Stanbury. Despite being a tyrannical and no-nonsense woman, Massey’s Aunt Stanbury also proved to be a likeable and vulnerable individual. And Cook did a marvelous job in portraying Mr. Nozzle as more than just a study in one-dimensional seediness. Cook aptly conveyed the private detective’s conflict between his greedy desire for Louis’ business and his sympathy toward Emily’s plight. The second trio of performances that impressed me came from David Tennant, Fenella Woolgar and Claudie Blakley, who portrayed the Reverend Gibson and the French sisters. Tennant, who was two years away from portraying the 10th Doctor Who, gave a hilarious performance as the avaricious vicar with a spine made from gelatin. Both Woolgar and Blakley were equally funny as the two sisters battling for his affections . . . or at least a marriage proposal. Blakley also seemed a tad frightening, as she delved into Camilla’s aggressive and homicidal determination to prevent Mr. Gibson from returning his “affections” to the more mild-tempered and manipulative Arabella. The production values for ”HE KNEW HE WAS RIGHT” seemed pretty solid. But I found nothing exceptional about it, except for Mike Eley’s photography and Debbie Wiseman’s haunting score, which seemed appropriate for the Trevelyans’ doomed marriage. However, I do have one major problem with Trollope’s tale . . . and Davies’ script. Quite simply, the story suffered from one too many subplots. Many have counted at least five subplots in ”HE KNEW HE WAS RIGHT” and they would be correct. At least three of them – Dorothy’s problems with Reverend Gibson, her conflict with Aunt Stanbury over Brooke Burgess, and Reverend Gibson’s problems with the French sisters – having nothing to do with the main storyline. Despite the fact that I found them either interesting or entertaining, I felt as if they belonged in another novel or series. I realize that Trollope had used these subplots as examples of comparisons to the Trevelyan marriage, but I always have this strange sensation that I am watching a completely different series altogether. I believe that Davies should have realized this before writing his script. Despite my problems with the tale’s numerous subplots, I found ”HE KNEW HE WAS RIGHT” to be a first-rate adaptation of Anthony Trollope’s novel. I must admit that all of the plotlines proved to be interesting. And Tom Vaughn’s direction, along with a first-rate cast led by Oliver Dimsdale and Laura Fraser, ”HE KNEW HE WAS RIGHT” proved to be a literary adaptation worth watching.

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harmonyandriley · 3 years ago

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Time to wipe out every Russian piece of equipment within Ukraine.

Secure Ukraine Airspace.

Gain Air Superiority.

Failure to equip and support and oversee a straight victory for Ukraine against Russia is a total utter failure of pathetic spineless left wing socialist politics wipe out that forty mile column fuck sanctions take out that column nose to tail wipe it off the face of the earth.

Do you know what is hidden within that column let's hope it won't create a stage for further action into the European Union we need to know everything about that forty mile column now.

We need a full spectrum of counter measure in place blissfully taking down the enemy of humanity.

That column is a sitting duck where is the air support the drones guided ordnance dropping on their fucking heads just watching this column eating cup cakes and drinking tea before they massacre more children is unforgivable get that column out of theatre immediately.

It's not about a no fly zone it's about utilising drones and airspace strategically in the hands of Ukrainian fighters.

Standing back from action feeds into the mind of Putin it reinforces his belief he is unstoppable the more unrealistic his expectations the more dangerous he will become he needs something to think about.

He needs to understand he himself can be brought to face his inner fears one way or another he has started this and whether he chooses to or not he can end this.

One border of Ukraine faces Russia the other is the NATO border of Poland so I suggest Russia is now the direct neighbour of the European Union and he is going to feel empowered to continue walking around the European Union because everyone is simply standing around watching him kill children.

Putin needs to be shown that going home is a fucking good idea continued persecution of the sovereign nation of Ukraine is a fucking bad idea take that column out.

The woke liberal elite and socialist warriors who run down Winston Churchill can see what he fought against so you could live in Great Britain and complain.

When Putin murders children at least you can cheer him on against democracy and freedom you are shameful fools barely worthy of being human beings.

When you side against Winston Churchill you side with Adolf Hitler today you side with Russia against Ukraine.

Again on Newsnight tonight they cannot help bringing up Calais camps refugees so tell me will Ukraine refugees make their way to Calais camps through many countries in which they can be granted asylum and then cross on small boats to Great Britain facilitating the proliferation of people smuggling gangs?

No so keep your woke crap to yourselves and do your fucking job if that isn't too difficult for you.

So woke warriors cheer on your champion waging genocide against Ukraine and freedom and democracy

Cheer on the process of derailing Brexit a free fair referendum result like Keir Starmer a man who stands against the Great British children and their families and hopes in vain to gain the power to enslave Great Britain.

