#taft answers

[chrryblsssm]

tag drop: sawyer taft, lily easterling, campbell ames

[so-i-did-this-thing]

Hello!

I wanted to ask a question, if that's okay. So, I'm genderfluid afab and feel like a man sometimes (probably more often than I allow myself to realise). I don't have access to a Binder or anything of that sort (transphobic parents).

Is there any way for me to look/be more masculine? I'm a bit scared of goggling because I don't want to accidentally take advice from Tate people or the like.

(PS. I really like your Siegfried Farnon cosplay!)

Heya!

This is a tough one to answer. Because "masculine" means different things to different people. And "passing", as well.

Like. When I wear my fleece jacket and baseball cap, I'm deliberately passing as a certain type of man. But I felt more masculine the other day wearing an ascot.

So, I think we need to break down this question:

1) If you're looking to pass, there are going to be trans masc guides out there that will direct you to a very particular gender presentation. They tend to assume you are white and skinny. They present themselves as a list of Dos and Do-Nots, and at the end of the day, do more harm than good, imo. Because passing guides are almost always about hiding parts of yourself physically, often to the expense of hiding parts of your psyche.

Seek them out if you must, but when it comes to passing for safety, all I can suggest is ambiguous layers, a hat, keeping your head down and your mouth shut. The best way to pass is to not draw attention to yourself, alas.

2) If you're looking to dress more masculine to alleviate gender dysphoria, then you need to drill down to what makes you dysphoric and start there. My smaller feet is one area of contention for me, so I look for semi-dressy shoes that look long and elegant (like Taft boots). Since you can't get a binder, consider layers, if your chest bothers you.

3) If you're looking to dress more masculine to seek gender euphoria, then figure out your aesthetic masculine ideal. Make a pinboard of Looks you enjoy and see if there are trends. Some folks are drawn to athletic wear. Work wear. Perhaps a vintage aesthetic -- Rockabilly. 90s grunge. 1940s British country vet (meeeee, lol).

Ask yourself: What are the hallmarks of this style? Are there casual and formal versions? How does it change seasonally? How much of it is clothing and how much of it is the body (haircut, being muscular, etc)? And above all - what is this style trying to communicate to others?

Once done, see what sort of fashion tips are out there for your style. Who are the fashion experts and how much do you care about their advice? (Menswear guy has great tips about how a modern suit "should" fit, but a lot of his advice is also personal preference with a big dollop of classism.)

Pay close attention to how men wear their clothes -- where they sit on the body, how they style the outfit. Compare how a man is styled in your preferred look to how a woman is styled and see what that sparks in you. How much of it is the clothing or body? How much is posture? You might discern some visual shorthand you can harness to be read as more masculine. You might also come up with ways to have plausible deniability around your parents by being able to pivot a masculine look to be more feminine, when needed.

After all this research, get yourself to a thrift shop or other second hand option and start experimenting. Buying actual men's clothing is probably going to be your best bet, but depending on your Look Book, that may not always be the case.

No one can tell you how to feel more masculine -- that really needs to come from within. Once you figure that out, then it's a matter of reconciling your ideal look with the peculiarities of your body. (And all men have their own challenges wrt the fit of clothes.)

Afford yourself as much grace as possible when it comes to your body. And again, remember that feeling more masculine and passing more masculine may not always overlap and could even be at odds. And only you can determine if and when that is a problem.

[thoughtfulfoxllama]

Leftism & Mormonism

This week's Hot Take was courtesy of @coolrooster1 (although, based on his Blog, he'll disagree with everything I'm about to say. But I won't pass up an idea for a Hot Take). He made a comment wanting to hear my ideas about how Leftism & Mormon Doctrine can fit together. I am focusing on the Economic Aspects of Leftism (I mean, on the Political Compass, Left is explicitly Economic, divorced from Social Issues)

Law of Consecration-

This is the most obvious example. The United Order (the Lived Economic Order based on the Law of Consecration) is one that stands opposed to Capitalism We see how LDS Scripture stands opposed to Capitalism. The Nephite Society is seen as righteous when "there are no poor among them" (an impossibility in a capitalistic society, as it is based on the idea of supply & demand). Meanwhile, one of the greatest signs of their wickedness is "the wearing of costly apparel" (which is also listed in D&C 42, as a practice to avoid)

This can easily be ignored, if not for the rhetoric given by early Church Leaders. Joseph Smith instituted the United Order, and made a statement about Socialism as preached by John Finch. But the real anti-capitalist sentiments come from Brigham Young (who yes, had his issues) In Volume 15 of the Journal of Discourses, the 30th Talk is given by Brigham Young, on the subject of, as he calls it, the Order of Enoch. Brigham Young not only outlines an idea community, but gives strong critiques of individualism, saying that individualism hinders the community & the individual from becoming a Zion people (even going as far as to say “We want to see the time when men will not say, ‘It is mine,’ but, ‘It is ours.’”). Orderville was a community dedicated to living the United Order, and it is an important part of my wife's family history (as her ancestor, Howard Spencer, was the first Bishop of the community, and instituted the Order). Orderville gives a good example of how the United Order would work (with each family given a stewardship, a council of partly religious & partly elected officials assigned labor & allocated resources, new members being voted in, and so on). However, Orderville (like other Communities) eventually stopped practicing the United Order when silver was discovered. A long series of events led to the Value of Labor was shifted, creating inequality in the community Orderville is the example I use because of how successful it was, but there were hundreds of Untied Order communities formed. The Zeal Young had for this communalist society shows an anticapitalist trend

Social Nets-

"Are we not all beggars" is the rhetorical question asked by King Mosiah. The answer, based on the rest of the verse is "yes." Mosiah used what must have been a common sight, beggars, to prove that we are all equally dependent on God. But, he was also playing on social nets found in the Law of Moses, where Laws were given to support the marginalized (Gleamings of the Crops left behind, treating the Foreigner as ones neighbor, Tithes given specifically for the Fatherless, Widow, Forgieners, and Levites, and so on). The Treatment of the Poor was an essential part of the Law of Moses, and we can see in the Book of Mormon that, with greed also came pride, as we see when the BoM discusses the wearing of costly apparel, not necessarily nice clothes, but clothing as a status (like buying a specific shoe brand to show off that you can afford it). This can also be seen with the Zoramites, who forbade the poor from entering their sanctuary

