#sas goldberg

[jgroffdaily]

Photos from the screening of ‘A Nice Indian Boy’ at NewFest from VBA Designs, The Karpel Group and Julia Maddox on Threads. Instagram story and post-screening review from Isaac Oliver.

[bob-the-movie-man-film-reviews]

A Nice Indian Boy ('12'): A Gay version of "What's Love Got To Do With It?"

One Mann's Movies Film Review of "A Nice Indian Boy". A terrific gay rom-com that is both funny and moving. 4/5.

A One Mann’s Movies review of “A Nice Indian Boy” (2024) (From the 2024 London Film Festival). You know the films at the LFF that go down well. Those that don’t fly get stony silence and the audience simply file out. Those that do fly get a round of applause. This, I’ve found, to be relatively rare and varying in volume depending on the love. “A Nice Indian Boy” – getting its International…

[chrisnaustin]

If only I were she!

[realbeefman]

like YEAH OF COURSE THIS SPECIFIC CHARACTER HAS A TRAUMATIC BACKSTORY LIKE THIS. (long rant under readmore)

FUCK THE SHOW FOR TRYING TO MAKE IT ALL ABOUT HIS MOMMY ISSUES WHEN THE ISSUE IS THAT THE ONLY PEOPLE WHO PAID ATTENTION TO HIM AT A FORMATIVE AGE WANTED TO HURT HIM/ DID HURT HIM AND TREATED HIM AS A SICKO WHO NEEDED TO BE CORRECTED. because every time he tried to engage in normal age appropriate behavior it got punished!

flirt with a girl in school and she tries to hurt you and now everyone is acting like there’s something wrong with you for not wanting it. and you get taken away from your parents and bounced between abusive foster homes because they don’t care about you either! and then get taken in by a much older man at 13 and begin to trust him until he decides you’re disrespectful, that you’ve been flirting on the job, that you need to be corrected, and you get locked in a cage underground for months and there’s nobody who bothers to look for you! and he won’t let you out till you’re respectful, till you’re a man, till you open doors for little old ladies and become this idea of chivalry he’s become obsessed with from his own books and you plead and plead to be let out and swear that you’ll listen and do better and please let me out but he won’t let you leave

until you believe that you really do deserve to be in there. until you’re lying in the dark with don quixote and gatsby and jane eyre all swirling together in your head and you start to think that maybe all this suffering means something, is leading you towards something, someone, and suddenly you don’t want to get out because you deserve to, because you want to. you want to get out for her.

so you externalize any sort of kindness or affection you can show yourSELF, to her, to you, make your life about her because life has reinforced time and time again that you, joe goldberg, don’t matter. that having your own wants and needs means nothing, that all your screaming and begging and crying does not get you out of that cage, but that you, who is Her, who is beck, or candace, or love, or ryce, or any other person you see the person you aren’t allowed to love in, anybody who smiles and quips and grew up too poor, any fractional piece of your own history reflected back in friendly eyes. is everything. is the only thing. and you love her. you do love you, in the disconnected twisted way you’ve learned to do it.

but she is not you, and can never measure up to the impossible standards and ideals held within yourself, to the sort of neediness and clinginess and embarassing obsessive savior fantasies you spent all those hours in the dark cultivating, worshipping, wishing that someone had come along and saved you when it mattered, princessinthetower, and when they fail to measure up, are a person in their own right just like you, you get angry. how dare i want something. how dare i want friendship, romance, love. anything. and the cage is dragged everywhere with you now because you cannot accept the simple reality that you, joe goldberg, are out. that you no longer need saving or fixing. that the only one who can help you is yourself.

reading the You books literally FIVE years after first watching that show and having my extremely hyperspecific headcanon about joe goldberg’s childhood trauma confirmed almost word for word was literally such an indescribable high. like sad and upsetting but also fuck EVERYBODY who ever called me weird i am THE number one joe goldberg understander of ALL FUCKING TIME

[witlesswitnesstm]

Ok so I haven’t posted anything about this before, but I feel as though I have to now because this obsession is taking over my life.

The Marvin Trilogy: My Speculations about Marvin’s sexual trauma

(Surprisingly, I’ve seen almost no one talk about this)

Cw: Pedophila, SA, mention of suicidality

For this, I am taking from both the 1979 album and the 1985 rewrite of In Trousers.

So, the elephant in the room: Set those sails. When I first watched the Trinity College production, the entire song gave me a sense of unease unlike anything else. There’s this whole depiction of Mrs. Goldberg stripping in front of Marvin, a 14 year old, and then Marvin backing away and watching all of the ladies sing. I want to note here how Marvin doesn’t sing in this at all. Then the song ends, and Mrs. Goldberg claims the entire song was a highschool fantasy by Marvin. See, I don’t doubt that parts of it were definitely made up, but I think Mrs. Goldberg coming onto Marvin was not. To me, Set those sails is Marvin’s interpretation of his teacher’s assault. He’s trying to justify his uncomfortableness by imagining this scenario is a sort of “wake up call” to manhood. One of the lines is “You might tell me you’re a victim, you might get what you deserve.” Which, in my opinion, is near damning evidence to suggest that Mrs. Goldberg groomed/abused Marvin in some way. She says that she can’t excuse a boy who’s lost his nerve, which seems to me like her encouraging Marvin’s perception of masculinity, and saying that he needs to reciprocate her affection to be a man. There are further references to how a good man never fails or how men account for the appetite of all, that could be him trying to tell himself he should’ve enjoyed it. A “good man” in Marvin eyes, is someone who has incredible resolve to his heterosexuality, and always lusts for women. What better a way to prove that than to pretend he enjoyed being assaulted?

Next, I want to note the differences between Set those sails and the R—- of Mrs. Goldberg. The r of Mrs. Goldberg is incredibly childish, and it’s clearly stated at the beginning that it’s a fantasy by Marvin. In this song, Marvin has the control. He’s the hero who takes Mrs. Goldberg instead of the other way around. He has no clear understanding of what sex actually is, and just wants the absolute power that is implied with it. I personally like the interpretation that Marvin made fantasies of having control to cope with being assaulted. I also like the interpretation that this song is a story he made up to tell others in order to “prove” his heterosexuality. As I briefly mentioned earlier, the behavior of Marvin between the 2 songs is also very stark. In set those sails, Marvin actively tries to get away from Mrs. Goldberg and stays absolutely silent. This is extremely uncharacteristic of Marvin, especially at this age. He always acts out, he always yells, except for this song. This deeply contrasts the R of Mrs. Goldberg, where Marvin is loud and happy, as usual. I take this to mean that Set those sails is one of the few moments where he is truly paralyzed.

There are a few references to Mrs. Goldberg’s misconduct in Highschool sweetheart as well, even if they are a stretch. Marvin says “She gives me words to say” and while this is obviously a reference to the script, it might also be her telling Marvin to lie about what happened. There’s also Mrs. Goldberg saying “Stop making me crazy, Marvin. I love the way Marvin acts, I do.” which is obviously about his unruly behavior, but might also be about her sexual feelings towards him.

As for how this ties into the main theme of misogyny, misogyny affects all. The idea that women are docile and innocent, and men are sex crazed is a product of misogyny. Marvin holding this belief actively hurts him over and over again, blaming himself for not living up to this standard. I truly have no idea if this is what William Finn intended, but I find it interesting how it all fits.

Moving on from childhood, let’s talk about Nausea before the game. Besides probably being my favorite song in the whole show, it gives a whole lot of insight as to how Marvin feels about sex now that he’s presumably experienced it. The constant references to games are important here, I feel like. Marvin absolutely loves winning. He even says that winning is everything to him in The Chess Game. Marvin would do anything to win, including forcing himself through intercourse he desperately does not want to have. It’s implied that he literally throws up afterwards, trying to purge himself of his shame. He even prays for it to stop, but inevitably, it never does. And of course this all stems from his internalized homophobia, and the added layer of possibly being assaulted as a child just makes the entire situation even more tragic. Having sex with Trina could *literally* be bringing back traumatic experiences. This also makes me feel for Trina, because she did nothing wrong. She just wants love, but Marvin is so fucked up. There’s also even more references to being inappropriately touched in highschool with the line “It's anxiety when you recall girls who touch you when you're walking down the hall.”

My chance to survive the night just further elaborates how much Marvin hates being heterosexual. I find the word “survive” to be very peculiar in this case. It went from “winning” sex to “surviving” it. This might imply how worn out he is because of all of this, focusing his attention to his literal survival than his pride. It might also imply suicidal thoughts during sex, leading to him just wanting to live through it, although that might be a stretch. (Marvin’s suicidality is a whole other can of worms that I’d love to get into in another post). One thing though, I don’t actually know if My chance to survive the night is before or after Nausea before the game, but it has a similar implication either way. Anyway, there’s one verse in the song I want to note. Marvin says sex as a dance, but he describes all the movements very objectively, and notes how he isn’t very lucid about it. This might be a sign of disassociation, which is a common trauma response. Another thing from this song is that he says he wants to sleep, but the phone will ring (Presumably a call to intimacy). And this theme of wanting to sleep but not being able to is a theme throughout the whole musical. There’s a reference to it in Nausea before the game with “If I touch her would she let me fall asleep?”, and many references in “I can’t sleep”, but I think that song is more about how Marvin’s ex lovers haunt him in general.

Next up, I want to talk about Your lips and me reprise. This really digs into the whole “Marvin’s ex lovers are haunting him” deal. This is the first time we really see Marvin actually acknowledge the ladies’ accompaniment for his songs, and it’s because of his guilt for making up a story about Mrs. Goldberg. I think Marvin thinking about this in one of his most private places, his shower, just shows how much this affected him, even in adulthood. The line “My body is not yours to hold” by Mrs. Goldberg is extremely powerful, and I think it could have multiple meanings. It’s Marvin’s guilt about fantasizing about her, yes, but it could also be him finally accepting that what he and Mrs. Goldberg did wasn’t supposed to happen. The ensuing panic attack is caused by Marvin’s perception of his childhood crashing around him. If anyone has seen lars_orange’s animatic of this song on YouTube, I really love their depiction of Marvin recovering from his panic attack. He thinks about Whizzer, and he breathes. This is where Marvin takes a victory shower starts. He’s not ashamed anymore. (Unrelated, but is it just me or is this song seem like Marvin taking a shower after having sex with Whizzer? It’s referenced in How America got its name that Columbus planned to take a shower after he and Amerigo spent so much time together.)

Finally, I want to talk about Another sleepless night. Specifically the 1985 version. This gives a clue into how passionate Whizzer and Marvin are, even before The thrill of first love. There is one key difference in the lyrics from the college production to the actual lyrics. In the actual lyrics, there’s a line, “I’m feeling hot. He'll close his eyes, and then surprise: I'll be awake and performing” but the college production changes it to “He’s feeling hot. I’ll close my eyes, and then surprise: I'll be awake and performing”. The actual lyrics enforce Marvin’s need for homosexual intimacy, which feels very in character for him at this point. He’s craving anything other than heterosexual sex and he finally has that in Whizzer. The college lyrics paint a completely different picture, implying that Whizzer is the one who wants passion. Then Marvin says “He'll wanna sleep, but asks for more. To put up with a guy like myself must be a bore.” This suggests Marvin still feels a sense of guilt for not being able to give what others want from him. These different interpretations bring completely different meanings to the line “But he sleeps in this bed, with me, a survivor.” For the original lyrics, the connotation of “survivor” is positive; he’s survived his trauma and able to move on. For the college production, it’s negative; he still feels fragile or insecure because of what he’s been through. Ultimately it ends semi positively with both versions saying that Marvin’s never felt more alive.