Sadiq Khan orchestrates the shutting down of London through incompetence and Cressida Dick has been taken out from the top of the Metropolitan Police corruption.

The corruption that attempted to steal Harmony & Riley has been taken down and we had no money no resources not even a lap top we can't be broken down.

This social enterprise fights like Winston Churchill.

Keir Starmer lectures on the sovereignty of nations he simultaneously denies Great Britain justice and freedom he is the barrister that has kept me from a court of law for fourteen years because he can be exposed for arranging the theft of Great British children.

Where is the hard left of the Labour party it's fucked.

So cheer on your fucking modern day Adolf Hitler woke liberal elite terrorist groups.

Putin is murdering men women and little children.

Ukraine fights with pride they fear no foe.

Mark Anthony Ward @ Harmony & Riley Potential Realised.

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cartoonfangirl1218 · 4 years ago

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Winner’s Curse Ch. 23

“You have got to be kidding me? No, no no way! Jay, get over here!” Jade yelled, unusually excited by a flutter of paper.

Jay tore his gaze away from the sight of the rising sun. A sight that when he was little, he’d pretend he was in the Agrabah Jafar had told him about. How the rising sun burned like the fires of the Jewel of Destiny. The sand gleamed like the golden minarets that were worth two ships of gold. The oasises as colorful and bright as emeralds and rubies.

It all led back to gold. Beauty in riches.

He knew better now than to believe his dad’s golden rule, but at sights like this, he couldn’t help but remember that feeling. Of wonderment, of desperate longing to see it for himself but feeling, knowing that he never would.

But he did know better. He did know better. He wasn’t going to fall for his dad’s sneaky, snaky words. Or for his hypnosis.

Damn it, he was Jayal iban Jafar, prince of thieves, king of lies, captain of tourney and R.O.A.R. He was powerful, fast, strong. He shouldn’t have broken out of the mind control himself!

“Jaaaay,” Jade called again.

“Right, coming.” Jay crouched to where Jade was regally reclining on her pile of cushions, holding the slip of paper aloft like a royal scroll. “One of Celia’s shadows sent this. She and Yzla tried to scry and get a message to King Ben. But they got something so so much better!” Jade explained reading the front side of the paper, “Apparently, the Coven already has some contacts inside Auradon that are helping them with the invasion. And they’re kids of the heroes. Ah!”

“You are way too happy about this.” Jay smirked at his cousin’s delighted squawk.

“Come on! A hero’s kid is helping their parents’ villain?! Oh and those Aks acted like they were so much better than us. It’s so perfect! Anyway, do the names Kyro, Victoria Porter, Morgaine Le Fey or Alexandria ring a bell to you?”

Jay shook his head, “Not really. I guess Morgaine Le Fey is Morgana’s daughter, but I don’t know about the others. I didn’t really hang out outside of my friends.”

“Good choice, who’d want to be friends with those whiny, pampered bitches.” Jade smiled knowingly.

Jay smiled back, “Took the words out of my mouth.” Okay maybe he wouldn’t have used the word, “bitches,” but once upon a time he would have. Now… he hated to admit but some of FG’s lessons had snuck in. He was more hesitant about using vulgar language. It unnerved him to realize that cursing was yet another thing that Auradon had changed in him.

Though he still did it sometimes to shock the princes like Chad who acted like he had murdered a puppy or something when he uttered the word, “Shit.”

But it still wasn’t the same.

Isle Jay hadn’t been so soft, so considerate of others.

Isle Jay wouldn’t have allowed himself to have looked at his fathers staff. He would have made some sort of distraction, talked his dad into letting him go, anything other than stupidly looking into the staff that he knew would make him a pawn.

What’s more Isle Jay wouldn’t have gotten tricked and captured in the first place, allowing his dad a chance to hypnotize him.

No Isle Jay disappeared the moment that he chose goodness over the wand. But what did that leave him with?

He was loyal now, he was the big brother. A big brother that hadn’t protected his friends from anything.

He was no help to Carlos and his nightmares.

He was no help to Mal when she was stressed and shunned by the public media as Ben’s consort.

He couldn’t help Evie against the invisible insecurities that haunted her head from sixteen years of grooming by her mother.

He hadn’t saved Ben from getting captured by pirates last time he was here. He had forgotten how bad the Isle was and forgot about the kids still left here….

He protected no one. He helped no one.

Maybe he was still the son of Jafar, through and through. He had helped no one but himself.

And he hadn’t done a good job of that either as this mission had shown.

He was Auradon Jay in being soft, easily tricked and hypnotized.

He was the worst of both worlds.