In our Dispensation, we are still called to support the poor. We do this through Service, through Fast Offerings, and through the Church Welfare Program (which in it's modern form was, ironically enough, kinda started by Ezra Taft Benson as a Stake Program during the Depression). The Church had a shift towards the Right during the Cold War (and while Benson was a major player, he can't be placed as the sole reason), and with this came an emphasis on Self-Reliance (which, while not a bad thing, particularly in a world where it's harder to find people you can rely on, has been weaponized to put down the poor)

Charity is the Pure Love of Christ. It was this Love that inspired Christ to aid the ones who society had overlooked (the poor, women, foreigners, etc). Likewise, it is also what inspired him to turn over the Moneychangers' Tables, and to tell off the Pharasees who declared money "Korban" (sacred, dedicated to the temple) to avoid their obligations to give charity (particularly towards their parents)

The Other Side-

I believe in giving the other side their fair shake. This is because I have considered the other side. Other people might come to a different conclusion to me, and that's fine, as long as they have all the information to make an informed choice

Many Members of the Church will use Joseph Smith's statement about Socialism ("I said I do not believe the doctrine") as a rejection of Communalism of any type (despite the fact the United Order is Communalist). But one needs to analyze it more. Joseph attended 2 lectures by John Finch, a Socialist from Liverpool. To properly understand this off-the-hand comment, we need to understand what specifically he taught (which is a struggle, because we don't have any recordings of his lectures, or John Taylor's Response). It is important to know that Finch was an agnostic, and he was an Owenite. Either, or both, of these might be the cause for Joseph not believing Finch was an agnostic, and the United Order is a faith-based community (although, not explicitly Mormon one, if the Council of Fifty is any indication...). The Bishop of a Community is in charge of the resources for their area (although, like in Orderville, he could be supported by Elected Leaders). Mayhaps Joseph was opposed to Finch's Agnostic View of Socialism, given his belief that all people are dependent of God. Although Finch was an Agnostic, he was also a Unitarian Christian, and believed Christianity was a tool to help provide for people (which seems in accord with Joseph's own view of Religion, although Joseph believed in God Owenite Socialism was based on "Moral Economy," where the treatment of the human was on a higher level than profits, which so far seems to align with Joseph's View. Honestly, I probably need to review it more, but Owenism seems closely aligned to the United Order

And there is the idea that Government Aid is somehow worse than Church Aid. Well, I would've died as a child without Govenment Aid, as I lived on Food Stamps. So, I am biased. But I fail to see the difference between Government & Church Aid And there is the fact that my grandmother (a faithful member) had to go inactive for 30 years, because her husband abandoned her with 2 small children, and her Bishop refused to give her any aid (even a recommendation to work at the DI, which would have allowed her to continue going to Church, as they are not open on Sundays). We have to accept that in a moment of true need, Church Aid was barred, leading to a family being raised outside of the Church, only able to survive on Government Aid

[si1verghosts]

you and me found love (lost under the shade)

re4r leon s. kennedy x fem reader (no use of y/n)

wc: 3.3k

18+ | cw: mentions of drinking, smoking, sex | tw: illusions to suicidal thoughts; author's general preoccupation with death and dying

read on ao3

title: falling asleep on a stranger by pierce the veil | art: taft bridge under the rain [#127] by carmonamedina

a/n: i honestly don't know if i am doing this whole tagging thing right idk how to tag on here so sorry if i missed anything.... anyways, this is the first thing i've managed to finish in months - i did not imagine the first leon fic i'd actually post would be reader insert but here we are!! i hope u enjoy :D

not beta read - all mistakes my own or done purposely due to my general disrespect for the grammatical conventions of the english language.

i do not own leon, yadda yadda, please don't sue me <3

please do not use my work to train any sort of AI chat bot and/or writing generator.

-----

"I can't be what you want," Leon had said, voice even. "Maybe you should try to find someone else; someone who can… be around."

Someone who can give you a straight answer. Someone who doesn't come home bloodied and bruised and can't tell you why. Someone who doesn't make you feel like it's all just a lie. 

You had never heeded any of Leon's suggestions before - "You should go," he had whispered after that first night, and the second, and the third - but you wish you had; so you give it a shot now. 

You let your friend set you up with the guy in accounting at her job she had been telling you about for months. "And get this - he always wears a tie bar! He just seems so put together," she had raved to you over drinks the weekend prior.

Accounting, tie bar, put together. Nice, neat, safe. 

You had shrugged, "give him my number."

He's waiting for you outside the bar when you arrive, jogs over when he notices you approaching, holding his umbrella out over you. It's unnecessary - the cold precipitation is hardly a mist, barely coating the strands of your hair. "You look beautiful," he smiles. It feels rehearsed, platitudinous. You thank him, letting him guide you inside. 

His hand brushes your arm as he helps you out of your jacket, skin soft. You pull away with the shock of it, covering with a small wave of beckoning. He falls in behind you as you traverse the familiar path through the room to your usual spot, settling in before he can manage to make a show out of pulling out your chair.

Same table, different seat; back against the wall - it's a whole new perspective. No longer focused solely on the person across from you, it's as if the whole world falls into your line of sight. It suddenly makes sense why you always found it so difficult to hold on to Leon's attention.

He slinks away to acquire your requested vodka soda from the bar. You pick at your nails until your fingers shake, shifting to look out the windows. The rain has picked up, pelting the glass and obscuring the view. You long for your car and the pack of menthols tucked away in the glove box, nobody to quit for now. 

He returns with your drinks, water for himself - "trying to cut back on carbs, you know? I've been making real progress with my lifts lately." 

"That's great," you smile. 

He leans in, beginning to chatter away excitedly about weights and protein and bicycles and Wall Street. His cologne reeks of business school, of polo shirts and white picket fences and 2.5 kids. You hope you are nodding at all the right moments. His tie bar catches the light of the Budweiser sign hanging behind you, silver glinting red, as if informing you you aren't.

It's hard, much harder than it reasonably should be but you've forgotten how to do this. Leon and you hardly spoke; the silence was easier - until it grew violent from your overreliance. 

You catch the ring of the doorbell over the drone of his voice, a familiar shape of blonde hair and brown leather entering your peripheral vision. You turn, a sick sense of satisfaction slithering up your spine. 

