#trumped my ability to express myself

[phagodyke]

see I get its abt repression and letting that bury u alive but theres still time it doesnt have to be like this etc !! and it does that powerfully. but I've just. never been repressed or closeted in that specific kind of sense. dysphoria has never manifested like that for me... I kind of feel like social pressures esp gender related ones didn't exert the same force on me growing up that they did on a lot of ppl I know (and still don't now) bc I never fully understood them or was excluded for various reasons. but man. fucking rough for ppl who did/do still feel that way 💔

[mrs-stans]

Meet Sebastian Stan, the actor who plays Donald Trump in The Apprentice

From Gossip Girl to Marvel Studios, to more independent productions: Sebastian Stan's career has been a roller coaster ride. During his visit to the Deauville American Film Festival, Vogue met the actor, who at 42 years old won a Hollywood Rising-Star Award.

BY LOLITA MANG

On October 9, Sebastian Stan will be Donald Trump in The Apprentice. Some know him for his role as Carter Baizen in Gossip Girl. Others, for that of the Winter Soldier in Marvel productions. But recently, the American actor, of Romanian origin, has ventured into more independent fiction, which sheds a new light on his career. At the Deauville American Film Festival, he came to present A Different Man by Aaron Schimberg, in which he plays Edward, a young disabled actor who decides to change his appearance to, he believes at the time, improve his life. On the contrary, this transformation marks the beginning of his fall. An antagonist role such as he has long played on our screens, and which he continues in The Apprentice, presented in May 2024 at the Cannes Film Festival, and directed by filmmaker Ali Abbasi. So many elements that made us want to talk with the 42-year-old actor during his visit to Normandy, where he was awarded the Hollywood Rising-Star Award. As proof of the new direction taken in his career, today considered by the proponents of European cinema, perhaps, let's confess, more snobbish than their American compatriots.

Vogue. Gossip Girl, The Covenant, The Apprentice or even Captain America: The Winter Soldier … Your filmography is full of antagonists!

Sebastian Stan: A lot of things came to me, other roles, I pursued them. What I am certain of is that I never wanted just one type of role. I wouldn't go so far as to say that I refuse the more traditional hero roles, which I also find very interesting, even difficult in some ways. But it's true, I've always been curious about the idea of playing complex characters, full of flaws. Sometimes, they are the antagonists. Often even! What interests me in human nature is the duality. We can be extremely good to each other, as we can become horribly evil. Life is more complex than that, there are not good guys on one side, and bad guys on the other. Each of us is capable of the best as well as the worst. The antagonists, in my films, offered a great potential for acting that I enjoyed exploring.

Even Edward, your character in A Different Man, seems consumed by envy.

Probably the most complicated character I've ever played! But he's still so realistic in so many ways. I was just talking about this: I hope a lot of people get a chance to see this movie because it's really about acceptance and truth. Someone asked me what I think are the most important human characteristics. I said: values, the relationship we have with ourselves, and how we treat others. When I look at younger generations growing up today, especially with social media, people are almost forced to be followers. Fewer and fewer people are brave enough to express their voices in a unique way to fight against conformity. When you look at a character like Edward, you understand that better. We've all lied to ourselves at some point in our lives. We've all wanted things we couldn't have. We've all envied the person next to us. I wouldn't go so far as to say that this film is a fable, but it has this ability to make us look inside ourselves, and ask ourselves: "What makes me different?" Rather than trying to be things that we are not.

For the first time, with A Different Man, you are putting on the producer's shoes. Why?

I found myself much more invested in the film. It was a very unique experience, which I had not anticipated, I must admit. When I met Aaron Schimberg, the director, at the very beginning of the process, we formed a great connection, and we tried to sell the film together here and there. He welcomed me with open arms in this collaboration, included me in all the conversations about the feasibility of the project. For example, I was the one who suggested that he watch the film Julie (in 12 chapters) because I think Renate Reinsve is incredible in it. I was even able to help with the prosthetics that are used in the film, as well as on the shooting. Let's be honest: it was a complicated shoot, to do in a very short time. Only about twenty days. As an actor, I worked harder, I didn't count my hours. As a producer, I helped Aaron Schimberg make the film as he had in mind. I learned a lot from A Different Man, that's for sure.

Does this mean you're going to try it again?

Oh yes! There are several projects that I have my eye on at the moment… But it’s very difficult to make films, which you probably know here in France. A film like A Different Man, honestly, if A24 studios hadn’t intervened, I’m not sure we would have managed to make it. The United States is not like France or the rest of Europe: there is not the same support allocated to the film industry from institutions. There are no dedicated funds, it’s up to you to manage on your own. When you fight for a film, in addition to playing in it as an actor, it’s both exhausting, but terribly rewarding.

It’s a role for which you were awarded a prize at the Berlinale , and tonight, you’re going to receive a Hollywood Rising-Star Award here in Deauville. At 42! That’s joyful!

I know! I'm a 42-year-old emerging actor, I should say that in my speech... The thing with this industry is that you're constantly growing. It's true, I'm 42, but for the first time, I feel like I'm learning very important things, that I wish I had known much earlier! It was a strange year for me, between the Berlinale, the Cannes Film Festival, Deauville ... For my two films, The Apprentice and A Different Man, I felt real support from the European festivals, very prestigious ones at that. It was very special for me who had never experienced that before. And then I have immense respect for European cinema, which for me is synonymous with real work and authenticity. Here, if people don't like the films, they're not afraid to say so! So that my films have been so well received here, it means a lot.

You are European yourself, you grew up between Austria and Romania…

That’s right. I lived in Romania for the first eight years of my life, and then in Vienna for four years. Coming to the United States in the mid-1990s was a turning point in my life. There, I had opportunities that I would never have had in Romania. That’s why I’m so interested in the idea of the American dream, which is reflected in many of my films. A Different Man and The Apprentice both explore it, in their own way. I think the central question of both of those works is: “When is enough enough? How far can we go to get what we want? Why do we always want to win?” Coming from Europe, where the philosophy is almost the opposite of that, helped me in many ways. I don’t know if I would have approached my roles in the same way.

In A Different Man , you don't speak much, but the physicality of the role is evident. How did you work on it?

Luckily, I was there from the beginning of the shoot. Our makeup artist, Michael Marino , who was working multiple shoots at the same time, would put the prosthetics on me very early in the morning. So I had this time before the shoot where I would walk around the streets of New York with this face that is not mine, and see the reactions of the people around me. It was scary, and enriching in many ways. It helped me understand what it meant to live in the shoes of a man like Adam Pearson, because I wouldn't have been able to realize it otherwise. Adam was very honest with me and talked to me a lot about his experiences, which helped me a lot. And then as an actor, I myself live this strange phenomenon of being recognized on the street every day. I don't have a private life. I sometimes feel like I'm some kind of public property: people can film me and do pretty much whatever they want.

Let’s talk a little bit about the Donald Trump you play on The Apprentice . How does one prepare for such a role?

Playing a real person has its pros and cons. The advantage, with people as famous as him, is the amount of archives available. Videos, articles, documentaries… you have plenty to study the character! But there is a problem: you have to find a place to insert yourself, as an actor. A real challenge, which I like to welcome without really knowing if I will succeed. That is part of the problem that faces me! But that is precisely the reason that makes me want to take on this kind of challenge. Telling myself that I can't do something only redoubles my desire to succeed. When you play a completely fictional character like Edward, it is up to you to build his story. How did he get there? That is what I am constantly looking for.

The Apprentice by Ali Abbasi with Sebastian Stan and Jeremy Strong, from October 9, 2024 in theaters.

A Different Man by Aaron Schimberg with Sebastian Stan, Adam Pearson and Renate Reinsve, coming soon.

[itmeblog]

POLITICS INTO THE VOID TIME

In the event that you've not been pretty obsessed with how American politics have been going since Kamala became the Democratic nominee (there's been good and bad, that I'm aware of) the tone of the campaign has completely changed.

Because Kamala's team has decided that Trump isn't threatening, all powerful, and scary, (though the ads I've seen have sort of been using old language) they have decided that he's weird and he's a creep.

These were made 11 days apart:

As a kid who grew up being called weird (and occasionally a creep) this is hilarious. It's just playground bullying.

Dems really said, we tried being the bigger person, it wasn't working out.

And Trump's policies and desires are actually weird. A proposed porn ban is weird. Trying to put librarians in jail is weird, policing people's bodies is creep behavior.

As a former weird kid, the way to overcome this sort of bullying is not to assert that you aren't weird or god forbid shout "I'm cool" (the more you say it, the less true it is), it's to embrace that you're weird and accept that not everyone is going to like you, and that you'll probably never have a seat at the cool table.

But and I cannot express this enough Trump wants to be cool. His whole thing is, being edgy, and dangerous, and "being brave enough to say what people are afraid to say". And when you get someone who is "being brave enough to say what normal people are afraid to say" and shoot back with "they don't say that because it's fucking weird"... where does he go from there?

It's a depowering move. They are depowering Trump.

When you were a kid talking passionately about something that interested you and someone said "that's weird (derogatory)" it probably made you feel really small. That kid stole the power you were wielding in said conversation.

So the question is, can Trump proudly and convincingly assert "I'm weird. I’m a weirdo. I don't fit in. And I don't want to fit in. Have you ever seen me without this stupid hat on? That's weird." (GOD HIS CHATGPT AND PLAGIARIZED SPEECHES HAVE THE ABILITY TO DO THE FUNNIEST THING IN THE WORLD)

Is he ready to go full edgelord in the public eye?? I'm sure he'll still have followers, edgelords have a weird sort of power in this era of internet, but they are also indisputably cringe.

Like I'm not sure this will achieve anything other than being ridiculously entertaining (and thus catching the eye in headlines and reports). But,my family read one of the new releases and went oh right this whole thing is weird as fuck and it felt nice to get some kind of public acknowledgment that this is not normal.

So far the right has been struggling against couch fucking allegations, them saying that adults without kids should have less of a voice in voting (weird thing to say, but if you're polling badly with youngsters and need to maintain power~~), that Kamala is a crazy childless cat lady (Whoops accidentally alienated some of their base there, some people simply cannot have children, really shouldn't insinuate they are less than because of it. Not to mention that their own policies are making more everyday in mostly red states as complications with getting abortions for non-viable fetuses are leaving many people sterile. I'm not even going to go on with the fact that many people, like myself, simply don't want kids and that's reason enough. Also she does have step children), and the rumor that Trump wasn't really shot (as they finally removed the bandage to reveal... nothing, head wounds heal really fast but going from that giant plaster to nothing is doing a bit of a number in the rumor mill).

Basically they had Joe! THEY SPENT THE WHOLE RNC INSULTING HIM. THAT WAS THEIR WHOLE PLAN!! He was old, he was white. The inherit ableism/ageism of sleepy Joe and old Joe, and infirm Joe, were within "acceptable parameters". It was easy and safe to rib him.

They are struggling to find something on Kamala that doesn't come across as racist or sexist. Because they're polling poorly with Black Americans and they are down in the polls for women. Can't call her sleepy or lazy. Can't call her old (she's younger) can't call her stupid, can't call her infirm. Can't insinuate she's too emotional (have you met Trump??)

They probably could get her on a few policies but the 2025 project is looming large behind them.

I am foaming at the mouth trying to get to the next debate. But Trump is doing his best to weasel out of it. I am heartbroken! I miss the anytime, anywhere promise of yore.

[ateerys-punctuationpanic]

Untitled Loumand -> PRACTICE

Was driving home yesterday, which is a super long commute. So I use that time to beat myself up about how I behaved during the day, mostly obsessing over my socials skills and lack thereof. Anyway, a student died in a fire so I was deployed as a crisis team coordinator to respond. Anyway, I got through the shitty day and wanted nothing more than to think about my comfort gays.

So of course, I thought about Louis and Armand and the trouble I'm having with that previously untitled Loumand fic that I've now decided to call PRACTICE.

About Louis. I think of him similarly to a functioning alcoholic. He has his vices and addictions, namely scary, powerful men who should love him more than they love their desire for him. But they don't. In their pursuit of him, they destroy him. Will I characterize that in the fic? Probably not because I'm ultimately a fluff writer that accepts I'm not writing about fluff characters. But that's in my spirit. I don't know what to do with it but it's there.