“Jaay, seriously are you sure you're not suffering from post hypnosis syndrome or something official like that?” Jade thwacked him on the head.

“I’m fine!” Jay punched her back in the arm.

“You better go tell Uma about this. It sounds important.” Jay pushed her away before she could pounce on him for a headlock. “Come with,” Jade gestured, but Jay shook his head.

“No. Remember, I’m supposed to be a hypnotized slave. Why would you take me around for a “girl’s convo,” he put air quotes around the excuse Jade used to her mother whenever she went to Uma’s room.

“You’re my slave, I can do what I want. Like how Cruella drives Jace and Harry around with her for everything.”

“Fine,” Jay cracked his neck and tensed up into the rigid state of hypno-him. He forced himself to walk robotically, letting his mind wander off into various thoughts, the most troubling recurring one of his father, so it looked like the blankness of a hypnotized pawn.

He hated trying to assume the position even though he knew it was necessary. It gave him the painful cramping, pins and needles feeling even though it was a short walk across the hall.

Jade fluttered the paper gleefully under Uma’s nose before the blue-haired sea witch snatched it out of her hands.

The rest of the group, Calix, Gil, Harry, Aziz, and Jordan crowded around to read the tiny writing until Uma read it aloud for them all. Jordan and Aziz, the only two who actually knew of the people looked shocked. Identical expressions of disbelief and surprise covering their faces, and causing Jade to burst into a not so discreet cackle.

“But- but Victoria Porter is a.. She’s a lady. She’s British for Allah sake! She wants to be a royal guard, why would she join the Coven! She doesn’t even have powers!” Jordan cried.

“And Alexandria cares way too much about her royal reputation to do this. Calix you dated her, isn’t Morgaine a sorceresss? Is she hypnotizing them or something?” Aziz pestered Calix who only opened and closed his mouth wordlessly.

“It doesn’t matter why they’re with the Coven or if they’re under duress. What’s important is that we know they’re working with them. We have to find a way to send a message to King Ben.” “We could use Celia’s shadow creatures,” Jade suggested, “That’s how she sent the message to me in the first place.”

“We’ll try that. And I’ll send a message in a bottle with a genie girl as a backup.” Uma confirmed, “Next, we’ll see if we can get Celia to scry for more information like what entry points this mini Coven is creating for the Coven to enter through.”

“I can help with that,” Calix added, “But what do the-how do I put this delicately, what do the rest of the non powered people do?”

“Harry, Gil, you go back to the crew and see how the fight training is going. Aziz, Jade, Jay, you… go keep your cover.” Uma directed the last one dismissively, leaving no question what she thought of their usefulness.

And it sparked a memory inside Jay. Memories since it happened more than once. Jafar was utterly disinterested in Jay unless he had something to steal. A day he came home with empty hands and a black eye.

“Just go.” “Go find something valuable.” “Get out of my sight!”

Commands he had obeyed without a question. No better than a spineless henchman. Or a brainless pawn.

Well Jay had his own mind. Ever since he left the Isle, he’d been standing up to what he wanted out of his life, not his dad. Just because he was back on the Isle, didn’t mean he was going to go back to obeying others without a question.

“What’s wrong, Shrimpy? Afraid I’m going to upstage you if you let me help?” Jay mocked, striding to Uma.

Like muscle memory, his body tensed for a fight. Clenching an dunclenching his fists, purposely stooping to Uma’s eye level, forcing everyone to acknowledge that he was taller and stronger than her. He flexed his muscles, and separated his legs for better balance. And he smirked. The smirk that made many a thug want to punch his lights out before ending up on the ground on their backs.

Anticipation rushed up his spine and he could taste the memory of blood on his tongue. He missed this adreneline….

Uma glared, not taking a step back as most opponents usually did. That would make a punch more difficult since he wouldn’t be able to get enough leverage, but then again he could always sweep her legs from under her.

“I’m not scared of you upstaging me. I’m not scared of you, period. I’m ordering you back to your post so this mission can continue successfully.” Uma gritted through her teeth, her eyes flashing a stormy teal much like the ocean outside the broken barrier.

That only made Jay’s fury mount. The deliberate calmness in her tone, like she was placating Jay by listening but knew that Jay would obey her anyway.

“You’re not the boss of me.” Jay growled.

“Well your pretty purple dragon “boss” is all the way over in Auradon so she can’t make your decisions anymore. You-”

“I can make my own decisions,” Jay yelled but Uma still didn’t back down, “I’m the only one here who could best all of you in a fight so I think you should be very careful how you speak to me or I’’ll-”

“You’ll be bleeding on the floor with your throat slit, that’s what you’ll be.” Harry finished, caressing the back of Jay’s head with his hook. The cold metal point just barely touching the nape of his neck.

