#this is also. the only thing i wrote for national poetry month. :/

[plasmapop]

28/04/24 • catullus 51 translated via the international code of signals

BC 1 Can you communicate with the aircraft? NE 5 You should proceed with great caution; hostile vessel sighted NH 1 Are you clear of all danger? EA Have you sighted or heard of a vessel in distress?  ZL Your signal has been received but not understood. QF I cannot go ahead MBP Onset was sudden.  PG 2 I am dazzled by your searchlight. Extinguish it or lift it. [IB 4 The extent of the damage is still unknown.]  MHB Tongue is dry. YS I am unable to communicate… DV 1 I am adrift. MBE The whole body is affected. IX Fire is gaining.  FD 1 My position is indicated by rockets or flares. PG I do not see any light. EP I have lost sight of you. MY 2 It is dangerous to proceed on present course. AE 1 I wish to abandon my vessel, but have not the means. GC 2 I have searched area of accident but have found no trace of derelict or survivors

[foone]

Hi I'm Foone Turing. I've been here a while but never really did an introduction post, so...

Hi. Yes, that's my name. I'm an asexual trans enby (they/them pronouns), I'm married, and I'm both older than you expect and younger than you expect, depending on what you know me from. I'm a writer and programmer. I'm better known on Twitter, at the moment. I'm well known for being severely ADHD and I'm also on the autism spectrum, somewhere near ultraviolet. I live near Oakland, California, USA, but I grew up on a farm in the south. I'm a furry, but I don't have a fursona yet.

I'm big into retrotech stuff, especially floppy disks. 80s and 90s PC stuff mainly, but I have a passing interest in everything else. I loves me some weird tech that you have no idea ever existed. I'm also big into analog media. VHS tapes, laserdiscs, that sort of thing.

Fandom wise, I'm a Trekie from way back, primarily in the TNG/DS9/VOY/ENT era. I haven't yet gotten into the new stuff, and I have only a passing knowledge of the original series. I'm also a big fan of Babylon 5, Red Dwarf, and Doctor Who (4th doctor, and new who doctors 9,10,11). I watch a bunch of British panel shows: HIGNFY, Mock the Week, Nevermind the Buzzcocks, 8 out of 10 cats (primarily the countdown spinoff).

I am a Big Hater on crytypocurrentseas and AI art. I used to be famously mad at the JWST, but now that it's in space and functional, I've calmed down. They just need to rename it and I'm golden.

I'm currently splitting my social media presence across three sites:

* Tumblr, obviously. Shitposting, jokes, queer stuff, and queer joke shitposts are all going here.

* mastodon: I'm putting my tech stuff here. Teardowns, building new death generators, fun historical weirdness.

* Twitter: formerly my primary platform, but now I just use it to keep in touch with people and make fun of the impending collapse of Twitter.

Stuff I do and have done after the readmore.

(I'm on mobile now but I'll get back to this on the desktop and add more links)

* I run lettuce.wtf, a webcam showing a lettuce to see if it will outlast Twitter. (My money is literally on the lettuce)

* my long running site The Death Generator: a tool for making fake video game screenshots, with user supplied dialogue.

* I run some Twitter bots, one of which is more popular than me, and all of which will need to be migrated soon: Gay Cats, WinIcons, Print Shop Deluxe, and Every Clue Line.

* I got Microsoft 3D Movie Maker open sourced

* I got rickrolled so hard that it ended up on national TV

* I ran doom on a pregnancy test

* I have made many horrible and weird keyboards. Keyboards with hair, keyboards which write poetry, keyboards that take 5 hours to say "hello world", keyboards with randomly placed keys, keyboards with 7 toggle switches instead of buttons, and many more.

* I tear down random electronics and try to figure out and explain how they work. (originally on Twitter, but moving over to mastodon now)

* I pissed off the FBI on more than one occasion. They tried to get me fired, they delayed my wedding by over a month, and they mentioned my 4chan nickname in a federal trial.

* I used to work for 4chan. I was a moderator and coder, I created /rs/ and /r9k/, and I convinced moot to destroy the original politics board (for obvious reasons). Things went further to shit after I left, but I am still glad I left. Oh and I also inadvertently prevented the creation of the 4chan dating/meet up site by being too ADHD to actually complete development of it. You're welcome.

* I ran a windows 95 machine for the maximum amount of time. There's a bug where it crashes after 49.7 days of uptime, so I let it happen. I livestreamed the end on YouTube.

* I've done exhibits at the Vintage Computer Festival on the history of floppy disks and optical discs.

* I've worked with the Video Game History Foundation (and others) to preserve old games and game development resources (source code and such). I'm big into archival!

* I wrote a really famous Twitter thread about the surprising way our vision works, which is still circulating in screenshots (including on Tumblr!) something like 5-6 years later.

* I made my old apartment play the Zelda Ocarina of Time shop music when you walked I the door.

* I run the Tumblr animefloppies, collecting screenshots and GIFs of floppy disks in anime.

* I run several other sub-tumblrs for collecting weird things, but I'll have to link them later.

* I am technically a speedrunner. I did the TAS of Duke Nukem 1, episode 1, and a joke speedrun of Solar Winds, where I beat the game by ignoring every single possible objective and just flying to the end, which takes over an hour.

* I used to make games. Some of them are available for download.

* but it still do, too: I'm working on a (currently unnamed) game about managing a dairy farm. Both the developers have ADHD. This is going to take forever before it comes out, if it ever does.

* I'm currently working on three books. Two are compilations of stuff previously twitterized, one is a novel:

- Always Screaming Forever: non-fiction, stories about my career in the tech industry and various other tech/science/history stuff I love ranting about.

- The Other Side of Screaming: fiction. My short stories.

- Mundane Kaya Sona (placeholder title): a linguist gets pulled into an FBI investigation into a car crash. An unknown language leads to the discovery of a wizard living in a forest in Oregon, and an interdimensional plot to smuggle nuclear weapons to another world, and break a cold war stalemate we (the planet earth) didn't realize we were in. I've been working on the setting for this story since I was about 7 years old, and I'm excited to finally get it out of my head and into yours.

* I'm probably forgetting like 5-10 major things I've done but ADHD is a hell of a drug. I'll add more as they come to me.

[boricuacherry-blog]

Her parents gifted her a typewriter of her own, which stood up to Follett's frequent compositions, including letters and poetry, short stories and fantasy lore. She imagined visits from the likes of Beethoven and Wagner. Like Edgar Rice Burroughs, she grew lost in her own dreams, steadily expanding on a world she named Farksolia. It had its own language, Farksoo, that she tracked via a card catalog system. Helen also kept her on a steady diet of authors, including Walter de la Mare.

If Follett was bothered, she didn't show it. Roiling at her typewriter, she declared Moore's concern to be "very rash" and a "miserable caricature" of her happy self. She accepted offers to review books, including those of Winnie the Pooh creator A.A. Milne. And there was, of course, a sophomore effort to plan. In the summer of 1927, she successfully petitioned her parents to allow her to board the Frederick H., a ship docked in New Haven thar was bound for Nova Scotia, to research a book about pirates. Wilson and Helen relented only because a family friend, George Bryan, agreed to act as chaperone.

Follett relished the opportunity, spending 10 days at sea and picking up sailor vernacular. The result was her second book, 1928's The Voyage of the Norman D., and further acclaim.

Her parents had been instrumental in encouraging her and creating a safe space for her talent and imagination to thrive. But that security soon evaporated. In March 1928, Wilson told his wife and daughters that he had fallen in love with another woman, a co-worker at Knopf named Margaret Whipple. He was leaving them to be with her.

Wilson's decision was not only emotionally devastating but financially untenable. He had been the breadwinner for the family. Follett could not write fast enough, nor sell as many books, as would be needed to support her mother and younger sister.

Wilson left them with little money. At first, Helen tried to spin necessity into adventure: they would take their typewriters to sea, sail to Tahiti, and write books! But by September 1929, Barbara found herself stranded and alone with family friends in Los Angeles. It was unbearable: she fled to San Francisco, hid in a hotel, and wrote poetry. But she'd been reported as a runaway, and when police burst into her room, they narrowly kept her from escaping through the window.

"I loathe Los Angeles," she explained to reporters.

The story made national news. Helen and Barbara were reunited in New York, but their finances were so dire that upon turning sixteen in March 1930, Barbara had to find work. Her timing was awful, coming only months after the Wall Street crash. After a course in shorthand and business typing - "a decidedly more tawdry use of its magic," she mused - Barbara was getting up early every morning to ride the subway to a secretarial job.

"My dreams are going through their death flurries," she wrote that June. "I thought they were all safely buried, but sometimes they stir in their grave, making my heartstrings twinge. I mean no particular dream, you understand, but the whole radiant flock of them together - with their rainbow wings, iridescent, bright, soaring, glorious, sublime. They are dying before the steel javelins and arrows of a world of Time and Money."

She wrote in a letter, "I certainly don't think there is much to be said for this so-called civilization. It's barbarous, that's what it is. The primitivest of the primitive were never capable of such outrages as this Jinx civilization. That's one of the things Lost Island is about - sort of a fling, a kick, a dig at the world. Not a nasty one, just a grieved one. I wish we were back to the cave days. Even nowadays there are some tribes that are happy. Look at the Polynesians, for instance. Naturally we can't be happy in their surroundings, but that's not the fault of the surroundings. It's our fault - and civilization's. Damn, damn!"

By 1934, Follett had written her third and fourth books - Lost Island and a brisk travelogue on the Appalachian Trail called Travels Without a Donkey. But worn down by six years without the encouragement of a father or an editor, the manuscripts finally stopped.

Barbara did leave one last comment to the world about writing - a brief piece in a 1933 issue of Horn Book that earnestly recommends that parents give their own children typewriters. "An effort should be made to impress upon children that a typewriter is magic." So is the child at the typewriter, but Barbara doesn't hint how she has been spending years battling poverty. The father who gave her that typewriter doesn't appear in the piece, either. She'd been so angry at him in one letter that she snapped, "He isn't what you'd call a man."

However she soon found a kindred soul in an outdoorsman named Nickerson Rogers, and they eloped.

America's next great novelist was now without a high-school degree, without work, and a teen bride. Yet she found ways to find joy - at first. Between secretarial jobs in New York and Boston, she discovered dance classes, as well as backpacking though Europe. But returning to her husband in Brookline, Massachusetts, in late 1939, she was shaken once again, worse even than by her father's abandonment.