Ok, god damn that was a lot of words. Short story, Marvin is hells of fucked up, and I really really really love the Marvin trilogy

[mostlysignssomeportents]

A year in illustration (2024), Part three

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/07/great-kepplers-ghost/art-adjacent

Part one

Part two

Live Nation/Ticketmaster is buying Congress

I had a lot of fun scouring Victorian woodcuts for cool tentacles to add to this image. The garish concert lights in the background were a fun find – I was halfway through using them when I realized that the image came from my old pal Matt Biddulph, who has many claims to fame, but my favorite is that he once sarcastically called the area in Hackney where some tech startups were clustered "Silicon Roundabout" and then experienced the monkey's paw curse of having the government turn this into an official designation.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/30/nix-fix-the-tix/#something-must-be-done-there-we-did-something

(Image: Matt Biddulph, CC BY-SA 2.0; Flying Logos, CC BY-SA 4.0; modified)

The specific process by which Google enshittified its search

Around April, I realized I needed a visual signifier for "enshittified Google" – I created a cartoon mascot with the head of a poop emoji, colored in the original Google logo colors. I put him into "The Junior Partner Speaks," an old ad for Pacific Woolens and Worsteds, which I've since used several times:

https://craphound.com/images/juniorpartner.jpg

I'm very fond of using the homely old original Google logo as a way to differentiate pre-enshittificatory Google from modern, enshittocene Google.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/24/naming-names/#prabhakar-raghavan

Podcasting "Capitalists Hate Capitalism"

Real Gilded Age corruption-heads will instantly recognize the editorial cartoon image of Boss Tweed as a suited figure with a sack of money for a head; his body language is impeccable, conveying a sneering disregard for decency and others' wellbeing. He works very well inserted into this tapestry of feudal peasants threshing grain.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/18/in-extremis-veritas/#the-winnah

No, "convenience" isn't the problem

It's stupidly, unnecessarily hard to find hi-rez scans of Rube Goldberg cartoons online, but this one is perfect and it was a delight to lovingly crop out all its little details. Throw in Cryteria's HAL 9000 and a Matrix code waterfall and you've got a perfect image of the complex, hostile traps of digital systems.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/12/give-me-convenience/#or-give-me-death

The unexpected upside of global monopoly capitalism

This one's pretty subtle! I mostly just added the monocle, mustache and top-hat to the fallen head of Goliath in Bosse's 17th century engraving of the triumphant David. The planet Earth in David's sling is a NASA image and thus in the public domain.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/10/an-injury-to-one/#is-an-injury-to-all

How to shatter the class solidarity of the ruling class

Goodness, but "canceled" is a tedious cliche. If you must describe someone being ejected from polite society, please consider the far more delightful "defenestrated," not least because the many paintings and etchings of The Defenestration of Prague gives us a lot of public domain visual material to work with when illustrating such events.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/08/money-talks/#bullshit-walks

(Image: KMJ, CC BY-SA 3.0, modified)

General Mills and cheaply bought "dietitians" co-opted the anti-diet movement

The minute I saw this unsourced midcentury commercial illustration of a scientist working in a chem lab, I knew I'd get a lot of mileage out of it; I spent a long flight productively slicing it onto layers so that I could replace his head and put arbitrary objects in his flask:

https://craphound.com/images/labflask.jpg

I've used him before, but putting the Trix rabbit's head on him and sticking a box of Cocoa Puffs in the flask worked great.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/05/corrupt-for-cocoa-puffs/#flood-the-zone-with-shit

Too big to care

I spent the whole flight to SXSW last year slicing up a super hi-rez (10,000px wide!) image of Hieronymus Bosch's "Garden of Earthly Delights," slicing out individual demons, with special attention to the hoof-footed, anus-baring demon in a hat with a whole secret demonic clubhouse in its rectal cavity. At the end of that flight, I had a very funny conversation with my perplexed seatmate, who was dying to know what the actual fuck I was working on.

The background here is made up of desaturated, magnified brushstrokes from Van Gogh's "Starry Night."

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/04/teach-me-how-to-shruggie/#kagi

Red Lobster was killed by private equity, not Endless Shrimp

I inserted a rogue's gallery of "evil boss types" from various editorial cartoons into this vintage Red Lobster ad, including Boss Tweed, an impatient guy from a midcentury John Falter commercial illustration, possibly for a radio station (?) and a William Gropper sketch for a cartoon making fun of the business lobby's opposition to the New Deal.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/23/spineless/#invertebrates

You were promised a jetpack by liars

The newsie with the great grin makes a reappearance in this one, beneath a jetpack flyer taken from a 1928 Amazing Stories cover by R Frank Paul. The control panel is one of several midcentury electronics consoles I've spent idle hours cropping out (this one comes from a Schlitz ad depicting a HAM radio enthusiast). The hypnotic head is from the October, 1953 cover of Doll-Man, likely by Reed Crandall. I started playing around with halftoning with this one, on the background, as a way of hiding the JPEG artifacts that emerged when I uprezzed small source images. It worked really well.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/17/fake-it-until-you-dont-make-it/#twenty-one-seconds

AI "art" and uncanniness

I was so happy with how the extra fingers on this Victorian woodcut of a hand on a Oujia board planchette came out. And the green tinting worked perfectly with the Code Waterfall background.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/13/spooky-action-at-a-close-up/#invisible-hand

Part four

[sarahowritesostucky]

Art in banner is by @hopelessartgeek, who makes a ton of amazing Stucky art!

📖 "Medically Necessitated" Ch 1

Rated: Explicit Pairing: Bucky x Steve Tags: a/b/o, age gap, past rape, rape recovery, trauma recovery, pregnancy, medical trauma, hurt/comfort, mentions of CSA, religious fundamentalism, first time, gender dysphoria, male omegas are intersex (peen & vagine) Summary: After a medical emergency brings him into the ER, Bucky escapes the religious cult he's been raised in. It's up to Steve, nurse practitioner and omega sex & repro specialist, to see him through a medically supervised heat.

1. Jori

Steve meets Bucky under less than ideal circumstances.

T.W. This fic contains occasional mentions of Steve's patients, who deal with issues of csa, sa, abortion, ptsd, and other traumas. Bucky is in the immediate aftermath of a rape at the story's start.

Steve hates sedating patients for procedures, but unfortunately in his line of work it’s often necessary. The only thing worse than when he has to sedate patients, is when he wishes he could sedate a patient, but for some medical reason he can’t. Like now.

“Shhh,” he soothes, petting over his patient’s leg when he feels her starting to tremble again. She’s laying back on the table, legs spread under the privacy blanket he’s given her. Steve settles his gloved hand in the crease where her thigh meets her hip, digs his thumb purposefully into the flesh of her lower belly from over the fabric of her pink hospital gown. There’s a tertiary gland in the low belly/upper mons that is the first of the omega sex glands to develop. And when stimulated properly, it can help to calm them down.

Unfortunately for Steve’s patient, hers won’t be fully developed for a few more years yet. He tries to get at it with his thumb anyway, hoping that if he can just graze it, it might help keep the girl calm until the procedure they’re doing is finished. He’s got her on the highest dosage of lorazepam allowed for a patient her age, but she’s still conscious and there’s nothing he can do for that other than comfort her verbally, using his alpha Voice that, in any other context, would be utterly inappropriate. “You’re doing so good,” he whispers.

Jori blinks her sleepy eyes up at him, another sluggish tear falling down her face. “Is it almost over, Mr. Steve?”

Steve takes a quick look at the machine’s readings, then forces a pained smile for her. “Yeah, Honey. Only a few minutes left. I’m so proud of you, you know that? You’re my best patient ever. Being so brave. Just a little longer here and then we’ll be finished."

They’re in the pediatric exam room, where the walls are painted in cheerful colors and the gynecological equipment is disguised to try and make it less intimidating. Steve likes his job as an omega sexual and reproductive healthcare practitioner, but there are some cases, and some elements, that he really, really wishes didn’t exist. Marjorie Goldberg and this exam room are two of them.

Seeding machines should not come with pediatric-sized attachments.

“Is she okay?” Mrs. Goldberg asks urgently, shooting up from her seat as soon as Steve steps out into the waiting area. Clint is sitting next to her, his OmCare badge clipped onto his jacket, and he stands when she does. Steve takes a deep breath and walks over.

“Marjorie is okay,” he tells her. “She shouldn’t need any more treatments after this one. She’ll need to be on medication for the foreseeable future, though. She needs to get into an intensive therapy program as soon as possible. We’re sending that information to her DCFS caseworker. I’m also recommending monthly checkups back here or at a licensed clinic for at least the next six months.”

“For more of this?!” Mrs. Goldberg takes an angry step forward.

“No. Just to check her levels and monitor her progress,” Steve says, tone clipped. “Nothing invasive, just blood tests and external ultrasounds to make sure everything’s okay.” His eyes flick to Clint, who is watching the woman like a hawk.

Clint is one of the OmegaCare social workers employed by the hospital. He’s there because the Goldbergs don’t currently have custody of their daughter, and it’s been a very … testy situation, with all parties involved.

Mrs. Goldberg is insisting on being as present as she’s legally allowed to be, not missing any appointments, lingering in the waiting room each time poor little Jori has to endure a treatment. She’s not allowed to see Marjory without supervision, and she isn't currently the one in charge of her daughter's medical care, but she's asserted her right to stay informed about it all, and since Steve is temporarily the senior N.P. on the pediatric omega GYN ward, that means it's his side she's a thorn in.

Mr. Goldberg is the reason the treatments have been necessary. He’s in prison now.

“You couldn’t even let me in there to hold her hand!” Mrs. Goldberg is saying, voice raised in anger.

Steve looks her dead in the face. He’s got little to no sympathy for this woman. “That’s not up to me, Mrs. Goldberg. You know that. DCFS is evaluating the nature of your relationship with your daug—”

“She needs me!” Mrs. Goldberg yells, outraged, though obviously on the verge of tears, too. “I’m her mother, for Christ’s sake!”

“And he was her father,” Steve bursts out, unable to contain himself anymore. “And we all know why I just had to be in there, therapeutically inseminating his seven year old daughter!”

Mrs. Goldberg stands there, red-faced and quietly crying. Steve feels near-instant regret hit him when Clint shoots him a what the fuck, man?! look from over the lady's shoulder. Steve swallows guiltily. That’s the kind of reaction that gets you administrative leave, if the client makes a big enough stink about it. By the sound of her pitiful crying though, Mrs. Goldberg is just feeling guilt and misery, hopefully not thinking about taking action against an NP who has just—very loudly and unprofessionally—yelled at her. Steve is supposed to be able to keep his shit together better than this. But then again, this isn’t really his wheelhouse.

He specializes in trauma cases, but the kids usually fall to his colleague, Dr. Connors. Steve is one of only a few staff who are qualified enough to cover most of Connors’ caseload while the man is out on maternity leave. Steve’s happy for the guy, sure—he’s just given birth to two healthy pups after a difficult pregnancy. But Steve’s starting to lose sleep (what little he gets to begin with, these days) to the nature of the work. He’s not cut out for the kids.

He clears his throat and mutters an apology to Mrs. Goldberg, looking at his clipboard rather than her wet face. “Marjorie’s still recovering from the sedation we gave her.” They’d tried for stronger drugs at first, aiming for full or at least twilight sedation, but the little girl had had such violent seizures that it was rendered impossible. “It’ll be another half hour or so until she’s ready to go back to her foster home.”

Mrs. Goldberg sniffles. “She’s alone now?”

“She’s with a nurse,” Steve says. He looks at Clint, nods, then turns to get away from the situation.

“Doctor Rogers!” the woman calls out, her voice all water-logged and choked.

Steve stops walking with a sigh. He doesn’t much bother with correcting people on the 'Doctor' thing anymore, finding it to be a waste of breath. “What?” he says curtly, not turning back around to face her.

“I didn’t know.” Her voice is pleading, tearful and urgent. Maybe she wants him to believe her or feel sorry for her or something. Maybe she just needs somebody to tell her that it’s not her fault. “I swear I never knew what he was doing to her. Not for sure. I swear.”

Steve’s hands tighten on his clipboard so hard that he feels it creak. “Right,” he grits out, forcing himself to continue walking away. “‘Not for sure’.”

Steve leans over the countertop of the nurse’s station and hands Sam a stack of charts. “Four and seven discharged. Five and six were admitted. Still waiting on the attending for eight.”

Sam nods, more bug-eyed than usual. He’s on his fifth coffee now. He takes the charts and starts putting them away. “Kay kay kay.”

“No more coffee,” Steve warns him, and Sam scowls.

“I’m fine.”

“Mmhm.” This is the tail end of the second shift for both of them. Sam’s a nurse on the om-psych ward, and given that Steve handles almost exclusively trauma cases for om-obgyn, he and Sam’s cases tend to intersect a lot. They both also draw the ire of their department managers pretty frequently, so they’re often sentenced to either clinic duty or shifts in the ER together. That’s how they became such good friends, and it’s where they are now.

“How was the shift on pediatrics?” Sam asks, though he sounds like he can already guess the answer. Steve’s been in a foul mood ever since he switched to his ER scrubs and clocked in.

“Awful,” he grunts. “I can’t keep doing the kids. It’s killing my soul. I’m going to my unit head tomorrow and telling her,” he decides. “She can’t force me to do it. I’ll tell HR it’s a mental health issue.”

Sam laughs. “Then they’ll send you my way. I’ll recommend shock therapy.”

