#it is a shame marvel will likely not have many projects with the same care put into them

[nevermindirah]

Do you have any thoughts on the use of AAVE for Nile (or lack thereof) in TOG fanfiction? I've been reading some Book of Nile fic and some writers seem to write her as a Millennial™ (using words like "fave" and "woke") but never acknowledge her Blackness in her patterns of speech. I know we don't see her use as much AAVE in the films, but I would argue she's in situations where code-switching would be valued (first in a "professional" environment in the army, then around a group of non-Black strangers).

Hi anon! I have many thoughts on this and I'm honored you asked me! But I should start by saying I'm white and any thoughts Black fans and especially Black American fans have on this that they want to share would be beyond lovely. (I'm not gonna tag anybody bc that feels rude but please add onto this post if any of y'all see this and want to!)

The main reason I personally avoid AAVE for Nile in my own fics is because I'm not Black. But Nile-centric fics by Black writers tend to avoid using much of it too, at least from what I've noticed/understood, and my guess is it's largely for the reason you mention, that she's in situations that encourage code-switching.

In movie canon Nile is highly competent at tailoring her language to each situation she finds herself in. This fantastic linguistics analysis meta shows how skillfully Nile chooses her vocabulary and grammar to meet her goals with different conversation partners in different contexts. In comics canon Nile had a bunch of different civilian jobs before joining the Marines, so she would've had experience code-switching in the ways that made sense for all those different contexts as well as the Marines and her family and high school and wherever else she spent her time before we met her. And now she's spending her time with a handful of immortals none of whom are native English speakers and a fellow Black American but one with a Queen's English UK accent whose professional experience is in the CIA where high-status code-switching is often an absolute must for success or even survival.

Fics featuring Nile are charged with extrapolating from that to how it might show up in her use of language that she's coping with a traumatic separation from her family and her career and pretty much everything she's ever known and now she needs to be able to make herself understood to people who seem to care about her and each other but are super duper in crisis, three (soon to be four) of whom predate Modern English entirely and the only one who's anywhere near her contemporary she's not supposed to talk to for a century. All of these people are telling her that pretty much any contact with any mortals poses an existential threat to her and the rest of the group. How the FUCK is she supposed to cope with that, like, generally? And would it be a more effective way for her to cope if she talked to Andy Joe and Nicky using the speech patterns that she used to use with her mom and brother, to at least retain that part of her identity even if it means having to do a lot of explaining, or would it meet her needs better to prioritize Andy Joe and Nicky understanding what she means with her words over using the particular words and grammar forms she used with her family?

I've seen several fics, both Nile-centric / BoN and otherwise, explore this a little bit in how/whether Nile uses Millennial™ speak. It's often a theme in Nile texting Booker despite the exile because of the popular headcanon that he as The Tech Guy is the only other immortal who understands memes. But Nile's much-younger-than-Booker mom probably uses Boomer and/or Gen X memes and Andy has been adapting to new communication styles for forever as evidenced by her canon high level of fluency with standard-American-accented English.

Which brings us back to people avoiding AAVE because they're not Black and they don't want to make mistakes (or they're not Black and they don't want to get yelled at for making mistakes, though I think many people overestimate how much they'll get yelled at while underestimating how much these mistakes can hurt). I can imagine some Black fans hold back from using much AAVE in fic because they don't want to share in-group stuff with white people who are likely to then adopt and ruin it, as white people so often do with Black cultural stuff. Some links about this including a great Khadija Mbowe video. I'm saying this gently, anon, because you might not know: woke, an example you cited as Millennial™ speak, is AAVE, and that's gotten erased by so many white people appropriating it and using it incorrectly online.

And also there's the part where fandom is a hobby and you never know when you're reading a fic that's the very first thing someone's ever written outside of a school assignment. This cultural considerations of language shit takes a level of effort and skill that not everybody puts into every fic, or even could if they wanted to because they haven't had time to build their skills yet. It's definitely easier for non-Black fans to project our millennial feels onto Nile than to do the layers of research and self-reflection it requires to depict what Blackness might mean to Nile, and it's not surprising that often people sharing their hobby creations on the internet have gone the easier route. There's not even necessarily shame in doing what's easier. It's just frustrating and often hurtful when structural white supremacy means that 3-dimensional Black characters are rare in media and thoughtful explorations of them in fandom are seen by the majority of fans as not-easy to make and therefore Nile Freeman, the main character in The Old Guard (2020) dir. Gina Prince-Bythewood, has the least fic and meta and art made about her of our 5 main immortals.

I've been active in different fandoms off and on for twenty years and I barely managed to write 5,000 words about Sam Wilson across multiple different fics in the 7 years since I fell in love with him. There's an alchemy to which characters we connect with, and on top of that which characters we connect with in a way that causes us to create stuff about them. Something about Nile Freeman finally tipped me over the edge from a voracious reader to a voracious writer. It's not for me to judge which characters speak to other individuals to the level of creating content about them, but I do think it's important for us to notice, and then work to fight, the pattern where across this fandom as a whole Nile gets way less content, and way less depth in so much of the content that's in theory about her, than any of these other characters.

Anyway, back to language. My two long fics feature Nile with several Black friends — Copley and OCs and cameos from other media — but all of those characters except Alec Hardison from Leverage aren't American. It's very possible I'm guilty of stereotyping Black British speech patterns in I See Your Eyes Seek a Distant Shore. I watched hours and hours of Black haircare YouTube videos in the research for that fic and I modeled my OCs' speech patterns on what I heard from some of those YouTubers as well as what I've heard people like John Boyega and Idris Elba saying in interviews, but the thing about doing your best is you still might fuck up.

I'm slowly making progress on my WIP where Nile and Sam Wilson are cousins, and what ways of talking with a family member might be authentic for Nile is a major question I need to figure out. For that, I'm largely modeling my writing choices on how I hear my Black friends and colleagues talking to each other. I haven't overheard colleagues talking in an office in a long-ass time, but back when that was a thing, I remember seeing a ton of nuance in the different ways many of my Black colleagues would talk to each other. Different people have different personalities! And backgrounds! And priorities! A few jobs ago my department was about 1/3 Black and we worked closely with Obama administration staff many of whom were Black and there was SO MUCH VARIETY in how Black people talked to each other, about work and workplace-appropriate personal stuff, where I and other white coworkers could hear. There are a few work friends in particular who I have in my head when I'm trying to imagine how Sam and Nile might talk to each other. From the outside looking in, God DAMN is shit complicated, intellectually and interpersonally and spiritually, for Black people who are devoting their professional lives to public service in the United States.

One more aspect of this that I have big thoughts on but I need to take extra care in talking about is the idea of acknowledging Nile's Blackness in her patterns of speech. There's no one right way to be Black, and Nile's a fictional character created by a white dude but there are plenty of real-life Black Americans who don't use much or even any AAVE, for reasons that are complicated because of white supremacy. (Highly highly recommend this video by Shanspeare on the harms of the Oreo stereotype.)

Something that's not the same but has enough similarity that I think it's worth talking about is my personal experience with authenticity and American Jewish speech patterns. My Jewish family members don't talk like they're in The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, and I've known lots of people who do talk that way (or the millennial version of it), some of whom have questioned my Jewishness because I don't talk that way. That hurts me. Sometimes when another Jew tells me some shit like "I've never heard a Jew say y'all'd've," I can respond with "well now you have asshole, bless your Yankee-ass heart," because the myth of Dixie is a racist lie but I will totally call white Northerners Yankees when they're being shitty to me for being Southern, and this particular Jew fucking revels in using "bless your heart" with maximum polite aggression, especially with said Yankees. But sometimes I don't have it in me to say anything and it just quietly hurts having an important part of me disbelieved by someone who shares that important part of me. The sting isn't quite the same when non-Jews disbelieve or discount my Jewishness, but that hurts too.

Who counts as authentically Jewish is a messy in-group conversation and it doesn't really make sense to explain it all here. Who counts as authentically Jewish is a matter of legal status for immigration, citizenship, and civil rights in Israel, and it's my number 2 reason after horrific treatment of Palestinians that I'm antizionist. But outside that extremely high-stakes legal situation, it can just feel really shitty to not be recognized as One Of Us, especially by your own people.

It can also feel really shitty to be The Only One of Your Kind in a group, even if that group is an immortal chosen family who all loves each other dearly. Sometimes especially in a situation like that where you know those people love you but there are certain things they don't get about you and will never quite be able to. I'm definitely projecting at least a little bit of my "lonely Jew who will be alone again for yet another Jewish holiday" stuff onto Nile when at the end of I See Your Eyes Seek a Distant Shore she's thinking about being the only Black immortal and moving away from the community she'd built with a mostly-Black group of mortals in that fic. Maybe that tracks, or maybe that's fucked up of me.

Basically, this got very long but it's complicated, writing about experiences that aren't your own takes skill which in turn takes time and practice to build, writing about experiences not your own that our society maligns can cause a lot of harm if done badly, it can also cause a lot of harm when a large enough portion of a fandom just decides to nope out of something that's difficult and risky because then there's just not much content about a character who deserves just a shit ton of loving and nuanced content, people are individuals and two people who come from the exact same cultural context might show that influence in all kinds of different ways, identity is complicated, language is complicated, writing is hard, and empathy and humility and doing our best aren't a guarantee of avoiding harm but they do go a long way in helping people create thoughtful content about a character as awesome and powerful and kind and messy and scared and curious and WORTHY as Nile Freeman.

[retvenkos]

to dance among the stars | c.b.

Bridgerton - Colin Bridgerton x Fem!Reader, fluff requested by @musicallisto

tw: talk of marriage

word count: 1.4k

prompt: “Dance with me?”

A/N: I started writing.... forgot i had a prompt to fit in... decided to just keep going and hope for the best.  i feel like that meme “it’s not much, but it’s honest work.”

Summary: (Y/n) hated dances and balls, but if there was anyone who could change their mind, it would be Colin Bridgerton.

(Y/n) laughed into the clear night air, throwing her head back in blissful happiness, unaware of the way that Colin Bridgerton looked at her - as though his whole life was in her smile. A clement wind greeted the two on their stroll, allowing the music from the nearby ball to drift toward them, a sound much more soft and inviting now that there was distance between the two and the dance floor.

“You, Colin, will be the death of me,” (Y/n) said, her words like a happy sigh, a gentle ending to her enjoyment of his presence.

“The death of you? I thought I heroically saved you from having to entertain suitors all evening,” he teased, straightening his jacket dramatically, as though they were in one of (Y/n)’s novels - the kind with epic romances and gruesome battles. (Y/n) scoffed, swatting him on the shoulder. “I am your knight in shining armor, aren’t I?”

“Well, yes—” Colin chuckled, earning a smile “—but I saved you from your mother. She’s been looking for a project now that Daphne’s entertaining the prince, is she not?”

“My mother is always looking for something.” Colin rolled his eyes. “I’m sure I won’t be properly saved until I marry some girl from the ton.”

“Oh.” Colin’s words ushered in an awkward lapse of silence that had both of them turning away from each other, taking a sudden interest in their shoes. They slowed their walk to a stop, and the breeze drifted between them, as though pushing them apart.

It was silly that something like a wayward comment could reduce them to silence, but the future lay within that statement - a future fast approaching and terrifying in its weight. The ton was designed for marriage. Here, at these balls and parties, both of them were supposed to find someone to marry - to bind themselves to another for the rest of their lives.

Another couple walked past the two and (Y/n) watched them go, disappearing into the evening - perhaps to dance among the stars.

“Well... is there someone who’s caught your eye?” (Y/n) fidgeted with her gloves as she spoke, not entirely sure she wanted to hear the answer. Colin had always been a flirt, and his romantic tendencies had always been something (Y/n) both admired and teased, and yet to know if his heart truly lied with one of them was the very thing she wanted least. Being out here with Colin - away from everyone else and anything that might stand between them - was the only thing that made the ton worthwhile. All else paled in comparison to these moments seemingly stolen from the flow of time, where they were two souls together, walking the same path for a brief while, hearts close enough to touch.

To have them be taken away would be too much of a heartache. Worse than anything she could fathom.

Colin looked at (Y/n) with his brow furrowed. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, (Y/n) took hold of the conversation once more.

“Perhaps Marina Thompson? She was quite popular before she fell ill. Will you be the one to ask for her hand, at the end of the season?”

“Miss Thompson is a fine girl, but... no.” (Y/n) looked up abruptly and met Colin’s blinking stare. Even when baffled there was something light about him - kind and caring - it tugged on her heart more than she cared to admit. “I would much rather wait than make a hasty match.”

“Hasty?” (Y/n) stifled a laugh, the mature word - not at all like the Colin she knew - bringing humor back into the conversation. Colin was forcing down a blush, his cheeks warming in color, like roses beneath his skin.

“I just mean I want to love my wife before we get married, instead of having to force feelings after the fact.”

(Y/n) smiled, taking a step closer to lock arms with Colin once more. “I hope you get to.”

The two resumed their walk, never going too far from the festivities to be considered improper, but managing to stay well away from anyone else. Colin admired the way that (Y/n) looked under the night sky - her beauty something wholly unique to her, and yet perfectly matched to the darkening sky. In the light of her eyes lay all the beauty of the cosmos, and in her smile lay all the thrills of the world. All the universe was captured in her essence, and Colin knew that all of his longing for travel could be satiated with a single touch; a kiss from (Y/n) could carry all of the wonders of the world, and no matter how many times he visited her touch, he would never lose his wanderlust.

(Y/n) fixed him with a look, as though they could sense that his thoughts rested with them.

Colin cleared his throat. It was one thing to care for (Y/n) - it was quite another to admit he had fallen in love. “What about you? Surely you’ve found a suitor who is the least bit exciting?”

“They think themselves exciting, if that is answer enough,” (Y/n) sighed, looking at Colin through the corner of her eye. “But truly Colin, having to entertain them is the worst part about these dances.”

"Even worse than dancing? I know you avoid getting out on the floor like it’s the plague.”

“Because when you’re on the dance floor, you’re trapped! That’s when entertaining suitors is at its worst.” Colin chuckled at (Y/n)’s words. “If I had a choice, I would come to these balls and the only man I would dance with is you.”

“Me?”

(Y/n) nodded.

Colin paused and they drew to a halt so he could better marvel at the woman before him. “If you had your choice in the matter, wouldn’t you rather avoid the dance floor altogether?” 

“No,” (Y/n) said, dipping her head with a look that said she had spoken too much but was too fond of what she said, and not keen on taking it back. “I suppose I would like to dance with you.”

You’d dance with me?”

(Y/n) scoffed. “Well, I know you enjoy it.” 

And around them, the world was hushed. The voices and sounds of the nearby ball were drowned out by the thumping of their hearts. Colin looked at (Y/n) and saw them so clearly, he was almost taken aback. How could one be so beautiful that their existence shamed a sky full of stars?

“Dance with me, then?”

He spoke before he acted, but it wasn’t long before his hand was outstretched, waiting for (Y/n) to take it.

“Right here?” But her hand was already resting in his, her smile bright and warm. "There's no music."

"Then come a few steps this way." Colin pulled her a few paces closer to the ball. (Y/n) chuckled as Colin tugged on her arm, guiding them nearer. He put a finger on his lips to shush her, causing (Y/n) to roll her eyes, smiling all the while. The soft lilt of music was slightly louder, here, but still distant enough that they had to be silent to hear the beat. Colin took a step closer, and although there were still enough space between them and enough bystanders around for their actions to be considered proper, there was an intimacy in the moment to make (Y/n)’s cheeks heat up.

"Is it loud enough for you to hear?” Colin whispered.

"It's perfect."

Adjusting his hand in hers, Colin led (Y/n) into a dance, smiling at her in a way that could only be described as lovestruck. His entire being was in awe of her as they spun around each other, like the moon in orbit of the earth. There was something heavenly in (Y/n)’s eyes, and when the song ended, the light in them did not fade.

“I love you,” Colin breathed, the words falling out of his mouth before he had the time to realize he had said them. It was the purest of admissions, one he hadn’t planned or even dreamed of admitting until the very moment he said it. “I-I love you,” he repeated, as though he needed to affirm the truth.

“Colin, I love you, too.” And all the world was in their smile, once again, all of the universe seemingly wrapped up in their blissful words. 

Colin let out a laugh that was almost a joyful sigh, and in his eyes were stars - constellations that burned brighter than the sun. He took (Y/n)’s gloved hand and kissed it, wishing it could be something more.

“Perhaps you will dance with me more often, then.”

“At every ball we attend.”

  -- taglist: @findmeintheafterglow, @prttybitchin​ // message me if you want to be added!

[meat-pvppet]

A Chemist Past His Due (TW for Gun Violence and Gore)

If you were to describe today, it would be a train wreck. More than that actually. A disaster. 

Yes, that's how the man would describe it. The rainy night weighed heavy on the chemist's eyelids, the building silent and empty-- well, mostly. 

Hank Hyde replays the day over and over in his weary head, packing up his things from his office--or what was previously his office-- as a terse thin line played on his lips. He mumbled to himself as he looked over the office that was no longer for him to use, and a mix of frustration and shame settled into his stomach.

He couldn't believe the indignity of it all! He was fired. Just before he could finish his magnum opus. A sour taste develops in his mouth as he thinks of those indignant spoiled twins; to make him work day and night...for nothing, it felt unfair. And yet...he feels he could have finished it sooner. Faster. Maybe if he had finished the serum, Hank could've kept the job. Maybe if he had finished fast enough, Radigan would be in Hyde's position--not like he thought the man deserved it, but considering how the Mann brothers are...maybe, maybe...but he relents. Now is too late to muse over what could have been.

With a sigh, he takes up all his personal belongings and heads to the laboratory. As he walked, he brought his left hand up to his face, burnt and gnarled from clumsy spills at around this time of night. Had he really sacrificed so many precious seconds of his own life to extend the life of two feuding brothers? And for what? Money? Hank didn't want to think about it, pressure just behind his eyes building as a headache started to settle in. He closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. It's probably not that bad to be fired from Mann Co. Someone else should be interested in his project, surely. Who wouldn't want to live forever? 

The man pauses for just a second at that thought.

One beat. Two. Three...

Would being able to live forever really be something one would want? What about those around them? Those they love? They'd be forced to watch them all wither away, so what was the point of it all?

...Five. Six-

Hank coughs, that's quite enough philosophical internal monologs...

And with that, Hyde continues his trek to the laboratory.Busting through the sterile white double doors, he walks straight to his unfinished masterpiece. A grin crept its way up his features as he came upon it. It was none other than a glinting amber liquid, shining in its clear vial as the chemist inspects it for visual imperfections. Lovely and clear still. Wonderful. He mused over his creation for a moment. The serum, in theory, works by stimulating rapid cell reproduction, keeping one’s body from aging and eliminating the risk of organ failure. A marvellous concept really. A comfortable warmth settle in his chest, pride flowing freely into his blood as he packed the vial away.

Who cared if he was now unemployed? He has his current research and work. He can show some other big shots the miracle elixir he's made. He'd be able to squeeze funding out of any power hungry son of a bitch to develop whatever he wanted. This thought cheers him up significantly, already making up a plan to market himself and his work as he happily tucks away several other suspiciously vialed liquids. He had bought them himself with the money that was given to him so it was, by all accounts, his (and even if it wasn't, were those dimwit brothers going to care?). 

