#old man endorsed fandom mess

[emorick137]

i tjink for fun on his own time rick goes to the dimension where rick and morty is a tv show (re: this one) and scrolls the tumblr tag giggling at everythign everybody says. and all the art. i think it delights him to no end that people argue over his sexuality and shit. i bet he thinks it’s hilarious i bet it makes his day actually

[thecoffeelorian]

The Anomaly Series, Chapter 3: The Quest (Jod Na Nawood x Reader)

A/N: ...Yes, this story is now, OFFICIALLY, canon divergent. Ya know, because I don't condone/endorse violence against children, and any other disclaimers I need to put here.

Also, there are three literal episodes left, so pardon me if I'm still holding out for Jod and Neel eventually twinning in their clothing choices in canon. 'Nuff said.

Chapter Title: The Quest

Genre: Drama/Romance; Slow Burn; Obvious Canon Divergence.

Word Count: 1,698 words

AO3: Click Here!

Special Notes: As I'm not yet sure how I even begin to breach the topic of child abuse here...let's just do the safe thing and label this as 'Spoilers up to Episode 4'. Thank you.

No Pressure Tags:

@chenoa-devyn-blog @not-approvedtrash @lulalovez @deepestballoonllama-fandoms @papa-poutine

@xbeyondthegatex @bridge-always @loverdjudeforever @kucharka23 @khaleesihavilliard

@xitlalli2001 @braveincafleet @amawu23 @gun-roswell @bruceewayne

@shirley-girly @cloudofpinkicecream @lokigirlszendaya @valdasha @aemondvelaryon

@carry-on-wayward-daughter @pantasticalcat @robin-hyperfixates @down-down-by-the-river @sydneyann623

@brookeandherfandoms @kazunish @redermraven @ladyofthelakee @nightlordsvengence

@tarboo13 and anybody else who wonders what romance would look like for this hot mess of a man. :D

I’m a person who needs your help…

As of ten seconds ago, every other thought that had once been safe inside your mind feels as though they’ve all flown away, and so not left much else behind them save for one of the few thoughts that remains.

You’re officially involved.

There’s no other way around it now, because you’re feeling it too deep in your consciousness to turn back. You’re involved in this stranger’s case, and it’s going to take nothing less than a little Reclamation of your own to knock you off this path, and—despite all of your previous attempts to calm down, there’s some of the old adrenaline starting to course back into your body.

My help…? What kind of help do you need?

This rush makes you just a tiny bit lightheaded as you wait for Jack’s response, not knowing if he’s about to try and sweet-talk you into arranging a jailbreak or not. That was THE one thing that the Reclamation Committee had been worried about, and so, even if he let loose with a mountain of ‘Sweethearts’, odds already were that you would have to turn him down due to your ingrained obedience to the Law.

The same Law that, unfortunately, has spirited him out of your reach and out of your sight.

Something that I doubt my jailers want anything to do with.

And why is that?

They’re the ones who just robbed me.

Not that you’ll necessarily have to, maybe, because he hasn’t brought it up yet…but then again, he could always try to trick you up by slipping some kind of missing key or lockpick into the mix. Judging by how the security droids were more than happy to keep their weapons trained upon him, anything is possible here.

I’m sorry.

No need to apologize to me, sweetheart. You’re not the one who did this.

But I am the one you want to help fix it...right?

That depends. How good are you at finding lost things?

That’s one thought you have to keep fresh and safe inside your mind no matter what, along with eventually refusing him in that sense if it should happen.

In the meantime, though, you’re adding a second page to this new file of yours, as you have a slight feeling that you might certainly need it later.

Well…I once found my best friend’s missing keychain back in school.

That must have been a while ago, though. What about recently?

That depends on where you’re going with this. What’s so important that you need my assistance?

Fine. They took all my belongings away before they locked me up. Happy now?

Another thought that you’re unfortunately blessed with, though, is the image of Crimson Jack being attacked by two prison droids. The first never thinks twice about administering a few short electric shocks; the second strips him clean of any and all weapons or tools; and then finally, both of them turn and tilt their heads to each other in a gesture of smug triumph.

More like slightly flustered, but thank you—

—‘Flustered’?

It’s what happens when a person’s annoyed, confused, or both. Continue.

All right…

This is one thought you don’t want to fixate on too strongly, because you already have a feeling that you might end up worrying yourself sick if you don’t pull yourself together first. No, it’ll be better for the both of you if you have work like this to focus on instead, and for this reason, you add a third page.

…First item, a blaster pistol of my own making, about twenty-five years old with a slim wooden handle. Second item—

—Wait, what’s a blaster?

You’ve never seen a blaster before?

I’ve never seen a war before. Care to describe it?

There’s a small pause between writing, almost as though he’s stopping to think or else let out a sigh of frustration—then your next set of directions comes.

All right, look. I don’t want to take all day, and I’m guessing you have plans, so let’s keep it simple. Put your hand flat out in front of you.

As for you, you’re left raising both eyebrows before doing as you’re asked, though not without feeling just a little bit silly.

Now, take the last two fingers on whatever hand you’ve picked, and curl them in towards you.

Another curious direction, to be sure…yet you obey that one as well.

And finally, once you’re ready, raise your remaining three fingers up and act like you’re shooting the wall.

Once you’ve fully caught on to this particular mental image, however, that’s when you almost drop your writing equipment out of shock.

…Heck.

Nasty thing, isn’t it?

Wow, you think?!

Try spending twenty years with one of those aimed at you, and you’ll get what war is.

Whatever you say, CJ…

You let out an annoyed huff of your own before adding a fourth page to your document, somewhat feeling as though you might cut this conversation off if it gets too—well, wild. As someone who still knows precious little about the one you’re writing to, you certainly count this idea as a possibility.

…Any other weapons I need to know about?

‘CJ’?

Those are your initials, silly. Think of it like a nickname if that’s easier.

Hm…

Another small pause. He seems to be taking his time figuring out what to make of you as well, or so the slow pacing of this ‘meeting’ suggests to you.

…Anyways. As I was saying, second item, fairly unused Lightsaber as I prefer the blaster.

I suppose that's like a knife?

If you want to make comparisons, yes. It's got a thin, metallic hilt and so far, it's powered by a green colored stone somewhere in there.

Right...thin hilt, green stone. What else?

Brown jacket with gray stripes on the sleeves and collar. That’s the third item I’m missing.

And the fourth?

It’s sewn inside the third. In fact, if you have a chance, I’d prefer to recover both of them before we find the others.

So it’s all a big mystery for you to solve, then. Some off-the-wall version of the Great Party Icebreaker to endear you to The New Guy In The Office, provided as always that you don’t end up contracting Foot-In-Your-Mouth Disease.

Ah, well...your nights at home, totally alone, were getting a little boring anyway.

Very good...so you’re in a holding cell right now, I assume?

Obviously.

What are you being charged with?

A fifth page. Gods, this file’s getting a little big, or so you’re all too happy to tell yourself as nobody else can see the awkward look on your face right now.

Nobody’s bothered to tell me.

Have you been provided any legal counsel?

What’s that?

And yet, as awkward as all of this feels, you’ve definitely got your work cut out for you. Work that involves making sure that any possible trial moves forward without a hitch, because with a suspect as high-profile as this one, there’s no way anybody will want to risk the case being thrown out.

A pity they don’t make Lawyer Droids for this exact purpose.

Nevertheless, with the three words ‘MUST. FIND. LEGAL COUNSEL.’ written on the imaginary wall in your mind, you’re still pushing yourself onward just a bit further, as you’re more or less feeling that you’re too far in to turn back now.

Okay...just a few more things before we wrap things up here.

Go on.

Firstly...why me? And—and what was it that happened out there on the landing pad?

A third pause. He’s either taking his time finding the right words to answer you with, or else to cook up a pretty plausible lie with which to keep you occupied. Strange how the one seems so much like the other, at least at this moment in time.

I...don’t really know for sure.

‘Don’t know’? You don’t know if you have some special talent, or you don’t know why your special talent reacted the way it did?

Both. Neither. It’s as crazy to me as it is to you.

Fine…

You’ll be sure to find out what’s really taking place here, though, if there’s any way to get in touch with the people—or droids—who took him into custody. You might also try poking around the local library later this week, if there’s any chance at all that there might be some hint of your new life situation to read up on.

As for how the little crew he traveled with might figure into this, a fact that you’re far too keen to forget about even as you add a sixth page to this file—

And the last thing you wanted to ask me?

Simple…do your traveling companions know where you are?

—You’re working on it. Maybe you’ll have to get parental consent before questioning them. Maybe they’ll instead show up on your doorstep one day, hands full of dataries and voices full of pleading, totally ready to cooperate and compensate you for your time in one go. Either way, they’re witnesses.

When it comes to whether or not Crimson Jack himself will help his case or harm it, well...that concept just isn’t as clear. In fact, he very nearly confuses you with no pauses, awkward silences, or hesitations of any kind.

Just a slowly written No, almost as though just thinking about this part is too painful.

As for you, you can still remember how scared those kids were at the mere thought of him being harmed by the security droids...so it’s more than just a little bit understandable. Whatever else happened up there, whatever blaster fights, lightsaber duels, or anything else that this group saw...they must have had some time to bond.

But you’d like to see them, right?

YES.

Good. I won’t waste any time if I can help it, but I will need you to give me something in return first.

And that is…?

Your true name.

And if you have any grasp upon this stranger’s character, which you hope very much that you do—that bond just might be the key to saving old Crimson Jack’s life.

TO BE CONTINUED

[dragynkeep]

Okay this is something that bothers me in fandom spaces a lot: say you’re reading a fantasy novel or watching a fantasy show/anime. Main protagonist is probably a teen and gets whisked away to a magical world meets new people and swept up in an adventure to save the world right? Standard stuff. And then the love interest is usually a part of the world and physically they also look like a teenager or same age as the MC but in actuality they’re hundreds (and rare cases thousands) of years old. But they fall in love anyway. Now I’m seeing people decry it as pedo behavior that it’s gross weird and unnatural.

