#the Drake family values giving back to the community

[cinamun]

Since moving to the Koh Sahpa region of Tomarang, Mr. & Mrs. Drake have become influential philanthropists. They are the largest donors to the Sulea Tiger Sanctuary and are key sustainers of the Cub Club having adopted Rajah, the oldest male tiger in the sanctuary.

[shaekingshitup]

MIRACLES HAPPEN

DAY ONE: TANGERINE

A/N: Y’ALL! I WAS DUPED! @teakturn puts out a 25 Days of Christmas every year and my dumbass said I would do it too. But I decided to add a little diversity to the culture and we’re doing a Chrismukkah adventure this year on this blog! This is picking up after this request that I got earlier this year. None of this shit is proofread because I am literally just writing by the seat of my pants so read at your own discretion. I will probably end up rewriting this entire mini series in the future. But enjoy it now. If you wanna be tagged, lmk! Also, I know that in In Sight I said there was a cure for COVID. Swap that out for a vaccine y’all. Viruses can’t be cured. 

Word Count: 2300 

DAY ONE: TANGERINE

December 18, 2022

“Baby you ready?!” Tre called into the house as reached into the basket on his way to the garage. He came up empty handed for the keys to his Lexus. Opening the door to the garage, he saw Sol sitting in the passenger seat of the running car. 

Tre walked over to his baby as Sol smirked at him. 

“You late again,” she said. 

“I’m never late,” Tre said opening the door and climbing in,  “You just early as always,” he shot back as he put the car in reverse. Sol playfully rolled her eyes. After two years of being together, this was always their running joke. The first time they’d met, she’d been pacing back and forth awaiting his arrival. Even after finding their own groove, she still found herself being the one waiting for him- but, he always made it worth it so it was hard for her to complain.

Tre pulled out of the driveway and clicked the remote to shut the door. Out of instinct, his hand went to Sol’s thigh when he put it in drive. “Did you grab my yarmulke?” Tre asked as he threw her a glance. 

“Please don’t insult me. This ain’t my first feast Nemo.” the indignant manner which she spoke had her and Tre struggling to keep in their bouts of laughter. “Yes, baby. They’re in the backseat.” 

“Good. Good. What’s the other name for them again?” Tre asked as he merged onto the nearly empty highway. A five a.m call time could be a blessing and a curse. 

“Kippah” is the Hebrew word for the male cap and “kippot” is the Hebrew word for the female cap.” Sol answered on autopilot as she mused on their situation. She was still taken aback that they’d been contacted by Black Juice to begin with. She’d been following them ever since they’d done that feature with Drake talking about how his own Jewish faith influenced his career path. Although she wasn’t as active in her Jewish faith as she’d wished she’d been in recent years it was still a huge victory to be acknowledged by the leading Black Jewish media network. Okay so maybe they were the only Black Jewish media network. But that definitely meant they were in the lead! She wasn’t stupid to think that this kind of opportunity would have come without Trevante in her life. But, she wasn’t gonna knock it either. 

This 8 Days of Miracles was the perfect task she needed as she figured out what the next step was for her career. Now that she’d finally finished her academic portion of her career she wasn’t sure how to proceed. So throwing herself into this project and hosting both her family and Tre’s for the holidays was the best distraction she could ask for. This time always gave her hope and made her realize that any kind of bullshit she’d put up with wasn’t in vain. It was her annual reset. New Year’s be damned. It also made her feel closer to her father and there wasn’t anyone in this world she’d loved more. At least that’s what she’d thought. She felt pressure on her thigh from the number one contender for her heart as Tre gave her a slight squeeze. 

“What’s on ya mind Sunshine?” Sol looked down at his hand and couldn’t help but cheese. She still beamed every time he called her by that nickname. 

“I was thinking about my dad and how proud he’d be to see me reppin his faith,” Sol said absentmindedly touching her necklace. Tre listened attentively as he grazed his thumb against her thigh in a gentle motion. “ I mean, I don’t know if he could have known that all of the years he instilled in us the value of miracles when we were children we’d still be celebrating Hanukkah after he was gone.” 

“I’m sure he didn’t know.” Tre started out slowly. He honestly wasn’t even sure if she’d finished her thoughts, “But, he probably hoped you would.” The phone rang as they turned off the street and into the lot. “STEPH 👷🏿‍♀️💪🏿” flashed across the Caller ID on his dashboard. Tre clicked the answer button on his steering wheel as Sol handed him his badge to show to Nico, the Security Attendant. 

“We’re at Security Steph,” Tre answered as he nodded at Nico. 

“Okay good. I just wanted to make sure we were starting the day off on time.” Tre and Sol shared a glance. 

“Woman don’t start with me. Call time is 5 and it’s 4:39. We don’t play that late shit over here and you know it.

“Well,  I also grabbed your favorite donuts from Craft Services so no one else would steal them and I wanted to know how long I had to hoard them for your ungrateful self. I can put them back if you’d like sir,” 

“Steph. You can ignore Tre.” Sol chimed in. “We appreciate you and will be walking in the door in exactly 2 minutes. Tre is parking as we speak. We’ll see you soon.”

“Tre, you lucky you have her. Keep her if you want to keep the best managent in town. Bye y’all!!” Steph sang as she hung up. Sol let out a cackle because Steph refused to be referred as anything other than a managent as Tre stood there dumbfounded at how he was being left out to dry. But he knew better than to go against two black women before he’d even finished his morning coffee. He just hopped out the whip and opened Sol’s door so she could do the same. 

Once they’d gotten their morsels of food, gone through hair and makeup and snapped a few photos for Black Juice and their own social media accounts, they were back on the road headed deeper into LA. They had a cameraman in the backseat filming their every move, one car guided them to their location and another followed them as they maneuvered through the cars that were poppin up for their morning commutes. Sol was on her IG live and answering any questions that popped up about where they were headed and her Hanukkah festivities. She watched as the number quickly jumped from 5,000 viewers to 13,000 and counting. She wasn’t sure what this many people were doing up at this hour but she wasn’t complaining. Tre’s mama was of course one of them. He was a mama’s boy through and through and she was always there to support him at any opportunity she could. Sol made sure to greet her specifically. Tre bopped his head to some Jill Scott- being careful not to let his yarmulke fall. Sol sipped some hot cocoa from her thermos and sang off key with him. As soon as they turned on a residential street, she felt awash in a new warmth that the hot chocolate couldn’t touch. She shook Tre’s arm enthusiastically. 

“It’s time!!” she beamed, “Are you ready?!” Tre chuckled at her immediate change in attitude. The car in front was already parked and the camera crew was out on the sidewalk. 

“Yes Sol. I’m ready to spread some holiday cheer. Let’s go make somebody’s day he said. Before Tre could even put the car in park, she was reaching for the handle” 

“AHT AHT AHT” Tre barked out loud causing the cameraman man in the backseat to jump,“ Tre was already exiting the driver’s side and pointed his finger at her as he crossed in front of the car “Don’t even try it.” Sol rolled her eyes and pouted as she waited the few seconds for him to open her door. 

“Thanks Tre,” she stuck out her tongue. She was like a kid in a candy store and was ready to full out sprint to the front door. The IG live comments were flying. 

Okay Daddy Tre! I need a mans to talk to me like that. 🥵🥵

Did this man just bark at her? 🐶

Loook so long as he handles this backdoor he can open any other door that he pleases sis!

Y’all females is wylin as usual. 

Sol glanced at them. “Imma need y’all to stay out of grown folks’ business and just enjoy this holiday work we are puttin in okay” She handed her phone to another crew member and grabbed Tre’s hand to drag him to the front door. 

She pushed the button for the doorbell but no sound rang out. Tre gave three succinct raps on the door and heard someone rushing down the stairs. The door was flung open by a woman in black slacks and a blinding blue polo emblazoned with a nametag that ironically labeled this young woman as “Tangerine”. She couldn’t be more than 25 years old and the toddler saddled on her hip only added to her youthful appearance. 

“Hi Tangerine,” Tre began, “My name’s Trevante and this is Sol,” he gestured to Sol at his side. 

“Hi?” Tangerine answered confused at this couple and the cameras that followed them. 

“We’re here today with Black Juice, a local Black organization that highlights the experience of the Black Jewish community and we’re doing 8 Days of Miracles,” 

“Okay..” Tangerine said not sounding any less confused. “ I’m not Jewish.”  Sol took over as she could tell that Tre’s efforts weren’t getting them anywhere.

“We’re here because your friend Kira sent in a letter telling us about  how great of a mother you are. She said that you’ve been working two jobs here to support you and your daughter.” At this, Sol smiled at the baby, “She told us that the second job you have is for daycare expenses alone.  We wanted to come out here today and let you know that we see what you do and how hard you go to make sure you give your daughter the best. So, we wanted to help you out and give you this. “ Tre gave her the envelope he had in his hand. It read “Day 1: Tangerine”

Tangerine took the envelope as Tre explained. “We’ve paid for your daughter’s child care for the next two years so you can give yourself a break.” She opened the envelope to see the receipt from Tiny Tots Kindercare and didn’t even know what to do. 

“I don’t know what to say.” She paused for a moment as what this truly meant registered in her mind. “I can quit this job and actually spend more time with my baby and focus on my candles.” 

“Your candles?” Sol asked. 

“Yeah. I make candles by hand. I took a few classes and have played with a few scents. Some friends have asked me to make them some and I’ve been waitin to be a little more secure with my money before I start at it.” she answered exhaling deeply. 

“Do you have any candles right now?” Tre asked peeking a little further in her apartment. Sol slapped his arm. 

“Could you be any nosier?” she chastised with love. 

“Yeah I have some. Do you mind holding Layla?” she asked but she practically threw the child into Sol’s arms as she ran to grab her stash of candles. Sol put on her sweetest voice and spoke to Layla about how old she was and if she liked her friends at daycare. When her mom came back Sol could see the sheer joy that she had when showing off her handiwork. 

Tangerine went through all six of her candles and their various scents with them and by the end Tre had bought each one. She was floored and couldn’t do anything but cry at the way her morning was turning around. It wasn’t even 7:30 and she’d already gotten 2 years of childcare, a reason to quit her grocery store job and someone who actually wanted to buy her candles. 

Before they left, Tre made her promise to hit him up when her site and IG were live so he could get more candles and share it with all of his friends. Sol returned Layla to her mother saying her goodbyes and grabbed Tre’s hand to head back to car. She leaned on his shoulder and he could see the contentment in her eyes. Sol almost forgot her phone before a crewmember handed it back. 

She came back to the IG Live trying not to get too emotional. “Look at that y’all! Day one of Hanukkah is off to a start and we’ve already proved that miracles happen! Y’all better stay tuned in over the next week so you can see who we pop in on next. You never know if it could be you! Thanks to Black Juice for giving us this opportunity to turn someone’s ordinary day into something smile about. Y’all betta check them out so you can see the full footage of what we’ve got goin on! Bye y’all!

“Bye y’all!” Tre called out. They answered a few more questions with Black Juice, said their goodbyes and climbed back into their car. 

“Can we go back to bed now?” Tre asked as he pulled back onto the main road and his hand founds Sol’s thigh again. Sol laughed. 

“I mean if that’s what you prefer we can. I had some other things in mind.” she suggested. 

Tre raised his eyebrow. “I swear you see one baby and you always go 0 to 100”

“Look, I just believe in practicing all aspects of having a child! Even the making part.” 

Tre threw his head back laughing. “I’m wit it babygirl”

DING! 

“That’s me” Sol said. She looked at her phone screen. A text from “Mama Rhodes” popped up.  She’d sent some Pinterest looking bible verse again. 

This was the third one this week. It dampened her mood immediately and caused her to groan. The text read: 

Seeing you with that little girl made me so happy for the good Christian grandbabies that you and Tre will be blessing me with in the future. I thank Jesus for the miracle of you and my baby everyday XO. 

“Tre, I got another one from your mom. When are you gonna talk to her?” 

Tre sighed. “I promise. I’ll talk to her soon and it will definitely be before your Chrismukkah Extravaganza. Don’t sweat it baby.” 

Sol did her best not to think about how pushy his mother was being about this raising Christan grandbabies nonsense ever since they announced they’d be partnering with Black Juice. All she could do is trust Tre and do what she was best at: wait. 

---------------

@ghostfacekill-monger @thadelightfulone

[thenewyorkghost]

Batfam Sorting

(Ok this includes other gotham characters)

Batfam:

Dick Grayson: Pukwudgie  Pukwudgie is for healers. And I think that perfectly fits Dick. He knows what makes each one of his loved ones tick and that level of understanding can be healing. He is a wonderful leader, not because he has a plan for everything like Batman, but because every one of his team members can trust him. He has a way of bringing people together. He is a person who is very in touch with the emotions of those around him, maybe not with his own at certain points, but he has built himself a good community that can heal him as well whenever he is down. He is someone who gives so much to those around him and loves very deeply that those around him become better people by being near him. 

Jason Todd: Wampus Jason Todd is most definitely a warrior, a survivor. He is someone who sees things how they are. Batman refuses to kill people and he thinks: if getting rid of this person will end up saving lives I’ll do what I have to do. And it doesn’t tarnish character, because he is logical and set in his ways. I think it shows how caring he is to those around him. He values their life so much so that he doesn’t care about the guilt or the mental strain he might put himself by killing a person. Although, in a recent comic, it showed a young Jason killing his friend’s dad, because he was being abusive or something, and he didn’t feel bad till he saw how it hurt his friend. He is just doing what he thinks has to be done. He is a very pragmatic, yet impulsive person. I think he has difficulty addressing his own emotions. He often rejects love directed at him or is just shocked by it, but over time he slowly accepts it more. And he’s always caring towards his loved ones in his own distinct way. 

Tim Drake: Horned Serpent The Horned Serpent represents the mind. When Cassandra Cain was pointing out what Dick, Jason, and Tim all fight with when she came to Tim she pointed to his mind. Tim doesn’t have the agility like Dick or the brute strength like Jason, but what he does have is a brilliant mind. He is quick thinking and very analytical. He is always one step ahead of others, not because he is physically fast but because he analyzes people and prepares for whatever they have in store for him. He knows his own limits and strengths and of those around him and that is how he is able to win the upper hand. He is not impulsive, but strategic and tactful. That is why when Damian, who is a trained assassin, went up against him the second time he lost. But his mind can at times also cause him to overthink things making him fail. 

Cassandra Cain: Wampus Cassandra Cain is extremely analytical and unbiased. She just sees everything as it is. So much so that she is capable of predicting what move people are going to make. All of her movements are second nature to her. Most of her life she wasn’t allowed to speak, but she had her eyes and used them to see the unsaid. When you’re able to see everything about someone you also see a lot of pain, so I think she has shown to be a very caring and understanding person. She’s not someone who pushes you to talk about your feelings, she just understands. And sometimes people just need someone who will just sit there with you and listen. Cassandra Cain is a warrior, but a very different kind of warrior. And even after everything she has been through, she continues to choose using her abilities for good. 

Duke Thomas: Wampus People sometimes just portray Duke Thomas as the straight man of the group, but he is someone who has this determination to him where nothing can ever get in his way. He is a straightforward person, but he isn’t the one person in the Batfam who Batman thinks is reasonable. If Batman lets Duke do whatever it is because he knows there is nothing he can ever do to stop him, so he constantly has to compromise. Dude literally jumped out of a moving car and a bridge, there’s no stopping him. He refuses to back down and, yes, it’s admirable, but I wouldn’t say it’s always reasonable. He radiates “I can do this all day” energy. Other than being a very driven character, he is also very passionate and confident. He is someone who has heart. He is a relaxed person that doesn’t plan for things, yet he is great in a crisis with his level of intellect, flexibility and spontaneity. He can be a tame person that knows how to prioritize- saving his spontaneity for a rainy day, then releasing that built up energy. Wampus is the house for people that just: do; therefore, I think he’d be best in this one. 

Damian Wayne: Pukwudgie While I think it’d be easy to just sort Damian into Wampus, because he’s literally an assassin, I think he definitely fits into Pukwudgie a billion times better. He was trained to be a weapon from birth, that doesn’t take love and encouragement. Before he met his dad he was sent on a mission to kill many people, once he was finished he was on his knees when a little animal came up to his face, kinda smiled at him, and then licked his nose. When that happened he began sobbing. This is where his love for animals began and I think it is because an animal was the first one to show love to him. Once he moved in with his dad and siblings and finally started seeing other people as his equals, we begin to see how he craves acceptance from those he cares about. We see how when he finds out that Tim has a plan in his computer for stopping Damian if he turns on them, really hurts his feelings. Anywho, when he first moved into the manor the only emotions he felt deeply was anger, but as time went on we see the range of his emotions. When he became friends with Jon both Batman and Nightwing pointed out how much happier and talkative he was. After Dick Grayson faked his death then came back, he ran into his arms and told him that he missed him. He is a more reserved person, but he forms strong emotional attachments to those he values. I think the older he gets the more he will be able to show how he feels about those around him. Pukwudgie is represented by the heart and all of Damian’s actions stem right from there. 

Extended Batfam:

Stephanie Brown: Thunderbird Stephanie Brown refuses to let herself be brought down by her misery. She’s an energetic and sassy person who makes quick connections with many people.  Though it doesn’t mean that they are deep connections. She is not someone that opens up really opens up about her private life, because she doesn’t know who to trust. Plus, the beginning of her life was really lonely. She seems to crave deep connections, while also loving action and risk. Her enthusiasm gets people to open up more. And she most definitely loves messing with literally everyone. It may seem like she can’t have close relations at first, but those develop gradually for her. One day you look back and realize ‘huh this girl is literally here every. single. day.’ Later in life this queen knows her worth and refuses to let anyone bring her down. Once she gets past all the anger built up from the pain caused by her father she becomes sure of herself. She is someone constantly trying to figure herself out or truly get to know herself. While at first I thought she fit perfectly into Thunderbird, because of her energy and love of thrill, but I think below the surface she cares more to be loved and to have that family. So, I don’t know, maybe she can go either Thunderbird or Pukwudgie. 

Barbara Gordon: Thunderbird I know that Barbara Gordon is a brilliant, tech-savvy individual who has a photographic memory. Yes, but I think her more defining characteristics are those that line up with the Thunderbird house. She is someone who cannot be tied down. From the very start she is this driven force to be reckoned with. Her whole life her defined by defying the expectations. She enjoys questioning everyone about their beliefs and is outspoken of her own. Before she became Batgirl she’d constantly argue with her father about becoming a detective. She’s very set on creating positive change in the world. She believes change is necessary and important. While she has a set moral compass it isn’t black and white. She is able to listen and work with people she does not agree. And her defining trait is that she is constantly pushing herself and never gives up. She’s a very grounded person and though she a force of change, she herself doesn’t change much. She grows a lot, but she is set with her core values from the very start. I think that makes her a reliable leader. 

Anyways, this is so difficult. I like hogwarts houses way better, bc it’s literally about what is most important to you. 

[stereostevie]

“I sacrificed the quality of my life to help people experience something that had been unreachable before then,” Grammy winner says in rare interview

In the late Nineties, the story of popular music became the story of Ms. Lauryn Hill. She first rose to fame as an actress and a member of the Fugees, whose second and final album, 1996’s The Score, remains one of that decade’s biggest albums. Then, at just 22 years old, Hill took a huge leap and decided to go solo. Released in 1998, The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill filled clubs, radio stations, and MTV with her smooth voice and biting rhymes. Hill herself became as big as her music, appreciated in the fashion world and sought after by movie executives for roles she would eventually decline.

Miseducation took home five Grammy Awards and led to a huge tour. But by the early 2000s, Ms. Hill left behind the fame and the industry almost entirely. She has never released another studio album; her last full-length release was MTV Unplugged No. 2.0 from 2002, where she performed new songs in an acoustic style to a largely tepid reception.

The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill lives on. More than 20 years after its release, it is still regarded as one of the best albums ever made, landing at Number 10 on Rolling Stone’s voter-based 500 Greatest Albums of All Time List this past fall. Many of her songs continue to permeate culture, like the single “Ex-Factor,” which has been sampled or interpolated on major hits by Drake and Cardi B. Beyond that, the album’s impact on multiple generations of musicians is unmistakeable. Everyone from Rihanna to St. Vincent has cited Hill as having heavily influenced their own music.  

The years that followed Miseducation have been complicated. After the album’s release, some of Hill’s collaborators filed a lawsuit claiming she did not properly credit them for their contributions; that suit was settled out of court three years later on undisclosed terms. In 2012, she was charged with tax fraud, and went on to serve three months in prison. More recently, she has found herself back on the road more frequently, sporadically releasing music but mostly basking in the collective love and power of Miseducation through special performances of the album.

For the latest episode of Rolling Stone’s 500 Greatest Albums podcast, Ms. Hill granted a rare interview on the making of Miseducation as well as what happened after. Over e-mail, she spoke candidly about protecting her family and the little support she had after her first album cycle ended. Excerpts from the interview can be heard in the podcast episode, available on Amazon Music, along with tales from several of the musicians who were part of those sessions, like “Commissioner Gordon” Williams, Lenesha Randolph, and Vada Nobles. Ms. Hill’s written responses are here in full.

When you began recording Miseducation, you were 22 and already experiencing immense success with the Fugees. What were you hoping to prove with this album? As far as proving myself goes, I think that’s a larger and more involved story best told at a later time, but I will say that the success of the Fugees absolutely set up The Miseducation to be as big and as well received as it was. When I decided that I wanted to try a solo project I was met with incredible resistance and discouragement from a number of places that should have been supportive, so that had a motivating factor, but it was less about proving myself and more about creating something I wanted to see and hear exist in the world. There were ideas, notions and concepts that I wanted to exist, I set off in a particular direction and kept going. Initially, I intended to work with other producers and artists but found that what I wanted to say and hear may have been too idiosyncratic at the time to just explain it and have someone else try to make it. It had to be made in a more custom manner. The team of people who would ultimately be involved, we all witnessed as it took form. It was unique and exciting.