“I’d take it over what I had to deal with today.” Steve gives him a brief recap of the Goldberg situation, and Sam loses all his humor.

“Shit, man.”

“Yeah.” Steve can’t say he isn’t really, really grateful to be alpha sometimes. Or at least grateful that he’s not omega. If anybody drew the short straw in life, it certainly seemed to be them. The fact that a grown man could rape his own daughter was bad enough, but then add to that the fact that because the girl was omega and her father alpha, she’d been forced into pre-pubertal heat too, her little body confused and trying to do what it thought it was supposed to do—to the detriment of her health in every way possible.

Steve sighs as he thinks about the abortion he’d had to perform on her. That kid was going to be on meds and in treatment centers for months, maybe years. Probably in therapy for the rest of her goddamn life. “I told them I’d be happy to testify at the guy’s trial,” he tells Sam. “In a medical capacity, if they needed it.”

Sam scoffs. “You are well spoken.”

“Very fucking eloquent.” Steve knows he needs to stop talking about this. It’s keeping him in a foul mood. He runs his hands through his hair. “Ugh, Sam. Distract me. Give me something to do.”

“Like what? Oh, hang on.” He leans over to the computer, clicking the mouse a few times as he navigates the screen. “Dispatch called in a code blue. Adolescent male, nonresponsive. They were doing chest compressions when the call came in.”

“When?”

“About ten minutes ago. So they should be here soon.”

Just as he says it, the doors to the ambulance bay bust open and several paramedics come wheeling in a gurney. Steve goes over to assess. The lead paramedic begins rattling off info to Steve as they move the gurney over to a bed: Adolescent male omega, presented with fever and respiratory distress. Pulse is thready, BP eighty over sixty.

The smell gets Steve right away, and an even stronger waft hits the air when they transfer over to the bed. The omega reeks of heat, but it’s sour and unhealthy smelling—unfulfilled, infected. Besides being inherently unpleasant, Steve’s body is responding to it, his dumb dick perking up like it thinks it can be a hero and help the situation. He tells the nurses to grab him blockers, and the new beta intern gets shoved in the direction of the supply cage.

Steve begins barking out orders. "Okay let’s get a line in him. I want a blood draw, full tox screen. Why isn’t he on oxygen yet? —Paxton! get the fuck off your phone. What the hell, man?”

“Sorry!" the intern says as she returns from her run to the supply cage, wringing her hands and just generally looking terrified of Steve’s ire. “We’re out of dermals.”

Steve ignores her, too busy rattling off IV meds and doses to the nurses. He'll have to wait until he can raid another cage for a transdermal patch to shut his dumb dick it up. He tells the intern to prep the crash cart, just to give her something to do. The boy on the stretcher looks to be in his late teens. He’s wearing jeans and a tee shirt that’s already been cut open. The nurses pull the scraps of it off him while Steve re-checks his vitals. When he shines his penlight in the kid’s eyes, he regains consciousness. He starts to struggle, afraid.

“Hey there,” Steve says, talking in his 'Nothing’s Wrong Here, Folks™️ voice to try and keep the kid from panicking. “I’m Steve, I’m an NP at Mercy General. You’re in the hospital. Can you tell me what you remember?”

“No family came with us,” the medic murmurs in Steve’s other ear. “Call came from a private residence. It was crowded but nobody wanted anything to do with us. They shoved him at us and told us to leave.”

Steve nods. That means it’s likely a drug situation. “What’s your name, Honey?” he asks the kid.

The kid blinks, still confused. “Bucky,” he says, “What happn’d?” He sounds bleary, like he might fade out of consciousness again.

Steve barks at one of the nurses to get him hooked up to the monitoring equipment. “That’s what we’re going to figure out,” he tells the kid kindly. “Bucky, can you remember if you took anything today? Any medicines or other substances?” He watches as the kid’s blown pupils flick around. The scent of frightened omega gets worse and Steve fights not to wrinkle his nose. One of the nurses relays the kid’s high temperature and pulse, his low blood pressure.

Two seconds later, he starts seizing. Steve holds his head steady while one of the nurses shoves a plastic guard between his teeth. They turn him on his side and the smell of urine hits Steve’s nose. As he’s holding the boy still, he puts his face near his neck and gets a better sense of his scent. What he smells makes his own heart rate tick up in alarm. The seizure passes and Steve tells the nurse to cut his remaining clothes off. Bucky’s barely conscious, emitting a low keening sound when Steve looks between his legs. “Fuck,” he curses.

There’s rampant infection, the fact that Steve can tell without even doing an exam is worse than alarming. He tells them to prep heavy duty antibiotics. “I need to do an internal,” he says. With the infection as horrible as it looks, there’s no way he’ll be able to touch the kid while he’s conscious. “Knock him out. And get a rape kit.”

They get him stabilized, on antibiotics and anti-seizure medication. Steve locates a blocker patch in one of the other supply cages to slap on himself before he heads in to do an internal exam on the unconscious omega. He finds impacted slick glands and prostate gland that are so enlarged and inflamed that Steve’s kind of amazed they haven’t ruptured. An ultrasound reveals an illegal IUD. Steve removes it. The boy’s hymen is obviously newly torn, and there are signs of recent tying. He's been raped by at least one alpha—violently, if the bruising is anything to go by. They swab what Steve would bet are foreign fluids from both his stomach and genitals. Steve meets with two cops and a social worker from OmCare, hands the rape kit over and tells them his findings. “Let me know if you contact any family,” he says.

So far, it seems like this boy has no one.

They admit him under “Bucky”, using his designation and admittance number (ꭥ-47202) in lieu of his unknown last name. Since he’s stabilized and since his medical problems seem to mostly be between his legs, he’s moved up to Om-obgyn Inpatient and officially put under Steve’s care. Steve is able to snag his department head and beg her to pull him from all pediatrics cases. She agrees, but makes the call that Bucky should remain on the adult wing. So he’s still Steve’s patient.

In his current state, Steve can’t do anybody much good for much longer. He’s nearing nineteen hours on shift, and even with the aid of several espressos, he doesn’t have much steam left in his body. He knows he could go home, but his next shift is scheduled for eight hours from then, and he really wants to be there when the kid wakes up. So rather than go home, he grabs an empty bed and crashes.

When he wakes, he checks the time on his phone and inhales deeply. At least he got a good six hours. He heads to the nurse’s station and gives the charts for their hall a lookover, then goes to the room where they’ve put the male omega from the night before: Bucky.

His eyes are closed when Steve walks in. Steve tilts his head, taking in the boy's features. He looks better now, more stable, less pale. And he smells better, which gives Steve a hint that the antibiotics are already helping. The notes on Bucky’s chart from the overnight nurse have him nodding in vague approval as he reads. “Okay,” he says quietly to himself. “Good.” Not good good, but much better compared to the state he’d been in last night.

When Steve looks up again, the boy is watching him.

Steve smiles gently. “Hey there. You’re awake.” He walks over to the bedside. The boy struggles to push himself up and Steve halts him, showing him how to instead use the controls on the bed rail to come up to sitting. “Don’t want to overexert yourself,” he says kindly. He pulls up a chair to the bedside and sits on it. “I’m Steve,” he says. He’s long avoided using his last name with patients because they always wind up calling him “Doctor Rogers,” and Steve isn’t an MD and it just gets awkward after awhile. “You’re in the hospital. You were brought into the ER late last night. This is the omega ob-gyn ward you’re in now, and I’m going to be your attending.”

“Attending?” the boy says, voice craggy and dry. He winces and puts a hand to his throat.

“It means I’ll be looking after you,” Steve clarifies. He gets up and goes to fill a cup of water.

“I’m Bucky,” the boy says. “You’re a doctor?”

Steve returns to his bedside and hands the cup over. Bucky takes it. “Small sips,” Steve warns. “I’m a nurse practitioner. In New York we can do just about everything the docs do. But like I said, you can feel free to call me Steve.”

Bucky nods, no affect to him. He seems almost resigned, Steve thinks. He hasn’t asked about any loved ones and Steve hasn’t missed that either. “What happened?” he asks.

“Well I was hoping you could tell me that,” Steve says, purposefully keeping his demeanor non-confrontational. “You’re sick. You have some infections going on. And you were in very bad shape when they brought you into the ER. You had a seizure.”

Bucky’s eyes widen. “I did?”

“Mmhm.” Steve leans forward a little and asks, “What do you remember happening yesterday, Bucky?”

This is where the omega goes still and clams up. He refuses to give an account of anything, saying that he has no memory of the previous day. Steve is trained in how to interact with assault and trauma survivors, but he doesn’t make any headway with the boy. Bucky clearly believes that being open and honest with strangers will put either him, someone he loves, or someone with authority over him, in trouble.

Steve backs off, hands him a room service menu so he can order something cool for his throat, then goes to page Sam.

When Sam comes out after spending almost an hour with the kid, Steve straightens up from where he’s been loitering at the nurse’s station. “What’d he say?”

Sam blows air through his lips. “It’s a doozy.” He tips his head down the hallway. “Walk with me. I’ll tell you over my next espresso.”

Turns out, Bucky has been living in an isolated religious sect that doesn’t believe in, among other things, male omegas’ reproductive rights. More precisely, they pretty much just don’t believe that male omegas should exist, think that they’re an ‘abomination unto the Lord’, or something like that. Steve looks up the Wikipedia page on their group, and is neither pleased nor particularly shocked at what he learns.

Short of murder, they espouse beliefs and practices that do everything possible to stop male O's from existing. They try to prevent nature from taking its course on the limited number of male O's born in their group, forcing them to live instead as regular beta males via a combination of drugs, surgeries, and social pressure. They call themselves the Children-of-God’s-Kingdom.

Steve’s heard of them before, but he’s never had anyone like that come through his ward. “Oh man,” he says, when Sam rattles off the things Bucky's told him. “So, a cult. You’re telling me he’s in a cult.”

“He doesn’t even know who his real parents are,” Sam says gravely. “They live communally. All the wacko parents sign custody of their kids over to their grand poobah.”

Steve scowls, feeling outrage for what’s been done to this poor kid in the name of religion. “Well they managed to almost kill him,” he snaps quietly, mindful of where they’re standing. “And it's almost a guarantee that he’s been sexually assaulted. We ran a rape kit last night.”

Sam doesn’t look surprised, just mad and caffeinated. Steve asks him if he got an age out of the boy, and Sam tells him regretfully, “Eighteen.”

“Fuck.” Steve shakes his head. Omegas don't reach their majority until nineteen. “We’ve gotta report it to social services before somebody from the cult shows up trying to claim him. Trust me: one look at his charts and OmCare will take custody.”

Sam nods. “He also said there’s an IUD inside him and hormonal suppressants implanted.”

“Yeah we got the IUD out. I’ll get the implant out today. Which arm?”

“You’d have to ask him.”

Steve nods tersely, wondering if the poor kid got to have any say over the things his so called ‘family’ did to his body over the years. Likely not. As a physician who is very well educated on the considerable risks, Steve has always heavily discouraged his omega patients from trying to use drugs and devices to suppress their natural cycles. But, much like many other unhealthy choices, birth control and suppressants aren’t technically illegal for omegas over the age of twenty one.

But Bucky is only eighteen, just now entering the ripest years of an omega’s reproductive life. Steve grits his teeth when he thinks of what further damage might’ve been done to this poor kid, had he remained in that cult for any longer. “I’m gonna go check in with him,” he says, taking a step in the direction of Bucky’s room.

Sam stops him with a touch to his arm to let him know, “He seems honest enough, but he’s anxious not to get anybody from his group in trouble. He wouldn’t name names. And you can bet he’s gonna be all kinds of warped about his designation, being raised like that. Tread carefully.”

Steve nods, angry. No doubt the kid’s been told his whole life how he’s an affront to God, has ‘unholy urges’, or some horrible shit like that. “Guess he’ll be up your way before long, then,” he tells Sam, before walking off.

Steve knocks lightly on the doorjamb to make his presence known. “Hey there.”

“Hi.” The omega is sitting propped up in the bed with an extra blanket and pillow now. He’s got water and a half-finished Italian ice cup on the bedside table. Steve notes the almost completely untouched breakfast platter and nods. Kid must be nauseous. He’s looking sheepishly up at Steve as he approaches. “You sent a shrink in.”

Steve pulls the chair back in to sit close to the bed like he had before. “That’s nurse Wilson,” he says. “And yeah, he came to try and get you to feel safer about talking.” The kid—Bucky—nods while looking down at his lap, and Steve asks, “Did it help?”