But like, that’s part of the fantasy. There’s never going to be a case where a magical immortal prince comes to you and says, “hey totally average person you’re actually part of a great mystical prophecy to save my world and yours. Also we’re destined forbidden lovers and I’ve been waiting for you my whole life let’s go.” It’s physically and literally impossible for a person to look like a teen/young adult and in actuality lived several centuries. Now it is possible for actual adults to prey on young people which is obviously not okay and gross. But this? I always found this outrage so stupid teen me was alllllllll over that trash ya paranormal/supernatural/urban fantasy immortal bad boy and anime husband. I just truly don’t get why people can’t be like okay it’s literally impossible for this to happen might as well enjoy it. No it’s a moral failing and you condone child grooming or whatever like what??? Am I alone in this?

dude omg this mentality towards ships like that is so weird because what exactly is it romanticizing, dear anons with the same amount of braincells as a mollusk? huh? is it the eternal devotion of a powerful being who often times is utterly beholden with the very human mortal, who paradoxically tends to hold all the power in the relationship? is it the alluring mysteriousness of a seductive love interest?

there is no real life danger from these types of relationships that have shown up in fiction in memoriam because as op said, there’s no way for this dynamic to be replicated irl & even if it could, fiction is not responsible for the actions of mentally there adults. especially when there has been centuries upon centuries of this type of almost erotic looks into the supernatural & that type of forbidden love, hell all the way to dracula & further back, that hasn’t managed to convince rational people yet that these are ideal relationships.

my favourite example of this is a film that was close to my heart; labyrinth. antis decry it as a pedophilic story when in actuality; it’s a coming of age story for sarah. she’s taken the iconography of her starlet mother & the famous man she left the family for & seen that as something to emulate as “growing up”; & jareth’s power over her is the truth of how powerless we can be of the actions of adults in our live. it’s only when sarah stops devolving to childish phrases like “it’s not fair” & more importantly, lingering in them & sulking to her own detriment, does she regain her power, make her own choices & bests jareth. jareth, who i might add, fed into this fantasy by being utterly devoted to sarah beyond belief, someone who would love her despite the “flaws” she was berated for at home & without responsibility, with abandon. he would love her & he would be her slave; but part of sarah’s growth is that she didn’t want that. she just wanted reciprocal, mutual, love. & when she returns home, she’s not quite fully an adult but she has matured; she is fair with her parents  —  which is why i don’t like that they made the stepmother abusive in the manga  —  & fair with toby, but she’s also allowed her childish delights in her toys & her friends from the labyrinth.

none of that is endorsing a pedophilic story or telling young girls to go run away with the nearest old man; it’s a story that tells young girls in all the confusing mess of puberty & having to grow up that sometimes, things won’t be fair. but that they can also still be childish & most importantly of all, they can & should demand a fair, mutual, empowering love.

[invisibleinorange]

Chapters: 14/? Fandom: Bridgerton Rating: T Warnings: Presumed Character Death Relationships: Colin Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington,  Eloise Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington(besties),  Bridgerton Family Dynamics, Simon Hastings/Daphne Bridgerton Characters: Colin Bridgerton,  Penelope Featherington, Eloise Bridgerton, Anthony Featherington,  Benedict Bridgerton,  Portia Featherington, Violet Bridgerton, Genevieve Delacroix Additional Tags:  Bridgerton, Polin Summary:  Unexpected bad news arrives for the Bridgerton Family (and friends) regarding Colin's travels. This will be a series that is set after "The Duke and I" or season one of the show. It is a companion piece to "Goodbyes".

It had come to pass that Portia Featherington hadn’t been wrong about everything. Penelope couldn’t help but begrudgingly give her mother some credit as she paced the small room she was waiting in for her wedding: the books had ruined her.

Everything that she knew about life and love came from the pages of the damn things.  Even if she had always had her doubts whether she would actually get married, the small bit of her that held up hope had this foolish fantasy of what it was supposed to be.

When she’d pictured this day, Colin had always been her  romantic lead.  It had been that way even before she was old enough to fully understand her feelings.   It felt a little bittersweet that he couldn’t at least be part of it.

If he couldn’t be her husband, she would have at least felt better having him there as her friend.  Knowing that he fully endorsed her choice would have been important. All she could do now was assume that he would have be happy to see her well-matched with his brother.

She was still anxious about it, as fond as she had become of Benedict in recent weeks.  She’d felt as if they’d made progress in transitioning from whatever they had been to what they were going to be.  It was all tentative, a bit weird but it was no longer awkward to converse at length or hold hands.

They were both trying.

There was a lot more that would come after the wedding and that was what she was terrified of.  Violet in her infinite wisdom had attempted to have an adult conversation with her about wifely duties when her own mother neglected to call on her for such a thing.  Then Daphne had made an appearance and attempted her own conversation.

She wasn’t quite sure if she was supposed to be excited at the prospect of her wedding night or terrified.

Either way it went, she knew that there was no real pressure to do something that she didn’t feel comfortable with. Benedict might not have approached the subject but she knew he wasn’t the sort to demand anything.

They were going to do something different and it might take her time but she was going to be happy.

She just had to work past her nerves first.

She was mid-stride through her forty or fiftieth spin around the room when the door opened and in strode her mother.  

Penelope had invited her (and her sisters) to the wedding. They were her family even if things had dysfunctional at times. That didn’t necessarily mean that she wanted to open herself to feedback or criticism for her choices or the timeline of them.

She also wasn’t quite sure her nerves could handle a third conversation about her duties as wife.  

“Mother,” she said with a polite nod and bow.

Her mother seemed to stand there for a long moment, looking her over as if appraising the situation.

“This dress will do,” she said after a long moment.

Penelope’s dress was one of the new ones that had been purchased in recent weeks.  It wasn’t white but it was a pale blue and had white lace over it. It wasn’t as extravagant as the dress she might have worn if it hadn’t burnt but she was pretty content with it.  She’d even added little blue flowers to her red curls.

“I appreciate your approval,”  Penelope offered after a moment, deciding that she should just be grateful that they decided to show and actively be a part of this.  “You should probably find your seat. Anthony will be presenting me.”

It was a bit of a slap in the face. If her father had been alive, he would have been the one to do such a thing. He was long gone and Penelope hadn’t considered herself a member of her mother’s household since she’d left it.  Anthony, as misguided and overprotective as he could be at times, was the only person deserving of such an honor.

Portia might have wished to object but she closed her mouth as soon as it opened.  Instead she decided to proceed with her original mission for coming.

“I won’t trouble you for long,” she told before snapping her fingers and a servant came with a box.  She opened it and inside was a beautiful, ornate veil.   “This is a family heirloom of sorts.  I’d thought to give it to one of your sisters but your father insisted it be put aside for you.”

Penelope could gloss over all the negative undertones to just see the fact that it was actually quite remarkable. She’d honestly not planned to wear a veil at all but it looked as if it belonged with the dress.  Her mother would have sold it if she’d had the inkling. The fact that she was there at all with it said that somewhere she did actually care about her.

It was enough.

She turned to allow her mother to help her pin it properly in her red curls, a light smile playing on her features.

“Thank you for this,” she told her quietly.

--

Benedict was grateful for his mother because Violet had this strange way of making things always come together, even when there was a limited amount of time to do it. Weddings were relatively simple affairs in the great scheme of things. In a family like theirs, it was harder logistically to get everyone around.

As he gazed around the church, he was glad to have all of them.  Violet was sitting up front with Gregory and Hyacinth on opposite sides.  Eloise was to the right of Hyacinth which brought a smile to his face because she’d joked that she might sit on the other side of the aisle.  Francesca was behind them with the Duke and a visibly pregnant Daphne. The only other people were those on the other side – Penelope’s mother and siblings.

The whole situation felt surreal to him. There was literally no scenario where he could imagine wedding Penelope Featherington before recent months.  He had always felt like he’d known her but he hadn’t known her at all. He felt as if by getting to know her better, he’d seen her potential.

He could even imagine being happy which was more than he ever thought he could say about most of the other potential matches he could have had in the Ton.  It was going to take them time but he liked where they were.  There was no rush to become something that they weren’t.

He would be patient and a good husband to her.

He didn’t get married every day though so he did feel a little nervous about the whole situation.  He’d definitely had to ease his nerves with a drink beforehand.

As he caught sight of Anthony at the entrance, making a gesture that things were to begin it all begin to set in.

Everyone sat quietly but they all sort of blurred out of space when he saw Penelope move into the entrance with him.  He’d never quite had such a visceral reaction to her before but she really was vision.

She seemed nervous so he offered her a smile and she returned it as she approached on Anthony’s arm.

They were both shaking by the time her hand was in his and the clergyman began to speak.

--

The doors crashed open with a thud making such a disturbance that there was no way to ignore it.

Every single head turned including that of the bride and groom.

Colin Bridgerton was a dusty mess of a man but out of the darkness of the hallway, he appeared to the audible sound of gasps.

Everyone was so focused on his appearance that it was only Benedict and Colin who felt Penelope go limp.  The shock had caused a fainting spell and it was any wonder that Benedict caught her. Colin couldn’t quite get to her at the moment.

“Colin!”  Violet Bridgerton practically screamed, moving from her seat toward her wayward son.  She didn’t stop until her arms were around him.  He hugged his mother for a moment,  shaking off his own disbelief at everything that was happening.

Concern washed over him at what was going on before him. He couldn’t properly even focus on the words that were coming at him from family members as they touched him and made sure that he wasn’t some apparition.

“Mother, I – please, I need to-“  he tried to explain, to get out of her grasp and direction the attention to the person maybe needed a little more attention at the moment.

For her credit, she did let him go long enough for her gaze to realize Penelope was still out cold.  The fact her child was back from the dead was temporarily forgotten as the need to care for the problem at hand send her moving with him up toward the front pew, where Benedict has maneuvered the unconscious girl with a little help from Portia Featherington.

Her blue eyes began to flicker back open after a long, quiet moment. She came back to life in a minute, fully prepared to fight. Her body upright, terror on her face.

“I’m dead,” she said after a long moment when she caught sight of Colin and his concerned eyes.  “I’m clearly dead because you are dead.”

If he hadn’t been so worried about her, he might have laughed.  Instead Colin reached for her wrist, dipping enough for her hand to his chest so she might see that he wasn’t dead.

“I promise you that I’m here,” he told her, eyes finding hers. “I’m alive. I’m here and I’m never leaving again.”

There was clearly a lot that needed to be said.  More than just to her but in that moment it was just nice to see her face, to know she was okay even if she’d gone from fainting to crying.

He didn’t quite know if what he wanted to do was appropriate at the moment.  Whatever business he had with Benedict could wait, for now the urge for violence was low.

“…I wouldn’t miss your wedding,” he said after a long moment, trying to lighten the mood to make her stop crying.  “I just had to be my dramatic flare to things.”

“Wedding?” she asked.  Oh God, she’d completely forgotten she’d been in the middle of her own wedding.  She shot an apologetic look to Benedict, biting her lip.  Colin’s hand was still over her own and she didn’t want to let go of it but she wasn’t sure what was okay anymore. “I just can’t believe you’re actually here. I should have never encouraged you to go. I should have stopped you.”

“It’s okay,” Benedict said, giving her a quiet nod as if reading her thoughts. He turned to the clergyman and politely explained that there wouldn’t be need for his services after all.  The wedding wouldn’t be happening today – if ever.   As he completely made way for Colin to take back his place in life, Penelope couldn’t help but feel a little sad to lose something she didn’t really know that she wanted.

Whatever she felt about that didn’t lessen how she felt about the fact that Colin was home. He was real and he was there with her.   The fact he was touching her and looking at her like that.

“You were only trying to encourage me to do what you thought I needed to be happy,” he told her with a nod.  “I maybe could have done a better job communicating after I left.”

It was Daphne who interjected this time, socking him hard in the arm.  Simon didn’t even try and stop her.

“You could have communicated with your family that you weren’t dead,” Daphne told him.  “We’ve already replaced you with Penelope.  We thought giving her your bedroom would be in bad taste though.”

“I don’t know that sorry is going to cut it.  I was sort of out of commission for a lot of it – it’s a long story,” he tried to explain.  “I am sorry though.  Very sorry and – I don’t want to know how I’m going to make it up to all of you.”

Apparently something that had been said triggered something in Penelope because her response was to start looking around, “ANTHONY?”  she practically screamed.

Anthony came darting at his name though based on the tone, he wasn’t sure that he wanted to be there.

“Colin sent the dress not some … scorned lover of Benedicts trying to kill me,” she said after a moment.

“Wait, what?”  Colin couldn’t help but ask.