You’ve said you found yourself especially creative during your pregnancy. How did that experience shape you as a songwriter?

It’s a wild thing to say but I was left alone during my pregnancies for the most part. It was like all of the people with all of their demands had to check themselves when I was pregnant. The resulting peace may have contributed to that sense of feeling more creative. I was pregnant with my first child during the making of The Miseducation and the situation was complicated, so I was motivated to find more stability and safety for myself and for my child, that definitely pushed me to disregard what appeared as limitations. If I struggled to fight for myself, I had someone else to fight for. This also introduced my first son’s father, Rohan Marley, into the picture, who at that time, was a protective presence. If there were people or forces attempting to prevent me from creating, he played a role in helping to keep that at bay.

During those times especially, I always wanted to be a motivator of positive change. It’s in all of my lyrics, that desire to see my community get out of its own way, identify and confront internal and external obstacles, and experience the heights of Love and self-Love that provoke transformation. I sang from that place and chose to share the joy and ecstasy of it, as well as the disappointments, entanglements and life lessons that I had learned at that point. I basically started out as a young sage lol.

When you look back on it now, is Miseducation the album you intended it to be? I’ve always been pretty critical of myself artistically, so of course there are things I hear that could have been done differently, but the LOVE in the album, the passion, its intention is, to me, undeniable. I think my intention was simply to make something that made my foremothers and forefathers in music and social and political struggle know that someone received what they’d sacrificed to give us, and to let my peers know that we could walk in that truth, proudly and confidently. At that time, I felt like it was a duty or responsibility to do so. I saw the economic and educational gaps in black communities and although I was super young myself, I used that platform to help bridge those gaps and introduce concepts and information that “we” needed even if “we” didn’t know “we” wanted it yet. Of course I’m referring to the proverbial “we.” These things had an enormous value to me and I cherished them from a very young age.

I also think the album stood apart from the types and cliches that were supposed to be acceptable at that time. I challenged the norm and introduced a new standard. I believe The Miseducation did that and I believe I still do this — defy convention when the convention is questionable. I had to move faster and with greater intention though than the dysfunctional norms that were well-established and fully funded then. I was apparently perceived by some as making trouble and being disruptive rather than appreciated for introducing solutions and options to people who hadn’t had them, for exposing beauty where oppression once reigned, and demonstrating how well these different cultural paradigms could work together. The warp speed I had to move at in order to defy the norm put me and my family under a hyper-accelerated, hyper-tense, and unfortunately under-appreciated pace. I sacrificed the quality of my life to help people experience something that had been unreachable before then. When I saw people struggle to appreciate what that took, I had to pull back and make sure I and my family were safe and good. I’m still doing that.

This album permeated culture in a way that few albums have before it existed and made you a massive star. How were you handling the public gaze at the time? There were definitely things I enjoyed about stardom, but there were definitely things I didn’t enjoy. I think most people appreciate being recognized and appreciated for their work and sacrifice. That, to me, is a given, but living a real life is essential for anyone trying to stay connected to reality and continue making things that truly affect people. This becomes increasingly harder to do in the “space” people try to place “stars” in.

The pedestal, to me, is as much about containment and control as it is adulation. Finding balance, clarity and sobriety can be very hard for some to maintain. For example, being yes’d to death isn’t good, and people fear stardom can only result in this, but if the actual answer is yes, being told no just to not appear a yes-man is silly. Never being told no if the answer is no by people afraid to disappoint will obviously also distort the mirror in which we view ourselves. On the other hand, a person with a vision can be way ahead, so people may say no with conviction and resist what they fear only to find out later that they were absolutely wrong.

The idea of artist as public property, I also always had a problem with that. I agreed to share my art, I’m not agreeing necessarily to share myself. The entitlement that people often feel, like they somehow own you, or own a piece of you, can be incredibly dangerous. I chafe under any kind of control like that and resist expectations that suggest I should somehow dumb-down and be predictable to make people feel comfortable rather than authentically express myself. I also resist unrealistic expectations placed on me by people who would never place those same requirements on themselves. I can be as diplomatic and as patient as I possibly can be. I can’t, however, sell myself short through constant self-deprecation and shrinking.

“The entitlement that people often feel, like they somehow own you, or own a piece of you, can be incredibly dangerous.”

Is there a version of “Lauryn Hill” that you feel people expected of you, and how did that compare to how you saw yourself? Absolutely, which I touched upon in the answers before this one. Life is life, to be lived, experienced and enjoyed with all of its dynamism and color. If you do something well that people enjoy, often they want the same experience over and over. A real person can be stifled and their growth completely stunted trying to do this without balance. It’s not a fair thing to ask of anyone. We all have to grow, we all have to express ourselves with as much fullness and integrity as we can manage. The celebrity is often treated like a sacrifice, the fatted calf, then boxed in and harshly judged for very normal and natural responses to abnormal circumstances.

I saw someone lambasted once for discussing episodes of anxiety before going on stage, as if anxiety was only a condition of the non-famous. It was absurd, like someone with a record out can’t get a common cold. Someone in love with the art doesn’t not experience fear or anxiety, they just do their best to transcend it or work beyond it so that the art or the passion can be made manifest. Some days are better than others. For some people it gets easier, for some it doesn’t. The unfairness, the harshness was excessive to me. I didn’t like how I was being treated at a certain point. I just wasn’t being treated well and definitely not in accordance with someone who’d contributed what I had. I had a ton of jealousy and competitiveness to contend with. That can exhaust or frustrate your efforts to make anything besides primal scream music, 😊.

Provoking that kind of aggravation was probably intentional. You have to find reasons to still do it, when you’re exposed to the ugly.  People often think it’s ok to project whatever they want to on someone they perceive as having “it all” or “having so/too much.” Hero worship can be an excuse for not taking care of your own sh#t. The flip side of that adulation can turn severely ugly, aggressive, and hostile if people make another person responsible for their sense of self-worth. You can either take that abuse or say no to it. After subjecting myself to it for years, I started to say no, and then no turned into hell no, then hell no turned into f#ck no…you get my point. 😊

If you could talk to yourself at 22 now, what would you say? I’d share the things I do now with my 22-year-old self. If I had known what I know now, things would probably have unfolded differently. I would have continued to invest in people but I would have made sure I had people with the love, strength, and integrity around me to really keep their eye on the prize and my well-being. The world is full of seduction and if they can’t seduce you, they go after the people you love or depend on in some way. I would have with greater understanding tried to do more to insulate myself and my loved ones from that kind of attack.

Looking back on that period of your life, do you have any regrets?

I have some periods of woe, some periods of sorrow and great pain, yes, but regret is tough because I ended up with a clarity I might not have been able to achieve any other way. I would have done a few things differently though if I could go back. I would have done my best to shield myself so that I could better shield my children.  I would have rejected the manipulation, unfair force and pressure put on me much earlier. I would have benefitted from having more awareness about the dangers of fame. I would have been more communicative with everyone truly involved with The Miseducation and fought hard for the importance of candid expression. I would have demanded what I needed and removed people antagonistic to that sooner than I did.

You have released music since Miseducation and have continued to play live. Do you ever foresee releasing another full-length studio album? The wild thing is no one from my label has ever called me and asked how can we help you make another album, EVER…EVER. Did I say ever? Ever! With The Miseducation, there was no precedent. I was, for the most part, free to explore, experiment and express. After The Miseducation, there were scores of tentacled obstructionists, politics, repressing agendas, unrealistic expectations, and saboteurs EVERYWHERE. People had included me in their own narratives of THEIR successes as it pertained to my album, and if this contradicted my experience, I was considered an enemy.

Artist suppression is definitely a thing. I won’t go too much into it here, but where there should have been overwhelming support, there wasn’t any. I began touring because I needed the creative outlet and to support myself and my family. People were more interested in breaking me or using me to battery-power whatever they had going on than to support my creativity. I create at the speed and flow of my inspiration, which doesn’t always work in a traditional system. I have always had to custom build what I’ve needed in order to get things done. The lack of respect and willingness to understand what that is, or what I need to be productive and healthy, doesn’t really sit well with me. When no one takes the time to understand, but only takes the time to count the money the fruit of this process produces, things can easily turn bad. Mistreatment, abuse, and neglect happen. I wrote an album about systemic racism and how it represses and stunts growth and harms (all of my albums have probably addressed systemic racism to some degree), before this was something this generation openly talked about. I was called crazy. Now…over a decade later, we hear this as part of the mainstream chorus. Ok, so chalk some of it up to leadership and how that works — I was clearly ahead, but you also have to acknowledge the blatant denial that went down with that. The public abuse and ostracizing while suppressing and copying what I had done, (I protested) with still no real acknowledgement that all of that even happened, is a lot.

“I wrote an album about systemic racism… before this was something this generation openly talked about. I was called crazy.”

I continue to tour and share with audiences all over the world, but I also full-time work on the trauma, stifling, and stunting that came with all of that and how my family and I were affected. In many ways, we’re living now, making up for years where we couldn’t be as free as we should have been able to. I had to break through a ton of unjust resistance, greed, fear and just plain human ugliness. Little else can rival freedom for me. If being a superstar means living a repressed life where people will only work with you or invest in your work if they can manipulate and control you, then I’m not sure how important music gets made without some tragic set of events following. I don’t subscribe to that.

Lastly, I appreciate the people who were moved by this body of work, which really represented a lifetime — up to that point — of love, experience, wisdom, family and community investment in me, the summation of my experience from relationships, my dreams, inspirations, aspirations and God’s ever-present grace and Love in my life through the lens of my 20-something but wise-sage existence, lol. I dreamed big, I didn’t think of limits, I really only thought of the creative possibilities and addressing the needs as I saw them at that time. I also had the support of a community of talented artists, thinkers, and doers, friends and family around me. Their primary efforts (THEN) seemed to be to help clear a path and to help protect. However, when you effectively create something powerful enough to move the bulls#t out of the way, all kinds of forces and energies may not like that. They may seek to corrupt and discourage, to disrupt and distract, to divide, and sabotage…but we bore witness to the fact that this happened — a young, black woman through hip-hop culture, a legacy of soul, Spirit and an appreciation for education and educating others communicated love and timeless and necessary messages to the world.

The music business can be an industry of entanglements, where a small number of people are expected to be responsible for a very large number of people. It’s hard to find fairness in a situation like that. Now, I look for as much equity and fairness as possible. I appreciate being loved for my contributions to music, but it’s important to be loved for who you are as a person just as much, and that can be a delicate but extremely important balance to achieve. Experiencing that is important to me.

[zombiesbecrazy]

knowing his value

Summary: He didn’t have much to go on, this was his first kidnapping after all, but this all seemed a little bit lazy.

AO3

Being held hostage sucked, these guys completely lack originality, and frankly, Tim was bored.

He didn’t have much to go on, this was his first kidnapping after all, but this all seemed a little bit lazy. They didn’t have a guard in his room and the door wasn’t even locked to where they were were waiting for their ransom demands to be met. His wrists and feet were bound, but the knots were loose and simple and they were practically begging for him to escape them which was easy as pie for Robin, but Tim Drake had to sit quiet and wait for a pick up.

Or did he? He was clever and independent. Was there any good reason that Tim Drake couldn’t find his own way out of this specific kidnapping?

He was certain that this was a training exercise. To see what he could do if kidnapped in his civilian attire to see how he would be able to adapt and improvise in an undercover situation. It made a lot of sense.

Besides the chair he was sitting in, which he wasn’t even tied to, the room was empty and plain, with only the one door and the half window that was up high near the ceiling. It felt like it was a movie stage and not a real place and maybe the kidnappers had chosen it for that very reason, because they were rookies and hadn’t done this before so based everything that they knew off gangster movies and cop shows.

The first thing that he had to do was to get out of his ropes, but if he was Tim he couldn’t just undo the knots. It had to be sloppy with just a little bit of luck thrown in for it to be believable. Robin would have known to do his hands first and then just untie his feet, but Tim wouldn’t have considered that in the confusion, so instead he wiggled free of his shoes first, glad that he hadn’t bothered to tie them before he got snatched, and then worked his sock feet against each other, wincing a bit as the rope burned against his skin as it rubbed, but after a bit of effort there was enough give to slip one foot out, and then the other.

He then set to work on the ropes tying his hands. It was a more traditional material, not metal cords or cabling, but there was not as much give as there had been on his feet. so he tried to think of what he would do as a regular panicked thirteen year old who didn’t study the ins and outs of escaping from Riddler traps on a nightly basis would do. He bit the rope and started tugging at the knot, trying to loosen it from the tightest point with his teeth. He was making good headway when there was a sharp snap of pain, followed by a taste of blood in his mouth and he spat out of wire from his so-called-permanent retainer onto the floor.

That was unfortunate because he really didn’t want to have to go to the dentist at the end of all this.

He tugged a few more times until the rope went slack on one side and he was able to untie the rest of the knot. Now that he was free, he had to get out of the room. He couldn’t go out the door, because Tim Drake was sort of a scrawny kid who couldn’t fight his way out of a paper bag, let alone through a room of armed men, which only left the window as an option.

It was small, but not small enough that Tim couldn’t fit through, and it was high up, but that was nothing that dragging the chair from across the room couldn’t solve, and he could reach the window as long as he stood on his tiptoes. The issue was getting the window open. The pane was double thick and had wiring between the layers so he couldn’t smash it, even if he didn’t have to worry about his captors hearing him. There a simple key padlock, easy to pick if you had the right tools, but Tim didn’t have anything in his pockets and the rest of the room was bare and he had to pause to think about what he was going to do next.

He chewed on his lip as he looked around the room, trying to decide if Tim Drake would be smart enough to detach one of the fluorescent lights to try and find out if any of the filaments were strong enough to try and pick the lock, with when he was reminded of the cut in his mouth, blood slowing, but still there.

The wire that had broken off from his retainer. It was still lying in the middle of the floor. It wasn’t perfect for lock picking but it would work in a pinch, as long as Tim had a reason to know how to do it.

Worth a shot.

Tim shaped the wire into a more useful shape than the curve of his teeth and set to work on the locks. He had to be more careful than normal, knowing that if it were to break he would be out of luck unless he had another brainwave about what to do next. Fortunately it wasn’t something he needed to worry about for long because he felt the family catch of the padlock and then with a snik it popped open.

Easy peasy lemon squeezy.

Tim pulled himself out of the window, stomach scraping against the window ledge but otherwise fine. He was in an empty alleyway and he could see the faint echo of red and blue flashing from cars just out of sight. He hurried to the edge of the street, peeking out to see what the situation was. The building was mostly surrounded by police cars and tape, with a standard GCPD hostage procedure set up. Tim reached up and ruffled up his hair, slapped his cheeks a couple times, and stepped into the main street and made his way up to the closest police barricade, hopefully looking a little more like someone who had been kidnapped than just out for a leisurely stroll.

“Excuse me? Officer?”

The cop didn’t even look at him, just stood with his back to the barrier, watching the situation at the front of the building where it looked where most of the action was happening. “I’m sorry kid, but this is a hostage situation and you need to stay behind the line.”

“Yeah, but the thing is that I’m the hostage.” The officer whipped his head around and Tim gave him a little wave. “Hi. I’m Tim Drake.”

The officer stared at him for a few seconds, trying to sort out how that made any sort of sense and Tim sympathized with that. “Oh, uh. Hold on.” He fumbled with his radio on his shoulder, not taking his eyes on Tim, before hitting the button. “Commissioner, this is O’Royal. I have a kid here at the south perimeter who says he’s Tim Drake.” Tim could hear Gordon’s voice respond, and at the same time commotion broke out in the middle of the police set up, and then people started to move towards them.

“Tim?” Bruce’s voice was high and tight, playing the perfect part of the concerned guardian and he ran over with Commissioner Gordon right on his heels as well as a few more officers.

“Bruce!” Tim waved, and squeaked as Bruce picked him up in a big strong hug, the perfect performance of a scared parent. “I got kidnapped!” It was such a goofy thing to say, but in the moment it was the first thing that popped into his mind as he was crushed against Bruce’s broad chest.

Bruce put him down and made a big show of running his hands through Tim’s hair, down his arms and legs as if trying to reassure himself that all of his limbs were there. "I know. They called me for ransom. I’m so glad you are safe." His examination reached Tim’s wrists and he fussed over the marks that were criss crossing across the skin, light bruising already popping up, brushing them with a soft thumb.

"That explains all this." Tim chuckled and waved his arms around at the police set up in front of the building.

Gordon stepped up to do his job now that Bruce had done enough of pretending to worry in full grizzly mode, flipping out his notebook. "Why'd they let you out?"

"They didn't. They think I'm still in there." Gordon and Bruce both gave him a sharp look, probably for entirely different reasons. "I got out a window down there after I picked the lock." He jerked his thumb in the direction of the alley, and two of the officers ran off in that direction, hopefully to check out the scene to see if they could enter the building the same way that Tim had come out. He was doubtful; they were an awful lot bigger than he was.

"With what?" asked Gordon, raising an eyebrow in a questioning way.

"Part of my retainer." Right, Tim Drake was a normal kid who busted his own dentistry work and had to fess up to the person who was going to have to foot the bill to get it fixed. "Oh, Bruce. I think I have to go back to the orthodontist. I think that wire was important for something." Bruce said nothing, just put his arm around Tim’s shoulders and squeezed.

“How did you know how to pick a lock?”

“I saw it on YouTube and thought I’d try.”

That made Gordon stop writing in his book and stare at Tim. “You learned how to pick a lock on YouTube”

“Yeah. You can find anything on there. Did you know that there is a large online community of people who like to sculpt cheese? I knew about ice and stuff, but I had never really thought about how shapeable cheese is before a-”

“Timothy,” said Bruce quietly, the way he did when Tim went down rabbit holes in the cave and needed to get back on track and Tim blushed.

“Oh, sorry. Anyway, it wasn’t like I was going to get anymore kidnapped, so I thought I’d give it a go.”

Gordon went back to his notes, but huffed in what Tim hoped was approval. “You could have been hurt.”

“Really? Huh.” Tim grinned, and leaned against Bruce in a way that made him look that he was tired, exhausted now that the adrenaline had worn off and just leaning against his guardian. “I guess I never really thought about it like that.”

Gordon dismissed him to go and get checkout out by the paramedics, told him that he would be in contact later for a more comprehensive questioning if needed, but since it was still a live crime scene because the kidnappers hadn’t notice that they were without a hostage, that was all for now. The paramedics gave him a quick lookover, bandaging the cuts around his ankles before letting him go home with Bruce who paraded him back to the car with a firm grip on his shoulder.

Bruce hugged him again before they got into the car and started on their way back to the manor is silence. The buildings were getting further and farther between as they drove out of the city limits before Tim piped up. “Did I beat Jason’s time?” It was always a risk, asking about Jason and what he had done as Robin, but he was dying to know. “I know I didn’t beat Dick’s.”

“You,” Bruce swallowed deeply and tightened his fingers on the wheel, leather cracking under the pressure. “You thought that was a test?”

“Well, yeah.” Tim grinned as he inspected his wrists and ran his tongue along the back of his teeth, feeling the sharp edges of where the wire had been before. “So? How’d I do?”

Bruce pulled over to the side of the road and rested his head on the steering wheel, breathing in and out carefully before turning and pulling Tim into a tight hug, head heavy on his shoulder and body quivering with small shakes.

“Bruce?”

“That was not a test.” Bruce mumbled into his shoulder. “Not at all.” Tim thought back to the scene, the way that Bruce had run to him, checked out his injuries, had never not touched him once he had been back in his sight. The tremors that he could feel through Bruce now. That was all real?

“I was actually kidnapped?” Tim wondered, because that didn’t make a lot of sense. He was just Tim Drake. Even if it was a poorly executed kidnapping, it still seemed like a lot of needless work just for Tim. “Why would someone kidnap me? I’m not anyone important.”

“Not anyone important?” Bruce shook his head and pulled back, intently looking at Tim in the eyes, and Tim was now able to see the worry on the man’s face, not the outward public face that he showed to the world, but his true self that Tim only got to see on rare occasion and most never saw, and that man was dripping with residual fear and relief. “Tim, you are mine. You are one of the most important things in my world, and someone tried to use you to hurt me.” He shook his head and cupped Tim’s less injured wrist between his hands, hands that were possible of “And they did. Please know that I would do anything to get any of you back. I would travel across galaxies and punch a god in the face and I will negotiate with kidnappers who trap you in basements. No one gets to hurt you. No one.”

“Oh.”

Bruce stared at Tim for another moment, before turning the car back on and pulling back onto the road that headed into Bristol, silence filling the car again as they drove the rest of the way home, but Bruce’s right hand was still wrapped around Tim’s wrist and Tim wondered how long it would stay there until he had to let go.

It didn’t let go.

[threewaysdivided]

I appreciate the response. Yeah, among other adjustments, had the plot been handled a little differently, I feel like Sam’s relationship with her parents could have evolved into something like that of Danny and Jazz and their parents. And don’t get me wrong; I still like Sam, too.

(In reference to this post and follow-up ask.)

Good to hear from you again 😊

I think there were a lot of things across the board that could have been tweaked or edited to improve the integrity of the series.  If I had to boil down the problem with DP to a single point I’d probably say it’s that the most interesting parts of the show are the characters/world/implications but the writers (or some of them anyway - I suspect there might have been some conflict between Hartman, the lead writers and the execs’) wanted certain plots, aesops and gags, and chose to brute-force them in regardless of whether they actually worked with what was already there.  Basically, it lacks consistency and internal logic.

For Sam in particular I think there are a few things that could have been handled better:

First one’s more a general complaint at the show and might light a fire under my notes but heck lets go there anyway but the writing has kind of a sexist bent that really doesn’t fit the characters or need to be there. Considering how much Danny and Jack are shown to love and respect Maddie and Jazz there’s no way they’d call their involvement in Genius Magazine “the swimsuit edition”.  Paulina might be traditionally feminine but “She surrendered her individuality for a boy! I’m so proud of her!” is not a line that any human girl in the history of human girls would say unironically.  There’s also a few too many jokes that basically boil down to “male character is emasculated/ vulnerable/ likes feminine-coded things, hyuk hyuk hyuk”.