He worked his ass off for that job. He was working on the serum, mostly on his own seeing as he did not trust those around him. And if he did, he would dare say that fat pigs would fly. By all accounts, he deserved to keep the work and research he has poured years of his life into. A bit before Radigan Conagher was on board. Not to say he was in bad terms with the man, no. There was a mutual understanding; they were working for the brothers, working to the same miracle. Radigan had worked just as hard as Hank did, yet the latter of the two was being kicked off the project. It still pisses him off. Obviously it would. 

Hank tries not to let it dampen his mood as he carefully, methodically arranged the fragile vials in a bag. Wouldn't want them to break and mix together into something completely unusable, he thinks.

Satisfied with how he has packed his things, he checks the time on his worn watch. He looks disapprovingly down at its face as it reads '12:50 AM'. He probably should get going...

With a roll of his shoulder and a pop of his spine, he grabs what he's packed and starts for the exit. Looking down the staircase, he stares daggers into the steps as if they would become any easier to climb all the way down. He was carrying some pretty hefty and fragile luggage, plus he was rather tired, physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. He didn't have the patience to appreciate such obstacle at 12:54 AM after getting fired.

With a drag of his feet, he goes down the winding stairwell. "You do, because you must" says a distant memory. That damned phrase--it always gets him into things he didn't want to do. But he must. So he does.

And so, Hank Hyde has a rather tiresome climb down the staircase, careful as he carries his precious belongings. Down. Down. Down...

And the crisp air of the night spray wakes him up. Finally outside, he sets his bags down and huffs just a bit. A little roll of his shoulders and neck, then it's time to get back to taking everything away from his ungrateful ex-employer. It was a long way to go until he gets back to the private clinic that he called home. He checks how hard the rain was pouring down. A pleasant, soft, and chilling drip hits his skin as he holds his hand out. He think he could probably do without an umbrella as he took to his bags and started a careful jog. 

It was refreshing. The rain, cool on his skin as it beats softly against him. It reminds him that he is, in fact, alive. That he was there, in the moment. Sure, the moment was that of Hank Hyde running through the light drizzle with heavy bags on either sides of his stoat frame after getting fired from the most luxurious job he's had until then. It did not change the feeling though. The feeling that he is very much there and real. 

Hank thrives there. In the now. No worries of the past or future. Just, what was happening now. And what WAS happening now is a brisk walk home to a stiff bed that he would disappear in if he could. God he's tired.

Familiar buildings pass him by as he comes upon his workshop of sorts. "Hyde Pharmaceutical" the sign greeted, the Rod of Asclepius just underneath. Finally, he breathes. He stands on the porch, out of the rain and out of the cold. He unlocks the door and enters, breathing in the familiar scent of cleaning solution and old paper. 

The storefront was simple, with glass cabinets filled with various medicines from vitamins to ointments to pills of all uses. In front of him, a counter with a glass window, showcasing more products. Atop it was a scale, papers, pens, and a small cash register, while behind it was another large glass cabinet and a locked door. He unlocks the counter shutters and settles his bags down to study the table. Nice and tidy as usual, not even a bit of dust left on the counter. Not a thing out of place.

With a slight quirk of his lip, he takes up his bags again and comes up to another door. Unlocking it reveals the short staircase up to his study that doubled as his bedroom. Quickly, like a thief in the night, he dashed up the steps.

It was dark in the room, but he was familiar enough with it to find his place within the shadows. Desks of various apparatuses, vials, papers, and books line the left wall to greet him. His writing desk, with his chair still pushed in, sat with its side to the window. A bed lies on the opposite side of the desks. A soft blanket contrasts the rigid mattress. 

The air is heavy with old paper and iron. A tired sigh is all that breaks the silence as he settles his baggage by the door. He rolls his shoulders and his neck, pops his spine, and stretches his arms. He can finally rest, perhaps make some tea for himself...if bills allowed him. He could probably ponder over having a bath--

Knock...knock...knock--

A groan falls from his lips, pinching the bridge of his nose, irritated. Who in their right mind was at his door at this time of night.

"Who is it?!", he calls from up the stairs as he comes down. "Whatever you want, it better be an emer--"

BANG! BANG!

Shock and a pause. His ears are ringing. A sharp white hot burning pain punches through two different points in his abdomen. Hank stumbles back a bit, his hands flailing to put pressure on one point. He lets out a hiss as moisture starts to seep through his shirt. Blood falls from his lips. His eyes fall upon an unfamiliar men, dressed in a black hat and matching coats. He can't quite see their faces due to the lowlight of the night, but he can make out the red ribbon on the man's hat. He stumbles back, and hits the wall. It feels like hell. Those lousy brothers, he thinks, the audacity of those two is astounding. More blood. 

Ah, wait a moment. Voices...

"--Mann didn't want you slippin' away, Hyde!" The man had a cocksure grin on his face as he pocketed his pistol. 

"Nothing personal, doc, but a job's a job, and I'm not gonna slip up like last time!"

The shadow of a man laughed as he walked out of the door. "Redmond Mann send their regards."

Bastard. The lot of them.

Hank's legs seem to give once they leave, body moving to sliding against the wall to sit on the wooden flooring. Shit, he hissed to no one. He has at least a minute or two before he dies of blood loss. His head is reeling, trying to find something that could help from his position. He has bandages upstairs but the internal damage is too far gone for him to take care of it himself, and help isn't coming at...he checks his watch, splattered with blood. 1:34 AM. 

He doesn't have a lot of options here. Hissing, he tries to clamber up the steps. If he's going to die, he should at least try to prolong his time until then. Blood is sticky and warm on his cold hands as he tries to stand upright, still holding onto one of his wounds. His body protests the movement, but he has to push on. Sticky burgundy handprints start to line the wall as he goes up the seemingly never ending stairs, mumbling expletives and threats down at his feet as if they were going to move faster. 

Once he finally reaches his study again, he stumbles past the bags he left on the floor, sitting on his bed before his legs give out under him. He looks down to assess the damage. His shirt was soaked and there are two points of entry. Right lumbar. Right inguinal. The bullets are still lodged deep in his body and he's losing a lot of blood, making the man uncomfortably chilly at his core. Reaching for the bed side table, he pulls out a medical kit. He doesn't have much time left until he falls unconscious from the blood loss.

Unbuttoning the now ruined shirt, he quickly took bandages and started wrapping them around his lower half. His body protests the movement, the pain seemingly renewed, as he hisses at the empty night air. "You do, because you must" the memory now screams as tears prick his eyes. 

He must try. Stay awake, just for a little while longer, he thought. His bed seems to creak as he tries to lean back and relax. His head is heavy as his mind wanders to the sheets. They are stained with dark vermillion, sticky and ruined. Everything around him, dirtied with his own blood. Red trail from the stairwell, to his bed. Disgusting.  He would start cleaning if his body didn't punish him for moving ever so slightly. The blood dripping from his lips seems to stick to his tongue. 

God, the metallic taste is overwhelming. 

But he needs to keep his eyes open. Black starts to dot his vision. The claws of sleep tries to take it's hold on him. He's so tempted to just rest, sink into his soft, ruined sheets. 

Unconsciously, he shifts and lays with a fuumf of the sheet, eyes to the ceiling. If he remembered to lock the door, perhaps he wouldn't be in such a pathetic position...or perhaps the door would've been part of the casualties. Blinking once, twice, thrice...he tries to breath, tries to calm his heart. He's shaking from the cold and the pain as his consciousness starts to slip from under him. He could hear a far away tap, tap, tap of heels on wood as sleep finally wins him over.

One beat...Two...Three...Fou...r...Fi...v...

Hank gasps awake, choking on air. He's panicking, throat burning and heart practically pounding out of his chest. His thoughts are racing much too fast. Was all of that a nightmare? A figment of his imagination?

As he looks around he finds the very real messy dry blood trail from stairs to bed is present, real. He feels for his stomach and finds the coarse texture of bandages wrapped around his abdomen. There was dried blood all over the sheets under him. This made no sense to the chemist. How is he still--

"Good evening, Doctor Hyde. Finally awake I see." an unfamiliar feminine voice calls from his desks. Nearly jumping out of his own skin, Hank turns to the woman, blowing smoke out of the window to her side. She seems to be wearing a dark dress that reached all the way down to her feet. Her hair was neatly tied into a sophisticated bun. Dark, save for her greying bangs. 

"Who--" 

"It will save much more time if you do not question who I am. It does not concern you. What you ought to be concerned about is the effectiveness of your serum."

The man blinks at the strange woman as she takes a drag of her cigarette. His serum? Hyde pauses for a moment until realization hits him upside the back of his head. His serum.

"So it worked...", Hyde let it sink in. It worked. A quiet chuckle bubbles out of his throat, quickly evolving into something strange and giddy. Pride warms his body, a glint of pure wild determination in his eyes. He was more than elated at this development. So his work wasn't for nothing! What a breakthrough! The man couldn't wait to share this with colleagues, show them that his research has been proven and that his serum worked-- 

"So it did, Doctor Hyde."

His attention snaps back to the woman, who pinches her cigarette between her slender fingers carefully. Her face is lit by nothing but the dim moon and the burning tobacco stick in her hands. She seems to be pleased.

"Now, I would like to propose to you an offer", she turns in her seat to face him with what seems to be a smile. 

[bye-bye-miss-american-pie]

Unpopular opinions on MCU and its fandom ;)

Ahhh this is a hard one! Friendly reminder to take my opinions with a grain of salt. (Edit: this turned out to be long)

On the MCU: Phase Four was a mistake. When the MCU was just about Infinity Stones and the OG Avengers, it was easier to keep a coherent universe and avoid plot holes. Most of the times the problems were just “Where were the Avengers during this world-ending crisis in this stand-alone movie?” or “Why didn’t they use this in that movie?” But now, the world-building of the MCU has become too complicated for directors/writers to create new movies that both offer something new and follow in-universe rules. The Blip. Thanos. Time travel. The legacy of Stark Industries and the Avengers. Post-Endgame MCU isn’t just “the modern-day world with superheroes in it” anymore, but somehow Marvel always ignores this! Yes, we want to see more Peter Parker and Doctor Strange and Thor; and yes, there are still events from the comics (like Secret Wars) that they can adapt, but these stories don’t necessarily have to be limited to a singular universe! It’s not a good thing for the MCU to become like the current state of Marvel comics— complicated and full of retcons and character changes. The Eternals and Shang Chi should have been individual movies separate from the MCU. Far From Home should’ve been the epilogue that ended the main narrative of the Infinity Saga, with the Guardians and maybe Thor getting sequel movies to end their character arcs. (That is not to say TLAT was a good movie) I think Disney forgot that Marvel is a brand, not like, a never-ending ever-branching linear story. You can make an Ironheart series in which Tony Stark is still alive to interact with Riri. You can reboot Spider-Man and people will always come to see it. See what I mean? The connectedness of Marvel movies used to give them charm and character, but now that same quality has become a restriction, and it's ruining many potentially great characters and stories.

(TL;DR: Phase Four bad.)

On the fandom: I think there's been so much discourse and opinions on the MCU fandom that nothing I say will be unpopular. But if I have to say something, it would be that people are too harsh on the fans that choose to only like a certain period in MCU history. There's no shame in only being invested in 2012!Avengers or Phase 1-2. Fans that don't care about/like the new projects are not any less of a fan than those who do.

Well that was long, and if you are still reading this, you have the patience of a saint and I love you. Thanks for the ask anon! 💛

Prompts

[nellie-elizabeth]

The Falcon and the Winter Soldier: One World, One People (1x06)

Oof, okay, so I obviously enjoyed watching this, but I do have some things I would like to discuss.

Cons:

The biggest one is honestly about Isaiah. I understand that this is a superhero show, and there's some cheesiness baked into the very concept of it. I like the idea of a triumphant ending for our heroes, where amends are made and everyone is brought some measure of peace. BUT, I feel like a more nuanced, more true to reality ending here with Isaiah might have been different. Maybe he gives a tip of the hat to Sam, says he's happy he's found his peace, but he still doesn't agree with his choices. See, the thing is, some people who have been hurt by systems want that system to acknowledge its mistake, to apologize, to make amends. That's what Sam is pushing for. He believes we can do better, and all that. And that's a wonderful perspective. But other people who have been hurt by systems might not want anything to do with that system ever again. At the end, when Sam sets up the part of the museum for Isaiah, he says "now everyone will know what you did for this country," and Isaiah seemed pleased and touched by this. But I couldn't help but think... he was forced into doing those things, and then punished for doing them. If he'd decided he didn't want acknowledgment, didn't want to be linked to the idea of American heroism... I couldn't blame him for that. It might have added more nuance to the ending. Sam could have even said that it's okay if he and Isaiah don't agree on the best way forward, they still have mutual respect, or whatever.

As a white lady, maybe I'm off base. I'm just really curious at what the reaction is going to be. All through watching this show I kept saying to myself that an ending where Sam takes up the shield and becomes Captain America can't stand on its own. There's got to be nuance. There's got to be some good justification for it. And as I'll talk about in a moment, I think they've done an okay job... but I also wouldn't be surprised to find some people enormously dissatisfied with this conclusion. Steve Rogers handed the shield to Sam, yes. But should we forget what he did before handing it over? Well, he walked away from the government and was on the run because he didn't respect their choices. Just some food for thought.

I also just want to say: ????? to that ending for John Walker? It was so bizarre to see the light banter moment between him and Bucky after Walker had quoted Lincoln. Like... that felt so out of place. And now he's being made into an American agent? I don't understand that random lady's role in events. I don't know if I'm supposed to think it's sinister and creepy as fuck that John still has a uniform, and even the suggestion of authority (I do think it's creepy as fuck, for the record), or if I'm supposed to be... pleased that he got a new job? Just, tonally, the stuff with Walker in this finale was all over the place. He didn't seem to really matter, and yet he was still there, and the episode didn't seem able to reckon with his presence.

Oh, also, I can totally respect a bit of ham-fisted politic in a show like this. It's really the only way to do it. But Karli saying that Lamar didn't matter, and John saying "you think Lemar's life didn't matter?" was, perhaps, a little on the nose. I'm not sure I like the BLM mouthpiece being blond haired blue eyed John Walker, especially when Lemar's death, at least as a narrative function, only happened to allow John to get sad and angry about it. Where's his wing in the museum, huh?

Also Sharon Carter, she's my girl or whatever, but I gotta admit she was kind of boring to me in this whole series. I wanted more from her. The reveal that she was the Power Broker had me shrugging. I wanted to be more shocked, but she was so clearly telegraphed as being fishy from minute one. The fact is, we haven't had enough time with this character to figure out who she actually is as a person, yet. I don't understand her, and that's a shame.

Pros:

That was a long "cons" section, especially for an episode that kept me riveted the whole way through!

First off, the action was exciting and different and had so many classic "superhero moments" while not totally abandoning a more grounded feel. Sam holding the car up was such a Moment. Also the "that's Black Falcon!" "No, that's Captain America" moment was so cheesy but exactly the right kind of cheesy, you know? We got to see everyone being a bad-ass, crowds applauding, Sam's fantastic entrance with the new suit, the wings, the shield... damn. It was all cool in the way the best Marvel products need to be.

So, Sam taking the shield. I think it works because of his speech to the politicians. Specifically calling out the power they have, and the people they have in the room with them when they make the decisions that will affect so many people. There's this wonderful moment when one of the politicians asks a legitimate question: what about people who came back after the snap to find someone else living in their house? It's so complicated. And as the show ends, we're not given a simple answer. Sam merely points out the miracle of having everyone fighting the same fight for once. These rich and powerful people have had no idea how impossible it can be, and now they're getting a taste of that. There might just be the power of equalizing in all of this.

And most important to me? The government didn't hand Sam the shield. Sam took it and took ownership of it on his own terms. Think back to the legacy of Steve and the shield, honestly. Yes, he was given it by the government, but then he stole it when he ran away, then he gave it up, then Tony gave it back to him... it's a lot more complicated than it might first appear. Nobody's going to argue that the shield was Steve's to give, and he gave it to Sam, and Sam took it for his own. That made it work for me, as a direct contrast to the way in which John Walker got his hands on it.

Karli's death was inevitable and tragic. While I never cared all that much for her character as an individual, she worked quite well as a symbol. Sam points this out in his speech as well. Hasn't anyone stopped to wonder why people believed in this cause so much they were willing to die for it? That matters. It means something. And more will follow. I appreciate that the show ends on an ambiguous note. The people in power are still the people in power. And yes, their decision has been postponed. They've decided not to relocate people and replace the borders immediately. But what is the long-term solution? How does the world begin to heal? Well, we don't know. We don't get to see that.

If anyone got short shrift in this finale it was Bucky, but I'm honestly okay with that for a couple of reasons. One, this is Sam's show and I'm happy that it stayed that way. And two, we saw Bucky's emotional arc come to a head in last week's episode. The work isn't done, but he knows what the work is that he has to do, and we see him start to do that. He gives the journal up to his therapist. A way of letting go of his guilt, but also of saying goodbye to Steve in a way that can give him some actual closure. He confesses to his friend Yuri what really happened to his son.

And more than all of that, he shows up to hang out with Sam and his family. He brings cake. He goofs off with the kids. He hugs his friend, his partner, Sam Wilson. I can see Bucky coming to peace with some things. Coming into his own. It breaks my heart that we don't get to see more of that play out on screen. The show had to make a choice about whose story to prioritize, and in my opinion it made the right choice. This was a show about Sam's journey and Sam's decision here at the end was the capstone of that.

That scene at the end, though... the kids hanging off of Bucky's metal arm was such a poignant image for me, because this man is a killing machine, was designed to be so, but has remade himself into something else, and this moment really showcased that. Also, that gay-ass ending of Sam and Bucky looking out over the water together and then strolling away, Sam's arm around Bucky? Thank you for my life, Disney, I guess. And we got Bucky calling Sam "Cap," and his obvious admiration and pride in him for his speech... I just love them, y'all. I really do.

I wouldn't say anything about this show broke the mold or made me really excited about Marvel again. I enjoyed it, because I already liked Sam and Bucky, and I got to spend more time with them. I was nervous about how they were going to navigate certain political stickiness, and honestly I think they did... an okayish job. I could have wished for them to go even further, but they didn't take the easy way out, in my opinion.

I hope they make more of this someday. Regardless, I'm not ready to say goodbye to Sam Wilson or Bucky Barnes, so I hope we get to see Captain America and the White Wolf grace our screens again in some project or other!

8.5/10

[multisfabulis]

Love’s Descent into Madness

Dethronement (Chapter 3/3)

Word Count: 3627

TW: Graphic depictions of violence, gore, decapitation, and major character death

Happy holidays!

I hope everyone likes the ending because writing this was suffering. Winter decided to come early this year and I absolutely hate the cold so a lot of this was written with numb fingers. The past few days have also been tiring and, because I wanted to get this out before Christmas, I had to pull an all-nighter to finish this and rewrite it to make it look pretty so this was a sleep-deprived fic.

Okay, so I have some things I need to explain:

First off, that line about Ayano needing to apply herself more to her schoolwork was actually a reference to a piece of fanart I saw of Saeru (in disguise as Kenjirou) helping Ayano with her homework and subtly taking digs at her the whole time. I just thought of it while I was writing that paragraph and thought it'd be a neat reference. I can't find the Tweet but I'm hoping someone has a link to it!

Second off, that instance of Kenjirou almost ruining Saeru's plan is a bit of foreshadowing to another Kagepro fic I'm in the works of writing. It may not be the next Kagepro fic I write but it IS coming.