Bucky shrugs. “He said I don’t have to talk about anything if I don’t want to.”

Steve’s heart clenches as he remembers the rape kit they’d done on him, the torn hymen and the swollen — “That’s right, Honey,” he says. “You don’t.” He puts his hand on the bed, not touching him, just the thin hospital blanket next to his legs. “But I’m hoping you’ll tell me certain things, so that we can get you healthy again.”

Bucky looks very uncomfortable, but to his credit he seems to push through it. “Look, um, Steve?”

Steve nods.

“I heard the nurses talking. About my family.”

Steve straightens up. “Your family?” He’s hopeful he’ll be able to get information about the kid’s abusers, but Bucky disappoints him by saying,

“The ‘Children’ I mean. They’re my family.” He chews his lip and looks down at his knees. “Look, I know … I know it’s not normal, the way we live. I know other people are different, live differently.” Quietly, almost so quiet that Steve doesn’t hear it, he says, “People in the outside world don’t say bad things about us.”

“Who’s ‘us’?” Steve prods gently.

“Omegas,” Bucky whispers. “Boy omegas, anyway.”

Steve hates to see the self-loathing on the kid’s face, hating himself just for how nature made him. “Bucky,” he says carefully. “I want you to know that most people believe that male omegas are perfectly natural and normal. Both female and male omegas are beautiful and important.”

Bucky’s cheeks darken. He’s clearly uncomfortable talking about it. “I know. I’ve run away a couple times, spent time around … around normal people. I've watched tv shows.”

“That’s good, Honey.”

"Yeah. I —" Abruptly, Bucky’s face pales and his eyes get wide. Steve tenses. Bucky leans over and snatches the breakfast tray off the bedside table and gets it in front of his face just in time to barf all over the room service order of scrambled eggs and toast. Steve winces and gets up to help him. When it seems like he’s done retching, Steve takes care of the mess and returns with a couple of the hospital’s barf bags. “Here. Just in case.”

“Thanks. Ugh.” Bucky grimaces. “God. I feel so awful.”

“I know, Sweetheart.” Steve sits forward in his chair. “That’s because you’re sick. I need to ask you some questions to figure out what we’re gonna do to treat you and get you all better, okay?”

“... Okay.”

He tries to smile encouragingly. “Alright. I know it’s hard to talk about, but it’s important you answer honestly so I can help you, okay?” Again, Bucky nods, and Steve asks, “When did you have your first heat?”

Bucky looks mortified—beyond the usual discomfort of a teenager not wanting to talk about their body, or sex. He’s ashamed of himself, Steve realizes. But he manages to answer with a quiet, “Eleven.”

Male omegas tend to go into heat earlier than their female counterparts, their bodies needing more time in estrus to fully mature. Steve nods encouragingly, trying to show Bucky through his open expression that nothing about this should be shameful. “Okay, and how many heats would you say you’ve been able to cycle through naturally without birth control or suppressants?” Steve does some quick mental math: 7 years x 12 months … That’d be close to 84 heats, assuming he's always been regular with his —

“Oh never! Or, I mean ...” Bucky makes a face and corrects himself. “Not since the first one, anyway.” He looks miserably down at the blanket covering his legs, like he’s remembering something awful. “Just that first time,” he repeats quietly.

It’s a terrible answer, and Steve forces himself not to visibly react. He doesn’t want to scare the kid. He notes the information on the chart. “Okay. I removed your IUD last night. Do you know which arm they put your suppressant implant in?”

Bucky nods, pointing to his left bicep.

“We’re gonna take that out today. I’ll give you a local injection to numb everything. It won’t hurt.”

He nods, looking wary of the prospect. “So then I’ll … I’ll get my heats and stuff?”

Steve hums sympathetically and tries to reassure him. “It’ll be fine. You’ll feel a lot better, I promise.” Bucky doesn’t say anything, just keeps looking resigned and dejected. Steve hates it. He imagines the years the poor kid has spent hearing The Children’s vitriol, hearing despicable horror stories about pathetic, desperate, disgusting male omegas in heat, how it’s something to be avoided at all costs. Steve frowns and moves on to the unpleasant part. “So, one thing we did last night that you probably don’t remember, is we collected swabs of fluids and tissue. For evidence, in case somebody had hurt you.” He waits until he can see that Bucky gets what he’s saying. The poor boy’s eyes widen and his lips part and he gets very tense. Steve reaches out to grasp his hand, then adds, “I think somebody did hurt you, and I’d like it if you could tell me so that I can make them pay for what they did.”

Bucky shakes his head, tears breaking from the corners of his eyes. “No. No, I don't want to talk about this.”

Steve’s heart breaks, but he has to press the issue at least a little bit. “Honey, the thing is, this is important for me to know. Medically, it’s important for me to know, because you know what happens when an omega is suppressed for years and years and years, and then alpha semen gets inside their body?”

Bucky flinches hard at those words, but Steve holds fast. He gives Bucky’s hand a reassuring squeeze, leaning further forward and holding it in both of his large hands, enveloping it. “What happens,” he explains, trying to be gentle in how he says it, “is that it can trigger your body to try really, really hard to go into heat. And when your body can’t do that, that’s when you can start to get into really dangerous complications. Like having seizures and going into shock. Your organs can even start shutting down.” He instantly sees the terror in Bucky’s features and he hates it, wishes so badly that he didn’t have to be so honest with him. But federal legislation requires it. "That's why you had a seizure last night. It's why you're so sick."

Bucky’s lips are parted, not knowing what to say. “But I … I never … I didn’t know that?” He looks scared as his eyes flick around the room, always returning to Steve like a beacon. Vulnerably, he stutters, “Is ... is that happening to me? Organ failure?”

Steve knows he can’t lie to him, so he takes a deep breath and says, “I did conduct an internal exam and an ultrasound on you, when you were sedated last night.” He can see the humiliation in Bucky’s features as he realizes what this means. Steve presses on, “Many of your reproductive organs are inflamed or infected, from trying to make your body do what it’s supposed to do, but can’t.”

“Because of the suppressants,” Bucky murmurs.

“Yeah, Honey. Because of the suppressants.” Steve wishes so badly that he didn’t have to inform him, “There’s ... a chance that you could be unable to have children. In the future.”

The omega keens high in his throat, a noise that he has no control over and which Steve’s nature also has no control over how it instinctively responds to it.

One of Steve’s hands leaves Bucky and flies up to his own neck, where the expired sup patch is still adhesed to his skin. He grits his teeth, thinking that he most definitely needs a new one.

Steve is salaried higher for his usefulness as an alpha on this ward, but then again, he’s not usually dealing with eighteen year old boys who have no clue what independent sexual decision making is. “It’s okay,” he soothes him, voice swooping low and smooth. He starts up a deep, dominant rumble in his chest to help calm the boy. “We don’t know anything for sure yet, okay? You were very swollen when I looked at you. Your body needs a chance to rest and heal before we can know what we’re looking at, long term.” Steve can smell the intense distress of the omega at the possibility of no longer being fertile. Even if it’s something Bucky’s never considered before, it’s the boy’s innate nature to become defensive if such a thing is threatened.

“Is this all because of —” Bucky cuts himself off, clearly struggling. He won’t even meet Steve’s eyes as he forces himself to ask, “Is this happening because I had sex?”

Steve goes very still, his advocate training kicking into gear. “Did you have sex?” he asks gently. "Or did someone hurt you? Because it's not sex if you're not a willing participant. Then it's assault." Given what he knows about the cult Bucky’s been in, he finds it extremely unlikely that the boy would have had willing intercourse with a penetrative partner. Male omegas in that situation would be groomed to believe that that part of themselves was shameful and to be repressed at all costs.

In the bed, Bucky is looking tinier by the second, drawing into himself. He shakes his head frantically. “N-no. No. I said no.”

Steve watches him sadly. “Okay, Honey. Okay. Did somebody force themself on you?” Bucky starts to make that high keening sound again, the sound of an omega in intense distress, and Steve hurriedly adds, “You don’t have to tell me who it was. You don’t, I promise. Okay? But if somebody hurt you, you should blame them, not have to call it sex or feel bad that —”

“Mmn, mmmm mnn.” Bucky is shaking his head fast, face red and pained and looking like he wants to disappear into the cracks of the earth. “No,” he breathes, “Nno. I said no. They did it. The ... those guys. They did it.”

Steve's heart sinks all over again. More than one. He's dealt with cases of gang rape, but never with a patient so young. And never with a virgin. Fuck.

Bucky's scared eyes flick back to Steve’s face. “Oh god. Is that why I’m sick?” He cringes as if it’s the worst, most humiliating thing in the world. “Because they got their … their stuff inside me?”

Steve nods reluctantly, so sorry to have to tell him so. “It’s not your fault, Baby. It’s got nothing to do with you or how you feel about them. It’s just biology. Your body responds to it. It wouldn’t even be that strong normally, but after being suppressed for so many years, it’s almost like an allergic reaction.” Steve winces. “Your body’s overcompensating.” He can see how the poor boy’s about to burst into tears, so he gets up from the chair and sits on the side of the hospital bed, pulling Bucky’s hand and his whole lower arm against himself. His chest is emitting a low grade alpha rumble, but it’s only on the periphery of his notice. “Bucky,” he tells him tenderly, waiting until the boy looks up at him. “Hey, I’m sure there are so many things you’ve not been allowed to know about your body and how it works.” Bucky blushes hard but Steve presses on imploringly, ��Most importantly that there is absolutely nothing to be ashamed of with your designation. It’s normal, it’s natural, it’s beautiful, and it’s yours.”

Bucky’s eyes spill over with more tears. “I wish I didn’t grow up there,” he whispers, and then he pitches himself forward at Steve’s body, crying, hanging onto the front of him and stuffing his face in his chest, against his lab coat and scrubs. “I hate them!” he gasps, voice choked with sadness. “I h-hate them!”

It takes everything in Steve to not say 'Me too'. Instead he just rubs the omega’s back and lets him cry against his body, telling him that everything is going to be alright now, everything is okay, he’s safe.

Because if Steve knows anything, it’s that he’ll kill to keep this kid away from the people who did this to him.

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[dailypolyhedra]

Polyhedron of the Day #41: Truncated tetrahedron

The truncated tetrahedron is an Archimedean solid. It has 8 faces, 18 edges, and 12 vertices. This polyhedron can be constructed by truncating a regular tetrahedron, hence its name. The truncated tetrahedron is a Goldberg polyhedron. Its dual is the triakis tetrahedron.

Truncated tetrahedron GIF and image created by Cyp, distributed under a CC BY-SA 3.0 license.

[thebusylilbee]

Trente ans après la fin de l’apartheid, la petite communauté juive d’Afrique du Sud est plus que jamais divisée. Une partie a profité du système raciste, l’autre a résisté. Deux leçons contradictoires de la Shoah s’opposent : celle d’un « plus jamais ça » universaliste, qui pousse les uns à soutenir Gaza, et celle de la singularité de la tragédie juive, qui inspire aux autres un sionisme conservateur.

par Charlotte Wiedemann

Après avoir contemplé les murs gris d’une cellule de prison pendant vingt-deux ans, Denis Goldberg s’est entouré des couleurs de peintures africaines. Des tableaux qui célèbrent la vie, le plaisir et le désir, qu’on peut désormais voir dans la House of Hope (« Maison de l’espoir ») : ce bâtiment sobre et fonctionnel à la périphérie du Cap constitue le legs du plus célèbre Juif ayant combattu l’apartheid. Les enfants peuvent y peindre et y faire du théâtre. Dans le jardin où les cendres de Goldberg ont été dispersées, des oiseaux picorent. C’est un lieu paisible, qui n’a pourtant rien d’une idylle où le passé pourrait trouver le repos. Trois décennies après la fin de l’apartheid, la mer des toits des townships d’où viennent les enfants roule dans le paysage vallonné du Cap avec une désolation révoltante. Et les questions soulevées par l’héritage de Goldberg sont bien trop présentes, des questions sur ce qui rend une décision éthique, sur la valeur de la vie et sur les interprétations de ce que signifie l’existence juive.

Comme la plupart des Juifs ayant immigré en Afrique du Sud, les ancêtres de Goldberg étaient originaires de la Lituanie tsariste et fuyaient les pogroms et la misère. Un demi-siècle plus tard, convaincu que chaque être humain mérite un respect égal, quelle que soit sa couleur de peau ou son origine, Goldberg a pris fait et cause pour le Congrès national africain (ANC) dont il a rejoint la branche armée. Condamné à plusieurs reprises à la prison à vie aux côtés de Nelson Mandela, il ne fut pas incarcéré à Robben Island, mais dans une prison pour Blancs à Pretoria. L’apartheid a appliqué la ségrégation même parmi ses ennemis mortels.