"Well, all I can say is that what we conjectured was truer than true. I mean, that about the hell only beginning when I got home - not ending. There is somebody else..." she wrote to a friend.

"I am glad I realized the importance of self-control. You see, the thing is really worse than I had thought possible. There IS somebody else. Just how serious I don't know, and I'm not asking any questions. That's part of the self-control. I haven't uttered one single reproach, or anything that could be construed as one. I've just dug my nails into my palms and held on, and held on, till now I think I'm getting to be quite a woman of iron and steel. Well, I think there is hope for my side - some hope. I know it will be a long, patient process that will take all my strength and all my intelligence for a great many months. I think it is worth it, and I am going to make the fight. I don't blame him in the least. He really thought I didn't care; only, instead of saying anything about it so that I could have done something about it before, he just kept quiet and everything slid and slid."

"But it's really my fault; I had it coming to me, I know. I think I've persuaded him to give me my chance. He is a very kind person, really, and hates to hurt people. He hated to write that letter; that's why it sounded so awful. I think that, if I can really prove that I'm different, maybe things will work out. He still doesn't quite believe, as he says, that a leopard can change its spots! He thinks that in a month things will be all wrong again. So I say, at least let me have that month! I think I'll get it, and I think I can win if I've got the strength. I think he is a steady enough person, and a kind enough person, and also enough of an easy-going person, so that he won't go making drastic plunges if he doesn't have to; and if I can make a pleasant sort of life for him, I think he'll hang on. That's what I'm banking on, and I'm putting heart and soul into all the little things."

But after some false hope, things only got worse. In another letter, her despair was so keen that she could only rest with "sleeping stuff [barbituates]." She wrote, "On the surface things are terribly, terribly calm, and wrong...I still think there is a chance that the outcome will be a happy one, but I would have to think that anyway, in order to live."

The news must have hit her particularly hard given the parallels to her own father's infidelity. In letters to friends, Barbara talked about trying to salvage the relationship, but it seemed to little avail.

Then, on the evening of December 7, 1939, she and Nick had a quarrell. Nick would claim that Barbara grabbed her coat and exited their home with $30 and a notebook - after which she seemingly disappeared. Her disappearance occurred under extremely suspicious circumstances.

And oddly, Nick didn't seem too worried about her being gone. He didn't call the police to report her missing until two weeks had passed, and he insisted the police not go to newspapers, wishing to avoid a hungry media again portraying Barbara as a wayward former child genius. It was several months before he relented - far too late to make a whole lot of difference, especially since she was listed as Barbara Rogers and not Barbara Follett in the bulletin, making it even longer before the public would discover she was missing.

The family had no idea why she would simply disappear without explanation; they believed she had been kidnapped. But after her mother discovered how little Nick had looked for Barbara, she felt he had something to do with her disappearance. She thought Nick either had either murdered Barbara - now there would be no one to contest a divorce - or placed her in an insane asylum under a false name.

This girl - who should have been America's next great literary hero - was betrayed by the two men she trusted most, and her fame forgotten by a public that she never trusted in the first place. Her writings, out of print for many decades, only exist today in six archival boxes at Columbia University's library. She is still missing, but then again, her work always was about escape. And people seemed to disappear in her life again and again, as she grew from an enigmatic child author into an adult unable to escape as easily into a fantasy world as she had when she was younger. Her mysterious disappearance echoes the final words of her own writing in The House Without Windows:

"She would be invisible forever to all mortals, save those few who have minds to believe, eyes to see. To these she is ever present, the spirit of Nature - a sprite of the meadow, a naiad of lakes, a nymph of the woods."

[mybookplacenet]

Featured Author Interview: Janice Rostron

Tell us about yourself.: I am a Professional Organizer and the owner/operator of Just Focus and Reorganize, LLC (JFR). I started playing guitar as a shy, introverted 12-year-old. In my late twenties, I tackled my stage fright and joined a band. I have since played shows throughout California and have recorded two full-length albums and one EP (during which time I earned the moniker “Janice F'n Reid” a.k.a. “JFR”). I received a BA in Legal Studies (with a minor in Music) from UC Berkeley and have since joined the Cal Alumni Association. GO BEARS! I then earned an MEd and a Multiple Subject teaching credential from UCLA. I worked as a public elementary school teacher for eight years before deciding to pursue a career in Professional Organizing. I am an active member of the National Association of Productivity and Organizing Professionals (NAPO). I have earned NAPO Specialist Certificates in Workplace Productivity and Team Productivity. I served as the Los Angeles chapter’s Treasurer for the 2016–2017 term. I was the leader of NAPO’s Environmentally-Conscious Organizers special interest group for the 2020–2023 terms. I am also a subscriber to the Institute for Challenging Disorganization (ICD) and have earned a Level II Chronic Disorganization Specialist Certificate. I love working one-on-one with my clients and enjoy speaking to groups about organization and productivity. In 2022, I moved to Denver to grow the business … and purchase my first home. Where did you grow up, and how did this influence your writing?: I grew up in Littlerock, CA which is a small, desert town in Southern California. I am not sure how this influenced my writing. Back then, I wrote dark, angsty poetry but that had more to do with adolescence than where I grew up. Now, my writing is much more positive and action-focused. Do you have any unusual writing habits? I am not sure if it is unusual, but I can only write in the afternoon. What authors have influenced you? I grew up in Littlerock, CA which is a small, desert town in Southern California. I am not sure how this influenced my writing. Back then, I wrote dark, angsty poetry but that had more to do with adolescence than where I grew up. Now, my writing is much more positive and action-focused. Do you have any advice for new authors? Don't get overwhelmed by how much there is to do to write, publish, and market a book. Decide what the next step is and schedule it into your calendar. Focus on one action item at a time. What is the best advice you have ever been given? You can't do it all! What are you reading now? Tiny Habits by BJ Fogg Julia by Sandra Newman What's your biggest weakness? Over-analyzing What is your favorite book of all time? Alice's Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll When you're not writing, how do you like to spend your time? I still play guitar when I can and enjoy going to rock, punk, and metal shows. I love food and am always looking for the next restaurant to try. I like taking walks around town and going for hikes. Do you remember the first story you ever read, and the impact it had on you? I was an avid reader and made frequent trips to the library so I am not sure I can remember the first story I ever read. However, I LOVED reading Are You My Mother? by P.D. Eastman and The Monster at the End of This Book by Jon Stone. Even though I knew everything worked out in the end, but I really enjoyed taking the journey with them. What has inspired you and your writing style? My teaching experience has inspired my writing style. I am striving to simplify everything and make even the more complex, overwhelming things in life understandable and actionable. What are you working on now? Since my first book came out a little over a month ago, I am working on promoting that right now. What is your favorite method for promoting your work? My favorite methods for promoting my work is through social media and speaking to groups about the productivity systems in my book. What's next for you as a writer? Although I am not ready to start on another writing project, I would love to write a book about how to be environmentally-conscious when you are decluttering and organizing your home. How well do you work under pressure? I am definitely not working at my best under pressure. I would much rather finish early than work up the last second of a deadline. How do you decide what tone to use with a particular piece of writing? I write self-help/how-to so I use my tone which is to-the-point with occasional wry humor. If you could share one thing with your fans, what would that be? Simplify everything! Janice Rostron's Author Websites and Profiles Website Amazon Profile Goodreads Profile Janice Rostron's Social Media Links Facebook Page Instagram LinkedIn Read the full article

[splendidemendax]

and then the half-portuguese one:

this is a little less relevant to the question you were actually posing than my previous answer, but in true tumblr fashion i misread your post the first time around and went off and wrote a most of a response before i realized my mistake. however, imo it's still interesting and relevant to the broader topic of how cardassian circumstances might shape cardassian art, so here you go!

portugal had a fascist dictatorship called the estado novo* ("new state") from 1933 to 1974.** the estado novo, like many 20th century fascist regimes, loved traditional/folk art and so they were very interested in fado, a genre of portuguese folk music. a key example is the the ambiguous relationship that the most famous fadista, amália rodrigues, had with the government; sorting this out is a major point of contention. but regardless of amália's intent (and that of various other prominent artists), fado was pressed into service of the regime.

an important note about fado's form: it's conceived of as poetry set to music. the boundary between poem and lyric is much more mutable in the context of fado than it seems to me in an american context. some famous fados started out as poems and were only later set to music, sometimes centuries later.

music that could not be interpreted as favorable to the regime was banned. in earlier years, the main strategy for poets who wanted to avoid censorship was metaphor or setting the story in a historical context (zeca afonso, who would later become the musical symbol of the revolution with his song grandôla vila morena, wrote a song about vampires that's actually a devastating critique of the state).

censorship ramped up over time and poets adapted by getting ever more creative with their metaphor; some even began to make use of the works of camões, the portuguese national poet and a particular favorite of the estado novo. this would be analogous to making a song from a carefully framed version of a shakespearean sonnet to comment on current events bc you're not gonna censor the bard, right?

in terms of "lost works," you can't recover what was never written, either from fear or lack of opportunity. however, there are some opportunities for recovery of things written and then surpressed.

barco negro ("black boat;" lyrics here, amália's version here, my favorite version by mariza here) is a fairly standard fado that i've loved since i was a little kid. it's got a fabulous take on the traditional fado themes of the ocean, lost lovers, and saudade;† also i've always loved the way mariza uses drums in her setting.

i mentioned this to my mom at some point and she told me that it was just like me to fall in love with an iconically controversial fado. remember how i mentioned that fado was two separate parts (poem and music)? well, the music of barco negro was originally written for a poem called mãe preta ("black mother"; lyrics here, dulce pontes version here), which is about a black maid (possibly enslaved, though the language is ambiguous) who cares for the child of her boss/enslaver ("filho do senhor") as he beats hers. obviously, this moving critique of racism did not jive with the estado novo's creative vision and so the poets, banned from selling the poem in portugal, sold the music, which was used for another poem and made famous by amália.

like a palimpsest, the original poem was surpressed, but it was lurking just below the surface, waiting to be uncovered; the most famous version of the original lyrics was recorded by the fadista dulce pontes in the 90s.

* i'm not super fond of the way anglophone scholars in general tend to talk abt the estado novo. for some unfathomable reason, salazar (dictator of portugal for 36 years) seems to get a lot of credit for being the supposedly reasonable fascist dictator of 20th century europe (see, for example, this wsj book review from last month that makes me want to spit). hot take: you don't get to be the "benevolent autocrat" when you have a secret police, designated show-trial courts, and designated torture cells in your designated political prisoner jail. the english wiki article is no exception to this fucking infuriating trend, but as a basic overview, it works i guess.