Shoulders hunched and hands shoved deep in his pockets, he shakes off the water droplets clinging to his hair like a dog. He picks his head up, blue eyes and dark circles meet your gaze almost immediately.

You raise a brow, I took your advice; happy?

He spins around, setting the bell off again as he slips out the door. 

"I'm sorry," you interrupt your date, who had been entertaining himself, seemingly never even recognizing your shift in attention. "I'll be right back." 

You are out the door a second later, shoving your arms back into the coat you thankfully remembered to grab, shielding your skin from the rain clouding your vision. Blinking away the droplets from your lashes, you spot Leon making his way down the sidewalk and take off after him, catching up as he nears the corner. 

You call to him, voice near enough to stop him, but only for a moment. "Go back inside," he throws over his shoulder, continuing forward.

You want to reach out and grab him, make him turn to look at you, but his shoulders are set in a tense line. Your touch is sure to set him off like a slingshot. 

Steeling yourself, you dart around him, blocking his path. You find yourself in front of him without any idea of what to say. You gape at him stupidly, chest heaving from the exertion of chasing him down; maybe you should've asked what's-his-name for a good gym recommendation before you ran off.

Leon entertains you for a moment before he huffs, eyes narrowing, "what are you doing?"

It's an excellent question - one you had never bothered to stop and ask yourself. 

What are you doing? 

Why did you agree to go for drinks? Why had you put on the dress Leon had carefully unzipped and let pool around your ankles just a few weeks ago? Why had you asked Mr. Tie Bar to meet you at the bar you knew Leon always popped into after work? 

Fuck. 

You swallow harshly, "trying." 

"Trying?" Leon reiterates, almost laughing. "And what is it that you are trying?"

Normal. To get over you. To make you mad. Honesty. To make you look at me. To make you want me like I want you. Safety. To hurt you. To get you to say something, anything. Trust. To get you to make me stay. To get you to stay. 

You feel yourself frown, the familiar pressure of tears building behind your nose. You try to swallow the feeling but it just mixes with the venom stuck in your throat, bubbling back up after mutating into a bitter twinge of anger. "What the hell does it look like, Leon? You told me to try to find someone else - that's what I'm trying."

He rocks back on his heels, crossing his arms. "Well, it doesn't really seem to be working out, does it?" 

"It was going great, actually." You smile, hoping it's not as hollow as you feel. 

"Oh, yeah?" He cocks a brow, lips pulling into a sly smirk. "Then why are you out here with me?

"You," you huff, at a loss. His words seem to be coming easier than ever while you choke on every one. You shrug, "You looked upset when you left."

"And I'm sure that's exactly what you wanted, right?" His smirk stretches into an acetous grin. "Came to relish in the tears, huh? Sorry to disappoint." He moves to brush by you, but you plant yourself in his path once again. 

"I can't believe-" you start, but stop short. Because you can believe he'd think of you that way - you'd never given him a reason to think otherwise. 

You think back to the silence that had made its home between the two of you, realizing you had used it as a confidant, letting it absorb everything you should've given to Leon instead. 

"I just wanted to check on you, see how you are doing." Your voice comes out as small as you feel under the weight of Leon's gaze. It's ironic - all this time you just wanted him to look at you, and now you wish he'd turn his eyes anywhere else. 

He snorts, short and irascibly, "I don't need you worrying about me."

"I know you don't, Leon," you throw your hands out, rainwater flicking off your skin with your exasperation. "You've made that very clear. But I can't help it - I'm going to anyways." 

"You shouldn't."

"Why not?" You half-yell, half-whine. You cringe at the sound, feeling slightly delirious; freezing cold and nearly begging him to let you care. 

 "Because you can do better." His voice is even once again, feelings stacked neatly away and locked up tight. 

"You don't get to decide that for me," you spit, ears ringing with the echo of your too-loud voice. 

"Yeah," he nods. "I do." 

He steps around you again, intending to disappear down the side street. But this time you grab him, fingers latching onto the slippery leather of his jacket, his arm as tense as a bowstring under your grip. 

"Let me go," he requests without turning to look at you, voice still even, even, even. It's a courtesy, he could easily pull free - but you are sick of his kindness, his courtesies; that's how you ended up here. You don't want them anymore.

"Make me." 

"Let me go," he repeats, slower and thicker. 

"No." If you want me gone, you'll have to force me. You don't say it, but you know he got the message when his shoulders slump, fight draining out of him all at once. 

With the thrill of victory that ripples through you, you make the mistake of loosening your hold on his jacket. He seizes the opportunity, twisting your arm and grabbing you by the bicep, pulling you close. He is running hot despite the chill of the rain, you have to force yourself not to relax into his heat. 

A moment passes, and then another. Neither of you move. The precipitation falls in sheets around you. You can't bring yourself to care. 

Your gaze slides from his chest to his neck to his jaw, backtracking the path of a stray raindrop. You chance a glance at his eyes, finding they are already on you, steely blue shimmering with the light of the streetlamp behind you. 

You love him. 

You wish the ground would crack open, allowing you to freefall straight down to hell. You imagine that would feel better - less painful - than this. 

You love him, and your skin burns with the feeling of it. You want to throw up. You want to kiss him. You want to pound your fists against his chest, curse him for doing this to you. 

You settle for allowing a sob to escape your throat. 

He releases you from his hold instantly at the sound. You scramble to grip his jacket to keep yourself upright - it's pitiful, the teeth of the zipper biting into the skin of your hands. The sharp pain comes as a tether, gifting you the space to ground yourself, to shove the tears back down. 

"I'm sorry," he whispers, tight and clipped. "I didn't mean to-"

"No," you cut him off, voice rough, grating. "It wasn't. You didn't hurt me."

"Okay," he mutters. 

You laugh. You love him and you can't help but laugh, sinking into the insanity of it. 

You feel him start to stiffen again, unsure. The feeling of his discomfort building under your fingers forces you back into yourself, realizing where you are, that you've been causing a scene on the corner down the block from his apartment. 

You release him, but you don't step away, tilting your head just enough to take in the sight of him - parted lips and a handful of freckles, blonde hair tinted green by the neon sign over the entrance of the convenience store a few feet away. 