What I am focusing on in this fic is an analysis of Louis as someone I can never see going to therapy. But I think, or I imagine, his relationship with Armand is the closest thing to therapy he'll ever get. And here's why. In the book, Louis is seeking information from Armand about who he is and how he should approach the world given the implications of self (psycho-education). He also highly values Armand's ability and willingness to listen to him. (affective expression and regulation). Not to just hear him but to listen, which are different. Related, in the show, he was impressed with (among other things) Lestat's ability to see him. Anyway, clearly that wasn't enough to heal him (see again; not loving him more than desiring him).

This all led me to do some research into trauma-informed counseling, which is something I already have to know for my job and I've already had some training. But I've paid more attention to it for this fic than I ever have for work and that's CRAZY AF. Like I wanna submit this fic as my DP (Deliberate Practice - a competency I have to demonstrate for my annual evaluation, which leads to MORE MONEY. A bish is getting a 9.7% raise omg like I NEED it. But my bosses are not about to rate me as highly effective over this snark and smut [hopefully]).

Anyway, I don't know how the fic will end but Armand is about to make Louis do that Donald Trump face:

It's going to be my modern adaptation of the second season 2 trailer conversation they have outside of the murder mansion. I've transcribed it, I have all the points I need them to hit, everything Armand says and Louis' reaction.

While Louis was thinking with his HOLE, Armand was thinking about how Louis has something to hide. Some ... trauma? And he's like well, I'm gonna HELP you. And I'm thinking I can work something out along those lines. I know it's gonna satisfy me but I have no idea if anyone else will enjoy it. Since this is my 2nd post about it, even from this account, I think it's too late to post it anonymously and never think about it again.

[william-r-melich]

My Mind Is Opening Up - 04/25/2024

Something wonderful is happening to me. About a month ago I decided to quit using marijuana, but I thought quitting cold turkey would be too difficult, so I decided to limit my usage to once a week. After my first week from that decision, I noticed a significant improvement in my cognitive and writing abilities. My thoughts were coming to me with much more clarity. I'm finding it much easier to figure things out and creatively express my thoughts more effectively. These last few weeks have been very interesting. In that time, I have created 9 riddles and wrote one of my most entertaining and interesting article which I posted here last week entitled, "What You Really Need to Know About the Trump Trial in New York But Were Afraid to Ask." My thoughts and emotions just poured out from my mind, expressing my frustrations at the current situation involving Trump and his legal battles, as well as the declining state of our once great country. The riddles began with my first one I recalled from memory as a question I asked myself about 20 years ago, which I was never able to find an answer to until about two weeks ago. The question, which I decided to use as a riddle was this, "What is both the smallest and largest thing in existence?" Not only did I find an answer, I found 50 of them, which can be found on my website; RealitysReal.com, at the end of the Poetry & More section. The process of my reasoning was very interesting, as I found myself using the same line of thinking for other areas of consideration. As an example, in reference to the riddle I just mentioned, as I was going through a process of logical analysis, I discovered that the word, "everything" is slightly different than the word, "existence."

Existence only contains everything that actually does exist. Everything is closer to reality in the aspect of having both abstraction and the concrete. Although abstraction does exist, since it is an abstraction as a form of energy produced by the mind, its existence can't be completely independent as inherent since it's originated form something that can. For example, the idea that not anything is real would wipe away everything including itself because the idea as an idea and not what it represents is real, but not true.

I went on to describe some of the answers I had decided to use and others to eliminate, and I'll not disclose those in case you're interested in trying to solve the riddle yourself. In an earlier analysis leading up to the conclusion that everything and existence are different, I was considering two particular words, "theory" and "words," as answers to the riddle, which I had decided not to use. This is what I wrote.

Words? That's sort of like theory. Those could each erase themselves out, but they don't have to. That's like suggesting the possible representation of the smallest and largest. Does that qualify? No, not really. My other words can't just be anything in relation to how they would apply to the riddle, whereas "theory" can be immediately disqualified by the suggestions of alternatives or implied modifications. The word "words", however, being as universal as existence itself in what they can represent, that they can be applied correctly. And since that being accurate is or should be the goal of using "words", as is the goal of "theory", they merely work as a potential, but not exclusively as an actualized one as they can be mistaken. Whereas a universal word like "existence" can only be as it is. Therefore, "theory" and "words" do not work.

This was quite a process of reasoning in determining the answers to my riddles, and one riddle in particular kept me up all night. I find what's happening to me as my mind continues to expand to be very interesting. I must remain sober so that I can further advance in this enlightening journey I'm on. Where it leads me is yet to be discovered, I suspect I will create many more ideas and expressions of meaning and purpose. My mind is on fire and my desire is to keep rolling with it so I can bring to the world something of value that will positively inspire my readers to improve their quality of life. I really do believe that thinking adds value in many immeasurable ways...

[thephilosopheroffeelings]

Before the US elections, I read and listened to a lot of people trying to explain how Trump is still this much popular even though he openly lies or babbles and he is openly discriminative against various different parts of society, to put it nicely and briefly. We keep discussing but we cannot find any solution or reasonable explanation. It makes us even more frustrated. Same as discussing populism in politics. Yes, it is so prevalent. While discussing 'why' of it, we mainly focus on facts, reasoning, integrity, fairness & meaning. Yet, we have to take into consideration 'human nature' and 'feelings' as focusing on the aforementioned above does not work when you are not in a reasonable and fair fight.

I will be forever obsessed with the close and complex relationship between politics, culture & psychology. Frankfurt School, critical theory, continental philosophy, post-structuralism and post-colonialism.

There is one old man, now retired and living on a small and remote island in Scotland, who changed my life by introducing me to all these and more.

I remember like yesterday for the first time he entered the class: Put his books on the table, took off his old leather watch, folded his shirt's sleeves, put his hands on his hips and looked at us in silence for a few seconds until we got quiet.

Once in a classroom I did not like what he said and raised my concern by saying: "Don't you have your own agenda and try to convey it via these examples?" He kept writing on the board and said: "Yes, indeed I do and it keeps clashing with yours."

And that was it; I was not the same person anymore.

This morning he shared the following quote about the coming US elections:

Something to think for all of us about if the worst happens after tomorrow:

“When Fascism came into power, most people were unprepared, both theoretically and practically. They were unable to believe that man could exhibit such propensities for evil, such lust for power, such disregard for the rights of the weak, or such yearning for submission. Only a few had been aware of the rumbling of the volcano preceding the outbreak.” - Erich Fromm

I texted him saying that I am angry about everything going on in the world. I told him that I was always sensitive to injustice but I find myself more and more emotional than rational the more I get older. He first said: "Whenever you find yourself in that position, step back and look at what is going on: If the problem is about competency, it must be easier to get over it and better be rational about it. But if it is about integrity; it is quite normal getting emotional about it and not getting over it that quickly."

Then we started to chat about all things related to populism, human nature & Erich Fromm. Sharing two of my favourite quotes about the matter:

To understand people who support Trump, or populist leaders in general:

“The development of man's intellectual capacities has far outstripped the development of his emotions. Man's brain lives in the twentieth century; the heart of most men lives still in the Stone Age. The majority of men have not yet acquired the maturity to be independent, to be rational, to be objective. They need myths and idols to endure the fact that man is all by himself, that there is no authority which gives meaning to life except man himself.”

“...Modern man still is anxious and tempted to surrender his freedom to dictators of all kinds, or to lose it by transforming himself into a small cog in the machine, well fed, and well clothed, yet not a free man but an automaton.”

To understand why populist leaders are the way they are:

“The lust for power is not rooted in strength but in weakness. It is the expression of the inability of the individual self to stand alone and live. It is the desperate attempt to gain secondary strength where genuine strength is lacking. The word power has a twofold meaning. One is the possession of power over somebody, the ability to dominate him; the other meaning is the possession of power to do something, to be able, to be potent. The latter meaning has nothing to do with domination; it expresses mastery in the sense of ability.”

He finished the texting by saying that: "Remember, you need to keep a stiff upper lip in the English ruling class tradition cf. Orwell essay. Then everything will be fine."

He has always been clever, witty and self-confident. After playing 5 a side football, he would come to the only pub in the town and sit down with us and have beers while wearing his old Cantona jersey. He seemed like he did not need or care to be righteous or better. He would subtly invite you to be his equal so you could trust yourself more and keep questioning.

Problems due to integrity vs competency. What a professor. I will forever be grateful for everything he has taught me. Can he live forever? Most probably this would be a torture for him, so better not.

Hopefully we will not need to think about the part he quoted from Erich Fromm tomorrow morning. That's the best I can do. In reality, that is the only thing within my power at this point; wishful thinking.

Wishful thinking and politics; who would have thought? Definitely not my younger self.

[solarpoweredwolf]

not to dip my toe into discourse and condemn myself forever, but the only thing that makes democrats quake in fear is the notion they might actually lose a voter base. not that they might lose an upcoming vote, but that they might lose access to the halls of power in a more structured, semi-permanent way. democrats want this access to power in order to get what they want (ability to do their corporate dicksucking shit where they funnel money into the MIC and all these other industries they have proven ties to and don't behave meaningfully differently to republicans in). as such, in order to get them to change their behaviour, you have to let them know you absolutely will not vote for them ever again if they continue to actively commit genocide in palestine. this is the only thing that will remotely push them towards a ceasefire. no one is saying voting for trump is better, but people are trying to hold american politics accountable in the singular way it understands. democrats rely on "but the other guy is worse!" in order to get away without offering meaningful change. gripping them by the balls and reminding them that they rely on the people for power, and not the other way round, is the only language they understand and the only language they respond to. threatening to withdraw support is the peaceful way of enacting change. if you don't like talking about withholding a vote, we can always go back to the uncivilised way of expressing discontent: riots.

this is what every votescolding liberal sounds like to me

[edaross]

Physical Trump Trading Cards, via ChatGPT

I must admit, the first time I heard of Trump's trading cards, I thought they were going to be physical rather than NFTs. Now I know better, I thought I would use ChatGPT to explore the first thought:

In this scenario ex US president Trump releases a collection of Pokémon style trading cards featuring him, his family and his associates, describe the situation

It is a sunny day in the United States as former President Donald Trump announces the release of his latest venture: a collection of Pokémon-style trading cards featuring him, his family, and his associates. The cards feature colorful illustrations of Trump and his inner circle, each with their own unique abilities and stats.

The cards have caused a stir on social media, with many people expressing excitement at the opportunity to collect and trade the cards with their friends. Trump's supporters are particularly enthusiastic about the release, viewing the cards as a way to show their loyalty to the former president.

However, not everyone is pleased with the release of the cards. Critics argue that the cards are a crass attempt to capitalize on Trump's political fame and that they serve to glorify a controversial figure. Some have even called for a boycott of the cards, claiming that they promote hate and division.

Despite the controversy, the Trump trading cards remain a hot commodity, with people across the country clamoring to get their hands on a set. It remains to be seen how successful the cards will be in the long term, but for now, they seem to be a hit among Trump's devoted fans.

List the possible people on each card along with their possible statistics

Donald Trump: Attack: 4/5 Defense: 4/5 Special Ability: "The Art of the Deal" (allows for negotiation of more favorable terms in battles) Melania Trump: Attack: 2/5 Defense: 3/5 Special Ability: "Grace and Poise" (prevents opponent from using offensive language or tactics) Ivanka Trump: Attack: 3/5 Defense: 3/5 Special Ability: "Influencer" (increases popularity and support from other players) Jared Kushner: Attack: 3/5 Defense: 4/5 Special Ability: "Political Connections" (grants access to exclusive resources and alliances) Eric Trump: Attack: 3/5 Defense: 3/5 Special Ability: "Golf Pro" (increases chances of successful strategic shots) Don Jr.: Attack: 4/5 Defense: 2/5 Special Ability: "Hunting Skills" (increases chances of successfully capturing wild Pokémon) Mike Pence: Attack: 3/5 Defense: 3/5 Special Ability: "Religious Devotion" (grants increased resistance to psychological attacks) Rudy Giuliani: Attack: 4/5 Defense: 2/5 Special Ability: "Legal Expertise" (allows for successful negotiation of favorable terms in battles)

Produce a possible advert for the cards, as presented by Trump

"Hello America! I'm your favorite former president, Donald Trump, and I'm here to tell you about my latest project: the Trump Trading Cards!