** if you ever look at dates of independence for formerly colonized african nations, you'll notice that former portuguese colonies became independent like ten years after most of the rest of the continent and that about half of them are in '74 or '75, within a year or so of the carnation revolution. this is because fascists really, really enjoy having colonies (in the portuguese context, the underlying theory is called lusotropicalism, which basically proposes that the portuguese are, like, genetically destined to be colonizers and that holding colonies was requisite for the survival of the portuguese national identity). they also don't care how many people have to suffer or die to keep them. the economic and human cost of the state's colonial ambitions were a major cause of the revolution, though more bc ppl thought that the colonies were more work than they were worth than from any real anti-colonialist spirit.

† saudade is very loosely the sense of sadness associated with longing for what you once had and can never get back. it's typically translated into english as "nostalgia" which isn't quite it but whatever.

I wonder how Cardassians interact with the idea of lost media, post bombardment

Obviously with a lot of literature, given how Cardassian memory works, a sufficiently motivated person could probably copy it from memory. But what about shows and films? Songs? What about written works whose audience was mostly killed during the war and "alliance" with the Dominion?

[theburialofstrawberries]

At a book reading in Kolkata, about a week after my first novel, The God of Small Things, was published, a member of the audience stood up and asked, in a tone that was distinctly hostile: “Has any writer ever written a masterpiece in an alien language? In a language other than his mother tongue?” I hadn’t claimed to have written a masterpiece (nor to be a “he”), but nevertheless I understood his anger toward a me, a writer who lived in India, wrote in English, and who had attracted an absurd amount of attention. My answer to his question made him even angrier.

“Nabokov,” I said. And he stormed out of the hall.

(...)

Only a few weeks after the mother tongue/masterpiece incident, I was on a live radio show in London. The other guest was an English historian who, in reply to a question from the interviewer, composed a paean to British imperialism. “Even you,” he said, turning to me imperiously, “the very fact that you write in English is a tribute to the British Empire.” Not being used to radio shows at the time, I stayed quiet for a while, as a well-behaved, recently civilized savage should. But then I sort of lost it, and said some extremely hurtful things. The historian was upset, and after the show told me that he had meant what he said as a compliment, because he loved my book. I asked him if he also felt that jazz, the blues, and all African-American writing and poetry were actually a tribute to slavery. And if all of Latin American literature was a tribute to Spanish and Portuguese colonialism.

Notwithstanding my anger, on both occasions my responses were defensive reactions, not adequate answers. Because those incidents touched on a range of incendiary questions—colonialism, nationalism, authenticity, elitism, nativism, caste, and cultural identity—all jarring pressure points on the nervous system of any writer worth her salt. However, to reify language in the way both men had renders language speechless. When that happens, as it usually does in debates like these, what has actually been written ceases to matter. That was what I found so hard to countenance. And yet I know—I knew—that language is that most private and yet most public of things. The challenges thrown at me were fair and square. And obviously, since I’m still talking about them, I’m still thinking about them.

This is a really funny and sprawling but precisely-written essay where Roy works through her feelings on all the incendiary questions she poses above. It's That Time of the Month Again and I've been feeling oh you know just the usual (anguish, guilt, shame, confusion, denial, resistance, defeat) about being from a former colony and writing & thinking in english, consuming white english media, participating online in a largely white english setting. If you've ever felt that way, I think reading this will ease your heart and make you feel less alone...and even if you haven't, this is maybe my favourite Roy essay ever, so you should read it

[gogglor]

Cap-Ironman RecWeek: What-If Wednesday

Time for another installment of @cap-ironman rec week! Today’s theme: AU’s.

I know AU’s in different settings are half the reason most people read fanfics, but they’re not really my thing on the whole. AU’s where different choices are made, or different events transpire? Absolutely. Coffee shops? Not my cup of... you know.

So, here’s my AU recommendations for mostly “turn left” scenarios. This time with an under-the-cut break so I don’t take over everyone’s timelines (sorry about that last post). Also with some summaries truncated for length.

Alone Like This

Author: GotTheSilver

Word Count: 7,452

Summary: Steve, post waking up, runs away from SHIELD, and Tony's the one who tracks him down.

Why You Should Read It:

First off, GotTheSilver’s been consistently and regularly putting out solid Stony since 2012 and not only are they not stopping, they’re only getting better. This writer doesn’t get nearly the fanfare I’d expect in Stony circles for someone who puts out this much good stuff, and here’s hoping this post can be a part of changing that.

While I am always a sucker for enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, there’s something to be said for stories where Steve and Tony hit it off right away. And watching these two very different people look at each other and see the same sense of being lost, then finding each other again is... excuse me, there’s something in my eye, ignore me.

Second Chance Lives

Author: raeldaza

Word Count: 43,872

Summary: Tony's gonna die of palladium poisoning anyway, why not join a pointless expedition to recover Captain America’s body? And after, well, why not dedicate his last few months to making sure an American hero settles into his new life? What else is he going to do, get drunk at parties?

Why You Should Read It:

This writer doesn’t write a lot for the MCU but when they do, dang.

“Tony is the one helping Steve acclimate to the new century before Avengers 2012″ is a whole genre of Stony fanfics that scratch an itch I didn’t even know I had before I started reading fanfiction, and this is one of the best ones out there. It’s got it all - Steve poorly coping with his PTSD, Tony poorly coping with his immanent mortality, some breathtakingly poor communication between the two most emotionally stunted men in the MCU, and a cat named Roomba. What’s not to love?

Should You Choose to Accept It

Author: elwenyere (look, you’re gonna be seeing a lot of them this week, sorry-not-sorry)

Word Count: 27,106

Summary: After a terrorist attack and a field operation gone wrong, the Avengers realize that Nick Fury's secrets are just the start of a much bigger mystery. Steve and Tony try to keep some things from each other as well, but that can't possibly affect the mission — right? Mission Fic + Getting Together (or Mission: Getting Together) that mashes up elements from Iron Man 3, CA: Winter Soldier, Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. season one, and Mission Impossible 3.

Why You Should Read It:

You can see my post yesterday for singing El’s praises, but what I really liked about this fic was how how damn creative it is. The CAWS/IM3/AOS mashup is everything I wished the actual MCU gave us and more, with well-developed characters and an exciting story to put them in. And because it’s El, you know the banter’s gonna be on point, the way the characters care for each other is gonna be emotionally constipated but touching, and the pacing’s gonna be exciting enough to draw you in and keep you there. Also, this fic doesn’t have nearly enough kudos so please go read it and fix that or I’m gonna have to try to hack AO3 and that’ll just be embarrassing for all parties involved.

What Happens In Vegas

Author: sabremc

Word Count: 161,951

Summary: “What the hell, Tony?” Rhodey demanded brusquely.  Tony winced and drew the phone away from his ear.  “You’ve got cops and Feds all over the hotel.  I’m watching you perp walk out of the police station on repeat on CNN.  They’re saying you tried to bribe Stern?  Fox News has you selling weapons on the black market, and God that picture they’re using is the one from Bali in ’09.   You look like shit.  They wheeled Stern out and put him in an ambulance, by the way.  Got some paparazzi swearing you decked the guy.  Now they’ve got ‘copters following it like he’s OJ.”

“Yeah, don’t worry, Sourpatch, I’ve got it covered.   Uh, though, I should probably tell you that, purely in the interests of national security and the greater good, I kind of had to fake marry that stripper-gram  you sent.  Thanks for that, by the way,” Tony added quickly.

Why You Should Read It:

If you’re deep enough into Stony to see posts like this on Tumblr, you probably know sabre’s what we in the business call a “big name author.” They’re prolific, they’re popular, and most importantly, they write words good (technical term). Seriously, sabre just keeps cranking out high quality stuff over and over again, raising the bar for the rest of us like a jerk (not really. I’m not bitter they write stuff so good I wish I’d thought of it first. Not at all.)

I never read stripper!Steve or stripper!Tony as a rule, but this came so widely recommended that I broke that rule and boy am I glad that I did. This is also the only fic on this list that’s a true-AU, with Steve being a non-powered vet from Afghanistan who left his army career to help Bucky and is stripping in Vegas to raise money for a prosthetic arm. He’s booked to do a private show for Tony, shenanigans ensue, and now they’re fake-married. This fic’s got some top-of-the-line banter and character development, but I particularly love it for its rich setting. Sabre paints a Vegas not just with strip clubs and blackjack tables, but KISS-themed minigolf, romantic dinners on the Eiffel tower, gaudy hotel lobbies, and making out on giant ferris wheels. It’s such a richly developed playground for the characters to play on, and through it, Steve manages to find a life for himself he’d given up on, and Tony finds multiple ways to show his kindness and depth of feeling for Steve. I know the word count’s long for this one but trust me, you’ve gotta read this fic.

Wait & Sea

Author: Lenalena

Word Count: 53,244

Summary: In which Tony and Steve get sent on an undercover mission aboard a cruise ship to make contact with Hydra. In this AU the military has kept the discovery and defrosting of Captain America a secret, so Steve and Tony have never met before. Yet they are to pose as newlyweds....

Why You Should Read It:

This one’s old and popular enough to be considered one of the “classic” Stony fics, and for good reason. Lenalena doesn’t write too often and not as much as they used to, but the fics they have up there are an absolute delight.

This is another fic that I skipped a bunch of times for being outside my comfort zone, but when I finally read it I saw why everyone’s so wild about it. In this story, Steve’s defrosted a bit earlier and not revealed as Captain America. He and Tony are sent undercover to sniff out Hydra shenanigans on a cruise and, because it’s fanfiction, they’ve got to pretend to be a married couple while onboard. There’s tons to love about this fic, but the things that bring me back to reading it over and over is first, Tony’s kindness and the way he’s attuned to Steve’s feelings, which... God, just inject “kind, observant Tony” straight into my veins, please and thank you. This is also another really rich setting for a story, and Lena knows how to fold the the hokeyness of the cruise into the seriousness of the mission and the depth of feelings Steve and Tony are finding for each other in a really beautiful, layered way. It’s funny, it’s heartfelt, it’s steamy, it’s gripping... why are you still reading this here? Go check it out for yourself!