"I'm sorry," you croak out, drifting back; wishing the rain would melt you down, suck you into the storm drain. That's the only thing that could pull you from him, you think; swirling down the gutters with the cigarette butts and the fallen cherry blossoms until you're laid to rest at the bottom of the Potomac. 

His nose twitches. "For what?"

That I can't find someone else, can't force myself away from you.

That I love you, but can't tell you.  

"For," you throw your hands out, weaker than before. "All of it."

He nods, "It's okay."

You don't want it to be, but you suddenly feel exhausted. Too tired to fight, to pull any more truths from him. 

"Take me home?" You request, you plead. 

He nods again, holding his hand out to you. "Yeah."

You intertwine your fingers with his own, the roughness of his callouses and scars soothing in their familiarity. 

The walk to his place is short. You don't bother trying to shake off the water before entering, leaving a trail of raindrops up the stairwell, down the hall, through his front door, across his apartment to the tiled floor of his bathroom. 

He reaches into the shower, cranking the hot water, allowing the stream to heat up as he helps you out of your wet clothes. He removes the drenched fabric piece by piece - jacket first, then your dress, unzipping it with even more care than the previous time. It doesn't slip off with the same ease, but his gentle fingers pull it from your skin until it falls away. He crouches to undo your shoes, allowing you to step out of them before reaching up and rolling your nylons, guiding them down your legs. 

He moves to do the same with your underwear, fingers resting on the waistband as he glances up to you, silently asking your permission even though he already has it, always will. There's no heat behind his actions, but the tenderness sears your skin all the same. You nod, a low ache settling into the center of your chest as he slides them off you before standing. You unclasp your bra; he doesn't comment on the matching set.

The steam of the boiling shower envelops you as you undress him in turn. You struggle with his belt buckle, stiff fingers uncooperative. He takes over and you drop to your knees to untie the laces of his boots, finding them mercifully secured with single-knots. You make quick work of them and he reaches down to help you up, moving you out of the way before he kicks them off. 

You assist him in pulling his shirt over his head, peeling the cotton away from his skin. You unbutton his jeans as he removes the clips from your hair, wet strands falling limply in front of your eyes. 

"Go ahead and get in, I'll go throw this stuff in the wash." His voice is mellifluous, sickeningly soft. 

It makes you feel like a kid, incompetent and helpless. You hate him for it. You hate yourself for twisting his kindness into something dark and disgusting. 

"I can help," you offer, because that's all you can do; already leaning down to collect your things. "You have to hang the jacket, it's-"

"Wool. I know," his hand brushes your back lightly, "it's okay. I'll be right back."

You straighten up, allowing him to guide you across the bathroom and help you into the tub. You slowly ease your way under the hot stream as he slides the shower curtain closed. 

You watch the shape of him through the cloudy plastic, shucking off his jeans and pulling off his socks. The sobs you had just barely choked down twice before make another escape attempt, clawing at your throat as you watch his shadow collect your clothes and move down the hall. 

You shut your eyes against the sudden emptiness of the room, against the tears and the silence and the panic; against the loathing and inferiority. You take the coward's way out, turning away from it all to hold your face up to the showerhead. 

He returns quickly, rustling around for a moment before slipping into the tub behind you. His presence awards you the bravery you needed to crack open your eyes, to clear your throat. "You're wrong, you know."

Exhaustion overshadows his amusement as he hums in question, "about what?"

Picking your hand up, you reach out slowly to slide your fingers along his collarbone, circle the puckered scar on his shoulder. "That I can find someone better." 

He scoffs, dropping his head, hair fluttering down to obscure his face. 

You move your hand to his neck, thumbing his jaw. "If anything, it's me who doesn't deserve you, Leon." 

He shakes his head, but you ignore the action, continuing before he can protest. "Nobody can take care of me like you do - not even myself. I'm sorry" - for needing you, for burdening you; for loving you even though I'm unworthy of it - "for pushing you. I understand there are things you can't share, but I want whatever you can."

You sigh, shifting your hand at his neck to pull him to you; he follows you easily, achingly. "Even if it's just this." 

He nods minutely, hooking his arms over your hips and resting his forehead on yours. Answer delivered on a breath that floats across your lips, "alright." 

You remain in his arms, his agreement echoing in your mind in time with the beat of your heart in your chest. Seconds morph into minutes, only moving when the water begins to grow cold. 

You wash first, your shampoo and conditioner still on the rack next to his own. Leaving him under the stream, you make your way to his room after wrapping yourself in one of the towels he'd brought into the bathroom. 

Home. You had asked him to take you home and he brought you here, despite your own place being just a few blocks further in the opposite direction of his from the corner you had been on. But his assumption was right; this - he - was home to you.  

The emptiness of his apartment was unsettling at first, but it quickly grew comforting - no regrets staining the carpet; no photos on the dresser of you as a girl you don't remember being. Here you could be untethered from the past you didn't want; white walls graciously offering a clean slate, even if you didn't deserve it, didn't earn it. 

There is a shirt of his waiting on the bed for you, a pair of your pajama pants in the drawer next to his. Your stomach turns at the sight - no wonder he had tried to push you away; you had subconsciously settled into his space, his closet and his bed. 

Your mug in the sink, your pills behind the mirror - the reckless domesticity of it all is startling, terrifying. He had given you an inch and you had taken a mile, too eager for the chance to be something new. 

You pull on the clothes, making your way towards the balcony, a wave of nausea rolling through you under the soft cotton. Outside, it's still raining, translucent ropes sluicing off the overhang of the roof. 

You almost immediately regret stepping outside, feeling as if it's a betrayal of the care Leon took to get you warm; but you needed it. The chill of the air forces your thoughts to line up, to wait to be addressed one by one.

His hand leading you home, your wool coat hung to dry, his shirt waiting on the bed for you to occupy - each act a silent invitation; the realization stirs inside you, grips your collarbones from the inside. 

Could it be…?

You should ask him, but you've asked for more than enough tonight. 

He slides open the glass door, sweatpants low on his hips; the lamp on his nightstand illuminates him from behind, feathering out all his sharp edges. Maybe it's not love; maybe it's just lust, desire - a need so great it's all-consuming. You have no point of comparison to use as a frame of reference, to assist in finding the distinction. 

"I was away for a few days, there's not much in the fridge. Is ramen alright or do you want to order something?" He asks and it's love, you are suddenly sure of it. 