“He burnt the dress and everything else in my wardrobe,” Penelope informed Colin.

Colin’s murderous side turned on Anthony.  If they hadn’t been in a church, there would have been blood.

“I was trying to protect her,”  Anthony said in his defense.

Penelope apparently caught onto the fact, Colin’s ability to keep cool with fleeting because she felt her hand tighten in his and it did calm him down just a little bit.

“It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever owned,” she told him honestly, kindly.  “Can you please never have someone send a vague note with no signature again?”

“I promise,” he said after a long moment. “And I’ll buy you whatever your heart desires then keep it far, far away from my idiot brothers.”

Penelope smiled at that.

There was honestly so much to say and it was going to take time.

She definitely couldn’t talk as openly as she might wish with half the family still waiting on their opportunity to chat with the recently returned.

They exchanged an extended gaze that didn’t make giving them that space any easier.

An exaggerated, pained sound coming from Daphne was enough to pull them from their moment.   She was too early in her pregnancy to be making any sounds like that but all the excitement couldn’t possibly have been good for her.

“Go be there for your sister,” she said after a long moment.

“We’ll take more later?” Colin asked.

She nodded and that was all he needed to run off to assist the Duke and everyone else in getting Daphne’s needs met.

[partyanimal167]

Bodyguard AU

Hey everyone! I am not new to the Bleach fandom, but since I’m rewatching the anime I decided to try my hand at some GrimmIchi fanfiction since the ship has caught my eye (and I’ve bingeread a bunch of fics the last couple weeks). I have no idea if this story will continue or any plans, but hey, I wanted to try writing them. I hope you enjoy :)

He got on his nerves. He was always there even if he couldn’t see him. He knew there was something about him that made him want to fight.

Grimmjow spit out the bloody gauze from his mouth and that signature grin was smacked on his face. “Shit, I can still hear the crowds. They love me!” he snickered. 

“Well the victory was well earned. You looked like you were in trouble there for a minute.” Grimmjow’s trainer, Shawlong, replied and finished cleaning up Grimmjow’s wounds.

Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez was currently undefeated for last year and was looking to take the Middleweight title. He was a cocky bastard who was nicknamed “The Panther” for his fast moves and stalking actions when looking for an opening. Things were looking up this year as endorsements and side gigs were coming his way. However, he wanted, no needed, to secure that championship title. It would be the cherry on top.

Grimmjow kissed his teeth. “Tch, shut it. I was doing fine.” he grumbled. He heard a chuckled and glared at the source.

The only complaints Grimmjow had besides no title was the orange-haired brat named Kurosaki Ichigo who was currently paying more attention to the game in his hands and the chocolate piece in his mouth. 

“Why is this bastard here again?” Grimmjow complained.

Aizen chimed in. “For your protection. You know you have some rowdy fans and plenty of enemies. I don’t want anyone hurting you outside of the octagon.” he explained all too calmly.

Grimmjow rolled his eyes. “If someone tryna pull a fast one on a UFC fighter they can just get what’s comin’ fer them.” he stood up and put on his shirt. “Besides, are we sure this brat can even do his job properly? He ain’t even paying attention. Can he throw a decent punch?” Again there was a cocky chuckle.

Ichigo stretched and pocketed his game into his suit pocket. “I promise I can hold my own against you. That’s why I was hired.”

“Bullshit. Me? You’re biting more than you can chew, Strawberry.” Grimmjow pressed.

“Watch your mouth or you’ll be needing Shawlong to add some bandages to that pretty stupid face of yours.” Ichigo threatened and the typical scowl was plastered on.

“I appreciate the compliment. Unfortunately for you, I plan on getting a chick tonight once this is all over.” Grimmjow shot back.

Aizen finally stepped in. “Guys enough.” He tossed a set of keys at Ichigo. “Take him home tonight. Grimmjow, no clubbing”

“What!” the men shouted. “Doesn’t he have a driver?” Ichigo argued. “Why can’t I go out?” 

Aizen only smiled. “We only have three matches before Grimmjow challenges for the title, and I don’t want anything happening to him. The driver can go on a vacation, and I know you want the cash. You’ll get a raise.”

“That’s a low blow...” Ichigo mumbled and pocketed the keys. 

“And Grimmjow, I don’t need you out making a bad image for yourself. There’s a limit to how much of a bad boy people want to see.” Aizen explained. He stood up and fixed his suit cuffs. “See you gentlemen in a couple weeks. Good night.” he left the room.

Ichigo rubbed his neck. “Guess you’re not getting laid tonight.”

Grimmjow thew a towel, but Ichigo caught it.

~~~

Apparently, Aizen wanted Ichigo as a live-in driver/bodyguard because Grimmjow found the boy was always closer than he thought. Thankfully, his bachelor pad was big enough for a family, and there was a separate building that was almost the size of a single home itself. Ichigo took up temporary residence there. Grimmjow was annoyed at first when Ichigo’s friends had rung his doorbell instead of going to the other building. He gave them as much attitude as he could muster, but they didn’t seem too troubled. 

He was shocked to see one of his bodyguard’s friends show up in training clothes with a pair of kickboxing gloves on. Then, the one benefit of Ichigo’s presence came in the form of Mr. Chad Yatsutora. Grimmjow was surprised to learn that his bodyguard did in fact take up some physical training and sparred. Chad was willing to spar with Grimmjow but insisted that he was still and up-and-coming fighter and nothing compared to the undefeated celebrity. 

Grimmjow should have called bullshit. 

Grimmjow chugged his water bottle and looked over as his bodyguard and his best friend chatted away after the two had gone at it for about an hour. Chad still needed some help with speed, but his blows were powerful.

Chad returned to Grimmjow and did a little bow. “Thank you.” 

Grimmjow shook his head. “Ah, don’t worry about it. You’re more fun than going to the gym. They’re too uptight.”

Chad simply nodded and looked over at Ichigo. “You don’t train with Ichigo?”

Grimmjow was a bit surprised at first and laughed. “The Strawberry?” he howled. “You’re kidding.”

Chad shook his head. “He’s good.” That was all he said before bowing again then leaving with his things. 

‘He’s good.’ That rung in Grimmjow’s head for a few days. Now, that he thought about it, Ichigo did seem to keep up during the endurance training the fighter did at home. Grimmjow would run miles in the neighborhood, and Ichigo would be only trailing by a few yards saying that he needed to keep an eye out for his surroundings. Ichigo would occasionally spot for Grimmjow in case he thought the man was pushing his boundaries at home with no Shawlong to watch him. Grimmjow was sure that Ichigo was fit well enough to have some of his own fights, but the man would never step into a practice ring with him. He wanted to change that.

Grimmjow walked down stairs and spotted the young man in his kitchen--the other building didn’t have everything. Ichigo felt his presence and turned. “Do you believe in clothes?” addressing Grimmjow’s nowhere-to-be-found shirt. 

Grimmjow wanted to get annoyed, but he had a mission. “Shut it, you like it.” he mumbled. He watched as Ichigo fixed himself a bowl of cereal. “Fight me.” the words came out before he could stop.

Ichigo lazily looked up at him before shoving a spoon in his mouth and shaking his head. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Kinda stupid for a bodyguard to hurt the person he’s meant to protect.” Ichigo answered before going back to enjoying his cereal as he leaned on the counter.

Grimmjow wasn’t going to budge. “Oh what protecting? I’m fine.”

Ichigo raised a brow before placing his bowl down and reaching into his basketball shorts for a phone. He unlocked it and pulled up the gallery before tossing the phone. “Those are photos that vary from stalkers, paparazzi, suspicious vehicles, and the occasional bold fan that thinks they can climb a wall.”

Grimmjow swiped through them while Ichigo went back to his cereal. “How come I never knew this?”

“It’s my job to make sure nothing crazy happens. You train and fight, and I keep the weirdos away.”

Grimmjow didn’t want to admit it, but he had a point. He handed back the phone. “I don’t care about that right now. I want to fight you. I need a challenge, and your buddy has his own fights to prepare for.” he paused. “What’s the problem, Strawberry? Ya scared?”

Ichigo glared at him. “Watch it. Aizen, isn’t here to protect you.”

“I think you’re forgetting which one of is an undefeated professional fighter.”

“And one of us has the job of protecting said fighter.” Ichigo then grinned. “I also ain’t the one begging for a fight.” 

“Oi, I don’t beg Kurosaki.”

Ichigo chugged his cereal milk and wiped his mouth. “Keep that pretty face of yours in check. I don’t want to be the one who messes it up.” And with that he walked away and left out the backdoor. 

Grimmjow wanted to chase after him. His instincts were ringing loudly that Ichigo might be the challenge that he needed to get ready for his next fight. He was annoyed and irritable. He obsessed over a challenging contender, and Ichigo might have been what he needed to satiate his desires.

~~~

Ichigo was back in a suit and sat boredly as he watched Grimmjow tore through his training. He went through drills, exercises, and sparring opponents. He was having a bad attitude day. Ichigo thought about his proposal from the other night. Old man Urahara recommended he take the bodyguard position as a way for him to get some type of career going. The old man also said he was tired of patching up Ichigo from his fights with local gangsters, and that he could at least surround himself with some legal fights. 

Ichigo wasn’t so keen on the idea, but he wanted a change of pace where he could help his sisters save for school. Aizen came along after Urahara suggested him. Aizen happened upon a video of Ichigo putting in some work on some thugs who had tried to rob an old lady. Once Aizen learned that he also trained with Chad, he took on the candidate. Of course, Ichigo had to go through vigorous security training and could tell you more about doors and windows than you knew existed. He kept up with the sparring and took on some other fight training to keep him sharp.

He did enjoy watching Grimmjow’s fights, but he knew the man for the attitude and temper he had. They clashed and argued all the time, and that only settled a little since Chad presented as a chance to get some steam out for both of them.

Ichigo caught a water bottle tossed his way. “Take your clothes off.” Grimmjow growled at him breathing heavily and sweating.

Okay, Ichigo did blush slightly at that. “Take me to dinner at least first.” He ducked from a flying glove. “What the hell man?”

“I ain’t taking no for an answer, Kurosaki. You can fight. I know it. I’m tired of waiting. So get in that damn locker room or take me home and we’ll do it there.”

Ichigo was stunned at first, but he knew he couldn’t avoid it this time. He tossed the keys out from his pocket and twirled them around his finger. “Alright, pretty boy. Don’t complain if you get hurt.”