Thirdly, the whole meaning behind Azami not being able to die but still being killed. I know it sounds like the "People die when they are killed" meme but let me explain. I needed to think of a way Azami could still die but without anyone telling me "She's immortal, she can't die" so the way I went about it is, the Queen Snake was what let her be immortal. Because that was the snake that, in my fic, marked her as a god, she couldn't die. Once she gave that snake to Marry, she lost her god status, bringing her down to our level. However, because she was still a Gorgon, I made it so that she couldn't die by natural causes, I.E. starvation, sleep deprivation, etc. She was now an immortal mortal, meaning she couldn't die from natural causes BUT she could now be killed. I don't know if this makes a lot of sense but this is the best way I can describe it.

Finally, the ending. It only occurred to me when I was writing the build-up to it that I wanted to make it a sort of dark twist on Kagepro's themes of moving on after a loved one's death. Saeru decides to move on after Azami's death but he regarded her as dead years ago and was the one to kill her. I don't know if it worked the way I wanted it to but I tried my best.

I'm happy this didn't take that long unlike another past project of mine and I hope everyone who's read this enjoyed it!

Read on AO3 | Read on DA | Support me on Ko-fi!

     The never-ending world, or the Daze as it was now called, had undergone many changes over the years. It was only natural since it was ordered to swallow up any unfortunate souls that were unlucky enough to die on August 15th and the world needed to accommodate for its ever increasing number of occupants. Yet there were some things that never changed, no matter how much time had passed. Absence truly did make the heart grow fonder.

     He was in very familiar territory. Casually strolling through the dark woods revealed a large clearing where a small decrepit house stood. The moon’s radiance acted as if it were a spotlight, shining down upon it to let him know she was here. It may be an inferior replica but there was no mistaking it. Saeru was home.

     It had been several years since his departure from the Daze. The rest of his siblings were gone, having ventured out to the real world in their human vessels and he couldn’t blame them for leaving. Who’d want to stay in a place where the only company you had was a good-for-nothing has-been of a queen? That’s why he followed the example his four siblings set and escaped when the opportunity presented itself. He really wanted to thank them when he had the chance.

     The body he left in was a person by the name of Tateyama Kenjirou. A hardworking teacher and devoted family man, he and Saeru met when he and his wife were caught in a landslide. Saeru promised to bring her back if the man allowed him to reside in his body and he accepted his terms of the bargain. That was how their unlikely partnership began, union between human and snake.

     It felt simply amazing to have a body to control. While it had taken him some time to adapt and familiarize himself with human behavior, he nevertheless reveled in it. No longer was he a snake relegated to devising plans. He had the means to carry them out himself and no one would be none the wiser. At least, that’s what he believed before a certain idiotic girl proved him wrong.

     He had to give her some credit. Not only did she figure out most of his plan just by reading her father’s research but she learned of his existence all due to a small yet sloppy mistake. If she only applied that amount of effort into her schoolwork, then she wouldn’t have been as stupid as she led herself to believe. There was, however, one thing she didn’t take into account.

     She thought killing herself would stop him from going after everyone. What she didn’t think about was the advantage her death would give him. One less person to worry about ruining his plan and she left behind a perfectly traumatized helper. The damn brat was like putty in his hands; a few convincing threats to his precious “family” and a deal with the devil was made.

     But then the dear old professor kept butting into his business. There were several times over the past two years where he came out because he wanted to spend some “quality time” with the remainder of his family. There was one instance he could recall in which his plan was almost thwarted but Saeru was able to take back the reins. It was too easy to pull the wool over his partner’s eyes and trick him into thinking he was dreaming. It wasn’t like he was lying to him, he was just using the information he knew about humans to his benefit.

     Today was when his plan was truly enacted. All the necessary people had arrived, including his traitorous sibling. Konoha, as they were now called, seemed to have forgotten what the humans did to their real family all those years ago and had allied with them. Their compassion for them had its perks, though. It only took one well-aimed bullet to strike them down, leaving them open for a permanent takeover.

     The resulting bloodbath was nothing short of marvelous. Having a body, especially one such as his, meant much more fun and creative ways to play with his toys. Spines breaking as they hit concrete walls and organs hitting the floor with a wet slap was like music to his ears. He even ripped out a pathetic shut-in’s throat with his bare hands just because he could and it was oh so enjoyable to hear him choke on his own blood. Too bad it was over all too soon.

     The crybaby brat was left as the sole survivor. He knew what she was capable of and she was the essential component. Yet, he couldn’t help feeling a small sort of kinship with her, which he found funny. He was, in a way, her subject and she his queen but it felt as if they were equals. Perhaps, if he had her powers, he too could rewind time to the point he would’ve taken a different path. To spend more time with the one he loved above all else… That was a dream best left in the past.

     He decided to leave her be so she’d be able to mourn her losses. He needed to use the little time he had to take care of unfinished business. He fled from the scene by going through the portal she created in the midst of her despair.

     He found himself in what seemed to be a white void. The floor beneath him rippled when his feet touched the surface and he realized he was standing on water. His reflection stared back at him when he cast his eyes downward. The body his sibling graciously gifted to him allowed him to change it however he wanted and he liked the changes he made. A vessel specifically tailored just for him was such a wonderful thing and it was a shame to have to give it up.

     A pair of small black horns stuck out of long dark hair tied into a braid. Black scales painted the edges of his face and eyes, trailing down his neck before concealing themselves under the layers of clothes. He kept his red eyes and fangs from when he was a snake so he’d still be recognizable. Blood coated his hands and stained the only article of pristine white clothing he wore, which he hoped would intimidate his prey. She’d never see this coming.

     Finding an exit out of the void was simple. All he had to do was take a step and he was in an entirely different place. There were an endless amount of stairs and corridors leading to doors, most of what he could see on fire. The heat was surprisingly pleasant as he wandered around the seemingly limitless labyrinth. It was then he spotted a tangle of black hair with a sliver of red hastily entering one of the doors. With a rush of adrenaline running through his veins, he ran towards the door. It had been so long since he played his favorite game of cat and mouse.

     He chased her through many areas of the Daze. One was of a ruined city where the setting sun gave way too many shadows for her to hide in. Another was of an urban landscape, not unlike a major street intersection, where there were dozens of blood splatters decorating the asphalt. It was after he cut across a nighttime city he arrived at his destination.

     Mother was inside. The house she and her wretched human “family” lived and laughed in for the few years they stayed there. It was fitting for her and him to settle their issues in the same place their troubles began. She’ll regret leaving behind the ones that truly loved her.

     He walked up to the house. Overgrown grass crept over the foundation and ivy crawled all along the flaky walls. There were broken shards of glass inside the windows, which would make it hard for trespassers to sneak in without alerting anyone. Parts of the roof had collapsed inward and the front door was hanging on by a thread. Mother’s really let the place go, hasn’t she?

     He stopped just before the door. How did he want to approach this? She had to know he was here so there was no need in being stealthy. He then did the next best thing, which was to kick the door down till he was inside. He smashed through it, reducing it to mere splinters. That was easy.

     The room he was in now was the same room he proposed the idea of creating this world to Mother. It was empty, save for a few pieces of overturned furniture scattered about the place and debris from the roof. Moonlight shone down from above, illuminating the room, though it wasn’t necessary. He could see perfectly well in the dark, despite the limitations of his “human” body.

     There were two doors that stood in front of him. Beyond them were bedrooms, one being that brat Shion’s and the other Mother’s. It was a coin toss as to which room she was hiding in and he hated wasting time with trivial matters like this. Besides, even if he did end up picking the wrong choice, she wouldn’t get away undetected. His hearing was almost as good as hers and she knew that.

     An idea sprang into his mind to try luring her out. He stood at the wall separating the two rooms, wound up his fist, and punched it. The sheer power in the hit caused a crater to form in the wall as dust sprinkled down from the ceiling. He heard something fall from behind the left door and a sharp intake of breath. The corners of his mouth curved up as he tried to fight back a laugh. There she was.

     Keeping his excitement in check, he pushed open the door. Inside the room were the remains of a bed with two nightstands on either side of it and an empty window over to the right. He didn’t need the light coming in from a hole in the ceiling to see her. Mother sat in a corner of the room, her whole body shaking.

     She hadn’t changed at all. She still had the same cascade of raven hair tied up with a red ribbon, the same black dress. The same red eyes resembling his own were now staring at him in pure fear. It must’ve been quite the shock for her to see Saeru walking around and being able to express his moods in a more effective way. She’d finally know how much and how deep his feelings ran.

     “It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Mother?” he asked, putting on a fake smile.

     When she didn’t respond, he continued on with, “Nothing to say to me? Not even a welcome home? I know the last time we talked was years ago but I thought you’d still have some love in your heart for me. But I guess not.”

     She still hadn’t said anything. He was getting rather annoyed at the silent treatment, even if it did bring him a modicum of amusement. Does she really think staying quiet in this situation will save her? Well, he had a way of making her talk and he deserved to brag about his accomplishments.

     “If you can’t already tell, I paid a visit to the real world,” he said, noting the sudden pique of interest. “It’s changed so much since our time out there. I’ve met so many interesting people during my trip, including the kids my siblings are inhabiting the bodies of. I even got the chance to meet your successor, what was her name again? Ah, right, Marry.”

     He saw the quick flash of anger across her face as she asked, “What did you do to her?”

     “You can rest easy,” he replied, his temper beginning to flare up. “I haven’t laid a finger on that crybaby brat’s head. She’s all right, physically, at least.”

     It was then her eyes wandered down to his blood-soaked hands. Gone was the anger as horror came to replace it at the grisly sight. He wondered when she’d notice that and he was pleased to know her reaction was how he predicted it to be. Her imagination had to be running wild with all the ways that blood got on his hands. The temptation of telling her his gruesome acts was there but this was more fun.

     “Her mind, though, must be forever scarred,” he said with a dissonant smile. “I imagine her heart shattered to pieces after I killed her friends.”

     “Why are you doing this?!” she demanded, her teary eyes full of fury. “Why must you hurt me so?”

     All the fun he was having at her expense evaporated. Was she being serious? Did she really have the gall to ask why he was doing all this? Maybe it was time to remind her of the fault she held in this.

     “I think the better question is, why did you choose them over us? Why did you abandon us?” He crouched down and rested his cheek on his hand.

  ��  “What are you talking about? I never abandoned you or your siblings! I tried my best to have the two most important things in my life get along without any issue.” She gestured to him with her hand. “You were the only one who had a problem with it!”

     His eyes narrowing, he asked in indignation, “How could you expect me to not have a problem with it? How could you forget all the pain, all the suffering, all the torment the humans dealt on to you? How could you run off with that man and bear his child after everything they’ve done to you?”

     It was at this point she stood up. He did as well, noticing the hard glint of stubbornness in her eyes. He already knew what was coming and he didn’t want to hear the same old, tired speech.

     “Tsukihiko was different. He was kind to me, he cared for me.” She put a hand on her chest, where her heart was. “He loved me. He was treated the same way I was so---”

     “So you thought you and him were the same? Please,” he interrupted, scoffing at the ridiculousness of the thought. “You and that man were never the same and you know why? He was but a mere mortal and you a god. You will never belong with the humans, no matter how much you try and forget that fact.”

     “What do you want from me? An apology, is that it?” she asked, exasperated. He wanted much more than empty platitudes.

     “What I want is for you to understand exactly how much you’ve hurt me.” He took a couple steps toward her, causing dust to rain down on top of him. “You refused to heed my warnings, took that brat’s side over mine, and you tried to leave me behind in this world. Who does that to someone they once claimed to love? Someone whose only crime was loving them?

     “You’ve become the very thing you’ve never wanted to be.” He locked eyes with her and gave voice to all the pain and scorn he felt. “You’re a monster.”

     It was as if he stabbed her through the gut with a knife. Tears spilled over as she fell to her knees, holding her head in her hands. It was bad enough for the humans to call her that when they knew nothing about her. It must’ve been like a betrayal to hear that come from someone she once considered to be her closest friend. Still, he got a dark sense of satisfaction seeing her break down. It served her right to feel only a fraction of the pain he’s dealt with for years.

     “And yet--” he paused as she looked up at him-- “despite everything you did to me, I still love you. I was created to serve you and be with you for however long you wanted but I grew to genuinely love you. How could I not?”

     She withdrew further into the corner after he stepped closer. The question he wanted, needed to ask leapt into his mind. A simple yes or no question and whatever her answer was would determine what he’d do next.

     “It’s because of my love for you I ask,” he began, paying close attention to her face, “if you still hold some fondness for the humans. Do you still love your family?”

     Without any hesitance in her voice, she replied with, “Of course I do. I’ll always love them. Tsukihiko, Shion, Marry…I love them all from the bottom of my heart.”

     That was the answer he feared to hear. Her saying that proved to him she was too far gone and needed to be put out of her misery. They took everything away from her, from her happiness to her sanity. It’s because he loved her he’d be willing to give her the sweet release she deserved.

     He started walking towards her. She tried to crawl away from him but found herself cornered with no means of escape. A wicked grin split across his face as he came into the moon’s silvery ray of light. He stopped just short of her, towering above her small, trembling form.

     “What are you going to do to me?” she asked, scared for her life. “Whatever it is, I can’t die.”

     “Oh, Mother…” He knelt down in front of her and cupped her cheeks. Her scales were smooth to the touch as he wiped away her tears. “You’re right in that you can’t die. But that doesn’t mean you can’t be killed.”

     His smile growing ever larger, he said, “You lost your immortality the moment you passed on your crown.”

     Her eyes widened in horror as his hands slid down to her neck. He could feel her pulse thudding against his palms, his slender fingers wrapped around her throat. She softly whimpered and he leaned in close. He whispered into her ear his final words before her denouement.

     “Goodnight, Mother.”

     It wasn’t hard to crush her windpipe. Her nails dug into his arms in a desperate attempt to fight back but he merely brushed them off. He knew she was close to death when her eyes started to roll to the back of her head. Then he had an idea to end this in something more similar to his style.

     Her skin began to tear apart as he pulled her head up like a weed. The sound of her neck breaking echoed in the empty house. He finally ripped her head off her shoulders, blood pouring out of the stump as he stood up. Her body slumped onto the floor, the moon’s light reflected off the crimson pool.

     Mother’s bright red eyes were now dull and lifeless. Her mouth lolled open and what little saliva she had trickled out of the corners. He could see just a sliver of her vertebrae sticking out of the bottom of her neck. He untied the ribbon holding her hair up, wiped the spit away with his sleeve, and shut her eyes. Her dark tresses felt soft on his skin as he touched their foreheads together.

     “We’ll be together forever, right, Mother?” he said with a depraved smile before crazed laughter spilled out of his mouth like a stream.

     It was only a matter of waiting now before time was reset. How far back it’d go, he didn’t know. Even if it was as far back to the beginning, he’d remember the events of this loop an do them again. He’d do them again and again to his heart’s content and no one would be able to stop him.

     The only thing he wouldn’t commit again was his act of matricide. It was a one time thing and it was done to give him “closure” or whatever the humans called it. Mother warped into someone he didn’t recognize and he needed to accept that the person he knew had died a long time ago. At least he’ll always have his memories of her kept close to his heart.

     It was time to look forward and move ahead to the future. Whatever the next summers brought, he was sure to enjoy every last bit.

[lightoftruth]

The Walt Disney Corporation has been allegedly holding extensive critical race theory training for employees.

Internal documents obtained by Christopher Rufo, a senior fellow at Manhattan Institute, show Disney launching a “diversity and inclusion” program called “Reimagine Tomorrow.” The trainings discuss the leftist ideas of “systemic racism,” “white privilege,” “white fragility,” “white saviors,” “microaggressions,” and “antiracism.” The subtitle of the booklet guide reads: “Allyship for Race Consciousness.”

Disney, which owns ABC, ESPN, Touchstone Pictures, Marvel, Lucasfilm, and other major media companies, instructed employees to “take ownership of educating yourself about structural anti-Black racism” as well as “not rely on your Black colleagues to educate you,” which would be “emotionally taxing.”

“When America’s storied places of joy and refuge from the cares of the world turn themselves into partisan actors and political indoctrination factories, the harm to our social fabric is immeasurable,” Stanley Kurtz, a senior fellow at the Ethics and Public Policy Center, told The Federalist. “Disney is dividing the country it once helped to inspire, inviting entirely justified blowback from the vast number of Americans it now derogates, disregards, and caricatures. I thought politicized baseball was the unkindest cut of all, but now this. As Disney and other woke corporations plunge America into the bitterest cultural conflict in memory, they deserve to feel shame, not pride.”

The  training modules centralize the notion of “anti-racism” — the idea that Americans must acknowledge their country is systemically racist and eradicate any semblance of a colorblind society. The company told employees they must also “work through feelings of guilt, shame, and defensiveness to understand what is beneath them and what needs to be healed,” harping on the notion of implicit bias. The phrase “All Lives Matter” was communicated as derogatory, and so was the phrase “I don’t see color.”

One module in the training titled “What Can I Do About Racism?” instructed staff to denounce the idea of “equality” and instead favor “equity.” The corporation crafted a “21-Day Racial Equity and Social Justice Challenge” that was followed by a “white privilege checklist.” The checklist claims a variety of statements, if affirmed, indicate a person’s “privilege.” This includes some of the following statements:

I am white.

I have never tried to hide my sexuality.

I am a man.

I have never felt poor.

I went to summer camp.

I have never had an addiction.

Below is the full document Rufo obtained from a Disney whistleblower:

In addition to other modules, employees were provided several outside resources. This included a guide titled “75 Things White People Can Do For Racial Justice” that claims readers should support “defund[ing] the police” and “decolonize your bookshelf.”

The guide also claims employees should read The New York Times’s inaccurate and divisive “1619 Project” by Nikole Hannah-Jones. Streaming service Hulu, owned by Disney, is streaming a docuseries on Hannah-Jones’s work. The company described the “1619 Project” as “a landmark undertaking …of the brutal racism that endures in so many aspects of American life today.”

Dr. James A. Lindsay, the founder of New Discourses and the author of “Cynical Theories: How Activist Scholarship Made Everything about Race, Gender, and Identity—and Why This Harms Everybody,” told The Federalist that Americans “have to stop being shocked” about critical race theory trainings.

“This is happening pretty much everywhere,” Lindsay said. “What’s happening at Disney, while it looks very extreme, is actually quite typical. We see almost exactly the same kinds of things playing out in terms of what these trainings are made up of and what they include. The picture that has to come across somehow is these aren’t isolated incidents. This is government agencies. This is churches. This is virtually every university. This is many if not most school districts.”

Further dividing its employees by race and sex, Disney crafted “affinity groups” for minority employees to join. The groups are titled “Hola” for latino individuals, “Compass” for asians, and “Wakanda” for blacks. The objective of the groups is to provide “culturally-authentic insights” for employees and encourage “diversity,” “inclusion,” “belonging,” “identity,” and “allyship.” There is no group provided for all individuals to join.

Employees told Rufo the corporation sends “almost daily memos” on such issues and that Disney is “completely ideologically one-sided.” Numerous employees concurred and one claimed the corporate environment is “very stifled.”

“It’s been very stifling to feel like everyone keeps talking about having open dialogue and compassionate conversations, but when it comes down to it, I know if I said one thing that was truthful, based on data, or even just based on my own personal experience, it would actually be rather unwelcomed,” a Christian and conservative employee said.

In a video obtained by Rufo, Executive Chairman Bob Iger allegedly said Disney will not “shy away from politics” and “should be taking a stand” on identity politics issues. Iger also allegedly said the films “Dumbo,” “Aladdin,” and “Fantasia” are “racist content.” The company fired “The Mandalorian” actress Gina Carano in February for not displaying allegiance to identity politics while continuing to do business with a genocidal Communist China.