You turn; the sight of Leon in the buttery glow of the bedroom acting as a beacon, guiding you through the terror. "Ramen is fine."

[more-than-tender-curiosity]

1 2 4 9 11 21 29 81 93 98

to help you further avoid overboard

This isnt to say that I dont want to write I just simply Cannot.

1. Do you know how you want the story to end when you start, or are you just stumbling through the figurative wilderness hoping to find a road?

Kind of depends. All my stories tend to start with a scene, an image, a line. And then I just build it from there. You know this, but Ghosting started with just an image of Jay’s outline as the green light swung past—but he wasn’t really there, just the shape of him remained.

2. Talk about a notable time a narrative or character has looked you dead in the eyes and said “fuck your plan, here’s what we’re actually doing.”

Oh man I don’t know. Usually it’s a side character or an OC taking up more space than intended. It’s kind of small but I didn’t intend for Lewes Mason to become so dear to Jay at the end of 1916 in Gatsby. Nor was Dan supposed to (SPOILER) break Jay’s leg.

4. What is the plot bunny you’ve been carrying for the longest?

Okay not the longest but the most intense: the role reversal au. For those unfamiliar: The day after he buries Jay, Nick wakes up once more to summer 1922 to find Jay alive—but not well—next door, living with Dan Cody, who didn’t die in 1912 like he was meant to. Nick lives with his partner Chester McKee, who moved into the cottage with him in July. Daisy lives across the bay and she’s happily single and throws parties just because she can. Nick has to witness the abuse Jay undergoes with Dan and question if that’s really better than the world he left behind, where Jay is dead, while trying to work out just how this timeline’s Nick is meant to act (and avoiding what that means for his own hypocrisy.) So Jay is trapped with the awful partner, Nick is (supposed to be) more comfortable in his sexuality and actually building a life worth living, and Daisy is…well, unbound and carefree.

9. Would you want to see a movie/tv adaptation of your work?

I want Gatsby to be a tv show more than you could ever understand. A chapter per episode, with 1922 being a two-parter. Something along the lines of Anne with an E but more explicit just due to the nature of what occurs in the story, perhaps with a little Bridgerton mixed in since I think the soundtrack would end up being modern songs (yes I have songs that go along with specific scenes that are fully directed in my head. Like “Baby You’re A Rich Man” by the beatles playing at the very beginning of 1922 as it sweeps across Jay’s sunny gardens and down his pristine halls, ending on “baby you’re a rich man too” as jay cracks open his miserable eyes to another hateful day alone in this palace. Or “until it doesn’t hurt” by mother mother playing as jay rots in his bed at robert’s after dan dies and it plays as a sort of time lapse of robert checking on him and feeding him and all, until it gets to “I wanna get it but I gotta stay inside” etc, which is where jay starts to force himself out of the bed and collapses and tries to drag himself out of the room. Camera hold on the empty doorway as “I wanna know but I gotta stay inside” echoes off into silence as jay has dragged himself out of the room, out of camera view, down the hall. I have others as well. Entire episodes. Full sequences. Shots. Casting. Yknow. All I do is dream these days

11. What’s something you’ve learned while doing research for a fic? Do you worry about research?

Sorry to answer backwards but all I ever do is research. And yeah I learned about William Taft getting mad about cocaine. And just about the Boston Brahmin in general

21. Pick a writer to cowrite a book with and tell us what it’s about

Does dragging Fitz to 2025 and explaining to him that Gay is Okay until he agrees to write what he was always meant to write count?

Nah I don’t know. @cuttoothom and @irisbleufic are some living authors I’ve interacted with, and they both would be neat to collaborate with at some point. A guy can dream I guess!

29. Give us a spoiler

Jay dies at the end of Gatsby.

81. If you could go back in time and give your younger self a piece of writing advice specific to you, what would it be?

Editing and revision are allowed. It doesn’t need to be perfect the first time you write it to ‘prove’ you’re a good writer (speaking to me at one day younger than I am now and also ten years younger)

93. Do you hear other people’s writing styles when they talk?

I would if y’all wrote anything for me to read 🔪🔪🔪🔪

98.

Holding my hands when I say this.

If you don’t work on that fucking pacing I’m gonna kill you. WHY. Is one chapter 50k words. And the next. Is 10k. Why are we spending six pages watching jay go shopping by himself. That’s embarrassing are you not embarrassed

Overboard successfully avoided.

[mariacallous]

Few historical analogies exist for Donald Trump’s newly announced tariffs. The investment bank Evercore estimates that the so-called “liberation day” announcement has raised the weighted average US tariff to 29% – its highest rate since 1900. To call it a generational action would be an understatement; my grandmother was born in 1939.

These tariffs, if they remain in place, will raise prices, eliminate jobs and shrink retirements. No one will pay for them more dearly than American workers. Yet a shock to capitalism inevitably raises the question of whether, and how, capitalists will respond. Faced with Trump’s tariffs, what will the US’s business class do?

Some commentators have hoped that, once the effects of Trump’s economic misrule become apparent, executives will finally turn on the Maga movement. But the answer, as during Trump’s previous tariff scares, is likely to disappoint. The Chamber of Commerce, National Association of Manufacturers, and International Dairy Foods Association have each issued strongly worded statements against Trump’s trade action. Others are likely forthcoming. But those words are unlikely to become meaningful action, for it is simply not in the business lobby’s nature to fight the Republican party.

Unlike much of the developed world, the US lacks a single, representative organization for big business. Barring extraordinary initiative by political actors, or moments of deep and protracted crisis, unified and cross-sectoral corporate lobbies rarely appear in American history. The National Association of Manufacturers and the Chamber of Commerce began as initiatives of presidents William McKinley and William Howard Taft, respectively; the Business Roundtable, founded through a merger of two union-busting business groups in 1972, stands as a rare business lobby organized by business itself.

If these organizations have a difficult time coming together, they have an even harder time sticking together. The roundtable and the chamber experienced their greatest momentum during the economic turbulence of the 1970s: at last, their managers were able to unite the otherwise fractious American business community under the banner of fighting organized labor and its New-Dealer allies within the Democratic party. But by the middle of Ronald Reagan’s presidency, those enemies had been vanquished – and the chamber and roundtable hemorrhaged membership in turn.