“Hell yeah, Kurosaki.”

~~~

So some gentle flirting. Maybe a part two. Who knows? Let me know what you think. I appreciate the read and hope to contribute more to this fandom. 

Thanks! 

[atlasllm]

This may be cringe and idk if it's offensive but I have no idea what the fuck is going on in DreamSMP and if you want to info dump I would love to learn literally everything about it. If you want I can drop my discord.

-panicked.shrieking

I gave up the concept of cringe when I unironically joined the Onceler fandom. 

The Dream SMP is a Minecraft roleplay series, with a server run by Dream (and friends?) where a bunch of content creators are invited now and then. It’s very tough to keep track of actual videos for it sadly, since not all of the members archive their streams for it. Techno and Tommy do so from what I know, but there’s so many more perspectives. You could also try out the “clipshow” Youtube channels, they may not be ethical for stealing content but they do a good job putting it into edible pieces. From where I jumped on, Wilbur Soot made a drug van with Tommyinnit and Tubbo, and wanted to become their own nation. This started the war between the nation of “L’manburg” and the Dream SMP. At some point, L’manburg citizen Eret betrayed the others for Dream. However, L’manburg won its independance, and all was well for awhile.

After realizing that he just named himself ruler, Wilbur Soot called for an election, running against Quackity. Jschlatt (I don’t like his vibes very much) was invited to endorse Wilbur and Tommy, but ended up becoming his own party and becoming ruler of now “Manburg”.

Upset after losing their own nation, Wilbur and Tommy set off into a ravine, named Pogtopia, with the help of Technoblade (recently invited at the time, roleplaying an anarchist). Their friends, such as Niki and Tubbo, suffered Schlatt’s rule. At some point, Tubbo was executed for being a spy for Pogtopia, with Schlatt using Techno’s power to do so. This creates tension between Tommy and Techno.

This led to an all out battle between the Dream SMP/Manburg and the allies of Pogtopia. Pogtopia won back L’manburg, with the rulership going to Tubbo. Wilbur set off on his own after the battle and blew up L’manburg after realizing the nation he’s created has turned into a catalyst for pain and suffering. Knowing full well that he’s irredemable, he asks Philza (recently invited at the time, roleplaying Wilbur’s “father”) to kill him, which he does.

Realizing that he has been used as a pawn to take down the government so Wilbur and Tommy could have their own, Techno (known as a PvP master both in-universe and out-universe) releases a few Withers. He gets labeled as a traitor to L’manburg, and after destroying more of the country Techno retreats into a snowy forest to be a peaceful man.

Despite getting L’manburg back, Tommy is interested in getting some Minecraft discs back from Dream, who had them from the very first battles for L’manburg’s independance and refuses to rule, hence why Tubbo becomes president. However, he destroys the house of Dream’s best friend, Georgenotfound, and is found guilty. New member Ranboo is also suspected of doing so, but Tommy decides to take all the blame and gets exiled by Tubbo.

Dream is the only one who visits Tommy in exile, manipulating him to think that he’s his only friend. Tommy reaches a breaking point and seeks the help of Techno again, who’s reluctant but still willing to help him if he helps Techno destroy the new L’manburg. Tommy is hesitant, but they form an allyship anyway. I forget where this part happened, but Techno was a victim of a failed execution by Quackity, being executed for his crimes against L’manburg but escaping due to a Totem he had. He kills Quackity and goes on a mission to get his gear back (I believe Techno died in-game, and everyone saw it as an opportunity to get his OP gear and capture him while defenseless).

After being framed for blowing up the Community House by Dream, the oldest building on the server, Tommy snaps at the citizens of L’manburg and deems the discs more important than Tubbo. Realizing he’s been fighting for possessions this whole time, Tommy tries to redeem himself and sides with his best friend, Tubbo. Techno, feeling betrayed by Tommy once more, sides with Dream to destroy L’manburg once and for all.

Techno and Dream succeed (also aided by Philza, who lives with Techno in the snow forest after being unwillingly used to track down Techno), and all former L’manburg citizens can only watch as their home is destroyed.

This is where things start to get blurry from my perspective, since I’ve been busy:

Ranboo believes that he’s actually the one who blew up the Community House, and begins to hallucinate Dream’s voice in his head. Due to his memory issues, he can no longer distinguish between friend or foe, the real Dream or this “phantom” Dream.

At some point, Tommy and Tubbo go off to fight Dream for the discs once and for all. Dream and Awesamdude (Sam for short, he’s the Technoblade of redstone I think) have been building a grand prison that no one can escape from. Dream offers that it’s either the discs or their lives, and he aims to collect everyone else’s prized possessions in order to hold control over everyone in the server. He refuses to kill Tommy, because he’s just too fun to mess with; however, he is still willing to kill Tubbo if he steps out of line.

However, Punz, former ally of Dream, shows up and the old L’manburg citizens (and probably more) show up to fight against Dream. Dream surrenders, and becomes the first and only resident of the prison. He is only kept alive due to a supposed book that Schlatt gave him, which can bring people back from the dead. Tommy wishes to bring back Wilbur.

I think at this point, Tubbo goes off to create the country of Snowchester. Ranboo still struggles with memory problems, as he hasn’t recieved closure on whether or not he’s being manipulated by Dream or not. Techno and Philza have now formed “The Syndicate”, an anarchist group meant to go around and abolish governments.

At some point, Tommy confronts Dream in the prison. However, an explosion (most likely caused by Ranboo due to in-game evidence) causes the prison to go into lockdown, leaving Tommy with the server’s greatest enemy. After a week with each other, Dream kills Tommy after he kills the cat he has and screams his doubt about the resurrection book. Sam, the warden of the prison, feels guilt about Tommy’s death. The whole server mourns (except for the Syndicate). Jack Manifold, previously an ally to Tommy who worked with Niki to kill Tommy due to the bad things he’s done (I forget the exact events that led them to vengeance, but sometimes I don’t like Tommy’s vibes so I assume it’s related to that), realizes that this wasn’t what he wanted and mourns.

However, Tommy is ressurected by Dream; the book has been real the whole time, and Tommy regrets keeping Dream alive. He doesn’t want to bring Wilbur back anymore, but he also doesn’t have the strength to kill Dream. I don’t think anyone realizes Tommy’s alive yet.

All while this is happening, the “Badlands” ruled by Badboyhalo, Antfrost, and Skeppy (among others, I forget their names) are getting posessed by a giant red egg; their goal is to spread the egg’s corruption, which slowly has taken over the lands of L’manburg and the Dream SMP area.

Captain Puffy seeks the help of the Techno to destroy the egg.

Aaand that’s all I know. 

[doggonneit]

Honey Eyes and Bloody Lips

Fandom: Haikyuu!!

Pairing/Characters: Kuroo/Tsukishima

Rating: T for Teen

Warnings: Swearing, piercings, tattoos, blood

A.N. This is for @its-love-u-asshole for the @hqvalentineexchange. I hope you enjoy!

[Read on AO3]

Kuroo should’ve guessed from the name Karasuno that there would be a crow theme to the studio. The front was nothing spectacular to look at, all the dirty grey of concrete with a few crow silhouettes spray-painted onto its surface. Whoever had been tasked with that job had taken liberties with the amount of paint they used, as each bird had black trails trickling down like blood.

It was morbid.

Kuroo thought it was adorable.

Akaashi had recommended the studio since one of his friends worked there, and he gave a ringing endorsement to their piercing services which was impressive because praise that like didn’t come lightly from someone like him. A quick Google search further cemented Karasuno’s reputation-- they’d only been open for six months but already garnered over one hundred reviews raving about their excellent standards of service and friendly staff.

That was all Kuroo needed before he grabbed his keys and drove down to the studio.

Given its macabre exterior, it wasn’t surprising to see the same theme running in its interior-- more of the same dripping birds gliding along the walls and resting on silhouettes of tree branches that curled around the polaroids of ironically happy customers with their new piercings.

A blond man sat behind the front counter, so concentrated on adjusting jewellery in a velvet case while humming to the music coming from the portable speaker next to him that he didn’t notice Kuroo’s presence till he leaned over and put his elbows on the surface.

“Oh.” The man’s golden gaze flitted upwards and his mouth formed a perfect o. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

Kuroo gaped and his elbows slipped out from under him. He smacked his forehead on the counter with the loudest crack and in that moment he wished through the haze of pain for instant death to save him from the humiliation of looking like a complete moron in front of the most gorgeous man to walk the earth.

“Shit.” The man leaned closer to him and that was not good for his heart . “Are you all right?”

“Fine!” Kuroo sprang back a safe distance and pretended he couldn't the heat blazing across his cheeks like a wildfire. He usually wasn’t this inept, and he cursed the little black crows on the walls for his dismal state. “Sorry, clumsy. Super clumsy.”

“Yeah, that looks like it’ll bruise.”

“The only thing bruised is my pride,” Kuroo weakly joked. “Nothing important.”

The man gave a small huff of laughter and Kuroo’s pride swelled back to its usual inflated proportions. How many people could boast they had literally heard happiness from an angel? It was the most beautiful sound, the kind that was meant to be curled up on the couch next to him laughing late into the night about their hopes and dreams.

“Well then, welcome to Karasuno. My name’s Tsukishima and I’m here for all your piercing needs. What can I do for you today?”

It took Kuroo a moment to remember why he even came here in the first place.

“I’m thinking of getting pierced,” Kuroo said, then gave himself the biggest mental slap. He was in a piercing studio, for fuck’s sake. It wasn’t like he walked in here looking for rainbows and unicorns. “So, uh, you take walk-ins?”

“Yeah, absolutely. What did you want done?”

Kuroo paused. He’d wanted to get a third set done in his ears for a while now, but all the client photos showcasing a variety of piercings in a variety of places wavered his intentions and a good, long look at Tsukishima changed them completely.

Tsukishima was naturally stunning, and the jewellery that adorned him made him a complete work of art. The most striking piece was a barbell that went straight through the middle of his bottom lip and moved with every word like a hypnotic dance. Kuroo had never seen jewellery so perfect for someone and he wanted something like that for himself.

Tsukishima’s golden eyes followed Kuroo’s gaze and ran his tongue over the piercing, far too slow to be anything but deliberate. “You like the labret?”

Say something cool, say something cool, say something cool.

“It’s cool,” Kuroo said, and wished he could melt through the floor. That had to be the lamest response ever. Why was he being such a thirteen year old boy trying to impress his crush? He ignored the fact that it wasn’t too far from his current reality. “I don’t have the guts to take a needle through the lip though. I’m squeamish.”

That’ll make the devastatingly handsome man swoon. Good job, dumbass.

Tsukishima raised one pierced eyebrow. “Squeamish,” he repeated, looking pointedly at Kuroo’s arms. “That makes so much sense.”

“Oh, these.” Kuroo touched his tattooed sleeves with an abashed chuckle. He liked his ink and it was nothing to call it an addiction, not since he got his first taste on his nineteenth birthday when Akaashi tattooed a little black cat sitting on the side of his neck and showed him the wonders of body art.

The needle hooked him and never let go. Kuroo turned to Akaashi for his every tattooing need: a love poem in cursive Spanish across his ribs, the vivid blues of a stormy ocean crashing down his right arm and the livid greens of a snarling dragon spiralling its way down his left arm.

“You must have a stomach for needles if you can sit through hours of being repeatedly stabbed and injected with ink,” Tsukishima said.

“The needle’s not as big,” Kuroo protested, and if he didn't feel like a child before then he certainly did now. But hey, this was pure survival instincts speaking-- it was perfectly natural to be wary of sharp objects that could punch a hole through your body. “It makes sense from an evolutionary perspective.”

“Fair enough,” Tsukishima agreed. “So, no labret for you today?”