I’m bringing this up not just because they’re gross cheap gags but because for Sam specifically, this pervasive low-key contempt for women and femininity in the writing, especially the tendency to portray almost every non-sympathetic girl her age as one-note, brainless boy-crazy cliches that she can’t connect with, really does not help her character.  I would have loved to see more genuine interaction between Sam and the other girls, even if it most of it was Kim Possible-Bonnie Rockwaller style antagonistic rapport.  We could have seen her develop some kind of tenuous connection with one of the A-listers, or even just have a secondary-female-character to be cordial towards - kind of like Mikey is for Danny and Tucker.  Hold up, outside of Valerie, Star and Paulina are there any named secondary girls at Casper High?  Sam doesn’t seem to have a single female friend in the show and considering how vocally judgemental she is, it can almost read like she’s rejecting them outright for being girls, which really undercuts attempts to make her seem feminist. (I mentioned it in a past tag but this feels like an early-2000s-male-writer mistake of equating Female Empowerment™ with the ability to tear down other women and belittle traditional femininity - which isn’t so much Feminism as it is Internalised Misogyny.)  Even just mixing up the pairings to put her with Star instead of Kwan in Lucky in Love would have helped.

I’d have also liked to see more awareness of and consistency in the conflict between her activism and her wealth.  It kind of undercuts the significance of her activism when you realise that she’s wealthy enough to make these choices with little cost to herself; it’s much easier to go vegan or buy renewable/ recyclable /sustainable /fair-trade when price isn’t an issue, especially if you also have serving staff to offset the time cost.  Once you notice this it makes her activism feel more tokenistic, and also like she doesn’t really understand her own privilege when she tries to push her agendas onto the school/ her classmates without considering why they mightn’t be able to do so as easily.  It’s also weird because the source of her family’s wealth is a cellophane-toothpick-wrapper (i.e. something that basically produces litter) but she still seems very comfortable enjoying the material benefits despite her pro-eco anti-consumerism sentiments.  It’s bizarre that she’s more concerned with the social consequence of ‘fake friends’ than the ethics of capitalism.  It can come off a bit “do as I say, not as I do”. 

It would have been nice for the show to give more screen time to reinforcing that Sam is aware of that conflict and is making an active effort to hold to her principles even at the cost of personal comfort; maybe showing some unease at the source of her wealth, trying to live below her means and only spend up on ethical/ eco-friendly/ sustainable products, op-shopping or hand-making her goth accessories, going out of her way to re-use or re-purpose things even if buying a new one would be ‘better’, actually showing or referencing her doing substantial hands-on activities (e.g. going off-screen or taking the boys to do tree-planting, litter pickups, soup kitchens, animal-shelter work etc).  Just something to help make it clearer that she genuinely cares and isn’t just doing the low-mess lip-service activities because she enjoys indulging in the image of Wokeness™.

These things would have helped regardless of how her family was written but let’s hop back on topic and talk about them.  I don’t have any prescriptive preference but let’s spitball a few different options and how they could have played:

#1 Sam’s parents don’t respect her interests and want her to fit a mold

In this case I’d make it that they don’t really pay attention or show much caring for who Sam really is as a person; their image of and interactions with her are more of a fantasised version of the ‘perfect’ daughter they want, they make very little effort to encourage her actual interests and are perhaps restrictive about what they let her do in the few moments when they do bother paying close attention (you might compare to some versions of Tim Drake’s Parents from DC Comics).  Classist, overly image-conscious, snobby and superficial.  

This would be the most sympathetic portrayal of her character without changing it very far from how it is in DP canon - helping contextualise why Sam is so fiercely defensive of her autonomy, why she pushes so hard when trying to get her opinions across and why she’s so judgemental of rich people and disdainful towards classic femininity - even possibly explaining her more hypocritical/ manipulative/ entitled traits as learned behaviours.  It would also give her more legitimate reason to be less empathetic towards others - after all even if they have struggles and family troubles it’s still better than what she’s dealing with (Danny’s parents may not be attentive but hey, at least they love him for himself, right?)

For this version I’d probably put her arc around growing past the “suffering olympics” model of viewing other people’s pain, but also in her finding family in Danny/Tucker/her Grandmother’s circle of connections, learning how to have healthy power-balance and communication in her relationships with others (aka: getting over her hypocrisy and realising that assertiveness is about communicating that “I matter, and so do you”) and pulling away from her parents’ influence - maybe even living with Ida a lot of the time.

#2 Sam’s parents are well-intentioned but overbearing

For this one, Sam’s parents would genuinely want the best for her… only they have an overly old-fashioned and restrictive view of what “the best” is and are a bit set-in-their-ways.  They’d probably view “hippies” and “goth” stuff as “dangerously rebellious hooligan-activities” and likely to be somewhat patronising about Sam’s passion for it being “just a phase”.   They’d be worried about her hanging around “the Fenton Kid” and “the Foley Kid” both because Danny’s parents are kind of irresponsible screwballs about safety but also because they put a lot of value in image due to their belief in social connections being the way to get ahead.  Them pushing Sam towards classic femininity and specific activities would be less about disrespecting her identity and more about their overly narrow view of “success” and worrying that she’s going to end up losing valuable opportunities and “wasting her life” if she keeps on down her current path.

This would still give Sam more sympathetic context for her views on femininity and pushiness about self-expression. 

Personally I think the arc I’d like to see here is one themed around responsible/considerate assertiveness and valuing alternative perspectives.  Sam coming to realise her own hypocrisy - that she can’t push her views onto others while complaining about her parents doing the same - developing more sympathy for Danny as she realises that he’s in a similar position with Jack’s insistence that he’ll inherent Fentonworks and his parents’ narrow-mindedness about ghosts, interacting with other girls and seeing their perspective, learning how to assert her opinion while making allowances for others’ (maybe an alternative version where she connects with Star in Lucky in Love and, after Aragon’s defeat in Beauty Marked, Sam still says she personally thinks it’s dumb but then steps down and lets Star win because she understands that Star values it), and getting her Grandma’s help in convincing her parents to widen their perspective while still responding to their concerns.

(This one has the overall kindest message and I think I like it best).

#3 Sam’s parents are trying and Sam’s actually the problem 

This one is the one that’s the least sympathetic to Sam.  Her parents still don’t get the Goth/Activist thing and they have some concerns about safety but they understand that it makes her happy and they’re okay with it so long as she’s not getting into trouble or mixing up with anyone that could hurt her.  Them pushing her towards more feminine/optimistic things is less pushing and more trying to encourage some hobbies that offer a bit more common ground.  They might have reservations, and they might not always have time, but they would like to be part of their daughter’s life… except for the problem that Sam has wrapped herself up in a teen-drama persecution complex and got it into her head that they “won’t accept her” are “pushing her to be someone else” and “don’t understand” so there’s no point even trying to explain or connect.  In this one Ida isn’t taking sides on purpose but she ends up accidentally enabling Sam a little because Sam reminds her of her younger days and she likes spoiling her granddaughter (and doesn’t much care for her daughter-in-law).

In this case Sam’s flaws would be framed much more as flaws born of her making superficial snap judgements, thinking she knows better and being too proud to admit she’s wrong.  There would definitely be moments of her coming across as an entitled, privileged holier-than-thou brat who invents problems because she likes feeling sorry for herself, especially early in her arc.

This version of the story would go the hardest on Sam with the general lesson being “you need to respect that other people are people who have their own problems, feelings and needs that are as real and valid as yours”.  She’d still have good qualities and Danny and Tucker would still obviously like and value her but there’d also be times of strain where they don’t want to hurt her feelings but are clearly getting worn out with the nonsense.  At its worst, maybe a “you’re like mustard. Great in small quantities, but a lot of you is…a lot” type confrontation.

I’d also give the secondary cast the most fleshing out, agency and sympathetic-ness here, and have beats where Sam has to realise that they’re lot more complex than her 2D stereotyped view of them and are dealing with actual serious problems to which hers are largely non-issues by comparison.  I’d probably play Dash and Paulina similar to in the fic Alibi (go read it, it’s good) - Dash being gay and performing aggression because toxic masculinity, insecurity, and being terrified of anyone outside the A-listers finding out (still not okay that he’s a bully but at least more understandable), while Paulina is hiding high emotional perceptiveness behind her pretty face and deliberately bearding for him to keep bigoted parents/ teachers off his back.  I’d also probably have a subplot in an alternate Life Lessons where Sam follows Valerie around because jealous/possessive and, like Danny, ends up realising that she’s working two jobs to help her Dad with their financial problems.  Basically she’d be getting hit with the Reality Stick a lot.

There’d also be more instances of Sam getting directly called out by the other girls. Fleshing them out as people and showing that their dislike is less superficiality and more because she unfairly judges and antagonises them all the time.  Giving them more agency in Beauty Marked and have them be direct about “we know you’re just here to be smug about how much ‘Better’ you are but have you considered that we’re doing this for ourselves and actually enjoy it?”.  Having Paulina be less “tee hee I am indeed a Witch” in Parental Bonding and more “Ugh fine, fine, I don’t really like him that much but you were being so obviously Jealous and Judge-y and I figured if I played a little you might actually step up.  But fine, if you’re sure.  Here’s your necklace back, I’ll let your dorky ‘friend’ down tomorrow.  But pro-tip?  You like someone you gotta go for it - otherwise don’t complain when your boy-toy gets taken by someone who actually means it.”  (Still petty, but emotionally intelligent pettiness, which… not really much better, but at least more interesting.)  A lot more of Sam realising that she’s not a particularly good feminist and that she’s no more entitled to Danny’s affections than anyone else.

To be honest, while I could say the most about this version and there’s a lot of potential drama there it’s the one I like the least because it means canonising my least favourite proto-abusive bad-faith narcissistic reading of Sam, casting her as an almost-villain and essentially punishing her over and over until she character develops into a decent human being.  Sure it’s an important message about how you treat others but it’s not a very nice or kind story and while there might be the odd fic that makes it cathartic I can’t say I’m a huge fan.

Again, if I had to pick, I’d probably go with something like #2. 

But there we go.  Another thrilling instalment in the “overly long posts about Sam Manson” saga.  

Hope you enjoyed it and thanks for stopping by!

[elecilaombre]

A waste

So I was in a bad mood an wrote al of this in one sitting. I’m now to llazy to edit it, so let’s just hope it’s not too bad. Enjoy !

Tim’s life has become a nightmare. Tim’s life is a nightmare, a living hell. It has been spiralling for days, for years and he keep going lower and lower. 

Deep down Tim known, he known it isn’t going to end well, he won’t have a pretty ending but damn, he did fight for it. He wanted it so bad, to have something nice, to be important to someone, to do good. 

Except he didn’t. His end was more than predictable. He was the worst, an echec to everyone. 

First to mother and father, stranger tied by him, him tied to them by blood. Tim wasn’t a good bound, not good enough. Alas, Janet Drake couldn’t have another pregnancy and they ended  stuck with him. 

He was tiny, he wasn’t good at sport, he was looking quite feminine, he was a lost cause to Jack by the age of 4. What a strange world where you decide the worth of a child in not even four full years, decide to ignore him as if he wasn’t part of your world.

So Tim tried, tried his very best to be the son Jack deserved. He did sport, trained over and over again to finally be good at it, to finally learn those skill. He wasn’t the greatest, but quite decent in multiple sport, from gymnastic to basketball, including escrim and boxe and others. Tim also tried to learn as much possible in the masculine interest, like cars, virtual market or science, skills that his father valued. 

Except that it was already too late, he was already invisible to Jack’s eyes. He was a waste of his father time. A failed investment

In the same time, Tim tried to please his mother, to be seen as smart she wanted, as dainty and graceful she desired, to be as much the son she wanted.

But she didn’t had time to wait for him to be that, it was a matter of born with or get rid off. He wasn’t born with those. So she get rid of him and spend her time at something more valuable.

He was a mistake, an error, a deception. They made it clear multiple time. Luckily for them, they travelled a lot and didn’t saw Tim so much. They had better things to do.

What was odd is actually how they praised him to their “friends”, acquaintance fitting better, how they praised Tim has if he was the greatest son they could had. How their son knew so much, could so much, was so much. Even if he wasn’t.

In the end, even if they were stranger to him, if they ignored him, he did cried and mourn them each when they died.

Then there was many other person he failed : teachers, nannies, friends … He wasn’t good enough for them, even at his best, he wasn’t doing good enough, he never could. And each left him, for their own good of course, they shouldn’t waste time on him, he didn’t deserve it. He tried, his hardest, but he still ended all alone.

But suddenly, there was an hope, in the form of Batman and Robin. Oh, how much he watched them, hidden on rooftop, through his binocular, then his camera. How he longed to be with them, to do as much good as them. But he didn’t deserve … And Gotham needed much better than tiny lonely Tim. 

He did ,anyway, trained as much as he could, as hard as possible. He tried over and over again to do some tricks seen during his stalking session, even if each time he failed it hurted very much. He might not be worth anything, but at least Tim knew he was determined and resistant, so he would do it until it became manageable, until it was worth his father and Batman expectation. Until he trained enough to be a vigilante.

On the other hands, he kept close to his mother’s mindset and trained his brain. It did took time, but 8 years old Tim found Robin’s and Batman’s identities after 4 months of study. Not fast enough but still some results. 

And he kept going, watching them with awe and dreaming of becoming as good as them, worthy their attention maybe. He kept watching when the new Robin stepped in, even adapted his training to not be only as flexible and agile than the first one, but also blunt and full of tricks as the second. He watched the duo adapt to their new partnership and Nightwing appear in Gotham’s sky. He knew them, all by name, all by face, by movement and by breath. It felt right.

When the second Robin died, he mourned him, deeply, knowing a teen died for this city, anonymously. He watched Nightwing move away shortly after. He watched Batman turning even more violent and lethal following those.

It took him time to decide to go to them, to offer his help. He hoped during months that another Robin would appear, as Jason appeared after Dick’s resignation. But nobody showed up and Batman needed his partner. Maybe Tim was ready, had trained enough. Maybe he could honor Dick’s role and Jason’s legacy. Maybe he wouldn’t fail Bruce.

Yes, indeed, at first, Bruce rejected him, but Tim was stubborn and kept pushing, knowing it was the right decision. And Bruce took him, gave him the Robin mantle. But the man was still cold and rough with Tim.

But it was alright, he could manage it. Tim customised the costume he had to wear, not wanting to wear the same as Jason out of respect for him, but wearing proudly the big R by love for his predecessors.

And it did work, for sometimes, Tim was barely good enough for the role, not worth anything to Dick’s eyes or Bruce’s, but he could take it. After all, they feared he would fill Jason’s place, except Tim couldn’t, because we can’t replace a person, just fill their role.

But he fought well, had a purpose to his life, worked hard to protect Gotham and defend it against the villains. He did team up multiples time with other outcast from the superhero community, formed a group with them, The Young Justice, and finally had friends in them, real one he didn’t disappointed. 

It lasted for maybe three to four years, a pleasant break in Tim’s nightmare, if he except the death of his parents. Because he did had support to mourn them.

Then Jason came back. And Tim loved that news, was so happy, he mourned the young man so much. He loved him so much. 

Except it wasn’t reciprocate, not quite the contrary to be fair. The first thing Jason did coming back to Gotham was to attempt killing Tim. Multiples times.

Each times ended in a near death experiences for Tim and left him deeply scarred. Tim told it to Bruce and Dick. Told them that Jason was alive, that he saw him in Gotham, but didn’t talked of their fight, by fear to be left out by them.

At one point, after almost one year, Jason stopped his tentative to kill him, telling him he didn't it mattered that much. That was fair.

And shortly after, his friend Kon died, during a fight in space. Then Bart, few months after, snatched by the spacetime and finally Cassie, who disappeared.

Tim was alone again, but not fully, no not yet, not yet ! He still has the bats. Well, not for so long though.

First, Stephanie, the second batgirl, his ex-girlfriend and best friend died during a mission.

And it’s will Tim was still mourning his former team and bestfriends that Damian appeared at the Manor. He was Bruce biological son. The true heir to the Batman legacy… And to Robin’s mantle. After all, every Robin, except for him, was a son of Bruce, by adoption, but a son nonetheless. But Tim wasn’t one yet, his father and mother just had died before Jason return and the adoption paper where in Bruce’s office, waiting to be signed by both Tim and Bruce. In the end, Tim never had the adoption paper filled, and Bruce never mentioned it again.

He was the odd pieces of the family, he knew it, Damian told him and Jason to. Dick had just begun to warm up to him. Too late as always. Too late.

Then Bruce “died”. To be fair he disappeared. Dick became Batman. Damian was still in training to become part of the vigilante. And Tim hadn’t barely time to proceed his second father figure death before Dick stripped him of his vigilante title. 

He wasn’t Robin anymore, he wasn't a vigilante. Those honor had been gifted to Damian.

Tim felt something broke this day, inside him, deep down, something that was already fractured and finally shattered.

He spent days alone in some flat he rented, laying in the bathroom, not moving, eating or doing anything. Just processing all of his life, this whole failure that he was.

When he finally got it under control, barely, but still, he got up and made a plan to find Bruce. He couldn’t be dead if there was no proof or body. There could be some other explanation. And if he could give back Gotham is hero and the family their Bruce, it would be a great achievement.

But nobody believed him. He was a fool to them, as always been. 

So he took it alone. He worked for Bruce firm all day, and for his father’s company as well. Became another vigilante to protect Gotham, Red Robin, for Jason and for Dick’s example. They mocked him.

And instead of resting between those two things, he built his case, Bruce case, disappearance. He was so alone, so broken, empty, he had not clue of what he was achieving in the end, how, why, nothing. His memory became a blur, things he couldn’t remember and other he doesn’t wanted to. Stuff to be proud and other ashamed. 

He did became “close” to Ra's, did horrible thing during this time that he happily forgot. 

And in the end, it paid off. Tim couldn’t remember what he traded exactly to Ra's but the immortal found a way to get Bruce out of time and back to their dimension.

And when finally Tim came back to the manor, exhausted, barely his own shadow, but proud of having saved Bruce, he didn’t earned any smile or acknowledgement. They knew he find a way to get Bruce back, but it was easier to ignore Tim. 

Things didn’t fell back as before Bruce disappearance as Tim hopped, new dynamics had been created, new dynamics and partnership in which Tim wasn’t needed.

But he stayed, he tried to fit in, to be useful. 

Even if Bruce ignored him.

Even if Dick had abandoned him.

Even if Jason was disgusted by him.

Even If Stephanie reappeared and had faked her death in his back.

Even if Damian hated him.

Even if all his friends were dead.

Even if he wasn’t enough.

Even if he never did fitted in this family.

Tim got reckless. He didn’t slept. Over worked himself at the office, and during his patrol. He stopped to feed himself properly. To tend his wounds correctly. He was decaying. He could pull lightly at his hair and his hand would come back with locks of it. He kept training his body even if he passed out everytime. If he ate more than 400g of food, he threw up. He was dying. And it wasn’t pretty.

Than there was the final day, the famous day when the last strip would romp. It happened as he had imagined it, almost ironically.

First, Bruce confronted him. About his reckless behavior. About his current state. About how Tim wasn’t good enough for the mission, to protect Gotham and should stop. He wasn’t welcome in the Cave anymore.

Then he stumbled on Stephanie who was avoiding him. And given this opportunity, she dumped all her hard truth on him : he never had been her friend, she never trusted him, that’s why she faked her death and didn’t told him… He didn’t deserve it, wasn’t worth the true.

And while Tim was currently crumbling on himself, the new Wayne, Damian found it funny to provoke him, belittle him. To remember him he was a failure, to weak, to thin, it was better if he just stopped to work, has a vigilante and for their incorporation because he wasn’t doing any good. He wasn’t enough.

So Tim just left, tried to not react because he didn’t knew how to. He was empty, that was it, there just wasn't any Tim left. His body was decaying and himself seemed to be no more. 

But he wanted to end it well, to make it pretty. After all, that had been the whole point of his life isn’t it ? He visited his parents grave and left there flowers. Did same for the monuments dedicated to his friends. Then made sure flowers will be delivered for each one on there birthday. Same for the living who mattered. Then, he tied up all his belongings. And tried to call Dick one last time.

He tried to talk to him. To tell him to not worry anymore he won’t bother them anymore. It would end soon, soon. But instead, Dick cut him off immediately and told him he hadn’t time - for Tim. So it would be it.

He got home and put his costume on. It was a last time to. After this patrol, he would burn all of his vigilante stuff, take his new fake identity and disappear somewhere in India, or maybe in Russia, he wasn’t sure yet. What he was sure, it’s that nobody would look out for him. They would assume him dead. Nobody had time for Tim. And he could finally decay in peace.

Except he saw Jason during his last patrol. Jason who turned out to known some memory Tim had forgotten. Disgusting stuff Tim had done to find Bruce. How dirty Tim got his hands for the sake of the family. How repugnant it made him, even more than before. Jason never had many tenderness for him. But him looking at Tim pitifully was the final straw.

Tim just fly away, ignoring Jason call. Ignoring everyone’s voices buzzing in his ear, sounding like if they were calling him - as if. He just threw his comm in a street. Then his GPS somewhere else. Then he got on top of his old-house, the Drake’s house, stripped of his uniform that he put in the big barril of acid he had lay out. Put on his new civilian clothes, with his bag containing his new identity and … 

And finally felt some tears run down his cheek, realising it was it, his life, Tim Drake’s life was officially a waste of time, of space. An error, an echec… 

Then why run away ? It was done. It could had been a pretty end, but Jason was going to tell his secrets to everybody and it would be a repugnant final. And what if he ended up messing his new life, just as this one.