Ashes to Ashes

Author: dirigibleplumbing

Word Count: 51,582

Summary: After regrouping following some surprise time travel, the world's heroes and sorcerers come up with a plan to protect the Mind and Time Stones by taking them into space in opposite directions. The result involves a lot more time loops than Steve would like, but at least they're getting a second chance to stop Thanos. (As well as a third, and a fourth...) And if Steve takes the opportunity to try to reconcile with Tony, too—well, they have the time, and Steve's going to make the most of it.

Why You Should Read It:

Dirigibleplumbing’s another name in Stony fanfics that does not get nearly as much fanfare as they deserve. They’re consistently a really creative voice in Stony fanfics and I always look forward to their stories showing me something new. Go read all their fics, I need more people to geek out with me over them.

I tend to limit myself on Steve-and-Tony-mend-things-after-Civil-War fics not because they’re not good, but because they’re so heavy, and also the Sokovia Accords have five hundred layers of crap in them that no good fic could possibly hash out well. This one, though? When you add in the Infinity War/End Game fixit? Poetry. Art. Music to my ears. DP wrote a really engaging, twisty story where it’s hard to predict what’s coming next, in spite of it literally being a pseudo-Groundhog day scenario. The characterizations are great, the story is engaging, and the feelings are big and sad and eventually happy. Go read it, you’ll love it.

I have tons of other recs for this category but this seems like a good place to stop for today. Tomorrow’s Alternative Media Thursday, and I’ve got some real gems I’ve been saving for that day (aaaaand possibly a self-rec or two ;)

[srbachchan]

DAY 4831

Jalsa, Mumbai                   May 20,  2021                 Thu 9:14 PM

Birthday  - Ef Gopi Sheth .. Ef Aish TVM .. Friday, May 21 .. our greetings and love on this special day .. be safe be well and be protected .. ❤️🌹

A dear friend sent me this article .. I thought it was a very good read and so thought of putting it here :

Write Tight

What is poetry? Etymology provides more questions than answers.

T. S. Eliot, who once famously called National Poetry Month the cruelest, was also one of many to point out the hopeless semantic tangles that ensue because “poetry” has two opposites. Poetry can be the lined stuff, often with rhymes, as opposed to sentences and paragraphs; poetry can also be the good stuff, as opposed to the plodding or simply informational. But if good prose can be poetic, a novel can be “pure poetry,” and poems can be prosaic, then it’s not clear what anyone is talking about, really. Or rather, it’s clear except to theorists trying to come up with definitions. Poetry is what’s thrilling, while a poem is that poor thing with eleven readers, eight of them members of the poet’s extended family.

Etymology doesn’t help—it only highlights that the apples and oranges here are how the thing is made and how it moves. Poetry is from the Greek poiein, “to make”: a poem is something made, or in English we would more naturally say crafted. Yet everyone agrees good prose is well crafted, too. Prose means, literally, “straightforward,” from the Latin prosa, proversus, “turned to face forward” (whereas verse is all wound up, twisty and snaky, “turned” in every direction except, apparently, forward). Yet we all know that poems can be clear and direct, too, especially when they’re songs.

Sidelining sonnets and quarantining quatrains in the poetry ghetto does produce a certain clarity. But of course it also creates problems when translating from languages that gerrymander poetry differently. In German, for example, writer is a word even more literal than the English “someone who writes”: it’s Schriftsteller, a put-down-on-paper-er (Schrift = “writing,” stellen = “to place, to put”). Autor is a word used a bit less often for pretty much the same thing, unlike in English, where there’s a difference: author expresses a professional and financial identity (there are no “unpublished authors,” unless maybe the manuscript is finished and the contract is signed), while a writer is someone pursuing an activity (published or not, paid or not, read or not).

And then there’s a Dichter, usually translated “poet” but meaning a creator of poetry in the grand sense. The verb dichten means “to write poetry, ” and a poem is a dichten-ed thing, a Gedicht, but dichten means more generally to write poetically and well. The good stuff. The writer as hero of the spirit. How do you say that in English? We don’t have heroes of the spirit.

At least not according to Grimm’s German Dictionary—the equivalent of the Oxford English Dictionary, and started by those same Brothers Grimm who brought us “Little Red Riding Hood.” It gloats that dichten means “to create poetically, filled with a higher intelligence,” and that “the word does not exist in French and English: they work around it with s’adonner à la poésie, faire des vers; to compose a poem, to make verses, to versify.” The OED can fire back all it wants—pleading that dight had “an extraordinary sense-development” in Middle English from its original “senses of literary dictation and composition,” to become “one of the most widely used words in the language”—but its efforts are in vain. From that whole extraordinary range of meanings we use exactly none anymore.

“To understand the word,” Grimm’s poetically goes on, “we must go back to an earlier time …” Dichten originally meant to write something down so it could be read or sung, something that had already been worked out in the mind (from the Latin dictare, “to say, to dictate”). It swerved into meaning the mental working-out, too, the originating creative act. A sixteenth-century saying already plays on the same double meaning that causes ambiguity in English: “A good enough rhyme-smith, but hardly a poet” (Reimschmiede genug, aber wenig Dichter). But from there, the word left the confines of verse. In German, you can still call someone a poet in the grand sense without consigning him to the poetry ghetto.

So what is a Dichter in prose? I have caved on occasion and translated Dichter as “poet,” in cases where the character in question may or may not be a poet (e.g., Robert Walser’s story “Letter from a Poet to a Gentleman”), or happens to be a poet even if that’s not really the point. Goethe was a poet, so the title of his autobiography, Dichtung und Wahrheit, can be translated as it usually is, Poetry and Truth, even though the book is not particularly about verse as opposed to other forms. His topic is actually Imagination and Truth, but imagination set down on paper. To put it anachronistically: Creative Writing and the Truth.

Sometimes, though, “poet” risks being downright misleading. A twentieth-century German writer named Uwe Johnson, known as the Dichter der beiden Deutschlands (the Dichter of both East and West Germany), wrote only prose. Call him the “poet of both Germanies” and people will think he’s a poet. He is more like “the voice of divided Germany,” or even “the bard,” despite being neither a songwriter nor Shakespeare. In English, we can get the grandeur (voice) or the job (writer, author, novelist), but not both.

There are cognates of dichten, from the same Latin dictare, but they never took on the same soaring spirit in English, at least since the demise of dight. Very much on the contrary. Our closest cognate, indite, “to put into words, write, compose, give literary form to,” was more or less completely swamped by what was once the same word, indict, “to write up charges, bring legal action against.” (Probably under interference from indicare, “to indicate, give evidence against”; and indicere, “to declare publicly,” compare Italian indicere, “to denounce.”) To translate Dichter as “inditer” won’t do. Even our least sarcastic Dichter is sarcastic about that: “Perhaps my best moments I never jot down; when they come I cannot afford to break the charm by inditing memoranda”—Walt Whitman.

Coincidentally, dicht in German also means “tight,” as in watertight or airtight (from Old Norse þéttr, apparently completely unrelated etymologically to dictare), and the verb dichten is also “to seal, caulk, make impermeable,” as well as “to make more dense or compact.” Ezra Pound played on the pun in his second most well-known slogan for what poetry does (after “Make it new”): dichten = condensare. An imagist manifesto in twenty characters: to write poetry is to condense and supercharge language. (Pound attributed the equation to the poet Basil Bunting “fumbling about with a German–Italian dictionary”; actually, Bunting knew what he was doing, and wasn’t exactly fumbling. Pound = condescendere.)

This may not be a less ambiguous definition of poetry, but it is a good challenge for the Dichters in our midst, in poetry or prose. Don’t just make it new: make it tight.

with admiration for the ones that read and feel read ..❤️

Amitabh Bachchan

[broomsticks]

some musings on my own stuff, little bit of a belated not-response to the national authors day tag game. also not a (self) rec list -- not necessarily what i’d consider my best work, or my highest statted things -- just ramblings!!!

my first fic: a kinda all over the place andromeda character study in ficlets! shoutout to @squidgilator (seriously have i recced flat out and to build a home enough? no? yeah thought so) for managing to convince me that was not completely rubbish and actually worth posting AND for this GOLDEN advice:

okay here's the secret: write a bunch of drabbles stick em together with some connective sentences tada!! fic

ilusm

my remadora DH au for remus lupin fest: still far and away the longest thing i’ve ever written! and if it’s not the hardest thing i’ve ever written it’s only because for my own sanity i am repressing all memory of the process of actually writing it lmao. my baby. @lunapwrites 🥺🥰

I'm In Here a dymm inspired-by bellatrix character study: truly i thought i was DONE writing fic for good, for ever, after rl fest — that one fried me for two full months straight — and then dymm bellatrix ate my brain. stole my heart. @krethes 😍😍😍

my first femslash, narlily double drabbles. the magic formula is apparently the joy of writing capital-I Imperfect female characters times the dopamine hit of writing fixed-wordcount fics, i think this might have been the first time i actually enjoyed writing something! okay enjoyed is a bit strong. didn't feel like i wanted to die the whole time maybe

on that note MAJOR props to the hpfc drabble prompts for somehow always making me write some really insane things:

this quintuple drabble peter character study - i'd been reading hp fic for what, two months, at that point, for reference 💀 i marvel at my own nerve sometimes lmao

triple drabble of sirius and coffee and neopronouns.

triple drabble of genderqueer luna and ravenclaw hagrid

bellatrix/rita (my tied fourth most written ship <3 <3)

are we even going to talk about the sister snake sex 😂😂😂

anyway writing fic for people has been one of my FAVORITE things. some memorable ones:

luna/ginny for @hawksquill's absolutely amazing Luna Lovegood and the Forgotten Circle

selective mutism daphne/theo for @thistlecatfics' Silent Garden

omg i wrote POETRY -- some fucky attempt at iambic pentameter and all XD -- villanelle for Andromeda Vincta Catenis

regulus/peter for @allalrightagain 😍🤩

draco/ginny microfics for @girl-with-goats' soulmate au masterpiece Viridescent

it's been super fun exploring people i am not:

disabled!remus wolfstar (eh about this one because it's maybe 10% of the fic i envisioned (hoped) it would be - go read @femme--de--lettres' amicus curiae or Pugface by @kenzlepuff instead)

ace!peter wolfstar (go read literally anything by @everythingbutcoldfire here)

a bill/fleur & victoire nb coming-out fic for out of the cupboard

definitely pushed some personal boundaries n shit:

sirius' humiliation kink fic 😬 another thing that's i couldn't quite take all the way/ is not quite the fic i wanted it to be but ... maybe someday, lmao. i’m not done with this concept i think

moonchaser hotel balcony sex - fluffy E smut is ... both easier and harder to write than dead dove smut hahahah

on that note blackcest has been so fucking fun to write:

she's dressed in black again for untagged fest

tonks joins the aurors andromeda/narcissa for cest fest

remus leaves tonks at her mother's the night of the battle of hogwarts, dubcon andromeda/dora tonks

black sisters, fairytales and forbidden fruit double drabble - so glad i impulse-entered this. comments i got on this were unreal

more in !!!! femslash ultra rare pairs !!!!

astoria/lily evans potter first fic on ao3!

angelina/minerva another first fic on ao3! truly how this one didn't already exist i have no idea

luna/andromeda second fic on ao3

charity/narcissa another second fic on ao3. charity begins at home... charity ends at home. hello hi it writes itself

charity/bellatrix first fic/ second work on ao3, inspired by some chaos in the saffics discord

minerva/hermione granger’s mum ahaha

anyway this might be fun to look back on ahaha i need to sort out my canonical tags, they’re a mess

my lil baby ao3 account is a year old today and a year ago the end of this month is when i posted my first fic and so i wanted to take the opportunity to share this essay: Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore on Writing on Your Own Terms.

