#sad white boy grifters

[screampotato]

So I was watching a thing about Jake Doolittle (sad white boy grifter on YouTube) and he suddenly reminded me of James Somerton (sad white boy grifter on YouTube) and then I thought about the entire genre of sad white boy grifters on YouTube. You know the ones. They're kind of pasty and a bit chubby in the cheeks and slightly posh and think of themselves as intellectual. They wear glasses and a turtleneck and spend most of their time either sneering or preaching, but then when they get caught in a grift they go all soft and floppy and start talking in a hushed voice about how bad a headspace they're in and how they've had lots of surgeries and they lost their best friend and people are unsubscribing so they won't be able to make rent and they're very sorry about all these things they did that were in fact really not a big deal and everyone caring about what they did is actually really hard on them.

And suddenly I was presented with the vision of Eustace from the Chronicles of Narnia, and I realised how crucial it was that he had to be turned into a dragon and thereby change his entire outlook on life, because I'm pretty sure that if he had been allowed to grow up the way he was he would have become a sad white boy grifter. Possibly not on YouTube, because he was born too early for that, but honestly who knows because he might have fallen through the wrong magic door and be preaching and sneering and softly self-pitying on YouTube to this very day. And I commented about this, but nobody on YouTube will understand my train of thought on this, so I thought I'd better bring it to Tumblr.

I will henceforth think of this entire genre of YouTuber as pre-dragon Eustaces. May Aslan send the dragons soon.

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 12/24/2024

pair of portentous tuesdayposts: this one is christmas eve and the next one is new year's eve

trying something new with the reading section, where i list off a bunch of books i bounced off and briefly explain why. let me know if this is interesting, or if it's more interesting when i finish a book i sort of enjoyed and really dissect what didn't work for me like with that annoying evil wizard book a couple weeks ago.

listening

the true champ of the past few weeks has been friends at the table's (an actual play podcast about critical worldbuilding, smart characterization, and fun interaction between good friends) horror/weird west season Sangfielle, and i know i have listened to about sixty hours of it bc i have played about sixty hours of stardew valley. i am currently on ep 49, one before the last finale episode, and it feels like it is wrapping up in a very rushed and weird way? maybe i will feel differently after listening to the six coda episodes wrapping up everyones' characters?

the song of the week is fleet foxes’ white winter hymnal, which is morbidly festive without being strictly christmas-y and is not salting the open emotional wound within my chest that is The Holiday Season. album released 2008. christ im old

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reading

the concept of this gag award is EXTREMELY funny to me. i wish the EFF sent them a little physical trophy. perhaps a challenge coin.

bounced off a lot of stuff. the six larger books and the far top right are all from my absolute favorite thrift store with the worst vibes, who regularly has a 8/$1 media sale bc they actually want to be more of a kitchen goods and home decor thrift store and don't really want to constantly be overflowing with records no one buys. yet here they are.

i really do need to find a good indie used bookstore around here that will take books and give me back slightly more in store credit than in cash. bc i would like to fill some missing chunks of trilogies/fill out the star wars shelves a little more. but every time i have gone to half price books i have had an unpleasant time.

lumberjanes/bravest warrior/adventure time were not making me feel nostalgic and in fact made me quite sad instead (more in a memento mori way than in subject matter) so they're going to a friend's kid

glad i looked up Heartthrob (despite the really good premise of woman haunted by her heart donor) on my library's comic app bc the third one seems to mostly take place in a mental hospital which is really never a vibe i want

GRIFTER has art i don't love and a bland storyline about an ex-marine who is the saddest boy in the world and can also detect literal space aliens living among us. no thank you

tangle's game has a close-call near-sexual assault in the first chapter. no thank you! cool dystopic social credit score premise but no thanks!

gil's all fright diner is about the king of vampires and the duke of werewolves but they're hicks. the narrator hates that they're dumb hicks. did not jive with the authorial voice on this one

i bought Two Tickets to Tangiers in high school bc it looked cool and have only cracked it open now, almost fifteen years later. fifteen year old kay did not yet have the context clues from the cover that it would be a very racist travelogue

i need to stop trying agatha christie. i am never going to like agatha christie

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watching

somehow i have seen the first tinker bell fairies movie three times this week bc that's all my bestie's toddlers want to watch. a really stupidly stacked cast??? how did all these people have free time in 2008???

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playing

finished the community center in summer 2 of stardew valley (wildly popular and very intense farming sim) and would have finished it in winter 1 if not for the FUCKING pufferfish. i hate fishing minigames and i especially hate the fishing minigame in stardew so i am excited to leave it the fuck alone for a while.

my cauliflower got stupid mchugelarge?? i do not know why they did that. also a meteor fell on my farm and gave me a bunch of really valuable ore, just like real life meteors.

i do kind of regret picking the beach farm bc so much of my day is spent watering, but i am trying to lean harder into animal products and being more of a fun silly flower farm instead of the intense agriculture i find myself doing. i have the greenhouse, i have a small patch of sprinklerable land, i will simply make sure to buy some of every seed each season and if i really need something i will toss it in the greenhouse.

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making

people are being very gracious about their mediocre colored pencil portraits. most of my gift budget this year was two flat rate boxes to my siblings. silly little pet portraits are very cost effective if you already have art supplies, nice paper, gumption, and very cheap small frames.

[clearancecreedwatersurvival]

The thing that makes me the most sad about how many people fall for radfem ideology on this website is that many of them genuinely think that they are fighting for liberation, and have various levels of class consciousness. Especially when it’s young people.

This is why I talk a lot about both the online rabbitholes/pipelines that pull people into terf circles and also the I would estimate somewhat smaller one that funnels into the whole ‘anti-shipping’ community. They both often have people in them who claim they are against overt oppression in other forms.

The terf pipeline in particular is functionally the same as the inverse blackpill ideological rabbit hole which targets young men: the incel pipeline. Both are reflexively reactionary ideologies that respond to the promises demands and expectations of cultural patriarchy. And both in the end, serve white supremacy and capital.

Terfs are so focused on violence against women that it is truly the only violence they see. And of course finding an easy scapegoat who is already disempowered under patriarchy is easier than confronting the complexities of the underlying social issues. Such as plainly acknowledging that trans feminine people, particularly black and native trans people, face the most intensive mysoginistic violence of anyone, and that all queerness and gender noncormity is counter to the rigid gender expectations of patriarchy and thus under threat of patriarchal reinforcing violence.

So rather than fighting for women’s liberation in any actually meaningful way, which would mean acknowledging that anyone who betrays gender roles is harmed by patriarchy, they rely on an outdated model of biological essentialism which hasn’t been relevant to thoughtful feminist critique since second wave feminism. We have fifty years of further gender theory in academia that they will ignore in favor of a 6th grade level basic and also plainly incorrect understanding of genetics. And in so doing they, usually unwittingly and unintentionally, fall for obvious white supremacist grifters like that woman who had a milkshake thrown on her and is Jo Rowling’s new best friend who has straight up said MANY times that ‘we need to abandon feminism’ and that she herself is not a feminist. Yet she’s one of the main and most popular speakers driving “radical feminist” ideology.

There is a REASON why terf thought leader speeches are protected by groups of Proud Boys.

Similarly the anti-shipping rabbithole also reinforces christofash puritanical sexual morality while claiming to fight sexual violence and be a liberatory movement.

If you are falling for these regressive ideologies, you are not fighting capitalism. You are not fighting racism. You are not fighting sexism.

You are falling for white supremacist christofascist recruiting schemes.

You are falling for the oldest trick in the book, blaming other members of the working class for your own oppression instead of acting in solidarity to fight for systemic change.

[cosmicanger]

By The Anarchothoughtism Collective

There’s a lot wrong with this little rustbelt city. It’s hard to love, almost painful. Yet people here try to do it anyway, often to our own detriment. We critique this city scathingly, but we love Milwaukee too. Black Milwaukeeans work hard to carve out a cultural niche. It’s a city that’s been shit on so much that it’s developed an inferiority complex; it demands recognition, for better or worse. I joke that living here would be funny - if it wasn’t our lives. Oftentimes it is funny, in a sad, nihilistic, and absurdist way. You have to laugh to keep from crying.

The structural issues of Milwaukee are deeply enmeshed, feeding into each other and compounding the struggles its Black underclass must face. The city’s cultural undercurrent is marked by distinct apathy, conservatism, and complacency. Individualist and bourgeois aspirations are rife. Small pockets of resistance bubble up, only to be extinguished by petit-bourgeois endeavors such as the non-profit industrial complex (NPIC), “activist” grifters, or the business class. This allows for highly fascistic elements to develop without resistance. The 2016 Sherman Park uprising is a prime example of such an “extinguishing”.

Milwaukee is known as the worst place for Black people to live, the most segregated city in the United States, and as “Harvard for pimps”. Black people have been locked out of homeownership, with only 25.2% of Black Milwaukeeans actually owning homes. A culture around stolen vehicles (we call them “stolies”) holds fast. “Kia Boys” and “Kia Girls” drive throughout the city recklessly, giving MPD (Milwaukee Police Department) a run for their money. To be fair, most people in Milwaukee drive recklessly. Lives are ended or altered by gun violence. You can’t trust tap water because of the lead pipes. Out-of-state slumlords own too much property, resulting in poorly-kept homes, leading to excessive electrical fires and evictions. The homeless remain mostly unseen, systemically pushed into surrounding forests. Milwaukee Police Department takes up more than half of the city budget, their pensions are bankrupting the city. As a result, libraries will close, fire stations and ambulances will operate at reduced capacities. In two to three years, a youth prison will be built here. Conditions feel overwhelmingly grim.

Following the Murder of Syville Smith by MPD in 2016, Sherman Park erupted in flames and the uprising that ensued lasted for 3 days. Rioters looted and burned down a BP gas station. This was not senseless or random; Black community members had been frequently profiled by owners of this particular BP station, and frequently had Milwaukee Police Department (MPD) called on them. A month before the murder of Smith, an employee fired a gun in the air to intimidate a group of teenagers standing in front of the store, claiming that he feared for his life. As rioting progressed, rocks were hurled at local law enforcement, a bank was set ablaze, and a local liquor store was looted. The city of Milwaukee was transfixed, yet what followed in the wake of that moment seemed a dizzying blur: over 2-3 years, conversations shifted abruptly from police brutality, racism, and state violence to entrepreneurship. Almost as quickly as it happened, outside investors swooped in to develop what is now known as Sherman Phoenix, a collection of 30 Black-owned businesses housed within the former BMO Harris bank that was burned down during the riots.

Before this shift, Sherman Park resident and youth mentor/activist Vaun Mayes was framed by both MPD and federal agents for the attempted firebombing of the District 7 police station at the height of the riots. Though the case against him remains ambiguous in its resolution, Mayes’ case and eventual release from state custody garnered him an abundance of local media attention, alongside undue credit as a reliable community activist. Soon after that ordeal, Mayes began dubbing himself “Milwaukee’s Malcolm X”, though his politics were moderate and inconsistent. His influence would later play a role in stunting Milwaukee’s 2020 protests.

The officer who killed Sylville Smith was acquitted of the murder; however, he was discharged from MPD and spent time in prison for a series of sexual assaults. In 2020 Smith’s family was awarded a $4 million settlement from the City of Milwaukee. Over the past 10 years, Milwaukee has spent $40 million on police misconduct settlements. This is not justice, it never will be. Justice cannot exist for Black folx within this system, our own hands must forge a new path.

Non-profits: The Worst Jobs We’ve Ever Worked (CW: Rape, Sexual Assault)

Milwaukee non-profits are closely linked with MPD. More often than not, they aid in advancing the carceral state through partnerships and broad coalitional work. One member of our collective was introduced to the NPIC when they were 16 years old by members of the ACLU Wisconsin when the latter visited their high school classes to speak with students about their civil rights and electoralism. By the time our comrade hit 19, they had dropped out of college and had their first real experience working in the NPIC through an AmeriCorps program. They were paid $17,000/year and received additional food stamp benefits. For how little was paid, it could be argued that work involving social services and the NPIC is a twisted type of exploitation that normalizes the commoditization of marginalized peoples’ experiences even as it normalizes the extraction of their labor and their harassment/abuse within NPIC structures.

During their stint with this organization, our comrade worked directly with women involved in street-based prostitution. In this supposed “harm reduction-based” approach, our comrade was often forced to work directly with police to maintain the symbiotic relationship their employer held with district attorneys, the House of Correction (a county jail that falls under the Division of Adult Institutions but operates somewhat independently from them), and law enforcement organizations (LEOs) writ large. This placed our comrade and other workers in the impossible position of offering little material or social supports to trafficking victims in exchange for tracking them and discussing their cases regularly with police and community members that viewed the presence of trafficked women as a “blight.”

Our comrade remembers their time with this organization as one of the most traumatic periods of their life. As they worked to provide compassionate and appropriate care to victims of sexual violence, sometimes in emergencies, they were simultaneously experiencing violence within their org that overlapped the violence they were expected to help combat in the streets. Gender-based harassment from supervisors and assault at the hands of a co-worker some months into the job, coupled with the daily trauma absorption of the job, eventually took its toll; our comrade’s mental health declined, as did their performance, and they were let go. They recall there was relief in that moment and remained unemployed for a few months while seeking therapy to heal.

Another comrade never even made it that far. As a transplant, this comrade with years of nonprofit experience working with youth and other marginalized communities, decided to volunteer with various organizations to gain both a better map of the city and to better understand where they could apply their passion effectively. Despite becoming a dues-paying member of at least 2 supposedly radical orgs, the only jobs they were being told about were ones that would exacerbate pre-existing health problems. Through 2 different periods of homelessness, this comrade still managed to show up and organize or lend support wherever they believed good community work was being done. Eventually, our comrade’s persistence and organizing chops developed, and the local NPIC began sniffing around.

Our comrade began being flattered and specifically invited to “brainstorming sessions,” a quirky Milwaukee euphemism that essentially serves 3 functions for nonprofits: the first is crowdsourcing language and popular-if-inconsistent definitions of social problems; the second, to pull in and start cultivating so-called leadership skills in individuals who may be able to be exploited by nonprofits through low-pay positions or as uncompensated volunteers; the third function being pure extraction, wherein community members are invited to rough out projects or initiatives that grassroots formations seldom can bankroll, but pose no financial risk to NPIC orgs that regularly receive millions from the state to water down and scale up.