HD Editor’s Note: Why Is This News Biblically Relevant?

When Jesus’ disciples came to Him and asked, “What shall be the sign of thy coming, and of the end of the world?” Jesus explained to them that one of the signs that would precede His coming would be “nations” rising against “nations.”

The word “nations” found in this verse (Matthew 24:7) is from the Greek word “ethnos,” where we get our English word for “ethnicity.” Therefore, this verse can also be read that “ethnicity shall rise against ethnicity” in the last days.

Racism is not new. However, what is new to our generation is the fabricated racism taught in schools, espoused by the media, and canceled by ‘culture.’ This stoking of division will, in the not too distant future, lead to genuine widespread racism. Racism is a sin. Creating division and hatred is a sin (Prov. 6:16-19, Luke 11:17, 1 John 2:9). All of these things are deeply rooted in a rebellion against God, His Word, and His design.

[nekoannie-chan]

Lover’s game

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Mutant Female! Reader

Word count: 1111 words.

Summary: Memories of some moments from your relationship with Steve minutes before your wedding.

Warnings: A little angst.

A/N: This is my entry to the @cockslut-padalecki​‘s Lisa’s Back to the Movies Writing Challenge with the song:

“Take my breath away – Top Gun- Berlin”.

Flashbacks are in italic.

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistake please let me know and I will correct it.

I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics be posted in other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don’t steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other’s people. The only exception is the ones I gifted ‘cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and is not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don’t own Marvel’s characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

My other media where I publish: Wattpad, Ao3, ffnet.

If you like it please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog. 

Tags: @sinceimetyou​ @saiyanprincessswanie​ @navybrat817​ @realfbi​ @angrythingstarlight​ @pandaxnienke​

Watching every motion

In my foolish lover's game On this endless ocean Finally lovers know no shame Turning and returning To some secret place inside Watching in slow motion As you turn around and say

 Steve held his breath while the tie was settling in, he couldn't deny that he was very nervous, he had finally arrived on the day of the wedding, during the last few weeks he had taken care of anything that could ruin the day, and he wasn't going to let anything bad happen on such an important date for you. You had lived so many things, you had to separate at different times.

Take my breath away Take my breath away

 Steve was sure he hadn't seen you while the STRIKE team was chasing them, suggesting Natasha go to your apartment, although he really needed to know if you were also HYDRA and you'd only used it, the last thing if it was true, it would leave him devastated. 

You grumped when the bell rang again insistently. Who bothered you in your holiday week? Besides, you were having a dream, which you'd like to put into practice with Steve later. 

When you opened the door, you kept your eyes squinting and your face was noisy. 

"Steve? Nat? What are you doing here? Why are you covered with dust? Were you playing in the mud or what happened to you?” 

They both saw each other and then saw you. 

"Can we come in?” Steve asked suspiciously. 

You set aside to let them through, you sighed, surely your holiday week was over and you were going to have to help them, even though you first needed to know what was going on. 

After they told you everything, you were stunned, you'd never suspected the team you belonged to. You even understood that Project Insight had a different aim. 

"How do we know you don't belong to HYDRA?” Natasha questioned. 

"First, I didn't know my team was, second, I wasn't there when you were attacked, actually I didn't even know about Fury until you told me and third, I knew project Insight was something completely different from what you're telling me.”

 Watching I keep waiting Still anticipating love Never hesitating to become the fated ones Turning and returning To some secret place to hide Watching in slow motion As you turn to me and say

 "Steve, are you ready?” Bucky questioned, taking him out of his self-absorption. 

“W-what? Sure, it's about time, isn't it?” Steve replied. 

James only shook his head trying not to laugh, and then he pulled his friend, it was better to hurry to prevent him from fleeing because of panic in the last minute. 

You saw your reflection in the mirror again and laughed a little as you remembered how you had met, you still remembered with satisfaction your ex-boyfriend's face when he found out about your relationship with Steve.

  Take my breath away

 That day, the training had ended in a fight, you and Rollins had started arguing, he still didn't want to accept that you had already ended your relationship and he claimed you'd had a date with someone else.

 "STOP ARGUING! YOU'RE ADULTS, ACT LIKE ONE!” Brock shouted annoyed. You ignored him and you kept arguing, yet you shut up when you saw Fury come in followed by Steve. At that time you were informed that the missions would be done along with him. 

"Hi, I'm Agent Y/N Y/L/N," you introduced yourself once Nick left.

 Through the hourglass I saw you In time you slipped away When the mirror crashed I called you And turned to hear you say If only for today I am unafraid

 Natasha put the necklace on you and then hugged you. 

"You're beautiful, but it's time to go, in a few minutes you'll become Mrs Rogers.” 

"I hope nothing interrupts this moment...” 

“Are you hesitating?”  

"No, not at all, I'd just be terrified that something would happen or Steve would regret it," you replied. 

"He won't, you've been through a lot, but if you don't want to get married, I'll go tell them...“

You and Natasha had been friends since you entered the Organization, even considered yourselves sisters even if biologically you weren't. 

"I never said I wasn't getting married, I'm just nervous," you interrupted her. “It was very difficult when we had to flee, I was terrified that he would be sent to the Raft and me to a Mutant Detention Center.” 

"You two deserve to be happy," Nat said.

 Take my breath away Take my breath away

 You heard noises in the living room while you were in the kitchen, you took the sharpest knife, even though you had an arm hurt by the last mission you'd gone to, you wouldn't hesitate to defend yourself if necessary, not to say that you would also use your powers.

 "S-Steve? Why did you come in through the window and not through the door? "You inquired at the same time that you put the knife down. 

"They're watching you, they're looking for me, and I can't get in through the front door.” 

"What did you do?” 

"I didn't sign the Accords and there were some problems with Bucky...," he shut up, took your hand and looked you right in the eye. “Did you sign the Accords?” 

"No, I just refuse to do it.” 

"We have to get out of here without being seen, I have to take you to a safe place before they take you as a hostage.” 

"How are we going to get going?” You said they're watching my house.” 

"But not the roof.” 

You opened your eyes as big as you could, what Steve proposed sounded too dangerous to you.

"A-Are you sure? I remind you that I have a hurt arm and despite having powers I do not think I can survive from a fall from the roof...” 

"Doll, I will make sure that nothing bad happens to you, just take as fast as you can the important things and we will run away, what do you think?” 

You nodded, you went all the way to the bedroom and kept some things, and then he helped you up the roof. 

"Walk slowly and carefully, there is nothing to fear," he whispered. 

You were trying to take firm steps, however, it seemed impossible, probably only a few seconds passed, but it seemed like an eternity to you. When you finally got to the shelter, he told you everything that had happened, for safety he was going to leave you there, he didn't want anything bad to happen to you.

 Watching every motion In this foolish lover's game Haunted by the notion Somewhere there's a love in flames Turning and returning To some secret place inside Watching in slow motion As you turn my way and say

 "Little sis’ if you want we can run away, hide and no one will find us," Natasha joked as you walked towards the entrance. 

"It sounds tempting, but I'll decline the invitation, Steve's waiting for me.” 

Nat nodded, you stopped right at the entrance and helped you position the veil the right way.  

At the altar Steve was already waiting for you with a big smile, finally, the dream you had had for a few years was coming true and nothing was going to stop it. 

The ceremony began, you blinked a lot making a great effort not to cry, and it seemed implausible that this day had finally arrived, your dream was being fulfilled. 

After you accept to become a wife and husband, you kiss.

 Take my breath away Take my breath away Take my breath away Take my breath away

[popculturebuffet]

Jingle Belle: A Very Special Jingle Belle Special or A goofy holiday comic and a long tired rant about the animation industry

Ho ho ho and merry Christmas as we reach the final stretch of Christmas reviews and it’s all Christmas all the time for the rest of the week for obvious reasons. So we’re starting off by wrapping up Jingle Belle for the season with one more comission. While it’s from my usual client, It’s via patreon as for 5 bucks a month you can get a review a month of your choice. But since that hasn’t taken hold just yet, and won’t till next month, he asked to swap it for this month and here we are.  Not much to cover though this is the very comic where Jing hopped publishers from Oni Press to Dark Horse. The whys I genuinely do not know and at the time, I just know it’s weird to talk about Dark Horse these days. Their not dead nor entirely irrelvant, Resident Alien, which I really want to check out as it has a really engaging premise, is getting a tv show that I also want to check out as while i’m not sure if it’ll be good, it’s still Alan Tudyk playing an alien who can barely pass for human and it hilariously shows. Whenever that streams i’m not missing a second of that and we all know it. And Umbrella Academy, started during bigger days for the company, is one of netflix’s hottest shows and one of many shows on my to do list I haven’t gotten to because I procastinate like no one else and as taking an entire month to get to the newest loud house shows to the point another one popped up, it bites me in the ass a lot. Point is their not GONE in relevance.. but at the same time they’ve lost the huge tide of liscences they road in on. Except for the Joss Whedon stuff, Marvel’s pretty much taken EVERYTHING from them via various deals: Star Wars, Conan and now Alien. Their still standing and makes good art books and clearly given Resident Alien good content, they’ve lasted this long their not going anywhere, it’s just really weird to think about. I will however give them huge credit for giving out tons of comics in early quarantine, and being easily the most generous company next to marvel. I.e. one of the few that actually gave out full collections. 

But yeah at the time this was probably a safe move as Dark Horse had a love of one shots and likely a larger budget. Hence why from here on out the stories are in living color, and have a slightly diffrent art style to boot. Granted the character would shift artists but now it’s got a clear more cartoony art style I like a lot better courtsey of Jose Garabaldi. So yeah with christmas on our heels, let’s ring a ding jing, it’s A Very Special Jingle Belle Special. 

We won’t be covering the backup for this one though it is quite good, it’s just not what kev asked or paid for. 

We open on a parade!

While batman foils the joker’s poisioning scheme, Santa rides on a float proudly and   Jing is hanging out on the back grumpy. It’s a great introduction for new readers showing Santa being big and jolly and what you expect while Jing grumps in the back with a “Sheesh, Daddy”. That’s how you establish a character well in only a few panels. IT’s really great is what i’m saying. Some teens pop up but don’t belivie her about being Santa’s daughter and when going to a christmas shop to try and find figures of her, the owner claims he dosen’t.. and well violence insues. You’ve met jing right?  Anyways Jing is understandably a wee bit absolutely livid the world dosen’t know about her. Her parents sure but her? Nope. And it’s easy to see why: She’s the daughter of the world’s most famous man.. but despite all the holiday lore and junk she’s just the part he likes to hide from people.. or that’s how it feels. While he ducks it, she even gives him a nice save fatty it’s clear that even if she brought it up to rile him a bit.. she does feel on some level like he likes to tuck her away and hide her because he’s ashamed and because she’s not perfect. Granted she does act out and stuff, but she’s still his kid and i’ts still gotta sting. Though she has the perfect idea to fix this: A christmas special. Santa suggests just doing good deeds but Jing is right: her idea is better. Mostly because, as cyncial as this is.. more people are going to pay attention to a good holiday special than a celebrity’s kid doing charity and for far longer. A good christmas special just sticks in the brain and sticks with you forever. It’s why Santa Claus is Coming to Town and A Charlie Brown Christmas have lasted decades or why my list of best chirstmas specials is pretty weighty. They just stick with you so while this can’t possibly end well.. her plan is actually a really good one this time. 

So Jing takes her friends off the line to help her animate it, stop motion styles and they remind her of her LAST christmas special. 

I mean I’m a sucker for any refrence to Star Wars Holiday Special. You’d think after several decades of jokes at it’s expense, with tons of youtubers, many of whom are dead to me but that’s besides the point, tackling the thing without it getting stale, that we’d eventually grow tired of mocking it but .. no. It’s a bottomless well of what they were thinking. The only question left is why isn’t it on Disney Plus.. I mean.. you made a second one as an affectionate parody and in lego. Kids are going to know about this now. Just put the thing up. Even edited down or just some clips. You put Rise of Skywalker up there, you’ve proven your threshold for shame when it comes to this franchise is vast. Just person up and do it.  But Jing’s learned her lesson.. stop motion only and to follow the bouncing formula to sucess. So in the special which sadly isn’t all stop motion and is just drawn to resemble the specials, probably for the best but still, Jing and her animal pals are sneaking into a town where christmas was banned! Meeting the chirstmas legion of doom.. well okay that’s what i’m calling them. Burgermeister Budweiser! Bungle the Abominable Snow Monster! Frost Master and Heat BLister! The Frost Fakir.. wait the what?

........

I mean where do I even begin? I know this was during the war on terror, I know that.. but still I expect better from Paul Dini for a crosses the line twice joke than “hey let’s just make bin laden into an ice wizard!”. I mean South Park made fun of him too, but they went all out with a looney tunes homage. Put effort in. And even years after he died the lonely island did this beautiful thing in the film pop star: never stop stoppin, which you should watch seriously watch it it’s underated. 

Point is you can do better and if you don’t have room to do better then just.. don’t. You could’ve put in a t-rex in a top hat and monocle.  That would’ve genuinely been better... because it’s better than everything ever btu that’s besides the point. There’s also one last addition to the rogue’s gallery thank god. 

He hates her too. Now that gag is actually reallyf ucking funny. What’s also funny is how she solves things. By singing a nice and frinedly song about friendship to reform the villians.. or rather lure them over a bridge to get eaten by her orca friend. 

So Jing after showing it to her dad heads to market it with him trying to warn her netoworks haven’t aired this kind of thing in years. But she faces the greatest threat to all of television: network executives, who keep offering advices and basically change the thing all together for stupid reasons and think cartoons should only be for kids despite it wokring in the past. Aka the hells animators STILL go through. I think Paul was projecting just a wee bit with this one. Given again IT HASN’T CHANGED since then, I can’t blame him. Seriously Harvey Beaks was canceled, among MANY ohter nick shows including rise of the tmnt just because it wasn’t an instant hit, Cartoon Network and warner keep trying to make dumbed down remakes of great shows, and Disney, among other networks, is fairly homophobic and while finally allowing some gay on the network this year had to be fought and outright refused it on ducktales for no adquate reason, caring more about monney and the bible belt than doing the right thing. So yeah as you can tell this bit got to me a bit and was hard to read because it. hasn’t. changed. 16 years and not a lot has changed other than more women are getting a chance. And granted the “kids are our only audiencce argument” isn’t as strong and several shows are powered by other demographics it’s still an issue and still the reason several good shows have gotten the boot and why the jeph loeb era of marvel animation was terrible. Because guys like him thought it should JUST be for kids and the lowest common demoninator of htem. You can be clever and be for kids dammit. 

I apologize slightly for that it’s just something that’s been on my mind as shows dwindle and with ducktales gone the standard forbearaers for children’s animation are all pretty fresh faced. It’s just a lot to take in and i’ts been on my mind a lot. 

Back to the actual story the result is a pretty purtrid cutesy special.. Jing reacts how you’d expect, destroying the tapes covertly with a herd of musk ox and destroying the tape. But they find the 70′s special and we end on that which is pretty funny. The only thing I really don’t like here is the ending. The rest of this special is really good: it’s clever , has some good satire and some really funny jokes especially that hook one. The ending just feels a bit weak.. like yes Jing wanted to be noticed but it’s not really an unsympathetic motive and while she does some shady stuff the villians still basically win by airing her terrible holiday special all over again. It’s just not satisfying.  But yeah overall another pretty decent holiday comic with some good jokes. I”ll probably see Jing again next year, and it was fun getting to dip into these comics. THeir not my faviorites, but their still pretty decent and if the complete collection ends up on sale on comixology or you see it in a bookstore and you think it’d be up your ally i’d buy it. Again not my faviorite thing ever, but still enjoyable enough. Coming up this week of holiday cheer: ducks, more ducks, superheroes, and a best of list. 

Until next time: Courage. 

[lawrenceop]

HOMILY for 10th after Pentecost (Dominican rite)

1 Cor 12:2-11; Luke 18:9-14

St Luke says that Jesus “told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and despised others”. (Lk 18:9) Hence today’s Gospel addresses itself to us in at least three respects: to those who trust in themselves; to those who consider themselves to be righteous; and to those who despise others. Unfortunately, these are not necessarily three distinct groups of people but rather, like the Pharisee in the parable, all three aspects can be (and often are) concurrent in one individual.

Our merciful Saviour, in telling us this parable, therefore, desires to teach you and me to please God truly, through humility of heart – through the offering of a heart that is, like his own Sacred Heart, “meek and humble” (cf Mt 11:29) For that is why the Lord God has become Man, so that we might love Christ, and so, as his friend, desire to imitate him and become like him. So, “for us men and for our salvation”, as we say in the Creed, God chose to show his greatness and power by humbling himself, becoming Man, and dying in a humiliating and shameful manner, by crucifixion. Thus St Augustine says: “On every side the humility of the good master is being assiduously impressed upon us, seeing that our very salvation in Christ consists in the humility of Christ. There would have been no salvation for us, after all, if Christ had not been prepared to humble himself for our sakes”.

The humility of God in the Incarnation and in the Passion is only possible for the true God. The idols, the false gods, that St Paul references in today’s epistle, being at best false projections of human ideals, and at worse, demons, are full of pride: lofty; aloof from human suffering and need; lacking in empathy with the human condition. Such idols St Paul describes as “dumb” because they do not speak. God, the true God, however, speaks his Word, and in so doing he creates all that is for the love of mankind, and then, moreover, God speaks his Word into creation to save mankind. As Pope Benedict XVI has said: “The Son himself is the Word, the Logos: the eternal word became small – small enough to fit into a manger. He became a child, so that the word could be grasped by us”, so that we might share in the divine life through grace, through the humble instrumentality of the Sacraments which are extensions of the Incarnation in our lives. Hence St Augustine says: “the pride of man [is] exposed and cured through the humility of God”.

Catholic tradition, particularly through certain devotional practices that are dear to the Dominican Order, such as the Holy Rosary and the Angelus, loves to contemplate and marvel at the humility of God in becoming Man. For from the incarnate Word we learn humility, we learn to be grateful, we learn to love. Focussing on the humility of the incarnate Lord is thus an antidote to those three aspects that today’s Gospel parable addresses, namely, those who trust in themselves; to those who consider themselves to be righteous; and to those who despise others. Thus St Augustine says: “In order then that men might not disdain to imitate a humble man, God himself became humble – even human pride could not refuse to follow in the steps of God!” If we wish to follow the Master, therefore, then we must first of all follow him in his humility.

What does it mean to be humble? In English we sometimes refer to a man who might have been somewhat exalted as “down to earth”. This is a lovely paraphrase of humilitas, for the Latin word for humble is related to the Latin word humus, meaning ‘the earth’. One who is humble is thus one who remembers that he is made from the dust of the earth, who is thus dependent on God for all that he is, and for all the good things he has, and for all the good he does. For God formed Adam from the earth - and his name, adamah in Hebrew means ‘the ground’ or ‘the earth’. Human beings, therefore, are creatures of the earth, and so the one who is grounded, who is down to earth, who is humble, remembers the limitations of his human nature. Hence St Thomas Aquinas says: “Humility means seeing ourselves as God sees us: knowing every good we have comes from Him as pure gift”.