Sur une plaque de la Maison de l’espoir, on peut lire : « He was a Mensch » (« C’était un Mensch »), d’après l’expression yiddish désignant celui qui a fait preuve d’humanité en s’engageant pour les autres. Seule une petite minorité des 120 000 Juifs qui vivaient à l’époque en Afrique du Sud a choisi cette voie périlleuse. Parmi les Blancs de l’ANC, ils étaient largement surreprésentés, et cela constitue le bon côté de la médaille, tout aussi remarquable que son revers, à savoir que la majorité d’entre eux s’accommodaient de l’apartheid, s’abritaient derrière des lois raciales qui leur étaient favorables et évitaient le contact avec les combattants de la liberté issus de leurs propres rangs, dans la crainte constante que cela pourrait favoriser l’antisémitisme.

Ce n’est qu’en 1985, après trente-sept ans du régime d’apartheid, que les dirigeants de la communauté se décidèrent à le condamner clairement. Comme l’a reconnu ultérieurement le grand rabbin Cyril Harris devant la Commission vérité et réconciliation : « La communauté juive a profité de l’apartheid (…). Nous demandons pardon (1). » Faire le choix d’une résistance désintéressée, payée au prix fort de l’emprisonnement, de l’exil, du bannissement, de la mort et de la mutilation sous les tirs de l’État raciste. Ou s’adapter, se faire complice. Des avocats juifs ont défendu des militants noirs ; juif aussi, le procureur général qui a condamné Mandela en faisant preuve d’un remarquable fanatisme.

L’historienne Shirli Gilbert, spécialiste de l’histoire des Juifs sud-africains, voit dans cette polarisation la tension entre deux interprétations de la Shoah au sein du judaïsme, avec, d’un côté, la singularité des victimes juives et, de l’autre, l’universalité de l’enseignement du « plus jamais ça ». La première lecture entretient le besoin de se protéger, la seconde est un moteur pour l’action (2).

Pour saisir cette situation — propre à l’Afrique du Sud mais dont on peut tirer des leçons générales —, il faut revenir à ses origines. Construite en 1863 en pierres de taille, la plus ancienne synagogue du pays sert aujourd’hui d’entrée au Musée juif sud-africain, au Cap. On y trouve des photographies montrant les miséreux débarquant sur le port, des hommes avec des casquettes plates et des vestes usées, des femmes avec des foulards portant des ballots de draps, la valise en carton fermée par une ficelle. Ils furent 70 000 à arriver au tournant du XXe siècle, émigrant depuis la frange ouest de l’empire tsariste, là où vivait alors la moitié de la population juive mondiale. Attirés par des récits d’argent facile à gagner dans les mines d’or et de diamants d’Afrique du Sud, plus d’un ont commencé comme colporteurs, se rendant dans des implantations isolées sur des charrettes à grandes roues tirées par des mules, vendant du savon, des boutons et de la vaisselle.

Pourtant, tout immigrant sans ressources sentait que son statut dans la colonie différait de celui dont il disposait dans son ancien pays. Un témoin de l’époque raconte avoir vu un Noir s’écarter pour lui céder le passage sur le quai tout en baissant les yeux : « En Russie, personne n’aurait cédé le passage à un Juif (3). »

Blancs parmi les Blancs, les Juifs profitèrent des zones rurales pour s’intégrer rapidement dans une société coloniale des Boers dont l’antisémitisme ne s’est aggravé que dans les années 1930. Bientôt circulèrent des histoires de succès : par exemple, dans le commerce des plumes d’autruche alors recherchées dans le monde entier pour la chapellerie féminine de luxe — on appelait les maisons de campagne des riches commerçants juifs des « palais de plumes ».

Les vitrines du musée n’évoquent pas les conditions nécessaires à une telle réussite : les Juifs avaient le droit d’acquérir des terres (dans les cas les plus extrêmes, celles de propriétaires noirs auparavant expulsés), ils étaient libres de leurs déplacements et de souscrire des emprunts. Leur existence était légitime ; une légitimité de colons vivant au milieu d’une majorité de personnes privées de droits. Dans les villes, certes, il fallait composer avec l’antisémitisme. Aux yeux de Britanniques « snobs », ceux qu’on appelait les « Juifs de l’Est » semblaient « sales » et pas tout à fait civilisés. Leur yiddish sonnait douteux. Mais les immigrants eurent tôt fait de se débarrasser de leur langue comme d’un fardeau. Le yiddish disparut en l’espace d’une génération. Subir la discrimination, réelle ou redoutée, entrait en balance avec l’acquisition de privilèges coloniaux.

Un triangle magnétique

Judéocide, sionisme, apartheid : si la collectivité des Juifs et des Juives sud-africains s’est formée dans ce triangle d’influences, chacune d’entre elles a marqué différemment chaque famille, chaque individu.

Steven Robins a proposé que nous nous rencontrions dans un café du Cap. Robins, dont les ancêtres portaient le nom de Robinski, est anthropologue, professeur à l’université. Un homme avenant, à l’allure juvénile. Son père a fui l’Allemagne nazie pour arriver au Cap en 1936. Seul le Stuttgart put encore accoster ensuite, avec 537 Juifs allemands à son bord, après quoi l’Afrique du Sud ferma impitoyablement ses portes aux réfugiés.

Robins a grandi avec sous les yeux une photographie encadrée, posée sur le buffet. Trois femmes dont on ne parlait jamais — la mère et les deux sœurs de son père que celui-ci n’avait pu aller chercher pour les sauver. Elles ont été assassinées à Auschwitz — d’autres membres de la famille le furent dans les forêts près de Riga. Robins a trouvé bien plus tard, alors qu’il était adulte depuis longtemps, les lettres pleines de suppliques, plus d’une centaine, que la famille avait envoyées en Afrique du Sud. De longues années de recherche lui ont permis de reconstituer l’histoire des Robinski et d’écrire le livre Letters of Stone (4) (« Lettres de pierre »). À Berlin, les membres de sa famille ont désormais des Stolpersteine à leur nom — des pavés plaqués de laiton en mémoire de victimes du nazisme — et leurs lettres sont retournées là où elles ont été écrites et sont désormais conservées dans les archives du Musée juif de Berlin.

Son père a-t-il gardé le silence par culpabilité ? « Le silence est une chose complexe, répond Robins. Ce fut un coup terrible pour lui, il est tombé gravement malade dans les années 1940. » Arthur, un frère cadet de son père qui avait aussi réussi à fuir pour l’Afrique du Sud, est devenu un sioniste convaincu. Deux frères, deux manières de vivre avec le fardeau de ne pas avoir pu sauver les siens.

En travaillant à l’écriture de son livre, Robins a davantage pris conscience de sa propre judéité. Mais il ne met pas la souffrance juive à part et montre comment le racisme européen a entremêlé l’histoire du génocide des Juifs et celle de l’apartheid. Il partage cette manière de voir avec certaines figures de la scène artistique juive sud-africaine de renommée internationale, comme Candice Breitz, Steven Cohen et William Kentridge. Cette position historique et politique qui voit l’humanité comme indivisible les oppose tous au courant majoritaire du sionisme conservateur — tout particulièrement de nos jours. Avec Kentridge et plus de sept cents autres personnalités, Robins a signé une lettre ouverte dénonçant la guerre menée par Israël à Gaza. « L’expérience de la persécution et du génocide est intimement liée à notre mémoire collective, y écrivaient-ils. Nous sommes donc appelés à empêcher qu’une telle chose se reproduise, où que ce soit et quelle que soit la personne concernée (5). »

Des amis juifs, et même des parents, ont violemment critiqué Robins pour cela. À leurs yeux, il trahirait l’histoire de sa famille et celle de son propre livre, écrit dans la peine et la douleur. Robins rétorque : « La Shoah nous apprend à considérer toutes les vies comme équivalentes. Sinon, à quoi servirait sa mémoire ? »

Ce qui a lieu à Gaza, il le ressent comme une tragédie pour le judaïsme, une tache indélébile. « Les Juifs auraient-ils mieux fait de continuer à vivre en diaspora ? », se demande-t-il dans son for intérieur. « Quel sens peut encore avoir mon livre, quel sens peut encore avoir la mémoire de la Shoah face à Gaza ? »

L’apartheid a débuté en mai 1948, et c’est en mai 1948 également que fut fondé l’État d’Israël. S’il s’agit d’une coïncidence, ces deux événements restent consubstantiels à la fin de l’époque coloniale dans le monde, et il existe bel et bien un lien entre apartheid et sionisme — sans même qu’il faille évoquer la Cisjordanie.

En arrivant en Afrique du Sud, les immigrants avaient apporté d’Europe de l’Est deux idées fortes qui s’y faisaient concurrence. Le sionisme, d’une part, qui devint une sorte de religion civile laïque — la Fédération sioniste sud-africaine a été fondée un an seulement après le congrès de Bâle organisé par Theodor Herzl en 1897. D’autre part, l’engagement radical des bundistes pour la justice ici et maintenant : l’Union générale des travailleurs juifs (Bund) était le parti socialiste des Juifs d’Europe de l’Est, lui aussi fondé en 1897, à Vilnius. Des partisans et des combattants des ghettos juifs qui allaient se soulever dans l’Europe occupée venaient de ce milieu. Ceux-là dont se souviendraient, en Afrique du Sud, les militants juifs dans leur combat pour la liberté de tous.

Le sionisme s’est en revanche renforcé sous l’apartheid : le système ethnocratique exigeait l’appartenance à une communauté. Pour des millions de Sud-Africains, cela signifiait l’assignation arbitraire à des castes de couleur de peau et des bantoustans. La majorité des Juifs appliqua toutefois un principe différent : plutôt que de se fondre dans la société, le repli sur soi. Aujourd’hui encore, la communauté, réduite à 60 000 membres par l’émigration, est étonnamment homogène, à 80 % d’origine lituanienne ; si peu de mélange en cent cinquante ans.

Beyachad, qui signifie « cohésion » en hébreu, est le nom du centre de la communauté à Johannesburg, isolé de la rue par un mur de sécurité. L’historien David Saks, familier de longue date des affaires de la communauté juive, a son bureau au premier étage, mais des grilles massives en protègent les fenêtres — la lumière froide du néon, le charme d’une cellule de prison. Cette atmosphère correspond au résumé que Saks livre, en une phrase, du cours des choses : « Nous regardons à nouveau vers l’intérieur. »

Alors qu’en Europe et aux États-Unis la diaspora a été prise dans un processus de sécularisation, en Afrique du Sud, elle s’est davantage tournée vers la religion, est devenue plus orthodoxe. Et comme ceux qui vivent selon la Loi sont obligés de se rendre à pied à la synagogue pour célébrer le shabbat, les petites maisons de prière, parfois informelles, se multiplient. En dépit des prix pratiqués, la plupart des parents envoient leurs enfants dans l’une des écoles privées juives — le coût de la scolarité régule ainsi le nombre d’enfants qu’on souhaite avoir. Mieux vaut en avoir moins, mais avec une identité juive assurée.

Après la fin de l’apartheid, il y eut, selon Saks, un désir de s’ouvrir davantage à la société. Mais cela ne dura pas longtemps, notamment du fait de l’échec du processus de paix au Proche-Orient. L’opinion publique sud-africaine est ardemment propalestinienne. De nombreux Juifs la perçoivent comme antisémite. C’était déjà le cas avant le 7 octobre, et depuis les tensions n’ont fait que s’accroître. En raison des sympathies de certains membres de l’ANC pour le Hamas, des voix juives ont mis en garde contre l’organisation de rassemblements haineux et de pogroms, tandis que le gouvernement sud-africain accusait Israël de génocide devant la Cour internationale de justice (CIJ).

« Les attaques contre les Juifs demeurent extrêmement rares, nuance Saks. Dans les pays dont les gouvernements sont favorables à Israël, il y a plus d’antisémitisme parce que les musulmans retournent leur frustration contre les Juifs. Ce n’est pas nécessaire ici. » En Afrique du Sud, un migrant démuni du Zimbabwe reste plus vulnérable qu’un Juif — à cause de la violence xénophobe dans un cas, et parce que la communauté veille à ce qu’aucun de ses membres ne se retrouve à la rue dans l’autre —, même si, depuis peu, la pauvreté a augmenté. « Avant, se souvient Saks non sans nostalgie, nous donnions plus d’argent à Israël que toutes les autres diasporas ! » Une collecte de fonds a débuté auprès des émigrants aisés.