Catching onto the grift, however, is not always a guarantee that one’s boundaries around labor would be respected. When our comrade began politely declining invitations to these brainstorming sessions, they were eventually lured into applying for part-time positions with the same organizations that would allow them to keep their health benefits while earning an income, which made our comrade eagerly apply to all. Experience notwithstanding, our comrade found that the fishing expeditions of the brainstorming sessions were not yet done with them: though it took the better part of a year, during which our comrade filled out multiple applications, underwent numerous background checks, weirdly intensive demands for outlines of programming they had not yet been hired to facilitate, and oddly probing interviews with the occasional direct questions about their anarchist leanings, our comrade realized that these nonprofits had no intention of hiring them so much as simply extracting their labor - as well as intimate personal information - under the guise of community building. Some years after the compliments stopped, our comrade simply withdrew from the NPIC and organizing publicly, preferring to work only with those who respected their boundaries. For a disabled person who could not leave their home much, severing ties to the NPIC represented an end to the social life they badly needed for their well-being.

Abolish the NPIC, Abolish the Celebrity/Career Activist and Black Misleadership Class

NPIC culture demands much from marginalized workers while offering very little in return. Non-profits market themselves as more “just” or “equitable” workplaces for marginalized peoples, but often, they just offer the same capitalistic shit gilded in the rhetoric of false radicalism. In this way, the NPIC exploits the desires of those who wish to build a better world and change the material conditions of oppression knowing they never will be able - or inclined - to address oppression at its roots. Non-profits that portray themselves as “radical” or “revolutionary” are actively lying. The NPIC is an apparatus of an imperialistic, white supremacist, ableist, capitalistic state. It serves to redirect radical energies into neoliberal, ineffectual organizing methods. Its function is to maintain the status quo; those who disrupt or refuse to sell out are pushed out.

One of the worst byproducts of the NPIC and social media culture is the production of the “celebrity activist” or “career activist”. What we're describing is nothing new - sellouts have existed across generations. It’s become more complicated, nuanced, and insidious with the appropriation of radical aesthetics and language. When we think of this type of sellout, elements of George Jackson’s criticism against Bill Cosby and Black capitalism are applicable nearly 50 years later. “Black capitalism, black against itself. The silliest contradiction in a long train of spineless mindless contradictions…We can never learn to trust as long as we have them. They are as much a part of repression, more even than the real live, rat-informer-pig” (George Jackson, Soledad Brother, p. 237). The Black celebrity/career activists are rooted in the ideology of Black Capitalism, tainted by entrepreneurial (bourgeois) aspiration, and opportunism. Their politics are shallow and unprincipled. Coming out of the George Floyd Rebellion, one of the most prominent and glaring examples of this is Patrisse Cullors and the mishandling of donations made to the BLM (Black Lives Matter) Foundation. Despite being a “trained Marxist”, Patrisse accepted deals with Cadillac and owned several million-dollar homes while chapters of BLM struggled to organize on the ground. Patrisse profited in one of the most direct ways possible from the deaths and oppression of Black people. How many more Patrisse Cullors types do you need to see?

During protests against the police killing of Alvin Cole in Wauwatosa, Jay-Z’s Team Roc took the opportunity to generate positive press for the brand, posting bail and covering legal fees for those arrested, including Alvin Cole’s family. The celebrity also took out a full-page ad in the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel calling for Alvin Cole’s murderer, Joseph Mensah, to be prosecuted. Additionally, Tamika Mallory made an appearance, offering a performative press conference. While support from celebrities like Jay-Z may appear beneficial on a surface level, the ultra-wealthy do not and will never sustain social movements or revolutionary activity: Jay-Z has repeatedly shown his allegiance to capital, and his support aims to co-opt the energy of mass movements and encourage the Black masses to buy into myths of Black Capitalism.

In Elite Capture by Olufemi O. Taiwo, the author references the work of Frantz Fanon, Jared A. Ball, and Franklin Frazier to elaborate on myths of the “Black Economy” and Black buying power. In describing African middle classes in post-colonial Algeria, Fanon postulated that this middle class would “capture, dilute and ultimately subvert the energy of anti-imperialist struggle.” Taiwo notes that Fanon’s prediction came to be, “The national independence movements supplanted formal colonial rule only to run headfirst into neocolonialism: a condition in which those young nations’ new ruling elite were either sharply constrained by or actively colluding with the corporations and governments of the former colonial powers - and the international system they dominated.”

Taiwo goes on to analyze Franklin Frazier’s Black Bourgeoisie and the idea of escaping racial strife through a separate Black economy, citing Booker T. Washington’s National Negro Business League. “The combined net worth of all 115 attendees at the inaugural National Negro Business League did not amount to even $1 million. By the time Fraizer wrote his book, more than six decades later, all eleven Black-owned banks in the nation combined did not represent the amount of capital held in the average local bank in smaller white cities.” Drawing from Ball, Taiwo concludes that investing in the idea of a Black economy is politically naive, a fruitless endeavor that would need to be birthed of our current political and economic reality of white supremacy and racial capitalism. He notes that myths of Black buying power and financial literacy only serve to place the onus on the poor instead of on the exploitative nature of capitalism. We see the myth persist to this day through endeavors such as Killer Mike’s Greenwood “Bank”. “The possibility of an insulated Black economy is the myth, while the immediate interests of a few well-positioned Black Folk provide the true impetus.”

For petty bourgeoise aspirationals and the ultra-wealthy, the NPIC provides the perfect platform for the co-optation of our mass movements. Protests become photo opportunities; elements of resistance and revolution are appropriated to market an individual's brand or NGO to philanthropists, funders, and sponsors. Brand recognition is key. Locally, we’ve witnessed executive directors and NGO boards claim police abolition, only to turn around and hire ex-police officers to perform union busting on their behalf. We’ve seen blatant misogynists and homophobes win the title of “Activist of the Year” throughout a near-endless stream of self-congratulatory awards ceremonies. Milwaukee suffers an ongoing plague of micro-celebrity activists, bolstered by an NPIC culture that actively blocks opportunities for effective, revolutionary organizing. Our point is simplistic, the conclusion feels trite, but it’s a message Milwaukeeans need to hear. If any real work is to get done, the NPIC and career/celebrity activism need to be abandoned or eventually destroyed.

(A mural that recognizes “leaders” involved in Milwaukee’s 2020 protest movement…the mural depicts Frank Nitty, Sam Alford, Khalil Coleman, Jeremiah Thomas, Elle Halo, Tommy Franecki, Markasa Tucker, and Vaun Mayes.)

*Note: Some non-profits do excellent work, and are well respected within the communities in which they operate. The non-profit legal structure can be used as a tool that allows grassroots and anarchist formations to operate more freely. However, within a $2 trillion industry employing 10% of the United States population, we find the types of non-profits mentioned above represent a microcosm within a majority. Members of our collective understand the benefits and contradictions of being involved in the NPIC as we have worked within the field and received services from the NPIC. This is not a judgment of those involved within the NPIC structure, it is a call to think critically about the structure.

How Milwaukee Got a Youth Prison: Past to Present (CW: Sexual abuse, Child abuse)

Milwaukee’s NPIC is deeply connected to the carceral justice system and policing, and many violence prevention programs and non-profits are incentivized to work with the police to receive funding from the city. Unsurprisingly, local non-profits ushered in a new youth prison in Milwaukee. To explain how this all came to fruition, we’ll need to lay some ground and talk about the Lincoln Hills and Copper Lakes crises that occurred over the course of a decade. Tracking everything that occurred at these facilities could amount to a separate book on its own, so we'll only be tackling a tiny fraction of events in this section.

According to the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel, the problems began in 2010-2011 under Republican Governor Jim Doyle’s administration. The number of youth prisoners had steadily decreased over the years and in 2011, inmate populations dropped to half of what they were in 2004. For the Doyle Administration, it financially did not make sense to continue running three separate facilities (Lincoln Hills located in northern Wisconsin, Ethan Allen School in southeastern Wisconsin, and Southern Oaks Girls School in southeastern Wisconsin): Lincoln Hills operated at a much lower cost than the other two facilities and state law mandated that a juvenile facility must remain open in northern Wisconsin. This law did not apply to southeastern parts of the state, where most of Wisconsin’s Black and incarcerated population stemmed from. By January 2011, Republican Governor Scott Walker was instated; he moved quickly to close Ethan Allen School and Southern Oaks Girls School, consolidating 100 prisoners into Lincoln Hills and doubling the prison population. Lincoln Hills was extremely short-staffed, the sparse population of northern Wisconsin being to blame. The Milwaukee Journal Sentinel stated, “...juvenile justice experts around the nation were recommending smaller, more localized facilities, Wisconsin went in the opposite direction, consolidating operations in a remote setting.”

In February 2012, Racine County Circuit Judge Richard Kreul sent a memo to Scott Walker detailing a case of abuse. ”The memo Kreul sent to Walker described an incident in which an inmate from Racine was forced to perform oral sex on his roommate and then beaten unconscious. Workers learned of the assault at 4 p.m. They didn’t get the victim medical treatment for three hours.” [Milwaukee Journal Sentinel]. In 2014, when Milwaukee-based Public Defender Robin Dorman learned that one of her clients was not receiving medical treatment or being sent to classes, she quickly learned that her client was not alone. Upon discovering additional allegations of abuse and neglect, Dorman sent a memo to Milwaukee County Chief Deputy District Attorney Kent Lovern, who forwarded it to the Department of Corrections. By January 2015, a criminal probe was launched to investigate Lincoln Hills. What the investigations would unveil was deeply disturbing.

Most of the youth held in the facility were Black children from Milwaukee, though the facility was located in Irma, WI - 215 miles away from Milwaukee (a 3.5-hour drive). Horrendous abuse and corruption plagued these facilities, ranging from physical child abuse to suicide, and sexual abuse and harassment of minors. The Milwaukee Journal Sentinel details the conditions inside the facilities, describing a teen who had his foot crushed by a prison guard. “Inside his room, Evans screamed and held up his foot so the staff could see the bleeding. The Milwaukee teen had lost parts of two small toes, but it would take prison officials nearly two hours to take him to a hospital 15 miles away.” Another incident involved a psychologist commenting on a teen girl's breasts, stating that they looked "rode hard and put away wet." The investigation also revealed that the prison’s lead trainer taught staff to pin inmates by putting their knees on inmates' backs - a technique that could cause suffocation and death. This trainer did not contact nurses when inmates were injured. There were 4 incidents where inmates had broken bones. By December 2015, the facility was raided by 50 state agents and the investigation was turned over to the FBI. Over a dozen staff members quit, were fired, or retired. A $25 Million settlement was reached for those who stayed at the facilities.

In 2018, Governor Walker announced a plan to dissolve Lincoln Hills into 5 smaller prisons spread out across the state. In April 2022, Democratic Governor Tony Evers signed a law that would bring a prison to Milwaukee. By January 2023, Milwaukee Common Council approved the zoning for a new youth prison to be built on the predominantly Black northwest side of Milwaukee. The Facility will not be operational until 2026. The decision was made to put the youth prison in a district that completely lacks an alderperson at the time of this writing (the previous alderwoman, Chantia Lewis, was removed from office after pleading guilty to embezzling $20,000 in campaign funds). Residents were taken off guard by the development of the prison and a majority opposed it, citing the potential decrease in property values as their primary concern. Many non-profit leaders spoke out in support of the facility's relocation to Milwaukee’s northwest side, however, framing it as a way to bring the youth inmates from Lincoln Hills “home”. Sharlen Moore, co-founder of the non-profit Urban Underground and youth justice advocate stated, “We have to figure something out. We have to put them somewhere.” Representatives from the non-profit Ex-incarcerated People Organizing (EXPO) echoed Sharlen’s sentiment. There are currently 69 youths that remain at the Lincoln Hills and Copper Lakes facilities. Alternatives to prisons exist, we’re dealing with people, not objects to shuffle around or “put somewhere.”

George Floyd Rebellion of 2020: A Clusterfuck

During the George Floyd Rebellion, the lack of solid organizing and security culture in Milwaukee led to Black misleadership and celebrity/career activists seizing control and altering the trajectory of a radical movement into neoliberalism along a counter-revolutionary line. The People’s Revolution (TPR) was formed in the early days of the George Floyd Rebellion and was initially spearheaded by Frank Nitty, Vaun Mayes, and Khalil Coleman. These “leaders” quickly proved dysfunctional, as accusations of homophobia and misogyny bubbled to the forefront almost immediately. Throughout 2020, we talked with individuals involved in TPR’s protests and though accounts varied from person to person, what we picked up on overall was that TPR’s leadership fostered an environment that made protests feel unsafe for Black women and queer individuals. On June 12, 2020, TPR leadership was called out in a Facebook live stream regarding accusations of misogynistic and derogatory language used toward queer protestors. While Vaun Mayes showed up to the live stream for “accountability”, Frank Nitty and Khalil Coleman did not. There were repeated attempts to reach out to Frank and Khalil, which seemed to be met with hostility. The presence of misogyny and homophobia are major red flags for any group claiming to be revolutionary. The Facebook Live stream did not provide the accountability process needed to change course. In an ideal world Frank, Vaun, and Khalil would have stepped down from their leadership positions within TPR and undergone a serious accountability process that involved their removal from movement and protest work, if only until genuine efforts towards transformation had occurred.

The effects of misogyny and what we’ll call “weak link politics” have been touched on repeatedly in writings such as Why Misogynists Make Great Informants, by Courtney Desiree Morris, and Basic Politics of Movement Security by J. Sakai and Mandy Hiscocks. As Morris succinctly points out, “There are serious consequences for choosing ignorance. Misogyny and homophobia are central to the reproduction of violence in radical activist communities. Scratch a misogynist and you’ll find a homophobe. Scratch a little deeper and you might find the makings of a future informant (or someone who just destabilizes movements like informants do).” In Basic Politics of Movement Security, Sakai details the story of an FBI informant known as “Tom” who played a role in destabilizing the Black Panthers. Tom got in with the Black Panthers by appealing to patriarchal values. Sakai recounts Tom being called out by a group of local women on suspicion of being an informant, “Oh, its politics that’s so hard for me to learn, ‘cause I had no education… I wanna learn, I’m sorry, give me another chance.” Tom rebuffed in a way that is somewhat similar to the accountability dodging Mayes did during the live stream referenced above. “I am ignorant to a lot of shit, you know? …as far as being a straight male versus y’all community (the LGBTQ+ community), there's a lot of shit I don’t understand… I don’t primarily deal with y’all community.”