No one who considers their earthly origins, dependent on the Creator who breathes into him the breath of life, the life-giving breath of the Holy Spirit himself, could pridefully trust merely in himself or in human efforts. For man to trust in himself alone, without any recourse or reference to God, is thus shown to be not merely ingratitude but also foolishness. As St Paul says: “What have you that you did not receive? If then you received it, why do you boast as if it were not a gift?” (1 Cor 4:7)

In today’s epistle, therefore, St Paul lists the many gifts of the Holy Spirit that enrich the Church and enable us to live as Christian disciples. The Pharisee in today’s Gospel also enunciates gifts from God which enabled him to keep the Law of God, and perform good acts of religion. Often our focus is on what we do: we can prophesy, or we can preach, or teach, or catechise; or we have stayed chaste, or have moderated our food and drink; or we have prayed everyday, or gone to Sunday Mass as we should, or done our religious duties. Each of these acts are good and fitting. However, St Paul repeatedly refers to the spiritual gifts that “are inspired by one and the same Spirit” (1 Cor 12:11) because his focus isn’t so much what we do, but how we do these good things. We act not by our own steam, as it were, but by the very divine breath of God. Therefore St James says: “Do not be deceived, my beloved brethren. Every good endowment and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights” (1:17). Therefore, if we are indeed righteous, and if we should consider ourselves to be righteous, as the Pharisee indeed was, then, we must also consider, in humility, that our good acts do not come from us alone but find their origin and completion in God’s grace. Thus the Council of Trent taught: “a Christian should never rely on himself or glory in himself instead of in the Lord, whose goodness towards all men is such that he wants his own gifts to be their merits.” The proud man, therefore, takes pride in his own glory, but the humble gives all glory to God and boasts of God’s mercies. So St Augustine says: “if humility does not precede and accompany and follow every good work we do, and if it is not set before us to look upon, and beside us to lean upon, and behind us to fence us in, pride will take from our hand any good deed we do while we are in the very act of taking pleasure in it”!

The third aspect concerns those who despise others. St Thomas points out that the proud man characteristically looks down on others because he wants to dominate, to think himself superior to others, to exalt himself to an excellence he does not possess. In Latin, therefore, the word for ‘pride’ is superbia, meaning to place oneself over others, which is what the Pharisee does in the parable. He says: “God, I thank thee that I am not like other men, extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or even like this tax collector.” (Lk 18:11b) Externally, it looks as though he is giving glory to God, and thanking God for his gifts, but the Lord exposes his prideful heart because, in fact, he despises others and looks down at them. This should serve as a warning to us: for the Pharisee is doing ostensibly good things: he is praying in the Temple, as he should. He is thanking God for his gifts, as he should. And, he is doing righteous things in accordance with the Law, as he should.

But all these external ritual acts are not enough. These might be enough for an idol, for a false god, but as the true God says to the prophet Samuel: “the Lord sees not as man sees; man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.” (1 Sam 16:7) Indeed, Scripture says that “the word of God is living and active… discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart.” (Heb 4:12) Thus, Christ, the incarnate Word, teaches us by this parable to pay attention to our intentions, to our inmost thoughts and motivations. Given that these are often hidden even from our own selves, so we ought to be careful in judging others, and in despising them, even those whom we might know to be manifest sinners in gravely sinful situations. By all means, preach the Gospel of salvation and call others to repentance; “convince, rebuke, and exhort, [but] be unfailing in patience and in teaching”, as St Paul said (2 Tim 4:2). And, as I said last Sunday, pray and do penance for the conversion of sinners, bearing witness to others by your charity and virtue. But never despise them, nor consider yourself to be superior, nor look down on them – unless it is from the Cross, as our humble and loving Saviour did.

And, finally, a word concerning our own sinful selves: Do not be swift to judge yourself, condemn yourself, be harsh to yourself, or hate yourself because of your sins. St Francis de Sales observed that this impatience with our own sinfulness and weakness can often arise not because one loves God nor loves virtue, but it may be due to pride: we cannot stand to see our imperfections and hate being seen to be imperfect. Rather, turn to God, and say in all truth and humility: “God, be merciful to me a sinner!” And then trust in God’s grace to act in your life, in his good time, according to his wisdom, and for his own glory. For God, in his Providence, has humbled himself for our salvation. So, likewise, through humbly submitting to God’s Providence and mercy, we shall be cured of pride and be exalted with Him.

[lavenderafro]

Patriarchy is the single most life-threatening social disease assaulting the male body and spirit in our nation. Yet most men do not use the word “patriarchy” in everyday life. 

Most men never think about patriarchy—what it means, how it is created and sustained. Many men in our nation would not be able to spell the word or pronounce it correctly. 

The word “patriarchy” just is not a part of their normal everyday thought or speech. Men who have heard and know the word usually associate it with women’s liberation, with feminism, and therefore dismiss it as irrelevant to their own experiences. 

I have been standing at podiums talking about patriarchy for more than thirty years. It is a word I use daily, and men who hear me use it often ask me what I mean by it.

Nothing discounts the old antifeminist projection of men as all-powerful more than their basic ignorance of a major facet of the political system that shapes and informs male identity and sense of self from birth until death. 

I often use the phrase “imperialist white-supremacist capitalist patriarchy” to describe the interlocking political systems that are the foundation of our nation’s politics.

 Of these systems the one that we all learn the most about growing up is the system of patriarchy, even if we never know the word, because patriarchal gender roles are assigned to us as children and we are given continual guidance about the ways we can best fulfill these roles.

Patriarchy is a political-social system that insists that males are inherently dominating, superior to everything and everyone deemed weak, especially females, and endowed with the right to dominate and rule over the weak and to maintain that dominance through various forms of psychological terrorism and violence. 

When my older brother and I were born with a year separating us in age, patriarchy determined how we would each be regarded by our parents. Both our parents believed in patriarchy; they had been taught patriarchal thinking through religion. 

At church they had learned that God created man to rule the world and everything in it and that it was the work of women to help men perform these tasks, to obey, and to always assume a subordinate role in relation to a powerful man. 

They were taught that God was male. 

These teachings were reinforced in every institution they encountered– schools, courthouses, clubs, sports arenas, as well as churches. Embracing patriarchal thinking, like everyone else around them, they taught it to their children because it seemed like a “natural” way to organize life.

As their daughter I was taught that it was my role to serve, to be weak, to be free from the burden of thinking, to caretake and nurture others. 

My brother was taught that it was his role to be served; to provide; to be strong; to think, strategize, and plan; and to refuse to caretake or nurture others. 

I was taught that it was not proper for a female to be violent, that it was “unnatural.” 

My brother was taught hat his value would be determined by his will to do violence (albeit in appropriate settings). 

He was taught that for a boy, enjoying violence was a good thing (albeit in appropriate settings). He was taught that a boy should not express feelings. I was taught that girls could and should express feelings, or at least some of them. 

When I responded with rage at being denied a toy, I was taught as a girl in a patriarchal household that rage was not an appropriate feminine feeling, that it should be not only not be expressed but be eradicated. 

When my brother responded with rage at being denied a toy, he was taught as a boy in a patriarchal household that his ability to express rage was good but that he had to learn the best setting to unleash his hostility.

 It was not good for him to use his rage to oppose the wishes of his parents, but later, when he grew up, he was taught that rage was permitted and that allowing rage to provoke him to violence would help him protect home and nation.

We lived in farm country, isolated from other people. Our sense of gender roles was learned from our parents, from the ways we saw them behave. 

My brother and I remember our confusion about gender. In reality I was stronger and more violent than my brother, which we learned quickly was bad. And he was a gentle, peaceful boy, which we learned was really bad. 

Although we were often confused, we knew one fact for certain: we could not be and act the way we wanted to, doing what we felt like. It was clear to us that our behavior had to follow a predetermined, gendered script. 

We both learned the word “patriarchy” in our adult life, when we learned that the script that had determined what we should be, the identities we should make, was based on patriarchal values and beliefs about gender.

I was always more interested in challenging patriarchy than my brother was because it was the system that was always leaving me out of things that I wanted to be part of. In our family life of the fifties, marbles were a boy’s game. My brother had inherited his marbles from men in the family; he had a tin box to keep them in. 

All sizes and shapes, marvelously colored, they were to my eye the most beautiful objects. We played together with them, often with me aggressively clinging to the marble I liked best, refusing to share. When Dad was at work, our stay-at-home mom was quite content to see us playing marbles together. 

Yet Dad, looking at our play from a patriarchal perspective, was disturbed by what he saw. His daughter, aggressive and competitive, was a better player than his son. 

His son was passive; the boy did not really seem to care who won and was willing to give over marbles on demand. Dad decided that this play had to end, that both my brother and I needed to learn a lesson about appropriate gender roles. 

One evening my brother was given permission by Dad to bring out the tin of marbles. I announced my desire to play and was told by my brother that “girls did not play with marbles,” that it was a boy’s game. This made no sense to my four- or five-year-old mind, and I insisted on my right to play by picking up marbles and shooting them. 

Dad intervened to tell me to stop. I did not listen. His voice grew louder and louder. Then suddenly he snatched me up, broke a board from our screen door, and began to beat me with it, telling me, “You’re just a little girl. 

When I tell you to do something, I mean for you to do it.” He beat me and he beat me, wanting me to acknowledge that I understood what I had done. His rage, his violence captured everyone’s attention. Our family sat spellbound, rapt before the pornography of patriarchal violence. 

After this beating I was banished—forced to stay alone in the dark. Mama came into the bedroom to soothe the pain, telling me in her soft southern voice, “I tried to warn you. You need to accept that you are just a little girl and girls can’t do what boys do.” In service to patriarchy her task was to reinforce that Dad had done the right thing by, putting me in my place, by restoring the natural social order.

I remember this traumatic event so well because it was a story told again and again within our family. No one cared that the constant retelling might trigger post-traumatic stress; the retelling was necessary to reinforce both the message and the remembered state of absolute powerlessness. 

The recollection of this brutal whipping of a little-girl daughter by a big strong man, served as more than just a reminder to me of my gendered place, it was a reminder to everyone watching/remembering, to all my siblings, male and female, and to our grown-woman mother that our patriarchal father was the ruler in our household. 

We were to remember that if we did not obey his rules, we would be punished, punished even unto death. 

This is the way we were experientially schooled in the art of patriarchy.

There is nothing unique or even exceptional about this experience. Listen to the voices of wounded grown children raised in patriarchal homes and you will hear different versions with the same underlying theme, the use of violence to reinforce our indoctrination and acceptance of patriarchy.

 In How Can I Get Through to You? family therapist Terrence Real tells how his sons were initiated into patriarchal thinking even as their parents worked to create a loving home in which antipatriarchal values prevailed. 

He tells of how his young son Alexander enjoyed dressing as Barbie until boys playing with his older brother witnessed his Barbie persona and let him know by their gaze and their shocked, disapproving silence that his behavior was unacceptable:

“Without a shred of malevolence, the stare my son received transmitted a message. You are not to do this. And the medium that message was broadcast in was a potent emotion: shame. 

At three, Alexander was learning the rules. 

A ten second wordless transaction was powerful enough to dissuade my son from that instant forward from what had been a favorite activity. I call such moments of induction the “normal traumatization” of boys.”

To indoctrinate boys into the rules of patriarchy, we force them to feel pain and to deny their feelings.

My stories took place in the fifties; the stories Real tells are recent. They all underscore the tyranny of patriarchal thinking, the power of patriarchal culture to hold us captive. 

Real is one of the most enlightened thinkers on the subject of patriarchal masculinity in our nation, and yet he lets readers know that he is not able to keep his boys out of patriarchy’s reach. They suffer its assaults, as do all boys and girls, to a greater or lesser degree. 

No doubt by creating a loving home that is not patriarchal, Real at least offers his boys a choice: they can choose to be themselves or they can choose conformity with patriarchal roles. 

Real uses the phrase “psychological patriarchy” to describe the patriarchal thinking common to females and males. 

Despite the contemporary visionary feminist thinking that makes clear that a patriarchal thinker need not be a male, most folks continue to see men as the problem of patriarchy. This is simply not the case. Women can be as wedded to patriarchal thinking and action as men.

Psychotherapist John Bradshaw’s clear-sighted definition of patriarchy in Creating Love is a useful one: “The dictionary defines ‘patriarchy’ as a ‘social organization marked by the supremacy of the father in the clan or family in both domestic and religious functions’.” 

Patriarchy is characterized by male domination and power. 

He states further that “patriarchal rules still govern most of the world’s religious, school systems, and family systems.” 

Describing the most damaging of these rules, Bradshaw lists “blind obedience—the foundation upon which patriarchy stands; the repression of all emotions except fear; the destruction of individual willpower; and the repression of thinking whenever it departs from the authority figure’s way of thinking.” 

Patriarchal thinking shapes the values of our culture. 

We are socialized into this system, females as well as males. Most of us learned patriarchal attitudes in our family of origin, and they were usually taught to us by our mothers. These attitudes were reinforced in schools and religious institutions.

The contemporary presence of female-headed house holds has led many people to assume that children in these households are not learning patriarchal values because no male is present. They assume that men are the sole teachers of patriarchal thinking. 

Yet many female-headed households endorse and promote patriarchal thinking with far greater passion than two-parent households. Because they do not have an experiential reality to challenge false fantasies of gender roles, women in such households are far more likely to idealize the patriarchal male role and patriarchal men than are women who live with patriarchal men every day.

 We need to highlight the role women play in perpetuating and sustaining patriarchal culture so that we will recognize patriarchy as a system women and men support equally, even if men receive more rewards from that system. Dismantling and changing patriarchal culture is work that men and women must do together.

Clearly we cannot dismantle a system as long as we engage in collective denial about its impact on our lives. 

Patriarchy requires male dominance by any means necessary, hence it supports, promotes, and condones sexist violence. We hear the most about sexist violence in public discourses about rape and abuse by domestic partners. 

But the most common forms of patriarchal violence are those that take place in the home between patriarchal parents and children. The point of such violence is usually to reinforce a dominator model, in which the authority figure is deemed ruler over those without power and given the right to maintain that rule through practices of subjugation, subordination, and submission.

Keeping males and females from telling the truth about what happens to them in families is one way patriarchal culture is maintained. A great majority of individuals enforce an unspoken rule in the culture as a whole that demands we keep the secrets of patriarchy, thereby protecting the rule of the father. 

This rule of silence is upheld when the culture refuses everyone easy access even to the word “patriarchy.” Most children do not learn what to call this system of institutionalized gender roles, so rarely do we name it in everyday speech. This silence promotes denial. 

And how can we organize to challenge and change a system that cannot be named?

It is no accident that feminists began to use the word “patriarchy” to replace the more commonly used “male chauvanism” and “sexism.” 

These courageous voices wanted men and women to become more aware of the way patriarchy affects us all. In popular culture the word itself was hardly used during the heyday of contemporary feminism. 

Antimale activists were no more eager than their sexist male counterparts to emphasize the system of patriarchy and the way it works. 

For to do so would have automatically exposed the notion that men were all-powerful and women powerless, that all men were oppressive and women always and only victims. 

By placing the blame for the perpetuation of sexism solely on men, these women could maintain their own allegiance to patriarchy, their own lust for power. They masked their longing to be dominators by taking on the mantle of victimhood.

Like many visionary radical feminists I challenged the misguided notion, put forward by women who were simply fed up with male exploitation and oppression, that men were “the enemy.” 

As early as 1984 I included a chapter with the title “Men: Comrades in Struggle” in my book Feminist Theory: From Margin to Center urging advocates of feminist politics to challenge any rhetoric which placed the sole blame for perpetuating patriarchy and male domination onto men:

“Separatist ideology encourages women to ignore the negative impact of sexism on male personhood. It stresses polarization between the sexes.

 According to Joy Justice, separatists believe that there are “two basic perspectives” on the issue of naming the victims of sexism: “There is the perspective that men oppress women. And there is the perspective that people are people, and we are all hurt by rigid sex roles.”…Both perspectives accurately describe our predica ment. Men do oppress women. 

People are hurt by rigid sexist role patterns, These two realities coexist. 

Male oppression of women cannot be excused by the recognition that there are ways men are hurt by rigid sexist roles. Feminist activists should acknowledge that hurt, and work to change it—it exists. 

It does not erase or lessen male responsibility for supporting and perpetuating their power under patriarchy to exploit and oppress women in a manner far more grievous than the serious psychological stress and emotional pain caused by male conformity to rigid sexist role patterns.”

Throughout this essay I stressed that feminist advocates collude in the pain of men wounded by patriarchy when they falsely represent men as always and only powerful, as always and only gaining privileges from their blind obedience to patriarchy. I emphasized that patriarchal ideology brainwashes men to believe that their domination of women is beneficial when it is not:

“Often feminist activists affirm this logic when we should be constantly naming these acts as expressions of perverted power relations, general lack of control of one’s actions, emotional powerlessness, extreme irrationality, and in many cases, outright insanity. 

Passive male absorption of sexist ideology enables men to falsely interpret this disturbed behavior positively. As long as men are brainwashed to equate violent domination and abuse of women with privilege, they will have no understanding of the damage done to themselves or to others, and no motivation to change. 

Patriarchy demands of men that they become and remain emotional cripples. Since it is a system that denies men full access to their freedom of will, it is difficult for any man of any class to rebel against patriarchy, to be disloyal to the patriarchal parent, be that parent female or male.”

The man who has been my primary bond for more than twelve years was traumatized by the patriarchal dynamics in his family of origin. When I met him he was in his twenties.

 While his formative years had been spent in the company of a violent, alcoholic dad, his circumstances changed when he was twelve and he began to live alone with his mother.

 In the early years of our relationship he talked openly about his hostility and rage toward his abusingn dad. He was not interested in forgiving him or understanding the circumstances that had shaped and influenced his dad’s life, either in his childhood or in his working life as a military man. In the early years of our relationship he was extremely critical of male domination of women and children. 

Although he did not use the word “patriarchy,” he understood its meaning and he opposed it. His gentle, quiet manner often led folks to ignore him, counting him among the weak and the powerless. 

By the age of thirty he began to assume a more macho persona, embracing the dominator model that he had once critiqued. Donning the mantle of patriarch, he gained greater respect and visibility. More women were drawn to him. He was noticed more in public spheres. His criticism of male domination ceased. And indeed he begin to mouth patriarchal rhetoric, saying the kind of sexist stuff that would have appalled him in the past.

These changes in his thinking and behavior were triggered by his desire to be accepted and affirmed in a patriarchal workplace and rationalized by his desire to get ahead. 

His story is not unusual. Boys brutalized and victimized by patriarchy more often than not become patriarchal, embodying the abusive patriarchal masculinity that they once clearly recognized as evil. 

Few men brutally abused as boys in the name of patriarchal maleness courageously resist the brainwashing and remain true to themselves. Most males conform to patriarchy in one way or another.

Indeed, radical feminist critique of patriarchy has practically been silenced in our culture. It has become a subcultural discourse available only to well-educated elites. Even in those circles, using the word “patriarchy” is regarded as passé. 

Often in my lectures when I use the phrase “imperialist white-supremacist capitalist patriarchy” to describe our nation’s political system, audiences laugh. No one has ever explained why accurately naming this system is funny. 

The laughter is itself a weapon of patriarchal terrorism. It functions as a disclaimer, discounting the significance of what is being named. It suggests that the words themselves are problematic and not the system they describe. I interpret this laughter as the audience’s way of showing discomfort with being asked to ally themselves with an antipatriarchal disobedient critique. This laughter reminds me that if I dare to challenge patriarchy openly, I risk not being taken seriously.

Citizens in this nation fear challenging patriarchy even as they lack overt awareness that they are fearful, so deeply embedded in our collective unconscious are the rules of patriarchy. 

I often tell audiences that if we were to go door-to-door asking if we should end male violence against women, most people would give their unequivocal support. 