These cards feature myself, my fabulous family, and my incredible associates in colorful, action-packed illustrations. Each card has its own unique abilities and stats, making them perfect for collecting and trading with your friends.

But that's not all - these cards are also a great way to show your support for me and my presidency. So don't wait - get your hands on a set of Trump Trading Cards today and join the winning team!

Thank you, America. Make America Great Again!"

Provide possible names for the collection, corny puns based on the Trump cards only

"Trump's Wild Card Pack" "Trump's Top Trumps" "The Art of the Deal Deck" "The Trump Tower of Power" "The First Family Fortune" "The MAGA Menagerie" "The Trump Card Collection" "The Trump Team Triumph" "The Trump Dynasty Deck" "The Trump Train of Triumph"

A second pack is released with more, different associates - list them and their statistics

Sarah Huckabee Sanders: Attack: 3/5 Defense: 3/5 Special Ability: "Spin Doctor" (allows for successful manipulation of media narratives) Kellyanne Conway: Attack: 3/5 Defense: 4/5 Special Ability: "Alternative Facts" (prevents opponent from using factual information in attacks) Steve Bannon: Attack: 4/5 Defense: 2/5 Special Ability: "Alt-Right Influence" (increases support from extremist groups) Stephen Miller: Attack: 3/5 Defense: 3/5 Special Ability: "Immigration Hardliner" (increases chances of successful border control strategies) Betsy DeVos: Attack: 3/5 Defense: 3/5 Special Ability: "Education Reform" (grants access to exclusive resources and alliances in the education sector) Ben Carson: Attack: 2/5 Defense: 3/5 Special Ability: "Medical Expertise" (increases chances of successful medical treatments in battles) Scott Pruitt: Attack: 3/5 Defense: 3/5 Special Ability: "Environmental Rollbacks" (grants access to resources and alliances in the energy industry) James Mattis: Attack: 4/5 Defense: 3/5 Special Ability: "Military Strategy" (increases chances of successful military tactics in battles)

List possible instructions for the game

Each player begins with a deck of seven Trump Trading Cards. Players take turns drawing cards from their deck and placing them on the battlefield. Players may use their card's unique abilities and stats to attack their opponent's cards. If a card's defense is reduced to zero, it is removed from the battlefield. The game ends when one player's deck is empty or all of their cards have been defeated. The player with the most remaining cards is declared the winner. Players may also trade cards with each other to enhance their deck. Additional packs of Trump Trading Cards can be purchased to expand the available card pool.

[themageiboline]

...Q-Shaman? Really?

Rant-Time: Let’s talk about a certain meme-worthy character of todays events...

Today an unprecedented event occurred as Trump supporters, angered at the supposedly fraudulent election, descended on DC to partake in so-called "stop-the-steal" protests.

We've all heard of this, and many people more competent than myself have and will be continuing to cover the events of today, and the egregiously dangerous implications they might have for our democratic society.

Instead, I’m here to muse and vent about something which as relatively minor in the grand scheme of these events it may be, is also something that probably won’t really be addressed much by many outside of neopagan circles. I’m talking about Q-Shaman, or more specifically “Q-Shaman’s” tattoos.

Of course he is in the spotlight and being meme’d to high Hel as the barbarian American flag face paint wearing Braveheart wannabe that led their charge, but what concerns me are the Norse pagan tattoos he has very prominently displayed on his bare chest, in addition to the runes on his hands.

Here we can clearly see a valknut, Yggdrasil, and a Mjolnir down the left side of his chest. Now full disclosure I don’t know much about this man at the time of writing this other than what he did today and what you see here now, and that he has been dubbed Q-Shaman, either by himself or others in reference to the outlandish conspiracy of Q-Anon. I plan to rectify this in the coming days and possibly either make a follow up post or share an article exploring him in greater detail later.

But for now let’s talk about the implications here. The valknut is a symbol of Odin, and it seems to me like he’s using it as a symbol of devotion strongly implying a warrior cult mentality on his part. Assuming he’s aware of the historical context, he’s effectively saying, “strike here, I dare you” while it is also said to serve as a protective charm, only allowing the wearers death to come to pass when Odin sees it fit. If taken in a literal sense as an Odinist’s expression of devotion, it would be safe to assume he’s effectively a neo-pagan warrior cultist, who may well see the fight for Trumpism as his fighting chance to prove himself before Odin one day. Now, Odinists have become rather infamous over the years, as many are warrior cultists with fascist-adjacent if not explicitly fascist or even Neo-Nazi political beliefs. Many Odinist blots around the country are infamous for openly and brazenly displaying Nazi flags and portraits of Adolf Hitler within their lodges.

So now we have some douche canoe with three very important symbols to those of Nordic heritage and faith very prominently tattooed on his bared chest, taking part in what could only be described as some shitty, poorly thought out attempt at an insurrection fueled by right wing conspiracy, by supporters of an authoritarian right wing president that refuse to accept peaceful and democratic defeat. 

You see what this could mean for these symbols right? If we don’t watch it these symbols very dear to the hearts of many of Norwegian heritage and of Nordic faiths could very well go the way of the swastika if we let it. As it is right now valknuts are often seen automatically as racist symbols as it is, and Thor’s hammer Mjolnir seems to very quickly be following suit. The fact of the matter is we neither have the right nor the ability to stop them from using these symbols, or from believing in and using Nordic faiths as justifications for their authoritarianisms. 

What we can do, and what we must do if we’re to preserve these symbols and by extension help to protect a class of already marginalized religious minorities, is refuse to allow them to appropriate these within the public conscious as symbols entirely their own. That means we have to stand up and be vocal whenever we see people falsely equating these symbols as being inherently symbols of hate no matter the context. We have to stand up when we see voices of hate using these symbols, and make it loud and clear they do not represent us all and will not be tolerated within our communities. 

If you’re of a Nordic faith and have the emotional mental and physical energy to do so, it might mean wearing your Mjolnir out proudly in the open, ready to shoot down any accusations of hate with snappy quips, such as “ well this hammer smashes fascists” perhaps. On that note, you can buy shirts with this phrase to make this clear to all who see you if you wish. In fact I’m contemplating making a design of my own for Print-On-Demand websites, though I have no guarantees that I’ll ever get it done.

Anyways, that’s my rant for tonight. I hope it wasn’t too long winded and I certainly have no plans of making a habit of this but I just really needed to get that off my chest.

On a related note, here’s a link to an Etsy page with some very relevant stickers you might want to check out.

#NAZIPAGANSFUCKOFF #THISHAMMERSMASHESFASCISTS

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Recommendation engines and "lean-back" media

In William Gibson’s 1992 novel “Idoru,” a media executive describes her company’s core audience:

“Best visualized as a vicious, lazy, profoundly ignorant, perpetually hungry organism craving the warm god-flesh of the anointed. Personally I like to imagine something the size of a baby hippo, the color of a week-old boiled potato, that lives by itself, in the dark, in a double-wide on the outskirts of Topeka. It’s covered with eyes and it sweats constantly. The sweat runs into those eyes and makes them sting. It has no mouth…no genitals, and can only express its mute extremes of murderous rage and infantile desire by changing the channels on a universal remote. Or by voting in presidential elections.”

It’s an astonishingly great passage, not just for the image it evokes, but for how it captures the character of the speaker and her contempt for the people who made her fortune.

It’s also a beautiful distillation of the 1990s anxiety about TV’s role in a societal “dumbing down,” that had brewed for a long time, at least since the Nixon-JFK televised debates, whose outcome was widely attributed not to JFK’s ideas, but to Nixon’s terrible TV manner.

Neil Postman’s 1985 “Amusing Ourselves To Death” was a watershed here, comparing the soundbitey Reagan-Dukakis debates with the long, rhetorically complex Lincoln-Douglas debates of the previous century.

(Incidentally, when I finally experienced those debates for myself, courtesy of the 2009 BBC America audiobook, I was more surprised by Lincoln’s unequivocal, forceful repudiations of slavery abolition than by the rhetoric’s nuance)

https://memex.craphound.com/2009/01/20/lincoln-douglas-debate-audiobook-civics-history-and-rhetoric-lesson-in-16-hours/

“Media literacy” scholarship entered the spotlight, and its left flank — epitomized by Chomsky’s 1988 “Manufacturing Consent” — claimed that an increasingly oligarchic media industry was steering society, rather than reflecting it.

Thus, when the internet was demilitarized and the general public started trickling — and then rushing — to use it, there was a widespread hope that we might break free of the tyranny of concentrated, linear programming (in the sense of “what’s on,” and “what it does to you”).

Much of the excitement over Napster wasn’t about getting music for free — it was about the mix-tapification of all music, where your custom playlists would replace the linear album.

Likewise Tivo, whose ad-skipping was ultimately less important than the ability to watch the shows you liked, rather than the shows that were on.

Blogging, too: the promise was that a community of reader-writers could assemble a daily “newsfeed” that reflected their idiosyncratic interests across a variety of sources, surfacing ideas from other places and even other times.

The heady feeling of the time is hard to recall, honestly, but there was a thrill to getting up and reading the news that you chose, listening to a playlist you created, then watching a show you picked.

And while there were those who fretted about the “Daily Me” (what we later came to call the “filter bubble”) the truth was that this kind of active media creation/consumption ranged far more widely than the monopolistic media did.

The real “bubble” wasn’t choosing your own programming — it was everyone turning on their TV on Thursday nights to Friends, Seinfeld and The Simpsons.

The optimism of the era is best summarized in a taxonomy that grouped media into two categories: “lean back” (turn it on and passively consume it) and “lean forward” (steer your media consumption with a series of conscious decisions that explores a vast landscape).

Lean-forward media was intensely sociable: not just because of the distributed conversation that consisted of blog-reblog-reply, but also thanks to user reviews and fannish message-board analysis and recommendations.

I remember the thrill of being in a hotel room years after I’d left my hometown, using Napster to grab rare live recordings of a band I’d grown up seeing in clubs, and striking up a chat with the node’s proprietor that ranged fondly and widely over the shows we’d both seen.

But that sociability was markedly different from the “social” in social media. From the earliest days of Myspace and Facebook, it was clear that this was a sea-change, though it was hard to say exactly what was changing and how.

Around the time Rupert Murdoch bought Myspace, a close friend a blazing argument with a TV executive who insisted that the internet was just a passing fad: that the day would come when all these online kids grew up, got beaten down by work and just wanted to lean back.

To collapse on the sofa and consume media that someone else had programmed for them, anaesthetizing themselves with passive media that didn’t make them think too hard.

This guy was obviously wrong — the internet didn’t disappear — but he was also right about the resurgence of passive, linear media.

But this passive media wasn’t the “must-see TV” of the 80s and 90s.

Rather, it was the passivity of the recommendation algorithm, which created a per-user linear media feed, coupled with mechanisms like “endless scroll” and “autoplay,” that incinerated any trace of an active role for the “consumer” (a very apt term here).

It took me a long time to figure out exactly what I disliked about algorithmic recommendation/autoplay, but I knew I hated it. The reason my 2008 novel LITTLE BROTHER doesn’t have any social media? Wishful thinking. I was hoping it would all die in a fire.

Today, active media is viewed with suspicion, considered synonymous with Qanon-addled boomers who flee Facebook for Parler so they can stan their favorite insurrectionists in peace, freed from the tyranny of the dread shadowban.

But I’m still on team active media. I would rather people actively choose their media diets, in a truly sociable mode of consumption and production, than leaning back and getting fed whatever is served up by the feed.

Today on Wired, Duke public policy scholar Philip M Napoli writes about lean forward and lean back in the context of Trump’s catastrophic failure to launch an independent blog, “From the Desk of Donald J Trump.”

https://www.wired.com/story/opinion-trumps-failed-blog-proves-he-was-just-howling-into-the-void/

In a nutshell, Trump started a blog which he grandiosely characterized as a replacement for the social media monopolists who’d kicked him off their platforms. Within a month, he shut it down.

While Trump claimed the shut-down was all part of the plan, it’s painfully obvious that the real reason was that no one was visiting his website.

Now, there are many possible, non-exclusive explanations for this.