Jay cursed himself for forgetting that others were watching and allowing Harry to get the advantage over him. He was better than this. He used to be better at this. Rule number 3 and 4 on the Isle was to always be aware of your surroundings and always on guard.

Jay snorted, clenched his fist and backed away from Uma. Harry only leaving his back until Jay was reasonable distance away. Jay saw the rest of them staring. Not the usual faces of awe, bloodlust and excitement that would be expressed by the onlookers of Isle tassels. No, these were the looks of tension, fear and concern.

Great, if the rest of the group hadn’t thought he was entirely useless and manipulatable from the hypnotized by Jafar incident, now they would all think was too hot headed to be trusted.

The looks from Jordan and Aziz were not as concerned or shocked as the others They were more neutral as if they expected this behavior.

Yet another example confirming for them that he was just a junior Jafar.

Frustrated with the uneasy feeling of a burnt ego, Jay stalked out, mumbling, “I’ll go back to my post.”

He shouldn’t have left Auradon. He shouldn’t have. He was the worst of both worlds. Too soft for the Isle now, but still a capital V, VK in Auradon.

He missed his friends, and he missed the feeling of a team more than ever.

In tourney, Coach Jenkins emphasized that to make a mission succeed, everyone had to respect each other.

Though there were some exceptions, mainly Chad, Jay believed that wholeheartedly. He trusted Herkie to always have everyone else’s back as backup support and respected how the demigod tried to be mindful of his strength. He trusted Carlos to always come up with the best strategies and be a sneaky wild card, and he respected Carlos as one of his best friends.

Trust and respect, those were the main ingredients for missions and games to work because no matter how the plan went off the rails, at least he could count on the others to pick up slack without feeling like they resented him.

Here, it was all resentment and distrust. Jay had thought he didn’t care about their opinions, and he still didn’t think he did. But it was exhausting to deal with the eye rolls when he suggested an idea or knowing that his every move, his every mistake was scrutinized as confirming their opinions of him.

They were Auradonians, weren’t they supposed to at least pretend to trust him, and believe in him and second chances?

Jay almost slammed the door behind him in Jade’s room but remembered that wouldn’t have fit with his cover as “mindless hypnotized fool” so he settled for closing it gently.

He needed an outlet for his anger that slamming the doors and punching Harry would have given him but the only choice was to punch pillows.

So he did it. It frustrated him at first. The pillows were too soft and could never match the satisfaction of crunching bones and skin but he kept at it. He let his ranger take over as he imagined the faces of Uma, Harry, Jafar, Jordan, Aziz and all the other assholes that had been ordering him around and keeping him in his place as a nothing. Unemployed thief. Jafar junior. Mindless pawn.

Sweat dripped down and plastered his hair to his neck but he kept going. Fluff began to spill from the pillows and his nails dug into his palms but he kept going. He kept going until he reached the bottom of the pillow pile, finding relief in the feel of splintered gravel against his knuckles.

He huffed, sanking to his knees and swiped his sweaty hair off his back, waiting for his pulse and breath to get back to normal. Once his blood stopped rushing in his ears, he heard the sound of slow clap. He whipped around to his feet to see Jade in her ornate sari, her emerald rings gleaming from the gilt edges decorating the room.

“What do you want?” Jay blew out a breath.

“Want to talk about your feelings?”

Jay choked on a laugh. He didn’t know what he expected Jade to say but that definitely wasn’t it. In fact, she sound so unsure and hesitant while asking, it sounded like she was questioning him what feelings were.

“Why-why would you want to know that?”

Jade and he never talked.

Actually no one talked on the Isle. Feelings were a weakness after all. But Jade and he never had a reason to talk. It wasn’t that kind of relationship. They were thieves in arms and…

If Jay was being honest, he hadn’t thought Jade really had feelings.

Sure she got happy and pissed, But the emotional wringers Carlos and Evie went through… the pressure that Mal tried so hard to pretend it didn’t get to her, Jay hadn’t thought Jade ever felt that. Or would want to hear someone else’s sob story.

But Jade, while nervous, was clear eyed and looking at him expectantly.

If there was anyone who’d get what living under the shadow of Jafar was like, Jade would get it.

Still he started with a joke, feeling a shred of embarrassment at his emotion-fueled rage, “Guess I do have post hypnosis syndrome. Heh, it kinda.. I don’t want to be ordered around, you know.” “If it makes you feel better, she treats me like I’m an easily hypnotized idiot too, and I haven’t even met her till now.” Jade settled down on the ottoman, gracefully smoothing her dress around her.