We don’t draw this comparison to accuse Vaun or the former TPR leadership of being outright informants. Practically speaking, there’s no way for anyone to know unless evidence explicitly demonstrates otherwise. The point is not to badjacket or drum up needless suspicion. However, we draw the comparison to accentuate that an individual's politics, actions, and consistency should be examined with a discerning, critical eye. Trust and access should not be easily given to those who consistently show up with weak link politics. Sakai states, “...Security is not about being macho vigilantes or being super suspicious… Security is about good politics. That's why it's so difficult. And it requires good politics from the movement as a whole. This is demanded of us… Bad politics covered for agents…it’s that bad politics - like opportunism, patriarchy, sexism, and class privilege - rips up the fabric of our terrain, the area of our radical culture, and weaves it instead into that terrain all their old oppressor politics, their values.”

[Defaced mural of Frank Nitty with the words “misogynistic coon” and “sexist” spray painted across it.]

TPR slowly unraveled throughout the rebellion. Despite appointing themselves revolutionaries, TPR operated in multitudes of obvious contradictions. They frequently partnered with local elected officials and pushed electoralism, lobbying, and reform as a method of “revolution”. State representatives such as David Bowen and Jonathan Brostoff publicly aligned themselves with TPR, and attended marches consistently. “They use their resources to help as many people as possible and to push the system to be accountable, especially to Black and Brown people,” said David Bowen to Milwaukee Magazine in September 2020. The excess media attention around the George Floyd Rebellion provided the perfect stage for stooges to bolster their platforms and appeal to potential voters. While electoralism and aligning oneself with the state may seem like a clear pitfall to an experienced organizer or theorist aligned with revolutionary/liberatory movements, it bears explaining to those less familiar. Aligning oneself with politicians, elements of the state, or electoralism is explicitly counter-revolutionary:

“It isn’t revolutionary or materialist to disconnect things. To disconnect revolutionary consciousness from revolutionizing activity, to build consciousness with political agitation and educational issue-making alone is idealistic rather than materialist. The effect has been reformism rather than revolution. When any election is held it will fortify rather than destroy the credibility of power brokers. When we participate in this election to win, instead of disrupt, we’re lending to its credibility, and destroying our own.” (George Jackson, Blood In My Eye, Pg. 26)

TPR’s leadership brought forth a movement of cooptation, empty symbolism, and misdirection. It is no surprise that Vaun Mayes has recently aligned himself with MPD post-rebellion, advocating for increased police surveillance through ShotSpotter technology. According to Sheperd Express, ShotSpotter is an acoustics-based technology that locates potential gunshots via impulsive sound. The contract with ShotSpotter has cost the City of Milwaukee $3.7 million over the past 13 years. “I’d like my ComForce team to get access to ShotSpotter because when we hear shootings in our neighborhoods, it is sometimes difficult to find the location...We are here to help the police and protect the residents, and we are expanding…I think we are setting a standard on how true collaboration and unity is supposed to look. We want to work with the police,” said Mayes, referring to Community Task Force (ComForce), a non-profit he helms which regularly partners with MPD.

[Photo of Frank Nitty next to a billboard advertisement of himself promoting voting, despite not being registered to vote himself.]

From a security culture standpoint, TPR’s practices were negligent and put protestors at risk. TPR’s marches often lacked street medics, leadership constantly live-streamed their whereabouts, and TPR provided little to no recourse, such as bail funds or free legal representation, for those arrested. Leadership also folded in with the likes of fascist groups such as the Bugaloo Boys, posing as street medics for TPR. The effects of this negligence culminated when the rebellion reached Wauwatosa and Kenosha. According to The Daily Montanan, Wauwatosa Police Department (WPD) managed to create a list of over 200 protestors, and a good portion of that list included members of TPR, as well as people who marched in solidarity with them. The list was created by Dominick Ratkowski, a crime analyst for WPD, and was utilized as early as mid-July 2020. The list was circulated amongst MPD, KPD (Kenosha Police Department), and the FBI office in Milwaukee. Up to 12 agencies received the list. Members of TPR were mailed tickets as high as $1300. The Daily Montanan reads, “On Aug. 28, Gibson (Milwaukee DA Investigator) asked for any lists or photographs of protesters to share with Kenosha. On Sept. 15 the list, which had been shared by Ratkowski, was sent to Kenosha PD Detective Pablo Torres, who worked for the department’s Special Investigations Unit at the time. ‘Here is an updated list of the subjects identified as members or associates of The People’s Revolution,’ Gibson’s email reads.” The screenshot below does not prove that Coleman or TPR leadership was feeding members' information to law enforcement agencies; it is mere conjecture, but we cannot dismiss it as a possibility.

[This post was made on September 1, 2020]

Regardless of whether the intent was malicious or not, a lack of security practices essentially had the same effect as an informant or wrecker: TPR members and leadership had been arrested at several points during the rebellion, and during any of these arrests, police could have confiscated their cellphones to collect intelligence on members and associates. This is why maintaining anonymity is key - never bring a cell phone to a protest, and never record yourself or others engaging in protest activity. Your identity should be your most protected asset. Cover tattoos, piercings, or other identifying features and always wear plain, unbranded clothing. Consider utilizing a pseudonym during protests. Always remember your cell phone and other pieces of technology can act as a cop, and avoid the potentiality of surveillance as much as possible.

Our advice for those participating in protests and riots is to return to analog styles of communication (written notes, utilizing walkie-talkies, communicating face-to-face, implementing coded language, etc). Detailed in episode 8 of the Alphabet Boys podcast, an FBI program known as “Social Media Exploitation” was utilized during the George Floyd Rebellion. This program allowed the FBI and local law enforcement agencies to mine social media accounts and create files on individuals without probable cause. The host of Alphabet Boys, Trevor Aaronson, goes on to detail the story of a woman charged with a crime for throwing her bike down near a police officer. She was captured on a police body camera and identified by law enforcement through social media posts, specifically by matching photos of her biking gear with her attire in the video. Police were able to attain a warrant to search her home and she was charged with attempted aggravated assault of a police officer, a second-degree felony. Police reforms, such as body cameras, are weaponized against those who dare to resist the state. If there is a will to charge you with a crime, there is a way. People should always keep in mind that their social media presence is likely being monitored and should try to practice good digital hygiene. Intentional mass arrests are an outdated tactic of the ‘60s and ‘70s; in the present day, arrests should be avoided if possible - you do not want to be logged into any state system as it makes it easier for law enforcement to target and track you for an indeterminate length of time.

Ultimately, TPR’s influence managed to assimilate many young people into their organization, placing youth directly in harm's way. This disillusioned, traumatized, and embittered many young people. Tyrone Randall, a participant in TPR’s protests, was pinned by police, left on the ground, and struck by a car. Tyrone was left with broken ribs, a broken pelvis and thousands of dollars in medical debt. TPR’s failures fostered an environment that made many reluctant to return to grassroots organizing as a whole. Former members and youth of TPR were quickly assimilated into the NPIC once the organization grew stagnant.

Post-George Floyd Rebellion: Where are these niggas?

Post-rebellion TPR quickly dissolved, and few of the former leadership remain active. In April 2022, Khalil Coleman was found guilty in the first degree for a robbery that took place in Kentucky in February of 2021. Coleman attempted to rob a trap house with the coerced aid of a minor and was later sentenced to 10 years in prison. Coleman maintains that he is innocent via Facebook posts, and he has been soliciting support for his appeal through an online petition.

Around August 2020, Frank Nitty led a March from Milwaukee to Washington D.C. In the immediate aftermath of this commemorative journey, several scandals began to surround Nitty. Rumors of Nitty stealing and mishandling donations circulated on social media, which led to some accusing him of using the funds to take white women on dates. Additionally, a Facebook group of “sister-wives,” boasting nearly 200 members at one point, formed around Nitty. All jokes aside, around November 2020, Nitty was accused of sexually assaulting four separate women. He was arrested and held in jail for a short period before his bail was posted, and charges were never brought against him. After 17 months, prosecutors decided that there was not enough evidence against Nitty between the four women who accused him and dropped the charges completely. Based on Nitty’s history of misogyny, we believe the women who accused him. Nitty’s whereabouts and current activity remain unclear, as he has seemingly disappeared from Milwaukee altogether.

Vaun Mayes remains active in Milwaukee’s non-profit and organizing scene: He currently remains a leader of ComForce, engaging in ambulance chasing. Vaun has continuously aligned himself with the police, local politicians and even noted transphobe/huckster Dr. Umar Johnson.

Conclusion: Wrapping this shit up

2020 demonstrated that Milwaukee is not politically prepared to resist the rising tide of fascism. It is a frightening position to be in considering that the RNC (Republican National Convention) is coming to Milwaukee summer of 2024. The fascism Black people in Milwaukee have had to face has primarily been institutionalized, moderated through politicians, policing, prisons and racist state/city policy. The city has rarely had to face off directly against fascist demonstrators. There is no dedicated Black Bloc or anti-fascist presence prepared to push back against the fascists that will come to gather in Milwaukee summer of 2024. The city is seeking to import nearly 4,500 officers to Milwaukee for the convention. Frankly, we wouldn’t recommend an outright counter-demonstration against the 2024 RNC. Marginalized people should stay home the day the RNC comes to town. Those interested in preparation should get street medic training, and learn how to treat gunshot wounds. Black communities situated directly near the RNC should prepare their neighborhood or block in community self-defense tactics. Prepare for violence but do not seek it out.

Strategically there are stronger opportunities for resisting. The youth prison coming to Milwaukee’s northwest side should be resisted, and the youths that remain captive in Lincoln Hills should not be abandoned in cages of the state. A non-carceral solution is desperately needed. We're not sure what the exact solution looks like for Milwaukee, but answers have already been conceptualized in writings such as Instead of Prisons by the Prison Research Education Action Project. The text details an experiment done in Massachusetts in 1972 to decarcerate the state’s juvenile prison system. The majority of youths returned home on parole, some were sent to a local university to work with a student advocate for a month. The text continues, “The administrative system was decentralized, with seven regional offices set up to make all decisions about individual youth placements and needs. Almost all services for the juveniles were contracted from private agencies, resulting in the creation of a wide range of community programs.” It advocates cutting ties with the criminal justice system, including instances of parole and probation, releasing prisoners to community-controlled support and peer groups on a case-by-case basis instead. The writers advocate that instead of serving the rest of their sentences, former prisoners should be involved in restoration processes. The strategies mentioned above are intermediary steps towards prison abolition. The authors note:

“We caution strongly that all interim as well as long-range strategies be considered only after conferring with knowledgeable prisoner and ex-prisoner groups. Interim policies crucially affect the lives of prisoners still inside the system and many ex-prisoners on the streets. What seems a paltry and therefore unacceptable change to those outside the wall, might be a highly significant and desirable change for those who are caged or under control in the streets. If there are differences in strategies between prisoners who have experienced the day to day reality of prisons and prison changers who have not, take the time to hammer out differences and reach agreement. Strategies and tactics that are not in unity weaken the total movement toward systems change.”

People interested in building a truly revolutionary movement should study the principles and histories of anarchism, the Anarkata turn, Black radicals, and anti-state communism within groups. White organizers need to step back and follow the lead of Black radicals or get out of the way. Deprioritize the visibility of individual organizers and the mindset of individualized leadership or hierarchies. The aim should be an anonymous and autonomous mass movement of free association that centers issues of the most oppressed, the most marginalized, the problems of the lumpen/lumpen-proletariat (Black, QTGNC folks, those living with disabilities, the poor, the houseless, etc…). The organizing methodology outlined in Move Like Mycorrhizae from Afrofuturist Abolitionists of America, demonstrates best practices. Organizing in this way provides a layer of security and protection from opportunists, clout chasers, and potential informants or state agents.

We can’t tell you what to study, what to do, or how to organize. We can only suggest that anyone who reads this zine study past and present liberation movements of colonized people, both within and outside of the United States. Learn where others have failed or succeeded. If the conditions are right, repeat what has proven successful and try not to repeat mistakes. It's the principle of Sankofa; meaning “go back and fetch it” - take what is useful, leave behind what is not. Studying, organizing, and remaining principled in the liberation struggle is a lifelong commitment. We’ll never stop learning; movements will change, tactics will change. New theories and organizing methodologies will need to be established from the foundation of what previous Black radicals left behind. Studying and organizing alongside BARs (Black Anarchic Radicals) and the Anarkata turn guided us to our current political trajectory. We don’t believe in authoritarian methodologies, cults of personality, or that Black people need a “leader” to effectively organize and win. There will be no vanguard to lead the masses to revolution, nor is it the role of the political theorist.

Frantz Fanon stated,

“To educate the masses politically does not mean, cannot mean, making a political speech. What it means is to try, relentlessly and passionately, to teach the masses that everything depends on them; that if we stagnate it is their responsibility, and that if we go forward it is due to them too, that there is no such thing as a demiurge, that there is no famous man who will take responsibility for everything, but that the demiurge is the people themselves and the magic hands are finally only the hands of the people.”

As the tide of fascism rises, as climate change accelerates, as technocratic corporations advance, as living conditions under capitalism worsen - political and state repression will become more visceral. We saw it in 2020, with state agents snatching protestors off the streets in unmarked vehicles. We saw it in Kenosha when local law enforcement stood in league with fascist armed militias. We’re seeing it in motion with the development of Cop City in Atlanta, a project with international implications to further militarize the police, preparing them for urban warfare with citizens. If there is any time to gain urgency, to connect and organize within your community, it’s now. The politics of capitalism, of fascism, is ultimately a politic of slow death and suffering for the many in exchange for short-term gain and excess for a few. We hope to see the end of this fetid, vile system in this lifetime or the next.

[sakura-83]

Things from Anne with an e that I feel like writing down

Season 2 Episode 4: The Painful Eagerness of Unfed Hope

1. The girls laughing and playing in the gloomy winter

2. Playing Camelot death scenes of all things

3. Eliza Barry freaking out again

4. Making Diana play the handsome young man again huh Anne

5. “She does really look dead. My mother says that all play acting is abominably wicked.” “Ruby you shouldn’t mention your mother. It spoils the effect, because this was hundreds of years before your mother was born.”

6. Diana kissing Anne’s forehead

7. “I will be heard.” Direct that at your husband plEASE

8. Banishing Anne from the premises once again

9. “So much for romance.”