Kuroo was about to say no, but he just couldn’t peel his eyes away from Tsukishima’s mouth and how amazing they looked with the silver ball ends seated perfectly above and below his bottom lip. He wanted to know what that felt like on his lips, whether it be through a kiss or a needle.

You romantic, you.

“I want it,” Kuroo quickly said.

Tsukishima frowned, noticing Kuroo’s snap decision and clearly wanting him to take a step back and think it through. “If you’re unsure, it may be best to postpone--”

“No, I want it,” Kuroo said again, this time slower and with greater conviction. “I want the labret.”

Tsukishima fell silent and he held out for what felt like an eternity, no doubt testing Kuroo’s resolution. But Kuroo didn’t budge-- he was going to stick with the big, scary needle going through his whole lip because his mama may have raised a fool but she didn’t raise no quitter.

“If you’re sure--”

“Oh, I am.”

“--we have a selection of colours available you can see over there. Take your time picking one and I’ll go get my equipment ready.”

They parted from the counter, Kuroo ducking his head as soon as it was polite and burying his face in his hands. If he rubbed hard enough, maybe he’d scourge the redness from his cheeks by completely sanding off his skin. It’d been years since his awkward teenage years and here he was reliving every single one of those horror stories again.

At least he didn’t have acne anymore.

Kuroo took a deep breath and faced the display cabinet-- nope, he wasn’t going to let himself spiral down that particular path right now, not when there was a chance he could make an even bigger fool of himself. He focused on the jewellery gleaming under the little lights and where was he even supposed to start? Colour? Stone? Ends? Kuroo just blinked and stared-- he’d made too big a decision in getting a labret and now his decision-making skills had deserted him in his hour of need.

“What are you thinking?”

Kuroo yelped and jumped straight into the cabinet. The jewellery inside rattled loose like beads all over their shelves and Tsukishima grabbed onto his arms to steady him.

“Whoa, sorry.” Tsukishima smoothed down his shirt and gave it a pat. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Oh my god, he touched my chest, not a drill, not a drill!

“No, I was just supised-- surpised-- surp--surp--”

“Surprised?” Tsukishima offered.

“Surprised.” Kuroo’s voice came out embarrassingly high-pitched and now he was even squeaking like he was thirteen again. He cleared his throat and said in a much deeper and sexier voice, “Surprised. Yes. Sorry about the, uh, mess in the cabinet.”

“No need,” Tsukishima said with a shrug. “I’ve been meaning to rearrange it anyway.”

“Oh,” Kuroo said. “Good.”

Silence.

“So,” Tsukishima prompted. “Jewellery?”

“Right!” Kuroo gave a nervous laugh. “Uh, I’m not too sure what’ll look best on me, so I don’t know?”

Fantastic, men love indecision.

Tsukishima considered his answer. “If you’re not sure then you can never go wrong with simplicity. How about silver, with ball ends?”

“Like yours?”

“Like mine.”

Kuroo’s heart did a weird flop. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, that’s good.”

Tsukishima smiled and this is how men go blind and led him into one of the back rooms where a small stool and a tray of various equipment were set out. Kuroo tried not to look at them because his imagination conjured visuals far worse than reality could ever be.

“Take a seat there. You’ve been pierced before, and this process is no different.” Tsukishima snapped on a pair of purple latex gloves and cleaned Kuroo’s lip with an antibacterial wipe and used a black marker to make a small dot beneath the swell of his bottom lip. “How does that look?”

Kuroo glanced into the mirror on the wall and nodded. “Good.”

“Okay, I’m going to use this,” Tsukishima picked up a giant pair of glistening forceps, “to hold your lip in position.”

Kuroo’s eyes bugged out at the contraption and he began to sweat. “Tha-- that’s huge,” he managed.

“It doesn’t hurt or anything,” Tsukishima assured him. “It just steadies your lip so the needle doesn’t go in crooked.”

“The needle--”

“It looks like this.” Tsukishima picked it up. “It’s not as bad as you thought, right?”

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t as thick or threatening as Kuroo had envisioned but it still was going to punch a hole through his lip and he might just faint if he saw it coming towards him.

“Can I keep my eyes shut?” he asked.

“Of course.”

Kuroo did just that and he felt Tsukishima pull his lip out and hold onto it with the forceps. He was okay, he was doing okay, he was going to be okay…

“Take a deep breath,” Tsukishima said.

Kuroo obeyed, then a sharp sting went through his lip and he couldn’t help but open his eyes and see the needle sticking out of his lip. And what was that? The warmth dripping from his lip and down to his chin?

“Oh ny god,” he said through motionless lips. “Oh ny god… the glood…”

“Hey,” Tsukishima said. “Hey. Look at me.”

Kuroo tore his gaze upwards and looked straight into honey eyes and began to drown in their warmth and beauty. If he was going to bleed to death, this was surely the way to go. “Hi,” he whispered.

“Hi,” Tsukishima whispered back. "Keep your eyes on me, okay?"

That wasn't a difficult request-- in fact, Kuroo would gladly just sit there all day long and admire the sharp planes of Tsukishima's cheekbones, his milky smooth skin and how long and fluttery hiseyelashes were. If karma was indeed a thing, then Tsukishima had to have done something amazing in his past lives to be an angel walking on this earth today.

You are such a goner, you sap.

Tsukishima’s hands never stopped working and far too soon he stepped back with a small smile. “That’s it. All done.”

“That quick?”

Tsukishima gestured to the mirror. “Take a look.”

Kuroo turned and hot damn . He turned this way and that way, admiring how much more badass he looked now. He couldn’t have asked for a better piercer-- Tsukishima knew his stuff and even better, he was art and he made other people art too.

“How’s that?” Tsukishima asked. “We match.”

“We match,” Kuroo happily said.

“You like it?”

"Yeah," Kuroo said. He gave a wide grin which, to his surprise, made Tsukishima wince. "Is something wrong?"

"Not... wrong, per se," Tsukishima said. He made a vague gesture to his mouth. "You, uh, have blood on your teeth. It looks rather threatening."

"Shit, ha." Kuroo wiped the smile from his face and adopted a glare instead with his teeth bared. "How do I look now? Badass?"

"Badass," Tsukishima confirmed, setting his equipment straight again and beckoning. "Come out front. I'll ring you up and book you in for a follow-up appointment."

They made their way back to the front of the studio where Kuroo paid for his new piercing and zoned out of the spiel on how to take care of it. He'd gone through the routines before and this was hardly any different so he played with his barbell instead-- poking at it with the tip of his tongue and mouthing at it between his lips. It didn't hurt as much as he thought it would and he was so engrossed that he didn't notice Tsukishima frowning at him till it was too late.

Oops. Can't ignore the calls of an angel.

"Sorry, I just really like it," Kuroo said.

"Keep doing that and it won't heal straight," Tsukishima warned. "You want a crooked piercing?"

The thought of the perfectly placed barbell growing slanted made Kuroo's eye twitch and he vowed not to touch it again, at least until it healed, otherwise it'd be a waste of Tsukishima's skills.

"I've booked you in for the same time in two weeks," Tsukishima said. He took a business card from the counter and scrawled the appointment details on the back, ending it with an elegant flick of his wrist and pressing the card into Kuroo's hand. His skin was warm and his touch lingered against Kuroo's.

I'm absolutely besotted, help.

Kuroo wanted to say more and prolong his visit but Tsukishima had already turned away and busied himself with another jewellery display. Kuroo didn't want to call his attention, not when he'd so clearly been dismissed, so he bade a silent farewell and stepped outside to a bustling street filled with noisy pedestrians and blaring traffic. It was such a contrast from the interior of the quiet studio that it took Kuroo by surprise.

He leaned on one of the concrete walls next to a little black crow that looked like it was shitting black paint on his shoulder, and was about to slip the card into his phone case when he noticed something extra written on the back.

Call me. 03-XXXX-XXXX

Kuroo stared at the words with his jaw wide open and almost swallowed a fly. He choked on his spit and whipped around to look through the glass door but Tsukishima had already disappeared.

Oh my god oh my god ohmygod ohmygodohmygod!

Kuroo couldn't control the gigantic grin that broke out over his face and he probably still had blood in his teeth judging by some of the horrified stares he got but who cared about them when he got the number of the most gorgeous man to exist on this plane? Kuroo hurriedly opened up his camera and gave the most terrifying grin and holy hell did he look demonic with his hair spiking up in a hundred different directions and his mouth filled with blood. He took a picture, posted it to Karasuno's page and began writing another five star review to add to their collection.  

10/10 would recommend, should've taken a polaroid like this. Thanks, Tsukishima!

[sassycassie-s-writing]

Store Run

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): Avengers - Peter Parker/Spider-Man

Rating: PG

Original Idea: I don’t know. I just really want more Bucky and Peter interacting.

Notes: (Masterlist)(About Me) This one was fun. It’s the first Peter/Spider-Man one-shot that I have completed. I started a couple others, but this one finally got done. Enjoy!

^^^^^

“No,” Bucky snapped.

“Please!” Peter pleaded.

“Absolutely not.”

“Just give me ten minutes to examine it!”

“This thing is one of the best feats of engineering on the planet, and I am not going to have some fifteen-year-old mess it up.”

“I’m not going to mess it up! I’m just going to look at it!”

“No,” Bucky repeated forcefully.

Peter sighed. “Fine, then. I’m just gonna borrow Cap’s bike and run to the store,” he muttered, moving to skulk off.

Bucky’s metal arm—the topic in question—lashed out and caught the kid by the collar of his nerdy T-shirt. “I don’t think so. You don’t even have a driver’s license, let alone a motorcycle endorsement for one.”

“You guys are no fun,” Peter complained.

I snorted from my position, leaned against the doorframe with my arms folded.

Both heroes whirled to look at me. “Oh! Hi!” Bucky greeted. “We didn’t realize you were there.”

“Noticed,” I remarked jokingly. “C’mon, Pete. I’ll take you to the store.”

“Oh, uh… okay! Thanks!” he exclaimed before turning to Bucky. “Maybe while I’m gone… you’ll think about changing your mind?” He sounded hopeful. His back was to me so I gave Bucky a raised eyebrow over Peter’s shoulder. The steel blue eyes of the former-assassin flicked between my brown and Peter’s brown. Finally he sighed.

“I’ll think about it,” he relented. “No guarantees.”

Peter fist-pumped. “Yes!” He turned back to me. “Let’s go!”

Shaking my head in amusement, I turned and started to head to the garage, making sure my driver’s license was in my wallet, tucked into my back pocket.

Peter put his hand gently on my elbow. “Thanks. I know you gave him a look,” he whispered.

“Welcome. When you’re happy, we’re all a little happier around here.”

“Where do you two lovebirds think you’re going?” Steve asked from under his massive motorcycle that he was fixing up when we entered the garage—which was really more like a hangar for cars since it was so big. I kicked his foot as we passed on our way to my old sedan. “Ow!”

“We’re heading to the store. Pop-Tart and ice cream run,” I replied as I yanked open the driver’s side door.

“Hey Pete! Must be fun dating an older girl huh?” Steve teased.

I cracked my knuckles loudly.

“We’re not dating,” Peter retorted. “And she’s barely older than me by a couple months.”

The captain laughed. “I know. I’m just teasing you two. You should have seen how pink your face went young lady. You looked like you were ready to throttle me.”

“Still am,” I snapped as I ducked into the car and pulled the door closed. Peter followed my movements into the passenger side while Steve laughed. I shoved the keys in the ignition, cranked it, and drove out of the garage carefully so I wouldn’t hit any of Tony’s ridiculously expensive cars. I was grumbling under my breath the entire time.

“Relax. He was just having fun. He’s less aggravating than May’s teasing,” Peter commented.

“I know.” I shot a quick glance at Peter. The Avengers compound was out in the middle of nowhere so the road was basically abandoned but I was still fairly new at driving and didn’t want to take my eyes off the road for long.

Peter snickered and stared out the window at the fields and greenery flashing past us. My powers made me a bit jittery, trying to process all the input that I got from my senses and react defensively, so driving could be a nightmare.

I braked a little hard when we finally reached the stop sign that led onto a main road. “Sorry.”

“How did you pass your driving test?”