Then if you told them we can only stop male violence against women by ending male domination, by eradicating patriarchy, they would begin to hesitate, to change their position. Despite the many gains of contemporary feminist movement—greater equality for women in the workforce, more tolerance for the relinquishing of rigid gender roles—patriarchy as a system remains intact, and many people continue to believe that it is needed if humans are to survive as a species. 

This belief seems ironic, given that patriarchal methods of organizing nations, especially the insistence on violence as a means of social control, has actually led to the slaughter of millions of people on the planet.

Until we can collectively acknowledge the damage patriarchy causes and the suffering it creates, we cannot address male pain. We cannot demand for men the right to be whole, to be givers and sustainers of life. Obviously some patriarchal men are reliable and even benevolent caretakers and providers, but still they are imprisoned by a system that undermines their mental health.

Patriarchy promotes insanity. It is at the root of the psychological ills troubling men in our nation. Nevertheless there is no mass concern for the plight of men. In Stiffed: The Betrayal of the American Man, Susan Faludi includes very little discussion of patriarchy:

“Ask feminists to diagnose men’s problems and you will often get a very clear explanation: men are in crisis because women are properly challenging male dominance. Women are asking men to share the public reins and men can’t bear it. Ask antifeminists and you will get a diagnosis that is, in one respect, similar. 

Men are troubled, many conservative pundits say, because women have gone far beyond their demands for equal treatment and are now trying to take power and control away from men…The underlying message: men cannot be men, only eunuchs, if they are not in control. 

Both the feminist and antifeminist views are rooted in a peculiarly modern American perception that to be a man means to be at the controls and at all times to feel yourself in control.”

Faludi never interrogates the notion of control. She never considers that the notion that men were somehow in control, in power, and satisfied with their lives before contemporary feminist movement is false.

Patriarchy as a system has denied males access to full emotional well-being, which is not the same as feeling rewarded, successful, or powerful because of one’s capacity to assert control over others. 

To truly address male pain and male crisis we must as a nation be willing to expose the harsh reality that patriarchy has damaged men in the past and continues to damage them in the present. If patriarchy were truly rewarding to men, the violence and addiction in family life that is so all-pervasive would not exist. 

This violence was not created by feminism. If patriarchy were rewarding, the overwhelming dissatisfaction most men feel in their work lives—a dissatisfaction extensively documented in the work of Studs Terkel and echoed in Faludi’s treatise—would not exist. 

In many ways Stiffed was yet another betrayal of American men because Faludi spends so much time trying not to challenge patriarchy that she fails to highlight the necessity of ending patriarchy if we are to liberate men. Rather she writes:

“Instead of wondering why men resist women’s struggle for a freer and healthier life, I began to wonder why men refrain from engaging in their own struggle. Why, despite a crescendo of random tantrums, have they offered no methodical, reasoned response to their predicament: Given the untenable and insulting nature of the demands placed on men to prove themselves in our culture, why don’t men revolt?…Why haven’t men responded to the series of betrayals in their own lives—to the failures of their fathers to make good on their promises��with some thing coequal to feminism?”

Note that Faludi does not dare risk either the ire of feminist females by suggesting that men can find salvation in feminist movement or rejection by potential male readers who are solidly antifeminist by suggesting that they have something to gain from engaging feminism. 

So far in our nation visionary feminist movement is the only struggle for justice that emphasizes the need to end patriarchy. 

No mass body of women has challenged patriarchy and neither has any group of men come together to lead the struggle.

 The crisis facing men is not the crisis of masculinity, it is the crisis of patriarchal masculinity. Until we make this distinction clear, men will continue to fear that any critique of patriarchy represents a threat. 

Distinguishing political patriarchy, which he sees as largely committed to ending sexism, therapist Terrence Real makes clear that the patriarchy damaging us all is embedded in our psyches:

“Psychological patriarchy is the dynamic between those qualities deemed “masculine” and “feminine” in which half of our human traits are exalted while the other half is devalued. Both men and women participate in this tortured value system. 

Psychological patriarchy is a “dance of contempt,” a perverse form of connection that replaces true intimacy with complex, covert layers of dominance and submission, collusion and manipulation. It is the unacknowledged paradigm of relationships that has suffused Western civilization generation after generation, deforming both sexes, and destroying the passionate bond between them.”

By highlighting psychological patriarchy, we see that everyone is implicated and we are freed from the misperception that men are the enemy. 

To end patriarchy we must challenge both its psychological and its concrete manifestations in daily life.

 There are folks who are able to critique patriarchy but unable to act in an antipatriarchal manner.

To end male pain, to respond effectively to male crisis, we have to name the problem. We have to both acknowledge that the problem is patriarchy and work to end patriarchy. 

Terrence Real offers this valuable insight: “The reclamation of wholeness is a process even more fraught for men than it has been for women, more difficult and more profoundly threatening to the culture at large.”

If men are to reclaim them essential goodness of male being, if they are to regain the space of openheartedness and emotional expressiveness that is the foundation of well-being, we must envision alternatives to patriarchal masculinity. We must all change.

[queenmuzz]

Deep Blue Sea: Chapter V

Prisoner’s Dilemma

Full story is on Ao3 here.

“...and we're expected to reach 4 percent growth this quarter,” the chief officer of finance droned on, “with a goal of ten percent growth at the end of the year. The Asian markets are causing immense growth, and our acquisition of Mallet Fisheries has opened us to the European markets, particularly among with herring and cod”

Your head nodded, and you were failing the to fight the urge to doze off, when you felt your knee being squeezed. You jerked, and looked to your right, to a apologetically smiling Fredrick. Hastily, you checked around at the other men and women at the mahogany table, to see if anyone else had noticed. Thankfully, they seemed all engrossed at the woman at the podium.

“Unfortunately, we may not reach our projected growth this year, due to unforeseen circumstances regarding mechanical issues with our ships, and especially the sinking of the Phantom.” You felt heat creep up your neck and face, you knew exactly what they were talking about. (The Phantom was one of the larger ships the company owned, to think Vergil could have single-handedly taken it down...wow, you were impressed).

“But nevertheless,” she continued, “We've been personally assured that the cause of these malfunctions have been taken care of, and we should not face anymore issues.” You grimaced, and then quickly checked if anyone else had seen your reaction, but even Fredrick hadn't seen anything, thank God.

“And with that,” she said, “I leave the last words to our wonderful owner.” A round of polite clapping followed as your father walked up up to podium, a big grin on his face. He adjusted his reading glasses, as he checked his notes. “As you know, my Father started this business as a small humble fleet of boats, set on the east coast, and was very happy at how it grew and prospered. When he passed it down to me, he told me, 'Son, this is your family legacy. Take care of it as if it was your own child. Nurture it, support it, watch it grow and succeed. And one day, you will see it grow up more than you could have ever hoped.'” He smiled and looked up. “When my father handed me the company, it was large, a dominant fishing fleet that covered the east coast. And several decades later, we've managed to make our family business fully live up to it's name. Mundus is the Latin word for 'The World', and I am proud to see the the company I've worked hard to build has truly lived to it's name. Mundus Ltd has truly become a worldwide company.”

He looked straight at you “Which is why I'm happy to announce that as of today, I'll be letting my daughter, and future son-in-law slowly take over the business.” Surprised murmurings came from the suits, which your father quickly quieted down. “Now don't worry, this transitional period will be at least five years, and possibly a whole decade, to make it as smooth as possible, and I'll be in charge up until the very end. No one's job is at risk. All I ask is that you would treat them as hospitably as you can, help them learn the ropes of this business, and by the time my daughter is ready to take the reins, you'll barely notice the difference. Does anyone have any questions, for me or for our future leaders?”

Thankfully, the boardroom was full of people who were thinking exactly like you, and wanting to get out, asap, so no hands were raised. “Well, that about wraps this meeting up, thank you all for attending, we'll meet up in a few weeks time.” Your father said, as the board members attempted to not look to eager to leave the room. You attempted to do the same, but unfortunately, your dad intercepted you, “I know it's a lot of pressure, to live up to this responsibility, but I'm sure with just a few years of training, you'll be ready to take over your legacy. After all, it's in the blood, right?” He laughed as he placed his hand on your shoulder, “Let's go out for a business lunch, I can show you the basics”

You wanted to decline, but Fredrick saved the day. “Sorry sir, but we've already planned our lunch together,” which you father seemingly was fine with.

“Have fun, you lovebirds!” he called out as you left the building, causing you to blush immensely.

*****

You sat in the booth, poking at your salad. You'd at first been happy that Fredrick had 'rescued' you from the attentions of your father, but now you were regretting it, since your fiance was a bit nervous, a bit distant. He kept glancing at his phone, like he was expecting a call, and it was getting a bit annoying.

“So, you expecting someone?” you attempted to ask nonchalantly, after his sixth checkup.

He sighed apologetically, “I'm sorry, my dad is expecting me home soon, he has business dealings with a Japanese engineering firm he wants me to be a part of, but we're not sure when they will show up, their flight might be a bit early. He paused, took a drink of his water, and stiffened, “which is what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“What does this have to do with me?” you asked, somewhat nervously.

He sighed, as if he really didn't want this conversation. “It looks like my father wants me to head with the engineering team back to Japan to oversee the construction and operation of the new fish processing plant.”

You were relieved. It wasn't something bad at all, he was just nervous about the 'promotion' “Oh that's great! It's wonderful that you're father trusts you with such an important task. I'm sure you'll do great at it.”

He grimaced, “Yeah... that's the problem. I'll be out of the country for nearly ten and half months...”

You mentally calculated... you'd been engaged for a month, and in that time you'd seen Fredrick a grand total of... four days. That would leave...

“You'll only have a half a month to get ready before the wedding?!”

“Yeah, I know, I brought this up with my dad, but he said that this couldn't wait.... this was the perfect opportunity to get my feet wet in the business, and that I'd be a fool to miss this,” he said sheepishly.

“But the planning... I thought we were going to do this together!”

“We can, I won't be in the middle of nowhere, I'll have 24/7 internet access.”

“That won't help me with contacting vendors, caterers, and convention areas... it won't help me choose flowers or who to invite and who's persona non grata to the ceremony,” you protested.

Your fiance gritted his teeth as his head “Look, my father said that was usually the reserve of the ladies, and you're getting a top notch wedding planner, so how hard could it be? By the time I come back, the only thing we'll need is the tuxedo fitting, and we'll be good to go.”

“How hard could it be!?” you wanted to scream, but you couldn't start a scene in public. Besides, he had a point, how many months had he gone without seeing you while you were busy on you studies? He deserved this chance to make something of himself, even if it put more of a burden on you. It wouldn't be fair to him to deny him this, not when you were comfortable at home, no expectations... just arrange a wedding, and learn how your father's business ran. Still, you had hoped that both of you would be able to do this as a team....

“Alright, I guess. I mean, I won't deny that I'm disappointed...but do you really want this?”

He placed his hand on yours, and smiled apologetically. “Yes, although I wish it was at any other time of my life. It's a shame how life likes to throw curve balls at us. Now,” he said as he waved a passing waiter for the check, “Let me drive you home, and I'll get you my future contact info.”

*****

Fredrick pulled into your driveway, and hurriedly got out to open the door for you. He was always so gentlemanly about it, and even when it occasionally annoyed you, you couldn't bear to tell him to stop.

“We've arrived, milady” he joked as he escorted you to your front door. As you went through your keys to get the correct one, you paused. Your fiance had not been to your place since the aquarium was set up, and hadn't been told about Vergil. In fact, aside from your father and 'Doctor' Griffon, you were pretty sure no one knew about the merman.

What was strange was that you weren't worried about what Fredrick would think of Vergil, it was more of what Vergil would Fredrick. Would he see him as an intruder? What nonsense! In the past month, with your daily conversations, you'd told him many things about yourself, your family (although you had wisley steered away from talking about your father) friends, and... your fiance. What had Vergil called him? Ah, yes, 'Future Bondmate'. Merfolk seemed to have the romantic terms for everything. Surely he would be understanding enough that he would see Fredrick was no threat.

“Having trouble, honey?” Fredrick's voice intruded into your thoughts.

“I'm sorry, between all the keys from the estate, it's always hard to find the right one.” You fingered each key on the ring. One for your father's place, one for the warehouse on the estate, one to you mother's... and of course, one to Fredrick's place. Not to mention the ones to the private dock where you and your father kept your boats.

“Ah, here it is” you pulled it out in victory, and you inserted the key, and turned. “Now I must warn you, my place is a bit different since you last came over...” but by then it was too late, your fiance had inadvertently pushed you aside to get a better look at the aquarium. Could you really blame him? He didn't quite share the same fascination of the oceans as you, but only a curmudgeon would fail to appreciate the beauty of such an extravagant aquarium. He marveled at the coral, the rocks, the fish...

But not Vergil.

The merman was nowhere to be seen. You panicked for a brief moment, worried that Vergil had attempted an escape, and was currently stuck or hurt. But then you saw just a flicker of movement, from behind one of the farther rocks, nearly imperceptible to anyone who didn't know there was something there in the first place. Vergil, cautious as ever (and could you blame him?) had obviously heard a stranger, and decided retreat was the wisest course of action. “Amazing, your father really has outdone himself this time.” He observed a school of angelfish swim past. “It will be a bit of a hassle to move it to my place after the wedding...”

“Wait” you interrupted, jokingly “Who's to say I'm moving in with you?”

“I need to be close to my business, and close to the airport should I need to make an emergency trip to one of the factories.” he said, straight faced.

You realized he wasn't joking, and you protested “But this is my place, my home... we haven't even discussed our living arrangements yet.”

He seemed to have grasped quickly what you were talking about. “Sorry, I really shouldn't have assumed....Look, we don't have to move in all the way, you can keep this place as your home, live at my place part time, it's not really going to be that far, just a half hour drive if the traffic is good. We can even-” he was interrupted by a incessant buzzing, and he grabbed his phone, looking at message. “Aw damn, looks like their flight has arrived.” He began walking to the door, with you following. “Look, I'll try to call you every night, you work out all the arrangements, and I'll say yes to everything and anything you want. I want this to be the day you always dreamed about.” He gave you a quick kiss on the lips, before opening the front door, and running to his car. He pulled out at an alarming rate of speed, waving to you the entire time. You reciprocated, smiling and waving all the while until he was out of sight. Only then did your arm slowly fall down, and your smile fade.

Slowly closing the door, you trudged inside, before flopping down on the couch. It was only early afternoon, and yet you were exhausted. You were could only deal with so much personal interaction for so long without starting to break down. And now you were expected to take care of every single detail of this wedding. And it was going to be big wedding, you knew that. It would have been nice if the workload had been sha-

“So that is your bondmate to be?”  Vergil's inner voice gently prodded you from your anxiety inducing thoughts. You looked back at the aquarium glass, where he floated silently. Only now did you notice that his once pale tale was now speckled with blue scales, and his fins now had more of a blueish tint to them, unrelated to the lights of the aquarium.

“Yeah, that's Fredrick,” you waited for his judgement, no doubt negative, as Vergil had a very low opinion of humans in general.

“He seems like a good man” he responded, and you smiled. Perhaps he wasn't the curmudgeon you thought he was.

“But you do not love him.”

You did a double take, “Wait, what do you mean?”

He kept his eyes on you, but not in a judgmental way, “The way you talk to him, the physical gestures, the way you smile...” you thought about how he was watching you smile, and you felt bubbly inside, before shoving it back down.  “You do not hate him, nor dislike him, but as a bondmate....” he hesitated before continuing on “he is not what you wish for the rest of your life. Which perplexes me, why do you go through with this?”

You thought about the first part. Vergil was correct, while you and Fredrick were good friends, almost best friends, you couldn't really take it to the next level. But the wedding... once you were married, things would work out.

“It's more complicated than that, Vergil. Humans don't always marry for love, it's actually a relatively new concept, especially among upper classes. We usually married to bind families together, whether property, land, or power. Hopefully, love was added benefit.”

“Strange” the merman mused, “Perhaps it is due to humans and their need for possessions has superseded other concerns. We merfolk do not have such concerns, and as such, we value our connections, with out family, friends, our... bondmates. To create such a connection” he said seriously, and you realized this was the first you'd heard about mer culture, “is a life long commitment, one that has power that is.... inexplicable” You hesitated, worried at that you would bring up bad memories, “Vergil...do you...have a bondmate?”

He was taken aback, and he backed up for a tense moment, “No.... I was a bit of an oddity, I preferred to go my way for the past few years. Perhaps in a few years... if ...” his eyes seemed to dim, and he looked like he was staring at nothing.

“Vergil,” you said softly, and the alertness returned, but not to the same exact level as before, “The offer is still on the table, if you want to leave, I'll get you to the ocean.” You had expected him to either happily take the offer, or return to his angry state and denial. You didn't expect a small, sad smile.

“The offer is appreciated whether you place it on a table or in the aquarium, but I must decline...for now.”

“Well, if you ever change your mind, at any time, I'll do it. I don't want you to be a prisoner here.”

“We seem to have that in common...” he chuckled without mirth, causing you to cock your head in confusion. “You do not wish to see me a prisoner of this cage and I...” he paused, “I do not wish to see you a prisoner of expectations....”

And with that, he (rapidly) swam away, leaving you flummoxed, confused, and suddenly rather disconcerted.

[sariastrategos]

“People are staring” Lambert muttered, dropping his shoulders and curling in on himself. He was gently hoisted up by the arm he had linked with Jaskier.

“Of course they are darling, we’re gorgeous.” He replied, staring straight ahead, apparently paying no mind to the turning heads.

“Jaskier-“

“Lambert.”

This was a terrible idea. The singular worst idea he’d ever had.

“They’re not staring because we look good, Jaskier”

“Whatever gives you that impression?”

“Gee, I dunno, could be the confused fucking looks they’re throwing at us. Or maybe the muttering right after? How about the snickers?” He replied darkly, hunching back in on himself at the disgusted looks an older couple had openly plastered on their faces “what the fuck are you looking at you wrinkly old farts? Never seen a man in a fucking dress before? Get the fuck outta here!” He snarled.

Jaskier places a hand on his upper arm and hauled him back on course. “Calm down, dear.”

Easy for him to say. Walking without a care in the world despite his minty green, flouncy dress, coral kitten heels and matching purse. Man was wearing a choker and pink lip gloss for fucks sake.

He’d been feeling more confident lately, mostly thanks to Jaskier and his brothers’ support. They never flinched when he came out all done up after three hours of Jaskier’s meticulous attention. Didn’t blink when he wore leggings and a loose top or lounged around in skirt.

Well, besides telling him to close his damn legs, they didn’t need to see his balls airing out.

But yeah, aside from that the only comment they made was to tell him he looked nice, the colour suited him, his legs looked great in that outfit, etc. Nothing but supportive, even if they teased him. If anything the teasing helped, made everything feel normal. So yeah, he’d been feeling confident. Comfortable in his own skin, even.

He mentioned to Jaskier as he practiced his makeup that he kind of felt good enough to maybe leave the house. In his makeup. And a dress. Maybe some cute heels.

Jaskier had leapt on the idea. Gushed about how pretty they’d look, walking down the street in the spring sunshine. He wasn’t shy about anything, he and Geralt went out all the time with him dressed up. Even if he was just wearing makeup he didn’t care and neither had Geralt.

So they’d decided on a small outing. Nothing big, no malls or clubs or anything, just...out for ice cream and maybe a stroll through the park. Nothing too far from the house.

Jaskier’s enthusiasm had certainly been a deciding factor in this little outing but he wasn’t feeling as confident now. He knew he wasn’t getting as many looks as he thought, not even a quarter of the people on the street spared them a glance but he felt every. Single. One.