10. Anne waiting for the mail every day and then pretending she hates Gilbert

11. Poor Jeanie’s letters getting ignored because Matthew can’t bring himself to open them

12. “Romance is not appreciated anymore.” That still holds up and it’s miserable

13. Marilla becoming more of a helicopter parent after the grifter situation

14. “Don’t give up all your romance Anne, a little of it’s a good thing.”

15. “Oh for heavens sake!” Is basically Eliza’s catchphrase at this point

16. Eliza will say things so… they’re always worded pleasantly enough but she says them so pointedly

17. Eliza wants to see England again, her home, and the prospect of being stuck on Prince Edward Island until she dies is frightening

18. She’s also worried for the future of their children

19. Anne please refrain those aren’t your letters Anne please

20. The waltz music playing when she looks at them fading in and out while she does chores kills me

21. “You are a special man.”

22. Anne describing Matthew as the kindest most wonderful man

23. “It would be awful to live a life without true love.”

24. “Did you ever go courting Matthew?” Look at him Anne

25. Matthew thinking Anne is asking because she has a crush

26. Jerry saves the day yet again

27. Bash giving Gilbert alcohol

28. Poor little white boy

29. “I wouldn’t say that girl’s the most.. reliable narrator.”

30. Gilbert can hardly take normal rum, much less babash

31. “Seeing the world, trying new things. What could be better?”

32. “Only a boy can’t admit when he’s gone over a lady.”

33. “Would a boy stare danger right in the eye? And swallow it-“ followed by him immediately puking his guts out in the street

34. Bash laughing at him

35. “And Matthew. He went into that barn, and never came out.”

36. “Love thwarted by tragedy!”

37. Anne don’t write his letters without him knowing please please please

38. Social etiquette book

39. “Childhood is over.” Minnie May is only 5 or so? Maybe 6.

40. Marilla feeling guilt for housing the grifters

41. Despite their fights, Rachel and Marilla truly are good friends

42. Anne, growing up without a family to influence her, is endlessly accepting because prejudice was never taught to her

43. The Jewish traveling merchant selling his own worldly possessions to bring his family over from Germany. Another side character who’s barely significant and yet his story is made completely clear with a few lines

44. “I think broken things have such a sad beauty. After years of stories and triumph, and tragedy infused into them, they can be much more romantical than things new things that haven’t lived at all.

45. Him giving her the locket for free, getting nothing in return but a little hope for the future

46. Gilbert writing her a letter in what looks and sounds like charcoal pencil

47. Anne comparing Jeanie to a Calla Lily

48. “How can you be done having a childhood when I’ve only just begun?”

49. “Is there a ridiculous, hateful book that teaches boys to be men?” “If there was, it wouldn’t help me.” Subtle, Cole

50. “Social ruin!”

51. Diana snorting when she laughs

52. Jeannie sending her letters in pink envelopes

53. Anne gets busted. Again except more painful this time

54. Matthew has a sort of limp when he walks/runs. It’s not debilitating but he definitely leads with one leg rather than equal steps

55. Matthew doesn’t even yell at Anne. Simple saying “it’s not right.” Is enough to convey just how he feels, to make her see what she’s done is wrong, not just to him but to Jeannie as well

56. Man this episode really gets to my RSD.

57. Poor Eliza Barry crumbling under the weight of her husbands mistakes and absences

58. Jerry immediately noticing something I’d wrong with Matthew, and when Anne freaks out he panicked and things something bad has happened to him

59. The fox!!

60. “Have you ever hurt someone so badly that they couldn’t love you anymore?”

61. Diana starting to yell at Minnie May the same way their mother does, making Eliza see how she’s tearing her own family apart when they need each other most

62. “How come no one loves each other anymore?”

63. “And then we could’ve been fools together.”

64. “I just wanted to do something that mattered for once, in my sorry, irrelevant life.”

65. “I don’t want us to not make mistakes. I just want to be included, I want to be partners.”

66. Anne giving a pre-written explanation

67. Matthew understands her actions, they just hurt a lot of people

68. “I’m serious, it’s not a love letter.”

69. If Gilbert hadn’t insisted on helping Ruth, her and her baby both would’ve died as it wasn’t in a deliverable position

70. Gilbert has only helped on a farm, he knows he has no experience with human birth but he’s dead set on helping others, leading to his desire to become a doctor

71. Gilbert asking for permission before delivering her baby

72. Having to adjust the breech baby, telling her he survived the same thing but leaving out the part where it killed his mother

73. Gilbert wants to be a doctor, not because it’s a lucrative business but because he wants to save people, and when he realizes just how little doctors are capable of, he decides he’ll go into medicine instead so that he really can bring change

74. Matthew can’t even write back to Jeannie but he goes to explain and apologize in person

75. Bash wants a son

76. “I don’t wanna be a farmer.”

77. Jeannie isn’t particularly angry about the letters either, a bit hurt but still somewhat amused by Anne’s antics

78. Matthew and Jeannie love each other. They do. But Matthew is old and wants to spend the rest of his time with Anne while he still can

79. The Barry’s playing in the fallen leaves as a family

80. “I don’t know you could think that I don’t have love. I have you.” SOBBING AND WAILING AND COLLAPSING DRAMATICALLY ON MY BED

81. Diana being able to be a child again

82. The girls each taking a half of the broken locket

83. “It will only be whole when we’re together.”

84. The Princess Cordelia and Prince Wysteria sword fight

[fanficlibraryposts]

Larry Stylinson(1D) Fic Recs

sleeping on our problems by falsegoodnight

I’m in love with you, Louis thinks. He feels empty, weighed down by his sadness and the loss of Harry inside him just moments ago before his knot finally went down. There’s moments where he’s sure Harry feels the same. Like now, when he’s gazing down at Louis with so much adoration and tenderness. It’s like they’re both on the cusp of something more, but neither of them ever say a word. His confession is on the tip of his tongue ready to slide out like honey, and yet he remains silent. They both do, looking at each other and recognizing the reluctance mirrored in each other’s eyes. It’s then that Louis realizes they’re both scared.

-

Or Louis sleeps with Harry and they have more than just catching feelings to worry about.

*A/B/O au, so soft and fluffy with just a dash of angst*

Foolishly, Completely Falling by dea_liberty

"Now that he’s actually gone and done it, there seems to be no way of going back - no rinse and repeat, no ctrl+alt+del, no abort button, no help to be had. He’s fallen into a black hole and he cannot seem to find a way out. The black hole is also known as Tumblr. More specifically, it’s known as Tumblr’s Larry Stylinson tag."

OR: The one where Louis becomes a Larry shipper by accident.

Put It All On Me by LoadedGunn

 "Yeah, yeah, give it to me, that's it, spread your legs a bit, there you go."

 The camera follows Louis as he does. Maybe if the modelling thing doesn't work out, he could try the porn industry. Then again, he's a bit too stocky to be twinky and a bit too twinky to be anything else. He likes that about himself, though. Well, directors and photographers like that about him. He could pull off pretty and edgy, could do GQ in the morning and a perfume commercial in the afternoon. Right now he thinks he could pull off anything, because it's Harry fucking Styles directing him.

Or, a Top Model AU where Louis is accidentally there to make friends, not become Britain's Next Top Model. (Also Zayn is the supermodel host.)

Promises We Made by thekindofworld

Its been five years since Harry and Louis broke up; they were seventeen and nineteen and it was messy to say the least. Cue Louis, who is worked off his feet making clothes for celebrities, Harry dropping his debut album, Niall who likes to avoid his insecurities by dragging Louis on Holiday, Zayn and Perrie as Louis' right hand stylists, and Liam who wishes Harry would just tell him about his ex-boyfriends before he contacts them about working for him.

Its either going to be a disaster, or the perfect timing they've all been waiting for.

*I’ve been very into fashion au lately*

but me, i’m not a gamble by orphan_account

A Posh & Becks AU in which Harry is a star on the stage and Louis is a star on the pitch, but they're both inexplicably terrible at articulating their feelings. In the end, it only takes a season's worth of failed matchmaking schemes, platonic dinner dates, road trip holidays, and one very convenient David Beckham cameo for them to figure it all out. And if Niall knew all along? Well, he at least has the decency not to be too smug about it.

Boys Fall From the Sky by fookinloosah

Superheroes. America is full of them — complete with masks, nauseating pseudonyms, and neon spandex suits. There’s none of that nonsense in Britain, thank you very much…until Harry Styles’ X Factor audition takes an unexpected turn, and Britain’s first hero is born.  

Also featuring Louis as a man of many masks, Zayn the rebel comic artist, Liam as Britain’s counter-attack to Justin Bieber, and Niall the trusty guitarist.

*I adore this fic, one my all time favorites*

The Last Something That Anything by jaded25

"You know my heart - so tell me honestly, did you ever really want this? So I’ll sing this song for every word that comes out wrong But I’ll be okay – is that what you want me to say?"

In the end, it's neither the fame or the pressure, nor Management or the constant hiding and denying that tears them apart. Or maybe it's a sum of all  and so much more on top. In the end, it's Harry.

When Harry leaves the band - leaves Louis - to pursue his dreams of a solo career, he breaks much more  than just One Direction. It's a gamble and a new start for each of the boys but while Harry walked away smiling, finally having got everything he apparently dreamt of, Louis is left to pick the pieces up.

Some hearts don't break even, some are simply shattered. So can you really learn to un-love someone?

*So deliciously angsty*

no pressure, no diamonds by karamelised

A life of crime means there is no nine to five, no white picket fence and definitely no happily ever after. In a life where lying gets you everywhere and stealing things becomes a sport, there is no place for romantic endings. Louis knows this, and so does Harry. Problem is, they're both wrong.

or

Louis is a thief, Harry a grifter. They are thrown together for a huge diamond heist in Paris, where their past soon catches up to them.

Blood Right by Evina1234

“Is that-him?” someone next to Louis asks. “Who else would dress in red if not for him today?” Beside Louis, Lady Camellia had her eyes locked on the one in red garbs, as same as many around them. Clearly this must be intended, or why dress in such a way today at first place? “My... He looks dashing." the first one licks her lips, eyes darkening in a laced lust. "Who would've known? Thought he'd be in chains, stuck in a dark dungeon." The other scoffs. “Have you been under a rock? He's the most privileged Lycan alive. The King's ward, some go so far as to call him his consort. It’s all hushed, but I have my sources.” she reveals like a dirty secret. In a world where the Vampires have taken over, Humans are just pawns in blood farms, Warlocks are extinct while the King has Lycans under his thumb - eliminating the threat of the lethal bite. The world is falling apart. Louis, nephew to the malistic Vampire King, lives away from it all in blessed ignorance until he gets dragged into the chessboard that traps him in front of a green eyed Prince who is bound to a miserable fate. Or where Louis wants to save Harold, the Prince of Lycans, when Louis' allies want him DEAD 

*super intense, vampire au with political intrigue mixed in*

the one that leads me on through by colourexplosion

Louis was certain that he was done with his tenuous connection with fellow skater, Harry Styles. But then, you know, the universe throws a wrench in all that when Simon takes Harry on for the next season.

Or, an AU in which the members of one direction are actually figure skaters.

Disclaimer: The fanfiction above were not written by me for I am not nearly as creative. However, I am an avid reader and movie buff so these are some of my favorite fanfiction within the fandom. I politely ask that you read the tags attached the fanfiction beforehand so that you know what you are getting yourself into, there may be crossovers. If you don’t like it then don’t read it. In addition, I ask that there be no bashing, the fics are based on my preferences and what I like. Lastly, if there are any specific genre or fandom of fics you want me to get into let me know through my ask box.  

[bluefirewrites]

JATP CONMEN!AU (a.k.a Leverage AU)

Another one! Because I love this show and picturing the JATP as a group of skilled Robin Hood-esque conmen in a found family dynamic just makes sense!

This drabble is inspired by a scene from the show and I thought it fits Flynn quite well. 

Part 1 and Part 2 here!

Warning for language. 

Enjoy!

______________

"Is anyone gonna say it?"

"Nope,"

"Unless you have the balls to,"

"But this is getting ridiculous,"

The group stands, dressed in black, in front of an open casket.

Correction: Flynn's casket.

"What do you expect?" Alex whispers, hands stuffed into his trouser pockets, appearing pensive, "We need to fish out who's trying to kill her."

Reggie looks around, politely smiling at the other funeral attendees, offering condolences left and right, "I mean, would they really show up to her funeral?"

Julie cases the area as well, but no one sticking out to her.

"Well if you're trying to get someone as crafty as Flynn killed? You wanna make sure it takes."

The supposed cadaver's face twitches into an almost smirk and Julie nearly rolls up her memorial pamphlet to bonk Flynn's head with it.

This girl could play any role. But not play dead. 

In fact she's quite pissed that Flynn would even push for something as dramatic as staging a funeral- with the priest, the flower arrangements, the wake. Logically she knows they really had to sell it, but Julie likes to not make it a habit to attend funerals or step foot on a graveyard.

Even the sight of Flynn in the coffin, although she's alive and well, makes her stomach turn. It looks almost like-

"Hey," Luke's hand is on her shoulder, he rubs away the tension building in her frame and she relaxes, "It's okay. It's gonna be okay"

The words are not uncommon at an event like this, but coming from Luke it spells out more of their history, the trauma she had been willing to share with him, and he with her in return.

He knows how being in a place like this feels and he's doing what he does best: make sure the team's alright.

"Okay, let's- let's just get to it then," Julie goes ahead and closes the coffin lid and gives it a couple of taps- the signal.

The pallbearers come and take the coffin away, unaware that it's now empty, the body having snuck underneath the platform, waiting...

Julie and the others follow the procession down to the site, Luke holding her hand the entire way- all for pretend. Part of the grieving process and such. In the meantime, she’s tracking every attendee, trying to scope out the person who’s had it out for her crew, who’s had it out for her grifter.  It seems all too convenient that right when they’re on their marks’ trail, when Flynn had found her in, someone sent her a lethal bouquet (quite an explosive arrangement...) Her and the boys stop at the outskirts of the plot, not quite taking their positions yet. 

"Oh this is just sad,"

Julie whirls around and groans, "You have got to be kidding me."

Flynn comes strolling in- at her own goddamn funeral. A black veil and shades obscures her face, and she’s dressed in a completely different outfit. Albeit very fashionable.

The grifter drops her shades down just a tad, taking in the sight of people gathering to watch the coffin being lowered into the ground.