“I’m not used to this road. I did the driving test on roads I knew. And, I’ll have you know, I passed it the first time. The written one too,” I retorted. Peter snickered and patted my closest shoulder absentmindedly.

“I know. Tony told me. I was just messing with you.”

“You’re lucky you’re fun to be around or I’d deck you,” I remarked.

“You also wouldn’t be taking me to the store,” he pointed out playfully.

“Nope. So, Thor wanted Pop-Tarts, Tony suggested ice cream. Anything else?”

“I was thinking maybe some fun cereal. All they have is boring, bland, adult cereal. We’re still kids. I like color and sugar.”

I laughed. “Okay. We’ll find some fun cereal.”

“Also cookies.”

“Nuh-uh!” I exclaimed. “We bring back cookies and anyone sees, they will be gone within fifteen seconds.”

“Then we’ll hide them, duh. Only bring them out on movie night.”

“I’m so glad you’re up here for the summer. Having someone my age here is awesome,” I commented.

“Well, we think alike, don’t we?” he teased.

“Alike enough,” I relented.

While we’d been going back and forth, we made it to the small town closest to the compound. I pulled into the grocery store parking lot and we headed in. Peter grabbed a cart and I jumped into it with a laugh. “Hey!” he protested. “How come you get to ride in it?”

“Because you did last time,” I retorted. “Now it’s my turn.”

“Fine,” he grumbled.

“Plus, standing in the cart will made it easier to reach stuff on the top shelf,” I pointed out. Peter and I weren’t very tall. Peter was about five-eight and I was a solid five-one. He might grow some more but I hadn’t grown in about three years so I was done.

“Good point,” he relented. “I guess I can hardly use my web-shooters to snatch stuff in public.”

“Yeah that’d be bad for a secret identity.”

He pushed the cart—and me—around the grocery store while I rattled off the list from my phone, occasionally checking things off.

Finally, at the far back of the store where all the freezers were and I was buried under a small pile of boxes and ice cream, I turned my phone screen off. “Alright, nerd,” I teased. “I think we’re done!” Peter rolled his eyes but smiled.

“Great! Time to check out and head back then?”

“S’pose so.”

Which was what we did. As we got closer to the registers, I slowly got out from under the boxes so I wouldn’t look too weird just sitting in the cart. Peter stood awkwardly behind me while the checkout lady—who was an elderly, grandma type—complimented us endlessly on being such a cute couple and that it was sweet to see young people in love. Peter and I exchanged slightly-uncomfortable glances but didn’t bother to correct her. Let old people believe what they want to believe—unless those old people were Steve, Bucky, and Tony. Then don’t let them.

Peter unloaded our bags in the backseat of my old car—he insisted that he do the heavy lifting while I put the cart away, what a gentleman—then we piled in ourselves and drove back to the compound. I turned up the radio. It was a little staticky and glitchy given we were out in the middle of nowhere, but we still jammed and danced and sang. Peter had a cute voice.

Once we got back to the garage, Steve was gone. Thank the heavens. I parked and we took a single trip of stuff up to the kitchen—thanking goodness for superpowers and a lack of groceries. We really hadn’t got that much.

Still singing one of the songs that had been on the radio, we put everything away—hiding the cookies somewhere no one would think to find them.

“You’re back,” Natasha stated as she came in with a mug in her hand.

“Yup,” Peter said from where his hands were sticking to the ceiling and his feet were dangling.

“Mm,” Natasha muttered, brushing past us to the coffee pot. I made a face at Peter as I boosted myself onto the counter. He snorted. “See ya.”

“Bye Natasha.”

The former-assassin left with her coffee.

Peter dropped to the ground. “So! What should we do now?”

“Weren’t you wanting to examine Bucky’s arm?”

He lit up. “Oh yeah! I’m gonna go ask him!” he exclaimed. Giving me a quick wave, he raced out of the room. I chuckled.

He was so adorable.

[reneeacaseyfl]

Trump Comes for Baltimore, Baltimore Claps Back: raceAhead

Over the weekend, President Donald Trump launched a now-familiar style of attack on Maryland Rep. Elijah Cummings. Racist.

“Rep, Elijah Cummings has been a brutal bully, shouting and screaming at the great men & women of Border Patrol about conditions at the Southern Border, when actually his Baltimore district is FAR WORSE and more dangerous. His district is considered the Worst in the USA……” the president tweeted.

It continues: “Cumming District is a disgusting, rat and rodent infested mess.” And, “If racist Elijah Cummings would focus more of his energy on helping the good people of his district, and Baltimore itself, perhaps progress could be made in fixing the mess that he has helped to create over many years of incompetent leadership.” And more today: “If the Democrats are going to defend the Radical Left “Squad” and King Elijah’s Baltimore Fail, it will be a long road to 2020.”

CNN anchor and Baltimore native, Victor Blackwell, broke down Trump’s attacks on-air on Saturday’s “CNN Newsroom” program. 

“Donald Trump has tweeted more than 43,000 times,” Blackwell said. “He’s insulted thousands of people, many different types of people. But when he tweets about infestation, it’s about black and brown people.” Pausing to collect himself, and with water in his eyes, he said, “You know who did [live there], Mr. President? I did. From the day I was brought home from the hospital to the day I left for college. And a lot of people I care about still do.”

It was a powerful reminder that “diversity” is personal in newsrooms and in public policy.

The Baltimore Sun editorial board also wasted little time responding to the president’s Twitter rant, part political analysis, part Maryland pride. It’s a clapback for the ages:

“[W]e would tell the most dishonest man to ever occupy the Oval Office, the mocker of war heroes, the gleeful grabber of women’s private parts, the serial bankrupter of businesses, the useful idiot of Vladimir Putin and the guy who insisted there are “good people” among murderous neo-Nazis that he’s still not fooling most Americans into believing he’s even slightly competent in his current post. Or that he possesses a scintilla of integrity. Better to have some vermin living in your neighborhood than to be one.”

There are many things at play here, mostly political. Cummings has earned the president’s ire by leading investigations into his administration as chairman of the House Oversight and Reform Committee. The tweets, and Baltimore’s grim crime statistics, have become partisan talking points. Turns out, Jared Kushner, the presidential son-in-law, owns more than a dozen Baltimore-area apartment complexes in low-income zip codes that have been cited for code violations. Baltimoreans and their supporters are defending their city and killing it in the hashtag game.

My best (and perhaps only) contribution might be a little context. It all starts with Jim Crow. 

To have a serious discussion about what’s happening in Baltimore, it’s smart to start with the apartheid-style residential segregation ordinances that the city’s mayor put into place from 1910 to 1913. I’m not being hyperbolic: I’m summing up a 1982 paper published by law professor Garrett Power in the Maryland Law Review. In it, Power explains how a generally progressive administration purposefully segregated a reasonably integrated city—“to promote the general welfare of the city by providing, so far as practicable, for the use of separate blocks by white and colored people for residences, churches and schools.”

That decision helped ensure low-income black residents were isolated in slum-like conditions with substandard services, which eventually became codified in every kind of public policy. It led to, among other things, decades of housing equity failures.

Fast forward to 1995. Thompson v. HUD was a groundbreaking fair housing lawsuit that claimed the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD) violated the Fair Housing Act of 1968 by concentrating African-American residents of public housing in the most impoverished and underserved neighborhoods of Baltimore. The suit was triggered by a plan to demolish a dangerous high-rise public housing development, which should have ben an opportunity to introduce affordable housing across the city. Instead, rampant white NIMBYism made sure that replacement units would be relegated to segregated neighborhoods. The suit was filed on behalf of 14,000 African American families living in public housing.

It was 10 years of legal grinding before the team behind the lawsuit earned a victory lap: In January 2005, a federal district court judge found that HUD “failed to achieve significant desegregation” and accused them of treating Baltimore City as “an island reservation for use as a container for all of the poor of a contiguous region.”  

Not a long hop between 2005 and today, am I right?

The Thompson summary is an easy read and offers a helpful primer on how housing segregation created two separate and profoundly unequal Baltimores. And this analysis from the Poverty and Race Research Action Council helps put Thompson into a broader context of similar lawsuits around the country.  

I recommend reading both before you gear up to fight your political opponents. 

I’ll also leave the last policy word to Professor Power who warned 37 years ago that without real system change, Baltimore’s ugly past would persist.  The history “cautions us to discount the righteous rhetoric of reform; it reminds us of the racist propensities of democratic rule; and it sets the stage for understanding the development of a covert conspiracy to enforce housing segregation, the vestiges of which persist in Baltimore yet today.”

On Point

Puerto Rico’s governor-in-waiting says thanks but no thanks Puerto Rico Justice Secretary Wanda Vázquez is next in line for the governor job, but the controversial figure and close ally of the recently ousted Gov. Ricardo Rosselló has turned down the job, most recently, via Twitter. “I reiterate, I have no interest in occupying the position of Governor,” she said. “I hope that the Governor identifies and submits a candidate for the position of Secretary of State before August 2 and I have told him so.” The secretary of state is the preferred candidate for the position. USA Today

Barack Obama endorses an op-ed critical of the Trump Administration The opinion piece was published Friday night in the Washington Post, with the title: “We are African Americans, we are patriots, and we refuse to sit idly by.” The piece was co-signed by 149 African Americans who worked in the Obama administration, and serves as a rallying cry. “Witnessing racism surge in our country, both during and after Obama’s service and ours, has been a shattering reality, to say the least,” they write. “But it has also provided jet-fuel for our activism, especially in moments such as these.” The former president rarely comments on politics. “I’ve always been proud of what this team accomplished during my administration. But more than what we did, I’m proud of how they’re continuing to fight for an America that’s better,” he said, tweeting a link to the post. It’s an impressive list of names, by the way. Washington Post

A content creator is under fire for a cartoon character that turns black when she ‘loses her beauty’ Dina and the Prince Story is a cartoon uploaded by My Pingu Tv, a YouTube channel that animates, and occasionally ruins, popular children’s fairy tales. Such is the case of Dina, who is an angel, whatever, and who has caught the eye of the prince but has been warned not to talk to him. When she does anyway, blah blah blah, a curse is fulfilled: The lovely young white angel is magically transformed into a human with dark brown skin and kinky dark hair. “Dina turns and we see she is not as beautiful; her glow is gone, and her face is scarred,” yadda yadda. I suppose it could have been worse if ugly Dina was wearing a Baltimore t-shirt, but not by much. “Fans” were not having it. Come for the story, stay for the comments. Shadow and Act

On Background

Blue Note Records turns 80 Fans of John Coltrane, Art Blakey, and Herbie Hancock already know and love the Blue Note story, a label born in the waning days of the Depression and responsible for finding and amplifying the bebop trailblazers. Co-owners Albert Lion and Francis Wolff even gave an 18-year-old Sonny Rollins an early shot. But they didn’t stop there. Everyone will enjoy this history from Giovanni Russonello, complete with short clips from some of the great artists. My Blue Note fandom began and ended with ‘Trane, so I was delighted to learn that they never stopped producing cutting-edge talent, from Bobby McFerrin in the ‘80s, James Hurt in the ‘90s, and Ambrose Akinmusire more recently. And Norah Jones! Who knew. New York Times