When we write on our own terms, with all the specificity, nuance, complication, messiness, contradiction, emotion, confusion, weirdness, devastation, wildness and intimacy, when we write against the demand for closure or explication, we write against the canonical imperative, and instead write toward the people who might actually appreciate our work on its own terms. I mean we write toward our selves.

Over and over again we are told that in order to make our work accessible, we have to speak to an imagined center where the terms are still basically straight, white, male, and Christian. When we write on our own terms, and by this I mean when we reject the gatekeepers who tell us we must diminish our work in order for it to matter, we may be kept out of the centers of power and attention, this is for sure. And yet, if writing is what keeps us alive—and I mean this literally—if writing is what allows us to dream, to engage with the world, to say everything that it feels like we cannot say, everything that makes us feel like we might die if we say it, and yet we say it, so we can go on living—if this is what writing means, then we need to write on our own terms, don’t we?

Nothing is universal, not even the period at the end of this sentence. (…) Sure, we all experience rain, sun, water, earth. But as soon as we write about them, they change too. Try it. See if we can all agree about any of this. Eileen Myles writes, “As soon as I hit the keyboard I’m lying,” and we all know the truth in this.

Often writers ask me about how to write about people they know, what to keep in and what to keep out. And my first answer is always: write everything. Write it all. Especially the parts you are most worried about. You can decide later what to keep, but don’t hold yourself back, because then you’re censoring your work before it even has a chance to exist on the page. Before it has a chance to grow.

Maybe it’s about me, and maybe it’s about you. We are always in this text together, right? Maybe sometimes I’m writing into the gaps, and maybe sometimes I’m writing out of them. If I’m writing towards closure, but I never get there, isn’t this why we write? Not to close off, not to close in—an opening: this is what I’m after.

Sometimes I get lost in the text, and sometimes I know exactly where I’m going. Sometimes I know exactly where I’m going, but then I get lost. Language is a search for more language. To say what we can’t say. So we can say it.

Maybe I’m writing about how my body will never let go, and I don’t want to let go of my body. Maybe I’m writing about trauma, there it is again, I knew it would be here but I didn’t know where. There’s an inside, and an out. Writing is both.

[d-criss-news]

[UHQ] Abigail Barlow + Darren Criss. Photo by Scott Suchman.

All Is Bright Again: Inside The Kennedy Center’s Star-Studded 50th Anniversary Celebration Concert

Celebrating 50 years of world-class art, innovation, education and community, the Kennedy Center hosted a magical night of music, dance and even spoken word poetry for its 50th anniversary celebration concert on September 14 — and suddenly, to those of us in the audience, all felt right in the world.

The concert hall was electric from the star-studded lineup, with appearances ranging from first lady Dr. Jill Biden for opening remarks to Oscar- and Grammy-winning artist Common, who closed the show with an inspiring, uplifting two-song performance that included “Black America Again.” Artists like Kennedy Center Hip Hop Culture Council Member Robert Glasper and rapper D Smoke exuded musical relevance with “Common Sense” while guitarist Grammy Award-winning guitarist Keb’ Mo’ and Grammy-winning bassist Christian McBride honored musicians who came before them with Leadbelly’s “Black Betty.”

The audience roared for six-time Tony Award winner Audra McDonald as she gracefully stepped onstage to host this one-of-a-kind show directed and choreographed by Joshua Bergasse. But let it be known that this nearly three-hour production had something for everyone to enjoy, and more than enough for my desperate-for-live-concerts, music-loving soul.

If you have never seen the National Symphony Orchestra perform before, this was the night to develop an unwavering appreciation and totally swoon. Conductors JoAnn Falletta, Steven Reineke and Thomas Wilkins led this group with heaps of bright energy, filling the room with tranquility and light. Luckily for us, this also meant ample solos from the prodigious and expressive Taiwanese-Australian violinist Ray Chen, who wowed at every given moment and sent the audience into a collective chuckle when flirting with soul icon Bettye LaVette.

With the orchestra playing behind most of the night’s vocal performances, this Kennedy Center experience was elevated into unmatched, intimate concert territory. When Broadway and opera star Kelli O’Hara enchanted us with Sondheim’s “Take Me to the World” from “Evening Primrose,” I immediately got goosebumps that turned straight into happy tears when Darren Criss came onstage right after to serenade us with a new rendition of “I Dreamed a Dream” from “Les Misérables,” with just his guitar and smooth tenor voice to guide us.

The musical theatre geek in me was over the moon when Criss came back onstage minutes later to join TikTok sensations Emily Bear and Abigail Barlow for a duet of their song “Oceans Away” from their newly released album “The Unofficial Bridgerton Musical.” I followed the duo, known as Barlow & Bear, for eight months on the Internet as they wrote and composed the album right in front of our eyes in a myriad of encapsulating TikTok videos, so seeing them perform lyrics that have been stuck in my head for months for the first time in person was a real treat.

While it felt as though this celebration was highlighting luminaries of the present and future, it just as much recognized soulful powerhouses who have been performing for decades, such as jazz singer Dianne Reeves, who scatted and belted Duke Ellington’s “It Don’t Mean a Thing (If it Ain’t Got That Swing)” alongside McBride and Chen on the violin, and Lavette, who put tears in our eyes with her powerful cover of George Harrison’s “Blackbird.”

Among some of the powerhouse vocalists mentioned above, there was incredible tap dancing, intense ballet choreography with dramatic lifts, modern bluegrass and Americana vibes from Punch Brothers combined with powerful blues vocals from Lake Street Dive’s Rachael Price, and a moving spoken word piece called “Dignity as Currency” from Marc Bamuthi Joseph, vice president and artistic director of social impact at the Kennedy Center.

The evening ended on a high note — literally, from Broadway star Joshua Henry’s talented voice — with Common’s (and John Legend’s) brilliant Academy Award-winning song “Glory” from the movie “Selma.” While Common rapped in honor of the memory of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor and Trayvon Martin, among others, the cast from David Henry Hwang’s “Soft Power” sang the heart-clenching “glories” in the background.

Of course, there was nothing but respect and applause for the uplifting message and powerful tribute from this finale group. The praise may have only been louder when Henry had brought down the house moments earlier with a fiery rendition of Sam Cooke’s “A Change Is Gonna Come.”

The way these artists and musicians played off each other with such effortless musicality, you’d think this star-studded lineup performs together every night — the sign of a brilliantly curated grouping thanks to the production’s creative team. It’s hard to describe the warmth of the concert hall with just words, but if there’s more excellent programming where this came from, D.C. is in luck.

To check out more 50th anniversary celebration events at the Kennedy Center, visit kennedy-center.org.

[cassiusapologist]

Hi how are you doing? :) first of all i apologize if there is a link or info on your blog and i didnt see it because im on mobile but like.. what is this blog about? 😅 So much brutecass?? I love them so much, i love you so much for your art!! Thank you for existing <3 Because on tumblr there was practically nada about them so yeah im pretty much quite surprised to see so much content. But what do you focus on/what do you like and why perhaps if you dont mind? Im really curious. Also you said this was a sideblog. What is your main one? Do you have a sideblog for all your different interests? 😅 Thank you and have a wonderful day 🤗

hi! I don't have an about or post for what this blog is about, but it's basically just my brutecass sideblog! mostly I just wanted a low stakes space to post about them and chill without getting stressed out about whether or not it was fine to skip the story telling and draw them kissing or wondering if I was secretly disappointing anyone.

this is going to get way longer than I mean for it to get.

tbh, up until very recently, I didn't care much for cassius. this blog actually started with the intention of focusing on cassius and his role in brutus' life through a haunted house/gothic horror/greek tragedy framework, and it was strictly a story telling interest, but after five minutes I realized that I loved cassius a lot and there's a lot of interesting stuff happening with him historically that I had been overlooking, actually, and that's why my twitter bio says that I owe him ten bucks and a fancy dinner.

my first love has always been history: as a kid, I spent a lot of my free time reading historical non fiction texts. I don’t know how to love things halfway. if I find someone in history that grabs hold of my heart, I’ll sit in that space forever. I found machiavelli at 15, and eleven years later I still can’t shut up about him. brutus goes back further than that, and cassius occupies a similar space now. I have over ten years to catch up with on cassius lmao [as evidenced by my other blog, @diinadam, which rapidly descended into some kind of dead romans chaos]

as for brutecass specifically, it's like, oh my god. they knew each other as children. they knew each other up until they died. the part of the national's empire line that goes 'there's a line that goes all the way from my childhood to you.' the way that appian compares cassius to a gladiator against brutus as a philosopher. the dialogue shakespeare wrote between them makes me cry. I love tragedy. I love poetry. ‘for 2000 years the name of cassius has been tied to brutus.’ for 2000 years, your name hasn’t been alone. I think a lot about how they clashed and fought but picked each other anyway. brutus didn’t last the month after cassius died. he probably introduced cassius to his mother and his sisters when they were boys.

on a less serious note, I also just think they’re neat. I love a conspiracy to kill a tyrant!!

and to answer your question do not have sideblogs for all of my specific interests, brutecass is the only thing that has enough of a...... focus of interest, I guess, that I wanted to have a space separate from my main blog. 

my general history/literature/sometimes movies/part time art blog is @diinadam and my personal is @cassiusapologist!

have a nice day, anon!! 💞

[falsegoodnight]

this is part two of my december fic rec! this list encompasses the fics i’ve read from the 18th to the 28th!! it’s also my birthday today which makes it even more special! i can think of no better way to spend today than spreading positivity! :)

you can find part one of this month here

✰ there’s happiness because of you by @hadestyles | NR | 1k - (so soft, tender, and beautiful!! rori’s writing amazes me always! and this was written for my birthday because they’re an angel <3)

Thursday mornings have always been their favourite.