Business organizations never regained the command of American capitalism they had won in the late 70s and early 80s. The Chamber of Commerce has maintained stature only by becoming, essentially, an all-purposes lobbying firm. Its primary function is to receive contributions from industries attempting to obscure their hand in pushing politically unpopular causes: tobacco seeking to shield itself from liability, the auto industry seeking to relax safety standards, the health insurance sector seeking to stall healthcare reform, etc.

Though the chamber and roundtable briefly stepped into more activist roles during the disruptions of the Tea Party, their success was, at best, mixed. At once, they found themselves dueling against the oil, gas and utilities sectors, each of whom fervently backed rightwing insurgents. By 2014, they had largely eliminated the Tea Party’s beachhead in Congress. Even so, they failed to repel the advance of Trump during the 2016 primaries; nor did they manage to sap the influence of the Freedom Caucus, today a king-making group among House Republicans.

Though business organizations managed to significantly shape Trump’s 2017 Tax Cuts and Jobs Act, they notably failed to shape his administration’s 2018 trade war. Rather than mount a united front against Trump’s tariff regime, nearly 4,000 firms attempted to individually lobby the office of Robert Lighthizer for individual exemptions for their imports of interest. This, the political scientist Jack Zhang explains, had the ironic effect of overwhelming the United States trade representative’s office, and crowding out most lobbyists: few ultimately received exemptions, while the rest continued paying the cost of high tariffs.

That period’s patterns are telling: American business, given the weakness of its coordinating institutions, is essentially incapable of coordinating significant challenges to the Republican party’s governance. A previous generation of corporate leadership might have met a shock of Wednesday’s magnitude with a coordinated response felt at all levels of American society – whether through lobbying efforts in Washington or advertisements in local newspapers. But American business is too disunited to mount similar campaigns today. “The pursuit of individual self-interests,” as Zhang noted in 2020, “left none to defend the public goods associated with a free and open market between the US and China.”

That phenomenon is a persistent feature of the Trump era. The chamber’s boycott of campaign contributions to the Republican party after the January 6 insurrection lasted little more than two months. And the agricultural lobby, once a powerful pro-immigration voice on Capitol Hill, has all but abandoned its public advocacy for immigrants: organizing on the issue, where it exists, is done through quiet lobbying behind closed doors. If history is any guide, then, there will be no meaningful corporate break with the Republican party.

“We are living through the nightmare edition of ‘Great Men Make History’,” wrote the leftwing theorist Mike Davis shortly before his death in 2022. “Unlike the high Cold war when politburos, parliaments, presidential cabinets and general staffs to some extent countervailed megalomania at the top, there are few safety switches between today’s maximum leaders and Armageddon.”

Our moment, as Davis observed, is the apogee of a long-brewing structural crisis of American liberalism, where even the mechanisms that once aligned state policy with corporate interests have fundamentally broken down. Whether among executives, lobbyists or university trustees, an elite-led backlash to the Trump administration – on trade, immigration, the rule of law or anything else – is not forthcoming. Only an organized working class, then, can resist Trump.

[deadpresidents]

Which president/s do you think probably had a close encounter with a grizzly at least once in their lives?

To highlight what I was saying earlier about the questions I'm asked, this is closer to being stupid or annoying, but still isn't either of those things. It's just a weird question that I would seemingly not be able to give any sort of answer to because why would there ever be any record of an encounter between a President of the United States and a grizzly bear?

BUT...we have had many Presidents who were avid hunters and/or fishermen throughout their lives, and Theodore Roosevelt is at the top of that list. And since he somehow wrote roughly 18 million books about 13 million different subjects in his "down time", we know for a fact that Theodore Roosevelt encountered a grizzly bear because he wrote about killing one while hunting in his book, Hunting Trips of a Ranchman, which was originally published in 1885! I don't know about any other Presidential summits with grizzly bears, but I'm told certain segments of our population consider William Howard Taft a bear of sorts.

[heathersdesk]

LDS Church History for Beginners

Somebody mentioned they wanted to get around to digging more into Church history. I could give a topical list, but I think the better way to do this is to give a list of people whose lives and words will illuminate how/why/when the Church became what it is today.

Emma Smith: her experience with polygamy, the suspension of the Relief Society, and her conflict with Brigham Young after the death of Joseph Smith.

Brigham Young: the experiences of his wives, his racial biases and support for slavery and segregation, and the conflicts with indigenous people that occurred under his leadership.

Emmeline B. Wells: her writings defending polygamy, women's empowerment, and her advocacy of women's suffrage.

The excommunications of apostle Richard Lyman (for adultery) and patriarch to the Church Joseph Fielding Smith (for homosexuality.) Also note that there were multiple Joseph Fielding Smiths. The prophet was a different one.

J. Reuben Clark: his authorship of segregationist, homosexualist, and anti-feminist thought in the modern Church, post-WWII.

Spencer W. Kimball: his impact on the Church's role in defeating the ERA. Also the Indian Placement Program, and the mechanics of how the racial restriction was enforced.

Ezra Taft Benson: his relationship with and advocacy for the John Birch Society, the Red Scare, and his open animosity towards Hugh B. Brown.

The September Six: their advocacy, excommunications, and the works of D. Michael Quinn.

Chieko Okazaki: her life and faith and her criticism of the Family Proclamation.

Also, a piece of advice: when trying to see/understand any aspect of Church history, with all of the tragedy that can entail, I find it helpful to connect with the voices and perspectives of LDS women.

"How do I keep my faith alive when *this* is what our people are like?" is a question LDS women have been answering since 1830. They don't just fall in line behind every ridiculous thing a person in authority says, does, or wants to do. They never have, which is part of why those in leadership weren't interested in telling the stories of LDS women for so long. No study of Church history is accurate or complete if it doesn't include the perspectives of women.

[quintsjacket]

fuck it ellen headcanons that no one asked for let's Go (under the cut because i'm shy. and it's longer than i meant it to be.)