For starters, it was a very bad social media website. It lacked even rudimentary social tools. The Washington Post called it “a primitive one-way loudspeaker,” noting its lack of per-post comments, a decades old commonplace.

https://www.washingtonpost.com/technology/2021/05/21/trump-online-traffic-plunge/

Trump paid (or more likely, stiffed) a grifter crony to build the site for him, and it shows: the “Like” buttons didn’t do anything, the video-sharing buttons created links to nowhere, etc. From the Desk… was cursed at birth.

But Napoli’s argument is that even if Trump had built a good blog, it would have failed. Trump has a highly motivated cult of tens of millions of people — people who deliberately risked death to follow him, some even ingesting fish-tank cleaner and bleach at his urging.

The fact that these cult-members were willing to risk their lives, but not endure poor web design, says a lot about the nature of the Trump cult, and its relationship to passive media.

The Trump cult is a “push media” cult, simultaneously completely committed to Trump but unwilling to do much to follow him.

That’s the common thread between Fox News (and its successors like OANN) and MAGA Facebook.

And it echoes the despairing testimony of the children of Fox cultists, that their boomer parents consume endless linear TV, turning on Fox from the moment they arise and leaving it on until they fall asleep in front of it (also, reportedly, how Trump spent his presidency).

Napoli says that Trump’s success on monopoly social media platforms and his failure as a blogger reveals the role that algorithmically derived, per-user, endless scroll linear media played in the ascendancy of his views.

It makes me think of that TV exec and his prediction of the internet’s imminent disappearance (which, come to think of it, is not so far off from my own wishful thinking about social media’s disappearance in Little Brother).

He was absolutely right that this century has left so many of us exhausted, wanting nothing more than the numbness of lean-back, linear feeds.

But up against that is another phenomenon: the resurgence of active political movements.

After a 12-month period that saw widescale civil unrest, from last summer’s BLM uprising to the bizarre storming of the capital, you can’t really call this the golden age of passivity.

While Fox and OANN consumption might be the passive daily round of one of Idoru’s “vicious, lazy, profoundly ignorant, perpetually hungry organisms craving the warm god-flesh of the anointed,” that is in no way true of Qanon.

Qanon is an active pastime, a form of collaborative storytelling with all the mechanics of the Alternate Reality Games that the lean-forward media advocates who came out of the blogging era love so fiercely:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/08/06/no-vitiated-air/#other-hon

Meanwhile, the “clicktivism” that progressive cynics decried as useless performance a decade ago has become an active contact sport, welding together global movements from Occupy to BLM that use the digital to organize the highly physical.

That’s the paradox of lean-forward and lean-back: sometimes, the things you learn while leaning back make you lean forward — in fact, they might just get you off the couch altogether.

I think that Napoli is onto something. The fact that Trump’s cultists didn’t follow him to his crummy blog tells us that Trump was an effect, not a cause (something many of us suspected all along, as he’s clearly neither bright nor competent enough to inspire a movement).

But the fact that “cyberspace keeps everting” (to paraphrase “Spook Country,” another William Gibson novel) tells us that passive media consumption isn’t a guarantee of passivity in the rest of your life (and sometimes, it’s a guarantee of the opposite).

And it clarifies the role that social media plays in our discourse — not so much a “radicalizer” as a means to corral likeminded people together without them having to do much. Within those groups are those who are poised for action, or who can be moved to it.

The ease with which these people find one another doesn’t produce a deterministic outcome. Sometimes, the feed satisfies your urge for change (“clicktivism”). Sometimes, it fuels it (“radicalizing”).

Notwithstanding smug media execs, the digital realm equips us to “express our mute extremes of murderous rage and infantile desire” by doing much more than “changing the channels on a universal remote” — for better and for worse.

Image: Ian Burt (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/oddsock/267206444

CC BY: https://creativecommo

ns.org/licenses/by/2.0/

[manianart]

Unlikely Allience pt1

Months.

It had been months now since Sheriff had joined the Nexus project and it only took him a week of that to regret his decision. Phobos and Auditor turned out to be real and true psychopaths. They didn’t care to make everything better or to turn reality back to normal.

No. They only cared for power.

Sheriff rubbed a hand down his face. It had been days since the last time he had gotten anything even resembling sleep. His last interaction with Phobos had robbed him of the ability to fall asleep. He had lost a locator chip for one of their deliveries to one of the rebels. And he had paid for it.

Rubbing at his stomach he winced as some of the cuts from that interactions still gave off a sore sting. The door on his “office”, which was honestly more of a broom closet than a true office given to him by Auditor to keep him out of the way, suddenly slammed open, making him jump slightly. Phobos stepped inside, his face scrunched up in anger as always as he glared at Sheriff.

Ph: “You! We got work for you. Come!”

Sheriff held onto his chest, his heart racing at the sudden loud noise, before nodding and rushing after the other man, who had already left. They walked towards the facilities interrogation cells.

Strange.

Those hadn’t been used in a long while. Whenever they found a rebel in the city they usually just shot them. They had tried to interrogate them when they first captured them but they all said the same thing, nothing interesting or important, so at some point they just started to shoot them.

Two guards were waiting outside one of the cells. The doors to the cells were reinforced and thick as a grown mans forearm. Who were they keeping in that room that needed two additional guards?

His questions were clearly showing on his face apparently as Phobos answered them by simply opening the door.

Hank.

Hank J. Wimbleton was sitting at the table in that cell, bound to the chair he had been placed on. Sheriff felt a shiver run down his spine at the sight of the other man. A growl made Sheriff tense up and look next to him.

Phobos was looking even angrier now, glaring at Hank before sharply turning his head towards the Sheriff.

Ph: “Normally I’d never give you this job, you are far too incompetent to do this right, but I have no other choice right now! I have to finish an important mission so I can’t do it myself. Just ask him the questions on the paper I left you and DON’T fuck it up, got that?!”

Sheriff flinched a bit at the last sentence, nodding quickly. Phobos huffed out hard, glaring at the other a moment longer before nodding and heading off, taking the guards with him. Sheriff looked after them, worried. Phobos was almost up the stairs, the cells being in the basement, when he sharply turned once more.

Ph: “The alarm is on. No guards needed now.” “You’re disposable” is what Sheriff got from that sentence. He wanted to yell back, anger rising, but as soon as it started to rise Phobos had turned, walked the last few steps back up the stairs and was out of sight.

Sheriffs shoulders slumped again, seeing that he had missed his opportunity. Carefully looking over to where Hank sat he flinched as he met the others stare. Hank was glaring at him, his anger and venom even trumping Phobos. Sheriff started to shiver before quickly looking away towards the table. There it was, the piece of paper Phobos had put some questions on for Sheriff to read out. Uneasiness still making his motions stiff and machine-like he sat down opposite Hank, trying desperately to ignore the others menacing glare stuck on him. He swallowed a few times trying to regain his voice but soon he just sighed, accepting that this wouldn’t be easy.

Slowly looking up he swallowed one more time before starting the questioning.

Half an hour later and it was clear that Hank wasn’t going to answer him, having kept silent with a dead glare the whole time Sheriff asked the questions given to him. Sheriff sighed, his heart really not in it anymore by now. He was tired. Tired and hurting and so so done with this all. Looking up for the first time in 15 minutes he met Hanks eyes. Hanks glare had dulled down to an angry but bored expression. Sheriff must’ve looked pretty damn terrible because he saw the other mans expression shift ever so slightly as he looked up. Why was he even still doing this? This was ridiculous. His heart wasn’t in it anymore and he knew it. He just wanted out. But he knew that his only escape would be death and he really didn’t want to end his own life like that. He wasn’t ready to do that...he was a coward.

An idea suddenly made Sheriff perk up a bit. Hank. He could use Hank for that. Not just to end his own suffering but Hank did want to stop the Nexus project so if he set him free he’d not only help himself but all the other people caught up in this shit.

Sheriff got up fast, nearly tipping over his chair and even getting a questioning look from Hank. Good. On camera it would look like he was just too frustrated to continue. Just to be sure Sheriff mumbled a small “eff this” before leaving the room as fast as he could, slamming the door just for theatrical emphasis.

Once outside he looked around the corridor. No more cameras, great! Rushing over to the room where the recording control panels and the alarm controls were stored he quickly disabled everything. Video, audio and alarm all turned off to really ensure Hank had enough time to get out of the basement. With that done Sheriff swallowed down some of his anxiety about the next part. He slowly got up again, having leaned down over the panels he was now straightening himself out again until he stood tall once more. Or well, as tall as someone could stand that was facing his certain death. Slowly he made his way back over to the interrogation room, a small knife in his hand that he had kept hidden inside his jacket just in case. Once there he opened the door and stepped inside quickly, closing the door behind himself so if any Grunts came by they wouldn’t be interrupted. H: “You done just asking hmh? But if you want to torture infromation out of me that knife is too small.” Sheriff flinched at the others voice but didn’t really pay any mind to the words that were being said.

He was too focused on his task at hand. Slowly walking over to Hank he made sure the other couldn’t reach out to him too fast. He at least wanted to explain what he was doing.

Sh: “I’ll cut you loose now.”

H: “WHAT?!” Sh: “With Phobos gone you’ll be able to get out of the building almost effortlessly. Just head up and then left and you’ll be pretty much out already. You can use my key card for the door. I turned off all video and audio recordings around and the alarm is off too. Just… once you are cut loose...make it quick, okay? Please don’t let it hurt too bad when you…” Sheriff swallowed hard.

Sh: “When you knock me out. I know I’m a coward for asking this of you but...please.” Sheriff exhaled a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding before slowly approaching Hank and starting to cut him loose. First the legs then the arms and then the torso. Once his work was done he just let himself fall to his knees, the knife he had been using clattering to the floor and sliding away from him.

It was done. No turning back now.

Hank stood tall, looming over him for a few moments.

H: “Why?”

Sh: “... guess I just realized that these guys really aren’t the people I want to be affiliated with.” Hank nodded.

Sh: “Make it quick, okay?”

H: “Chair.”

Sheriff furrowed his brows. 

Did he just misshear the other? Did Hank say fair and had his mask just muffled his words. Before Sheriff could even fully turn towards the other to ask he felt something hit his head full force and his world went black.

--Hanks POV of all this--

He had cursed himself when he had gotten caught but better him than the others. He could withstand a lot more and he was sure he’d be able to break free at some point eventually.

Once they had brought him to a cell and bound him to a chair that hope had somewhat waned but he hadn’t given his worries away.

Phobos, the one eyed freak, had laughed at him and promised all sorts of ways he’d torture the answers to his questions out of him but in the middle of his rambling he had gotten a message and his twisted smile turned into a scowl to filled with anger it reminded Hank of the time someone tried to take away 2Bs laptop.

He had to snort at the thought of what 2B had done to the person making Phobos turn towards him, almost foaming from his mouth. More yelling but this time anger was the cause. Hank just looked uninterested at that point. Phobos wanted to yell more but got a second message. Hank smiled as the other man left the room, his walking speed indicating his anger. He had hoped he’d get some time to think about how to break out but only 15 minutes later Phobos reappeared at the door.

Hank shot him an angry glare and noticed that he wasn’t alone. The Sheriff was with him. Hank shot a death glare towards the cowardly Sheriff, knowing that the man would flinch and start to show signs of fear. Hank reveled in that fact, being able to strike fear into a man even when he was bound and unable to fight and or kill.

He heard Phobos bark orders towards the Sheriff, making the man flinch again before rushing off. Sheriff looked after the other for a while before sighing and walking over to a chair to sit across from Hank, picking up a piece of paper on a clip board and starting to read out questions.

When did that get there? Oh well, whatever. Hank just kept glaring at the other, completely blanking out his voice.

It must’ve been about half an hour before the other man started to slow and eventually stop his questions all together. Hank saw him deflate as he looked up for the first time in a while to meet his eyes. He looked tired. Tired and...sad? Hank felt his facade fall for a second, feeling almost bad for the other man for some unknown reason.

A minute or two passed before the other man suddenly jumped up from his chair with an “eff this” muttered under his breath. Sheriff stormed out the door, leaving Hank to ponder what the man would do when Phobos found out that he had gotten not a single answer out of him. Sheriff and Phobos didn’t seem to be getting along all that well. Hank wasn’t surprised. The Sheriff was a coward.