Tim didn’t wanted to waste anyone's time or space anymore. His body was dying. His mind was broken. That was it.

He did heard someone calling his name, but he was already falling, halfly because his body couldn’t support him anymore, halfly because his mind choose too. He fall from the highest point of his house into the bay.

The surface of the water broke just like his heart did over and over again.

That was an end.

[koalaguru]

Character Analysis: Part 1: Sly Cooper

I’ve had a Sly Cooper-themed Tumblr account for awhile now and I have yet to post anything of note. After years spent lurking and reading the wonderful text posts many fans have made analyzing the shit out of this wonderful series, I felt like it was finally time to throw my hat in the ring of this small but large in passion fanbase because I love analysis as well. So I figured, what better way to get started than by doing a kinda series thing where I post lengthy thought posts on the different characters of the series whenever I get the chance? This won’t be something simple like stopping after doing the main three plus Carmelita...no, I’ll be talking about every major boss and character in the series, so buckle in.

The main goal here is to simultaneously share my love of this series and write analysis pieces while also highlighting what I think of each character and where the games went right (or wrong, in...some cases...) with portraying them. Where better to start than with the main character himself: The Guru Sly Cooper!

Sly Cooper is a very complicated character to get right. I don’t mean just him, I mean the idea behind a character like him. He shows so much arrogance and a flippant disregard for safety precautions in so many scenarios that if these weren’t balanced by the excellent writing of his other personality traits he’d be downright unlikable. Luckily, he’s in the hands of Sucker Punch. But that’s also why, when taken out of Sucker Punch’s hands...things tend to get a bit messy.

Sly Cooper, Nick Wilde, Nathan Drake, the list goes on. They are all similar characters. Cunning, romantic, a bit dangerous, and easily interpreted as uncaring in some instances. That is why it is important to establish a solid background to make it clear why they are the way that they are, and it is equally important to show where their limits lie. Nick Wilde for example could have easily been an annoying character. Judy Hopps is positioned as the main character of Zootopia, and so when audiences see this smug con artist making her job harder, they sympathize with her and demonize him. But the irresistible charm to his personality and the later revelations about his past lead to a satisfying arc that makes him a fan favorite. He is such a smug and cunning asshole because society never gave him the chance to be anything more, and so when Judy gives him that chance, we see who he truly is.

But enough about Zootopia...I’m talking about Sly Cooper. And if I’m being honest, I think the character of Sly Cooper should be the prime example anyone who tries to write this kind of character looks to in the future, because Sucker Punch knocked it out of the damn park.

Starting in Sly 1, we are once again faced with the potential problems of this character archetype. Sly is hard to figure out. We get a solid sense of the rest of the main cast. Bentley is the geeky and cowardly man in the chair, Murray is the clumsy oaf who often makes things more difficult, and Carmelita is the rigid woman of the law: clearly not the main threat, but a definite complicating factor that players will need to work around. Sly, meanwhile isn’t really given any exaggerated traits. In fact, he’s full of many traits that would seem to be at odds with each other. He compliments his friends and thanks them one second but then insults them the next. He flirts with Carmelita, but it’s unclear if this is just for distraction or if there is actually something there. He displays a clear cockiness with his athletic moves, but his inner monologues display a vulnerability that he doesn’t let show to the public.

Sly Cooper is a character built on contradictions, and many if not all of his arcs throughout the series center on him resolving those. In Sly 1, he ends up making his inner thoughts on his friends and himself match what he outwardly displays. He states that both of his friends stepped up to the challenge and really helped him out, matching the respect we often hear him internally communicate. His journey of earning back the Thievius Racoonus piece by piece finally let’s his inner monologue become more proud of his own abilities like his outward cockiness often shows. We get some confirmation that he does truly care for Carmelita, but never lets it go too far out of the knowledge of their opposing fields of work. 

In Sly 2, the storytelling took a leap forward and so did the characters. Something that I have noticed about Sly 2 is that many of the arcs are somewhat retreads of arcs we saw in Sly 1, but not really. See, we still have Sly getting humbled, Sly realizing his friends’ value, Sly reaffirming his status with Carmelita, etc. However, Sucker Punch managed to repeat these similar beats with entirely new circumstances to both strengthen the communication of the ideas and make it feel like a continuation rather than a repeat.

We start with Sly once again showing a bit of displeasure with his friends. He chastises Bentley for letting his nervousness get the better of him and refuses to use the code names Bentley has provided for him. He tells Murray he’s used to going it alone when the hippo can’t follow him further into Dimitri’s nightclub. However, the first important thing to note is that Sly’s development from the previous game is not forgotten. He congratulates his friends when the do well, he no longer refers to Murray as a burden, he’s generally a lot more of a team player. The second important thing about this is that the writers gave the team a new point of tension: Bentley and Murray are now out in the field with Sly. In the first game, Sly argued with Bentley because he clashed with his sense of careful planning and lack of danger when being briefed on jobs. Here, he is clashing with Bentley because he is now relying on the turtle in the field to get the job done, and he wants to keep his friend safe. If Bentley freezes up, the job is busted. Same with Murray. Where previously Sly was frustrated because he was having to make up with Murray’s mistakes as a clumsy and naive guy, now he is simply adjusting to a loud and boisterous partner for his more subdued and silent nature.

We also have the deeper storyline being developed with Carmelita. We get more instances where Sly openly admits to loving Carmelita, possibly prompted by his developing romance with Neyla. I said when talking about Sly 1 that by the end we saw that he did care about Carmelita but knew it couldn’t work due to their differing positions. But with Neyla he finally sees someone who is a viable option for him. She is a cop, but she is also less black and white than Carmelita can be, giving him hope that things can work out. And so that is why, as many have said before, the fourth and fifth chapters are such a turning point for Sly’s character in this game.

We see Neyla, the woman who gave Sly hope that he could eventually have real love, reveal that everything Sly thought she was was an elaborate lie to lock him away. We see Sly have to rely on Bentley to break out of jail, fully recognizing his contributions to the group and accepting his differing way of going about things, using Bentley’s code name at last. We see him have to break Murray out of a jail that is force feeding him drugs, making him fully realize the concern and care he has for his friend, and later the respect for his strength when he has to tangle with Murray who is in a blind rage. And we see Sly save Carmelita and help her escape for the cops, once again giving him some hope for a possible relationship.

Now one would think that resolving all of Sly’s ongoing arcs this early in the game is a mistake. After all, that just leaves an unchanging character until the end, and that will make Sly boring. But don’t you worry. It’s Sucker Punch we’re talking about. And so it quickly becomes clear that the resolving of these particular arcs has only led to more questions to come up in Sly’s mind. He has a whole new set of contradictions to consider, and these ones are much deeper set into who he is to himself and those around him.

He loves Carmelita and wants her to be happy. But he seemingly can’t have both. To start a relationship with Carmelita, she’d have to remain on the wrong side of the law, which would make her unhappy. But to make her happy and get her job back, they would not be able to be together. What should he do? He truly cares for and respects his friends, but he keeps placing them in danger. All of the hardship they have encountered so far is due to his family history and only applies personally to him. His friends may end up being better off without him. What should he do?

The ending stretch of Sly 2 aims to answer these questions, but not fully. It does end up with a solution for the time being, but it doesn’t seem to be the best one. Murray and Bentley do end up going off on their own, leaving their gear behind. But it is only because Bentley was paralyzed and needs medical attention and Murray is mentally devastated. Sly ends up making a choice about Carmelita and getting her job back, but then he escapes from her and the chase starts all over again. He’s back to square one. (Carmelita isn’t, but that’s for another day).

Sly 3 is an extremely personal journey. This game’s story is often viewed as lesser than Sly 2′s story due to its seemingly lowered stakes and less connected progression. In Sly 2, you were travelling the world to take down the members of a gang one by one and gather the parts of Clockwerk. All of this was to stop one giant, interconnected plan that would result in the entirety of Paris being driven into a hypnotic rage and Clockwerk being revived. Sly 3, by comparison, does seem like less of a big deal at first. Sly needs to get into his family’s vault, and to do so he needs to gather a team. This means he is traveling the world to get new members and stopping one-off villains while he’s at each location. If he fails, all that will happen is that he won’t get to see the inside of the vault.

But Sly 3 is intentionally more downplayed, because this conflict isn’t any bigger than Sly and his legacy. Everything he goes through is internal, and his own continuing story is the thread tying the adventure together. Sly has been through a lot. He seemingly finally managed to solve all of his internal struggles only to have them replaced by worse ones. And now it all seems worse than ever before. Bentley is paralyzed, Murray has left for a life of meditation, and Carmelita has hired a group of mercenaries, more determined than ever before to take Sly down. The dangers that come with living life on the wrong side of the law are more prevalent in his mind than ever before, and he feels like everyone he loves is paying the price for it.

Simultaneously, Sly is starting to feel like his time is up. He did it. He learned from the Thievius Racoonus. He pulled off great heists. He defeated Clockwerk twice. He’s done more than his ancestors ever could. And as the number of people in his gang grows the less he is needed in the field. He still takes on the majority of jobs, mind you, but there are more frequent instances where he can’t do something alone. Only Bentley and his tech can break into Tsao’s computer. Only Panda King’s fireworks can take out the hopping vampires. Etc. All of the signs are pointing to the idea of Sly finally retiring, but he doesn’t have any life set up to retire to.

All of these fears and hopes and desires culminate in the final assault on Kaine Island, where Sly learns the truth about his father. Dr. M, the villain of this game, is the way that he is due to his partnership with Sly’s dad, and so he is the representation of everything Sly is worried about with his friends. Has he been too selfish by dragging his friends into his family struggles? Has he not given enough attention to their own contributions? Does he even know what it means to share his life with someone? And as he draws closer and closer to the Cooper Vault, a new fear joins in with the rest. What does he have to contribute to the Cooper name?

That last bit is a question that fans have asked for years. Every Cooper was given some special move or technique that they were the master of and added to the Thievius Racoonus. But all Sly does is learn their moves and perform them. Here Sly is, running through representations of his ancestors’ history, and the only real thing he’s decided on is telling Carmelita he loves her if he sees her again. He also decided to bring Murray and Bentley into the vault with him...only to discover that it was a somewhat empty gesture since they couldn’t follow him beyond the entryway. 

So Sly gets to the inner sanctum and comes into contact with Dr. M, and when once again faced with his father’s mistakes he has a realization. His father, according to Dr. M, never gave as much thought to his friends’ interests. Sly’s conflicts over how he is treating his friends, his back and forth internal debate over their own well-being, his desire to have a life outside of thieving, all of that is his contribution. His respect for those outside of the Cooper Clan. He doesn’t have the mechanical skills to match Otto. Murray is the mechanic. He didn’t truly defeat Clockwerk, at least not without the help of Carmelita. Everything he’s done has been with the help of his friends in ways big and small. Sly finally resolves his inner contradictions by realizing that he himself is a contradiction of every Cooper before him.

So, with this knowledge in mind, Sly defeats Dr. M, gives up his thieving life to be with Carmelita (a way for both of them to be happy), and leaves the Cooper Vault and Thievius Racoonus to non-Coopers. And while this could easily be a sad ending, with the family we spent three games with breaking up and Sly seemingly giving up the focus of the games, it is played as a happy one. Because as we see in the ending, Sly is truly happy. He knows who he is, he knows who his friends are, and he’s finally made the right choice.

...And then...Sly 4...I dunno...It’s...a game...

Okay. I did say at the start of this that I would be using my analysis of the character to look at exactly where Sly 4 went wrong with the characterization. And I think if you’ve read this far and played Sly 4 you already know.

Sly drops his life with Carmelita just because he wants to steal again and doesn’t really care all that much about the situation. He finds out that his history is being erased and still spends the entire adventure throwing out quips. He frequently underplays his friends’ accomplishments. He breaks Carmelita’s heart and doesn’t understand why she’s angry, only thinking it’s hilarious that he got her so angry in the first place. Remember at the very start when I said that Sly is a difficult character to write? Very easily moving from charming to annoying? Yeah, I said all that because of this game. He has all of the humor and wisecracks with none of the deeper level stuff. It’s a fine line to walk and Sanzaru unfortunately couldn’t keep their balance.

But at the end of the day, I hope the rest of what I said was interesting to you or just a fun read. I love these games, and the main character is a big reason why. He’s had a great journey, and one less than stellar portrayal doesn’t ruin that.

[elareine]

Night falling softly and without mercy

Rating: Mature Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd Characters: Bruce Wayne Tags: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, well sort-of, Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Marriage Proposal, Assassination Attempt(s), Frottage, Fluff Batfam Bingo Square: AU: Royalty AO3: /19132123

Prince Tim receives a proposal he can ill afford to turn down. To save his son from an unhappy marriage, King Bruce has an idea—an idea that forces Jason and Tim to confront the truth they have avoided for three years.

Perhaps the marriage proposal had been inevitable. After all, Tim was third in line to the Midnight Throne. A cynical man might speculate on his brother’s death. A tactical man might consider that he would have the ear of the current and any future king either way. With Tim’s twenty-first birthday quickly approaching, the time seemed ripe for him to make a good match. 

This particular proposal would be a hard one to turn down, Tim thought. The girl in question was charming and intelligent—an ideal companion for someone like him. More importantly from a diplomatic point of view, she was a daughter of Bane, the ruler of the Snake’s Head kingdom. 

A gentle knock at the door pulled him out from his thoughts. Tim frowned and called out: “Yes?” 

Jason was already moving, though. Opening the door cautiously and at an angle as always, he smiled at whoever was on the other side. “Ah, thank you, Maisie.” 

When Jason turned back to Tim, the door clicking shut behind him, he held a steaming cup in his hand. Tim perked up as Jason carried it over to the writing desk the prince was sitting at. “Is that coffee?” 

At Jason’s nod, Tim grabbed the cup unceremoniously and inhaled the scent deeply. Ever since they had begun to trade with Metropolis again two years ago and the precious beans had become available in Gotham again for the first time in his lifetime, he had been devoted to hot, bracing drink. The only reason he did not take a sip right away was that Jason did not like it.

“Don’t burn yourself,” his guard warned anyway. 

Tim smiled at him. “Thank you.” 

“You looked like you needed it. Difficult night?”

“Correspondence with Snake’s Head, from Bane himself.” 

“That’s a ‘yes’, then.” Jason frowned. “He wrote to you directly? I was under the impression he refused to communicate with anyone but King Bruce.” 

Tim considered his answer carefully. 

There was nothing you could keep secret from your personal guard. From other servants, maybe— though Tim had no doubt that every single member of the household staff could reveal the most riveting gossip about the royal family to the world if they chose to do so. 

Your personal guard, however? Bar when they traded places with another soldier to rest and have some free time, they were with you twenty-four hours of the day. Tim had given up on keeping secrets from Jason years ago. 

Well. Except for the one. 

“He wrote to Father, yes,” Tim answered slowly. “As it concerns me, I believe Father has left it on my desk so I could acknowledge it… or not.” 

He could feel his back muscles tense at the thought of it. Seconds later, he felt a huge, warm hand land on his neck, gently massaging where it hurt the most. “And will you?” 

“I should, considering it is a proposal for me to marry his oldest daughter.” 

The hand stilled for a brief second. Jason’s voice was even as he asked again: “And will you?” 

For a second, Tim considered confronting Jason over his reticence. Shake him. Yell, maybe. Anything to finally get a reaction. He was tired of this.

Instead he said: “It might be a way to influence Bane on certain issues. Guarantee the peace.”

“If you think he values his daughter that much.”  

Tim sighed and finished his coffee. “Still, it’s a possibility, and a ‘no’ a definite political calamity. I need to speak to Father.” 

“At least we can be sure he’ll still be awake, as well.” Jason sighed, too, but it sounded almost fond. 

“Will you accompany me there? I know it is past your shift change already.” 

Jason chuckled. “When has that ever stopped me?” 

That was true. Tim was fully aware that he slept less than most people. He had a tendency to get lost in whatever matter of state he was currently working on and surface at about the time most righteous people would wake up. Jason had never seemed to mind, though, beyond gently (and persistently - one could even say annoyingly) reminding Tim that he should go to sleep. If he considered the matter Tim was working on important enough, he would stay up with him, either reading a book or joining in on the discussion. 

At first, Tim had only tolerated his input on sufferance. As it turned out, however, his bulking mountain of muscle of a guard was smarter and spoke more languages than he’d let on in the beginning. The issue of drug smuggling in the harbour and border districts and the resulting unrest seemed to be the one that interested Jason the most. Tim figured it had been that particular group of outlaws that had sent Jason to kill him. 

Oh, yes, he knew about that. 

It had become laughingly obvious that Jason wasn’t exactly a regular bodyguard the first time an assassin had tried to take Tim out. 

Now, Tim had always been perfectly able to take care of these would-be assassins himself, thank you. It was the reason he’d gotten away without having a personal guard until he turned 18. So he’d been prepared to jump out of the way of the knife and acquaint the assassin with the handy staff he carried under his overcoat— when Jason had moved his body between his attacker and him, made the man crumple to the ground, and turned to fire two arrows from a crossbow Tim hadn’t even known he was carrying. 

Two thumps behind them had signalled the arrows had found their targets. 

“Couldn’t you have left one alive?” Tim had asked. 

Before his eyes the crossbow had vanished again. He’d need to remember that trick. “Oh, this one,” Jason had nudged the first attacker casually with his foot, “is only unconscious.” He’d paused. “And will be for some time.” 

“Then there is no need to stay. We are late already.” Tim had turned and walked away.  

Behind him, he’d heard Jason laugh, then fall into step. He was fairly certain that had been the day they had become friends. 

Now Jason was walking closely behind him again, though he fell back once they’d reached the door to Bruce’s private chambers. He knew there was no safer place in the whole palace. Here, it was alright for him to wait outside. 

Bruce called him in as soon as Tim knocked on the heavy door. His king was sitting at his desk, clad in his sleeping clothes and a silk robe. He turned to greet Tim.

“Tim. You have read the letter?” 

Tim nodded, settling down on the edge of the desk. There was no one else here; no need for a good posture. 

“What do you think?” Bruce asked.

“There are certainly advantages to his offer.” 

Bruce nodded for him to continue. 

“It would give us political leverage over Snake’s Head. Maybe give the king an incentive to stop shipping their poison into our kingdom,” Tim listed. “Considering he only has one son, any… offspring would tie us closer to them.” 

Bruce’s face became grave. Tim readied himself for the worst. 

“Tim, what about me adopting three children and having one son out of wedlock gave you the impression I cared about royal lineages or alliances through marriage?” 

Tim didn’t know what to say to that. 

His father continued: “Your reasons honour you— but I haven’t heard that you want to marry her.” 

“I don’t. I…” Tim swallowed. To his humiliation, he felt his eyes grow wet. 

They weren’t physically demonstrative with each other often. Now, Bruce stood up and pulled Tim into a hug. “Oh, son. You do so much already. So much. You don’t need to do this.” 

Tim pressed his face into his father’s neck and tried to breathe. Times like these, he could still hear his mother telling him he was useless but for his birth status. Bruce had never been like that. Some nights, that was easier to remember than others. 

Slowly, his breathing returned to normal. 

“Bane will not appreciate a rejection,” was all Tim said when Bruce let him go.

“Yes, that could be a difficulty… Of course, if you were to, say, acquire an engagement we could proclaim tomorrow, we could always pretend to have received the letter too late.” 

Tim couldn’t help it— his jaw dropped. “Father! Are you suggesting…” 

Bruce held up a placatory hand, but Tim could see his eyes laughing. “Just a suggestion.”  

Somehow, Tim had the distinct feeling he was being played. If his older brother weren’t currently away on a mission, he would have suspected him behind it. As it was, Tim looked at his father suspiciously but granted: “It would help.” 

“Something to talk about, maybe.” Bruce was smiling way too innocently now, his face closer to the one he presented at court than his private one. “A different sort of alliance, so to speak.” 

“Please don’t continue with that thought,” Tim groaned. Then, despite himself: “You wouldn’t mind?” 

Bruce’s answer was a gentle push toward the door. “Let me know how you decide in the morning. And Tim— try to sleep.” 

“Pot, kettle. Good night, father.”

 Outside, Jason turned towards him immediately. His face was visibly tense. Tim smiled at him and started walking towards his quarters. 

Still, Jason must have seen the remnants of tears in his face. He walked closer to Tim than on their way here, gently touching his elbow and asking: “Are you alright?” 

Tim felt his cheeks heat up. 

Damn his father. Now he was thinking about it. 

“Yes,” he reassured Jason. Not wanting to have this discussion in the corridor, he tilted his head towards his rooms. Jason nodded and followed him quietly for the rest of the way. His hand stayed on Tim’s arm. 

Once they were behind closed doors, Tim sat down. Unlike before, Jason did not avail himself of the setteé behind him, nor took up guard at the door or the balcony. Instead he stood a few feet away from Tim, waiting. 

It felt tense, somehow. Like a precipice. As if they both knew their lives would change, now, but neither could guess which direction it would take. 

“You know, I’ve been wondering,” Tim told Jason casually—as if he hadn’t wanted to ask this question for almost three years now—, “why you didn’t kill me.” 

He kind of expected Jason to deny it. Jason was talker, always mouthing off to whoever it was that managed to annoy him right now. Tim enjoyed that quality; he never tired of the murmured running commentary Jason kept up during state functions. Tim had seen him talking himself out of situations where anyone else would have done well to keep quiet. 

But Jason didn’t deny it. His tone was matter-of-fact. 

“If it had been purely an assassination attempt, you’d be dead. I don’t need to come near you to kill you.” Jason paused. “In fact, we had already decided it would only be possible to get any of you from a distance. Take that as a compliment.” 

Tim did, actually. 

Then he asked again: “Why did you not kill me?” 

Jason seemed to think for a moment; then he stepped closer. When Tim didn’t flinch, he sank to his knees and knelt right in front of his chair. With Jason’s height, he remained almost eye-level with Tim; still the meaning of the gesture was not lost on Tim. 