✰ and it gets colder and colder by @hadestyles | E | 2K - (another rori fic!! once again, beautiful prose! made me feel emotional!)

Harry wants to take care of Louis. Things take a turn.

✰ make my wish come true by @soldouthaz | M | 3k - (drabble from this series) (so cute, lovely, soft, amazing!!! made my heart so happy! this is also dedicated to me which :’) sarah angel chant)

The taste of Christmas cookies fresh out of the oven and peppermint hot chocolate is still heavy on his tongue. Harry’s sweater provides some warmth and it still smells of him from before he left for his internship two weeks ago, but it’s nowhere near the feeling of his arms wrapped around him. Louis shivers despite the blankets.

✰ spirit meets the bones by @hadestyles​ | E | 3k - (i had to edit to add this because rori wrote another beautiful little fic for me :’) beautiful prose, beautiful emotions, so so so beautiful, gosh. pure poetry!)

The action shouldn’t fill his eyes with tears but it does. These small gestures mean the world to him. A steady reminder that Harry does notice all the tiny, seemingly insignificant details that make Louis him.

✰ 29 Blows by @quelquesetoiles | E | 4k - (super hot but also so cute!! love the concept of the birthday tradition in this one!!!)

For over a decade now, Harry has had his little tradition. It wouldn't be a Louis Tomlinson birthday without his best friend finding new, ingenious ways to make his life more difficult.

It's cute, it's funny, it's theirs, until Harry takes it a step too far on Louis' 29th birthday.

✰ calm me down (before i sleep) by @erodiansunflower | E | 7k - (a pwp and super hot, but also super cute??)

Prompt 24: Harry is a sex shop owner that has a crush on Louis, the shy customer who flirts with him while buying cute buttplugs, lace panties, and collars. One day, Louis asked Harry to help him put on a corset (they end up fucking in the dressing room). Things escalate quickly from there, so they start seeing each other seriously while trying other sex stuff.

✰ You’re Never Alone With a Moon This Bright by @helloamhere | T | 8k - (part one of this series) (WOW this was incredible and i am ENTRANCED! this author is an all-time favorite and idk why it took me so long to get to this series but i’m here now!! and loving it!!)

Louis was a monster. But sometimes, even monsters get a Christmas.

✰ Be a Good Girl For Me by @sincetheywere16and18 | E | 9k - (really hot and cute!!!)

Based on this prompt: “AU where Harry is Louis’ older brother’s best friend. He catches Louis dancing around his room in panties and blackmails him, saying that louis has to do anything he says or else he’ll tell Louis’ family that he wears girly underwear. Secretly soft for him, Harry gives him easy tasks and uses the whole thing to spend more time with Louis. Eventually, the orders begin to escalate and Harry teases Lou about his secret, making Louis shy and embarrassed. Louis loves the attention though, and forms a crush on his brother’s best friend. Lots of feminization, secret relationship, and enemies to lovers. Thank you!”

✰ it’s hard to fight naked by @loustarlight | E | 11k - (LOVED this so much!!! a big fan of enemies/flatmates to lovers especially when there’s a walk-in involved!!)

Louis leaves dirty socks on the couch, Zayn does assignments while he's high, and Harry is hopelessly crushing on his roommate.

✰ Sweet Scary Creatures by @specklelouis | M | 13k - (jurassic park au!! so cute and fun!!! loved louis’ character growth in this in particular!)

They stare into each other's eyes for a while until Louis remembers this is too intimate and looks at Harry’s hands on his thigh. It spans a big portion of his thigh and Louis has always been insecure about how thick he is, so he loves that Harry has huge, dustbin hands that hold him and makes him feel smaller, safer.

✰ hereafter (ad infinitum) by @larryent | M | 13k - (this was absolutely beautiful!! the writing was incredible, the contrast between the old timeline and new one impeccable, and the letters!!! love them!! and vampire harry is always a win!)

"A legacy is every life you’ve touched. And you’ve touched mine twice."

On the coast of San Francisco in 2024 is when Harry falls in love all over again.

✰ Believe Me When I Say You Have It All by @helloamhere | T | 20k - (part two of this series) (loved this even more than it’s predecessor. not to be dramatic, but i’d die for the louis and harry in this series. this whole world has my heart)

Harry had never faced anything in this forest that had actually succeeded in scaring him. Louis was no exception.

✰ Yours to Lose by @loulicate-recs | M | 26k - (so cute and soft and sweet!!! louis and harry were both angels and IAN <3 little cutie!!! so proud of you hanis!)

Louis always gets distracted with his mummy duty and he eventually catches Harry's attention.

✰ But It’s Useless by @thinlinez | E | 26k - (this put such a big smile on my face!! so cute and lovely!! louis was a relatable and adorable menace and harry was a smitten idiot but they both got there in the end!!)

Omega Louis would never guess that he would be trying to hack into Alpha Harry's Wifi. That is until everything changes when he tries to get to know his enemy.

✰ Stuck On You by Writewhatiwant | E | 34k - (so so sweet! loved the aspect of stickers in this fic and how louis found joy in them!! really loved how both louis and harry (especially harry) grew throughout this story and how they found peace at the end!)

Louis’ life revolves around his stickers. Harry’s life revolves around his job. The universe has decided their worlds should revolve around each other.

✰ smoke between your teeth by @soldouthaz | E | 37k - (i think everyone knows how much i adore sarah and her fics but this one just might be a new favorite! loved all the psych stuff, the pining, the rom-com worthy confession <3 brilliant!)

Louis tries to stop his addiction to cigarettes and discovers he's been addicted to Harry for much, much longer.

✰ Your Life Worth Walking on a Bright Morning by @helloamhere | T | 38k - (part three of this series) (it just keeps getting better and better <3 so comforting and consistent and beautiful!)

For all its complexity, Louis sometimes reminded himself, life could always be simplified into a series of forks in the road. Even overwhelmingly big things were survivable when you broke them down to their choice. One path or the other, left or right.

✰ On The Edge by @zanniscaramouche | E | 47k - (so crazy good!! zanni is always amazing me!! loved the ice skating, the hockey, the misunderstandings, the multi-faced and beautiful characters and relationships - all so perfect!)

Figure skating is as vital to Louis’ identity as his DNA, so when his skates go missing right before the last Olympics of his career there may be a meltdown only vanilla bath salts can fix. Well, that and the stupidly charming hockey player he met on the plane.

Harry’s too old to be the wonder kid and too young to be taken seriously in the NHL. As an alternate thrown in at the last second, he fights to prove himself on the national team at the largest sporting event known to man. Or he will, once he gets off this flight and can focus on something other than the fussy figure skater and his stunningly blue eyes.

A baggage mix-up skews both of their perfectly laid plans for gold, forcing the two to work together as the clock clicks towards the minute they’re expected to shine on centre ice.

✰ made for lovin’ you by @cuddlerlouis | E | 53k - (loved this so much!! touch depri/accidental bonds are my favorite and this was no exception!!! the characterizations, the tension, the misunderstandings, the tenderness, the fluff!!! so good!)

A quick, horny decision ruins Louis’ summer plans, but may also lead to unexpected discoveries. Featuring the road trip of dreams, misunderstandings, and a bit of fate.

✰ social cues by @outropeace | E | 56k - (so fucking good!! the slow burn in this was impeccable!!! pair it with friends with benefits, mutual pining, angst, misunderstandings... amazing <3)

To Harry, Louis was becoming as tangible and essential as music in his life. He still was a mystery but at the same time, he was one of the most real things Harry had. He just hoped he could live up to the image Louis probably had in his mind of him.

He could play the part, after all, what was published of him wasn’t as detached from reality. He didn’t think of himself as a rockstar cliche, although he couldn't deny he did sleep around, partied a lot, and did some drugs. But then again, wasn’t that what the majority of his friends back in his hometown were doing at college?

Harry wanted to impress Louis, he didn’t want to disappoint or leave his expectations unfulfilled, so he’d give him the full rockstar experience.

It was a very simple plan, what could possibly go wrong?

✰ dripping like spider milk by @raspberryoatss | E | 64k - (pip amazing me with her talent? a common occurrence. this was so wonderfully written and so well done!! loved the characterizations, the dynamic, the angst, the miscommunication, the pining, the HUMOR!!! it was all so amazing!!)

When he sees the alpha, his brown hair curling around the top of his neck and his broad back that’s filled out over the past couple of years, Louis freezes for a moment. The alpha turns around, Louis’ surprised expression mirrored on his own for a fraction of a second before he schools it into a big, yet shy grin and a wave of his huge hand. With his nostrils flared, Louis knows that he can smell him, too.

They never hired alphas, except for—

“Harry.”

✰ a taste of freedom and sweetened passion by @tomlinvelvetfics | M | 74k - (okay technically haven’t finished reading this one yet but i want to get this up early and i already know this is amazing because it’s LATE and she’s incredible!!! and, i mean, anne of green gables?? abo?? best birthday gift ever!! will be spending the day reading this in bliss <3)

“Are you mad?” he explodes, throwing his hands up, groaning. “I was so, so close to reaching my goal, and your stupid, stalking ass had to creep up on me, hm?”

Harry is trying to keep his laughter in, walking closer to him, eyes soft. He doesn’t like the way those eyes make him feel, an odd, dangerous mix of nervous and flustered, so he bends down to pick up the books, raising an eyebrow when Harry growls in protest.

“I wanted to pick them up for you,” the alpha pouts, and Louis glares at him, getting into position and lowering the pile of yellowed pages over the top of his head.

“I’m a functional human being, thank you very much,” he grits out as he begins to walk and mentally count the amount of steps he takes. One, two, three, for heaven’s sake Harry fuck off!, four, five. He doesn’t let himself be distracted as the alpha walks along with him despite the slow pace, green eyes focused on him in a way that would, in any other cases, compelled him to throw a book in the alpha’s face.