Today’s essay: On being, joy, and loitering Ross Gay is a writer, gardener, former college gridiron player, and an English professor at Indiana University Bloomington. But in this resplendent conversation with On Being host Krista Tippett, he’s also an expert in “adult joy.” Gay describes it as “[J]oy by which the labor that will make the life that I want, possible. It is not at all puzzling to me that joy is possible in the midst of difficulty.” Joy is always possible, a valuable framing for troubling times. The interview itself is a delight; Gay’s parents were a mixed-race couple in the wake of Loving vs. Virginia and he explains how his life experience has helped him understand joy. “I have really been thinking that joy is the moments—for me, the moments when my alienation from people—but not just people, from the whole thing—it goes away,” he says. Then he reads aloud his extraordinary essay, “Loitering.” Take a break, listen to the whole interview, and know joy. On being

How to cover immigration This resource, from Harvard’s Shorenstein Center on Media, Politics, and Public Policy is designed for journalists, but it works for anyone who wants to publish anything from a memo to public remarks on the subject of immigration. The number one issue with immigration reporting is a lack of context. Is the event you are highlighting a single event or part of a broader history? “It’s really tempting, I think, at this moment for journalists to say the Trump administration is doing x, y, z. I think it’s really important for journalists to ask the question, ‘When did this program start?’ Or, ‘When did this issue start?’” says PRI’s Angilee Shah. Click through for more, including a public Google document with over 89 immigration data sources. Journalist’s Resource

Tamara El-Waylly helps produce raceAhead.

Quote

“wow man last year i was sleeping on my sisters floor, had no money, struggling to get plays on my music, suffering from daily headaches, now i’m gay.”

—Lil Nas X, via Twitter

Credit: Source link

The post Trump Comes for Baltimore, Baltimore Claps Back: raceAhead appeared first on WeeklyReviewer.

from WeeklyReviewer https://weeklyreviewer.com/trump-comes-for-baltimore-baltimore-claps-back-raceahead/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=trump-comes-for-baltimore-baltimore-claps-back-raceahead from WeeklyReviewer https://weeklyreviewer.tumblr.com/post/186635302737

[velmaemyers88]

Trump Comes for Baltimore, Baltimore Claps Back: raceAhead

Over the weekend, President Donald Trump launched a now-familiar style of attack on Maryland Rep. Elijah Cummings. Racist.

“Rep, Elijah Cummings has been a brutal bully, shouting and screaming at the great men & women of Border Patrol about conditions at the Southern Border, when actually his Baltimore district is FAR WORSE and more dangerous. His district is considered the Worst in the USA……” the president tweeted.

It continues: “Cumming District is a disgusting, rat and rodent infested mess.” And, “If racist Elijah Cummings would focus more of his energy on helping the good people of his district, and Baltimore itself, perhaps progress could be made in fixing the mess that he has helped to create over many years of incompetent leadership.” And more today: “If the Democrats are going to defend the Radical Left “Squad” and King Elijah’s Baltimore Fail, it will be a long road to 2020.”

CNN anchor and Baltimore native, Victor Blackwell, broke down Trump’s attacks on-air on Saturday’s “CNN Newsroom” program. 

“Donald Trump has tweeted more than 43,000 times,” Blackwell said. “He’s insulted thousands of people, many different types of people. But when he tweets about infestation, it’s about black and brown people.” Pausing to collect himself, and with water in his eyes, he said, “You know who did [live there], Mr. President? I did. From the day I was brought home from the hospital to the day I left for college. And a lot of people I care about still do.”

It was a powerful reminder that “diversity” is personal in newsrooms and in public policy.

The Baltimore Sun editorial board also wasted little time responding to the president’s Twitter rant, part political analysis, part Maryland pride. It’s a clapback for the ages:

“[W]e would tell the most dishonest man to ever occupy the Oval Office, the mocker of war heroes, the gleeful grabber of women’s private parts, the serial bankrupter of businesses, the useful idiot of Vladimir Putin and the guy who insisted there are “good people” among murderous neo-Nazis that he’s still not fooling most Americans into believing he’s even slightly competent in his current post. Or that he possesses a scintilla of integrity. Better to have some vermin living in your neighborhood than to be one.”

There are many things at play here, mostly political. Cummings has earned the president’s ire by leading investigations into his administration as chairman of the House Oversight and Reform Committee. The tweets, and Baltimore’s grim crime statistics, have become partisan talking points. Turns out, Jared Kushner, the presidential son-in-law, owns more than a dozen Baltimore-area apartment complexes in low-income zip codes that have been cited for code violations. Baltimoreans and their supporters are defending their city and killing it in the hashtag game.

My best (and perhaps only) contribution might be a little context. It all starts with Jim Crow. 

To have a serious discussion about what’s happening in Baltimore, it’s smart to start with the apartheid-style residential segregation ordinances that the city’s mayor put into place from 1910 to 1913. I’m not being hyperbolic: I’m summing up a 1982 paper published by law professor Garrett Power in the Maryland Law Review. In it, Power explains how a generally progressive administration purposefully segregated a reasonably integrated city—“to promote the general welfare of the city by providing, so far as practicable, for the use of separate blocks by white and colored people for residences, churches and schools.”

That decision helped ensure low-income black residents were isolated in slum-like conditions with substandard services, which eventually became codified in every kind of public policy. It led to, among other things, decades of housing equity failures.

Fast forward to 1995. Thompson v. HUD was a groundbreaking fair housing lawsuit that claimed the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD) violated the Fair Housing Act of 1968 by concentrating African-American residents of public housing in the most impoverished and underserved neighborhoods of Baltimore. The suit was triggered by a plan to demolish a dangerous high-rise public housing development, which should have ben an opportunity to introduce affordable housing across the city. Instead, rampant white NIMBYism made sure that replacement units would be relegated to segregated neighborhoods. The suit was filed on behalf of 14,000 African American families living in public housing.

It was 10 years of legal grinding before the team behind the lawsuit earned a victory lap: In January 2005, a federal district court judge found that HUD “failed to achieve significant desegregation” and accused them of treating Baltimore City as “an island reservation for use as a container for all of the poor of a contiguous region.”  

Not a long hop between 2005 and today, am I right?

The Thompson summary is an easy read and offers a helpful primer on how housing segregation created two separate and profoundly unequal Baltimores. And this analysis from the Poverty and Race Research Action Council helps put Thompson into a broader context of similar lawsuits around the country.  

I recommend reading both before you gear up to fight your political opponents. 

I’ll also leave the last policy word to Professor Power who warned 37 years ago that without real system change, Baltimore’s ugly past would persist.  The history “cautions us to discount the righteous rhetoric of reform; it reminds us of the racist propensities of democratic rule; and it sets the stage for understanding the development of a covert conspiracy to enforce housing segregation, the vestiges of which persist in Baltimore yet today.”

On Point

Puerto Rico’s governor-in-waiting says thanks but no thanks Puerto Rico Justice Secretary Wanda Vázquez is next in line for the governor job, but the controversial figure and close ally of the recently ousted Gov. Ricardo Rosselló has turned down the job, most recently, via Twitter. “I reiterate, I have no interest in occupying the position of Governor,” she said. “I hope that the Governor identifies and submits a candidate for the position of Secretary of State before August 2 and I have told him so.” The secretary of state is the preferred candidate for the position. USA Today

Barack Obama endorses an op-ed critical of the Trump Administration The opinion piece was published Friday night in the Washington Post, with the title: “We are African Americans, we are patriots, and we refuse to sit idly by.” The piece was co-signed by 149 African Americans who worked in the Obama administration, and serves as a rallying cry. “Witnessing racism surge in our country, both during and after Obama’s service and ours, has been a shattering reality, to say the least,” they write. “But it has also provided jet-fuel for our activism, especially in moments such as these.” The former president rarely comments on politics. “I’ve always been proud of what this team accomplished during my administration. But more than what we did, I’m proud of how they’re continuing to fight for an America that’s better,” he said, tweeting a link to the post. It’s an impressive list of names, by the way. Washington Post

A content creator is under fire for a cartoon character that turns black when she ‘loses her beauty’ Dina and the Prince Story is a cartoon uploaded by My Pingu Tv, a YouTube channel that animates, and occasionally ruins, popular children’s fairy tales. Such is the case of Dina, who is an angel, whatever, and who has caught the eye of the prince but has been warned not to talk to him. When she does anyway, blah blah blah, a curse is fulfilled: The lovely young white angel is magically transformed into a human with dark brown skin and kinky dark hair. “Dina turns and we see she is not as beautiful; her glow is gone, and her face is scarred,” yadda yadda. I suppose it could have been worse if ugly Dina was wearing a Baltimore t-shirt, but not by much. “Fans” were not having it. Come for the story, stay for the comments. Shadow and Act

On Background

Blue Note Records turns 80 Fans of John Coltrane, Art Blakey, and Herbie Hancock already know and love the Blue Note story, a label born in the waning days of the Depression and responsible for finding and amplifying the bebop trailblazers. Co-owners Albert Lion and Francis Wolff even gave an 18-year-old Sonny Rollins an early shot. But they didn’t stop there. Everyone will enjoy this history from Giovanni Russonello, complete with short clips from some of the great artists. My Blue Note fandom began and ended with ‘Trane, so I was delighted to learn that they never stopped producing cutting-edge talent, from Bobby McFerrin in the ‘80s, James Hurt in the ‘90s, and Ambrose Akinmusire more recently. And Norah Jones! Who knew. New York Times

Today’s essay: On being, joy, and loitering Ross Gay is a writer, gardener, former college gridiron player, and an English professor at Indiana University Bloomington. But in this resplendent conversation with On Being host Krista Tippett, he’s also an expert in “adult joy.” Gay describes it as “[J]oy by which the labor that will make the life that I want, possible. It is not at all puzzling to me that joy is possible in the midst of difficulty.” Joy is always possible, a valuable framing for troubling times. The interview itself is a delight; Gay’s parents were a mixed-race couple in the wake of Loving vs. Virginia and he explains how his life experience has helped him understand joy. “I have really been thinking that joy is the moments—for me, the moments when my alienation from people—but not just people, from the whole thing—it goes away,” he says. Then he reads aloud his extraordinary essay, “Loitering.” Take a break, listen to the whole interview, and know joy. On being

How to cover immigration This resource, from Harvard’s Shorenstein Center on Media, Politics, and Public Policy is designed for journalists, but it works for anyone who wants to publish anything from a memo to public remarks on the subject of immigration. The number one issue with immigration reporting is a lack of context. Is the event you are highlighting a single event or part of a broader history? “It’s really tempting, I think, at this moment for journalists to say the Trump administration is doing x, y, z. I think it’s really important for journalists to ask the question, ‘When did this program start?’ Or, ‘When did this issue start?’” says PRI’s Angilee Shah. Click through for more, including a public Google document with over 89 immigration data sources. Journalist’s Resource

Tamara El-Waylly helps produce raceAhead.

Quote

“wow man last year i was sleeping on my sisters floor, had no money, struggling to get plays on my music, suffering from daily headaches, now i’m gay.”

—Lil Nas X, via Twitter

Credit: Source link

The post Trump Comes for Baltimore, Baltimore Claps Back: raceAhead appeared first on WeeklyReviewer.

from WeeklyReviewer https://weeklyreviewer.com/trump-comes-for-baltimore-baltimore-claps-back-raceahead/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=trump-comes-for-baltimore-baltimore-claps-back-raceahead from WeeklyReviewer https://weeklyreviewer.tumblr.com/post/186635302737

[weeklyreviewer]