^^ this is backed up a little by the scrapped scene of michael's birthday party in one screenplay, where she asks (mr? mrs? unclear) taft if at the very least sean would be considered an islander had he been born there (the answer is no, by the way). she wants to belong; if she can't have that, then maybe the boys can.

ellen grew up in a small town. i know this i can feel it in my bones. she left after graduating high school. moved to a city for... college? general adult life? i'm not sure yet. probably nyc though, given... *waves hand*. like the line "but when do i get to become an islander?" reads to me as a desperation to have that small-town connection again, in spite of how othered the brodys are by amity. i like to think that ellen would have assumed she'd be right at home again with amity's relatively tiny population, but gets totally thrown off when neighbours refuse to acknowledge her as an islander.

i do think that the brodys' decision to move there would have been a mutual one - they respect each other too much to allow for any other possibility, imo - but i think adjusting would have been harder for ellen than martin. she would feel so simultaneously both at home, being from a small community similar to amity's, and totally alienated. it would be hard.

she's jewish! lorraine gary speaks briefly in the making of jaws doc about how her being a jewish mother contributed to her characterization of ellen's guilt, so that's where that comes from! (if hooper can be jewish by way of dreyfuss, then so can ellen . basically). to what extent she's a practicing jew, though........ Shrugs

ellen can't drive. martin drives her to work in the blue police truck in jaws 2 - and that + the original yellow truck are all we see them using, as far as i can recall - so i figure them as a single car household. she never got around to learning as a teenager, never needed to drive in new york.

she's a bookworm :> i cannot remember for the life of me who it was, but i know someone's mentioned ellen being really into reading alongside brody. i think she'd also be a sucker for cute romcoms and melodramas.

^ speaking of other peoples' ideas, i know ellen getting along with quint after a while is another headcanon that bounces around sometimes. i think it's cute.

martin's anxiety is much worse than hers, ESPECIALLY post-orca, but i think she has a bit of a nervous streak too.

it's not a constant/permanent headcanon for me, but i am *exceedingly* fond of transfem ellen. t4t ellen/martin 👍👍

still haven't seen jaws 4 oops lol but she's probably close with mrs kintner after martin & sean die, given that kintner shows up at her house to console her. assuming we actually accept that film as canon to begin with

the book does also (iirc) describe ben gardner's wife distraught after he's killed, so if there's a mrs gardner within the film's universe i think they would get along as well. amity support group for people whose family members keep getting eaten by big fucking sharks

[noro-noro-noro]

sag aetfa thoughts

i hate sounding like an unwoke loser but given SAG's recent (past few months) behavior & how cliquey it is & the way SAG va's have tried to convince the greater audience that you can join a union project non union permanently by signing a taft hartley but when people go "taft hartley only allows you 30 days of work before they Must become union is there another plan" they got silent. also the way some voice actors have told Jacob takahashi to kill himself after he was hired into a role he didn't know was already occupied by a guy that was on strike & also corina boetger's entire social media presence. "it's okay for me to scab because I need the money but everyone else who does it is a scumbag asshole."

I refuse to elaborate or provide sources bc bc I've been inundated with seeing English voice actors talk about how SAG is making their lives miserable for months & everyone will read my mind or die for my post on my blog. I've seen it. I think Allegra Clark has spoken up about it several times....i remember people were upset with khoi dao even though he has a cool overall vibe bc he kept pushing taft hartley (which you can also only sign one 3 times ever?) & not answering questions about it. people saying you can work no union & still receive a union salary with no evidence. I think yearly fees are 3k when many VAs excluding thr biggest ones just dont nake ghsg much. & I've seen people say SAG uses health insurance as something hanging over people's heads but I need to look more into that.

the FINAL VOTE OFFER thing was recently & the majority of people voted no to it. & they say they're still debating. I saw that a lot f vas want to get back to work. also I remember seeing people dogpiling hoyoverse for not signing, but from my understanding after looking into it is 1. this would limit them to only hiring American VA's for the rest of their time & 2. as a company based in China they already have AI voice protections in place .as bad as it sounds to say I do not think sag aftra is a union with voice actors best interests in mind. AND there was a video of the gtuy in charge saying that people who aren't in the union just aren't as good so they dont get work for a reason

i come back this and find more

&

[omarandjohnny]

🎉 if you get this, answer with 3 random facts about yourself and send it to the last 7 blogs in your notifications, anonymously or not! Let’s get to know the person behind the blog.

Oooh, thank you!

1/ Let's start with a '3' fact- when I was 3 I was convinced I could hover (not quite enough hubris for full flight, I kept my goals ~reasonable~), so I jumped off my mother's piano bench and nearly busted my elbow. I don't remember quite how I was reprimanded, but I know it convinced me to never attempt another experiment of that nature.

2/ The only time I actually disliked a trip to a haunted house was when we visited one at Virginia Beach when I was a teenager. Because beach, I was never without my flip-flops, so when we went through they had a particular corridor with those of us semi-barefooted in mind: simulated rats/rat tails/ scurrying across our feet intermittently. I had such a death grip on dad as we walked along that he almost dropped Joel several times. Took me a few years to get back into visiting spoopy places again! (in hindsight, genius lil' trick for a seaside haunted attraction)

3/ My main regret in life (to-date) is quitting the violin as a child. I was part of a Suzuki program in Cincy in the late 80s, got to be part of a big recital at Taft Theatre, very exciting for young me. I quit because my mother (abusive, long story) made it a deadly serious chore instead of the joyous escape I needed it to be. I got so upset towards the end that I purposefully started screwing up, which was pretty brave on my part, and she surprisingly let me quit. I was only 7, but I still regret not being able to endure her and keep going. (lack of funds and arthritis prevent me from taking it back up these days)

[good-to-drive]

I wanna make an unpopular presidential opinion ask game but I can only think of a few questions

1. Is Abraham Lincoln from Illinois and why will people from Illinois kill you if you answer that question honestly

2. Was JFK a spoiled frat boy or a super tragic spoiled frat boy

3. Are we fat shaming Taft enough or could we be doing more

[redreadretale]

History & Trivia Buffs! Check this out :)

Wonder what mascots our current presidential candidates would adopt?

[classystudentclown]

I have serious problems, that clash with basic understanding and have roots in mathematics.

Facts aren't as baffling as trash,

Answers that don't pass and last laughs.

Brutally immature and crass, brash like Dempsey and Taft. People must be daft and expect a pass.

Like we break bread and burn grass?

Don't need to be invited to BBQs where everyone is strapped or with a pack.

It's not of a division of race, it's a division of class.

Like, I never act rashes with an evil laugh.