It was the last straw when a group of fucking frat fucks openly stared and laughed.

“I can’t do this. Let’s go back, those little shits are actually laughing in our faces.”

“Do you know them?” Jaskier asked, looking at him quizzically, completely ignoring the bastards with a death wish on the bench they were passing.

“No, the fuck? Should I know them?”

“No.” Jaskier said simply, turning and looking straight ahead again, chin tipped back and head held high “they’re not worth knowing.” He continued, tugged their linked arms to get his feet moving again when he tried to stop and turn around. “And if they aren’t worth knowing, their opinions aren’t worth your consideration.”

He let himself be tugged along as he considered this thought. Compelling argument but it didn’t stop the curl of shame and fear that twisted his guts when one of them wolf whistled and the others laughed.

The growls he heard rumble behind him startled him. He looked behind, catching Jaskier’s grin on the way, to see both Geralt and Eskel glaring daggers at the boys. Every line of their posture was menacing, from the snarls on their faces to the wide set of their feet. The boys on the bench, so brave a moment ago when they were jeering, fell silent and stared, wide eyed, at the two enormous men.

“It is helpful to have twin mountains of muscle ready to tear out throats with their teeth walking behind you.” Jaskier said, throwing a fond look and sly grin behind them. “I’ve thought several times that they should rent themselves out as escorts for this very purpose.”

They watched as Eskel and Geralt took two menacing steps in the boys’ direction and they went tripping over each other to bolt the other way. It was satisfying to see them run, comforting to know he had their support but also depressing that he’d not been the one to scare them off himself.

He suddenly felt ridiculous, all trussed up in a purple wrap dress, meticulously applied makeup and a wig Jaskier had picked up somewhere. Jaskier had offered him some contrasting yellow heels but they were a little too bright for his confidence level and he’d settled on a black pair instead.

He looked alright, his silhouette was a fuckin mess without the proper padding or a clincher but he thought he looked at least a little nice before he left. His makeup was fucking flawless.

He’d shaved off his goatee for this.

But all it took was some awkward looks and mocking from some little shits who’d barely come out of puberty and every ounce of his good mood had been fucking shattered. Everywhere. He was walking on the debris of his budding comfort with his super cute shoes. He could see the purple nail polish from his pedi through the peep toes of his heels as he crunched down on the remains of his hope.

He hadn’t realized he was spiralling until the arm linked with his tugged him forward and another snaked around his shoulders. Both gave him a light squeeze and he blinked to see the arm around him belonged to Eskel who was giving him a smile.

“Fuck ‘em, Lam, their shit ain’t worth yours.” He gave him another squeeze “you look great, they just don’t know how to handle how confused you made their sexuality.”

He snorted and let himself stand up a little straighter, marveling at the extra inch of height he now had on his older brother. “Yeah, I’m sure they’ll be jacking themselves to thoughts of me tonight”

“I will be” Jaskier commented mildly from his other side, wrapping his free arm around Geralt’s, who was still glaring after the boys. “You’ve got such lovely legs, dear heart, I wish you’d show them off more.”

“Yeah I’ll just throw out all my jeans and fill my drawers with Daisy Dukes and leggings for you.” He rolled his eyes and let himself keep walking, trying to ignore the people around them. They really weren’t that bad, hardly anyone looked their way but it felt like everyone was looking at him. He couldn’t pull this off as well as Jask with his big, bright eyes, long lashes and soft features.

“Don’t tease, darling, it’s cruel” he replied and planted a smooch on his cheek. “Before you fuss, your makeup is fine.” He was grinning from ear to ear, walking like a natural in those shoes, with a practiced sashay to his hips that did wonders to catch the eye. It sure kept catching Geralt’s eye as his skirts swished and his hip bumped his regularly. There was a reason he’d chosen to walk behind them at the start of this after all.

“How do you do it?” He asked “how do you walk like that?”

With a confused look Jaskier watched him for a moment “the same way you do darling, lots of practice and sore feet-“

“No I mean how do you walk like you don’t give a fuck? You don’t feel all the eyes burning into you?”

Jaskier paused and considered his answer “Well that’s just it darling, I don’t give a fuck.” He smiled brightly “their opinions don’t mean a damn thing to me, chances are I probably won’t see any of these people again and if I do we won’t remember each other.” He hugged his arm to him tightly “and what’s more is it’s my life, not theirs. This makes me feel happy and fulfilled and their opinions don’t, so which matters more?”

That took some time to process. They continued to walk and Lambert dimly recognized the warmth of the sun, the conversation flowing around him, the weight of his brother’s arm, as all secondary to his thoughts as he took Jaskier’s words in. He was right, the logic was sound, but it didn’t stop him from curling in on himself whenever he heard people muttering as they passed by. For fuck’s sake they probably weren’t even talking about him but it felt like they were.

He had to restrain himself from lashing out twice before Eskel tightened his arm around him again and leaned over to whisper in his ear. “Remember, confidence is key, little sister”

He almost got whiplash with how fast he snapped his head around to look at him. He’d never called him that before, no matter how much makeup or what skirt he was wearing. His eyes must have been saucers but Eskel just gave him a bolstering grin, the same look he’d give him when he was practicing footwork or frustrated with a brew that wouldn’t turn out. It was comfortingly familiar. “back straight, head up, no more of this self-conscious hunching, it doesn’t suit you”

“It really doesn’t” Geralt chimed in “The Lambert we know is proud, loud and obnoxious. Let that Lambert back out.”

It took a little bit, but eventually he straightened his spine, Vesemir would have killed him to see him slouching like that. A coaxing smile from Jaskier and he tilted his chin up a little more.

“That’s better.” Eskel grinned “the rest of the world can go fuck itself, show them what a fierce bitch you are.”

Lambert gave him a cocky grin that he was actually starting to feel “I am a fierce bitch. Fuck ‘em I am, I’ll claw their fucking eyes out if they don’t like it.”

“That’s the spirit darling! With the right nails, anything is possible!” Jaskier, always a font of support and violence.

“Fuck, thanks Eskel, now they’re fucking feral and it’s your fault” Geralt looked up at the sky like he was praying for strength. Jaskier and Lambert could feed off each other’s destructive energy for hours.

“You’re just jealous you’re nails can’t cut throats”

Jaskier and Lambert ignored them, discussing the merits and drawbacks of stiletto nails.

He still had a long way to go before he’d leave the house in makeup without at least one of them, but he felt good for today.

[rohad93]