Des écoles juives entretiennent des partenariats avec d’autres plus pauvres — notamment pour que les enfants de la communauté apprennent à fréquenter leurs camarades noirs sans se sentir supérieurs. Derrière ces engagements se trouve souvent un sentiment de culpabilité inconscient, estime la sociologue Deborah Posel ; il serait préférable d’admettre « notre complicité », comme elle le dit. Une étude montre à quel point les Juifs sud-africains sont divisés quant à leur rapport au passé : 38 % pensent que la communauté a trop accepté l’apartheid, un bloc légèrement plus important est d’un avis contraire, et 20 % préfèrent ne pas se prononcer (6).

Dans ce contexte, que signifie être juif dans un pays qui envisage Israël à travers le prisme de l’expérience traumatisante de l’apartheid ? La souffrance morale semble plus forte chez ceux qui ne veulent se définir ni comme sionistes ni comme antisionistes : dans la communauté, il n’y a pas de place pour leur ambivalence vis-à-vis d’Israël et, plus généralement, dans la société, il n’y a guère de compréhension à l’égard de l’idée de la nécessité d’un foyer du peuple juif (7). On peut interpréter comme une échappatoire radicale à ce dilemme que de jeunes Juifs de gauche se réclament du mouvement Boycott, désinvestissement, sanctions (BDS), très populaire en Afrique du Sud. Cela leur permet de combler le fossé avec les camarades d’université noirs, et peut-être aussi de se débarrasser symboliquement d’un héritage mal aimé. Selon Steven Robins, il existe désormais un « moment 68 » juif qui voit la mise en accusation par les jeunes générations des parents et des grands-parents pour leur rôle dans l’apartheid et leur positionnement concernant Gaza. La souffrance des Palestiniens actualise et aggrave l’accusation d’une participation coupable.

Une pelouse sur le front de mer du Cap ; un « Shabbat against genocide » (« shabbat contre le génocide ») est organisé devant la sculpture métallique géante représentant une paire de lunettes de Mandela. Sur une table pliante, des bougies et des roses fraîchement coupées, des rouges et des blanches, des roses pour la Palestine. Un activiste portant une kippa aux couleurs de l’arc-en-ciel récite une prière, des personnels de santé musulmans lisent les noms de leurs collègues tués à Gaza.

Caitlin Le Roith, une jeune avocate blonde, tient sa rose avec précaution et solennité. Elle raconte qu’elle n’a compris qu’à l’université tout ce que l’école juive Herzlia lui avait caché concernant Israël. « Je me suis sentie trahie. » Récemment, elle a rejoint les Juifs sud-africains pour une Palestine libre, dont l’antisionisme radical constitue à son sens la réponse à l’éducation reçue dans un établissement où l’on entonnait chaque matin l’hymne national israélien. Une fois, des élèves se sont agenouillés pendant cette cérémonie, comme les sportifs noirs américains qui protestent contre le racisme ; la fureur de la direction fut alors totale. Dans sa famille, explique Le Roith, presque personne ne comprend ce qu’elle défend. « Nous vivons dans des mondes différents. Il est difficile de continuer à se parler. »

Heidi Grunebaum, petite-fille de Juifs expulsés de la Hesse, a mis en lumière avec une acuité particulière ce triangle formé par l’apartheid, Israël et la Shoah. Elle l’a fait sans compromis, y compris vis-à-vis d’elle-même. Nous nous rencontrons à l’université du Cap-Occidental où elle est chercheuse. Rejoindre une faculté créée pour les « coloured » et où on a lutté contre l’apartheid était une décision mûrement réfléchie. Il s’agissait de rompre avec l’esprit de privilèges persistant, notamment dans le monde universitaire. Grunebaum a la réputation d’être radicale, mais on est tout de suite frappé par le soin et la nuance qu’elle apporte à son expression, sans cacher sa propre vulnérabilité.

Jeune adulte, elle avait cru que l’émigration en Israël pourrait la préserver d’une implication inévitable dans l’apartheid. Alors que des membres de sa famille avaient été assassinés à Auschwitz, ne pourrait-elle pas y accéder à une existence cohérente moralement ? Elle a d’abord découvert Israël dans le cadre d’un programme de jeunesse sioniste, qui comprenait la visite de ce qu’on appelle la « Forêt sud-africaine », plantée par le Fonds national juif grâce aux dons de Juifs sud-africains — au-dessus des ruines d’un village palestinien détruit en 1948. Ce n’est que bien plus tard que Heidi Grunebaum a compris que, en donnant de l’argent aux boîtes de collecte bleu et blanc du Fonds, elle était devenue partie prenante d’un autre engrenage.

Nelson Mandela et Anne Frank

Des parallèles s’imposèrent à elle : en Afrique du Sud, le déplacement forcé de trois millions et demi de personnes, là-bas, l’expulsion des Palestiniens. Dans les deux cas, l’invisibilisation du crime de nettoyage ethnique — en Afrique du Sud dans ce qu’on a appelé la « réconciliation », en Israël par le reboisement et l’amnésie. Grunebaum a coréalisé un documentaire à ce sujet, The Village Under the Forest (« Le village sous la forêt », avec Mark J. Kaplan, 54 minutes, 2013). Depuis, elle est décriée au sein de la communauté. Elle raconte la peine qu’elle a de voir ses parents en souffrir.

Ahmed Kathrada, fils de commerçants indiens qui devint un cadre dirigeant de l’ANC, a visité Auschwitz et les ruines du ghetto de Varsovie en 1951. Le souvenir de cette expérience ne l’a plus jamais quitté. De retour en Afrique du Sud, lorsqu’il prononçait ses discours contre l’apartheid, il montrait un récipient en verre contenant des restes d’os du camp : « Voyez ce que signifie le racisme à l’extrême ! » Plus tard, dans la prison de Robben Island, Kathrada, tout comme Mandela, a lu en secret Le Journal d’Anne Frank. Aujourd’hui, la lecture de ce livre est obligatoire dans les écoles sud-africaines.

Même si des dirigeants de l’ANC ont montré de la sympathie pour le Hamas, la Shoah n’a jamais été niée ici. Au contraire, les comparaisons entre l’apartheid et le nazisme ont servi à mobiliser l’opinion publique internationale dans l’immédiat après-guerre. En 1994, à la veille des premières élections démocratiques, Mandela a scellé symboliquement la fin de l’apartheid lors d’une exposition consacrée à Anne Frank. « En honorant la mémoire d’Anne, a-t-il déclaré lors de l’inauguration, nous disons d’une seule voix : jamais et plus jamais ! »

L’enseignement de l’histoire du génocide des Juifs est obligatoire dans le programme des écoles secondaires d’Afrique du Sud. Trois centres de l’Holocauste et du génocide ont été créés au Cap, à Durban et à Johannesburg. Le jour de notre venue à celui de Johannesburg coïncide avec la visite d’un groupe d’adolescents juifs : soixante garçons et filles écoutent un médiateur noir non juif leur expliquer le lien entre l’extermination par les nazis et le génocide rwandais. Les deux génocides sont ici mis sur un pied d’égalité. Il s’agit dans les deux cas d’une exclusion de l’humanité commune. Dans l’entrée, non loin d’une citation de Primo Levi, sont accrochées des photos de scènes de violence xénophobe tirées de l’actualité la plus récente.

Tali Nates, fondatrice et directrice du centre de Johannesburg, une Israélienne qui a acquis la nationalité sud-africaine, a donné à cet endroit son langage particulier. Son père a été sauvé par la liste d’Oskar Schindler. Ce que les jeunes gens retiennent de ce lieu, ce ne sont pas des définitions de l’antisémitisme, mais la tâche qui nous incombe de défendre l’humanité. Et un principe : il y a toujours un choix, même ne rien faire est une décision éthique.

(Traduit de l’allemand par Clément Fradin.)

Charlotte Wiedemann. Journaliste et écrivaine. Dernier ouvrage paru : Den Schmerz der Anderen begreifen. Holocaust und Weltgedächtnis [Comprendre la douleur des autres. Holocauste et mémoire mondiale], Propyläen, Berlin, 2022.

[dirtyriver]

So the gag is that Jughead is not into girls. Ethel was so so disappointed in their first outing she didn't bother going to the second one. Fortunately for her the last one sas written by Al Hartley, who never saw a teenager he couldn't turn into a raging hormone factory (art by Stan Goldberg and Mike Esposito).

Here are some more hayride covers:

Jughead #150, November 1967, cover by Bill Vigoda

Archie’s Pals'n'Gals #205, April 1989, cover by Dan and Jim DeCarlo, reused on World of Archie Double Digest #24, February 2013

Jughead #42, February 1993, cover by Stan Goldberg (pencils) and Mike Esposito (inks)

Pep #245, September 1970, cover by Dan DeCarlo (pencils) and Rudy Lapick (inks)

Archie's Holiday Fun Digest #2, February 1998, cover by Stan Goldberg (pencils) and Henry Scarpelli (inks)

Laugh Comics Digest #170, December 2001, cover by Stan Goldberg (pencils) and Bob Smith (inks)

Little Archie #178, September 1981, cover by Dexter Taylor

[theadventurek9]

I’m delving more into what other trainers are doing and saying.  I came across a video that was suggested as a no training option for crate anxiety.

The premise is to just use straw as the bedding. Safe to be consumed/shredded though most dogs won’t. Its interesting and different enough to break the cycle and anxious behavior. It’s not as easy to pace/circle in. Has anyone heard of this or done this? I’m curious to try it in the future with possible client dogs. Here is the video about it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BmAIqLWTf9k&t=600s

I can’t say that I know much about Mark Goldberg, but I’m curious about this alternative for dealing with crate anxiety and SA.

[jgroffdaily]

Jonathan, Sas Goldberg and Lucy Lawless visit with the cast of ‘Mama, I’m a big girl now!’ last Monday. Photos by Bruce Glikas for Broadway World.

[de-michael-chaves]

La Nonne 2 : La Malédiction de Sainte-Lucie

Regarder ➡ La Nonne 2 | Film Complet [2023] Streaming vF Français

Telecharger ➡ La Nonne 2 | Film Complet [2023] Streaming vF Français

Regarder La Nonne 2 (2023) Streaming Film Complet en ligne Gratuit |

Regarder La Nonne 2 (2023) Streaming Film Complet en ligne Gratuit.

La Nonne 2, le film sera là ! Le film La Nonne 2 est sorti le mercredi 2 septembre 2023. Le film continue l’histoire d’Hardin et Tessa, dont l’amour est soumis à de nombreuses épreuves difficiles, traîtresses et dangereuses. Ces deux amoureux auront-ils une fin heureuse ? En attendant de savoir si le film a été acclamé par les fans, il y a de bonnes nouvelles : La Nonne 2 va sortir ! Cela a été confirmé le 3 septembre 2023 par les deux stars de la série dans une vidéo postée sur le profil Instagram officiel d’La Nonne 2. Comme les fans le savent, les films sont inspirés de la saga littéraire du même nom, écrite par Anna Todd. La série La Nonne 2 est composé de 4 livres.

L’intrigue du film La Nonne 2 L’amour d’Hardin et Tessa est encore une fois mis à l’épreuve. Ces deux adolescents vont devoir affronter leur passé. Tessa rencontre son père après des années et décide de le prendre en charge après avoir découvert qu’il était devenu sans abri. Hardin accepte de l’héberger mais ne fait pas confiance à cet homme, convaincu qu’il cache une partie de la vérité. Mais ce n’est pas le seul obstacle. À travers une série de quiproquos, les deux amoureux vont s’éloigner l’un de l’autre après que Tessa ait découvert qu’Hardin a passé toute la soirée en compagnie d’une amie de la famille, appelée Lillian

Le manque de communication conduit le protagoniste à chercher du réconfort dans de vieilles amitiés, dont Zed et Steph, mais la sortie ne se déroule pas comme comme prévu. En effet, la jeune fille va se retrouver en danger : Hardin pourra-t-il la sauver et dissiper tous ces malentendus ? Concernant l’intrigue du film, Castille Landon, le réalisateur d’La Nonne 2 nous assure qu’il sera fidèle au roman du même nom.

Le casting du film La Nonne 2 : qui sera là ? Nous verrons probablement le retour de deux personnages principaux : Héro Fiennes-Tiffin et Josephine Langford, comme Hardin et Tessa, La Nonne 2ivement. Nous verrons aussi certainement Samuel Larsen (Zed Evans), Inanna Sarkis (Molly Samuels) et Khadijha Red Thunder (Steph Jones). Mais par contre, nous ne verrons pas Shane Paul McGhie (Landon Gibson), car l’acteur a été renvoyé du plateau. Dylan Sprouse, dont le rôle est Trevor ne revient pas non plus.