Beat, skip and miss the tempo.

Look at me, wishing I was getting into a Pinto.

🤣

[mightyflamethrower]

Some decisions are so negligent and with consequences so predictably disastrous that only a Big Stupid Government could ever make them. Over the weekend, a massive fire under I-10 at E. 14th Ave. in Los Angeles was severe enough to cause structural damage bad enough to close that section of the freeway "indefinitely."

The miracle — thanks to Big Stupid Government — is that it didn't happen sooner.

With more than 300,000 vehicles being rerouted each and every day until further notice, frustrated Los Angelenos demanded answers — and, on Tuesday, they got one.

"Bad actors" caused the fire, according to State Fire Marshal Daniel Berlant.

Some unknown arsonist is believed to have started Saturday's blaze, but that's not the "bad actor" to whom Berlant was referring. You see, the city government leases underpass space to people and companies for storage. In this case, "bad actors" filled the underpass with wooden pallets and containers of alcohol-based hand sanitizer.

In my report on Monday (and at the top of this story), you can see the pallets stacked so high under the freeway that they're almost touching the underside of the elevated road. The photos were courtesy of Google Street View, so it isn't like the towers of literal kindling were some dark secret.

The city is currently in a legal battle with a company called Airspace that leased the underpass storage area.

Let us pause here to consider the ill-considered wonder of stuffing underpasses full of kindling and flammable goo. Let us pause again to consider the bone-crushing stupidity of allowing unpoliced homeless encampments filled with vagrants, addicts, and the mentally ill to cohabitate with pallets and accelerants. 

"Giving money and power to government," P.J. O'Rourke quipped, "is like giving whiskey and car keys to teenage boys." But sometimes the situation is reversed. In this case, government gave dry wood and alcohol to vagrants.

Was the I-10 fire started by a malicious arsonist or just a bored fentanyl addict? We may never know with 100% certainty, but we do know these fires are common wherever the homeless are living free range. PJ Media's own Victoria Taft reported back in March, "Fire, fire everywhere" rages all up and down the West Coast, where the homeless are treated like an endangered species.

That story was just one entry in Victoria's ongoing "West Coast, Messed Coast" series, of which, if you aren't a regular reader, you should be.

Meanwhile — you're going to love this one — KTLA reported Tuesday morning: "Just days after a massive blaze destroyed part of the 10 Freeway in downtown Los Angeles, another fire broke out under a different freeway." This time, the fire appears to have started at an underpass homeless encampment near eastbound 105 and southbound 110 and then spread to nearby vegetation. 

Fortunately, this fire didn't have nearly as much fuel to burn and only resulted in some traffic slowdowns.

But two of these fires in four days are a sure sign that LA's Big Stupid Government doesn't know how to protect the city's critical transportation infrastructure. Or maybe they just don't care. Maybe the neglect is on purpose — a stealthy way to promote the city's "road diet" to force drivers out of their cars and onto public transportation.

Whether by accident or design, however, it takes a Big Stupid Government to allow anyone to store kindling and accelerant under freeway overpasses occupied by those who are negligent, drug-addicted, mentally unstable, criminal, or all four. 

[cuzikan]

Great knowledge!!

On Jeopardy the other night, the final question was, How many steps does the guard take during their walk across the Tomb of the Unknowns? ------ All three missed it ---

This is really an awesome sight to watch if you've never had the chance Very fascinating.

Tomb of the Unknown Soldier

1. How many steps does the guard take during their walk across the tomb of the Unknowns and why?

21 steps. It alludes to the twenty-one gun salute, which is the highest honor given any military or foreign dignitary.

2. How long do they hesitate after their about face to begin their return walk and why?

21 seconds for the same reason as answer number 1

3. Why are their gloves wet?

Their gloves are moistened to prevent losing their grip on the rifle.

4. Do they carry their rifle on the same shoulder all the time and if not, why not?

They carry the rifle on the shoulder away from the tomb.

After their march across the path, they execute an about face and move the rifle to the outside shoulder.

5. How often are the guards changed?

Guards are changed every thirty minutes, twenty-four hours a day, 365 days a year.

6. What are the physical traits of the guard limited to?

For a person to apply for guard duty at the tomb, they must be between 5' 10' and 6' 2' tall and their waist size cannot exceed 30.' Other requirements of the Guard:

They must commit 2 years of life to guard the tomb, live in a barracks under the tomb, and cannot drink any alcohol on or off duty.

They cannot swear in public and cannot disgrace the uniform or the tomb in any way. After two years, the guard is given a wreath pin that is worn on their lapel signifying they served as guard of the tomb. There are only a little over 600 presently worn.

The guard must obey these rules while serving as guards or for the rest of their lives if they choose.

The shoes are specially made with very thick soles to keep the heat and cold from their feet. There are metal heel plates that extend to the top of the shoe in order to make the loud click as they come to a halt.

There are no wrinkles, folds or lint on the uniform.

Guards dress for duty in front of a full-length mirror.

The first six months of duty a guard cannot talk to anyone, nor watch TV.

All off-duty time is spent studying the 175 notable people laid to rest in Arlington National Cemetery. A guard must memorize who they are and where they are interred.

Among the notables are: President Taft, Joe E. Lewis (the boxer) and Medal of Honor winner Audie Murphy, (the most decorated soldier of WWII) of Hollywood fame.

Every guard spends five hours a day getting their uniforms ready for guard duty.

ETERNAL REST GRANT THEM O LORD, AND LET PERPETUAL LIGHT SHINE UPON THEM.

In 2003 as Hurricane Isabelle was approaching Washington , DC , our US Senate/House took 2 days off with anticipation of the storm. On the ABC evening news, it was reported that because of the dangers from the hurricane, the military members assigned the duty of guarding the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier were given permission to suspend the assignment.

They respectfully declined the offer, 'No way, Sir!' Soaked to the skin, marching in the pelting rain of a tropical storm, they said that guarding the Tomb was not just an assignment, it was the highest honor that can be afforded to a serviceperson.

The tomb has been patrolled continuously, 24/7, since 1930.

God Bless and Keep Them

I don't usually suggest that many posts be reshared, but I'd be very proud if this one reached as many people as possible.

We can be very proud of our young men and women in the service no matter where they serve.

Duty - Honor - Country

IN GOD WE TRUST