“Yeah, that’s Shrimpy. Bossy sea witch and pain in the ass trying to assert her authority. She still hasn’t gotten over, Mal beating her.” Jay semi-explained. Jade nodded and paused, clearly waiting.

Jay tensed, he never thought talking about his feelings would be this hard. He knew Jade wouldn’t judge him too much but still…

Through clenched teeth Jay said, “It’s just… before I got hypnotized I had realized, I never- I never thought what I’d do if I saw Dad again. I’m not like Mal or the others. I don’t care about his opinion. He doesn’t care about mine. He doesn’t care about me. But I-”

“But you do care.” Jade finished softly.

Jay thought of the first glimpse he had of his dad, returned back to his former glory. The way his pointed robe loomed over him, the snakey slit of his eyes as he grinned with perverse delight of a fate awaiting Jay that he didn’t know about.

The feeling sent a dip in his stomach and shudder in his chest. A feeling that Jay never gave words for until now.

“I was scared.” Jade didn’t say anything and that compelled Jay to continue talking, something to fill the silence that he was afraid was going to be replaced by tears if he didn’t stop himself.

“I was scared because I know I betrayed him and I didn’t know what he’d do with me. But yeah, I also cared about him too. I was scared and.. and guilty. I disappointed him.I hate it. I hate that! I know he’ll never care about me so why can’t I just stop caring about him? Nothing will ever make him care for me.” “That- that also makes it worse. I spent sixteen years of my life doing nothing. I stole and lied and became a master thief for nothing. I let him insult me, and hit him, and ignore me for nothing. I was never going to get the big score, I was never going to be anything but a burden or something he cared about.”

“I still cared for him, and… until he hypnotized me, some stupid part of me thought he cared too. Not a lot but. You know, Dad. He only hypnotizes people he sees as pawns or just idiots.” “And he hypnotized you.” Jade said matter of factly.

“Yeah, he hypnotized me. He could have used me or blackmailed, all conscious and self aware, to do something for him. He knows I’m a good thief, but-”

“He hypnotized you because he’d rather have a controlled pawn than a brilliant master thief of a son.” Jade put in words.

Jay nodded wordlessly, rubbing his face from the tears he felt burn in the back of his eyes but weren’t visible. “I thought I was better than the others, you know.” Jay said, not needing to clarify, “I thought I didn’t care about my dad so I didn’t have nightmares like they did. I was like their big brother.”

He snorted, thinking back to the kids scrounging through the trash cans, “I suck as a big brother but they still think that of me.” “Why do you suck?” Jade asked with genuine curiosity.

“I tell them that if we ever met our parents again, I’d fight for them. I’d pound anyone who hurt them. Villain or royal. But when I faced my dad. An illusion of my dad actually, I froze. Sure, I can say I’ll protect them, but what if when something actually happens, I freeze again? I haven’t done anything to actually help them.”

Jade looked thoughtful, “Well according to Yzla, Yen Sid said that part of helping is just listening and comforting people. And that’s what you do with Mal, Evie and Carlos. You’re a great big brother. As for freezing up. I think you’d fight to defend them. You froze with Jafar because… well it’s harder to fight your family.”

Jay listened, already feeling a weight lift from Jade’s words. Reminding himself that he fought Uma and her crew for his friend’s sake, and he fought Maleficent too back at Coronation. Maybe he wasn’t such an imposter of a big brother as he thought…

“You know, for someone who is getting to Anti Villain Club lessons by letter, you’re pretty good.” Jay nudged her shoulder.

Jade flick a bang back and smiled smugly, “I’m a quick study.”

The settled into comfortable silence, a feeling that was strange to him since he like dbeing as active as possible, but it was also nice. Calm, actually it made him want to fall asleep.

“So what about you? Anything you want to talk about?” Jay asked.

Jade looked like a deer caught in the headlights as the tables flipped to her. She pursed her lips, looked away and then looked back at him, “Nothing much. Just glad we had the chance to talk.” She sounded nonchalant as she answered but Jay could see the little Jade ticks that clued she was lying.

She sounded too carefree which Jay knew Jade never was. She was always looking for an angle.

“What’s in it for you? Why are you so into us talking?” Jay questioned.

“You know, you get it. Living with someone like our parents.” Jade mumbled, playing with the ring on her finger, “Being disappointments. Though I’d rather be hypnotized as punishment than what Mom usually does.”

Jay closed his eyes, the guilty weight came crashing back. He heard the rumors, of course. Nasira’s temper was legendary, and Jade was the best at makeup covering bruises but he hadn’t tied it together. Or at least he did, but shrugged it off since so many of them dealt with the blows given by their parents. There was no need to check on her.

Jade was Jade. She was tough, she was fine.

But the abuse did bother her. Just like everyone else. She lied that she was fine.