“We became convinced you are doing everything you think you can to stop the influx of Bane’s poison into our home. Eliminating you would not have served our purpose.” 

There were nuances to that statement. Tim wanted to ask about the ‘we’, about ‘everything you think you can’t; he forced himself to concentrate on Jason. 

There was something crooked in Jason’s mouth now, as if he was on the verge of smiling— but not quite. “You’re asking the wrong question.” 

Tim thought about it. 

“Why did you stay?” 

Plenty of people had tried to kill him before. Plenty of others hadn’t. Few had ever stayed, especially once they knew him as well as Jason did. 

“Because I wanted to.” Jason paused, seemed to consider his words. “To stay with you, that is, as lovely as having a roof over my head and regular income is.” 

Something was forming in the back of Tim’s throat (laughter, maybe, or a sob) and for a moment he couldn’t speak. Jason was moving closer, a hand on Tim’s thigh—gently spreading it to make room for himself—, the other on Tim’s neck. Tim could smell him, leather and incense. He hadn’t realized he had leaned forward but was glad that it had put him into easy touching distance. 

Finally, Tim said: “So if I were to say that I want to marry no-one but you…” 

The smile finally unfurled on Jason’s face. “Then I would gladly agree—but also point out that we seem to have done this backwards, and that it is customary to at least share a kiss before a marriage proposal.”

“Please,” Tim whispered. 

Jason surged up, his mouth firmly pressing against Tim’s. 

For a second, it was as if either neither of them knew what to do now that they were finally here. Then Jason adjusted the angle a bit, and Tim looped his arms around his neck, and it was everything he’d ever wanted. 

After a long, long moment, Jason broke away—but barely, staying so close he was whispering into Tim’s mouth as if he couldn’t bear to be parted any farther. “Is this alright?” 

Tim kissed him in answer, a bit more heat behind it now, parting his lips. His eyes fell shut at the first touch of Jason’s tongue.  

Suddenly Tim was intensely aware of Jason’s hand on his thigh. It wasn’t doing much, just gently gripping, the thumb rubbing slow circles; Tim couldn’t help but buck into it, something close to a whimper escaping into Jason’s mouth. 

Tim didn’t know how long they stayed like that, kissing and kissing and kissing, before he felt Jason’s muscles tense. He kept his own relaxed enough to make it easy for his partner to pick him up in a bridal carry as Jason stood up. Their lips never parted even as Jason carried him towards the bed. 

Distantly, Tim thought that he probably liked that feeling a bit too much. Also that he would likely need to forbid Jason from doing the same thing in front of everyone on their wedding day. 

Their wedding day. 

Because this was Jason agreeing to marry him. 

“Why didn’t you say something?” Tim gasped as his back hit the mattress on his bed. 

Jason followed him half-way, though he seemed to remember that unlike Tim—who was in his night clothes and had lost his slippers on the way—, he was still fully clothed in his uniform and boots at the last second. “Excuse me, which one of us is a prince? I was waiting for you. I wasn’t sure you—” He stopped.  

Tim considered that for a moment before slipping past Jason and off the bed. 

Now it was Tim who knelt on the ground before Jason; Tim who took off Jason’s boots with quick fingers; who gently peeled off his breeches and worshipped his skin with light kisses. Finally, he looked up again; whispered: “I’m sure.” 

The expression on Jason’s face made him smile. 

Strong hands pulled him up and into a kiss again. Tim happily lost himself in it, settling into Jason’s lap as the other divested them both of their remaining clothes. God, he thought a bit deliriously, he could live on those kisses alone. Though, oh, that was Jason’s stomach and cock rubbing against his own; that was nice, too.

Heat was building up around them, now, and it had nothing to with the fire smouldering in the fireplace. Their bodies had found a rhythm, aided by the fluids gathering between them. Tim knew he was close, that Jason was, too; could feel it in the delicate trembles of the body under his, in the way Jason had to separate their mouths to groan and pant for air. 

But they returned to kissing, every time, as if they needed it more than breathing. 

Jason was the first to tense, coming against Tim’s stomach with a low groan Tim wanted to engrave into his brain.  He followed suit with a shudder that felt like it would never stop, and the feeling of letting go of something. 

After, Tim considered moving, sure he was crushing Jason. He dismissed the thought from his mind. His guard (his lover) hadn’t ever shied away from complaining about inconveniences; he wouldn’t start now. Indeed, all Jason did once he had caught his breath was gently lift them both up and under the cover, Tim still half-way on top of him. 

(And shielded from both the door and the balcony by Jason’s body, Tim noted with some amusement.)  

“Think you can sleep now?” Jason asked gently. 

“Hmm.” Tim cuddled closer. “I shouldn’t. There are things we should talk—” He interrupted himself with a yawn.  

A heavy arm wrapped around his waist. It felt good. Safe. “Sleep for a bit, and I will wake you up early.” 

Tim wanted to nod, but before he knew it, sleep had claimed him. 

When he woke up the next morning to Jason’s gentle shaking, they were still closely entwined. The dim grey light filtering through the curtains told him that Jason had kept his word. It was still early. No need to hurry. 

Jason gave him another minute to wake up, then he gently tilted Tim’s head up to kiss him good morning.  Tim was sure that he couldn’t taste good and he felt distinctly sticky where they had failed to clean up last night. 

Jason didn’t seem to care; his kiss was gentle and light and loving. When he pulled away, he whispered: “I would say we spend an appropriately romantic morning after together, but knowing you, you have questions to ask and plans to make.” 

Tim snorted in a most unprincely way. “As if you don’t.” Jason was spontaneous, sure, but he liked being in control of the circumstances in the exact same way Tim did. 

Jason grinned at him. “Of course. You want to start with the questions?” 

“What will your… group say?” Tim settled down Jason’s chest again, resting his right arm on it and hooking his chin over his wrist to look at him. 

“‘Congratulations.’” Jason smiled. “I’ve been here for three years, Tim. The writing has been on the wall. The worst that could happen is that they’ll insist on showing up for the wedding.” 

“I’d like that,” Tim told him, and Jason dropped a kiss on his forehead. 

“There won’t be any interference with this court. There hasn’t been for years.” He paused. “I cannot and will not promise the same for the Court of Snake’s Head.” 

“I’m shocked.”

To be fair, neither could Tim about the Midnight forces. He suspected the reason behind Bruce sending Dick to infiltrate Jason’s group of Outlaws was to prepare for exactly that. A possible joint manoeuvre, so to speak. 

As if Jason sensed the direction his thoughts had taken, he asked: “And your father?” 

“Gave us his blessing.” Tim grimaced, thinking of the smile on Bruce’s face. “His encouragement, even.” 

Gratifyingly, Jason looked surprised at that, too. Then he turned thoughtful. “Huh. I knew he was letting me off the hook—but that sounds like he is considering an alliance.” 

Tim raised his eyebrow at him. “Are you saying my father might have other motives besides my personal happiness?” 

Jason raised his right back. “Are you saying your father doesn’t have three motives for everything he does and loves killing two birds with one stone?”  

“He does—” 

“Also, I got a letter from my best friend telling me about this pretty young man that recently tried to join our group. Funnily enough, his description sounded a lot like a certain brother of yours. Now I’m sure that’s a coincidence?” 

So Dick had gone to join the outlaws, not fight them. Tim loved being right. “How is he?” 

“I assume well, seeing how he has managed to join said best friend and his wife in their bed.” Jason laughed at Tim’s grimace. “I was trying to think of a way of telling your father that his son is fine and only blew his cover to me by apparently being pretty enough to warrant a detailed description.”  

“How about we don’t.” 

“And to think, the detailed description was probably Roy’s revenge for chewing his ear off about you.” 

“Then we should definitely invite them to the wedding—which the Crown Prince will be expected to attend. See how Dick explains that.”  

Jason laughed and Tim felt his smile soften. He thought that Jason would likely always feel some loyalty to the group that had sent him and the mission he so obviously believed in. He also believed that the two of them, together, had a found a middle ground where they could handle that. 

Now that they had been so open with their bodies, it felt natural to let the words follow. 

There was a reason they were discussing this now, however. Bruce was likely impatiently waiting for an answer. Tim needed to stay on topic. 

“What do you want? I realize that this,” Tim made a sweeping gesture that seemed to include all the trappings of royalty, “isn’t what you signed up for.” 

Jason had the gall to roll his eyes a that. “Not to press the point too much, but what I signed up for was a suicide mission.” 

Tim pinched him.

“Ow. It would be weird seeing someone else follow you around,” Jason admitted. “I like protecting you. I don’t think I can pass that on to someone else that easily… that’s probably not an appropriate occupation for a husband, is it, though?”

Tim considered that. “I would not like anyone else around, either. However, I don’t see the need for it. As long as we’re together, I’m sure even Bruce would agree we won’t need anyone else. With some extra guards for official functions and for when one of us is gone.” 

He laughed at the expression on Jason’s face. Clearly he hadn’t thought about the fact that as the spouse of a prince, he would become a target, too.  

Just to poke the bear a bit more, Tim added: “You know Father will likely insist on bestowing you with at least a few titles.” Then he resolved into giggles, fueled by relief.

They could do this. Declaring their engagement would save the kingdom from a diplomatic slight to Bane—not to mention Tim from a loveless marriage—and help them on their way to a far more promising political alliance with the Outlaws. More importantly, Tim wouldn’t have to spend any more evenings wondering if Jason would be gone in the morning, returned to the mission he had never completely abandoned. 

With a contented sigh, he slid his arm down to hug Jason closer, resting his face on the other’s shoulder instead. For some long minutes, they lay there, Jason’s hand rubbing gentle circles on Tim’s back. 

Then the reality of what laid ahead returned. 

“This week is going to be hellish,” Tim groaned into Jason’s neck. 

“I don’t think it will be as much of a problem as you think. You’re barely in the public eye as it is. Marrying a commoner might cause a scandal, sure, but no more than the king adopting two.” 

Jason’s voice was soothing; still, he wasn’t helping matters. “Everyone will have something to say about it, Jason. Everyone. Are you sure you want to do this?” 

“Can’t be worse than that one ball where Stephanie decided to annoy your admirer by asking you to every dance and I had to keep said admiring lady from killing her. Or that time you had to mediate between Ra’s and Damian. Or that time—” 

“Alright, alright,” Tim laughed. “Still. Are you sure?” 

Jason didn’t answer him directly. “Is that everything that’s on your mind?” 

When Tim nodded, Jason gently pushed him off a bit and shifted over to where his discarded uniform jacket lay on the floor, twisting his upper body to take something out of an inner pocket. 

When he turned back to Tim, a simple golden band rested in the middle of his palm.  

For the first time this morning Tim was speechless. Somehow, for all their talk of getting married, he couldn’t fathom that he was being presented with a ring, in his bed, by Jason. 

“I’ve been carrying this with me for months now, Tim. I started saving up years ago.” Jason’s voice was low, earnest. “I’ve watched you when you’re cranky in the morning and feverishly working at night. I know you work too much, worry too much, drink way too much coffee. I’ve seen the council meetings and dances and diplomatic travels. I know you think you’re responsible for everything and everyone— I love you for it. I know what I’m getting into and I want it. Want you,” he corrected himself. “So. Your Highness, Timothy Jackson Drake Wayne, Prince of Gotham, Fifth Duke of Otisburg, Lord Blackgate, Knight of the Narrows, will you do me the honour of marrying me?” 

Tim had to haul him in by hand on the back of his neck for that; had to kiss him breathless before he said: “Yes.” 

Unsurprisingly the ring fit perfectly. Even more so, it looked right. 

It took them a long time to separate again. Eventually, though, unwilling to be caught in bed, they rose, washing up and getting ready to face the day.

Too quickly, there was a knock on the door. Tim suspected that it to be Alfred, sent by his king, or maybe his father himself. 

The outside world was calling for them. 

Tim looked at Jason, who was trying to smooth the creases out of his uniform jacket with remarkably little success. Finally, he gave up and pulled it on, calling out “Yes?” as he moved to open the door. 

Tim smiled. They would do just fine. 

A/N: Bruce knew about the ring. He’s been watching these fools pine for years now. 

[gayafchoices]

choices siblings ranked... so far

anyway while i’m here... for the next edition of ‘ace ranks stupid choices things because she’s bored’... ace ranks choices siblings based on ‘entertainment value’, ‘communication skills’ & ‘ability to hold back from literally killing each other’!

i also previously ranked choices friend groups (updated until, like... the senior... everything past the elementalists tba)

shit tier

21. sterling brothers from veil of secrets - NEED I FUCKING ELABORATE?!

20. mc, eos & pax from across the void - again... see above... honestly they are a mess... i am this close to dropkicking both of them off the ship

19. sawyer & duke from big sky country - they’re so fucking annoying mc should have signed them up for social skills class and left with spike the cactus 

18. mark & isaac from lovehacks - yo isaac was a lil bitch and i’ll never understand why the storyline, short as it was, was so sympathetic towards him. get off your ass and get a job u big fuckin baby stop whining at least mark made dopey cat even though he was an idiot at times

low tier 

17. rose & trystan from the crown & the flame - they really needed a couple more heart to hearts... @ trystan you really had to betray dom to the prehistoric police just because he kissed your sis... get a grip

16. drake & savannah from the royal romance - drake walker needs to sit his ass down & know his place & hold his shit together for once!! leave her alone!! 

mid tier

15. mc & twin from class act - they have no chill!! and need to grow up!! damn!! talk to each other!! and not just about school!! or relationships!! god!!

14. mc & edmund marlcaster from desire & decorum - on balance because if you’re not nice to him the relationship is strained To Say The Least... although why you wouldn’t be nice to him i’ll never understand some of y’all just love to start shit then get upset when miss sweetheart sutton bitches right back at you smh... he’s just trying his best... and if you’re nice to him you become siblings in arms... i love...

13. kiara & ezekiel from the royal romance - too little screen time but healthy and sweet and cute... am i going to complain

12. connor & stacy from it lives in the woods - at least he tries to be a supportive older brother... they’re getting better... proud of them

11. mc & cingerix from a courtesan of rome - i mean from what we get to see of cingerix (WHERE IS HE??? IF HE IS DEAD I WILL PERSONALLY KNIFE FIGHT EVERYONE FROM PIXELBERRY IN A PARKING LOT), he obviously loves his sis & will straight up murder every roman with his bare hands for his family & his people... GIVE ME MORE FAMILY INTERACTIONS PB 

10. mc & jonathan from the haunting of braidwood manor - everyone forgets this book exists so i ain’t surprised they forget the plot but this was UNDERRATED!!! the sibling relationship was heartbreaking and beautiful!! mc and jonathan deserved the world it’s a shame we only saw them for six chapters 

9. nevrakis siblings from the crown & the flame - a hot fuckin toxic ass mess but so dramatic and entertaining lmaooooo honestly i loved it luther nevrakis for father of the year

8. mc & dylan from home for the holidays - the only good thing about this book T B H. they were so loving & supportive & genuinely healthy! also good rep because they were both adopted, i love that 

top tier

7. jane & noah from it lives in the woods - say what you want but noah was ready to do anything for jane, including sacrifice himself if y’all played the damn game right and managed to get everyone’s nerve high enough... i mean they both fucked up AF but that was next level... what a pair

6. maxwell & bertrand from the royal romance - yooooooo i love them, fucking iconic. they had their bad moments but they TRULY cared about each other and wanted the best for each other and for house beaumont and i’m proud!! so much character growth!! 

5. kate & flynn from veil of secrets - flynn was really out there breaking into houses then later becoming a cop and being a great uncle for the sake of his sis... they love each other that’s that on that

4. andi & leah from lovehacks - i’m biased but I LOVE THEM!!! leah was the best big sister in choices history they were the cutest sister-sister relationship ever 

god tier

3. mc & elliot from it lives beneath - elliot is a precious cinnamon roll and i, mc, will dropkick half the town for him make no mistake! they are all each other has in the world and their relationship truly shows it! blessed! legends only! 

2. waverley siblings from the haunting of braidwood manor - criminally! underrated! perfect! beautiful! amazing! eleanor really shouldered the secret of them being dead for a hundred years to keep them happy and when the truth came out they were so good and sweet and innocently kind about it! it was beautiful i love them they deserve everything

1. mc, jess, nicole & alex from rules of engagement - may i refer you to this post? that will be all, facts only!

[thenerdyunhealthybrit]

Tagged by the wonderful @dream-beyond-the-fantasy​

If you could change (or rather fix) the background and/or paternity of any five characters, who would they be?

This is tough, currently Griffin because he is sort of just floating around with no real ties - I would had made him Anna’s somehow, or introduce some siblings or extended family for him.

What five storylines would you rewrite?  And how?

The Everyday Heroes storyline, that storyline was awful and OOC for Sam, how previously lived a life of crime and who was dating a mob enforcer at the time. Being on TV and in the public eye made no sense for her. It was just a way to break down JaSam more for Liason. Like even when it looked to be building up to something, with the mark turning out the be abusive - it was all done wrong because if I remember correctly, he only got abusive when it was revealed that Sam was conning him. As bad as it sounds, he had a legit, arguably provoked reason. It’s still bad, but it didn’t make Sam sympathetic and the abuse was very brushed over in favour of Jason’s storyline and breaking them up. I was have changed it so her “husband” has abused her once married, but before it was revealed she was conning him. If they insisted on delving into Sam’s past as a con artist.

Three most annoying retcons in General Hospital history?

1) SamTrick. I’m sorry, I’m only going to say this now because I’ve been complaining about it for months and have appointed myself as leader of the SamTrick defence squad. But currently I hate how SamTrick is completely retconned by the writers, Robin only ever brings up Sabrina. And I hate how it’s being retconned to prop Dream up, she left Patrick because she thought Jason was alive and Drew was “Jason” - they got together in hopes of developing feelings because Sam thought Drew was “Jason” and “Jason” thought Sam was his wife and he owed it to her to try.

2) Another one is Jason’s commitment to the mob, currently they are acting like Jason’s number 1 priority is CarSon. When before 2012, he was able to separate Mob life to his private life with Sam.

3) Anything where CarSon do bad shit, then act all sanctimonious to other people, - like recently with the Nelle/Carly stuff or how Ava is being kept from Avery when Sonny isn’t even a good option, has killed people (and gets Jason’s to do it) and most of the time Avery is hidden in the corner or is with Michael and Kiki.

Favorite incarnations of characters who have been played by multiple actors?

Tyler Christopher, which is easy since Tyler is Nikolas.

Natalia Livingston, I never really saw Amber Tamblyn as Emily so that’s easy.

Steve Burton as Jason Morgan, and this is nothing against Billy, I just think he looks to soft to be believable as a tough, mob enforcer. Whereas, Steve kind of has a natural, rugged, rough around the edges look for him. Maybe it’s because of all those years of Billy in The Young and the Restless made it tough.

With Carly its tough, I feel like with Tamara’s Carly, the CarSon dynamic felt more like a mob relationship, whereas with Laura’s CarSon feels more on equal dynamic, but Laura’s Carly makes Carly seem more possessive and obsessive and needy over people at time. But I liked how independent she became, whereas I didn’t really get that with Tamara’s Carly - but I preferred Tamara’s relationship with Michael compared to Laura’s Carly.

Billy Warlock for AJ Quartermaine - this is nothing against Sean Kanan, because I never saw his initial stint, but I felt in his second stint there was a big unexplained discourse with the sudden change - kind of like what they are doing with Franco (but less worse) but also I felt like they weren’t giving Sean the right material for AJ and it’s an injust that he never knew about Jason and that he’s supposedly ok with Sonny killing him.

Five character deaths that destroyed you?

Emily, I don’t see what it did, expect butcher the Quartermaines and for shock value during the Sweeps.

AJ, but not for the same reason as Emily, this was more about the injustice done to his character.

Lila McCall - that’s down to Kelly and Steve’s performance, I did not expect to legitimately cry.

Danny McCall - He was so innocent and pure and at the time, the last of Sam’s family. He didn’t deserve to die - I would have liked to have had to full time character that is disabled or mentally challenged and have the relationship between the career and the person - without having to send them away or it defining them.

Georgie Jones - though I understand the actress quit due to lack of storylines, I think it’s a shame that writers didn't give her the material she deserves, especially since I think at the time, that age group was kind of small anyway.

If you could bring back any characters, which ones would they be?  And why?

Danny McCall, for reasons above.

Lila McCall - I flip back on this, this is a huge what if scenario. I’d like to have seen Jason and Sam raise her together. Though Sonny would ruin it, probably randomly decides he’s her dad every 5 years.

Emily Quartermaine - because it’s Emily Quartermaine.

AJ and Alan Quartermaine, for vintage Quartermaine goodness, plus Drew deserves this.

Lorenzo Alcazar - Which is probably an unpopular one, but I liked him and Ted King, had legit reasons to quit since the writers made him all about Sonny, but Sonny didn’t actually do anything to him, it was other people like Alexis etc.

Patrick Drake - SamTrick deserves to be remembered, he will always be an iconic GH Doc, move out the way Griffin. Plus I’d like to see SamTrick continue to be platonic best friends after they split. Sam needs her own friends, outside of Jason’s Carly, Spinelli, even though they befriended him at the same time was more about Jason, the writers forget about Saxie half the time. Plus Noah with Danny or Noah with Scout would be cute.

What storylines would you like to see General Hospital tackle?

Surrogacy, again - but not like what they did with Maxie/Lulu/Dante. 

A couple having a child born with Down Syndrome or some disability - and have it not be fixed by some miracle cure.

I lowkey want a Cult storyline. Australian soaps like Home and Away love a Cult storyline (It’s hippie style not Scientology style).

Any community style storylines - but not have Sonny and Jason come out looking as heroes. Not villains either but it use to be quite bad that they were legit like Superheroes.

Just more storylines that break the mould of a US Soap. 