He doesn’t know why he doesn’t do it and certainly doesn’t want to think about the reason, whatever it might be.

If you read any of these lovely fics, remember to leave kudos and comment to show your appreciation!

*if i made any errors, please let me know :)

enjoy!

[theradioghost]

Do you have any podcast recs that are super easy for those of us with audio processing problems? For me specifically that means one voice (or maybe two if they’re very distinct) and minimal complexity in the soundscaping, though if you have recs that don’t fit those that you think might apply to other people w/ different audio processing issues you can talk about those too! :)

I can certainly try! I feel as though I should put it out there that I often have a difficult time gauging where a podcast sits re: audio processing/HOH listeners; the literal entirety of my day job is being good at telling what people are saying in audio, and my own audio processing problems mostly just result in my near-inability to keep up with actual plays, so if any of these are misjudgements on those terms I apologize in advance.

* means that I know there are also transcripts available for the podcast in question!

SAYER: scifi dark comedy/horror. In a morally questionable tech corporation’s moonbase facilities, advanced artificial intelligence SAYER directs employees about their daily routines; this then turns over time into possibly the best story about AI I’ve ever heard. Especially in the first three seasons, virtually all speaking is done by one voice. (Caveat that a few other characters come in later, and they’re actually all voiced by one guy with different filters, but the filters are pretty distinct and characters tend to identify themselves by default at the beginning of every conversation.)

*The Cryptonaturalist: comforting supernatural folksiness. The titular expert on all things strange and wonderful reads poetry, admires nature, and talks about wonderful creatures like foxes that live within library shelves, stick insects that camouflage themselves as whole trees, salamanders that swim in parking lot asphalt, and Owls.

*The Hidden Almanac: comforting supernatural weirdness. Hagiographer, avid gardener, and Mysterious Dude In Plague Doctor Getup known as Reverend Mord gives tidbits of the history of his strange and fantastical world, along with gardening advice. Sometimes his tequila-swigging accidental necromancer best friend coworker Pastor Drom shows up. Written by fantasy author Ursula Vernon and mostly voiced by her husband Kevin. Extremely relaxing to listen to; the show ended last year but they put out five-minute episodes three times a week for eight years so there’s plenty of it. The first year or so actually doesn’t appear on most podcatchers so maybe check out the website.

Everything Is Alive: poignant, heartfelt interviews with inanimate objects. While there’s a different object featured each episode, it’s mostly just them and the interviewer, plus occasional phone calls with an expert on some subject brought up during the interview. Hits so much harder than you could possibly imagine given the summary. You WILL be upset about a can of off-brand cola.

*Quid Pro Euro: bizarre comedy mockumentary. A satire of the European Union in the style of a set of instructional tapes for EU employees made in the ‘90s, predicting what the EU would look like in the 21st century. Their predictions are somewhat off. Only one voice and delightfully it is Felix Trench. I don’t know anything about the EU but I still think it’s hilarious.

*Glasgow Ghost Stories: spooky supernatural. A resident of Glasgow is unexpectedly able to see the many ghosts that reside in the city -- but the ghosts have started to notice her too, and not all of them are friendly. A beautiful and atmospheric single-voice show; plus the feed also contains the very good miniseries Tracks.

*Palimpsest: poetic and haunting. An anthology series about young women experiencing supernatural happenings, each 10-episode season tells a different story in monologue (I think there are literally two episodes with other voices in them). Poignant, gorgeous, and sometimes heartbreakingly sad in the best way. In season one Anneliese wonders about the strange neighbors at her new apartment. In season two, Ellen takes a new job as companion to a supposed fairy princess imprisoned in a strange showroom in turn of the century America. In season three, former codebreaker Josie begins to see the spirits of the dead on the streets of London during the Blitz.

*Within the Wires: alternate history scifi found footage. From a world where a calamitous global war resulted in the installation of a new Society where nations and family ties are banned, an anthology of voices telling their stories. Each season is a single voice. Season one, a set of relaxation tapes deliver unexpected instructions to a government prisoner in a strange medical facility. In sSeason two, a series of museum exhibit guides spin out the mystery of two artists and their work. In season three, a government employee dictates notes to his secretary and begins to suspect a plot. In season four, the traveling leader of a secretive cultlike commune leaves sermons for her followers, and instructions for her daughter.

*Alice Isn’t Dead: lesbian americana roadtrip weird horror. Keisha’s wife Alice was missing, presumed dead. Now Keisha is a trucker, traveling the vast American emptiness to seek her out; but she’s about to become embroiled in the same vast secret war that may have drawn away her wife, and she’s not alone on the roads. Starts with one voice, adds a new one each season for a total of three. Also is finished.

*Station Blue: psychological horror. Matthew takes a job as the lone caretaker of an Antarctic research station for several months. This goes about as well as you’d predict. Very much a slow burn, strange, brooding horror of isolation. Heavy themes of mental illness based on the creator’s experiences of bipolar disorder. 

*Mabel: dark, poetic faerietale horror. Live-in caretaker Anna attempts to contact the absent granddaughter of her elderly employer, the lone resident of a strange and ancient house in Ireland. A love story, a haunted house story, a fairy tale with teeth. This one might be hit or miss; it sometimes tends to the abstract a bit, and there’s more soundscaping and some other occasional voices besides the main two protagonists. Definitely worth trying out, though, this is absolutely an underappreciated gem.

*Janus Descending: tragic scifi horror. Two researchers, Peter and Chell, travel alone to a distant planet to survey the ruins of its extinct civilization. Unfortunately, they discover exactly how that civilization died out. Excellent if you like movies like Alien, and also being extremely sad. Only two voices. Really unique story structure: it’s told via the two protagonists’ logs of the events, but you hear Chell’s logs in order, and Peter’s logs in reverse, with their perspectives alternating. The result is a tragedy where technically you know the ending from the start, but it’s told so cleverly that just what happened and how remains a tantalizing, tense, heartbreaking mystery right until the end.

*I Am In Eskew: poetic, surreal horror. Only two voices and few sound effects. David is a man trapped in the twisting, malevolent city of Eskew, where the rain always falls, streets seem to lead the same way twice, and nothing can be trusted. Riyo is an investigator, making her way through rumors and questions in search of a man long missing and a place that seems not to exist. Maybe my favorite horror media ever? Deeply disturbing and yet even the most awful things are somehow beautiful. Like if Lynch, Escher and Mieville had a terrible, wonderful baby.

*Tides: contemplative hard scifi. When biologist Dr. Eurus is wrecked alone on a distant alien world shaped by deadly tidal forces, her struggle to survive also becomes a meditative exploration of the ecosystem around her, and a recognition that here, she is the alien. Mostly it’s Dr. Eurus; sometimes you hear from her coworkers. It’s got Julia Schifini, what’s not to love?

*Midnight Radio: ghost story/romance. A 1950s radio host who broadcasts a late-night show to her small hometown begins to receive letters from a listener and respond to them on air. I wrote this! It has a total of three voice actors and virtually no soundscaping. I promise it’s good.

[helleanorlance]

It’s National poetry month and I want you all to know that I do not know as much about poetry as I should, but I absolutely love Emily Dickinson. Not just for her poetry, although I absolutely love her poems and think they’re some of the best. But also just get a a person. She was a recluse but still loved children and would send them cookies and things in a basket that she lowered down from her window. She took to wearing white, for reasons that we can only guess at. She was such a prolific writer, and wrote in a way that was completely uncharacteristic off the time but paved the way for a lot of poetry, especially poetry by women. I just think she’s fascinating.

[dk-thrive]

Thank God for the poets who teach our blinkered eyes to see these gifts the world has given us, and what we owe it in return.

When the poet Amanda Gorman stepped to the lectern at President Biden’s inauguration, she faced a much-diminished crowd of masked people on the National Mall, but she was speaking directly to the heart of a bruised nation:

Let the globe, if nothing else, say this is true: That even as we grieved, we grew, That even as we hurt, we hoped, That even as we tired, we tried.

Ms. Gorman’s poem — addressed to “Americans, and the World” — was timeless in that way of the most necessary poems, but it was more than just timeless. After a year of losses both literal and figurative, she offered a salve that soothed, however briefly, our broken hearts and our broken age.

Poets have always given voice to our losses at times of national calamity. Walt Whitman’s “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d” is an elegy for Abraham Lincoln. Langston Hughes’s “Mississippi — 1955” came in direct response to the murder of Emmett Till. Denise Levertov wrote one poem after another after another to protest the war in Vietnam. In 2002, Billy Collins delivered a memorial poem for the victims of the Sept. 11 attacks before a special joint meeting of Congress.

The poems inspired by Black Lives Matter are almost too numerous to count, and their ranks continue to grow, in spite of the personal cost of “chasing words / like arrows inside the knotted meat between my / shoulder blades,” as Tiana Clark writes in “Nashville.”

Many Americans, probably a vast majority of Americans, feel they can get along just fine without poetry. But tragedy — a breakup, a cancer diagnosis, a sudden death — can change their minds about that, if only because the struggle to find words for something so huge and so devastating can be overwhelming. “Again and again, this constant forsaking,” Natasha Trethewey calls it in her poem “Myth.” [...]

Then I remembered Auden’s “Musée des Beaux Arts,” a poem she taught us late in her last year, when her voice was already growing fainter, quavering until she swallowed again:

About suffering they were never wrong, The Old Masters: how well they understood Its human position: how it takes place While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along

About suffering Auden was also not wrong, and through many seasons of grief in all the years since I was 18, I have remembered that poem.

Nevertheless, as the poets remind us, too, suffering is not our only birthright. Life is also our birthright. Life and love and beauty. “When despair for the world” is all we can feel, as Wendell Berry puts it in “The Peace of Wild Things,” the world itself — with its wood drakes and its blue herons “who do not tax their lives with forethought / of grief” — may be our greatest solace.

The poets are forever telling us to look for this kind of peace, to stuff ourselves with sweetness, to fill ourselves up with loveliness. They remind us that “there are, on this planet alone, something like two million naturally occurring sweet things, / some with names so generous as to kick / the steel from my knees,” as Ross Gay notes in “Sorrow Is Not My Name.”