"This many people showed up? Damn okay," she remarks, frowning, "I thought I left more of an impact on people's lives."

"It's one alias, Flynn. Now what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"I just wanna see how people are mourning for me. Wouldn't you be curious?"

"Disappointment," she warns.

"Relax, Underachiever," Flynn checks her hip before joining the rest of the congregation set out to pay their respects. The girl even has a flower to place ontop of her own coffin.

The boys flank her side and Luke gives a low whistle, watching Flynn.

"Flair for the dramatics, huh?"

"Oh yeah," Julie pinches the bridge of her nose, "The thing is, this isn't even her first funeral."

"I bet,"

"I'm just glad that all of the times it happened..." she sighs, "We never got to bury her for real."

"She's probably got a closet full of funeral wear," Reggie hypothesized, "Like probably had a lot of fun picking out her outfit."

"Wouldn't put it past her,"

"C'mon guys, let's go and say 'goodbye' to," Alex squints down at the memorial pamphlet, "’Jessica Barnes’."

"Another alias to burn," Reggie reaches into his pocket for his phone, "On my to-do list." Julie sticks her hand out, stopping him, “Tomorrow. Because today we’ll process our loss, right?”  The boys nod and they walk over to pay their respects. Julie twirls the white rose in her own hand, ready to be rid of it as soon as possible.  As she makes her way over, she couldn’t help but spot something.  Or someone.  A lone figure a few yards away, near the road. Dressed in black and wearing shades, seeming to watch over the proceedings. Relatively calm.  Julie lowers her shades. 

Gotcha.  

Tagging: @blush-and-books @lydias–stiles @tmp-jatp @echocharm17618 @pink-flame @rainfallingfromthesky @ruzek-halstead @brightattheorpheum @caffeine-catastrophe  @moreflowersthanweeds @willexx @crummycassidy @phantomsandsunsets @shelvesofgold @tonightthestarsalign @freeshawarmas @incorrigibleowls @fandomscraziness22 @nottheleastbrave @teenagepeanutbird

[arce-elliot]

Magnus Archives - First Impressions (Ep. 26-50)

Into Season 2 now! More reactions from someone who had 75% of the series spoiled for them.

EP 26 (A Distortion): - !!!Sasha Statement!!! - reaching INTO her shoulder??? fucking no?? michael can you chill??? - OH okay he was helping nevermind

EP 27 (A Sturdy Lock): - this is just a sad old man

EP 28 (Skintight): - MELANIE!!!!! - G E O R G I E  N A M E D R O P

EP 29 (Cheating Death) - Wowee another war one - Fiona Law sounds familiar from somewhere - AYYY Gertrude you old hag

EP 30 (Killing Floor): - Meat 2 Electric Boogaloo: this time with more meat - Remember that one scene in "What Remains of Edith Finch" yeah i get those vibes

EP 31 (First Hunt): - HUNT EPISODE HUNT EPISODE - Oh America? Nice - "i heard whistling" FUCKING BYE - Jon is so tired I'm sorry little bastard man

EP 32 (The Hive): - GOD that was so unsettling wtf - Jane Prentiss is terrifying - Also OLIVER BANKS i think NEAT

EP 33 (Boatswain's Call): - TIMOTHY MY BOY - ah shit peter lukas time - Elias: "research the statements no not that one"

EP 34 (Anatomy Class): - "bone, blood, fruit" IS THIS THE FUCKING APPLE TEETH THING - lmao gimme ur bones - these poor eldritch horrors just wanted to learn :c

EP 35 (Old Passages): - "teenager in all black" ah yes hello Gerard - listening to regular people just dealing w/ Gerard is hilarious - BREEKON AND HOPE??????

EP 36 (Taken Ill): - aww poor old people - Trevor and Julia up to some bullshit I see - ah shit here's that fuckin table

EP 37 (Burnt Offering): - Jon being annoyed at Martin, nice start - Ayy old lady that's Gertrude - DING DING DING i'm a genius - Jon take a nap good lord

EP 38 (Lost and Found): - OH HELL YES HOMOPHOBIC VASE TIME HERE WE GOOOOOOOO - every time Sasha speaks I get so sad I don't want her to go :C

EP 39 (Infestation): - not the bye bye sasha episode :c - stop YELLIN u nerds this is CHAOS - Martin and his fuckin corkscrews lmao - "i refuse to become another goddamn mystery" jon bestie i'm afraid to tell you this - "i don't know what happened to gertrude, she's officially still missing" yet again, jon, bestie, i'm afraid to tell you this - someone right "tim over here" on a piece of fuckin paper and slam it on the window - SASHA NO YOU DUMB SHIT - YES MARTIN GET HIS ASS - oh nice we're trauma bonding - Timmy to the rescue! - SASHA NO MY BABY - this podcast sucks i'm crying i hate it here

EP 40 (Human Remains): - I LIVED THROUGH THAT AND THIS IS MY REWARD, A STATEMENT FROM RAT BASTARD??? i hate it here - hey jon? yell at martin one more time see what happens - your boss is an eldritch monster but oh no scawy gun

EP 41 (Too Deep): - jon really soundin like a whole dumbass here ngl

EP 42 (Grifter's Bone): - *Holt voice* BONE??? - hey lady maybe dont do -gestures to the entire episode- - LEAVE MARTIN ALONE YOU SHIT

EP 43 (Section 31): - wait do i know this voice? she sounds familiar might be from tiktok tho - BASIRA! BASIRA! AYYYYY! FINALLY ANOTHER BRAIN CELL! sasha: dies elias: shit fuck Jon needs a brain cell basira: -makes a statement- elias: perfect are you currently employed - wait is this the fucking uhhhhh other burned dude in the gerry hospital episode???? - B O O K - OH FUCK DAISY - supplementals be like "dear diary, i am still paranoid as shit, end supplemental"

EP 44 (Tightrope): - GERTRUDE! - this statement giver is a clown purist - ah shit circus of the other lol

EP 45 (Blood Bag): - mosquito stinky - stop spying on Tim damn it - HE'S YOUR FRIEND YOU FOOL

EP 46 (Literary Heights): - MIKE CREW AYYY - Run boy run the enderman's gonna get ya - Jon continues to be a Perfectly Reasonable Individual

EP 47 (The New Door): - Michael time? Please Michael Time - OH HELEN? - helen being a real estate agent makes everything i know about her make sense now - MICHAEL THERE HE IS! THERE'S MY BOY!

EP 48 (Lost in the Crowd): - "there's a purity in being alone when you travel" must be nice to be a cishet white man - WAIT IT'S A WOMAN WTF LADY UR GONNA DIE - "long black hair" oh lord hello my dear Gerard gerard: i'm going on holiday this lady: -reeks of the lonely- gerard, grumbling: i swear I have to do everything my damn self

EP 49 (The Butcher's Window): - "Butcher's Window" oh boy we love a good flesh episode - Ah yes the other Jared - we love bi king Tim

EP 50 (Foundations): - I wasn't paying attention to the date so when the statement giver said "Dear Jonah" I about shit myself - Tim no I like Basira

[nexttrickanvils]

MI Fic: Beware of Karen

Title: Beware of Karen

Ships: Guybrush/Elaine, past Stan/OC (if you could call that mess a relationship)

Notes: So this is the result of lots of jokes and headcanon swapping with @captmickey. Hope you enjoy. ;)

---------

Throughout his adventures, Guybrush Threepwood, Mighty Pirate(TM) had seen the strange and impossible…

...And yet none of it compared to the sight of perpetual grifter, Stan S. Stanman standing on a dock before the Screaming Narwhal with a sleeping roll and other items in his (still flailing, how does he do that) arms.

“Guybrush! Good to see you! How’s the wife?”

“...She’s fine?” Guybrush remarked glancing at an equally baffled Elaine to his right.

“What...exactly are you doing here?”

“Haha! A good question! Typical of a smart man such as yourself! See, I need a favor and I figured we’ve been such good friends for so long...”

“You sold me a cruddy ship, I locked you in a coffin, scammed your life insurance business, you tried to sell me a timeshare, and tried to prosecute me on false charges. I don’t think “friends” is the word I’d use.”

At that, Stan’s usual bluster and “charming” salesman smile deflated like a really sad balloon.

“Alright alright. I know we haven’t exactly been on the same page but you’re the only one I actually trust with this.”

Okay that got Guybrush’s attention.

“This being?”

“I need a place to stay. Maybe a few days maybe a week. It shouldn’t be too long… hopefully”

Guybrush and Elaine glanced at each other, warriness and a little bit of annoyance obvious on both their faces.

They were planning on sailing off tomorrow and continuing their Multi-Island Anniversary Vacation. Elaine especially was looking forward to this after all the craziness with the Pox Incident… and the LeWalrus Incident before that. Winslow was even nice enough to be willing to stay at Spinner Cay with Anemone and the rest of the Merfolk so the two could have their space.

Then came Stan like a bad penny.

“Stan… we’re-” Guybrush attempted to explain

“We’re in the middle of something. As a couple. As in something for just the two of us.” Elaine added

“Don’t worry! Ol’ Stan here will be quiet as a mouse!”

Guybrush pinched his nose in frustration at Stan’s refusal to take no for an answer.

“Stan… why do you want to stay with us anyway? What? You couldn’t scam yourself a hotel room?”

“I take personal offense to that, my friends!”

“We’re not friends.” Elaine interrupted

But Stan ignored that and continued, “See I’ve been a businessman for a long time and in that field of work, I’ve met many a character, believe you me! I’ve crossed paths with the prickliest pirates, the saltiest of sea dogs, the most brackish of buccaneers...”

Guybrush muttered to Elaine, “What’s “brackish” mean?”

“I think it just means unpleasant, dear.” Elaine responded

“But none of them! None of those pillaging plunderers hold a candle to the most frightening person in the Caribbean… KAREN!”

Was… was he joking?

Is this one of those weird Pirate Prank Plays?

Was there a hidden audience ready to burst out and laugh at him?

“Unless Karen is LeChuck’s first name… which would be hilarious I can’t lie, I don’t think I see the threat.” Guybrush replied

“Who is Karen anyway?”

“Oh… she uh… she’s… err… she’s my ex-wife.”

An awkward silence hung between the three…

“Alright Guybrush, pull up the anchor.”

“WAIT! Listen I understand that I may have a… unique relationship with the truth but please believe me when I say that Karen is the absolute worst person imaginable and if she finds out that I’m on this island, I am a dead man!”

Okay… wow… even after racking his brain, Guybrush couldn’t really remember seeing Stan so… terrified (well okay the coffin thing but that’s uh something else.) He looked over to Elaine and could tell that she was still less than sympathetic.

Not that he could blame her. A guy, known for exaggeration and bullshit, shows up to your ship and tells you how his ex-wife is somehow WORSE than LeChuck? Not a good look.

But obviously Stan was not gonna go away, Guybrush had to think of something.

“Okay, listen, Stan. Elaine and I are trying to have a nice private vacation as a couple. But since you seem so worried, why don’t I just go talk to Karen?”

“ARE YOU CRAZY!? Stronger men than you have buckled before her! No, it’s better for all involved to just get out of dodge!”

Guybrush just gave a cocky grin in response, “Stronger men, but not wittier. Believe me after dealing with you for years, I think I can handle this.”

Stan merely sighed and muttered, “Sounds like I need to go back to the coffin business because it's your funeral.”

Guybrush turned to Elaine and gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

“Don’t worry Plunderbunny, I’ll get this done quickly and we can get right back to our vacation.”

“Oh alright but you owe me a shoulder massage after all this.”

The Mighty Pirate(TM) shot a wink and began to disembark The Screaming Narwhal.

---------

Before long the two were making their way through a marketplace full of merchants, scam artists, and those in between.

“So… how did you and Karen meet?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Yikes, Stan doesn’t want to talk about something? Maybe… this wasn’t a good idea…

...WELL IN FOR A PIECE OF EIGHT!

“Why’d you divorce? Or is that too personal?”

“We began to see each other as competition. And Karen is quite ruthless to anyone she sees as competition.”

Before Guybrush could ask further, a pained high scream rang through the market. A female pirate ran past him and Stan screaming about her eyes as she covered them.

“You’ll thank me when you have to beat the men away with a club!” shouted another woman

“...It’s her.”

Guybrush turned to where Stan was glaring and immediately spotted a woman in a jacket and plaid pencil skirt. Her hair was closely cropped with some parts flared up or sticking out. In her hand was one of those fancy looking glass perfume bottles. Her face was covered in way-too much make-up for one person and she had a pure white salesman smile similar to Stan.

“Karen...”

The woman turned to them and immediately her smile dropped.

“...Stan.”

Hoo boy, Guybrush was wearing a coat and he could feel the chill between these two. Better step in before things get more awkward.

“Um excuse me?”

“Hm?”

Guybrush straightened himself and adjusted his coat.

“I’m Guybrush Threepwood, Mighty Pirate™.”

“Uh-huh, that’s nice.” Karen remarked with little enthusiasm

She then turned to Stan and shot him a smug look, “You know Stan, I always said you couldn’t find better than me but wow you really dug rock bottom.”

Stan just continued to glare at her while it took a second for Guybrush to realize what she was saying.

“Oh, oh no! Stan and I are just… acquaintances… who keep running into each other. I’m happily spoken for to the most beautiful ex-government official in the Caribbean.” Guybrush explained, showing off the ring on his finger

Guybrush wasn’t sure what happened next; one moment there seemed to be a glint in Karen’s eyes and then he found himself pulled away from Stan with one of her arms wrapped around his shoulders.

“Oh you’re married huh? Can’t imagine the Missus being too thrilled to see you spending time with someone like Stan.”

“Uh...I mean… you’re not wrong”

“You look like the kind of guy who’s just one mistake away from the straw that broke the camel’s back.”

“I… um… actually Elaine and I-”

“A lady likes to be treated… um… Gasbroom was it?”

“Guybrush… but I’m not here to bu-”

“Of course, of course. And you say she’s ex-government? Well clearly you somehow found a woman of class who deserves only the classiest -and most expensive- items in my collection!~”

Thankfully before Karen could continue with her sales pitch, Guybrush felt Stan pulling him back and he suddenly felt more clear headed. It was almost like a spell had been broken. Or maybe he was now further from the perfume fumes and wasn’t feeling as dizzy.

Karen glared at Stan and crossed her arms.