Trump Comes for Baltimore, Baltimore Claps Back: raceAhead

Over the weekend, President Donald Trump launched a now-familiar style of attack on Maryland Rep. Elijah Cummings. Racist.

“Rep, Elijah Cummings has been a brutal bully, shouting and screaming at the great men & women of Border Patrol about conditions at the Southern Border, when actually his Baltimore district is FAR WORSE and more dangerous. His district is considered the Worst in the USA……” the president tweeted.

It continues: “Cumming District is a disgusting, rat and rodent infested mess.” And, “If racist Elijah Cummings would focus more of his energy on helping the good people of his district, and Baltimore itself, perhaps progress could be made in fixing the mess that he has helped to create over many years of incompetent leadership.” And more today: “If the Democrats are going to defend the Radical Left “Squad” and King Elijah’s Baltimore Fail, it will be a long road to 2020.”

CNN anchor and Baltimore native, Victor Blackwell, broke down Trump’s attacks on-air on Saturday’s “CNN Newsroom” program. 

“Donald Trump has tweeted more than 43,000 times,” Blackwell said. “He’s insulted thousands of people, many different types of people. But when he tweets about infestation, it’s about black and brown people.” Pausing to collect himself, and with water in his eyes, he said, “You know who did [live there], Mr. President? I did. From the day I was brought home from the hospital to the day I left for college. And a lot of people I care about still do.”

It was a powerful reminder that “diversity” is personal in newsrooms and in public policy.

The Baltimore Sun editorial board also wasted little time responding to the president’s Twitter rant, part political analysis, part Maryland pride. It’s a clapback for the ages:

“[W]e would tell the most dishonest man to ever occupy the Oval Office, the mocker of war heroes, the gleeful grabber of women’s private parts, the serial bankrupter of businesses, the useful idiot of Vladimir Putin and the guy who insisted there are “good people” among murderous neo-Nazis that he’s still not fooling most Americans into believing he’s even slightly competent in his current post. Or that he possesses a scintilla of integrity. Better to have some vermin living in your neighborhood than to be one.”

There are many things at play here, mostly political. Cummings has earned the president’s ire by leading investigations into his administration as chairman of the House Oversight and Reform Committee. The tweets, and Baltimore’s grim crime statistics, have become partisan talking points. Turns out, Jared Kushner, the presidential son-in-law, owns more than a dozen Baltimore-area apartment complexes in low-income zip codes that have been cited for code violations. Baltimoreans and their supporters are defending their city and killing it in the hashtag game.

My best (and perhaps only) contribution might be a little context. It all starts with Jim Crow. 

To have a serious discussion about what’s happening in Baltimore, it’s smart to start with the apartheid-style residential segregation ordinances that the city’s mayor put into place from 1910 to 1913. I’m not being hyperbolic: I’m summing up a 1982 paper published by law professor Garrett Power in the Maryland Law Review. In it, Power explains how a generally progressive administration purposefully segregated a reasonably integrated city—“to promote the general welfare of the city by providing, so far as practicable, for the use of separate blocks by white and colored people for residences, churches and schools.”

That decision helped ensure low-income black residents were isolated in slum-like conditions with substandard services, which eventually became codified in every kind of public policy. It led to, among other things, decades of housing equity failures.

Fast forward to 1995. Thompson v. HUD was a groundbreaking fair housing lawsuit that claimed the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD) violated the Fair Housing Act of 1968 by concentrating African-American residents of public housing in the most impoverished and underserved neighborhoods of Baltimore. The suit was triggered by a plan to demolish a dangerous high-rise public housing development, which should have ben an opportunity to introduce affordable housing across the city. Instead, rampant white NIMBYism made sure that replacement units would be relegated to segregated neighborhoods. The suit was filed on behalf of 14,000 African American families living in public housing.

It was 10 years of legal grinding before the team behind the lawsuit earned a victory lap: In January 2005, a federal district court judge found that HUD “failed to achieve significant desegregation” and accused them of treating Baltimore City as “an island reservation for use as a container for all of the poor of a contiguous region.”  

Not a long hop between 2005 and today, am I right?

The Thompson summary is an easy read and offers a helpful primer on how housing segregation created two separate and profoundly unequal Baltimores. And this analysis from the Poverty and Race Research Action Council helps put Thompson into a broader context of similar lawsuits around the country.  

I recommend reading both before you gear up to fight your political opponents. 

I’ll also leave the last policy word to Professor Power who warned 37 years ago that without real system change, Baltimore’s ugly past would persist.  The history “cautions us to discount the righteous rhetoric of reform; it reminds us of the racist propensities of democratic rule; and it sets the stage for understanding the development of a covert conspiracy to enforce housing segregation, the vestiges of which persist in Baltimore yet today.”

On Point

Puerto Rico’s governor-in-waiting says thanks but no thanks Puerto Rico Justice Secretary Wanda Vázquez is next in line for the governor job, but the controversial figure and close ally of the recently ousted Gov. Ricardo Rosselló has turned down the job, most recently, via Twitter. “I reiterate, I have no interest in occupying the position of Governor,” she said. “I hope that the Governor identifies and submits a candidate for the position of Secretary of State before August 2 and I have told him so.” The secretary of state is the preferred candidate for the position. USA Today

Barack Obama endorses an op-ed critical of the Trump Administration The opinion piece was published Friday night in the Washington Post, with the title: “We are African Americans, we are patriots, and we refuse to sit idly by.” The piece was co-signed by 149 African Americans who worked in the Obama administration, and serves as a rallying cry. “Witnessing racism surge in our country, both during and after Obama’s service and ours, has been a shattering reality, to say the least,” they write. “But it has also provided jet-fuel for our activism, especially in moments such as these.” The former president rarely comments on politics. “I’ve always been proud of what this team accomplished during my administration. But more than what we did, I’m proud of how they’re continuing to fight for an America that’s better,” he said, tweeting a link to the post. It’s an impressive list of names, by the way. Washington Post

A content creator is under fire for a cartoon character that turns black when she ‘loses her beauty’ Dina and the Prince Story is a cartoon uploaded by My Pingu Tv, a YouTube channel that animates, and occasionally ruins, popular children’s fairy tales. Such is the case of Dina, who is an angel, whatever, and who has caught the eye of the prince but has been warned not to talk to him. When she does anyway, blah blah blah, a curse is fulfilled: The lovely young white angel is magically transformed into a human with dark brown skin and kinky dark hair. “Dina turns and we see she is not as beautiful; her glow is gone, and her face is scarred,” yadda yadda. I suppose it could have been worse if ugly Dina was wearing a Baltimore t-shirt, but not by much. “Fans” were not having it. Come for the story, stay for the comments. Shadow and Act

On Background

Blue Note Records turns 80 Fans of John Coltrane, Art Blakey, and Herbie Hancock already know and love the Blue Note story, a label born in the waning days of the Depression and responsible for finding and amplifying the bebop trailblazers. Co-owners Albert Lion and Francis Wolff even gave an 18-year-old Sonny Rollins an early shot. But they didn’t stop there. Everyone will enjoy this history from Giovanni Russonello, complete with short clips from some of the great artists. My Blue Note fandom began and ended with ‘Trane, so I was delighted to learn that they never stopped producing cutting-edge talent, from Bobby McFerrin in the ‘80s, James Hurt in the ‘90s, and Ambrose Akinmusire more recently. And Norah Jones! Who knew. New York Times

Today’s essay: On being, joy, and loitering Ross Gay is a writer, gardener, former college gridiron player, and an English professor at Indiana University Bloomington. But in this resplendent conversation with On Being host Krista Tippett, he’s also an expert in “adult joy.” Gay describes it as “[J]oy by which the labor that will make the life that I want, possible. It is not at all puzzling to me that joy is possible in the midst of difficulty.” Joy is always possible, a valuable framing for troubling times. The interview itself is a delight; Gay’s parents were a mixed-race couple in the wake of Loving vs. Virginia and he explains how his life experience has helped him understand joy. “I have really been thinking that joy is the moments—for me, the moments when my alienation from people—but not just people, from the whole thing—it goes away,” he says. Then he reads aloud his extraordinary essay, “Loitering.” Take a break, listen to the whole interview, and know joy. On being

How to cover immigration This resource, from Harvard’s Shorenstein Center on Media, Politics, and Public Policy is designed for journalists, but it works for anyone who wants to publish anything from a memo to public remarks on the subject of immigration. The number one issue with immigration reporting is a lack of context. Is the event you are highlighting a single event or part of a broader history? “It’s really tempting, I think, at this moment for journalists to say the Trump administration is doing x, y, z. I think it’s really important for journalists to ask the question, ‘When did this program start?’ Or, ‘When did this issue start?’” says PRI’s Angilee Shah. Click through for more, including a public Google document with over 89 immigration data sources. Journalist’s Resource

Tamara El-Waylly helps produce raceAhead.

Quote

“wow man last year i was sleeping on my sisters floor, had no money, struggling to get plays on my music, suffering from daily headaches, now i’m gay.”

—Lil Nas X, via Twitter

Credit: Source link

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Marvel Movie Mix-Ups

So the first time I was ever introduced to superheroes was Marvel movies, more specifically, Spider Man. Unfortunately, my young brain decided that because Spider Man was the first superhero I knew about he was also the oldest. Now a few months later I go out and get some comics, only a few though because I didn’t have a lot of money, and I get an older Spider Man with his own corporation. This fits perfectly in my mind. So jump to years late and people are making me watch the Iron Man movies and Marvel. All of a sudden I’m just like “yesssssssss I have the perfect pairing, Tony Stark and Peter Parker because they are both super smart owners of corporations”

In my mind Peter Parker was at least as old, if not older, than Tony Stark. But then I start seeing all these posts about how Parker/Stark is a horrible ship and how people should unfollow if they ship them, and I was so confused. What the hell went down between these two that was so wrong? What did I miss? (Eventually I concluded fandom bullshit because let’s be honest, fandoms can be such a mess). So I headcanon all these stories with Spider Man and Iron Man and they’re the same age. (I had the most adorable idea (in my mind) where all of New York actually loved Spider Man and the only reason Iron Man was accepted was because Spider Man had given his endorsement and the two are in a relationship and then the Avengers come etc etc (it got more interesting I promise and Imma make another post about it)).

Now imagine the absolute mind fuck that is seeing this tiny ass Spider Man in CA:CW who is so much younger than Tony Stark it is insane. Suddenly everything makes perfect fucking sense to me. All I can wonder is how the fuck none of my friends corrected my misconceptions. How did no one notice that I thought Spider Man was older than everyone??? (Captain America didn’t count because he was frozen). 

I always thought I was aging Spider Man fucking down to make my ship work but apparently not. The ever living fuck??? Now-a-days I still ship them. Personally I ship them working with the misconception I have had since the beginning that they are around the same age. 

Y’all can pry my adorable geniuses ship from my cold dead fucking hands because I have been shipping them almost before I knew what the fuck Marvel was (and way before I knew that all of the marvel characters were in the same world (What? I was naive and unknowing...sorry...ish))