A Work In Progress: Memory in G Minor

A lil Bellow Diamond snippet that fits in with the events of my stories from bellow week but after the movie(though it doesnt matter much) Also my beta reader left the country so excuse and mistakes. 

~~~~~~~~~

Another day on Homeworld in Era 3 started as it typically did in the confines of Yellow Diamonds palace, with the low hum of machinery and the clinking and clanking of metal. 

Though it was no longer the hum of large scale weaponry, or the clinking and clanking of metal plates being constructed into battle ships. 

Now it was just Yellow herself, alone in her personal workshop, a place nearly abandoned after the end of Era one. There simply hadn’t been the time, between the other diamonds courts and her own she was mildly surprised she hadn’t cracked under the strain. A burden made all the more apparent by the sudden surplus of free time she suddenly had. 

There were still things to see too but it was nothing like before and for as much as she knew Steven did enjoy spending time with them, she was well aware that he had his own life to live on Earth and that the three of them, especially White, could be a little much. 

 She was resolved to try and respect that. 

They had Spinel with them now but they all still needed time apart, herself especially. There was only so much of White she could handle in any given rotation.

Thus how she had rediscovered her workshop, the place limb enhancers, destabilizers and rejuvenators had been birthed. 

She now felt some modicum of shame at the last two, but there was no use wallowing in past mistakes. It was what had been required of her at the time. 

She was however reminded of the great pride she felt whenever pieces slotted together and worked as they should, a fulfillment she had felt long ago, when she was a much younger gem. A time before she had conquered her first planet, a time before Pink or even Blue had existed.  

Now, when she wasn’t needed or in the presence of her fellow diamonds she retreated to her workshop for quiet and solitude. 

A small concentrated zap of her powers soldered two plates of metal together, connecting their circuits. Yellow hummed to herself as she inspected the tiny circuitry with a critical eye before nodding to herself as she slotted the new piece into place in the circuit board. 

Her newest project was something she had wanted to work on for a long time, a very long time. It was only now that she finally had the chance. It had been in the works for several months and she was very nearly finished with it now. 

It had been so long and yet her hands moved as though it had barely been a rotation since last she had tinkered with the tools strewn about the table. 

Her gem would glow periodically as she infused her power into the small circuits, hopefully ensuring it would do what she had planned for it to do. 

She was so absorbed in the small device in front of her that she didn’t even notice the pneumatic hiss of the workshop doors. 

Brows furrowed in concentration as she worked a small part into its rightful place between a set of metal prongs.  

“So this is where you’ve been.” A melodic voice at her back broke the silence, making the golden gem jerk up in surprise. 

“Blue!” Yellow nearly yelped, turning to her azure counterpart, standing their with a small smile on her lips. “What are you doing here?” She turned around fully to face her.

“Looking for you of course, darling.” She said as her eyes roamed around the workshop and the many partially completed projects from eons past. “I had forgotten this place even existed.” She admitted, openly admiring the many devices hanging from the walls

 “I nearly did as well.” Yellow admitted, rolling her shoulders, only now realizing how long she’d been hunched over the work table. “You’ve grown tired of White and Spinel’s company already?” She cocked a brow.

“The two of them are completely engaged in one of Spinel’s games so I thought I might come keep you company for a while, if you don’t mind that is.” cobalt eyes settled back on her, a soft smiling pulling at her lips. 

“You know I don’t, though I doubt you’ll find my work of particular interest.” She turned back to her current project, well aware of Blue peeking around her shoulders, gazing down at fist sized cube Yellow held gently in her hand. 

“The things you come up with are always interesting.” She assured, brushing her fingers through stiff golden hair teasingly. 

“I think you mean deadly.” Yellow grunted, twisting a small bolt in place with a satisfying click. 

“Well, some of them have been that, certainly.” She agreed, moving to the side to better view her love at work. “That doesn’t lessen the brilliance or ingenuity.” She insisted. 

Molten gold eyes slid to regard her from the corner of her eye for a brief moment.

“You flatter me.” She said in a deadpan voice, though the subtle upturn of her lips held a different tone altogether. 

“I do try.”  She admitted with a small grin. “So, what are you working on?” She turned her gaze back to the device that enviously held her lovers attention so strongly. 

“I can’t say.” Yellow said after a long moment, turning to look at the perplexed look on Blue’s face. “It’s a surprise.” She finally said, a certain look in her diamond shaped eyes. 

“I don’t care for surprises…” Blue crossed her robed arms, a pout settling on her face that made Yellow snort in amusement. 

“Be that as it may you’ll have to wait just the same.” She went back to fiddling with the device, well aware of the look Blue was giving her. 

“Very well.” She acquiesced. “Keep your secrets, I simply came to keep you company.” She flipped a hand nonchalantly as she sat in the chair near the bench but Yellow knew better. It was eating her up. 

In the ensuing quiet she was able to concentrate again on the task at hand, completely forgetting about her counterpart watching her quietly as she cut and molded pieces to fit her needs.

She wasn’t sure how many cycles had passed when she finally stood up straight, holding the completed device in her hands.

“Are you finished?” She nearly jumped when Blue spoke.She had all but forgotten of her fellow diamonds presence. 

“I am” Yellow turned to face Blue and her curious expression, holding out the device on her upturned palm.

“For me?”  Blue blinked back at Yellow in surprise.

“For you.” was all the other diamond said. 

Reaching out carefully Blue plucked the device from her lovers hands. It didn’t appear to be anything special. A small metal cube, with deep lines carved across every face, meeting at a small crystal at the center of its top face and a diamond shaped button on it’s left face. 

Blue glanced up at her companion who gave an encouraging smile before Blue pressed the button. 

Yellow light glowed in the crevices that lined the device on every side, reaching up and lighting the crystal at its top. 

Yellow, needlessly, held her breath.

Blue waited and it seemed like nothing was going to happen for a moment, just as she was about to turn back to Yellow did she hear it. 

It started quiet at first, a soft, almost humming melody.

A song.

Wordless and quiet but growing stronger and louder till the beautiful lilting melody filled the air around her. 

It was beautiful and there was something eerily familiar about the sound of the singer. It most certainly wasn’t Yellow or White, both were incapable of such quiet singing.

The voice pitched to another note and realization smacked Blue so hard she thought her gem might crack. 

“Pink…” The name ghosted across her lips unbidden. It was Pink singing.  Blue remained mesmerized by the boxes song as Pinks long absent voice crooned in delicate, wordless notes before the song faded out and the crystal went dark.

Watery ocean eyes looked up at Yellow in silent question. 

“This…” she started, cupping her hand beneath Blue’s still clutching the small device “...is something I began working on when we first gave Pink the Earth. I knew how much you missed her and I wished to ease it.” She explained the boxes purpose. “It was forgotten in the wake of the rebellion and...other things.” She trailed off. None of them particularly liked talking about Pinks fake shattering. 

“Why now?” Blue glanced down at the device before looking back up at Yellow.

“It seemed like you could use it now, now that the memory isn’t so... painful.” She gave an awkward little shrug. 

“However did you make it sound like her?” Blue marveled at the little metal box. 

“It doesn’t sound like her, it is her.” She sniffed. “We didn’t have any recordings of Pink singing so I built this, to access and record audio memories from a gem. I simply used my own” She explained to her amazed counterpart. 

Blue stared down at the box clutched in her fingers before looking back up at Yellow.   

“This is… your memory of Pink singing?” She asked slowly once the implication of what Yellow was saying sank in. 

“It is” Was the simple answer. Blue clutched the box close to her, as if it hadn’t already been precious before. A small piece of Pink returned to her, through her darling Yellow.  

“It’s wonderful, Yellow.” She smiled despite the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes as she leaned against the other diamond. “Thank you.” She pressed a kiss Yellow’s cheek. 

“Anything for you, Blue.”

[cela-astral-projection]

Have you been fast asleep And have you heard voices, I've heard them calling my name,

Is this the sweet sound that calls The young sailors, The voice might be one and the same. I've heard it too many times to ignore it It's something that I'm supposed to be.

Celeste was up before dawn. Hell, she had been up most of the night, too. Today was the day. No longer under lock and key. A fully vetted member of the medical staff. No longer subject to long, torturous lessons. She was free to practice medicine without the scrutiny of the Quaestor or the Doctor. She was free to leave the palace.

One whole year.

The morning air was cool, and dew slicked every surface. Glittering in the blue morning light, catching the first rays of the sun.

She was wearing a plain white button-down and a blue linen skirt. A knit shawl around her shoulders, more than sufficient coverage for the early morning chill. She stood at the grand gates, waiting for them to be opened for the day along with a smattering of other staff.

She could hear hoofbeats and carriages approaching. It was a part of the morning ritual. You came to the gate if there were errands to be run, or if you were off duty, and you went into town, and the utility carriages would ferry staff back and forth throughout the day.

As the line of carriages started picking up passengers, Celeste hung back, looking for Aedan. He had agreed to meet her and give her the lay of the land. Save for their initial walkthrough of the city when they arrived, she hadn't seen much of it. Whereas he was on regular patrols in the city.

But he was nowhere to be found. She worried, a bit. But then, that was a constant state. Worry. That something had gone wrong.

After the carriages were gone, she sighed, resigned. She would have to wait for someone to return, or walk on her own. She wasn't opposed. She wasn't staying here. She was free, and, by the gods, she would take advantage of it.

She made to leave but heard another carriage approaching. This one, decidedly not utilitarian. Gilded, opulent, with white horses, bedecked in finery.

Lucio's carriage.

The horses slowed to a stop, and the carriage door swung open. A tall, blonde man emerged, beaming. Dressed in his guard's uniform. He gestured grandly. "Milady, your carriage awaits!" Aedan called out, looking very pleased with himself.

Celeste stared at him, then closed her eyes, slowly, swearing under her breath. "Fucking idiot." She shook her head, but steeled herself, and stepped forward.

He bowed to her, reveling in it. She fixed him with a hard, cold stare. He looked up and winked, undeterred, offering his hand to help her in. She took it and stepped inside.

It was all red velvet and gold filigree. Golden roses on the walls, embedded artfully in the luxurious fabric. She sat, marveling at the ostentatiousness. Aedan stepped in behind her and sat heavily, kicking his feet up on the far seat.

"Congratulations, Sissy. You made it!" He said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and leaning in to peck her cheek affectionately. She did smile, then, shaking her head.

"You are an absolute fool, Vernersson. You know that, right?" she chided, playfully.

"Ah, fuck it. The guys in the stables owe me a favor. But, hell. If we go down, at least we're going down together. In style." He squeezed her and released her, crossing his arms behind his head, reclining. "Besides, I can always play it off that we were checking the carriage for signs of sabotage. I might get a promotion."

"Oh, there's a rank higher than lapdog?" she teased, sitting back.

"You wound me." he rolled his eyes. "Speaking of promotions, I heard that you were begrudgingly awarded the rank of Nurse Practitioner. Good on you."

She swirled her finger in the air, dismissive. "All it means is that I don't have to have Valdemar leering at me constantly. Nothing of value has changed."

"That's a blessing," he replied. Valdemar wasn’t someone he’d like to run into in a dark corner. And he knew that’s all his sister had done for the last year. After a beat, he decided to continue. "And what about the Doctor? You still working...under him?"

She shot a dark look at him but didn't reply. Aedan laughed.

Word was fully out. And, thankfully, it had been fallen more on Julian than her. He, the "superior" and she, his "subordinate". Even so, it had mostly been to Julian's embarrassment. There hadn't been any real consequences besides a little shame and a whole lot of blushing.

She had all but hardened her heart to Julian. He had been so contrite, trying his damnedest to get back into her good graces. She had rejected him roundly, and vehemently, each time. Every time it stung. But, she couldn't relent.

"You like the stupid motherfucker. Just...get over it. You don't gotta marry him. He's there. Screw him every once in a while. Helps pass the time." He said, reaching over to tug her hair playfully. She reached back to slap his hand.

"I do not need to take love advice from you. Thank you very much."

They rode in silence for a while. The voices around them rose as they came into the city square, circling the fountain at the center. Even this early, there was quite a gathering of people moving from building to building. They all looked up at the carriage, alarmed. Aedan looked out the carriage windows. "Ooh, yeah. I bet they are shocked. Lucio doesn't get up before noon on most days. Bet this is a surprise."

When the carriage came to a stop, the coachman yelled for Aedan "to get the hell out". He escorted Celeste out onto the street, then went to settle up with the man, the both of them chatting. Friendly. People relaxed, realizing the Count, was not, in fact, in their midst.

She stood in the center of the square, looking at the various avenues. The buildings. The colors. The people.

Aedan came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders, giving a squeeze. He bent down to whisper in her ear. "Welcome to the big city. You're gonna love it."

----

"It's fucking hot," Celeste gasped, leaning against the wall, under an awning. It was sticky. Damp. She hadn't seen the sun much in the past year, and at this moment, she wondered what she had missed about it so much.

They had walked miles together. but Aedan was still just as chipper as ever, chatting with every vendor he came across. A man of the people. Generous and well-liked. She had never gotten to see this side of him. He had embraced Vesuvia in a way she had never been able to.

It felt liberating, but overwhelming all at once to her. So many things to see.

Her father had taken them traveling as children and teenagers, as often as he could. But he hadn't taken them here. Verner had always preferred smaller villages and cities. He loved nature, and could never fully embrace these big meccas. They were never gone terribly long, being so needed at home. She and her mother weren't able to be spared for long stretches, the village's primary sources of medical care.

Aedan was engaged with a girl selling flowers, talking animatedly. She watched him, waving her hand inconsequentially in front of her face, trying to generate some sort of breeze. After a while, he broke away and walked over to her.

"So, I have some business I need to take care of over in Goldgrave. It's a construction hell hole right now. Some stupid project Lucio is working on. I just need to check-in and make sure everyone is on task. You're in the market district. It's fairly self-explanatory. If you have any questions, the baker up the road is a pretty solid guy, he'll point you in the right direction. Here..." He reached into his satchel and produced some coins. "Just in case. There are vendors all over the damn place. Just...be careful. Dock kids are mucking about. They're all pretty harmless, but they're pickpockets. It's a whole thing." He gestured vaguely. "Just...remember, the gates do close the palace at dark. If you're out, you're out."

She put the coins in her pocket, looking up at him, curious. "What's Montag building?"

He rolled his eyes. "Damn sports arena. I don't know. Some stupid bullshit. Wants to watch people knock heads. The thing is ancient, he's just doing some renovations to get it back up and running."

She shook her head. That sounded very on-brand for Lucio. Watching poor fuckers fight...and, for what?

He gave her arm a squeeze. "I'm not sure when I'll see you again, Sis. The schedule's looking a little erratic. But, I'll try to duck in and see you soon."

She smiled, reaching up to pat his cheek. "Love you."

He gave her a half-smile. "Love you more. And if I find out you went to the South End without me, I'm gonna be pissed. I'm taking you to the Raven first." And then he turned to go.

Leaving her to her own devices.

---

She wandered down the narrow streets. It was shadier, here. The buildings and awnings blocking much of the sunlight. She had stopped at the kindly bakers' stall and picked up a few boules, and a pumpkin bread he had all but insisted she take.

She was mid-stride when she felt something fall on her shoulders. Heavy. And...moving. Slithering.

She froze, and a pair of red eyes came into her view. A skinny tongue, darting out.

She closed her eyes. What was this? Dehydration? Heat exhaustion? No fucking way.

When she reopened them, the little face had tilted, observing her. The damn thing looked amused.

She looked up slowly at the sign above. An apothecary's mortar and pestle, with a serpent wrapped around.

A woman walked past, and she shot her arm out to stop her. "I'm...sorry. Do you know if this..." she jerked her head, trying to indicate her new neck accessory "...belongs here?" she jerked her head towards the shop.

The woman laughed. "Oh, yes! That's the magician's snake. He'll be glad someone's found her." The woman reached, out, rubbing a finger affectionately under the snake's chin. "Oh, you silly thing! Getting Asra all in a dither."

And then she swept away, leaving her alone, again.

With a snake.

Around her neck.

She backed towards the door carefully and reached out to knock, stiff, fist still wrapped around a sack with various baked goods.

Someone called out, muffled, from behind the door. "It's open!"

She pulled a face, annoyed. "Yeah, no. You're going to need to come here, please!" she called back.

She heard rustling, and then the door swung open.

Asra blinked, unsure of what he was seeing. It was the woman from the Masquerade.

"Celeste?"

She wasn't quite facing the store's owner, afraid to move. But, the fact that they knew her name was almost as unsettling as the damn snake. She swallowed hard, staring ahead.

"I believe this belongs to you." She said, shaky.

"Oh, Gods. Faust." he scolded, reaching his hand out to collect her. The snake coiled around his wrist and up his arm. "I'm sorry. She likes to...fall."  He gave the snake a halfhearted glare, to which she responded by pressing her snout against his cheek.

"Sorry..." Faust replied, flicking her tongue out. A little kiss.

As it disengaged from her, she shuddered. She still felt like it was on her. The sensation of slithering. It sent chills up her spine. She closed her eyes, trying to regain her composure.

She turned to face the snake's owner and was immediately met with another shock. That hair. Those eyes.

"The mask maker." She said, appraising him. She hadn't seen him in full before. His face obscured by the fox mask when they had met previously. But, there was no mistaking those eyes. He was lithe, and his hair was fluffy. Curls and waves giving it volume, but it fell into his eyes. Shaggy, but somehow not unpolished. It looked just as pearlescent as it had the night of the Masquerade. He looked effortless. He wore a white dress shirt, unbuttoned to the navel, sleeves pushed up. He was swathed in various brilliant scarves. That wide, golden collar at his throat.

"Asra," he said, his hand still extended from reclaiming Faust. "And you're Celeste."

She reached up to take his hand, tentative, shaking it. "I'm sorry, I don't recall being formally introduced before."

"That's because you ran away." he teased. "I caught your name from the guy chasing you, knocking over party guests in his wake."

"Ah. Yes. Vocal, that one is." she said, rolling her eyes. "Well, I guess it's nice to meet you. And your...pet. Asra. Faust."

Their hands were still connected.

And neither felt the need to release the other.

Their eyes were locked, and they stood, quiet. People bustled past, going on about their business.

After a beat, Asra shook his head. "I'm sorry...do you want to come in? It's a slow day. I have tea?"

She nodded enthusiastically.  "Yes, tea sounds lovely. I had some pumpkin bread foisted on me. We can share."

He had almost expected her to protest but was delighted she didn't.

He pulled her in after him, and she shut the door.

The shop was cluttered and dusty. Trinkets, vials, jars, boxes, and shiny bits covered every surface. There were beautiful swaths of fabric hanging in the doorframes and in the windows, paired with cobwebs.

She turned to look at him, eyebrow raised. "You are a magician, are you not?" Her eyes glittered, challenging him.

"As are you, if I recall."

"And you let your shop look like this?" She released his hand and gestured vaguely.

His eyes darted around, and he lifted an eyebrow, not sure what she was implying.

She fixed him with an incredulous look. "Come now. At least glamour it so it appears presentable. A couple cleaning spells would put it right."

When he still looked bewildered, she sighed and dismissed him with her hand. "Go, make tea. I'll fix it."

He gave a laugh as he moved towards the doorframe behind the counter, going to settle Faust in and make their drinks.  "You don't have to fix anything."

"Oh, I'm afraid I do," she called after him as he swept out of the room. She couldn't let him go about dispensing herbs...medicine...like this. No wonder business was slow.

When Asra returned, he blinked, taken aback. The room was brighter than when he had left. The haze on the front windows cleared. Everything looked fresh and new. It even smelled different. Everything was still scattered around the room, but Celeste was shuffling through things on the countertop, examining the contents, moving them into distinct categories.

"What did you do?" he asked, eyes still fluttering around the room.

"I cleaned. You're an apothecary. You can't dispense out of here like this." she scolded, not looking up from her task.

"I’m sorry...you know this is my shop, yes?" he said, pushing some of the boxes aside and setting down the teacups. "I have a system. It works fine."

"You have an attack snake and dust. I see no system." she countered.

He wandered the room, examining her handiwork. He hadn't seen such color in the place for years. Not since he had set everything up. It did look...nice. Very nice. He hadn't even noticed that it had fallen into disrepair until he saw it illuminated like this, restored to its glory. He blinked, shaking his head. "Thank you. It's...great."

He turned to look at her. She had a box in the palm of her hand and was rubbing dried herbs between her fingers, bringing them to her nose to sniff.

"Lavender," he said, recognizing the box.

"Well, maybe at some point it was. It's stale. You're not going to get anything out of it. Some poor heartsick son of a bitch is going to be desperately disappointed if you put this in a love charm. I don't even want to think about the insomniacs, begging for sweet relief, putting this ancient stuff under their pillow. It's inhumane."

His eyes went wide. She knew her stuff.

She put the box down and put her hands on the countertop, tapping her fingernails on the surface, looking down, disappointed. "You know, at some point, I'm going to refer someone to you and I need to know that you have what patients need."

"Patients?" he asked, not comprehending.

"Yes, my patients...I...oh. Sorry," she realized, she hadn't properly introduced herself. That was a bit awkward. Especially now that she was taking inventory of his storeroom as she did at the palace. "Nurse Practitioner Celeste." She pressed her hand to her chest. "Palace Nurse Practitioner. Doctor Devorak's...Assistant." She said, struggling with the last word a bit.

"Ahh." He said, everything clicking into place. "So you're a magical doctor. Intriguing."

"I'm a healer. And a midwife. There isn't much call for midwifery in the palace. The Count and Countess don't seem to be in a hurry to produce any heirs. And...I don't practice magic in the palace if you recall." she lamented. "But, we go where we are called. Serving some greater purpose."

He approached the counter and pushed the tea saucer over to her. "How long have you been in Vesuvia? I don't think I've ever seen you in town before."

"Three hundred and sixty-five days as of today." She said, taking the cup. She blew across the top as a precaution and sipped. She lowered the cup, closing her eyes. Making a low "Mm." Obviously pleased.

Asra bit his lower lip, watching her face. She was lovely. Deep Chestnut hair in a halo around her face, feathering out at the edges. A forelock of blonde.  Long, dark, heavy eyelashes. Pointed eyebrows. Sharp cheekbones and a tapered jaw. A long, graceful neck. And those sea-green eyes. Muriel's eyes were vibrant, but hers were hazy. Misty. And, somehow, familiar. Equally beautiful.

"A whole year, and this is the first time I'm seeing you in town?" he asked.

She relayed rudiments of her employment and the year of sequestering in the palace. He listened, seemingly enthralled. When she concluded, he questioned her a bit, trying to suss out the details.

She was as honest as she could be. It felt wrong, withholding from him. She wanted to spill all of it out. But, she didn't know him. She couldn't know that he was trustworthy. Not yet. And, even if he were, would it be worth it to compromise him?

"Sounds like you've had a rough go of it."

She nodded. "All uphill from here, I hope."

He extended his cup to her. "Cheers to that."

She tapped her cup gently against his and raised it to drink. He mirrored her.

She looked into the cup, swirling it, then surveying the tendrils left behind once it was drained.

"Tasseography?" he questioned, skeptical.  "There are better methods of fortune-telling." He reached into his satchel and produced the cards, extending them to her.

She looked up at him, then down at the cards. "Six in one hand and a half dozen in the other."

He laughed, disbelieving.

She shook her head at him. "I'm serious. It all comes from the same place, doesn't it? It's all open for interpretation. Yours just has pretty pictures. Mine is damp leaves."

"Ahh. I'd say mine has a bit more weight." the corner of his mouth was turned up.

She sighed, resigned. "Fine. Read me, Magician."  She lifted them from his hands and cut them a couple times, then handed them back, tapping the top of the deck when he'd taken it back.

He flipped the top card down onto the countertop.

They both stared at it, then up at each other. Her cheeks went red, and the tops of his ears did.

"Well. Hard not to read into that," she said, low.

The Two of Cups.

Asra cleared his throat. "Indulge me for a second." He said, picking up the card and shuffling it back into the deck. He cut the deck for himself and handed it to Celeste, tapping the top of the deck, just as she had. She flipped the card down.

The Lovers.

Celeste a rush of cold that flooded from the top of her head, creeping down her spine. The cards felt like they were vibrating in her hands. She thrust them towards Asra, and he put them down on the counter, staring at them. Looking betrayed.

"...Well, if it helps. I didn't actually see anything in the cup?" she choked out.

[monkey-network]

Good Stuff's Best of 2019

WARNING: Just wanted to say cheers to you for making it through another year. I send you best wishes for next year to be fruitful. Thank you, take care out there, and enjoy. (Best of 2017) (Best of 2018)

Dedicated to Russi Taylor, John Witherspoon, Rip Torn, Tartar Sauce, Caroll Spinney, Peter Matthews, and the many of KyoAni lost in the arson incident. You all did wonderful; rest in peace.

Welp, I figured the last year of this decade would be the most chaotic one by far, then again everything peak after 2012. As for now, I am counting down the best cartoons/animations/comics I’ve seen and loved this year in no particular order other than #1. Same rules apply: No sneak previews of future projects, no repeats, and this time anything goes.

Runner Ups: Superman Smashes the Klan, Marvel’s Aero, Infinity Train, Enter the Florpus, Amphibia, Mao Mao: Heroes of Pure Heart, Helluva Boss, Meta Runner, Lego Movie 2, Forky Asks a Question

Anyways, Badda boom bang whiz, let’s do this shizz...

10. Super Mario Bros GT

Nostalgia can be quite a mystery, especially one that can come out of nowhere. Super Mario Bros Z kicked so much ass as a kid that now, it still frustrates me to this that it got a cease & desist from Nintendo, even the reboot from the same person couldn’t last long. But the gods have offered a slight miracle in the form of this new spiritual successor that has heart and soul put into every pixelated frame. There is much to celebrate with Youtube animation, where many say it’s dying due to the algorithm and all of the site’s corporate bullshit, but it’s stuff like this which helps me understand why we should celebrate. Against all odds, channels like Smasher Block willfully put their works out their for the people and continues to because on top of getting a little dough, it’s what they want to do.

9. DC SUPER HERO GIRLS (2019)

Awwwwww yeah, this is She-Ra and the Princesses of Power done right. Diverse female squad, each given a quality screen time to truly shine (Beecher especially) on their which makes the episodes where they’re all together feel earned and joyous to watch. Certainly reminds me of Friendship is Magic, which is coincidental since they were created by the same woman. I’d like to think this and MLP G4 were the answers to Faust’s cancelled project Milky Way and the Galaxy Girls where multiple personalities collide to one extraordinary superhero team of girls capable great feats that are lifted from their insecurities or drawbacks. And on top of this being a fun series to kick back to all around, it’s a comforting, somewhat aspiring thought to consider.

8. JOKER

I am somebody that rarely goes to the theaters to watch a film; you have to hook my tight just for me to even think of buying a ticket, no less plan to. But honestly, Joker was worth the hype, the ticket, and the fact that it wasn’t the incel uprising that buttfuck normies tried to make it out as. It’s lower on the list because in thought, there definitely could’ve been some tweaks to the dialogue and a couple scenes that I felt didn’t work in the long run. But really, this movie to me worked because of the escalation that leads to a cathartic climax and ending that left me in actual tears. I don’t give a shit if it “doesn’t fit”, having Frank Sinatra sing the film's credits put me in shambles. Joaquin Phoenix was phenomenal as Arthur, and this movie felt authentic in its many details. This is definitely up there with my favorite comic book films of all time. Good thing, too, Spider-Man was taking up most of that shelf.

7. TUCA & BERTIE

This series being what I can’t help but say is a spin-off to Bojack Horseman, a show I respect, was enough to pull me into watching it. But it being like Bojack where it’s tight-roping between a bouncy comedy and a grounded drama was what kept me around for more. It is a damn shame this was cancelled after one season (while 13 Reasons Why gets FOUR seasons like what the fuck), because while this did feel enough like a complete series, I was certainly interested for more because I really enjoyed it all. I have my issue with a couple choices in the show, but I am sure this series would’ve addressed them later down the line. I can see why some women would find this personally endearing, it felt like the personal stories of actual people, and it deserved better. Either way, I enjoyed this series and I recommend it just as much as Bojack.

6. PRIMAL

Genndy Tartakovsky is that kind of cartoon creator where you feel he’ll go beyond if you give him the right amount of space. He’s not a perfectionist like John “Dirty Diddler” Kricfalusi, but with things like Hotel Transylvania and Samurai Jack, he certainly has proven to have the range in animation where you know how he plays. Primal showcasing his noted skill in dialogue-less storytelling and dynamic action scenes, able to convey everything clear with its ruthless yet careful protagonist and his dinosaur friend, all on top of the most luscious backgrounds. This is a series that definitely feels like Genndy’s taken what he’s used from his previous works and putting it together for a brutal yet passionate look at the prehistoric life. He truly brought us an adult series to enjoy and to look forward to more in the coming year.

5. SPINEL

Bet you didn’t expect a character to be on this list, eh? Spinel is the best thing to come out of Steven Universe in general; makes me wish she was in a better movie. The crew certainly did their darndest to make her not only an enjoyable and connectable character through and through, but a very versatile character that the fandom could take in any which way. Call it corny, but Spinel perfectly represents SU as a whole: a lovable goof that can certainly mean business but deep down is deserved of a hug because of what she’s gone through. Wish she had a more satisfying resolution in her respective debut, but really it’s the balance between those three elements mentioned that makes Spinel almost eternally wonderful.

4. MOB PSYCHO 100 II

As someone that doesn’t like reading, I’m a firm believer that the best animations or visual medias elevate the writing to a memorable degree; the visuals hook to the point where you want to think about what you saw and how it was conveyed. Mob Psycho 100, for two seasons now, does this in spades where Studio Bones throw them bones in animating one of the most dynamic animes of the modern era, providing the writing and characters a proper chance to flex its muscles. The characters are especially what makes this and MP100 as a whole work so well, the story being about a boy learning to be more sociable as well as emotionally stronger all while helping others understand maturity and empathy. For more on this, I recommend Hiding in Public’s video(s) on Mob. But with the animation, Bones was able to provide a sense of impact and immersion to the moments that matter, not making it an overstimulating mess, and putting some respect on ONE’s webcomic art style. 

3. KLAUS

Hands down, this is a great Christmas movie. Take away the animation and you have a charming, wanna say ground and authentic, story about the makings of Santa Claus. With memorable and likable characters, a nice escalation in terms of the plot, and moments that are/can be so satisfying, they can bring you to tears. A couple overdone tropes in the road that doesn’t make this the most perfected story, but those sincerely minor compared to everything else that makes this story the best. Now. Add in the animation, and you have a gold, nay a platinum animated story of the year where the visuals definitely enhance the story to a degree where they’re undoubtedly inseparable. The visuals alone is enough to check this movie out and it’s eye-opening when you learn of how it’s all done. Klaus is a film that did it’s job and then some, and I hope this will be well remembered as a classic holiday film for it deserves that status.

2. BEASTARS

I’ll be fair, I’m mostly referring to the manga and not the anime but since the anime premiered this fall, it counts. Because be it the anime or the series overall, Beastars has such well intricate world building all while offering a little something for everyone (violence, romance, slice of life). The story is well paced and even when we aren’t focusing on the main characters momentarily, Itagaki is surprisingly able to make every supporting/side character we come across memorable in their own way; like I said before, the city is much a character in this story. Oh yeah, and the mangaka is the daughter of Keisuke “Grappler Baki” Itagaki, that in itself is a treasuring bit of trivia for this. Everything about Beastars is enticing and Studio Orange certainly helped in giving this series more of a following.

1. GREEN EGGS & HAM

Well, well, well. Guess Netflix is three for three in terms of bringing its best foot forward among its few steps back each year. The best term to describe this series is surprising. Surprising that this is a Dr. Seuss story that got expanded a 13 episode series, that has fleshed out characters, fun hijinks, an easy story, lovely emotional, more quieter moments... on top of being 2D hand drawn animated. I mean, what else is there to say? Green Eggs and Ham is to Dr. Seuss what Seven was for Final Fantasy, what Friendship is Magic was for MLP, what watermelon was before a nice menthol cigarette. This definitely took the top spot because to me, it was able to bring many good elements from the previous entries and knot it all together into a well kept bow that I never knew I wanted until now. I’m genuinely glad this show got to exist the way it is and I am hoping, praying, that the second season keeps that momentum up.

That leads us to the actual number one which is

1. STEVEN UNIVERSE FUT-

Total Dramarama is now the two time World Heavyweight Champion, babey. Will 2020 give us a quality contender? Will the streak last another year?

Stay tuned, and always seek out the Good Stuff.