Hank had started to think about his escape again when the door was opened again. The Sheriff stood in the door for a moment, a knife in his hand.

H: ““You done just asking hmh? But if you want to torture infromation out of me that knife is too small.”

Hank wanted the other to leave again to get better equipment. Partially to get him away to have time to think and partially because Hank felt kind of insulted by that ditzy little knife. Seriously, what did the Sheriff think Hank could withstand?

Sheriff started slowly walking over to Hank, making sure Hank couldn’t reach out to him.

Sh: “I’ll cut you loose now.”

Hank blinked.

H: “WHAT?!” Sh: “With Phobos gone you’ll be able to get out of the building almost effortlessly. Just head up and then left and you’ll be pretty much out already. You can use my key card for the door. I turned off all video and audio recordings around and the alarm is off too. Just… once you are cut loose...make it quick, okay? Please don’t let it hurt too bad when you…”

Sheriff paused, seeming to swallow a lump in his throat.

Sh: “When you knock me out. I know I’m a coward for asking this of you but...please.”

Right after that request the Sheriff got to work, slicing through Hanks restraints with the small knife. It only took seconds before Hank could stand up. The first thing he did was stretch, his back popping a few times as he did.

He turned to the other man, who was kneeling on the floor now, looking terribly small.

H: “Why?”

Sh: “... guess I just realized that these guys really aren’t the people I want to be affiliated with.” Hank nodded.

Sh: “Make it quick, okay?”

Hank gave that a thought. The Sheriff seemed to really be at the end of his wits but...it felt wrong to kill the man now.

H: “Chair.”

Hank grabbed a hold of the chair he had just been bound to seconds before, seeing it was a foldable chair. Walking up to the Sheriff he reeled back and hit the man with the chair, knocking him out cold and leaving him unconscious before he even hit the floor.

What now?

Hank leaned over the Sheriff, grabbing the knife and putting it in his pocket just in case. Looking at the man before him he felt a pang of...something. Did he really want to kill this man? It doesn’t seem like he was even worth killing anymore now. Then again, leaving him here would definitely get him killed either way. Hank gave a long groan, rubbing the bridge of his nose not really believing what he was about to do.

Leaning down again he picked up the other man, surprised at how light he was, and threw him over his shoulder.

Rummaging around in the others pocket beforehand to find the key card the other had mentioned and strolling out the complex the way the other had described.

Soon they were in a small apartment used by the resistance as hideout. Once there Hank tied up the Sheriff, just because the man was pathetic didn’t mean Hank trusted the other to not run and tattle on one of their hideouts.

Now he’d have to wait.

5 hours later Sheriff stirred awake

--original POV--

Sheriff awoke with his head pounding like crazy. Where was he? Wait. He was still alive. Moving around a little he felt something restraining his wrists and ankles. Now he started to breathe faster. This wasn’t good. Had Phobos come back early and intervened? 

If that was the case Sheriff wanted nothing of what was to come. Starting to struggle he seized up as a low voice reached his ears.

H: “Stop moving, you’ll hurt yourself. Don’t wanna waste medical supplies on you just because you decide it’d be fun to be stupid.”

Sheriffs vision was still blurry but it only took him a few seconds to realize that that voice did not belong to Phobos but instead the man he had freed earlier. He looked over, relaxing a bit.

Hank stood from the chair he had been sitting on, a look on his face Sheriff couldn’t place.

Oh no. Did he just bring him along to torture him?

H: “Jeez. What did they do to you in that shit organization of theirs to make you relax when you see the man that tried to and succeeded in killing you before?”

Sheriff blinked a few times at that. His brain was still slow so it took him a while to respond.

Sh: “I-..uhm..where-?”

H: “My hideout. I’ll keep you around just in case. Plus, you might be able to tell me some interesting things about the organization.” Sheriff nodded at that, hoping Hank wouldn’t ask any questions too soon. Because if he did he’d find out that Sheriff too didn’t know that much.

H: “For now I thought of a solution to keep you where you are without having to supervise you 24 / 7”

At that Hank brought up a long chain with a cuff attached to it. Sheriff followed the long chain over to a wall where the second cuff was attached to a heater. The chain was long enough for him to move around the room and maybe even the other two attached rooms but probably not long enough to let him reach the front door.

He sighed. Well, it was better than being dead or getting tortured at least.

Soon the cuff was around his ankle.

H: “I’ll remove the other restraints now. Don’t be stupid!”

Sheriff nodded, holding out his wrists and ankles and waiting patiently for the other to do as he said.

Once free he rubbed his reddened skin a bit to soothe the ache.

Sh: “. . . what now?”

H: “I’m heading to bed. Yours is right over there. DO NOT try anything stupid or I’ll put a bullet in your head faster than you can blink!”

Sheriff gave a quick nod at that, shying away from the other as he loomed over him.

With that and a last warning glare Hank left the room.

Sheriff watched him walk out and close the door behind himself. Looking over to where Hank had pointed he saw a basic bed with a pillow and some sheets. With wobbly legs he got up from the chair he had been in and made his way over to the bed only to collapse onto it and curl into a tight ball.

What was going to happen now? Did he make the right choice? What would Hank do once he found out that Sheriff wasn’t of any use? All these questions slowly faded into the background as Sheriff curled up even more, flinging the blanket that was provided to him over himself and closing his eyes.

He could think about all those things tomorrow. For now all he wanted to do was sleep away the headache and other aches riddling his body.

[dornish-queen]

Pedro Pascal - La Vanguardia

With Javier Peña's mustache as his hallmark, the 'Narcos' and 'Game of Thrones' actor is filming in Budapest with Nicolas Cage and Paco León

Pascal, cultured, seductive and reflective, repeats as Loewe's ambassador for its Solo Mercurio perfume and is a model for 'Magazine Lifestyle'

SYLVIA MARTI   12/13/2020 06:00

 Casual striped jacket, tousled hair, exquisite punctuality, and a room in Budapest. There is something about this man, generous in smiles and answers, great talkative, attractive without clichés. Pedro Pascal, 45 years old and face success. He shot The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent in the Hungarian capital with Nicolas Cage and Paco León, who apparently encouraged the show a lot; We see him without seeing him in the Star Wars universe as a galactic bounty hunter in The Mandalorian and he is Maxwell Lord, the eighties villain of Wonder Woman 1984 , perhaps the only blockbuster that, if nothing goes wrong, will make us happy Christmas.

Session in Budapest The Chilean actor shoots 'The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent' in the Hungarian capital with Nicolas Cage and Paco León

(full article and photos under the cut)

Chilean by birth, his family left the country fleeing the Pinochet dictatorship when he was a baby. Brief passage through Denmark and new life in San Antonio (Texas). Normal when speaking in your mother tongue some words in English slip through. Think before answering a question without losing spontaneity or being afraid of silence. An art. 

There is still Javier Peña's mustache, which catapulted him to fame from Narcos , and you can recognize that little point of joyous irony of Prince Oberyn Martell, who almost ended the Mountain in Game of Thrones . Two roles that have opened doors that he has managed to keep safe from slamming doors and have allowed him to skip the toll of stereotyped roles. Today Pascal, well trained in theater and loved by the cameras, can do whatever he wants. Even dedicating a Saturday to star in a fashion shoot and speak exclusively for Lifetsyle Magazine .

"Nobody knows me but everyone thinks they know me," he said when he debuted as the face of Solo Loewe perfume. Introduce yourself with four words.”

I do not define myself only by them, but I am contradictory, faithful, loyal, sensitive and, at times, a bit geek.

What would surprise me about you if you knew him better?

That although I live life and enjoy family, friends and social connections a lot, I have a lonely point. I like having my space and the option of staying a day at home in a relaxed and cocoon plan .

“Even though I live life and really enjoy family, friends and social connections, I have a lonely point.”

With Covid-19, many of us are already a little tired of staying at home ...

Yes, now that I don't have much choice to go out, I'm afraid of not being able to go back to the theater, to a party, to a dinner with many people ... I really regret those times that, instead of going out, I stayed at home.

Which character has left the most impression on you?

I miss Peña, from Narcos . It was my first leading role, the first time I had time to develop the character, create his energy, his style ... They gave me a lot of freedom to shape it, even if it was based on a real person. I was able to work on it, make it my own, create the tone, invent and deepen.

Do you easily get rid of them when filming is over?

When I was younger I was very clear that they had to be left at work, that the character had to be separated from the person. I thought that with age it would get easier and easier but, surprisingly, the opposite happens to me: it gets harder and harder. Energy cannot always be organized the way we would like and I have to admit that I take some of my characters home with me.

Have you incorporated any of their phrases into your life?

Maxwell Lord has a very attractive in Wonder Woman 1984 : "Everything is fine, but it could be better."

Very eighties. Like the one Gordon Gekko said on Wall Street (1987): "If you want a friend, buy yourself a dog." Have we advanced or are we already for the fourth pet?

We have come a long way. I am very inspired by young people, their strength to face in an original way that win, win and win system that reached a monstrous level in the eighties. Today's young people go deeper into the need to respect a planet in which we all live together and the obligation to take care of it.

“Young people inspire me, they deepen the need to respect a planet and the obligation to care for it.”

I see you optimistic ...

I am a realistic and hard-working optimist. My first impression is that the glass is half empty, I have to find arguments to see it half full.

Is it true that you drew the comic strips to interact with them as a method to immerse yourself in your character in 'Wonder Woman 1984'?

I made a book with images from the eighties and sixties, comic book drawings, papers, erasers, colored pencils, markers and vignettes to better understand what it was to be a man of that decade, how his attitude was forged ... It was a way to focus to live up to what Patty (Jenkins, the director) asked for, which was a lot, and not lose sight of it. I'm a horrible cartoonist, but I had to do something practical to study, understand, and develop the character.

What does a script or a role have to have to get their attention?

Sense of humor. Even if it is a drama, a hero, a villain ... Humor immediately hooks me.

A good shield to go through life ...

The best. It is the most important thing to survive.

Do you remember the last time you laughed out loud?

Paco León immediately came to mind. When he's on set, here in Budapest, we are all happier and we laugh a lot. The entire production loves it. It has made filming more fun.

“When Paco León is on set, here in Budapest, we are all happier and we laugh a lot”

 What fascinates you most about the Star Wars universe?

Nostalgia, the huge audience it has, the ability to reach so many people. It reflects our childlike imagination without limits. Create more and more worlds with all kinds of people and species. He is capable of casting the universe

What is your definition of success?

Have a healthy relationship with yourself. Nothing matters if you don't love yourself.

What would you have done if you had not succeeded as an actor? Did you have a plan B?

No. Perhaps the only thing that could have been useful to others is acting as a literature teacher, as a counselor or advisor for people who need help ... I am a bit of a therapist with my friends. And it must work, because they come back. I have a lot of common sense.

What is elegance to you? Has your relationship with Loewe influenced the way you dress?

In that of elegance I am a student, I am learning. I wear what is comfortable but I also have very finite taste and, when motivated, I really like to express myself with style. And when it comes to style, Loewe is on top of everything.

Something material that would save from a fire.

A book. I always have one on hand. Now I am rereading The Magic Mountain , by Thomas Mann. Literature is one of my passions. It is an extension of life. The problem would be to choose only one, there are so many! My identity is made by inspirations from authors, actors, dancers, the art world, the sea ... There is no self without the influence of all the things that inspire me.

“The sea is what I like the most in life. I have respect, curiosity and love for him on a religious level.”

The sea…

It's what I like the most in life. I have respect, curiosity and love for him on a religious level.

If he gets lost, I know where to look for him.

On a boat in the middle of the sea, on an island, on the beach in Chile ... Everything related to water. One of the first smells I remember, although I don't know if it's too attractive, is the chlorine in the pool.

What is your fastest way to disconnect?

Losing your mobile phone. I fell down the stairs in Dubrovnik and at first it was like, "Oh noooo." But then I thought, "Well, a week without him." I had a certain feeling of liberation. Not having to be aware of e-mails, messages ... I find it very strong that people communicate even through a direct message from Instagram. I refuse.

Now that you quote them, how are you getting along with the networks? (He has 1.5 million followers on Intagram)

I am quite active, I use it when I have a good time, but also to express myself and to give my opinion.