If you watched any other ABC soaps (All My Children, One Life to Live, Port Charles, Ryan’s Hope, Loving, The City and I’m including SoapNet’s General Hospital: Night Shift), which characters (living at the time of the soap’s demise) would you bring to GH for a visit/story since they share the same universe?

I haven’t watched any of the old ABC Soaps, but I know my fair share about it and seen bits and bobs.

From One Life To Live, I think I’d bring Starr and Cole with Hope, but none of that storyline when they arrived. I think it was a mess what was done with the characters that hoped over to GH from OLTL and there was no true resolution to it. Maybe Jess with her split personalities to spice things up. Have her be predominantly know to GH residents by one of her alternate personalities.

From All My Children, I kind of dug Zendall from their clips, and I think their ending was a mess because only one returned to the Online Soap, but I would at least bring Kendall over to GH to kind of explain more on their split and have a life away if necessarily, without feeling out of place. I’d bring Babe back from the dead and bring her and JR over to rival CarSon in a way (in styles of relationship, not mob life).

I don’t see how Port Charles characters can properly be brought over considering how much the show veered off into the Supernatural. I lowkey would have liked to see Livvie and Caleb more, but not in GH.

I’m going to tag @gemleilou. I don’t think you have done this?

[wazafam]

Educators are some of the most important people in our lives, except our families. Like second parents to us, educators (most notably teachers) mold viewers' childhood. They often hold special positions in hearts, as much as they can also be a source of deep antagonism for students everywhere. Their power and authority imbues them with strength. Put it simply, they can make or break each student's educative career, and even their professional career.

RELATED: Uncle Jack & Other Hilarious TV Lawyers

With such a huge influence, it is no surprise that TV show creators are obsessed with educators. Teachers like Miss Honey in Matilda teach viewers what a good teacher should be. In television, however, the craziest characters get the most recognition. Consequently, the most memorable educators are often the most unconventional.

10 Principal Lewis (American Dad!)

The drug-smuggling, human-trafficking, drug-addicted principal of Pearl Bailey High School, Principal Lewis also forcibly drugs his students when he needs them to win championships. Likewise, he uses all sorts of drugs on school grounds. He swears excessively in front of his students, mocks them, and calls them names. In one episode, he pulls some of his students out of class to take them to an underground poker game so they can count cards for him. Later, the Chinese mafia would come after both Lewis and the high schoolers.

Principal Lewis's lifestyle does not fit that of an educator. It is not clear why or how he got the job.

9 Mr. Frond (Bob's Burgers)

Phillip Frond, known to students as Mr. Frond, is Louise Belchers' arch-nemesis and good, close friend. The sweater-wearing, always-knitting guidance counselor values the importance of feelings and emotions. He might like to think of himself as always being there to emotionally support the students of Wagstaff School, but he has shown time and time again that he is more concerned with winning recognition for his work as a guidance counselor.

RELATED: Bob's Burgers: 10 Times Mr. Frond Went Overboard (& 5 He Was Justified)

He merely sees the children as tools for reaching his glory. Despite his badly-hidden vanity, Mr. Frond slightly cares about his students and cries when the Belcher kids write stories villainizing him as a nerdy spoilsport. Phillip is well-known for creating obnoxious slogans that he hopes would inform and educate children on emotional intelligence.

8 Principal Li (Daria)

Angela Li, the principal of Lawndale High School is most remembered for the manner in which she pronounced her school's name, drawing out the "Lawn" to emote school pride. However, like Mr. Frond, her students can see through the faux pride she professes for her school. Angela Li wants her school to be great, only so that she can be praised and glorified. She puts her students' needs last whenever doing so would make the school look good. Sometimes, this is to hilarious effect, such as when the school computers were stolen, and she announced a mandatory school-wide fingerprint collection for absolutely no reason.

In another episode, she suffers a mental breakdown when she enters into a contract with the soft drinks mafia to allegedly make more money for the school's betterment.

7 Principal Lawler (That's So Raven)

Principal Lawler (Wesley Mann) is the principal at Raven Baxter's high school, Bayside High. Mann appeared in many children's classic TV shows like Drake And Josh, Full House, and Even Stevens. He started out as an English teacher before becoming a principal. As the principal, he hates his job and punishes students for minor infractions, because he cannot be bothered to actually discipline and correct his students.

RELATED: That's So Raven: 10 Times Her Vision Ruined Everything (& 5 Times It Saved The Day)

He is most noted for his distinctive manner of speaking in which he spits on his students when pronouncing the letter "P." He also has an unfortunate quirk of choosing a vocabulary heavy on the same letter. As a result, his students often end up soaked in saliva when he is near.

6 Ross Geller (Friends)

A certified paleontologist with a Ph.D., Ross Geller began his career working in a museum. Later, he moved to a teaching career. after he was offered the opportunity to work as a stand-in lecturer. Still, Dr. Geller is highly unprofessional and has no boundaries with his students. He dates one of his students, twenty-year-old Mona, for a few months. During that time, he impulsively follows her to Florida for spring break, because he is scared that she would cheat on him.

RELATED: Friends: Ross's 5 Best (& 5 Worst) Story Arcs

In another episode, he gives a student a passing grade after the student lies to Ross that he is in love with him and cannot concentrate in class as a result.

5 Peggy Hill

Peggy Hill is King of The Hill's funniest character. The narcissistic, egotistic, ignorant Spanish teacher, who can't speak Spanish, is another of many vain educators represented on screen. Peggy is so bad at speaking Spanish, that she accidentally kidnaps a Mexican child when she takes her students on a school trip to Mexico. Her lawyer is able to prove her innocence when he proves how badly Peggy understands Spanish. Winner of many Substitute Teacher of the Year Awards, Peggy is too deep in denial to actually spend her free time improving her Spanish.

In later seasons, Peggy pretends to be a nun to secure a teaching job vacancy at a Catholic school. This is but a blip in the many narcissistic schemes that Peggy would hatch to make herself look good.

4 Principal Skinner (The Simpsons)

Springfield's mama boys, and a strict believer in punishing his students disproportionately for their wrongdoings, Principal Seymour Skinner is Springfield Elementary's own biggest downfall. His enmity with Bart Simpson is legendary, as audiences watched principal and student learn to become good (but secret) friends. Skinner's story is even weirder because he is not Mrs. Skinner's son. Her son was killed in combat, and Seymour pretended to be her son on the day he arrived to deliver the news of her son's death. Both mother and son have been playing along with this charade ever since in a plot not too far off from Alfred Hitchcock's Pyscho.

3 Beth Baerly

Ms. Baerly is George Michael's teacher on Arrested Development. She is an attractive, young teacher, with whom all her male students, including George Michael, are in love with. After briefly dating her, Michael finds out that Ms. Baerly really does love Sadam Hussein, just as George Michael relayed to him earlier in the episode. Ms. Baerly is an average American teacher who has a deep love and passion for Sadam Hussein during the US's misguided war on terror.

What does she love about a power-hungry tyrant? The answer is chilling if pondered.

2 Miss. Simian

Lucy Simian, known as Miss Simian to her students, is Elmore Junior High School's most evil troublemaker. Over two million years old, Miss Simian is always irritated, much to the agony of her students. She is mean and grumpy, even to her boyfriend, Principal Brown, and has made enemies of nearly everyone in the school, particularly Gumball and Darwin. In one episode, she pretends to turn over a new leaf just so she can win the award for Best Teacher. She fools everyone and is voted Best Teacher, only to immediately revert back to her evils ways of throwing surprise quizzes and bullying her students once she wins.

Miss Simian is a reminder of every evil teacher that audiences have been forced to endure in their own childhoods.

1 Dean Pelton

Craig Pelton is one of TV's most memorable characters. A character who changes into over-the-top ridiculous outfits to greet his students every day, Dean Pelton makes no logical sense. One unanswered question remains where he finds the budget for all his elaborate costumes - some of which are not easy to find. Knowing how corruptible he is, it is fair to say, he probably uses the school's funds. When Craig is not changing into his costume of the day, he is stalking his most attractive student, Jeff; reading his confidential emails;  touching him inappropriately, or moving right next to his house for optimal stalking.

NEXT: Community: Dean Pelton's 10 Funniest Moments

American Dad!'s Principal Lewis & TV's 9 Other Memorable Educators from https://ift.tt/3oLAaQo

[encephalonfatigue]

god is not dead. god is bread. the bread is rising! bread means revolution.

this is a reflection on Kropotkin’s “Conquest of Bread”, because i couldn’t fit it all in goodreads. the title of this post comes from the New York Young Lords,‘‘Celebration for a People’s Church” (1969).

This was a fascinating book. My interest in Kropotkin came out of reading about Anabaptist radicals. Kropotkin thought that Western anarchism’s roots could be traced back to Anabaptist communities. The affection has, in a sense, run both ways though. Catholic Workers adore Kropotkin, and he had an outsized influence on Dorothy Day, who writes a lot about Kropotkin in her autobiography. I can see the connection. Even as Kropotkin spoke frequently about revolution he also was less enthusiastic about violence than many other anarchists. For example, I came across this in Jacqueline Jones’ biography of Lucy Parsons (with whom Kropotkin was acquainted, meeting in London and Chicago):

“At the same time, Kropotkin disavowed the use of violence, which, he said, is “not characteristic of anarchists or the Anarchist party.” He told his listeners that true anarchists accepted “the principle that no man nor no society has the right to take another man’s life.”

That being said, Kropotkin observed the Bolshevik revolution with interest, though certainly through a critical lens, and returned from England to Russia in 1917, in June following the February Revolution. The Menshevik David Shub quotes Kropotkin’s comments as the October Revolution was unfolding:

“When, in Moscow that November, Kropotkin heard the first cannon volleys of the Bolshevik uprising, he exclaimed: "This is the burial of the Russian Revolution.””

Kropotkin eventually met Lenin, as Lenin was in fact quite fond of Kropotkin, even if they had their disagreements. Lenin’s personal secretary Vladimir Bonch-Bruyevich, first met with Kropotkin in 1918, and eventually arranged Kropotkin’s meeting with Lenin. Bonch-Bruyevich documented this in 1919, in a very fascinating piece of writing.

A total tangent, but Bonch-Bruyevich (though a Marxist, and eventually a Bolshevik) was also friends with the anarchist Tolstoy with whom he collaborated with in aiding the Doukhobor immigration to Canada. Tolstoy requested that Bonch-Bruyevich escort the Doukhobors to Canada. The Doukhobors were radical pacifist dissenters. I have a book at home called “Folk Furniture of Canada’s Doukhobors, Hutterites, Mennonites, and Ukrainians” by James Fleming and Michael Rowan, and it describes the Doukhobors in this way:

“The Doukhobors adopted the peasant commune system, or mir, that had existed for centuries… One of the persistent bases of the commune was the rejection of land ownership in the usual sense. Work alone gave rightful claim to temporary possession of land in theory at least land was to be redistributed from year to year. In the early years under this system there as no personal property, and each individual, each family, shared in the common wealth and goods of the community, and contributed to them… Koozma J. Tarasoff has described the Doukhobors as “Christian anarchists in search of a practical utopia.”

Bonch-Bruyevich (aka Bruevich), besides his politics, had a deep interest in folk religion, and spent time studying various ones of Russia. The Canadian folklorist Robert B. Klymasz wrote about Bonch-Bruyevich (aka Bruevich) in a paper called “V. D. Bonch-Bruevich and the Lenin Connection in New World Folkloristics”:

“A number of important ideological factors helped bridge the two sides of Bruevich: that is, Bruevich as revolutionary activist on the one hand, and Bruevich as avid folklorist on the other. Lenin in particular had noted how, in the past, religious heresies were the seeds of political revolutionary change, and how there appeared to be a universal connection between political protest Bruevich committed much of his energy to a long-term search for publishable materials that could underline aspects of social protest that simmered among the tensed-up masses of Imperialist Tsarist Russia before the Revolution. Bruevich's search inevitably led him to investigate the folkloric formulations of dissent as couched in the rich oral traditions of the Doukhobors, whose dicta were immune to the ruthless suppression of the printed word by the official censorship in tsarist Russia. By the turn of the century he foresaw the publication of a series of volumes full of materials concerning the history and study of Russian sectarianism and schism.”

Back to Doukhobor immigration to Canada, and the Tolstoy connection: Tolstoy had written to an economics professor at the University of Toronto called James Mavor (he was involved in a Scottish Socialist League, and while in Toronto, deeply involved in the founding of the ROM and AGO, and is the great-great-grandfather of Noah “40” Shebib, Drake’s producer). Tolstoy described them as Russia’s best farmers who would use land and seeds in the best way possible. One other supporter of Doukhobor immigration to Canada was Kropotkin himself, who also wrote to the Toronto economics professor Mavor, requesting they be granted “land in a block; they cannot live in isolated farms. They are Russians, for whom it is more indispensable than for Mennonites.” (The stuff you learn about in books about Canadian folk furniture.) George Woodcock has also written a book about the Doukhobors that I hope to read some day.

For more reading on the Bonch-Bruyevich angle, there is a record written by Vera Mikhailovna Velichkina (Bonch-Bruyevich’s spouse) about travelling with the Doukhobors to Canada. When the Doukhobors were interned at Grosse Isle, Quebec, in the St Lawrence River, Bonch-Bruyevich began writing down their hymns, psalms, prayers, and narratives, many of which are collected in the “Book of Life of Doukhobors: Materials Concerning History and Study of Russian Sectarianism and Schism”.

Alright, returning from the enormous tangential diversion, what I think is fascinating about The Conquest of Bread, is that it highlights the distinction (of emphasis) between the real politik communism of Marxism-Leninism and more libertarian tendencies of anarcho-communism.  I will start with some fun examples (anarchists are always so good at these things, I can see that David Graeber really fits this tradition so well). These examples reflect a mode of ‘grace’, theologically speaking, where deed and reward are not so tightly coupled in any precisely quantifiable manner:

“When you go into a public library — not indeed the National Library of Paris, but, say, into the British Museum or the Berlin Library — the librarian does not ask what services you have rendered to society before giving you the book, or the fifty books which you require, and he comes to your assistance if you do not know how to manage the catalogue. By means of uniform credentials — and very often a contribution of work is preferred — the scientific society opens its museums, its gardens, its library, its laboratories, and its annual conversaziones to each of its members, whether he be a Darwin, or a simple amateur.”

“The tramways and railways have already introduced monthly and annual season tickets, without limiting the number of journeys taken; and two nations, Hungary and Russia, have introduced on their railways the zone system, which permits the holder to travel five hundred or a thousand miles for the same price. It is but a short step from that to a uniform charge, such as already prevails in the postal service. In all these innovations, and a thousand others, the tendency is not to measure the individual consumption. One man wants to travel a thousand miles, another five hundred. These are personal requirements. There is no sufficient reason why one should pay twice as much as the other because his need is twice as great. Such are the signs which appear even now in our individualist societies.”

What’s interesting is that I’ve witnessed over my lifetime the eradication of this type of transit fare. My first visit to Singapore, I witnessed with fascination the tapping in and out of subway stations and buses, which charged your accounts to precisely the stops you boarded and alighted from. Years later, Presto arrived in Toronto, and I have witnessed the TTC subway stations one by one, replacing their subway gates to eradicate the use of tokens. The fare is still a level one as of now, but there are plans to move it into the direction of GO Transit policy, where journeys are charged according to precise distances travelled. (Of course there are monthly passes, but if it is not universalized, just like health insurance in Amerika, it becomes unaffordably expensive.) Technology has a way of enabling this sort of erosion of commons and grace, into a calculating self-absorbed individualist mode of existence.

This ethos was what provoked Kropotkin to speak out against anarchists like Proudhon, who advocated for labour-cheques, effectively paid on the basis of labour-time rather than the market-determined value of one’s labour:

“It is the same with the wages system; for after having proclaimed the abolition of private property, and the possession in common of all means of production, how can they uphold the wages system in any form? It is, nevertheless, what collectivists are doing when they recommend labour-cheques. It is easy to understand why the early English socialists came to the system of labour-cheques. They simply tried to make Capital and Labour agree. They repudiated the idea of violently laying hands on capitalist property.  It is also easily understood why Proudhon took up the idea later on. In his Mutualist system he tried to make Capital less offensive, notwithstanding the retaining of private property, which he detested from the bottom of his heart, but which he believed to be necessary to guarantee individuals against the State… how can we defend labour-notes, this new form of wagedom, when we admit that houses, fields, and factories will no longer be private property, and that they will belong to the commune or the nation?”

My greatest affinity for Kropotkin comes from his emphasis on human needs before the question of production, because when our most basic needs are not met is when we are most vulnerable to exploitation. He writes in The Conquest of Bread:

“It was poverty that created the first capitalist; because, before accumulating “surplus value,” of which we hear so much, men had to be sufficiently destitute to consent to sell their labour, so as not to die of hunger. It was poverty that made capitalists.”

“Let us limit ourselves at present to opening up the new path that consists in the study of the needs of man, and the means of satisfying them.”

“We study the needs of individuals, and the means by which they satisfy them, before discussing Production, Exchange, Taxation, Government, etc. To begin with, the difference may appear trifling, but in reality it upsets official Political Economy. If you open the works of any economist you will find that he begins with PRODUCTION, the analysis of means employed nowadays for the creation of wealth; division of labour, manufacture, machinery, accumulation of capital. From Adam Smith to Marx, all have proceeded along these lines. Only in the latter parts of their books do they treat of CONSUMPTION, that is to say, of the means necessary to satisfy the needs of individuals…”

Marx the materialist insists on starting with the material conditions and realities, that is the mode of production. The problem is theorists never can get to a consensus as to how production should be organized, who should look after what thing, how best to do so etc. The ultimate materialist base consists of basic human needs. Kropotkin’s claim is that, hey we already have the ability to produce enough for everyone’s basic needs. He spends pages and pages of calculations showing this. Kropotkin encourages us to settle the issue of what must be done to meet everyone’s basic needs, and only when we understand the basic needs can we adjust production to better suit those needs. This is ultimately the issue that is foregrounded in Kropotkin’s 1920 letter to Lenin, where he highlights the food distribution issues in the first few years of Soviet Russia.

I do believe the focus on Universal Basic Income is ultimately a good one. Everyone has the unconditional right an adequate supply of healthy food, clean water, hygienic shelter, and basic healthcare and drugs. Let us secure these things, and focus production around these things. Only when our basic needs are met, are we free enough to think clearly about the details of revolutionary theory and organization. Kropotkin writes:

“That we are Utopians is well known. So Utopian are we that we go the length of believing that the Revolution can and ought to assure shelter, food, and clothes to all — an idea extremely displeasing to middle-class citizens, whatever their party colour, for they are quite alive to the fact that it is not easy to keep the upper hand of a people whose hunger is satisfied.

All the same, we maintain our contention: bread must be found for the people of the Revolution, and the question of bread must take precedence of all other questions. If it is settled in the interests of the people, the Revolution will be on the right road; for in solving the question of Bread we must accept the principle of equality, which will force itself upon us to the exclusion of every other solution.”

Marx is famously known for wanting to abolish ‘wage labour’, but his means of getting there was in fact far more moderate than anarchist theorists like Kropotkin. Marx believed there was to be transitional phases required before we could reach a wageless economic system. Kropotkin in contrast writes:

“Unskilled labour in the eyes of the collectivist is simple labour, while the work of the craftsman, the mechanic, the engineer, the man of science, etc., is what Marx calls complex labour, and is entitled to a higher wage. But labourers and craftsmen, weavers and men of science, are all wage-servants of the State — “all officials,” as was said lately, to gild the pill.

The coming Revolution can render no greater service to humanity than to make the wage system, in all its forms, an impossibility, and to render Communism, which is the negation of wage-slavery, the only possible solution. For even admitting that the Collectivist modification of the present system is possible, if introduced gradually during a period of prosperity and peace — though for my part I question its practicability even under such conditions — it would become impossible in a period of Revolution, when the need of feeding hungry millions springs up with the first call to arms. A political revolution can be accomplished without shaking the foundations of industry, but a revolution where the people lay hands upon property will inevitably paralyse exchange and production. Millions of public money would not suffice for wages to the millions of out-of-works. This point cannot be too much insisted upon; the reorganization of industry on a new basis (and we shall presently show how tremendous this problem is) cannot be accomplished in a few days, nor, on the other hand, will the people submit to be half starved for years in order to oblige the theorists who uphold the wage system. To tide over the period of stress they will demand what they have always demanded in such cases — communization of supplies — the giving of rations. It will be in vain to preach patience. The people will be patient no longer, and if food is not put in common they will plunder the bakeries.”

Of course Marx recognized the problems of wages. His ideas in Capital centre around the problem of how a global market deeply shapes hierarchal relations of domination. As soon as we have a universal signifier of value like money, anything in the world has a relative value to any other thing in the world. There is theoretically an exchange rate between an object and any other object in the world. One shoe is worth x number of carrots. However, it is not merely objects that have been commodified, but our labour. Our labour is sold on the market, and therefore any single person’s hour of labour has an exchange rate with any other person’s hour of labour. There are ratios of value between people’s labour. A doctor’s labour is more valuable in the market than a janitor’s and custodian’s labour. Hence, markets inevitably create classes of people, some of whom are more valuable in the market than others. Hence some people are more disposable than others. One person’s hour of labour, and ultimately life, is more valuable than another person’s life.

Kropotkin writes:

“Most collectivists, true to the distinction laid down by middle-class economists (and by Marx) between qualified work and simple work, tell us, moreover, that qualified or professional work must be paid a certain quantity more than simple work. Thus an hour’s work of a doctor will have to be considered as equivalent to two or three hours’ work of a hospital nurse, or to three hours’ work of a navvy. “Professional, or qualified work, will be a multiple of simple work,” says the collectivist Grönlund, “because this kind of work needs a more or less long apprenticeship.”

Other collectivists, such as the French Marxists, do not make this distinction. They proclaim “Equality of Wages.” The doctor, the schoolmaster, and the professor will be paid (in labour-cheques) at the same rate as the navvy. Eight hours visiting the sick in a hospital will be worth the same as eight hours spent in earth-works or else in mines or factories.”