“Hmph, I see you haven’t changed a bit, Stan. You just can’t stand the mere IDEA of someone buying something from someone other than you.”

“This isn’t about sales and you know it, Karen.”

Guybrush pushed himself away from Stan and faced Karen.

“Listen, I just wanted to talk to you and clear up all… whatever this is!” Guybrush exclaimed, pointing his finger between the two

At that, Karen began to laugh.

“Oh, sweetie, there is no fixing that mess. And that mess could also be in your future if you don’t...”

“I’m not buying anything!” Guybrush snapped

“Oh… no wonder your marriage is on the rocks.”

“HEY! My marriage has survived curses, evil undead voodoo jerks, and my mother-in-law! I think it can survive not buying your stuff”

“See this is what she does! She lies and insults you every way to get you to buy from her!”

Guybrush couldn’t help but side-eye Stan as he remarked, “Isn’t that what you do?”

“Oh no no no. What I do is a little something called Cold Reading. A skill of the trade. All she does is push you down and down until you can’t take it anymore!”

“...Again, sounds like what you do.”

“I agree with Stan, how dare you compare my mercantile skills to this idiot who couldn’t sell a used ship to a pair of monkeys!”

“AT LEAST I DON’T TEST MY WARES ON THE MONKEYS!”

“Still spreading those lies and slander are we? I think we’re done here, Stan. Leave now and if I see your face around here or worse yet, try to set up shop near me. I will have the Island authorities on you like flies on a zombie.”

“BUT! You’re at a marketplace! You can’t have someone arrested for running a business near you!” Shouted Guybrush

Karen smirked, “True but I can if this is what I tell them...”

Instantly Karen pulled out a handkerchief and started crying (without any actual tears, can’t smudge the make-up after all.)

“I-It’s my ex-husband, sir! He-he won’t leave me alone! I just want to run my business in peace but he just keeps harassing me!”

In an instant, the “oh woe is me” act is dropped and that smirk came back.

“Have I made myself clear? Now go on, shoo! You’re scaring off customers.”

Realizing that there was no winning here, Guybrush and Stan began to turn around and walk away. But not before…

“Hey! Goibersh!”

“...It’s Guybru-”

Quickly Guybrush caught a tube of lipstick that Karen tossed at him before it could hit him in the face.

“Consider this a free sample. And when your dear lady inevitably demands more, you’re free to come crawling back to me without Stan.”

With that, Karen went straight back to harassing another “customer” passing by.

“Stan...”

“Yes Guybrush?”

“You can stay on the ship. THIS DOES NOT MAKE US FRIENDS! But I’d feel like a jerk if I just left you to her “mercy.””

“...Thanks. Maybe if we survive this, I’ll give you a ten percent discount on my next business venture.”

“ONLY TEN PERCENT!?”

[thelonelyrainbowguy]

Autistic Headcanons: Anne Shirley (Anne With An E, Netflix)

It’s time to talk about my GIRL! I identified with Anne so much, and I believe she was purposefully written to be neurodivergent. Let’s get into it!

·       Anyone who’s paying attention can see right off the bat that there’s something different about Anne Shirley, the moment she comes on screen. She talks like she just stepped out of a storybook, has ideas no one else would think of, and has no concept of societally appropriate small talk.

·       Impulsivity. She does what she believes is the right thing, instantly, no matter the danger (running into the Gillis house to slow the fire).

·       Strong, black and white convictions. If something is right, to her, it is right, and she needs definitive proof to change her mind.

·       Using words that practically no one else uses, and being surprised that other people don’t know what she’s saying, or find it funny when she’s being serious.

·       She trusts far too easily. Even right after the grifters are exposed and run out of town, she’s all too keen to sit down, alone, with no one else home, and speak to the peddler man (he’s kind, but she had no way to know that, especially after what she’s just been through with the shady gold guys).

·       She gets incredibly frustrated when things don’t go right, even if they’re “small” things (her pen spitting ink on the letter she was trying to write to Gilbert, and the paper tearing when she tried to rip off the piece with the extra ink).

·       She takes things literally (when Malcolm Frost tells her that a ton of ore will only produce 40 cents’ worth of gold, enough to buy two dozen eggs, and she responds “We don’t buy our eggs; we have chickens”).

·       Rejection sensitive dysphoria (common in many survivors of trauma and bullying, also very common in autistics). Every time she realizes someone is disappointed in her or that she’s done something wrong, she is immediately convinced she’s ruined everything, and she’ll be hated forever (when she writes the letters to Jeannie, pretending to be Matthew, and he finds out and is upset, even though she should know by now that he worships the ground she walks on, she believes he’s given up on her and will absolutely hate her forever).

·       Immense creativity and a very active imagination and inner world. If you’ve seen even one episode of the show, this needs no example, but I’m reminded of where she walks through the forest and conducts the woodland sounds like an orchestra.

·       Easily hurt. Autistics spend so much time trying to blend in, trying to act like the majority of people, that when we fail, it can be incredibly painful to have that pointed out.

·       Specific, focused interests, and trouble picking up and enjoying things that don’t relate to those interests. Obviously, reading is the main one, and it’s very special to her, because escaping into stories was how she survived her traumatic upbringing. However, for things she’s made to do, she has no passion or love.

·       Collections and lining things up. If you look at the dresser in her bedroom, you can see she loves to collect feathers, animal skulls, and random shiny things, and line them up where she can see them, where they can make her happy.

·       She hates societal norms. She simply doesn’t understand why she’s not supposed to ask questions about the world around her, why she can’t do the same chores as a boy, why everyone shouldn’t be free to love who they love, why anyone would be cruel when they could be kind.

·       She sees life in everything, and deems it all important. The way she ascribes a history that she can feel and almost taste to an object she’s never seen before just because it’s old. How she speaks to her trees, hugs them, and treats them like friends.

·       She feels all her emotions so fiercely. If she’s sad, she’s heartbroken. If she’s happy, she’s ecstatic. If she’s angry, she’s furious.

·       She’s inventive and thinks of things other people don’t, sees things in a different way from everyone else.

 If I re-watched the series and took notes, there would be so many more things I could point out, so many more examples I could give. But this is already kind of long, so I’ll leave it here. I’d love to hear thoughts, comments, or additional ideas!

[spookyspaghettisundae]

One More Round

Tiny explosions cracked and clapped, thundering about and piercing the air. Flurries of snow cascaded down from the dreary sky, flaring up time and time again by bursts of colorful light.

The clock had yet to reach midnight and these goofballs were already letting their fireworks rip too early to celebrate the advent of a new year. Idiots, Holly thought with a sneer. A facial expression that made her wince, delivering the sting of a cracked lip and bloodied nose from the drunken brawl she had gotten into and gotten herself thrown out of a bar over.

Spiting the pain with sheer grit, she shrugged off whatever the multiple blows to her body had left her with and grinned to herself. Holly buried her fists in her jacket pockets and wandered about the deserted boardwalk. A little cloud of condensed air formed in front of her as she sighed.

A small tent that looked like it had come straight out of some carnival freakshow stood at the end of the pier. Soft crimson light poured out from the crack in between curtains covering the entrance to that odd tent. Written in patchy white chalk upon a small blackboard in front of the tent, the sign’s sloppy writing caught Holly’s attention.

She walked up to it and read the words written there:

FORTUNE TELLER

Discover Your Future $10

Her head still swam on a sea of booze-fueled stupor and a cocktail of dried-up adrenaline and endorphins that had followed her experience of decking some jerk in the bar fight.

And boy oh boy, she thought, had she decked him good. Probably cost him some teeth.

She dug around in her pocket and crammed out a wad of crumpled-up dollar bills.

Flipping through them and counting the last few in audible whispers, she shrugged and entered. Her self-destructive streak had been giving her a good time that night, all things considered—looking back upon one of her worst years in life—and she could use a silly little pick-me-up in form of some kook reading tarot cards or whatever their deal was.

Holly’s eyes watered and she coughed from the stinging wooden scent of sweet incense hanging heavy in the air, waving it away with a hand in front of her as if that helped at all. She blinked a few times and took in her surroundings.

Strange paraphernalia, such as amulets of feathers and animal teeth and dream catchers and silly crystals and rabbit feet and other nonsense dangled from silver chains connected to thin beams, encircling a small round garden table with two foldable plastic chairs in front of and behind the table each.

Dirt or gravel crunched as she pulled out the nearest chair and took a seat. The weary plastic frame creaked under the weight of her body. She exhaled and savored the strange warmth captured inside the confines of the tent. But the sensations of pain flooded back over her again, coupled with the sore aching feelings left over from her extensive workout before heading out for her sad little session of solo New Year’s Eve drinking.

Just before she could dwell too much on her loneliness or how that asshole in the pub had had it coming for how he talked to her, and she gazed too long at the blood where the skin on her knuckles had split, the curtains swished. A gust of cool air swept through the tent’s interior, and a figure emerged from the shadows of the tent’s darker, deeper bowels.

An elderly lady—whose face a deep purple hood concealed—hunched over and leaning against an elaborately carved wooden cane beset with what must have been fake plastic jewels, hobbled over to the table and sat down across from Holly.

A real damn cliché, she thought to herself, looking the feeble old woman up and down.

The fortune-teller had an air of precision and routine about her, each movement studied and repeated a million times. Common for any good grifter, she figured. Holly had not even noticed when this fortune-teller hack had placed candles upon the previously naked surface of the table, but the old woman now leaned forward and lit them with a cheap-looking red plastic lighter.

“Ten thousand dreams you have, yet with the insight of a donkey they’ll do nobody any good,” the old woman croaked in a thick accent.

Russian? Holly neither knew nor care, she did not get around much. She had avoided education and learning about the world as much as she could, focusing her life’s work more on trying to flush any memories of her traumatic past down the toilet.

“You callin’ me a donkey, you old hag?” Holly asked the fortune-teller.

The old woman looked up and the growing glow of candlelight illuminated her face, shedding some light on her countenance. A roadmap of wrinkles and a hideous scar along her cheek marked a face weathered by time and sanded down by bizarre experiences. She glowered at Holly, the reflection of burning wicks dancing in her irises.

“I see you walk a path of self-imposed exile, looking to engage in pleasure that interferes with any sort of deeper introspection,” the fortune-teller replied, grimacing at Holly. “Drink, fuck, drugs, drowning yourself in a dullard’s entertainment. Yes, I’m calling you a stupid donkey.”

Holly blinked and shook her head once the space for several sentences unspoken had spread between them.

“I mean, I guess you’re not desperate for business or ten fucking dollars, you fuckin’ asshole,” Holly said after swallowing an even angrier response.

Right before she pushed herself back up in a huff, a set of gnarled and bony fingers slapped down on Holly’s hand, pinning her in place. She refrained from leaving or even budging now, taken aback by this sudden physical response. Holly’s muscles twitched—she pushed back down the urge to lash out and give this old woman a fistful of knuckles like she had bequeathed upon the serial sexual harasser from the bar earlier.

Would probably split this old hag’s skull with one straight hit.

Another gust of cold air breezed through the tent’s interior, cutting across Holly’s burning cheeks and sending a shiver down her spine. It was like she felt the creepy thing that was about to happen before it happened.

Then the old woman spoke again.

“You dream of a black palace, hidden in between the cracks of this world. A world between worlds, where an old giant sleeps and only emerges to spread his dark seed in the world and reap the souls of those who he believes commit wrong.”

The blood drained from Holly’s face and her spine tingled anew. Over the course of those two creepy sentences, she had gone from wanting to snap this woman in half, to just wanting to up and leave, to sitting in shock, frozen and yearning to hear what else she had to say.

Because the old hag was spot on.

She indeed dreamt of that black palace. The place haunted Holly in her nightmares, ever since the events of her traumatic childhood. Constant medication and therapy had led her to believe that that palace was not real. That those infinite halls were only imaginary.

“You hear its whispers; you hear his words of caution. Yet you seek to commit sin after sin, sacrificing your innocence and drinking every humiliation as it feeds your rage, hoping to return there, and finish what he started. Your blood boils at the thought of all the things he took from you, the life you never lived, and now you want to tear the walls of his black palace down.”

Holly tossed the wad of crumpled dollar bills onto the table, convinced that this fortune-teller was worth her salt. But the old lady seemed to ignore the cash.

“I’m listening,” Holly told her, the words hissing out hoarse and tortured.

The flames danced in the old woman’s eyes. Little explosions crackled outside when new fireworks erupted, likely closer to midnight than the ones earlier. Holly was frozen in place, enraptured by this old hag’s presence.

She knew. Therefore, everything she said came crashing down on Holly with the crushing weight of horrible truth. Each word sliced through the haze of drugs and alcohol and woke her up more and more, awakening her to a secret world, a hidden entity with long blackened claws that peeled away at the layers of hollow pretenses of what people dubbed reality.

This time, Holly took the old woman’s hand into her own. Shook it, silently imploring her to go on. That gnarled hand was light and lifeless, as cold as the wintry air outside. Perhaps even colder.

The old woman let her but produced something from the folds of her veiled garments with her free hand. A crinkled old Polaroid photo which she gingerly placed upon the table in between them, right beside where their hands had met.

Though time had faded the image on the simple square photo and age had yellowed the originally white rim framing it, Holly recognized the picture right away. The black palace. Marble walls streaked with white and crimson veins, engraved with incomprehensibly alien writings, they stood out in the background of the picture, obscured by fog.

She could practically taste the dust of that place. That smell rust and iron in the air, and light that came from both everywhere and nowhere. Holly remembered slipping in that puddle of pus-like white substance on those sleek, smoothly polished floors.

She remembered that huge hand, encased in blackened iron, palm open and beckoning her to wander into the light. Attached to an arm too big to fit into the picture, just out of frame, huge and ominous and dwarfing the photographer.

Although she had not seen this exact scene with her eyes, she remembered sitting on the lap of that giant, that reaper, that monstrosity that dwelled in the world in between worlds, drinking in a dark destiny before it released her into the shambles of her rotten life.

“You can return there now, if you dare,” said the old hag.

Holly’s lip quivered, anticipating the words she wanted to utter without hesitation yet held back only by a budding seed of dread.

“Yes,” Holly whispered in reply, though inside she yelled it out for every world to hear.

“You can pursue your revenge, if that is what you wish,” the witch offered Holly.

“Yes.”

The old woman’s hand slipped out of Holly’s grip, which had gone limp with the dream-like state that had befallen her.