And Jay fell for that lie just like everyone else. Hook, line and sinker.

Some prince of lies he was.

“Jade I’m so-”

“Don’t feel guilty about not being a good brother. I never needed you as a brother.” Jade shoved him a bit as if physical distance would separate the emotional boundaries they were crossing.

Jay wanted to ask more, to argue that wasn’t true. That if he could have been there for Mal, Carlos and Evie, he could have been there for her too. But he also knew there was no point. It already happened in the past.

“You’re right. But we’ll talk from now on.”

Jade looked at him, straight in the eye, which would have meant something if they both weren’t skilled at lying with direct eye contact.

Jay slipped a gold seashell he pickpocketed from Uma into her hand. Jade smiled and handed him her emerald ring. It was a deal.

“I know you prefer your friends, but if you ever need to, I can be like your fourth option. When you feel like you can’t be a big brother.” Jade murmured.

“Hmm mm,” Jay hummed, admiring the green glint of the ring. No scratches on it. This was genuine jewelary instead of the costume junk that was usually found on the Isle.

“Though I guess I’m your sixth option if you go to Aladdin’s royal brats before me,” Jade laughed and Jay snorted derisively at such an unlikely scenario.

Though he had grown to be patient with royals, those two were still incredibly annoying. Worse so, since their families were interconnected as enemies. Other classmates always asked if he got along with them or if he was going to visit Agrabah, and he’d mutter something noncommittal and leave. He didn’t want to pick a fight with them and bring back all the anti-VK mobs again. He’d rather leave them alone and they do the same.

Though he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to visit Agrabah. He wanted to see the storied bazaar of spices and treasures and millions of other items under the blazing sun. Or the golden dome of the palace. Or parkour on the roofs himself.

But then he’d have to accept the invitation to live in the Sultan’s palace and he wasn’t sure he would survive a week with them without majorly offending someone. Or punching someone.

Aziz was okay. He never brought up the Jafar connection, he didn’t make obvious ploys of aggression like Chad. Aziz even invited Jay to Agrabah himself at Aladdin’s behest. But Jay could see it in his eyes that Aziz wanted Jay to say no. The slight sneer when Jay got the penalty box for aggressiveness or see the tell-tale twinkle of a stolen bracelet slip out of Jay’s pockets that said Aziz fully believed Jay to be his father’s son.

Passive aggressive really which annoyed Jay more since that was such a girl thing to do. If Aziz was an actual man he’d screw the nicieties and fight.

Jordan was more upfront, announcing it to the room when he stole something. Eyes cutting to him expectedly when there was news of a brawl. Outright threatening him if he got near her, her lamp or Aziz.

Yeah, they were not his favorite Auradonians.

So unlike the happily ever after stories of his friends of Evie dating Dough or Carlos romping with the 101 dalmations, he was not on the road to reconciliation with his father’s enemies.

So no Agrabah for him.

He didn’t care. Unlike his dad, he truly didn’t care about their opinions. Except for the missed vacation destination.

Besides, even though he wasn’t befriending Aladdin like others expected. He still had Coach Jenkins as a mentor.

Though it wasn’t quite the same. Coach Jenkins made a conscious effort not to favor one of his athletes over the other. And Jay didn’t feel like inviting himself over to Coach’s family dinners. It would be too awkward. And too pathetic.

Well at least he had Jade. Though it would get some getting used to in thinking of her as someone as family even though they literally were. They had both been so used to the “No Team in I” family philosophy. And then Jay had been consumed by his role as big brother, that he hadn’t felt it right to burden his friends. After all, he was fine compared to them.

But that was going to change, and now, he had a new ally on his side to feel less alone.

#jay #jade #uma #winner’s curse #my fanfic #my fanfiction #disney descendants #chapter twenty three

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dilkirani · 7 years ago

Note

Hey I don't know if you're taking prompts, but consider: Fitzsimmons X Files AU

Whyyyy do I take so long to write, who can say? But hey, I finally wrote an XF AU! (Before we start, for those of you into XF and Fitzsimmons, or just fun tropey FS in general, I highly recommend @itsavolcano‘s Arcadia AU!)

This is an AU based on the X-Files ep Triangle–which after I started writing, I realized works much better on screen because half the fun of that is the singletake camera work…oops.

Anyway, after s2, the monolith transports Jemma not to Maveth but to…a ship in the Bermuda Triangle! In *gasp* 1939! Much of the dialogue and general story comes from this episode, but genderswapped. (*featuring an extra scene at the end because Mulder and Scully waited to kiss until season *seven* and I’m not about that life anymore.)

thanks to @itsavolcano for the beta and special shoutout to @the-nerdy-stjarna for German translation help, even though she has to translate all the time.