We are a species in love with beauty. In springtime you can drive down any rural road in this part of country — probably in any part of the country — and you will find a row of daffodils blooming next to the shabbiest homesteads and the rustiest trailers. Often they are blooming next to no structure at all, ghostly circles around long-vanished mailboxes, a bright line denoting a fence row where no fence now stands. The daffodils tell us that though we might be poor, we are never too poor for beauty, to find a way to name it while we are still alive to call the gorgeous world by its many generous names.

For isn’t our own impermanence the undisputed truth that lurks beneath all our fears and all our sorrows and even all our pleasures? “Life is short, though I keep this from my children,” writes Maggie Smith in “Good Bones.” “Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine / in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways.”

Carpe diem is the song the poets have ever sung, and it is our song, too. “I think this is / the prettiest world — so long as you don’t mind / a little dying,” Mary Oliver writes in “The Kingfisher.”

This April is the 25th anniversary of National Poetry Month, and it arrives in the midst of a hard year. Last April brought lockdowns and rising infections, but we didn’t know last April just how much harder the year was about to become. We know now. And despite the helpful treatments that have emerged, despite the rising vaccination rates, despite the new political stability and the desperately needed help for a struggling economy, it is hard to trust that the terrors are truly receding.

We know now how vulnerable we are. We understand now that new terrors — and old terrors wearing new guises — will always rise up and come for us.

Thank God for our poets, here in the mildness of April and in the winter storms alike, who help us find the words our own tongues feel too swollen to speak. Thank God for the poets who teach our blinkered eyes to see these gifts the world has given us, and what we owe it in return.

—Margaret Renkl, from “Thank God for the Poets” in New York Times, April 5, 2021 

[koiotic]

The Fire Nation becomes a democracy (maybe the real political restructuring was the friends we made along the way)

I have no impulse control so I wrote a thing based on my own post 

Tagging @dreyri-infinity-aldranaris because they commented on my original post and it gave me two years of serotonin 

��——

“The war’s over.”

Katara blinked. “What?”

“War’s over,” Sokka repeated blankly.

“What?” Her voice cracked a little, but he just held up the piece of paper in his hand, looking a little dazed.

“People were yelling about it when I went to buy food. Apparently someone beat us to taking down Ozai.”

“Who?” Aang cut in before she could ask, disbelief clear on his face.

Sokka took a deep breath, then reread the paper in his hands like he needed to double check. “Zuko.”

Katara laughed, and she was aware it sounded a little unhinged. “No way.”

With a small shrug, he passed her the paper. ‘Firelord Ozai was removed from power by his son, the banished crown prince Zuko. The new Firelord ordered the removal of Fire Nation troops from all foreign territories and has started peace negotiations. There have been discussions of a large scale change to the Fire Nation’s governance.”

“This... This is... What?”

“This...” Aang hesitated, then glanced up almost hopefully. “This is good? I think?”

“So what do we do?” Katara asked.

“We could go talk to him?” Aang suggested, far too optimistically for her taste.

“Aang, he hunted us! This could be a trap!”

“But what if it isn’t?”

“Either way,” Sokka cut in, “I want to know what in La’s name is happening.”

•••

“We’re making it a democracy,” Zuko said for what felt like the millionth time. The advisors were still staring at him like he had two heads.

“But- but your majesty, we can’t ju- just do that!”

“Why?”

There was more spluttering, but no one seemed to have an answer. One of the advisors buried his head in his hands.

“Well, if no one has any more objections, that’s sorted then.”

•••

Sokka was honestly still expecting this to be a huge joke and/or trap, but no one started shooting fire when they landed in one of the gardens. The gardens of the Fire Nation royal palace. In the Fire Nation. Which was inhabited by firebenders.

But no fire yet, so that was at least a plus.

There was a very high-pitched “hi!” and then a blur of pink was cartwheeling towards them, followed much more slowly by a girl in black, who seemed far less enthused to see them.

“You must be the avatar, the waterbender and the asshole with a boomerang,” the girl in black said, a tiny trace of a smirk on her lips.

“The asshole with a boomerang?” Sokka asked, half offended half amused.

“Nice to meet you!” The pink blur announced, stopping in front of Appa. She was a girl, looking around the same age as the other, but radiating excitement and enthusiasm like her life depended on it. “I’m Ty Lee, and this is Mai!”

She slung an arm around Mai’s shoulder ignoring the other’s glower.

“Hi,” Katara said, a little faintly. “Uh, Katara, Sokka and Aang. We came to talk to Zuko. Sorry, who are you?”

“The royal guards,” Mai deadpanned.

“Cool,” Aang said after a beat. “Um, is Zuko here?”

Ty Lee shook her head, braid swinging around wildly. “He’s in a meeting right now, but you could come have tea with us while you wait!”

“What she means,” Mai drawled, “is that she wants you to get off the bison so she can pet it.”

———

As it turned out, there didn’t appear to be a trap. Ty Lee seemed way too enamoured with Appa to attack them, and Mai didn’t seem inclined to do much at all. The two girls led them to a table in an alcove and even sipped their tea own tea first; Sokka was fairly sure that meant it wasn’t poisoned. If it was, that was some serious dedication to killing them.

“Would you like some coffee?” Ty Lee asked.

“What’s coffee?”

“No idea, but Zuko’s been drinking it and he hasn’t slept in two days. It’s pretty good!”

“No thanks,” Sokka said quickly, before Aang could respond. He was hyperactive enough on good old fashioned sugar in his tea.

“So...” Katara said after an awkward pause. “Zuko’s the Fire Lord now.”

“Yep!” Ty Lee said brightly.

“Okay. Right. Cool. But... how? And why?” Sokka possibly sounded a little frenzied, but that wasn’t the issue right now.

“I believe,” Mai said evenly, “his exact words were ‘fuck it, I’m ending the war’.”

Aang blinked. “So he... just did that?”

“I thought you of all people would know that Zuko never gives up.” Mai shrugged. “When we were kids, I asked him for a knife and he spent three weeks making one from scratch.”

Ty Lee giggled. “We still haven’t told him she just wanted him to pass her a knife at dinner.”

Sokka was having a hard time reconciling the image of Angry Jerk Zuko with the absolute dork being described to him.

“You grew up with him?” He asked, mostly to have something else to think about. And also for the possibility of blackmail worthy information.

“We were best friends!” Ty Lee chirped.

“-with his sister,” Mai finished dryly. “Actually, you’re probably lucky she’s out at the moment.”

“Is she worse than him?” Katara asked, then seemed to remember she probably shouldn’t be insulting the new Fire Lord in the Fire Palace of the Fire Nation. Did Sokka mention the fire?

Ty Lee laughed again. “Azula’s great, as long as you don’t do, say or be anything that annoys her. Like talking to her too much. Or breathing too loud. Or standing too close to her. Or not telling her that she’s the best, smartest, most amazing person ever enough.”

“She’s a bitch,” Mai said blankly. “I like her so much.”

Was everyone in the Fire Nation insane? Was Zuko actually the most normal Fire Nation person they knew?

“She sounds nice,” Aang said, a little awkwardly.

“She is!” Ty Lee agreed. “She only threatened to kill me once today! That’s a record!”

He caught Katara’s eye across the table, and tried to silently communicate ‘what the actual fuck is happening?’. She sent back a helpless shrug.

Sokka had never been happier to see Zuko.

The new Fire Lord appeared a moment later, and Sokka almost didn’t recognise him. Thank the spririts, the ponytail was gone. Well, not really, but there was more hair around it. Looking at it no longer made Sokka want to pin him down and fix that spirits forsaken hairstyle. He was wearing what was probably Fire Nation royal clothing, but it looked like it had been at least a two days since he last slept.

“It’s a democracy now,” he said, and then seemed to process the three new people in front of him. “Oh, fuck.”

Aang gave a little wave.

“Uh, I’m really sorry? For hunting you and all that?” Zuko looked like he was expecting someone to kill him, and wasn’t strongly opposed to the idea.

“What do you mean it’s a democracy?” Sokka cut in, as the last few seconds started being processed in his brain.

“Oh,” Zuko blinked. “The Fire Nation. I made it a democracy.”

“Wait, you can do that?” Katara asked.

Zuko gave a small shrug. “Well there’s nothing to say I can’t.”

Sokka considered himself to be very eloquent. He was a smart guy, a hobbyist in poetry, and generally great with words. “Dude, what the fuck?”

“Do you have a problem with democracy?” For a second, Angry Jerk Zuko was back.

“No!” Sokka almost yelled. “Democracy is great, but what the fuck is happening?”

“I... made the Fire Nation a democracy?”

“No. We gathered that much. How in La’s name are you even the Fire Lord?”

“I’m not the Fire Lord,” Zuko said slowly. “I’m the head of a democratic government.”

Sokka briefly considered screaming, then shelved that thought for a later date.

“How did you become leader of a democratic government?”

“Oh, I fought my dad.”

His head was starting to hurt. He had a feeling that wouldn’t be going away any time soon.

“Why did you just switch sides? You were yelling at us about honour like, last week.”

“Well I kind of realised that hunting the avatar was kind of stupid, and that I may have been misinterpreting the message my dad was trying to send.”

“Which was?”

“Well, he said ‘you’re banished until you find the avatar’ but apparently that means ‘I’m hoping you die on this suicide mission and I never see you again so I can make your sister crown princess’.”

And that... that was a lot to process. There was a beat of silence, then Aang chimed in. “Are you currently in the market for a friend?”

“A what?”

If Sokka had known all it took was a hug from a tiny airbender to render Zuko completely nonfunctional, the past few months could have been a lot easier. Aang practically vaulted over the table and caught Zuko in a hug, and the firebender looked rapidly between him and the others with a look of abject confusion.

“Great,” Mai sighed, “you broke him.”

Ty Lee perked up almost immediately. “Are we allowed to hug Zuko now?”

“No!” Zuko managed to get out, a little strangled.

“I’m your dad now,” Aang declared, clinging on staunchly even when Zuko tried to shake him off.

“No one is my dad!”

“Then I’ll be your grandad!”

“My grandfather also tried to kill me!”

“I’ll be your great grandfather!”

“That was Sozin!”

“Your other great grandfather-“

“Please let go of me.”

“Respect your elders, young man!”

“You’re, like, ten!”

Sokka glanced over to Katara again, but to his horror, he recognised the look on her face. “Katara, no-“

“Katara, yes-“

“Please, don’t-“

“We’re-“

“No, we’re not!”

“We’re keeping him, Sokka.”