Mais il y a aussi une nouvelle de dernière minute : d’autres acteurs ne reviendront pas dans le troisième film, d’où la nécessité d’un renouvellement. Déjà dans La Nonne 2 2, on se rend compte que le père d’Hardin n’est plus joué par Peter Gallagher (Andy Cohen pourquoi es-tu parti ?) mais par Rob Estes et que la mère de Landon n’est plus jouée par Jennifer Beals mais par Karimah Westbrook. Nous verrons également beaucoup de changements dans La Nonne 2. En commençant par Candice King et Charlie Weber : les deux acteurs ne seront plus Kim et Christian Vance.

L’actrice que nous avons appris à aimer dans The Vampire Diaries comme Caroline est enceinte de son deuxième enfant ! Sa grossesse l’empêche donc de retourner sur le plateau pour filmer La Nonne 2. Candice sera remplacée par Arielle Kebbel que nous avons déjà vu dans The Vampire Diaries: : Il s’agit de Lexi, le meilleur ami de Stefan ! Charlie sera remplacé par Stephen Moyer. Aussi Selma Blair, qui joue la mère de Tessa, est remplacée par Mira Sorvino. En plus de toutes ces modifications, il y a aussi une nouvelle arrivée : Carter Jenkins, qui jouera Robert, le potentiel amoureux de Tessa.

La raison de tous ces changements est que le fait de tourner deux films ensemble empêche aussi certains des acteurs principaux de participer à d’autres engagements professionnels ou autres.

13 septembre 2023 en salle / 1h 50min / Epouvante-horreur De Michael Chaves Par Ian B. Goldberg, Richard Naing Avec Taissa Farmiga, Jonas Bloquet, Storm Reid Titre original The Nun II

Synopsis et détails : Le mal n’a jamais été aussi proche : Valak, la nonne démoniaque de Conjuring revient… Dans le sud de la France.

. Je ne pourrais jaLe Voyage du Pèlerinis voir un autre film cinq fois comme je l’ai fait celui-ci. Retournez voir une seconde fois et faites attention. RegarderIp Man 4 : Le dernier combat Movie WEB-DL Il s’agit d’un fichier extrait sans erreur d’un serveur telLe Voyage du Pèlerin, tel que Netflix, ALe Voyage du Pèlerinzon Video, Hulu, Crunchyroll, DiscoveryGO, BBC iPlayer, etc. Il s’agit également d’un film ou d’une éLa Nonne 2 ion télévisée téléchargé via un site web comme on lineistribution, iTunes. La qualité est assez bonne car ils ne sont pas ré-encodés. Les flux vidéo (H.264 ou H.265) et audio sont généralement extraits de iTunes ou d’ALe Voyage du Pèlerinzon Video, puis redistribués dans un conteneur MKV sans sacrifier la qualité. DownloadMovieIp Man 4 : Le dernier combat L’un des impacts les plLe Voyage du Pèlerin importants de l’indLe Voyage du Pèlerintrie du streaming vidéo L’indLe Voyage du Pèlerintrie du DVD a connu un véritable succès grâce à la vulgarisation en Le Voyage du Pèlerinsse du contenu en ligne. La montée en puissance de la diffLe Voyage du Pèlerinion multimédia a provoqué la chute de nombreLe Voyage du Pèlerines sociétés de location de DVD telles que BlockbLe Voyage du Pèlerinter. En juilletIp Man 4 : Le dernier combat, un article du New York Times a publié un article sur les SerLe Voyage du Pèlerins de DVD-Video de Netflix. Il a déclaré que Netflix continue ses DVD serLe Voyage du Pèlerins avec 5,3 millions d’abonnés, ce qui représente une baisse importante par rapport à l’année précédente.

étiquette : regarder La Nonne 2 en streaming La Nonne 2 film streaming La Nonne 2 streaming film complet vf La Nonne 2 streaming vf La Nonne 2 streaming

[jacksjoke]

hey, your top 10 series, all types together (bl, western, etc) pwease.

hi anon!! thank u for the ask!

i dont have a ranking so i'll list 10 in no particular order👍

our flag means death - epitome of gay rights

what we do in the shadows - every character is a queer asshole that u care for deeply

abbott elementary - this show is so funny and the characters are so well written bless thank u quinta brunson for my life

the goldbergs - barry is the worst and he's my favourite character i stand by this; im also married to geoff in my mind

heartstopper - adorable and sweet gay shit and s2 is coming this summer!

schitt's creek - this show cracks me uppp its so funny it never fails to kill me. best

it's okay to not be okay - i cry every time i watch this and i will continue to cry every time idc

my school president - "talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular, never the same, totally unique, completely not ever been done before, unafraid to reference or not reference, put it in a blender--"

bad buddy - "talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular, never the same, totally u--"

im torn between the gifted, midnight museum, and also gaya sa pelikula aaand like 5 other shows HKJLHHKJ im so bad at decision making pls spare me

[ilovestilettos]

{𝗚𝗹𝗲𝗻𝗻, 𝗻𝗮𝗶𝘀𝘀𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝗱'𝘂𝗻 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗱𝗶𝗴𝗲} La pièce surprise que je n'avais pas prévu de voir si tôt, mais grâce à mon amie Gaëlle je n'ai pas eu à attendre de trouver une date ou prendre des billets. Sa compagne de théâtre n'a pu venir, c'est moi qui ai profité de son excellente place (𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘤é𝘭è𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘥𝘶 𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘪𝘴𝘪è𝘮𝘦 𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨). De Glenn Gould, j'adore les Variations Goldberg, les deux enregistrements, de 1955 et de 1981. La version vive et enlevée, et la nostalgique très lente. J'aime aussi son Clavier bien tempéré. Moi l'adoratrice de Mozart, je me découvre un goût certain pour Bach à travers son interprétation. Alors une pièce sur sa vie, si particulière, forcément ne pouvait que me plaire. Gould est né dans une famille aisée, aimante, d'une mère premier prix de conservatoire et qui aurait dû devenir concertiste. Las, cela n'a pu arriver, une femme, ça reste à la maison et ça fait des enfants. Imaginez l'ampleur de la frustration d'une artiste douée à qui on inflige une telle sentence. Et bien son fils, ce miracle unique et à l'oreille absolue, deviendra ce qu'elle n'a pu être. Coûte que coûte. Glenn Gould fut-il heureux? La pièce ne répond pas à cette question, il était trop mystérieux, trop complexe pour pouvoir y répondre. Sans aucun doute il était heureux dans la musique et avec les animaux, avec ses amis les chiens. Il l'était sans doute aussi lorsqu'il passait du temps avec sa cousine Jessie. Je ne sais pas quel est le degré de fiction de la pièce, mais la simplicité de la relation entre Glenn et Jessie est jolie, leurs interprètes merveilleux à nous faire passer par toutes les émotions possibles, du rire aux larmes en passant par la nostalgie et la colère. La mise en scène est telle que je les aime: inventive, légère, faite de décor et accessoires bien choisis, rythmée. La troupe des comédiennes et comédiens est excellente, équilibrée. Et puis il y a la musique bien sûr, vraiment présente, émouvante. Une jolie pièce, à voir. Au théâtre du Splendid, jusqu'au 30 avril 2023. #theatre #glenngould #theatredusplendid #paris #saison2023 #ivancalberac #thomasgendronneau #lisonpennec (à Théâtre du Splendid) https://www.instagram.com/p/CpNLz3IsUT3/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[wintersky94]

Perfect Blue: Awaken From A Dream By Yoshizaku Takeuchi (Review) PART 2 (SPOILERS ⚠)

Welcome back, Ladies and Gents another review of Perfect Blue: Awaken From A Dream! This is Part 2 and we're gonna be looking into the second chapter, Cry Your Tears.

(Like the GIF? I made it myself! 😁)

Okay, if you read the previous review, you already know that this book has hints of SA, Mental illness, self-harm, and so on. Oh and let's not forget it has a hint of grooming. But I could be wrong. Anywho, let's take a gander at the second novelette, Cry Your Tears.

Meet Kawasaki Yuma, a tomboy pop idol who's known for her hit single "Lariat of Love" and her famous microphone lasso trick. Her enthusiastic talent manager, Bando tells Yuma she will be in a commercial for Sanshin Denki, an electronics company. Yuma isn't at all pleased with the news because the president of that company is a pervert and she has to wear a pink cheerleader costume with girlish pigtails. Yuma was known for her cowgirl signature in her music video "Lariat of Love". Near the end of her song, she would twirl her microphone around like a cowboy lasso.

"I'll snare you with my burning love

Oh, my lariat of love."

"BANG!"

As Kawasaki Yuma is changing into her girly costume, she doesn't realize that there's a secret admirer out there unhealthily rewatching her Lariat Of Love music video on VHS for the umpteenth time. This creep doesn't have a name but the book said had the "nervous eyes of an herbivore". Hmmm, what nickname should we give our Stalker of the Day? Well just call him Mr. Elephant. Sounds adorable, right? It won't be once we find out that he has sick fantasies about Yuma and he has Yuma's entire schedule memorized. From her radio show Yuma's Happy Talk to her live performances. Joe Goldberg much?? Mr. Elephant would just sit there and fantasize about Yuma belonging to him and only him because he believed that she would never betray him like those other women. He hated the thought of her being with another man and the thought made him angry. Well, unfortunately, little did he know, Yuma already has a boyfriend. And that's fellow idol Yukio, who's an actor. Uh Oh! if Mr. Elephant finds out about that, he'll flip his lid.

So Yuma is now having an angsty idol moment saying that she'll always be a second-rate pop idol because nobody listens to her songs and people would come to stare at her legs. Bando tried to reassure her and said that Sanshin Denki is putting so much effort into promoting her. Yuma responds saying she'll put on the girly getup but once she meets the president, they'll have a little talk and that's all. Meanwhile, Mr. Elephant is not digging Yuma's cutesy look and carved a big "X" on her face with a boxcutter.

One night, Yuma was returning home to her apartment when she found a strange letter stuck in the crack of the door. At first, she thought it was her boyfriend Yukio but he had his own key. She looked for the name of the sender but all it said was "From Someone You Know" in neat handwriting. We (the readers) already know who sent that letter but Yuma doesn't. So her secret admirer (Mr. Elephant) said that he didn't like that Sanshin Denki poster of her in the girly costume because that look wasn't her. He liked that wild, tomboyish cowgirl that she was. He even begged her not to betray him and professed his undying love for his idol. Naturally, Yuma was disturbed with this letter because fan letters would arrive at the agency's office but this one came straight to her apartment! Ummm...Yuma. You're a pop idol, right?? If a fan letter "From Someone You Know" comes straight to your house like that, it's house-hunting time because you've been doxxed girl! Because how did he know where you lived?! Your address was supposed to be between you, your family, your boyfriend, and your manager. So she thew the note in the trash and went on to bed without realizing that there was bloodstains on that letter. Gross! 🤢

So the next day at the agency, Yuma tried to tell Bando about the letter she received that night but he dismissed her saying they'll talk about it later because they have a meeting to attend about Yuma's rise in popularity and record sales. The meeting went on and on much to Yuma's boredom. Eventually, Yuma and Bando were in the breakroom and Bando reminded Yuma about the letter and she showed him the bloodstained letter. Bando was a little disturbed by that letter too but he assured her saying that he's managed several idols who's had their share of creepy fanmail. He recalled a moment when they received a letter for Asaka Ai saying "If I can't marry Ai, I'll kill myself" (Toshihiko from the first story "Wake Me From This Dream"! Go check out the previous review if you haven't already!) but it never happened. Bando even tells her she shouldn't worry about these creepy fan letters and focus on her promotional tour. Oh Bando, you clueless, optimistic, bald fool, if only you knew...

Meanwhile, Mr. Elephant's starting to get a little aggy because Yuma hasn't responded to his heartfelt letter. Uuhh you didn't give her an address and a name so of course she'snot gonna respond. Putting "From Someone You Know" on the envelope won't ring any bells. He looked into his copy of Yuma's fan-zine called "Yukko Club". Yukko is what her fans call her. So he looks into the fan-zine and saw that Yuma's scheduled for a meet 'n greet in the Shoppers Plaza at Kobayashi. There, he will have a chance to see her face to face and she'll tell him she loves hie for sure! Good Luck, Mr. Elephant.