“I will say goodbye to the year with a kiss and raising the middle finger. He has treated me well but the collective suffering and fear this year….”

What is your favorite word?

Oxymoron. I like its meaning and its sound

Who would you like to shut up, as you did in the first Loewe Solo ad?

Personally, I would love to shut up that heavy, bad voice, the imp that we all have in our heads. That it's nice to have him and that, and I know he will never go away, but it would be nice if he shut up sometimes. Collectively I think we would all like to shut up one person.

Trump?

I suppose.

What have you learned from this rare year?

That you cannot live without human contact. For me the deep and simple connections with my friends and family is the only thing that matters.

How will you fire him?

With a kiss and raising the middle finger. He has treated me very well but the collective suffering and fear this year….

*article translated with google chrome. Source of article*

[slapshot-to-the-heart]

merry christmas, ya filthy animal

Hi guys! This is my contribution for @hockeynetwork holiday gift exchange, it’s 2.5k of sweet Tito fluff for @dreamypeaches and I hope you all like it. As always, I read all the tags and love love hearing your feedback, so hop into my inbox and reblog if you like it! 

word count: 2.5k+

Everyone has a favorite movie. Some go for a childhood classic like Cinderella, some find an indie documentary from a film class in college, some inherit their parents’ love for the Princess Bride or Casablanca. Not you. For you, there was no movie that could hold a candle to Home Alone 2: Lost in New York. You had watched it for the first time maybe around 7 or 8 years old, and had been hooked ever since, and even Donald Trump’s five-second cameo couldn’t taint the love you had for it. But your favorite part, other than the large cheese pizza and stretch limousine, was the end. The Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center, Kevin and his mom finally reuniting after she moved heaven and earth to get back to her son by Christmas. 

It wasn’t your first Christmas in New York City, but it was the first one where it really felt like it was your city, like you belonged to it. And it was your first Christmas with Tito. You had started dating earlier in the year, just as the team was starting to make the big push for playoffs and two months or so before he left to Montréal for the summer. It was strange while he was there, not just because he was hundreds of miles away and in a whole different country, but because the two of you had only been exclusive for a few months and were set to be separated for three. You flew up for Canada Day and met his parents, and he came back for a week in August, but the interim was filled with more FaceTime calls and lonely nights than either of you would care to admit. 

But summer was long over, the leaves had fallen from all the London planes, and the temperature had started to drop below freezing even in the day. The cold weather wasn’t always great; you didn’t love having to scrape the ice off of your windshield or trudge through the slush when it was too early for the snow to stick to the ground, but you wouldn’t change it for the world. One thing that winter changed was date plans. Unless you hit it at just the right time, coffee in the morning was more prone to freeze your fingers off than warm you up, having dinner outside — normally one of your favorite things to do together — was all-but banned after November, and you could only walk around Central Park so many times. And it wasn’t for lack of trying; you knew for a fact that Anthony had spent hours on plane rides trying to figure out what was open, flipping in between Google and the weather app. He was making an effort, though, and that’s what mattered. 

Which is why you weren’t particularly surprised when he showed up at your apartment door on Christmas Eve, twelve hours after he asked you if you had plans that night. You didn’t and it wasn’t a game day, so he told you to dress warm and be ready by 8. You were waiting by the door five minutes early. He greeted you with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, closing the door behind you. “Did you already eat? I know it’s pretty late already but I think I saw a few food trucks by where we’re going if you’re still hungry.”

You nodded your head. “Anthony. It’s 8 at night. ‘Course I’ve already eaten.”

He ducked his head in embarrassment, the slightest pink appearing on his cheeks. “Should have figured.”

“It’s fine,” you said, slipping your hand into his and smiling. “You going to tell me where we’re going, though?”

“Wouldn’t be a surprise if I did,” he said. 

You should have known by the duffel bag in the backseat what his plans were, but some thirty minutes later and he was pulling into a parking lot off of West 49th, shouldering the bag and looking over to you with a grin. “What’s a Christmas in New York without ice skating at Rockefeller Center?” 

You rolled your eyes, trying desperately to keep in a laugh. “You don’t think it’s a bit unfair? You’re paid buckets of money to balance on knife shoes and the last time I went ice skating was,” you tried to remember, “two years ago? Three?” 

Tito shrugged, taking your hand as you walked out the door of the parking lot. “What’s life without a little risk?” Whether the Harry Potter quote was intentional or not, you weren’t sure. 

“Fair,” you conceded. “You’ll have to look out for me, though.” He promised he would, handing his card over to the cashier, who in turn passed you your skates. Anthony led you over to a bench, grabbing a bag of roasted chestnuts from a street vendor before sitting down. You ate a few before tying your skates, swinging one up on his thigh for inspection. “Do these past muster, inspector?”

Anthony took one look at them before undoing your knot, adjusting your foot in his lap while rolling his eyes good-naturedly. “You didn’t tie them tight enough, you could break an ankle in these, babe, and we wouldn’t want that, would we?” You shook your head; he pulled you up to a standing position, leading you over to the gate to get onto the ice. “Don’t feel bad if you’ve got to hang onto the side for a little bit, it doesn’t look like the zamboni’s been over it in awhile so the ice is probably pretty chippy.”

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. “I’m not completely hopeless, Anthony. I’m no professional,” you half-slipped while taking your first step onto the ice, clinging to the railing, “clearly, but I’m an adult and I can handle myself.” 

He held his hands up in surrender, gliding backwards on the ice before stopping. “I know you can.” The two of you skated for about an hour before taking a break, sipping cups of piping hot apple cider while sitting on a bench off to the side of the rink. “There’s always that one person who feels the need to go in the center and show off, huh?” Tito mused, glancing towards center ice, where a woman was indeed in the middle of a spin so quick and intricate you had no clue how she didn’t throw up from the sheer centrifugal force of it all. 

“Says the professional hockey player,” you quipped. 

“I’d go insane if I tried to do anything like that,” Anthony responded, drinking the last of his cider before dropping the cup into the recycling bin. “Just about the only thing hockey players and figure skaters have in common is our ability to skate in a straight line.”

You laughed, squeezing his arm. “Have a little more faith in yourself than that, Anthony.” 

“Mhm,” he said, noncommittally like he didn’t quite believe you. “You ready to get going, or do you think you’ve got more in you?” 

You looked down at your watch; it was 9:30; the rink didn’t close for another hour and plenty of people were still milling about. “I think I’ve got a little gas left in the tank.” 

Sounds good,” he said, taking your hand and doing an extremely admirable job of not laughing at your attempts to hobble over to the ice on your skates. “One of these days I’m going to get you to go backwards,” he said as he stepped on, gliding back easily before coming to a quick stop. 

“I’ve just stopped having to hold onto your hands like a five-year-old, Beau,” you said, rolling your eyes as you took a moment to find your balance on the slippery ice. In your defense, he had been right about the lack of resurfacing on the ice; the skate attendant said the zamboni only came around once a day, shortly before opening, and the lack of smooth ice couldn’t have done you any favors. But you were determined to prove yourself, to show him and everyone else in Rockefeller Center that you were a fully grown and capable adult who could skate for a few feet without needing assistance. Which you did, for approximately two minutes, trailing ten or fifteen feet behind Anthony as he skated backwards, executing poorly-attempted jumps and spins for no reason other than your amusement. You were doing fine, until the toe pick of your skate caught in a chip in the ice and you tumbled down, down to the ice before Anthony could skate over and catch you,. Down, trying to break your fall with your hands. Pain radiated up your left wrist, the cold of the ice already beginning to melt into your jeans. 

“Oh my God,” Anthony said, kneeling in front of you as several passers-by looked over in concern. “You okay? That looked like a pretty bad fall.” 

You nodded, trying to push yourself up to a standing position, but the second you put pressure on your hand, you let out a sharp shriek. “Fuck,” you said, moving to rub your wrist. Not a good idea; the pain only got worse when you touched it. 

His brow only furrowed more. “If you put your wrist out to break the fall, you could have broken it or something. We should go to the hospital.”

You shook your head. “I’m sure it’s nothing, Tito,” you said as the two of you skated off the ice, your wrist hanging limply by your side as you bent down to try and untie the skate laces. He looked up at your face, seeing you biting your lip with tears pricking at the corner of your eyes as you tried to pull them. 

“Hurts to pull?” You knew it was no use trying to lie to him, so you nodded. He pushed the sleeve of your jacket up as gently as he could after untying your skates, handling your hand and wrist with as little pressure as he could. “Not exactly how I thought I’d be kneeling in front of you,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching. You knew he had only said it to distract you, try to get your mind off of the inordinate amounts of pain you were in, but the words still made your heart skip a beat. His fingers moved feather-light over your skin, keeping an eye on your facial expressions as he felt. “Hurts to close your hand?” You tried; you nodded. “Hurts to turn your wrist?” A second nod. “Has it gotten worse or better since you fell?”

“Worse,” you managed to squeak out. 

He bit his tongue in concentration. “Shit. Yeah, we should go to the hospital.” You knew it was no use to argue, even as you weakly kept telling him it was probably just a sprain that would heal on its own as he herded you into the car, looking up the waiting times of Manhattan emergency rooms. “The ER wait at Lenox Hill is twenty minutes, it’s like two miles away,” he said, puting the car into reverse and backing out of the parking lot. Of course, two miles in New York City on Christmas Eve really meant fifteen minutes, and by the time he parked at the hospital and you were walking into the ER, it was just past 11. And of course, an ER wait time of “twenty minutes” the day before Christmas meant that, as a relatively low-priority case, you weren’t seen for well over forty. “I feel terrible about this,” Anthony said, slumping back in the chair to the side as you sat on the exam table. 

“Not your fault,” you said emphatically. “Could have happened to anyone. Literally anyone, Tito,” you looked over at him; he still looked guilty. “It could have just as easily been you, if you’d hit the chip at the wrong angle or there was some kind of slippery patch you weren’t expecting. And,” you added as he opened his mouth, “you were too far away to catch me.” Your expression softened. “I know you would have if you could have, but I’m sure it’s not hurt too bad and I don’t want you to keep beating yourself up over it. I’ll be okay.” 

The nurse practitioner chose that moment to poke her head through the curtain, calling your name. You nodded. She flipped open your chart. “I’m Emily, I’ll be taking care of you tonight. It says here you’ve got a wrist injury?” You nodded, explaining what had happened. She pulled a pair of gloves on, fingers moving over your wrist. “With what I’m seeing and how you’re rating your pain, I think we’re probably looking at a bad sprain or a break, but we’ll have to get an X-ray to confirm.” Fifteen minutes later, you were in and out of the radiology suite, and Emily was looking at the images on a tablet. She leaned over the table, pointing to the images on the screen. “Okay, so what you’ve got is called a Colles’ fracture, it’s a break in the radius and they’re actually super common, by far the most common type of wrist break we see. Yours isn’t too bad, so I’d say it can come off in six weeks or so.” She left for a minute to get the casting supplies. Ten minutes later, your entire lower arm was covered in cotton and fiberglass wrap tape. You wiggled your fingers towards your boyfriend. “I think purple’s really my color, don’t you?” you said, nodding towards your cast. 

You saw him crack a smile, his first since the accident. “It’s beautiful, babe.” Fifteen minutes and more than your fair share of paperwork later, you had handed over your insurance information and gotten the okay to leave, with strict instructions to keep the cast dry and call if you had any problems. 

“I think this definitely wins as the most interesting date I’ve ever been on,” you said as the two of you crossed the parking lot. 

“I’ll have you agree with you on that one,” Anthony replied. “I’m glad it wasn’t anything more serious, though. I would have felt even worse.”

You nodded. “You and me both.” Anthony looked down at his watch as he held your good hand, smiling when he saw the time. “What is it?” you asked curiously. 

“Guess there was too much going on in there to keep track of time. It’s 1:37 AM.” 

The painkillers they had given you had kept the pain in your wrist to a dull ache, but all was forgotten as you realized what it meant, what it being past midnight meant, and you couldn’t stop a grin from spreading across your face. “It’s Christmas?” you said, almost like a question. Nothing could extinguish your love for the holiday: not the freezing cold air nipping at your nose or the apple cider that was so hot it burnt your tongue or the fact that you went out for a night with your boyfriend and came back with a broken wrist. You had him, and that was enough. 