Read at AO3! beginning below:

Jemma gasps, suffocating on saltwater, her lungs heavy and burning. She’s waterlogged and dizzy with déjà vu, but instead of Nick Fury lifting her to salvation, rough hands claw at her, shoving her onto a hard, biting surface.

“Fitz,” she chokes, terrified she’s failed, that this time the sea really has stolen him away. She struggles to sit up, but her bones feel like slabs of concrete weighing her down. She can barely even breathe, let alone summon the strength to properly analyze the situation.

“Oh, she’s alive? Good, let’s get her intel and toss her back overboard.”

“Maybe she’s just out for a nice swim,” another voice replies and a chorus of men laugh and jeer.

“You some Mata Hari, sweetheart? Sprechen sie Deutsch?” A boot kicks at her ribcage and she groans, attempting to roll away and not quite succeeding.

Dimly, she registers their accents as British. Now that her initial panic at once again nearly drowning has started to subside, she remembers the door to the containment unit opening and the monolith liquefying. Had it somehow transported her off the coast of England? What a relief, honestly; in that case, she just needed to find a phone and everything would be sorted. It was probably the best possible outcome.

Someone grips her shirt and jerks her up by the collar. “How about another dip in the Atlantic?” he sneers.

Jemma kicks her legs against the men feebly, accomplishing nothing. “No, wait—” she pleads, before breaking off into a coughing fit.

“Sorry, love, we don’t take too kindly to spies aboard.”

“I’m not—no, my name is Jemma Simmons, I’m not a spy. I’m uh…I’m not here to spy. I have ID!” She gestures weakly to her pocket and someone pulls out her SHIELD lanyard, tossing it to his companion.

“SHIELD? Never heard of it. Sounds like a spy agency.”

“Right, a comic book one maybe.”

The men lift her again, but she manages to twist her upper body free. “You’ve never heard of SHIELD?” she asks, incredulous. Certainly the whole Hydra takeover had made the news, even if they had been on a ship for the past year or so.

“They train you with that accent in Germany? Think we’ll fall for a pretty bird from home? Or are you a spineless traitor?” The man speaking advances, crushing her arm tightly, and she cries out in shock.

“This has been a terrible misunderstanding,” she attempts. “I’m not from Germany, I’m from Sheffield. I was…something happened and I was transported here.”

There’s a brief pause and then the men burst into loud, dangerous-sounding howls. “The Führer must be desperate, sending you. What kind of spy can’t come up with a believable lie?”

#Fitzsimmons #fsfic #fstag #thefitzsimmonsnetwork #leopold fitz #jemma simmons #AU #happy endings abound #don't question the science #we all know it's shady in the x-files anyway #so many monoliths #and ignore timelines with the appearance of certain agencies #let’s just suspend a lot of disbelief thanks #otp: you're more than that #reply #jewishfitz #rani writes things

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mariaiscrafting · 3 years ago

Text

Thanks for giving me a reason to procrastinate on my essay, man <3

> The majority of the active members on the Minecraft server did not agree with the ban, as exemplified by the majority of them leaving/getting banned afterwards. NuclearWolf was possibly the only recently active member who the server might have gotten “ruined” for. Every single other person either hasn’t played in weeks (bread, his friend, you, tobstarix, etc.), or left for our new server.

> The 18- rule was knowingly broken, and yet he was neither verbally or in words warned after that, the mods just went with it and acted like he was an exception. This is not to mention that he was ~17.9 years old, not a literal child; that another 18- player was active for a few days while one of the mods refused to confirm their age until smarcos did; and smarcos implied in his post, after us leaving the server, that there were several other players suspected of and banned for being less than 18 (which was blatantly untrue).

> Again, the player stopped joking about French hate after he was told to stop.

> The server owner literally was open about and shared his drug usage with the banned player in the first place. For him to so openly and casually talk about it and then get offended when someone reciprocates that casuality is not inherently wrong, but to take that as a reason for a ban without having directly confronted the player and told him to stop, is immature.

> I was actually on the call when the player first met that admin you claim was mocked and bullied, and not only did that admin begin and reciprocate the joking banter between them, the thing that actually got the admin angry and hurt was him insulting him playing League of Legends. I’m sorry, but if you consider being told League is a shit game and that no one should play it as being “mocked and bullied,” then I truly was right to call the mods weak-willed and spineless.

> Literally when? If you are referring to the “jah beat his wife” copypasta, then you clearly a) do not know how critical this member has been in vc about musical artists who are excused for domestic abuse, or b) understand how copypastas work

> What are you even talking about?