The solution that Kropotkin writes of here attempts to rectify the issue by equalizing everyone’s hour of labour to an equal value. As long as you work, an hour, you receive the same thing in return. The issue then becomes, what if you are unable to work as much as others, you have more children, you are sick more often, you have a disability, etc. Marx recognized this issue and made a comment, that would be capitalized upon by the authoritarian left for generations. In his “Critique of the Gotha Program” Marx writes:

“In spite of this advance, this equal right is still constantly stigmatized by a bourgeois limitation. The right of the producers is proportional to the labor they supply; the equality consists in the fact that measurement is made with an equal standard, labor.

But one man is superior to another physically, or mentally, and supplies more labor in the same time, or can labor for a longer time; and labor, to serve as a measure, must be defined by its duration or intensity, otherwise it ceases to be a standard of measurement. This equal right is an unequal right for unequal labor. It recognizes no class differences, because everyone is only a worker like everyone else; but it tacitly recognizes unequal individual endowment, and thus productive capacity, as a natural privilege. It is, therefore, a right of inequality, in its content, like every right. Right, by its very nature, can consist only in the application of an equal standard; but unequal individuals (and they would not be different individuals if they were not unequal) are measurable only by an equal standard insofar as they are brought under an equal point of view, are taken from one definite side only – for instance, in the present case, are regarded only as workers and nothing more is seen in them, everything else being ignored. Further, one worker is married, another is not; one has more children than another, and so on and so forth. Thus, with an equal performance of labor, and hence an equal in the social consumption fund, one will in fact receive more than another, one will be richer than another, and so on. To avoid all these defects, right, instead of being equal, would have to be unequal.

But these defects are inevitable in the first phase of communist society as it is when it has just emerged after prolonged birth pangs from capitalist society. Right can never be higher than the economic structure of society and its cultural development conditioned thereby.

In a higher phase of communist society, after the enslaving subordination of the individual to the division of labor, and therewith also the antithesis between mental and physical labor, has vanished; after labor has become not only a means of life but life's prime want; after the productive forces have also increased with the all-around development of the individual, and all the springs of co-operative wealth flow more abundantly – only then can the narrow horizon of bourgeois right be crossed in its entirety and society inscribe on its banners: From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs!”

While Lenin early on emphasized the need to better equalize wages, he would eventually come to the conclusion that is rendered in the deutero-Pauline epistle 2 Thessalonians (3:10),:

“The socialist principle, "He who does not work shall not eat", is already realized; the other socialist principle, "An equal amount of products for an equal amount of labor", is also already realized. But this is not yet communism, and it does not yet abolish "bourgeois law", which gives unequal individuals, in return for unequal (really unequal) amounts of labor, equal amounts of products.”

“Not directly relying on enthusiasm, but aided by the enthusiasm engendered by the great revolution, and on the basis of personal interest, personal incentives, and business principles, we must first set to work in this small-peasant country to build solid gangways to socialism by way of state capitalism .••• Personal incentive will step up production; we must increase production first and foremost and at all cost.”

By the time you reach Stalin, this ideology is made extremely explicit:

“What is the cause of the fluidity of manpower? The cause is the wrong structure of wages, the wrong wage scales, the "Leftist" practice of wage equalisation. In a number of factories wage scales are drawn up in such a way as to practically wipe out the difference between skilled and unskilled labour, between heavy and light work. The consequence of wage equalisation is that the unskilled worker lacks the incentive to become a skilled worker and is thus deprived of the prospect of advancement;  …hence, the fluidity of manpower. In order to put an end to this evil we must abolish wage equalisation and discard the old wage scales. In order to put an end to this evil we must draw up wage scales that will take into account the difference between skilled and unskilled labour, between heavy and light work. …Marx and Lenin said that the difference between skilled and unskilled labour would exist even under socialism, even after classes had been abolished; that only under communism would this difference disappear and that, consequently, even under socialism "wages" must be paid according to work performed and not according to needs. But the equalitarians among our economic executives and trade-union officials do not agree with this and believe that under our Soviet system this difference has already disappeared. Who is right, Marx and Lenin or the equalitarians? It must be assumed that it is Marx and Lenin who are right. But it follows from this that whoever draws up wage scales on the "principle" of wage equalisation, without taking into account the difference between skilled and unskilled labour, breaks with Marxism, breaks with Leninism. And what does promoting them to higher positions and raising their wage level mean, what can it lead to as far as unskilled workers are concerned? It means, apart from everything else, opening up prospects for the unskilled worker and giving him an incentive to rise higher, to rise to the category of a skilled worker. You know yourselves that we now need hundreds of thousands and even millions of skilled workers. But in order to build up cadres of skilled workers, we must provide an incentive for the unskilled workers, provide for them a prospect of advancement, of rising to a higher position.”

By 1972, this quid pro quo ideology is expressed as such (by V.S. Kulikov):

“Under socialism, greater rewards are given to those workers who create more value, whose contribution to the fulfillment of plans and the development of production is larger. This is achieved by paying higher wages to skilled workers, to those requiring longer training. Work undertaken in dangerous or harmful conditions is also better paid. If this were not so, there would be no incentive to acquire eduction, to raise skills, to undertake more complex and responsible work.”

I mean this is the sort of stuff you hear rich capitalist reactionary assholes and ‘white collar professionals’ in America saying to minimum wage workers. This is trajectory from which it is best to read this last quote from Kropotkin that I want to conclude with:

“They will speak of “Scientific Socialism”; they will quote bourgeois economists, and Marx too, to prove that a scale of wages has its raison d’être, as “the labour-force” of the engineer will have cost more to society than the “labour-force” of the navvy. In fact, — have not economists tried to prove to us that if an engineer is paid twenty times more than a navvy it is because the “necessary” outlay to make an engineer is greater than that necessary to make a navvy? And has not Marx asserted that the same distinction is equally logical between two branches of manual labour? He could not conclude otherwise, having on his own account taken up Ricardo’s theory of value, and upheld that goods are exchanged in proportion to the quantity of work socially necessary for their production.

But we know what to think of this. We know that if engineers, scientists, or doctors are paid ten or a hundred times more than a labourer, and that a weaver earns three times more than an agricultural labourer, and ten times more than a girl in a match factory, it is not by reason of their “cost of production,” but by reason of a monopoly of education, or a monopoly of industry. Engineers, scientists, and doctors merely exploit their capital — their diplomas — as middle-class employers exploit a factory, or as nobles used to exploit their titles of nobility.”

[californiadreaminghq]

Oh good, you made it!

Did you guys know Joss was coming? She brought Lowell Crane, The Hurricane! And just on time! Grab a drink, find a spot, and make sure you finish everything on thechecklist. The band is just getting started – you have 24 hours to send in your account! We’re so glad you’re here!

                                       I. OUT OF THE STUDIO

NAME/ALIAS: Joss

AGE: 32

PRONOUNS: She/her

                                                II. ON STAGE

NAME: Lowell Crane

FACE CLAIM: Henry Cavill (first choice), Chris Evans, Dan Stevens

AGE: 35

TITLE: The Hurricane

DREAM: Lowell wants to be a Somebody, but is too afraid to try again

OCCUPATION: Owner of Daredevil’s Bar

                                              III. INTERVIEW

Answer the following questions in your character’s voice:

If you could do anything in the world for a living, what would it be?

“Well, ain’t that a question. Not sure how to answer that. I could say I wanna be a lighthouse keeper, or a park ranger in Antartica. Or an astronaut. But that’s not really an answer, is it? Cuz nothing’s holding me back from, well, maybe the lighthouse keeper, and the rest, never gonna happen, and maybe I wouldn’t really like it anyway. Be a trip though, floating in space. Can’t imagine anything else feels quite the same, except maybe acid. I could say I wanna hit that perfect note, and it rings like a bell inside your chest, and everyone else is hitting it too, and you all just float in that perfect sound as long as you can. But I don’t think that’s really a job description. Or I could just say fuck it, I wanna be a rock star, cuz isn’t that what we all want, at least a little, if we’re still here? Can’t imagine a reason to stick around otherwise.”

If you could travel anywhere, where would you go?

“Vietnam. I know, not the ideal vacation spot. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna go full Jane Fonda or anything. I went to some protests and sit-ins, but I can’t even claim I was that invested. That’s fucked up, right? If you fight for something, you should at least have conviction. Not like I’m pro-Nixon or anything, but I just … it was what everyone else was doing. And people liked to listen to my songs. What bullshit. I was cribbing off Dylan half the time anyway. We all were, but it doesn’t exactly make you proud, you know? I was running around playing flower child the whole time, and Mick was off getting his ass blown up in Khe Sanh. Or God knows where, everything was redacted, so fuck if I know. You know? Sorry, I can’t answer a question to save my life. Probably why I’m here and not an accountant like Ma always wanted me to be.Vietnam. I wanna go to see where he was, before he got sent home in a pine box. He was just a kid, he was supposed to be the smart one, he was supposed to get out of Texas and come see me and I was supposed to be his impressive older brother. Fuck, I sound like a bad country western song. Ignore me.”

What is one thing that makes you different than anyone else?

I can eat 50 eggs. (Author’s note: this is a reference to Cool Hand Luke, a 1967 film which in many ways encapsulates Lowell’s aesthetic and ethos. He’s also just a huge fan of Paul Newman and if he had any acting talent whatsoever, he’d want to be him.)

                                              IV. BACKSTAGE

Lowell Crane grew up in the unusually average town of Ding Dong, Texas, an hour outside of Austin. He was the first boy, the second child, and grew up singing in choir and learning to play the guitar, though admittedly he was hardly dedicated to the pursuit. It wasn’t until he hit puberty and discovered girls that musical talent became something he valued. Though he was born in Holland, he was often told he had ‘all-American’ looks, and even spoke Dutch, his first language, with a soft southern twang. He didn’t really consider it a career, but liked playing at parties and joined a band with his friends on a whim. They were just good enough to get to tour parts of Texas, and Lowell caught the fame bug. By the time he was in his early 20s, he wanted to take it further. As it so happened, he had a cousin in California who invited him to come out and stay for a while.

The California music scene was a hard hit of culture shock for Lowell, and he bounced around different bands, never quite fitting in, never really making a splash with anyone, but continuing because people said he had talent. He joined a band, The Lonely Boys, who were in need of a guitarist, and they toured for a couple of years before breaking up because nothing was happening, quite discouraged. Lowell took a plane to New York just in time for the Summer of Love, and all of a sudden, he was a flower child. Somehow that alchemical magic happened and he took off. He had a recording contract with a big name, he played at Woodstock, he was going to be another Bob Dylan. Then he got the news his younger brother, Mick, was dead, and simply … dropped out of his own life. He was just another broken person left behind by the hippie movement, and it took him until 1972 to drag himself back to something like normalcy. He ended up in an ashram in Southern California getting clean and seeking enlightenment. He got clean, but as for enlightenment, all he got were the keys to a dive bar in Los Angeles that one of the new converts no longer wanted.

Lowell has spent the last year building up Daredevil’s Bar as a venue for up-and-coming musicians, and it’s now one of those places where you “pay your dues” in the rock scene. People even say some of the big name studios scout there sometimes. Lowell is just the owner and the guy behind the bar who can tune your guitar, help you break down your setup after a show, and who only occasionally has to threaten the crowd with a baseball bat when they get rowdy. He’s still putting the pieces of his life together, and he’s aware on some level that his music career is done, but he can’t quite give it up. He’ll provide backup guitar for any of the bands doing shows at his bar in a pinch, but he doesn’t perform by himself at the bar, though sometimes he will hit up a late open-mic or jam with the few friends he has in town, or the odd person who remembers who he used to be.

                                                  V. ENCORE

Headcanons:

Lowell can play by ear and can play a song if he’s heard it once. He isn’t as good at remembering lyrics and will sometimes make up his own if he can’t remember them.

The last name “Crane” is an anglicized form of Krane or Krahn, which is Dutch. His family fled Holland after the war. Lowell’s parents lost most if not all of the rest of their family during the war. The effect on the Crane children of being the children of survivors has left the family split between those who strive to be as American and unobjectionable as possible, like their parents, or those who reject their parents’ attitudes and seek to be as unusual as possible.

Lowell is the second of five children, with three sisters and one brother, Michael Crane, now deceased. His sisters are Emmeline, Virginia, and Dorothy. Emmeline and Virginia are married and live in Texas, Dorothy currently lives in upstate New York on a commune with her female lover, and is estranged from her family, other than Lowell, who lived with her during his period of “dropping out”.

Lowell’s favourite food is peanut butter, and he eats it straight from the jar, to the consternation of his family and roommates over the years, as he often double dips the spoon to lay claim to a jar.

Childhood music: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/37i9dQZF1DWSV3Tk4GO2fq?si=qDmRsNAZS9-XTnB27Abs0Q

Playlist reference/requests that Lowell will play: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/37i9dQZF1DX504r1DvyvxG?si=7xvqYDnBSxmyQ5WxX5He-w

Voice reference: Lowell sounds similar to, and his songs resemble, those of Nick Drake.

[politicsuncensored-blog1]

The Cross I Decided to Carry

by Cris Boneta

I grew up poor.

When I was a kid my Dad would work rotten teeth out of his mouth with pliers and razor blades. Sounds lame right?

Turns out you can get your teeth pulled at dental school for 30 bucks.

Believe it or not. Crazy shit like this is common among poor people.

You’re the sum of the 5 people you spend the most time with. And if most of the people you spend time with say that college is for white people and that the blacks have tails; well then shit man that’s the world you live in. And it’s not until you meet someone that challenges your perceptions do you begin to lift the veil.

My family has grown up and changed a lot. We’ve been through some shit. And looking at it now I can say we’ve been blessed. As a result, I understand the importance of giving back.

Shortly after joining Texas Victory Project I was asked: “why was I volunteering for Texas Victory Project and what was the issue I cared about the most”.

It’s very simple.

For me, Texas Victory Project represents the working class and everyday people whose voices are undermined and suppressed. Since the Southern Strategy and the birth and rise of “grassroots conservatism” the Koch brothers, Roger Stone, and the heads of the “New Right”, have poured billions of dollars into politics, mislead voters, and have increased the burden on working and middle-class families while cutting taxes to themselves and their corporate buddies.

Acting in the shadows;  they have taken over our universities under Austrian Economics and free-market principles, our media by calling conservative blogs Breitbart News & The Daily Wire, and good Republican politicians who have forgotten the lessons taught by Christ in the New Testament and now worship the pillars of Ayn Rand & ALEC.

There are more poor people now than there were 30 years ago.

We did bail out the big banks to preserve the global economy. It’s honestly kind of annoying. Around that same time, I was working 2 jobs. In the mornings I worked at a daycare and in the evenings as a busboy. It sucked. I was tired. My body hurt. I hated everyone. Of all ages. But honestly, I don’t remember complaining about having to be at work.

My parent’s divorced and their taxes with the other person’s name on it was kind of a lot for them. So without my parent’s returns, I couldn’t even finish a FAFSA application let alone apply for loans or scholarships. So I busted my ass and saved money for school. I weighed 115 on a fat day and at some point while I was lugging 50 lbs bus tubs up and down 3 flights of stairs I tripped off some steps and broke some bone in my foot. I didn’t say anything to my bosses because I didn’t want to look weak. Besides what difference did it make. I was always in pain. So I hobbled around for the next few months and I worked through it. Now I walk funny. I’m actually really pissed that I didn’t make an incident report.

Anyways. Point is I busted my ass.

And at 19 I really had no idea as to why the white people + 1 in D.C. bailed the banks out. Or even what that really meant. But I knew they got free money. I knew it was billions. And I knew I was jealous.

I mean there I was destroying my body for a paycheck. And then these guys were just getting free shit? “Whatever. Fuck politics.” End of story for me at the time. Swear to God. That’s all I really thought.

It wasn’t until way later that I learned we did that to keep the global economy afloat. Because here in the states we have that much money. That the whole world’s economy depends on the stability of ours. It was shitty. But Geithner and the gang had to make some tough calls.

A traditional free market approach as prescribed by the Michael Jackson of Right Wing Economics, Alan Greenspan would have called for the government to keep their hands out of the marketplace and just let the whole world plunge into fiscal darkness and let everyone work it out from the ground up. But even he later came forward and admitted that keeping marketplace unregulated was a mistake. Tee-hee.

Fast forward to today and we’re having the same conversations. And somehow either the republican party hasn’t learned or doesn’t want to learn.

Texas Victory Project's values and policy initiatives are strides in the right direction.

As a society we must place a higher emphasis on demanding fair wages, providing more loan relief for educators to attract top talent into public schools, and reforming the justice system ( where in 4 years The Texas Department of Criminal Justice spends more money keeping non-violent marijuana consuming citizens incarcerated at a cost that exceeds the price of a 4 year degree.)

I’ve just met too many bright people who've lost employment opportunities and hope for a brighter future over a dime bag.

Legalize it. Regulate it. Tax it. Get that money out of the hands of the cartels. And into the hands of our policy makers, our entrepreneurially spirited, and into the hands of the people.

Some would say that those who work in low wage positions deserve to be there. And that these low wages should be incentives for folks to seek workforce training and transition out of the jobs that pay them so little. Essentially these people are poor because they haven't put in the work to lift themselves out of the rut. But statements like these completely disregard the complex pervasive ways poverty has taken a toll on our vulnerable communities.

Honestly, it’s hard to find good people to lift us up.

Rather than empower their workforce, I’ve seen employers instill fear into their staff over the uncertainty of the job market. And then dressed their corporation up as a soothing house of stability and warmth. But wrapped up in the niceties was the well-known fact that the busy season was soon to end. And hours were going to be cut drastically.

When I think about all the hard workers I’ve met over the years that have been spit on by the same institutions they’ve kept afloat. When I think about all of the injustices going on in our country it makes me want to give up. Buy a plane ticket and leave.

Too many times I’ve seen wrongs gone on and held my tongue.

Too many times I’ve kept quiet while giants boomed loud overhead.

But Texas is my home. And these are my people. So no more running.

On the other end of the spectrum, liberal elites are not in tune to the growing pains of the working poor. They have neglected poor white voters and have placed their bets on identity politics and issues that don’t help our seniors pay for their medicine and rent, higher wages and loan forgiveness for our youth, and criminal justice reform that have disproportionately destroyed the lives of many poor and people of color.

Election after election hundreds of people donate their time and money to these campaigns & they keep on losing. This is why I’m taking action and ask you to do the same. We need to stop treating our voters like ex-boyfriends who only call after 3:00 AM while listening to Drake wanting to “chill”. We need to treat every voter, despite color, religion, and creed with respect and instead of “talking at them”, listen. Listen to their story, their struggle, and their reality. You can spend all the money you want in polling but no poll will tell you the Truth or allow you to build that human connection that is so needed in politics.

It’s time to act.

[professor-riddikulus]

Craigslist - Ch 2

Summary: James and Sirius are looking for a roommate for their Los Angeles house - Remus has just moved from Dublin needs a place to rent while he goes to graduate school. One Craigslist ad later, the three of them find themselves living together and shit is bound to get complicated. Featuring trans Remus and the wonder of Wolfstar.

Author’s Note: I know it has been a long time friends, but I’m back! Hooray summer! I hope to be updating this more regularly now that all those pesky seminar papers are completed. I am sorry for what I assume is going to be the ridiculousness of this chapter. As you probably know, Sirius cannot be contained. Anyway, enjoy! 

You can also read this story on FF.net or Ao3 if your heart desires

It took an hour for Sirius to take a shower and get ready, during which time Padfoot and I watched several episodes of some cracked-out show called The Amazing World of Gumball and I did the cereal dishes that Sirius had left behind. He came jauntily down the stairs, hair tied back and still damp, a loose black muscle tank on that showed too much of his strong tattooed arms, too much of his lean muscled torso. I tried not to stare. I probably failed miserably because he looked pleased with himself.

“I assume,” he said flipping his keys from one hand to another, “that we're not taking the bike?”

“Your motorbike? Nah I don't particularly feel like dying this afternoon.”

He made a noise somewhere between a snicker and an indignant huff.

“Fine the car then. But I warn you, it's a few years old.”

I, of course, assumed that he meant a few years old like Lily meant a few years old when she talked about her 10 year old crappy Prius. What he actually meant was a black Mercedes S-Class that probably cost more than four years of my graduate stipend and that was exactly 3 years old. It was so beautiful that I was actually nervous to sit in the seat. Opulence in most forms makes me uncomfortable -- my parents always made a tidy living but I was always the kid putting away coins for a rainy day. The responsible one. Some people are built to be pampered, can adjust to being treated like kings, to throwing caution to the wind. I never felt comfortable indulging -- instead I was the kid who didn’t want anyone to look at him when they sang a the happy birthday song. It isn’t shyness not really, it’s well, wanting to fly under the radar I suppose. Showing off what you have draws attention.

I just looked at Sirius and I knew this wasn’t him. He stood taller than me but his posture was proud. He wasn’t afraid to take up space, wasn’t afraid to be noticed. He had no idea that taking up that space, taking up oxygen, meant taking it from someone else. I was stiff and trying not to move my dirty shoes too much on the carpet, Sirius on the other hand was completely at ease, his ripped skinny jeans clashing with the dark brown leather of the seats. He was leaned back, reclined like his body itself was used to luxury. Watching him driving the 5 with his sunglasses on, singing along to some mindless pop tune, I had the distinct feeling that Los Angeles was not going to be anything like I expected. Sure they said it was a town for movie stars, but it’s difficult to understand how value works here. Some people have so much they don’t even notice how much they have. Sirius certainly didn’t. This guy, this house, it wasn't like being in another country. I have been to France once, and nobody there even spoke the language that I spoke, yet I still felt like less of an alien. How rich was this guy?