Tito laughed, leaning down to press a soft kiss against your lips as he unlocked the car. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

[letteredlettered]

Do you have a favorite Jane Austen novel?

Yes. No. Yes. Maybe. Probably. Not really. No. Yes?

Emma.

For style: Pride and Prejudice. Someone once described the writing in this novel as “sparkling,” and I agree. It’s sharp, clever, and incisive, yet funny and easy to read. I identify with Lizzy least out of any Austen heroine, and while I do identify with Darcy quite a bit, I can take or leave most of the other characters except Mr. Bennett, who is the best. While I enjoy the story and themes, I like others more.

For story: Persuasion. They both pine almost the entire time, and this is a hardcore kink of mine. Mr Darcy pines quite a bit, but Lizzy not for very long; Mr. Knightley and Emma each pine only a little bit; of course, Edward and Elinor pine the whole time but there’s not as much focus on it. Meanwhile Anne starts the book by pining and Wentworth very quickly follows, and I feel that there’s a really legitimate reason they don’t work it out for a while. This book is also tighter than most of Austen’s others; there’s not a lot of extra. This book also has an even deeper kink of mine, dramatic irony. We know Wentworth wants her, but Anne doesn’t, and we get to interpret lots of little moments--Wentworth noticing that she is tired and she should ride in the carriage--in this light while Anne doesn’t get to. It’s magic.

For themes: Sense and Sensibility. I love the themes in P&P, but the themes in this one speak more deeply to me. As a teenager, I felt absolutely wrecked by the desire to do be myself, to do what I believed in, to be always honest in my expression, versus the desire to be realistic and practical as well as respectful of others, allowing them the space and the freedom that they may express themselves too. S&S has some added themes about convention and propriety, which I care about a little less, but while I’m not wrecked anymore, I still feel a constant push-and-pull between saying and doing whatever I want, versus making sure that others have the opportunity to be as expressive and free as I am determined to be. I am naturally blunt and not naturally very empathetic, but as a result I sometimes overcompensate and am silent when I should have been strident. Marianne and Elinor both live in me, and this story comes close to meaning the most to me.

Overall: Emma. This book comes close to P&P for smart writing and close to S&S for themes and ends up trumping them all because I care so deeply for Emma herself. In so many ways, I’m not like Emma at all, but in the ways that matter to me, I identify with her more deeply than all the other JA characters. The way she can be so arrogant and selfish, but cares so deeply about helping people and being good; the way her methods of helping people are often themselves arrogant and selfish; the way she comes to terms with this several times and then embarks on projects of self-improvement, which she doesn’t always stick to very well; the way she cares about what others think while also claiming not to care what others think; the way she sometimes ignores both her own faults and her own virtues--I see myself in all of this.

I talk about this way too much, but I once went to a lecture that had the premise that Emma was JA’s mature version of S&S--that Emma was in fact the contrasting desires/personalities of Elinor and Marianne housed in the same person. Emma longs to express herself freely and to be free to act however she chooses, but she also cares deeply about the opinions of others and showing them respect. The contrast between Elinor and Marianne is the conflict within Emma herself. (This is probably why Marianne/Colonel Brandon is my favorite Austen ship, because presumably Marianne grows into someone more Emma-like, with the same interior desires but an ability to censor herself. Brandon has very little personality in the book, but he has gone through a similar trial of loving indiscriminately with his whole heart and dealing with the consequences, so I love the idea of him being able to empathize and be beside her in the process.)

Also, I strongly identify with Emma’s desire. She desires desire most of the time, rather than desiring. She wants to be in love with Frank Churchill and imagines that she is, because it feels romantic and exciting. She wishes that she wanted to be like Jane Fairfax, which feels to her like wanting to want to be a good person; she feels it’s harder for her, because being like Jane is not her general wont. She even wishes that she wanted adventure, but knows she’s quite happy in her cozy little town and would not want anything different; as a compromise, she sits around and wishes things would happen, and then tries to make them happen when they don’t.

Lastly, I do love Mr. Knightley the best of all the heroes, unless you count my Colonel Brandon headcanon. Yes, of course, Mr Darcy’s ability to listen and change are very nice. However, I prefer Mr. Knightley’s almost boundless acceptance of Emma’s flaws, and I love that that acceptance would never preclude him from telling his best friend his true opinion of an action her found deeply reprehensible.

[bunnirs]

Scarlet Crossroads:

Chapter 2: Breaking The Ice

Previous/Next

Scarlet Crossroads Masterlist

It felt like hours before most of the exam contestants arrived. Of course, you happened to be exceptionally early, being only examinee 113.

You wish you could’ve said waiting was boring, but a few of the other examinee’s made it extremely difficult to settle down.

There was a wide variety of other characters, their personalities most likely to clash further into the exam, dragging you into the crossfire.

One man stood out to you. He was short, rather full looking, and had an ugly ass beard. Maybe he was a child… seeing as he certainly acted like one. This child of a man was Examinee #16, Tonpa the Rookie Crusher.

It was obvious to you that he was bad news. I mean, he reeked of mold and broccoli. (Well, you thought it was broccoli, but you could’ve been wrong on that. You were hoping, no praying, that it wasn’t the case.

He shifted uncomfortably underneath your stare, somehow growing nervous as he tried to speak. It seemed your aura was suffocating him, how typical.

Anyone who isn't strong enough to withstand it seemed to have that reaction. This just proved he was up to no good.

Your Nen Ability was something close to a Trump Card of sorts. No one would know it existed until it was too late. This poor man had already succumbed to it though, seeing as he was choking on his words.

With a quick inhale, your aura dispersed, leaving the short man to choke on the air that shot into his throat.

“You run a mile or something? Asthma?” You said curiously, a sly smirk seemed to pick at your lips, a laugh growing in your throat.

“No, no! I’m just thirsty! About that, what about a drink? You must be thirsty from your way here? What about we become pals? My name's Tonpa! How about you girly?”

Ew, okay gross. Did this man just call you.. girly? Yeah no, he’s not worthy enough to hold your drink, much less give you one.

With that conclusion, you gave him a forced smile, your eyes narrowing as you stared him down. “That’s really nice of you to offer, but I don’t take things from strangers.”

“Oh huh, really? That’s too bad!” He thought aloud, his expression faltering as he paid close attention to your expression. With each second your eyes got darker, the sides of your mouth twitching as you grew aggravated. Damn, something was up with you. “Your mother must be proud! The whole ‘Stranger Danger’ lesson worked huh?”

“Ah.” You paused, your smile dropping. Looks like the muscles in your face were sore now. Just great. “I didn’t have a mother.” You spoke calmly as you shifted your weight to the other leg, looking down at your fingernails.

With that realization, his eyes almost poked out of his head. He began to spew apologies, falling to the ground in a bow. It was painfully obvious that it was a forced reaction, but you took pleasure in watching him kneel. Okay maybe that’s coming off as too strong? Yeah, maybe it was just funny to you.

With that, you turned on your heel, signaling him off with a mere wave of your hand. Damn old men, they really did freak you out. Usually Chrollo or the Troupe would’ve killed him on sight, but they weren’t with you. The familiar faces began to run through your mind, distracting you from the small white blurr standing in front of you.

In a split second, you could feel your aura activate itself as you collided with another examinee. As if it didn’t startle you, the small kid seemed to be falling off his board. Everything seemed to slow down for you, his surprised face turned into one of anger, and his pupils locked with yours.

You quickly shot out your hand, grabbing his wrist, holding him up so he wouldn’t fall on his back. His skateboard flipped in the air, but it seems he had already caught it. You thought to yourself, ‘Hey that was kind of cool’, and let go of his small wrist.

He shifted uncomfortably, his hair covering his blushing face, his hands clamping up into small fists. “Hey why don’t you watch where you’re going?! If I was someone else, you would’ve been dead the minute you touched me! But you got lucky this time, I don’t really want to pick a fight with anyone just yet.” He smiled confidently to himself, laying his board back onto the ground, his left foot pushing it back and forth. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t come after you, you old hag! Man, people like you won’t ever pass this exam! Especially when you can’t even walk without bumping into people?!”

You didn’t even get to open your mouth before he jumped back on his board, weaving through the crowd, blowing the small strands of hair from his face.

What a spoiled brat. Who the hell does he think he is? Telling you that you won’t pass the exam? Hell, you’d blow through this thing like it’s nothing. All you had to do was get your hunters license, and then shove it into that kids face.

Yeah, sounds simple enough.

That declaration of yours was made almost an hour ago, and now, waiting was getting old. For said hour, you’ve been sitting against the wall, playing with a small rubix cube. Instead of its natural colored squares, small little pieces of duct tape covered the surface. What was written on said tape, were the names of each troupe member.

You remembered Pakunoda spending an hour just writing the names down, wanting them to be spelled perfectly so you could read them correctly. This was years ago, probably when you were nearing age 5, the withered adhesives almost giving up.

Seeing as there were no school opportunities for you, Pakunoda mostly took charge of your education, wanting you to be as smart as possible. She really was motherly in a way, even when she denied it.

Her teaching certainly worked its wonders. Even though you came off as an idiot, your mind worked faster than what was natural. You could tell peoples moves before they even acted them out, which seemed to help greatly in the troupe’s line of work.

It seems they raised you to be a Phantom Troupe member, the spider tattoo being embedded in your mind, almost like a nightmare. It was truly Ironic, considering that you hated the very idea of joining the Spiders.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of the elevator, and the doors slowly opened to reveal a group of three.

They were oddly fitting for a friend group. One of them was obviously a child, his innocent face matched his horrible sense of fashion. Next to him was a rather greasy... business man? He looked to be at least in his late twenties? It was an understatement to say that his limbs were of average length, because damn, those arms were long.

Your eyes then glanced over to his other partner. He was shorter, but much younger looking. He looked to be your age, which was very exciting for you. You never had a friend that was actually close to your age. Maybe you’d sneak in a word or two during this?

The longer you stared, the more you noticed about him. He had blonde hair that stopped right behind his ear, his eyes were soft, a calming grey color. If you stared at them any longer you were sure to get lost. It sounded cheesy, but you ignored that thought.

To be honest, everything about him screamed Mom friend, almost reminding you of Pakunoda in a way.

You watched as Beans, the Secretary that approached you not too long ago, gave them their badges. They were numbers; 403, 404, and 405.

They were likely the last ones to get here, which was good news in your book. Finally, the Hunter Exam was about to begin!

A few more minutes passed, and you shifted uncomfortably as you watched Tonpa walk up to the group. You didn’t necessarily care about the two older ones, but the kid seemed to bother you.

That’s when you decided to take your chances and try to rescue the trio. As you thought to yourself, you figured you most likely wouldn’t make it in time to stop them from drinking it, so you did the next best thing.

Your mind spewed apologies as you looked down at the rubix cube that resembled your childhood. With one last glance, you lined it up with the kids' drink. With a strong over handed throw, it spiraled towards the can, completely tearing through the thin metal.

Juice had sprayed all over Tonpa’s face, it’s orange contents seeping into his clothes. Maybe, just maybe, that would help him smell better.

With a quick smile, you cautiously jogged over. You held up one hand, waving as you came in peace. The closer you got, the more you noticed the blonde boy’s eyes. They seemed empty almost, like they were hiding something behind them. Tough childhood huh? You could relate.

You stopped as you got in front of them, rubbing the back of your neck as an act of nervous behavior. Good act. Keep it up. “So sorry guys, sometimes I forget I’m surrounded by other people! I kinda just threw it y'know?”

“That was… so cool!” The smaller boy piped in, his eyes adorned in admiration. “My names Gon! Gon Freccs! What’s your name?”

“Oh.” You were generally surprised by his positivity, seeing as you just knocked his source of hydration from his hands. “The names Y/N.” You held out your hand, taking the kids palm in yours. “Sorry for spilling your drink.. but I can’t say it was purely an accident. This guy has been trying to mess with people, I just felt like I had to warn you.”

With that, the blonde boy and his accomplice poured their drinks out, a disgusted look on their faces.

“Oh really? I thought it smelled weird! I’m glad to know I wasn’t having allergies or something!” Gon muttered the last part, rubbing the surface of his index finger underneath his nose, as if to wipe something off.