> Again, others have made sexual jokes in this server frequently because they are supposed to be 18+. Not only did the person this person called Mommy laugh at and reciprocate the jokes, she herself has asked people things like about their dick size, sex life, etc. Jokes about sexuality, virginity, kinks, fetishes, etc., were frequent and generally casual. The only times they actually were borderline harrassment, actually, was in comments made by the mods towards several women on the server, that were eventually brushed off by those women because of how uncomfortable they felt.

> You cannot deign to assume someone’s identity, and as such, deign to assume if they are allowed to make genuinely non-derogatory jokes about queerness. I and others joked about gay women, queers, etc., frequently, and we were openly queer, so it was assumed okay. Make your own, educated conclusions from that Nemo.

> The difference is that, not only do I “bully” people I find endearing in my life frequently as a sign of affection, I openly let this man know that. I frequently apologized for going too far sometimes, I frequently let him know publicly and in DMs that he was wanted in conversations and on the server, and I liked listening to his thoughts and didn’t dismiss his opinions. There is a diference between teasing someone while they know that you still care about them, and straight-up just mocking or teasing without any of that rapport or friendship first built up.

> I DMd several mods asking if it is considered a direct usage of a racist slur for a white person to call another white person white slurs, and they actually agreed that it is not. Therefore, the usage of “cracker” is not racist or offensive unless someone it was being directed at openly said they found it so (which they never did). Not only that, but several other people have called each other slurs or posted memes with slurs, and have not been warned or anything for it. The MC owner was actually in the VC while I and another Latina talked about Latino slurs and evenly jokingly called each other some, and said absolutely nothing. You cannot begin to pretend that this was anything less than a white person specifically getting offended by the word “cracker” and then throwing a tantrum over it.

> I will add that this snap and the discussion of drugs was in the context of several jokes and casual discussions about addiction, ranging from addiction to energy drinks to alcoholism. Fuck off.

> No, that man is not my boyfriend, that is the boyfriend of another woman. Literally the only thing my boyfriend has ever said in the server chat is “lol get fucked.” Lol get fucked Nemo

> You claim I have a lack of maturity, but before all of this occurred, several of us reached out to mods, tried to reason with them, etc. Admittedly, some people, such as J3d, devolved to trolling them. But most of us talked to them in VC, DMs, and in public server chat in good faith, but they eventually shut discussion down completely. So we decided to leave, but to fuck up their server in retaliation before doing so. I never claimed this action had any maturity or wasn’t childish. In conversations with each other, we openly admit that it was immature and childish. But we are secure in the knowledge that not only was it our absolutely last resort, but we weren’t the ones with responsibilities towards impartiality or maturity- the server owners and mods did.

> Age wrong.

> Don’t worry, I will “show our asses” to the world soon enough, as I took screenshots of everything before leaving. Don’t worry your little head, Nemo <3

> The warning, again, was the word “sus”. This is not a warning.

> I will say that most of the work destroyed on the server was actually done by almost every single person who has left. I’m not kidding. The only thing of yours I messed up was your spawn path and bridge, which took you 30-60 minutes to build. Almost every single other thing, from spawn island to shops to the nether hub to nether paths, was built by myself or others who have left.

In conclusion, cry about it, whitey

I seriously need to make a don't stop the party video for this Beyond SMP bullshit.

A summary, for all of your entertainment:

White people said "cracker" is a slur and got offended

"Mayo monkeys" was also used, which is the funniest slur I've ever heard

But for some reason, they genuinely got mostly offended by "cracker"

The server owner sent a video of him doing ketamine to an 18 y/o, then got offended when he called him a ketamine addict

After one of the most beloved figures on the server (the capitalist 18 y/o guy) got banned, we started planning a coup

I blew up spawn, the server owner's base, and the nether hub 10 minutes before the server restart, so no one noticed in time and they have no backup without the destruction

MC server has been down for hours now. Spawn is patched up poorly

I post a rant calling everyone out, leave the Discord right after

My boyfriend tells them to get fucked and gets banned. Two others reply to me and get banned. Like six to eight other people get banned just by association, without saying or doing anything

Everyone's Discord statuses are now variations of "fuck British people" and "fucking crackers"

The guy who owns the actual MC server is gonna jump ship, so they will have no one to host the server for the next season

One of the mods "accidentally" deleted the last six days of general chat messages

In conclusion, white people crying, 90% of their active userbase left, and even the guy who runs the MC server is going to leave. All that is left are the 2 British mods who started this whole mess, a couple of their friends from uni, 2 mods who are confused and not involved, 1 salty active player who is being a bitch about it, 1 active player who has no idea what's going on, and a variety of inactive members.

Coup successful 👍🏼

#beyond smp (derogatory)#.txt #discourse #/neg #dont message or reply to me again

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