I looked down at my Target t-shirt, one that Lily and I had picked out only a few days before. It was my favorite, but next to the glamour of the car, the palm trees, and the guy sitting next to me I felt distinctly shabby. It wasn’t like I was usually fashion-forward. I do my best to stay at least a bit put together but I’m not a trend-setter. I’m sure his pants cost the same as my whole outfit. Probably more, actually. I tried to shake myself, there was no reason to be ashamed, and in any case he was the one being stupid by buying such an expensive car. I sighed, if I had that kind of money, even a quarter of that kind of money, there are so many other things I’d be doing with it. I’d be giving back to the community, I’d be working for a nonprofit, I’d be paying off my student loans. I’d be doing something, anything, other than buying a car that might be the price of a house anywhere else. The very thought of it made my nerves feel frayed. I was going to be living around this kind of wealth, benefitting from it even.

I looked over at Sirius, whose grin slipped a bit at what must have been a concerned or frustrated look on my face but which he quickly replaced the grin. Perhaps he didn’t want me to see his concern?

“You don’t like Drake? We can change the radio to something else?”

“Don’t worry mate, I’m good. Your car is really something.”

“Yeah it’s pretty okay. I bought it as a graduation present to myself.”

“Oh? Where did you do your undergraduate degree?”

“James and I went to USC together, that’s where you’re going, right?”

“Yeah,” I grinned to myself, I hadn’t even considered that Sirius had gone to college at all somehow, but if he did, USC didn’t surprise me. Lily told me that it had a bit of a reputation for being a school for rich American kids, especially west coast kids -- those Orange County, Beverly Hills, Malibu, rich kids -- someone like Sirius I guess, “I guess you’ll have to show me around at some point.”

“You’ll figure it out quick, s’not a big campus.”

I paused, weighing my options a bit. I chewed the inside of my lip. You’re being a coward Remus Lupin. He’s not going to think anything. “So,” I let the word hang in the air a bit, “do they have, erm, a big queer community there? Like among the undergraduates at least?”

Sirius smirked at me, “Are we gonna have that talk?”

I panicked, “What? What talk?!”

“I mean the, ‘oh-here’s-how-I-came-out’ talk. The ‘I’m-gay-you’re-gay’ talk. The ‘do-you-have-a-boyfriend’ talk.”

“I see no reason why we have to. All that is pretty obvious isn’t it?” I picked at the stray thread sticking out from the knee of my jeans but I could feel him looking back and forth from the road to me, trying to catch my eyes. I was embarrassed for a reason I couldn’t quite explain, sweating a bit, and not because of the heat. He looked at me like he was trying to read me, like he was regarding a particularly interesting painting and he wanted to examine the individual brush strokes. I felt on display under such scrutiny, exposed even, but I forced my eyes back up to his. He wasn’t going to see me squirm. I wasn’t going to let him affect me. He was just some spoiled kid from southern California. I was going to hold my own.

Sirius smiled, “Maybe not that last one. You haven’t picked up some all-American boy, swooned by the lilting accent of Mother Ireland?”

“Excuse me?” I laughed so hard at this abrupt shift that I needed a minute to compose myself, “What even are you?”

“I told you, wolfboy, I’m a star.”

“You’re something, that’s for sure.”

“Something amazing. It’s okay, I understand, words fail you.”

I shook my head at this, how I was supposed to continue the conversation after that, I had no idea. I had the distinct feeling that what was happening was something of a face off. He was taking the measure of me, wanted to see if I was going to keep up with him. It was the same feeling that I had when he fired his ‘interview’ questions at me. It was like dealing with a toddler that wanted to see how far he could push the rules. Luckily, I’m stubborn, and I’ve always loved a challenge. When I didn’t say anything, Sirius didn’t seem to have a hard time filling the void. He probably would have talked to the empty seat if I hadn’t been there.

“Yeah, it’s badass that you’re a big queer though. I was getting annoyed being the only rainbow unicorn in the house. Now we finally outnumber James and his dirty fucking heterosexuality.”

I laughed a little, “Yeah. In case he tries to convert us, strength in numbers and all that.”

“Oh don’t worry, he’s way beyond that. Literally all our friends are queer, he always complains there’s never anyone for him to date because all our female friends are lezzies. Dude that reminds me, we should definitely have a pool party to welcome you to the family.”

Literally anything but a pool party. Pool parties meant swimming which meant swimwear and I didn’t think we were going to be at that point for quite a while, if at all, really.

“I dunno, maybe in a little bit when I get settled and get the furniture built and everything.”

Sirius shrugged and ran a hand along the top of his head, pushing back the strands of dark hair that had fallen around his face, I think it was the first time that I hadn’t seen him smiling and I wondered if I had wounded him, “Yeah, ‘course. Whatever you want.”

We pulled up to the Ikea in Burbank and parked, and Sirius looked at me, wide-eyed and stunned. “Don’t fuck with me Remus, this…” he gestured to the giant blue and yellow building in front of us that was the biggest one I’d ever seen, “this is a fucking furniture store?! It looks like several goddamn airplane hangers put together.”

“Just you wait,” I told him unbuckling my seatbelt, “I have a feeling you’re going to lose it.”

I was not wrong.

“This is fucking NUTS!” Sirius leaned dangerously far over the escalator as we took it up to the second floor to start making our way through the maze of mock rooms that made up the Ikea showroom. I pulled on the back of his shirt, trying not to be distracted by the amount of tan skin this action revealed.

“You’re going to kill yourself. God Sirius don’t lean that far over.”

“Okay Dad sorry.” Sirius snickered but he stopped leaning over the escalator.

When we got to the top Sirius’ eyes lit up as he surveyed the floor full of mock-rooms and tiny apartments. “YOU COULD LIVE HERE!” He nearly ran to the first room, threw himself on the couch and put his feet up on the coffee table. I rolled my eyes and picked up a pencil and pad to record the numbers of the furniture. When I walked over to Sirius he was wiggling his feet and looking incredibly pleased.

“It’s like a goddamn Swedish Disneyland dude.”

I laughed, “And like Disneyland, we’ve got a long way to go, you can’t spend ten minutes sitting on every couch along the way.”

“This one is comfy though, you should get it.”

I turned over the ticket and laughed, “No way, it’s almost two thousand dollars.”

Sirius’ eyes got, if possible, even wider, “That’s it?! Dude that’s hella cheap.”

“Not at Ikea Sirius, you’ve got a lot to learn.”

“It gets cheaper?”

“Jesus you’re spoiled aren’t you?”

“Yeah well, I’m amazing so…”

“You’ve got to be kidding with me.”

Sirius looked me dead in the eyes from his slouched perch on the couch, “Absolutely not, I’m completely Sirius.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” I said exasperatedly, throwing up my hands a bit dramatically and trying to hide a smile, “I’m leaving your punny ass here.” I didn’t want to laugh but something about his mix of monetary ignorance and over-the-top childish antics meant that I couldn’t help it. You are not supposed to find him funny. He is a complete wank. He wants you to laugh, wants the attention. Don’t you fall for it. I wasn’t going to be just another sad sack who gave Sirius Black attention, even if I wanted to be. I started walking away towards the next room, which had a smaller sofa with shelves built into the side and back that was a bit more my style.

Sirius jogged to catch up with me and threw an arm around my shoulders, he was a few inches taller than me with a much longer torso and so his arm fit comfortably there. He smelled good, like rain and wood and cigarette smoke. “No one ever leaves my ass Lupin.”

“This is going to be a long day if you don’t focus and help me pick out furniture.”

“Okay,” he said with mock composure, “I promise to be on my best behavior.”

His best behavior it turned out, involved pretending that each room was part of his house, picking up everything that wasn’t tied down, arguing with me about the color of the upholstery, trying to wear curtains like a toga, spinning around on the desk chairs, forcing me to lay next to him on every mattress, climbing through (and getting stuck in) the children's tunnel, and generally making a fool of himself. I tried to contain the damage, shooting apologizing looks at passerby and generally steering him away from irate employees but it was difficult to try to pretend to be stern with him when I was snorting with laughter. When I pointed out that people were staring, he just responded shrugging and laughing “of course they’re staring, we’re gorgeous”. He was an idiot for sure, but you had to admire him for his general lack of fucks.   

“I can’t afford that one, Black!” Sirius was sitting on the edge of one of the nicer beds in the showroom. This one was a mid tone warm wood with a dark blue upholstered headboard that looked like a lovely place to lean back on while reading a book. I really did like it, and so arguing with Sirius about why I wasn’t going to buy it was proving to be difficult.

“Remus it is only $499. And it’s the bed! It is the literal centerpiece of your life, sleeping, watching TV, fuck--”

“OKAY OKAY shut up oh my god those people are giving us the boss eyes.” I cut him off as a posh looking couple with a little girl hastily pulled her away from the madman and his terrible language, “Look Sirius I have to buy a whole bedroom and living room/office I can’t get the exact one I want of everything.”

“I’m just saying that other bed you wrote down looks like it would break if you were using it properly.” He had a point here, but the metal one was $350 less and that was a large amount of money for some fake wood.

I laughed and felt my cheeks getting hot, “I don’t think we have to worry about me using it for anything other than sleeping.”

“Please. You’re going to get so much fucking play in Los Angeles dude. You’re fucking cute.”

“Okay but we were talking about the bed.”

“Ahhhh,” Sirius looked satisfied with himself, one hand on his hip, “You can’t take a compliment can you?”

I was absolutely bright red at this point. I felt like his eyes were appraising me. I knew that look, I’d seen it before. “Sirius focus, the bed.”

“Well I still say you gotta splurge on the bed,” he said and he started cracking up, “Oh my GOD that sounded SO WRONG!” Then he laugh-snorted so loudly that across the aisle a woman started giggling. I laughed so hard I was crying and had to sit down next to him on the bed. It was several minutes before the two of us even calmed down enough to speak to one another and I was wiping the tears from my eyes with the back of my arm.

“Okay Lupin, I’m buying the bed.”

“What? You are not.”

“We’re roomies now right? Family. And I fuckin’ like you.”

“I mean I like you too so far--”

“So far? Fuck the hell off.” He looked actually offended so I tried once again to redirect his attention to the task at hand.

“I just mean it’s $500 Sirius. I can’t accept that, we barely know each other.”

“Just let me buy you a house warming gift. Stop making such a big fucking deal over it. It’s just money.”

“I can’t Sirius. It’s just too much money.”

“Okay well I’m buying this bed because the headboard is dope and I know you like it a ton more than the other one, AND because I’ve jumped on it and know it’s sturdy enough,” And the cheeky bastard winked at me again, “So if you buy that other shitty $150 one you’ll have two beds and I know that back house is spacious but I don’t think two queen beds would fit in it.”

What was I going to say? I could already tell by the way that he drew himself up when he said it, the way his tone shifted to all-business, (and I turned out to be right) that Sirius wasn’t the kind of person who takes no for an answer. He gave orders like someone that was used to having those orders obeyed. Someone who had heard ‘yes’ a few too many times. When he gets his mind stuck on something there’s no moving him. So I sighed and smiled at him.

“Okay. Thank you. I don’t know what to say.”

He stood, took the pencil from my hand and wrote down the number of the new bed on the pad that already had a long list of the other furniture I was buying. “Thank you will do, Lupin. Now let’s go get the last few things, you told me there’s ice cream at the end of this and I am all about that.”

He complained all the way through picking out rugs and curtains and throw pillows (I really like throw pillows okay?) but when we got to actually picking up all the boxes from the warehouse the biggest problem I had was trying not to just stand there and watch him load cart after cart with heavy boxes. Give me a break, yeah? He was showing a lot of skin and I’m on a lot of testosterone. Together we wheeled the loaded carts to the delivery counter (and went back for two more). A little more than $3,500 later, I had a bed, couch, bedside table, desk, two chairs, two rugs, coffee table, lights, shelves, TV stand, dresser, sheets and towels, comforter, curtains, throw pillows, a large cactus Sirius was calling “the scary phallus”, and even a warm blanket that reminded me of one of my favorite old jumpers. I had only spend so much money at once one other time in my life, when I bought a shitty old car my first year of uni from a kid that I had a crush on at the time. The car worked out, the crush...not so much.

I treated Sirius to an ice cream, which I figured was less than he deserved after spending five hours with me in Ikea and buying me a bed. But it was the most that he’d accept. I didn’t know what else to do. But he seemed happy enough, he did flush a bit red when I wouldn’t stop thanking him, so I guess he appreciated it even if he told me to “shut the actual fuck up”. Somehow he was still full of energy even after lifting hundreds of pounds of furniture and walking all over the certifiably biggest Ikea in the country. If I had been worried about how nice his car was on the way there, I worried less on the way back, leaning back into the incredibly soft seats and putting my head back felt like a reward after carting box after box to the delivery desk.

Sirius looked over and grinned, “Big day huh?”

I nodded, “I’m glad I only have one day until the mattress shows up, today has been a lot. The moving and the shopping and your bolloxology.”

“Um excuse me?” He laughed, “What the actual fuck did you just call me?”

“Bolloxology, you know, messing about. Your BS.”

“Holy fuck that is a ridiculous word.”

“You’re a ridiculous word.”

“Oh fantastic comeback, real smart. I can see why they let you into a PhD program.”

“You are such a muppet, and yes before you ask it means you’re an idiot.”

Sirius grinned, I had the distinct impression that he took most insults as if they were compliments -- a trait which made him infinitely charming, and infinitely frustrating at the same time. He turned up the radio and some alternative rock band was playing. As we sat quietly in traffic on the 5, the sun started to set, and it glinted deep red off the building windows, bathing the car in a warm light. It felt like we were glowing, the windows rolled down, the air just a touch stagnant between the hot cars. I felt a pang of homesickness. It was so different from the cloudy, misty-cool nights of Dublin, the old stone streets, the bustle of Grafton, the smell of the grass and trees in the park across from my favorite pub. I missed my warm jumpers with the permanent smell of tea clinging to them, the cigarette smoke hanging lazily in the air around the corner shop, proper chocolate. I missed stumbling out of The George at 3am scuttered as fuck all with my mates Sean and Frankie after a drag show and a heavy drinking session.  

As excited as I was about the new furniture, the new graduate program, the new friends and colleagues, the new roommates even, there was something sad about the perfect California horizon reflecting the last glimpses of the day. Something huge and daunting about the hot city that made me feel a bit lost, as if between the picture perfect landscape and the rubbish in the gutter there was a facade that frightened and excited me in equal measure. It was all just so big. And I was holding on to a runaway train -- Los Angeles felt like a million miles away from home. This was what it felt like, I thought a bit ruefully, to be homesick. This was also what it felt like to make something of yourself.

We arrived back at the house when it was dark, after stopping to pick up food for a whiny James who was bored without Sirius around to annoy him. When we pulled up to the house I smiled, I still could not believe that somehow I’d gotten a spot in this mansion. I was still waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for them to find out who I was -- emphasis on the was -- but maybe they were the good sort. Maybe…

Sirius opened the door, I didn’t have a key to the front house yet, and Padfoot came bounding out. James, hair wild, glasses halfway down his nose, was sitting on the couch in front of Comedy Central working on his laptop. He lit up when he saw Sirius which I thought was sweet until--

“FOOD!” He exclaimed gleefully. “Fucking finally! Oh god is that Golden Hen?! Yesssss.”

Sirius and I passed him several containers of Chinese food and he ate faster than I thought was humanly possible. How he could eat the amount meant for a medium sized family and be as thin as he was I have no idea. I've since learned that James is a human garbage can and his jittery, always-in-motion body consumes calories at an unbelievable rate. Some guys get all the luck.

“How did it go at Ikea?” He asked through a mouth of vegetable fried rice.

“I think it was quite an education for Sirius.”

“Did you know they have ICE CREAM there dude?! It's amazing it's huge and they have all these tiny apartments in it and they sell like pots and pans for like five dollars!”

“Yeah,” James replied nonchalantly, digging through a new container of food, “I went with the Dork when she and Marlene got their new place.”

“I saw their couch!”

“Sorry, who?” I looked confusedly from one loudly chewing roommate to the other.

“Oh!” Sirius dropped the spring roll he was holding. “James we should have them over tomorrow when Wolfram here has all his furniture delivered.” The conversation was getting further and further from something that I could track, it was like they were speaking their own language.

“Sorry,” I said, wincing at the apology, “but who are we talking about, and erm...did you just call me Wolfram?”

Sirius shrugged but there was a slyness to his eyes. “Marls and the Dork--”

But James cut in, “Marlene and Dorcas are our lesbian friends. Marlene went to high school with Sirius and I, and she picked up a girlfriend up in Berkeley. Marlene and Sirius used to date before they both caught the gay so they’re still weirdly in love with one another.”

Sirius shrugged again, “She’s a fucking bombshell, who wouldn’t be fond of her?”

“I certainly am, too bad she’s given up guys.”

I laughed at James, “Not for her, statistically women who have sex with women have way more orgasms.”

James looked affronted, “Okay, listen to PhD over here. But I’ll have you know, I’m a giver.”

“Where you stick your dick is neither here nor there --” Sirius started, but I cut him off.

“Yeah, apparently it’s nowhere at all.”

James threw a fortune cookie at me but I dodged left quickly enough that it merely hit the couch behind me. Sirius laughed so hard that he almost spilt his beer, “Well he’s got you figured out hasn’t he?”

James looked at him through narrowed eyes but said nothing so Sirius eventually lapsed into a teary-eyed silence. “Okay okay, but for real Marlene and Dorcas should come over tomorrow cause we can all build Remus’ furniture together. We were going to plan a party to welcome Remus to the family but maybe just do this on the DL. Don’t want to scare him too much.”

“You really don’t have to do that.” The last thing I needed was to be the center of attention. I wasn’t even adjusted to the two guys I had moved in with. Now I had to worry about impressing their friends? And I hadn’t had a moment to myself. I really thought I’d be building by myself, maybe some Netflix on my computer. But what was I supposed to say? They wanted to be nice. They wanted to make an effort. Come on Remus. You can’t move all the way to America and then not make a fucking effort to be social.

“I mean we don’t have to do anything dude. We’re doing this because you seem cool and we like to have a good time.” James grinned and ran a hand through his hair which left a piece of rice along his temple. I decided not to point this out but instead grinned right back at him. I caught Sirius’ eye who smiled conspiratorially at me, he’d clearly seen James make a mess of himself too. I knew immediately that he was also planning to let James sit there like a tool rather than say anything.

“So Marlene and Dorcas won’t mind helping? It is a lot of work.”

“Nah,” Sirius couldn’t tear his eyes away from the rice in James’ hair, he was not exactly the best at keeping a straight face but perhaps Sirius staring weirdly at him was routine because James seemed not to notice, “They’re lesbians they’re good at building stuff you know.”

I rolled my eyes, “I’m going to text Lily too?”

James lit up like a fucking ray of sunshine. I almost instantly regretted suggesting it. Things always get complicated when your mates want to bone one another, but on the other hand, I didn’t want to be totally outnumbered with people that I didn’t know and since I’d moved to Los Angeles, Lily was the only person I’d met from abroad. Sure she was from England, but you have to take what you can get when no one in America can make a decent cup of tea.

Sirius nodded, “I mean the more hands the easier it’ll be right? We can do beer and pizza and maybe even swim a bit.”

“I’m already texting the girls.” James was tapping madly at his phone.

That night, after stuffing my face with Chinese food with James and Sirius, I padded upstairs to sleep in one of the guest bedrooms after James absolutely refused to let me spend the night on the sofa. Despite myself I think I was already starting to like the two idiots. It was weird, I’d never had cis guy mates in Ireland that would stick around for very long. Something about my having a vagina. Sure there were lads that would return my texts periodically, or that were good for a pint or two. I don’t know what made them scare so easily -- I was still the same guy. I’d been lucky, I’d been able to pass as a (perhaps effeminate) guy for awhile even before I started testosterone. But it was always the same once they found out -- the queers, the ones that had wanted to fuck me, or to keep me around to see if they wanted to fuck me, when they found out that I lacked something they liked, that was enough reason to abandon ship. The straights, the ones that were good for a night out on the piss or that didn’t mind me when I was a winner for their team in football, they disappeared entirely. I was no longer one of the gang. Didn’t matter that the dosage I was on meant I had more testo in my system than some of them. I liked them, yeah, but I also didn’t want to get attached. Being attached, hoping for something more than a casual friendship with cis guys was like -- it was asking for heartbreak.

I waited until I heard the two of them head to bed before I stripped down to my boxer briefs. I lifted my arms and pulled my binder off slowly, peeling it away from my ribs and wincing. Too many hours in it today meant that I was probably going to feel it tomorrow. Even with the new ones I’d ordered there was always that inability to take a deep breath, the pull on the ribs that made you sore and sweaty after a long day in the thing. It was one thing in Dublin where it never got too hot, but here, where it seemingly never dipped under 70, adding an extra layer was tough. I touched my chest a bit and it was tender but I didn't think I'd have bruises. I thought about how James and Sirius had invited their friends over tomorrow and sighed. I probably wouldn't have much chance to go without the damn thing tomorrow either. Swimming? It was out of the question -- I was going to have to find a reason to pass.

I could have just told them when I came in for the interview. Lily never asked me why I didn’t even though she knew, for which I was grateful. I had been open with the department at USC, had even mentioned it in my entrance essay. I was working on trans and queer literature and film it wasn’t the most difficult puzzle to piece together. Somehow though, I just hadn’t been able to do it. I didn’t want to lose the chance at the room, and sure, I guess I liked them. Now it was as if I were keeping it from them. Every day that passed meant that I was going to get more attached to my new mansion, my new mates. It would be better to get it all out in the open now and find out if they were going to be phobic.

But now I’d ordered the furniture. It was coming tomorrow, and leaving was going to be a bit harder when I had a small apartment’s worth of furniture to move along with the boxes that were currently in the pool house. I ran my hands through my hair, trying not to let the fear that shot through me overwhelm me. Sirius was queer, he specifically asked for a queer roommate. It wasn’t going to matter. And anyway, there was no reason why they should find out.