Today's the day and Yuma's headed to Shopper's Plaza to perform her hit single "Lariat Of Love" and greet her fans. On her way there, she was greeted by some of her fans but Bando shooed them away telling them no autographs at this time, prompting them to complain and hurl insults at him. Mr. Elephant was waiting in the wings for his chance to meet Yuma and scowled at the male fans, calling them perverts for not recognizing her true greatness. After she got finished performing, it was time for Yuma to greet her fans and autograph signing. As she greeted her fans, she had a feeling that something wasn't right. Her fear only heightened when it was Mr. Elephant's turn to shake her hand. Him being the lonely loony fan he was, he tried to squeeze her hand as if he didn't want to let Yuma go but she yanked free of him and called on the next person. Yuma was beginning to put two and two together that the guy with the elephant eyes fromm earlier was the one behind that creepy letter. Mr Elephant was a little perplexed by her reaction to him and feeling embarrassed, he planned on stabbing Yuma with the boxcutter but not in front of all those people.

Soon after, Yuma felt like she was being followed but Bando told her to calm down and that the room is private and not available for public but, Yuma responded that the guy with the elephant eyes wouldn't be stopped that easily because he was the one that found her address and sent her that letter. Bando dismissed her saying she had nothing to worry about and that she doesn't know if it's the same guy that wrote the letter. Yuma is frustrated and annoyed at the fact that nobody believed her. Meanwhile, Mr. Elephant is expressing his feelings once again by cutting himself with the boxcutter and smeared blood all over Yuma's poster, saying he's forgiven her for the second time and there are no more chances.

Yuma called her boyfriend, Yukio crying and told him everything that happened from the bloody letter to the meet and greet. Yukio seemed a little concerned for her and said that he's had some weird fans himself and how he'd receive underwear or hair clippings. Yuma told him that this was not normal and that the guy was obsessed, which isn't far from the truth. Yukio tried to assure her saying that he doesn't see the connection between the letter and the handshake session and that she was just overreacting. L BOYFRIEND !!! L MANAGER!! This girl is fearing for her life and instead of calling the police to investigate this matter, you tell her she overreacting??!! Wow, Yuma! Some team you have! They're supposed to be protecting you from creeps like that and yet they are more concerned about her status as a pop idol than her life.

In the original Perfect Blue light novel, as much as I like the movie better, Mr. Tadakoro, Mima Kirigoe's manager, would NEVER let this drag on. He, Murano, and Rumi were very protective of Mima when she was getting stalked by Me-Mania ("Your Darling Rose"). Yuma would've been better off if she was signed with Tadakoro, she probably would've been safer. I know Bando means well, but he's a sorry-ass talent manager! I'm sorry but it's true. If this was set in the 2020s, it probably would be a whole lot worse now that technology and the internet are more advanced, and obsessed fans like that could do better research than the FBI.

On the next day, Bando, who's usually his happy, enthusiastic self, was angry because a tabloid magazine caught Yuma and Yukio dating and drinking. He was furious at Yuma for drinking underage and the fact that she was dating a C-grade idol. Bando remarked that if she was going to date someone, it had to be someone more popular so tabloids wouldn't be buzzing about it. This caused Yuma to get angry at Bando and rightfully so. She called Bando out on his bullshit saying he wasn't bothered when she told him she was being stalked and he only cared about her album sales more than her life. Bando said that he didn't want her reputation to be tarnished but, Yuma assured him that it was normal for idols to go on dates and that people would rather have honesty than pretend innocence. He was a little disappointed that Yuma would rather date a "cheap idol" than someone like the president of Sanshin Denki. Bando said he didn't think Yuma was made for the entertainment industry and Yuma agreed. Then he joked that the fans were gonna have a fit when they see that picture but Yuma didn't find it funny because it was actually the truth. Oh! And speaking off...

Mr. Elephant had a whole-ass meltdown in the bookstore and was not a happy camper when he saw that picture of Kawasaki Yuma and Kawai Yukio hitting it off! He was boiling with anger and jealousy. He kept stabbing the tabloid magazine over and over again shouting "I'M GONNA KILL THEM!! I'LL KILL THEM!!" Then he broke down crying for a moment feeling betrayed and sorry for himself but then he had an idea to get Yuma to break up with Yukio. But after he made her uncomfortable at the handshake session, he feared that Yuma hated him and wouldn't even give him the time of day. So he decided to do the unthinkable. Uh-Oh...

Yuma's just got home after a TV talk show appearance. She was certain that her apartment was much safer now that a new security system had been installed. She called Yukio and left him a voice message telling him to come over right away. Her instincts were warning her of her impending doom, then someone rang the doorbell. Yuma thought it was her boyfriend but she had a real shock when she opened that door. It was Mr. Elephant himself! AKA "From Someone You Know". She was a bit uncomfortable at the sight of him because he was the one responsible for giving her that bloody letter and frightening her at the handshake session. When Yuma asked the creep who he was and what he wanted, he said that he was a big fan of hers ("I'm your Number one fan" *Annie Wilkes Voice*).

She responded if he was her fan then he would go to one of her concerts and asked him to leave her private space. Mr. Elephant refused to listen to her admonishment and said that he will not leave because he wanted her to do something for him. Aw Hell Nahh!! Me personally, I'd get the strap because some people wouldn't just take no for an answer. Yuma I know you probably don't believe in violence but you need to have a gun in your house because people like him don't get the message. So he began tying her up with masking tape and Yuma tried to get away from him but he was too strong. Mr. Elephant told Yuma he'll forgive her but on one condition, she'll have to sing for him and ONLY him. Oh, what are you? The Phantom of the Opera? Ol' "Sing for me, my Angel of Music" headass! So Yuma desperately tried to get him to understand that what he was doing was no way to treat someone you're a fan of. The struggle went on for what seemed like forever as he was terrorizing her about her betrayal when he saw that photo of him and her boyfriend. Then Mr. Elephant started crying because he realized he was hurting Yuma but he blamed her because of the way he was acting and she has to promise him to never see Yukio again. She attempted to trick him by playing along with it and tells him that she won't see Yukio anymore and begged him to release her. Mr. Elephant thanked her for forgiving him and started to undo her binds. But not before giving her a warning saying if she ever tried to run away, things would get ugly. He was overjoyed that he had finally got what he wanted but then he got horny and was this close to doing something...unforgivable. But he had to contain himself because "Yuma is a pop idol and we can't have sex. She's too cute and adorable". He then tells her to look away because he was going to polish his unwashed doorknob! Ewwww!! 🤢🤢🤢

Yuma uses this to her advantage to try and get away from this nasty man before he climaxed. She was almost out of the door but Mr. Elephant quickly caught up with her and dragged her back in. Smart move Yuma but it wasn't enough to stop him. She begged him to let her go but Mr. Elephant refused to let her go this time because she'd run away again. He was gonna make sure that she wasn't gonna get away again even if it meant cutting the soles of her feet with the boxcutter. He wanted her to sing for him forever and ever. Yuma hoped that Yukio would rescue her from this maniac. Her prayers seemed to be answered when Yukio finally came to the door. When he saw Yuma all beaten up and bloody, he was shocked. Now, do you believe her, Yukio?? Before he could make a move, he gets Sweeney Toodd-ed by Mr. Elephant. Yukio died almost instantly. A crying Yuma cradled her dying lover in her arms as Mr. Elephant admired his work believing he took out the trash. Then he's like "I did it for you, my love! Aren't you proud of me?" Yuma was pissed off at this and called him a monster and he was the one she wanted dead. Mr. Elephant was offended by this. How dare she wish death on him after he did her a favor. He charged at Yuma and she was trying to defend herself by stabbing him with the boxcutter he used to kill Yukio with. The struggle went on for what seemed like forever because Yuma stabbed him several times but nothing seemed to stop him. She was trying her hardest to fight this guy off and run away despite her injuries. This felt like a final boss fight combined with an old horror movie trope where the Final Girl survives the killer.

Oh! Did I forget to mention that the man sexually assaulted her during the struggle??? This is why I put up the TW emojis on my previous Perfect Blue post.

So just when Yuma thought she was finally free from this dude, He slithered right back to her after being stabbed several times and had his eye ripped out! Now Mr. Elephant's a bloody mess begging Yuma, "Don't leave me. I wanna die with you". Jiminy Christmas, dude! Give up already! Atp this guy ain't even human. What is he made of?? He's Tonka Tough. Yuma tried everything she could to incapacitate him but he ate everything up. Now she's worn out and had nowhere left to run. Her only best bet was to jump off the balcony of her apartment and die but she was gonna die either way so she was stuck. Mr. Elephant told Yuma that his eye hurts but that was nothing compared to the pain he felt when he found out she was in love with another man and he threatened to stab her eye out, her jugular, and her heart. As Mr. Elephant makes one final attempt to kill Yuma, she fell backward trying to get away from him. But wait! There was something hard underneath her and she realized that it was her microphone! The same microphone that she used for her hit song "Lariat Of Love"! She felt a lot braver now that she has reunited with her stage prop, which will soon be her weapon of choice. Now Yuma's got a plan to put this raging beast to sleep once and for all. Yuma told Mr. Elephant "I'll give you what you want! I'll sing for you and only you." You tell him, Yuma! He's come this far for a backstage pass so why not grant his wish. In her final showdown against her tormentor, Yuma sang a Dark Reprise of her song:

"I'll snare you with my burning love

Oh my Lariat of Love"

After that, she performed her signature microphone lasso attack on Mr. Elephant. The microphone wrapped itself tightly around his neck before he could advance on her with the boxcutter. Then she twisted her body and asphyxiated him. Yuma yanked the cord so hard that it snapped Mr. Elephant's neck and he finally died for good. A Rootin' Tootin' victory for Kawasaki Yuma! YEEE-HAW!! A tired Yuma finally passes out, but not before pointing her microphone at Mr. Elephant's corpse as a huge "F You" for all the pain and suffering he put her through. "BANG!"

Whew! That was intense, ladies and germs! Yuma gave it her all to fight for her life and freedom as an idol. It's unknown whether she died from her injuries or not but I'm pretty sure that she was rescued later on. But I believe that it will scar her for the rest of her life because she had her safety compromised and nobody, not even Mr. "I Care About Our Reputation" Baldy Bando gave a single fuck, lost her boyfriend Yukio to this psycho, she was sexually assaulted, and nearly lost her life in the process. If it wasn't for that microphone she had, Yuma would've been doomed. I betcha good ol' Bando's playing the "Shoulda Woulda Coulda" game now that he finally realized that Yuma wasn't exaggerating the whole time. Bando's lucky this book doesn't take place in the 2020s because social media would've DRAGGED him by the hairs he had left if word got out that he failed to protect their Idol. And rightfully so. Yuma was crying out for help and she got called "crazy" for it. And the sad part is, that's precisely how celebrities in real life, mainly females get treated in the Entertainment industry. And they keep it to themselves because of stuff like this. It just lets me know that you can't even be vulnerable these days because people expect you to grin and bear it like nothing happened. What Yuma realized was that the only one that had her back was herself and she had a right to do what she had to do to protect herself. She was a Lone Ranger at this point. I hope she sued Bando tbh because he owed her big time.

Now my theory is this: If Yuma died by Mr. Elephant and her autopsy revealed she was assaulted and fatally stabbed, wouldn't Bando be brought in for questioning? She was the one under his supervision in this record company. What would he say about the events leading up to her fate? He knows he can't lie and say he didn't know because a tabloid magazine with their picture on it is one of the keys leading up to Yukio and Yuma's deaths. And let's not forget the phone calls she made, the bloody fan letters she received (which Bando probably tossed away), and the fact that she had been doxxed by a loony fan. So if all of the evidence had been put together, wouldn't Bando's reputation would get messed up anyway??? Yuma, Yukio, and Mr. Elephant pretty much have families so I'm sure that they'd want answers about why they died. But wait! Since Yuma had security installed in her house, wouldn't that mean she had surveillance cameras on the premises also? Let's not act like security cameras weren't a thing back in the 90s. They would've used the recordings to back up the claim that Yuma was attacked in her home.

For someone who's worried about album sales and relevancy, he sure didn't think that through. But that's just me rambling so don't take my word for it. Anyways, This wraps up Part 2 of Perfect Blue: Awaken From A Dream. The roller coaster ride is almost over, folks! We have one more novelette to review. But until then, stay tuned for our final review of the last story "Even When I Embrace You". Boy, I had a time with this one. This one might be the most disturbing story out of all three but we may never know until we find out.

Until Next Time, My Friends! (✿◕‿◕✿)