Her head swam again. Not in any stupor or haze of being under the influence, but the swirling cosmos of stars in her mind, the infinite sea of possibilities. And hurtling through that darkness between the stars, homing in on the brightest one, the flaring sun that shone out to her, representing her yearning to end things here and now.

The old woman stood aside and, with a sweeping gesture of her withered old arm, motioned towards the darkness between the curtains from which she had emerged to give Holly her “reading.”

The chair underneath Holly got knocked away, tumbling off the side and clattering against the worn rugs on the tent’s inner grounds, so eager was she to return to the black palace. To finish this, once and for all.

To find her own brand of peace, either way. Holly’s heart pounded with certainty, embracing the imagination of horrible deaths. Of the mental image of that skinless corpse, resting in a pile of human refuse and bodily fluids emitted only by decomposition. Of blood seeping from cut flesh—her own cut flesh. Of the giant sitting in his massive throne, commanding an innocent child to leave, lest he judge her like he had judged her parents.

“Wait,” said the fortune-teller.

Her gnarled, almost claw-like fingers rested gently on Holly’s leather-jacketed shoulder.

The old woman hastily scooped up the dollar bills and stuffed them into a well-hidden pocket upon her person. She paced back and forth as if uncertain where to fetch something she had forgotten, then produced a brown egg from another pocket.

Holly’s brow arched as she watched in disbelief, eager to enter the darkness within the tent and return to the black palace, but patient as the old woman seemed to know what she was doing.

The fortune-teller slapped the table’s surface thrice, sending drips of wax to fly from the candles.

“Iä, iä,” she chanted. “Wgah'nagl fhtagn.”

She slammed the egg down onto the table, hand flat, where yolk and egg white oozed out from underneath her palm. Blood trickled out along with the egg white in slimy, bizarre coils, like black oil floating on water and refusing to mix.

“Go. Now,” she said, and pointed to the darkness behind Holly.

Holly need not be told twice. Fireworks erupted outside, as if to orchestrate her steps into that place. Loud artificial thunderclaps, rupturing the deceptive silence of the night. The clock had ticked past midnight. The new year arrived.

She turned and pushed past the curtains.

Frosted tendrils of ivy and shards of rock crystal and quartz cracked underneath the treaded soles of Holly’s boots. Clusters of black berries drooped from thick sheets of plants creeping down the walls, and she pushed through the foliage that followed the silk and velvet drapes that she left behind her in her advance.

Fog billowed out around her and the tent turned out to be far larger on the inside than it looked like from the outside. For this was not the realm of the fortune-teller’s tent anymore—it was the black palace.

After decades of nightmares of this place, after all the time she spent being told and letting them tell her it was not real, she had returned to it. Found her way back, in the most unexpected of places. Instantly discarded all that conditioning, knowing this to be real—more real than any other experience in her whole life.

She ripped at the vines in her way, digging her strong fingers into anything that allowed her to grip it; dragging strands of plant life, snapping twigs and tearing leaves apart in her struggle to push forward. Every step took her deeper into that place of mist and marble and despair made flesh.

The underbrush tripped her up and Holly stumbled forward until her boots slapped against the hard floors of the black palace. The crevice in the wall, lined with sprawling tangles of wild plants, loomed like a wound in the shiny walls behind her. She still could have turned back now, but had no intention of doing so, nor would she even waste a thought on the mere notion.

Before her, a mummified skeleton rested on the floor, right where she had seen the skinless body of her father.

Each step she took landed on the ground with more force than the one preceding it. Her courage and anger swelled in her chest in equal measure and she knew where she had to go.

The pounding pulse of her heart drowned out the chorus of whispers that hailed from the walls all around her, and she arrived by the back of that tremendous giant throne. That monolith of wrought iron and cold stone.

Its shape and edges looked more jagged, sinister, vicious, sharper, and pointier than she remembered them. Like time had filtered them in a haze, dulled them to the point of blunting the breathing horror that the throne exuded in her memories, but her hatred and drive to find the owner of that throne lent her a clarity that pierced the veil of the fog around her.

She marched towards the throne and rounded its corners, craning her neck to see who sat upon it. But no legs rested there. There was nobody there. The throne stood empty, tall and imposing.

His voice returned, finally, like it had reached her through the curtains of dreams, haunting her nights and rendering them sleepless.

That monotonous tone, that detached, uncaring inflection riding on every word.

“Finally, you have returned to your true home,” he spoke.

A voice that came from nowhere and everywhere simultaneously. Even swiveling and looking around, she could not pinpoint its origin.

Instead, Holly grunted and gritted her teeth and scrambled her way up the side of the throne, grabbing hold of every angled diagonal and engraved indentation that afforded her hold, climbing up onto the seat of the throne upon which she could stand and better survey these twilit halls, perhaps rise above the fog.

“Behold the codex,” Holly spoke, every word ringing out with the same monotony as his voice.

Her blood ran cold with the realization. The giant was no more, for she had taken his place.

“Finally, a successor to the throne,” she said, speaking to herself. Imperious in volume, calm and stoic in the distinct and sharp absence of song that her speech delivered.

Herald of the void.

From where she stood, the mists swirled along the blackened floors of these halls. Still, the ceilings reached to dizzying heights, swallowed by darkness and unfathomable to natural human sights.

But as blood shot into Holly’s eyes and her transformation commenced on the most microscopic of levels, her vision changed as well. She saw windows into the world within that darkness, framed upon the horizon of the walls of the palace around her. Moving, living, fleeting images of the world beyond this world between the worlds, teeming with life, bustling with people.

Some gazed up at the fireworks, marveling at their splendiferous colors and bright lights. Others drank themselves into a stupor, laughing and carousing till they committed acts of unspeakable stupidity. There, someone cheated on their spouse. Elsewhere, someone stabbed a man to death over nothing but naked greed.

Holly saw it all. She witnessed every crime, saw every even so minute transgression unfolding before her eyes—eyes growing wide with terror, and the unfettered hatred in her heart taking over, with cold and slimy tendrils snaking outwards from that darkness within, infecting every fiber of her being, and filling her with murderous purpose.

And come one year from now, it would be time for her to ride. To embark upon the gifting and reaping. It would be her first round, her first turn as the new successor to this throne—as the new master of the black palace. A first time of tasting their despair and relief and drinking in their fear.

With many more rounds to follow.

In time, she would grow to fit upon that throne.

But for now, she had a year’s time. To watch. Remember every transgression. And make note of those whose punishment would arrive by the end of the year.

—Submitted by Wratts

[lookwhatilost]

breadtube types love to think that every proud boy kind of dude was, at some point, 1 good conversation away from leaning left at some angle, fully ignoring the elephant in the room – their dad's failing small business they feel entitled to inherit bc they're NOT working class.

to me, the big question is why are the breadtubers so afraid of drawing a line in the sand? why are they afraid of the possibility (inevitability) of irreconcilable material interests? have they never worked fast food or retail? this shit is so obvious. nazis are pretty much all rich. and if they're not "cash rich" they're property rich, which actually is not a lesser kind of rich. they stand to inherit something, a business or some rentals etc. if they're not part of haute bourgeoisie they're part of petit bourgeoisie which, it turns out, is still the bourgeoisie.

idk why i expose myself to this garbage. i hate anything even marginally sympathetic to these pieces of shit. if a white person whose only difference from them is sexual orientation & gender can turn out like me, it's pretty clear what the problem is so fuck any angle on how they're actually innocent uwu. ultimately i find it so offensive & fash-sympathetic (thus fascist) to say only thing separating me from them is ideology. yeah okay w/e we're all cis people etc, but they dnt work for a living, and if you ignore that shit you legitimize their framing of themselves as normal. if you rly want to pull people in that minuscule population of fence-riders leftwards in a meaningful sense you'd make them confront the fact that their class is condemned to die by history & their only hope is to betray it. if they can't agree to that, what use are they to us?

the lack of instrumental thinking is epidemic in rhetoric-obsessed communities. what utility comes from delivering another slur-vomiting cracker parroting chan memes to The Left? we have to constantly police the mf? we hold his hand until he predictably becomes an "ex-sjw"? sometimes (usually) the people who are engaged and on the border enough that they "might" have "potentially" become reluctant communists are best used as fertilizer for the gardens that provide employment to the people we serve who never ever considered being goddamn nazis.

if you insist on climbing all the way down into hell to rescue a few of the demons, you simply cannot come back to earth pretending you brought us angels, much less that you have not experienced, yourself, why they wanted to be in hell. it's silly vestigial christian cultural bullshit to see any kind of value in rescuing a fascist from themself. in practical reality, you are simply forcing naturally decent people to put up with indefinite burden of a whiny shit whose life helps working ppl less than their death. happy to agree that "privilege" analysis provides a decent framework for priority. all else being equal a more marginalized person makes for a "more revolutionary" leader, etc. this is not reconcilable with the opinion that we should recruit reluctant defectors from enemy classes as active members, much less leaders, of our orgs. idk where the pathological desire to win the enemy over comes from but it is absolutely suicidal. regardless of the organization in question, any people who joined it reluctantly should be paying their dues, not defining the agenda

you could prob convince Logic/Reason Leftists of practical immutability of material interest if you had data on nazis being wealthy but of course they trust nazis' self-reporting & nazis always do stonetoss shit linking their own lawyer-son asses to off-color construction workers. and i’m using using "nazi" ~liberally~ in this offhand opinion, bc to me, any settler-colonial fascist is a nazi, and anything that would make them "more like", idk, an italian neo-fascist, is mostly a reminder of how bad the italians failed at their settler-colonial aims, so who gives a fuck.

thanks for reading or at least tolerating the existence of this rambling stream of consciousness. i would have written a real essay with sources and arguments for everyone's edification, but i have neither the capacity for focus to write one nor the desire to publish it.

(for reference, here is a commonly-recommended video that exemplifies the empathetic zoological economically-agnostic oh-shucks-he's-just-a-sad-normal-white-boy-he-is narrative of how a young man in north america becomes a literal brownshirt nazi)

note specifically where the narrator talks abt how "far right thought leaders" may not "see themselves as" or "intend to become" such "far right thought leaders" but are ~merely~ shills for consumer products "incidentally" popular among "alt-righters". also key to this video's reconstruction of online fascist indoctrination is "politics as a set of affects, not a set of beliefs", as thought "affects" of online nazis like stefan molyneux, blaire white, etc are universally disarming, that they wouldn't seem "off" to "normal" ppl. this necessarily defines "normal" people as people in a position to ~discover blatantly white nationalist arguments w unblemished curiosity, people w no awareness of the existence of white nationalism per se - i.e. it accepts as ~normal those "white people w only white friends". the creator also describes a feedback loop wherein grifters become "radicalized" by audiences, chasing engagement etc. this is bullshit, obviously. they're not children. they're grown-ass fascists full of superficial hatred w economic bases, who should be in re-education camps at best.

at several points in nominally(?) anti-fascist narrative of "gabe" narrator describes communities where "minorities" are welcomed insofar as they avoid "identity politics". i get maybe some people can't relate to psychology of fascists but such description can only normalize it. this description necessarily frames addressing of issues of e.g. representation that affect such minorities within such interest communities as something that genuinely, in some sense, diverges from the status quo. as though at some point their marginalization was uncontroversial.

like clockwork, this angle on "alt-right" takes as axiom that communities from which "alt-right" recruits were 1st non-ideological, that fascists represent incursion of ideology &, by implication, so do ppl they oppose. political battle encroaches on something magically apolitical.

later, the creator says 

nazis act "apolitical", dropping hints to divide "our community" from "the left" 

"the left" says "you have a nazi problem, y'all" 

nazis say "jfc have you seen this? they're calling us all nazis for liking thing" 

 how stupid do you think ppl are, dude

from this perspective, communities of consumer interest have some kind of linear basis, origin, development, etc. problem here is that they absolutely dnt. they're continuous & amorphous. also this is obv abt gamers/gg & plenty of us who "played games" had no hate for zoë quinn

[voldemortforprez]

And once he’s no longer useful to these old white grifters, they’re going to unceremoniously dump him out the back door (like about ten seconds after McConnell takes back control of the Senate).

The sad thing is Walker undoubtedly believes that he’s part of that good ol’ boy club and all the selling of his soul for votes isn’t going to matter because they’ll back him up… news flash Herschel, you might want to watch Tuberville’s stump speech because these guys don’t care about you. The only thing they care about is money and power. They’re going to use you like an old dish rag then toss you away.

[twentytwentynews-blog]

Devin Nunes: Poster boy for Congressional impotence

Clete Wetli, Contributor California Congressman Devin Nunes is up to his old tired tricks again. He’s calling for an investigation into the investigators of the Trump/Russia probe in yet another vain and sycophantic attempt to distract the American people from the fact that an incompetent lying grifter resides at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. Without evidence, he’s suggesting that the investigation into Trump’s Russian ties was a partisan ploy to spy on him. He wants us to forget all the lies and financial ties. He wants us to be ok with Jared’s obsession with back channels and Trump’s blatant laundering of Russian money. It’s sad. It’s atrocious. Fucking pathetic, actually. Wasn’t Nunes the guy who wasted tons of money investigating Benghazi ad nauseum? Wasn’t Nunes the guy who went off the rails early in the Trump investigation by holding a fact-free press conference after secretly meeting with White House officials and inappropriately disclosing classified information which led to an ethics investigation and his recusal as Chair of the Intelligence Committee? Oh, that didn’t stop him from unilaterally issuing subpoenas in a bizarre attempt to paint Obama administration officials as politically biased in order to further undercut the Russia investigation. It didn’t stop him from having an aide send Republican staffers to London to meet with Christopher Steele, author of the infamous golden shower dossier, in another brazen attempt to obstruct justice. Later, this ass clown tried to independently meet with MI5, MI6, and GCHQ, but they wanted nothing to do with a more incompetent and less sane version of the fictional idiot, Chief Inspector Jacques Clouseau. Prior to his latest embarrassing kerfuffle, he filed a defamation lawsuit against the Twitter accounts "Devin Nunes' Mom" (@DevinNunesMom) and "Devin Nunes' Cow" (@DevinCow) for $250M. Instantly, they had more followers than his own Twitter account. Nunes is upset because the bovine was really, really mean to him. America is so freaking glad he has a steak in this critical issue… Udderly moronic. Nunes is the poster boy for why Congress stays hopelessly gridlocked and largely impotent on important national issues. He could care less about solving the real problems facing our nation because his sole focus is on toxic partisan politics and, apparently, seeking revenge against libelous cows. Nunes has no real achievements other than being anti-environment, anti-immigrant, anti-pot, anti-clean energy, anti-universal healthcare and, most importantly, anti-free speech for cows with Twitter accounts. He is pro-Trump and pro-giving rich people more tax breaks. His accomplishments are pretty much relegated to the realm of being a partisan hack and to doing his very best to circumvent the law to show Trump that he is willing to be an unconditional gimp, ball gag optional. Nunes’ latest ploy of investigating the investigators is a hackneyed and cliched ploy that Republicans love to use as a smokescreen to distract from their own lack of competence and vision. The only people falling for this charade are Trump’s base and they happen to be the kind of folks who think the moon landing was fake and that the Deep State is commanded by Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez. Unfortunately, our highly partisan Attorney General, William Barr, will gladly eat all the shit that Nunes feeds him. Barr will assuredly open a new bogus investigation into the Russia investigators claiming they were “spying” on Trump because that’s the conspiracy du jour on Fox News and because the very, ahem, trustworthy cow-litigator Nunes says it might be so. For the life of me, I’ll never understand why the Republican Party sold its soul to a despicable con-man like Trump. Nunes has proven that he’ll do absolutely anything for Trump. Nunes has no problem whatsoever wasting taxpayer dollars on nonsense. All I can say is that I hope the cow wins the lawsuit and that Nunes not only has to pay the legal costs, but also develops lactose intolerance. rgs:t,val: Read the full article

[theliterateape]

Mascots for Systemic Sin

by Don Hall

Harold Chandler was one of eight kids who all went to Circle High School in the seventies and eighties. He was the youngest one of the brood. The Chandlers named all of their children in alphabetical order—A through H—with Harold being the last.