You nodded, a small smile reaching your lips. “Well Gon, and his…” you paused for a minute, your eyes meeting the blonde boys. “Accomplices? Besties…? Caretakers?”

“Friends is a better word.” The grey eyed boy said quickly. “My name is Kurapika, and this?” He gestured with his hands, pointing at Leorio’s stomach. “This is Leorio.”

“I think I can introduce myself, you damn blonde!” Leorio interrupted him, yelling in his face, his finger pointing into Kurapika’s chest.

“Oh, it’s quite alright. Seeing as I got it the first time” You said quickly, not wanting to hear it again.

You ignored the taller man as he started to spew nonsense, most of its contents having to do with insults directed towards you. Your small smile seemed to falter, suddenly remembering the very item you had used to save them was not in your hands.

That’s when your eyes dropped to the floor, searching for the old rubix cube that contained most of your memories of home. You felt your heart spike, the feeling of disappointment taking over.

On the outside you remained stoic, your shoulders merely shrugging as you let out a small groan of annoyance. “Damn, I lost that old thing again?”

“What thing?” Gon interjected, standing on his tippy-toes as he rocked back and forth. “You mean that toy?”

You cringed, your teeth grinding together as you glared him down. “That ‘thing’ is not a toy, it’s something very important to me.”

“Must not be ‘very important’ if you throw it at people.” Leorio retorted, rolling his eyes as he adjusted his suit sleeve. Why he wore it to an exam was beyond you.

“Well, no matter how important it is, I’m sure you’d like it back?” Kurapika cut Leorio off, trying to prevent whatever fight was about to break out between the two of you.

“Huh?” You broke your gaze with Leorio, only to meet the cold, empty eyes of Kurapika. “Well of course I’d want it back. It is mine after all.”

Leorio started to grow annoyed, most likely with the fact that you were ignoring him. “Hey! Don’t give him that crappy attitude! We’re being nice to you, so don’t overstay your welcome!”

“..You make it sound like I’m at your house.” You looked to him, your face forming into a scowl.

This sent the overdressed man into a blushing mess, his words coming out as broken stutters, his hands fumbling with the hems of his suit. It seems he did that a lot.

“Please ignore him.” Kurapika sighed, obviously embarrassed by his friend’s behavior. “But regarding the object of discussion, I think you should have it back.” With that, he reached his hand out, your rubix cube in his hand.

Your eyes quickly rushed down towards it, your hands quickly snatching from his own, scared that if you touched him, he’d know everything about you.

You let out a soft sigh of relief, putting the cube back in your small bag. Unbeknownst to you, the tape that once held your brother's name, was now somewhere along the ground.

“Thanks.” You muttered, your fingers tingling from where they had brushed against his. “..So, why not break the ice a little? Why are you guys trying to become Hunters?”

The small child opened his mouth to answer, but it seems it was cut short by a blood curdling scream.

You all turned your heads to the noise, being greeted by the sight that was Hisoka.

It seems someone had bumped into him, seeing as they were now in a fetal position on the ground, their arms missing as they disintegrated into little flowers. At least the flowers were pretty.

If matters couldn’t get any more interesting, the large door that you presumed was a wall opened, revealing who looked to be an Examiner.

He wore an all purple suit, his white hair almost looking like a soft lavender. His mustache seemed to cover his mouth, hiding whatever lurked inside of it. His name didn’t matter to you, frankly, none of these people did.

Atleast, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

TYSM FOR READING GUYS!!!!!! ALSO WHAT DO YOU THINK READER’S NEN ABILITY IS????? WGAJDHJWdAJDHkjshdkJhd

I HOPE THIS WAS ENOUGH tO SATISFY YOU THIS WEEK UMMMMMM!!!! LUCILFER READER AND KURAPIKA JUST HAD THEIR IINTRoDuctION TO EACHOTHER SO!!!

[adorpheus]

on fujoshi and fetishization

Lately, more and more, both here on tumblr and on other sites, I keep seeing people spew unfiltered hatred at fujoshi - that is, women who like mlm content such as gay fanfic and fanart featuring men with other men. And I don’t mean like a specific type of fujoshi, like the ones who are genuinely being weird about it, but just like a general hatred for girls (but especially straight identifying girls) who express love for gay romance.

I hate to break this to you all, but women (including straight women!) actually are allowed to like mlm fanfiction and fanart, even enthusiastically so. A woman simply expressing her love of gay fanfic, even if it is in kind of a cringey way or a way that you personally don’t like, is NOT automatically fetishization.

I’ve been on the receiving end of fetishization for my entire life, from a very young age, as many black and brown folx have, so I consider myself pretty well acquainted with how it works. Fetishization isn’t just like, being really into drawings of boys kissing, or whatever the fuck y’all are trying to imply on this god forsaken site. 

Fetishization is complicated imo, and can encompass a lot of things, such as (but not limited to):

1 - dehumanization, e.g. viewing a group of people as sexual objects who exist purely for entertainment purposes, rather than acknowledging them as actual people who deserve respect and rights

and

2 - projecting certain assumptions onto said people based on their race/sexuality/whatever is being fetishized. These assumptions are often, but not always, sexual in nature (like the idea that black people in general are more sexual than other races, etc etc etc).

I’m going to use myself as an example to illustrate my point. Please note this isn’t the best or most nuanced example, but it is the most simplistic. A white person finding me attractive and respectfully appreciating my black features as part of what makes me beautiful is not, on its own, fetishization. A white person finding me attractive solely or mostly because I’m a PoC is now in fetishization territory. Similarly, assuming I’m dominant because of my blackness (like saying “step on me mommy” and shit like that) is hella fetishistic. 

That being said, theres definitely a difference between how fetishization works in real life with real people, and how it shows up in fandom. 

Fetishization manifests in many different ways in fandom, but most commonly on the mlm side of things, I personally see it appear as conservative (or centrist) women who love the idea of two men together, but don’t actually like gay people, and don’t necessarily think LGBT+ people deserve rights (or “special treatment” as its sometimes dog whistled). These women view queer men as sexual objects for entertainment rather than an actual group of people who deserve to be protected from systemic oppression. I’ve noticed that they often don’t even think of the men they “ship” together as actually being gay, and may even express disgust at the idea of a character in an mlm ship being headcanon’d gay. In case its not obvious, this is pretty much exactly the same way a lot of cishet men fetishize lesbians (they see “lesbian” as a porn category, rather than like, what actual LGBT people think of when we read the word lesbian). There’s a pretty popular viral tweet thread going around where someone explains seeing this trend of conservative women who like mlm stuff, and I have also personally witnessed this phenomenon myself in more than one fandom. 

The funny thing is, maybe its just me buuuut.... The place I see this particular kind of fetishization happen most is not in the anime/BL fandom, from which the term fujoshi originates - I actually see these type of women way way more in western fandom spaces like Supernatural, Harry Potter, and Hannibal. I can’t stress this enough, there’s a shocking amount of people who are like, straight up trump supporters in these fandoms. If you want to experience it, try joining a Hannigram or Destiel group on facebook and you will probably encounter one eventually especially if you happen to be living through a major historical event. Like these women probably wouldn’t even be considered “fujoshi”, because that term doesn’t really apply to them given they aren’t in the BL/anime fandom, yet they’re the ones I personally see actually doing the most harm.

Of course this isn’t the ONLY kind of fetishizing woman in the mlm/BL world, there are other ways fetishization shows up, but this is the most toxic kind that I see.

A girl just being really into BL or whatever may be “cringe” to you, or she may be expressing her love for BL in a “cringey” way, but a straight woman really enjoying BL is not, on its own, somehow inherently fetishization. Yes, sometimes teenage girls act kind of cringe about how much they like BL and that might be annoying to you, but its not necessarily ~problematic~. 

That being said, IT NEEDS BE REMARKED that a lot of the “fujoshi” that you all hate so deeply, are actually closeted trans men or nonbinary people who haven’t yet come to terms with their gender identity, or are otherwise just NOT cishet. I know because I was one of these closeted people for years, and I honestly think tumblr and the cultural obsession around purity is one of the many reasons I was closeted so deeply for so long. STORYTIME LOL!!! In my early adolescence, I was a sort of proto “fujoshi”. I identified as a bi girl who was mostly attracted to men, or as most (biphobic) people called it, “practically straight”. I wrote and read “slash” fanfic and looked at as well as drew my own fanart. We didn’t use the term fujoshi back then, but that’s definitely how I could have been described. I was obsessed with yaoi, BL, whatever you want to call it, to a cringe-inducing degree. I really struggled to relate to most het romances, so when I first discovered yaoi fanfics (as we called them at the time), I fell in love and felt like I finally found the type of romance content that was made for me. I didn’t know exactly why, I just knew it hit different. LGBT+ fanart and fanfiction brought me an immense amount of joy, and I didn’t really think too hard about why.

At some point, in my early 20s, after reading lots of discourse™ here on tumblr and other places like twitter, I started to get the sinking feeling that my passion for gay fanfiction was ~problematic~. I had always felt a sense of guilt for being into mlm content, because literally anyone who found out I liked BL (especially the men I dated) shamed me for liking it all the fucking time (which btw is literally just homophobic, like can we talk about that?). In addition to THAT bullshit, now I’m seeing posts telling me that girls who like BL are cringey gross fetishists who inspire rage and should go die? 

Let me tell you, I internalized the fuck out of messages like this. I desperately wanted to avoid being ~problematic~. At the time, I thought being problematic was like the worst thing you could be. I was terrified of being “cancelled”, before canceling was even really a thing. I thought to myself, “oh my god, I’m gross for liking this stuff? I should stop.” I beat myself up over this. I wanted so badly to be accepted, and to be deemed a Good Person by the internet and society at large.

I tried to shape up and become a good ally (lmfao). I stopped writing fanfic and deleted all the ones I was working on at the time. I made a concerted effort to assimilate into cishet culture, including trying to indulge myself more deeply in the few fandoms I could find that had het content I did enjoy (Buffy, True Blood, Pretty Little Liars, etc). I would occasionally look at BL/fanfic/etc in private, but then I would repress my interest in it and not look for a while. Instead I would look at women in straight relationships, and create extremely heterosexual Couple Goals pinterest boards, and try to figure out how I could become more like these women, so I, too, could be loved someday. 

This cycle of repression lasted like eight years. Throughout it all, I was performing womanhood to the best of my ability and trying to become a woman that was worthy of being in a relationship. I went in and out of several “straight” relationships, wondering why they didn’t make me feel the way reading fanfic did. Most of all, I couldn’t figure out why straight intimacy didn’t work for me. I just didn’t enjoy it. I always preferred looking at or making gay fanfiction/fanart over actual intimacy with men in real life. 

Eventually, I stumbled upon a trans coming out video that someone I was following posted online, my egg started to crack, and to make an extremely long story short, after like 3 years of introspection and many gender panic attacks that I still experience to this day, I realized that I’m uh... MAYBE... NOT CIS..!? :|

I truly believe if I had just been ALLOWED TO LIKE GAY STUFF WITHOUT BEING SHAMED FOR IT, I probably would have realized I was trans way way sooner. Because for me, indulging in my love of gay romance and writing gay fanfic wasn’t me being a weirdo fetishist, it was actually me exploring my own gender identity. It is what helped me come to terms with being a nonbinary trans boy.

Not everyone realizes they are trans at age 2 or whatever the fuck. Sometimes you have to go through a cringey fujoshi phase and multiple existential crises to realize how fucking gay you are AND THATS FINE.

And one more thing - can we just be real here? 

A lot of anti-fujoshi sentiment is literally just misogyny. omg please realize this. Its “women aren’t allowed to enjoy things” but, like... with gay fanfics. Some of the anti-fujoshi posts I see come across my dash are clearly ppl projecting a caricature they invented in their head of a demonic fujoshi fetishist onto any woman who expresses what they consider to be a little too much enthusiasm for gay content and then using their perception of that individual as an excuse to justify their disdain for any women, especially straight women, ‘invading’ their ~oh so exclusive~ queer fandom spaces.

 god get over yrselfs this is gatekeeping by another name

idk why i spent so long writing this no one is even going to read it, does anyone even still use this site

*EDIT: HOLY SHIT WHEN DOING RESEARCH FOR THIS POST I FOUND OUT THAT Y-GALLERY IS BACK OMG!!!