They were dirt poor. When we think of dirt poor, this is the family that fits that particular bill of goods. The home was not a place large enough for such an expansive group. As I recall, they used well water so Harold, who was in my class, rarely came to school bathed. They didn't have electricity (I found that out because his older sister, Glynis, invited me to her senior prom my sophomore year).

We treated Harold like shit. Not so much a situation of active bullying but there was no question he was shunned by most kids in school. His oldest brother, Bryan, was a source of legendary thuggery. The stories were that he was a petty thief and was expelled for it his junior year.

So when someone broke into the office after hours and stole money and vandalized the place, Harold was the almost automatic scapegoat for the crime. Not that he had ever given anyone a reason to suspect that he was a thief but that he was from a family of thieves because they were poor (dirt poor) and his oldest brother was a known criminal.

I don't think they ever proved who did the deed—hell, maybe Harold had committed the crime—but in recollection, the only reason he was accused was that he was a stereotypical kid from the wrong side of the tracks.

Patrisse Khan-Cullors co-founded the Black Lives Matter movement with Alicia Garza and Opal Tometi in 2013. Recently it was uncovered that Khan-Cullors managed to amass millions of dollars and purchased extravagant homes all while professing her belief in Marxism.

After news of Khan-Cullors luxury living hit the press, other members of the Black Lives Matter organization called for an investigation. “If you go around calling yourself a socialist, you have to ask how much of her own personal money is going to charitable causes,” said Hawk Newsome, the head of Black Lives Matter Greater New York City. “It’s really sad because it makes people doubt the validity of the movement and overlook the fact that it’s the people that carry this movement.”

SOURCE

The current conservative spin is exactly that. Because Khan-Cullor seems to be nothing more than your standard race grifter, she becomes a scapegoat for the most progressive civil rights movement in sixty years. For half the country's population, her financial indiscretions paint the entire movement as suspect. She becomes a negative representative of an organization comprised of few who could afford four or five multi-million dollar homes.

The word “scapegoating” originated from an ingenious ritual described in Leviticus 16. 

According to Jewish law, on the Day of Atonement, the high priest laid hands on an “escaping” goat, placing all the sins of the Jewish people from the previous year onto the animal.

Then the goat was beaten with reeds and thorns, driven out into the desert, and the people went home rejoicing. 

Violence towards the innocent victim was apparently quite effective at temporarily relieving the group’s guilt and shame. 

The reverse of this ritual is now in play. Instead of the goat taking on the sins of the tribe, the tribe takes upon the sins of the goat. 

The incompetent, brutal, and bigoted police officer paints the entire 900,000 American law enforcement community as incompetent, brutal, and bigoted.

The looters using an otherwise peaceful protest as cover to rip-off a Target for a plasma screen gives permission to those disinclined to agree with the protest to dismiss the cause.

The rich and powerful Hollywood rapist convicts all rich and powerful Hollywood types as rapists.

It's a strange twist on the form but it isn't entirely unexpected. We aren't looking at individuals and their behavior today as much as we are why the systems in place allow (or at least refuse to stem) the behavior of the worst among us. Each individual anecdote about someone's lived experience becomes a puzzle piece to reduce whole institutions and practices as evil. As it is the opposite of scapegoating, I'll call it mascoting.

Instead of seeing these mascots as outliers, their mere existence is used to suggest widespread corruption. Each mascot becomes a sole representative of a greater ill.

Adolf Hitler is a mascot for any leader who is racially intolerant and authoritarian. Any leader who seems too ambitious, too angry, too dictatorial inevitably evokes the comparison.

The mascot for #MeToo is, without question, Weinstein. The big, fuzzy, unattractive über-powerful Hollywood mogul who solicited blowjobs, spanked his junk into plants, and raped Annabella Sciorra is the poster boy for all aging white men in charge of the entertainment industry.

AOC is mascot for the Socialists in government. Ibram Kendi is the mascot for the Critical Race Theorists. Tucker Carlson is dressed to the nines as avatar for all that is bad at Fox. Kristen Sinema (AZ) is the picture of fence-riding, anti-minimum wage Democratic obstructionists. Derek Chauvin represents all white cops. George Floyd fronts for all black men.

Ah, if life were so simple and easy to categorize. The fact that this reduction of systems to the behavior of individuals is pockmarked with error, replete with misrepresentation, and in direct conflict with the bizarre nature of human beings doesn't stop us. We do it anyway.

Maybe if we focused on positive mascots? Tom Hanks as mascot for white dudes? John McWhorter as the de-facto black guy stand-in? Eric Talley adumbrates all police officers and Kevin Feige epitomizes the wealthy, powerful Hollywood executive?

Harold Chandler was certainly a part of his family but was nothing like his sister and it was unfair to judge him based upon the actions of a brother he was unlikely to know well combined with the poverty he was born into and had no choice in. He was more complex than that. His poverty and the fact that he was outcast doesn't make him a saint but it doesn't make him the mascot of sinners, either.

As Russian philosopher Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn wrote, “If only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds, and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being.”

[yoyoplisetsky]

I’ve had a long past few weeks and been very busy, so technically this list is for like,,, 2 weeks, but I want to get back on track, so I’m pretending like it’s only for 1. Hopefully, starting next week, I’ll be able to read/write more frequently again. Hopefully? :) Anyway, I hope you enjoy the fics I liked “this week”. As always, please please send me suggestions if you have some ^^ Also this list is like 75% Nuri and Meg and I’m only half sorry for it. Also! This time I tried to link tumblrs as much as I could; pls tell me if you know a tumblr I didn’t link :)

What I Read This Week (7/2-7/9)

The Westchester Samba - FullmetalChords - @phoenixrei - Victor knew a lot of things about his fiancé. He knew that he loved dogs, especially poodles. He knew that he was allergic to dairy and had a special fondness for a Japanese dish called katsudon. He knew that he’d taken dance lessons when he was young, and that he’d thought of going pro before realizing that art theft was a lot more lucrative. He knew every mole, every scar, every stretch mark on his body, and had spent considerable time learning and worshipping each one. He knew his fears, and he knew his dreams. He did not, however, know his name. (My review: Probs my fave story in Meg’s thief au tbh)

patellofemoral pain syndrome (Ch. 1-2) - seventhstar - @pencilwalla - It’s just…does Viktor not get bored with doing it the same way every night? Doesn’t he want to spice things up? Is Yuuri being unreasonable? He’s pretty sure that if Viktor told him his performance in bed was unsatisfying his soul would flee his body for a more merciful plane of existence, but…Viktor is thicker-skinned than he is. And so here they are. Viktor’s bed is wide and soft, and Yuuri is lying there with wet hair and ratty boxers while Viktor absently trails kisses over his shoulder. It’s nice. It’s soft. It’s good. Viktor’s headboard is enormous and Yuuri keeps thinking about Viktor’s wrists bound to it, black rope over white skin. Fuck. He should say something. (My review: Nuri’s arthritis porn is A+++ everyone needs to read it okay?)

even sinners have hearts (Ch. 1-2) - seventhstar - @pencilwalla​ - Alexei Ivanov is watching Yuuri as he lifts the cup to his mouth. His lips part to drink; Yuuri has never wanted to be a mouthful of sake more. I have to kill him, Yuuri thinks, and he stands up and announces to the room the time and place of the tour he’s giving tomorrow. Or, the one where they're powered criminals in love. (My review: HOOOOOOOO BOY YOU KNOW WHAT I NEED? SOME TELEPATHY MM YES. YES. WRECK THEM NURI I MEAN YUURI)

Eros, and Other Love Stories - FullmetalChords - @phoenixrei - Eros. Yuuri understands it in theory, of course. He’s seen what must be hundreds of movies about the very topic, but never really understood them. Never understood why the protagonists of these films make such fools of themselves for sex, or why they fall head over heels in love with the first pretty face they see. He nods and smiles and sighs along with the rest of them… but he’s never related to those characters’ struggles. Not even a little. What is wrong with him?- - A character study of Japan's ace, Katsuki Yuuri. (My review: I sitll haven’t commented on this because I’m 8.2 million years behind on everything but w o w Meg’s ace!Yuuri blew me away. Unbelievable)

The Triple Lutz Job (Ch. 1-4) - FullmetalChords - @phoenixrei​ - Backed by the world's foremost hackers, grifters, and thieves, Victor Nikiforov works the other side of the law to fight against injustice on behalf of the underprivileged. When a woman asks for his help in retrieving stolen government data, Victor and his team infiltrate a local figure skating competition in order to take down a corrupt CEO. But beneath the ice's frigid beauty lurk many perilous secrets that may be more than even the world's greatest thieves can handle. (My review: IT’S ABOUT FSAJKFSING TIME I READ THIS MEG I’M DYING MEG’S OTABEK IS BEST OTABEK.)

Twice The Love For Yuuri - smutinator - @smutinator​ - Yuuri and Viktor go camping and end up having a three-way with Viktor's fairy doppelganger. (My review: Look, I always need more vyv. We all know that. Very well written and A+.)

Six Hours Ahead (Ch. 6-10) - alipiee - @alipiee​ - (In which Yuuri unknowingly befriends Viktor online and gushes to him about the living legend himself) (My review: Another story I was 50 years behind on. I love this super sweet au, and I live for Niki and Yuuri. It’s very cute and ccan’t wait for more)

never tasted rubies - ebenroot - @ebenroot​ - Phichit puts up a poll on the radio website. It reads ‘What Do U Think About Yuuri K. from Hasetsu Nights and the Mysterious Caller Victor?’ Seventy-five percent of listeners said ‘lol they should just f*ck already tbh’. -- in which Yuuri is an unwilling radio host and Victor won't stop calling in to chat with him (My review: I feel like I might hvae read this one before but ??? it’s???? so good??? Definitely a favorite in the fandom)

(Don't Stop) 'Til You Knock On My Door - FullmetalChords - @phoenixrei - “And…” Victor wets his lips. “You… want this?” A sly smile spreads across Yuuri’s face. “I want,” Yuuri says, putting his hands on Victor’s hips as he pulls him closer, “to give you what you need.” He brushes his thumbs over Victor’s hip bones. “Will you tell me what you need now?” -- Yuuri is ace. Victor is not. They both find a way to get what they need from each other. (My review: Ace!Yuuri feat. Viktor getting no control in his life for once because he fucking needs that sometimes. God, Meg killed me. Again.)

While you were sleeping - Chessala - @chessala - In which Yuuri falls into a Coma after saving Viktor's life and Viktor is having a hard time dealing with it. (My review: I shouldn’t have any room to say “this is so sad” with me also writing a mcd this week but also how dare you i loved it)

Reptiles - KasumiChou - @kasumi-chou - Yuri was over JJ spamming him pictures of his snakes. Snakes were not cool. No. Nope. Cats were one hundred times better. And then he finds out how hot Otabek looks with a snake around his neck. (My review: So I’m def super behind on Kas’s Twitter au, but she did this thing with snakes and I needed more. This is my fault. <3 u kas. I loved it)

The Virtue of Sin (Ch. 1) - DefiantDreams - @gia-comeatme - When Yuuri comes home to 7 demons, each embodying the 7 Deadly Sins, it’s honestly the least of his worries.Surprisingly, they help him get back on his feet, succeed in his career and get the man of his dreams.(But, as with anything, there is a price.) (My review: so I saw essa reblog this prompt and was immediately excited because a) i love essa and b) the prompt looked great and she did not let me down, excited for more!!) 

How You Turned My World, You Precious Thing - cuttlemefish - @cuttlemefishwrites - Labyrinth-inspired (1986) AU. When Viktor’s sister dies in a car crash, he’s left to take care of his one-year-old nephew Yuri, despite barely knowing how to take care of himself. It’s too bad Viktor has accidentally wished Yuri away to the Goblin King, whose killer eye-shadow game and glitter storms are nothing compared to the Labyrinth protecting his castle. Now, Viktor has 13 hours to get Yuri back or he risks losing him forever to the Goblin King, who also has 13 hours to convince Viktor that forever is not long at all. (My review: the labyrinth au i didn’t know I needed until z started to write it - feat. baby yurio, goblin king yuuri, and clueless viktor who is definitely at fault for this)

What I Wrote This Week (7/2-7/9)

never stop remembering him - “The flight from Sheremetyevo Airport in Moscow to Fukoka has gone down,” The loudspeaker was saying, and Viktor wished the ringing would return. “We have no word yet on the passengers or crew, but it is reported that an engine went out and couldn’t be recovered, and the plane crash landed. As we get more information on the flight, it will be reported. For now – “ They began to talk about other delays, but Viktor didn’t bother to listen, his heart feeling numb. He just had to remember to breathe. (Or: Yuuri dies after Rostelecom and what can Viktor do?)