#why would idealism turn out any different this time it always devolves to the same thing

[shallowrambles]

Oh. Cas’s army plotline was about war. It was about Cas choosing war. That was the tension.

[feanorianethicsdepartment]

Do you have any personal headcanons about Celebrimbor's mother and her relationship with Curufin? I always thought that it's weird we don't have even the barest information about that considering Celebrimbor's unique position as the only next gen Feanorian. (Sorry if you already talked about this somewhere!)

thanks for the ask! i have, but i'm not going to pass up an opportunity to blather on about my ocs for several paragraphs

curufin's wife (she lacks a name because i hate giving characters names and will delay it until i absolutely have to) is noldorin, she lives in valinor in the years of the trees. i haven't thought much about her family, but i suspect they're middling nobility at the highest the did-valinor-have-social-classes debate is a whole different rabbit hole. she's a metalworker like her husband (she probably specialises in a slightly different subcategory but idk enough to say what) and is a member of the same tirion artisan guild. it's in that context that they meet and begin their Intense Crafting Rivalry

you know that trope where a pair of rivals are so obsessively devoted to one-upping each other it's blindingly obvious that what they actually want is to kiss? that's them, that's their relationship. their specialties are just similar enough they do a lot of the same stuff but just different enough their approaches tend to be radically divergent. what starts as the two of them trying to prove the superiority of their own artistic circle or whatever evolves into them trying to show up him/her specifically, s/he's wrong about x and i know i can do better, why does my family keep asking if we're dating yet????? their competition gets absolutely ridiculous in ways only a pre-scarcity society can get, like building an entire fountain out of solid silicon specifically because he said she couldn't do it (he actually said shouldn't but screw him (not literally cousin oh my valar))

but yeah. their relationship grows an undercurrent of the-only-one-allowed-to-push-around-my-archnemesis-is-me, and they find themselves fighting back to back (occasionally literally) when tirion guild politics takes a turn for the tirion guild politics. they just slowly come to trust each other, more than anyone else, and soon there comes an appropriately dramatic moment for them to suddenly kiss. they're still always trying to out-craftself each other, celebrimbor grows up in a house that's about 70% forge to the background noise of his parents insulting each other's work, but they're comfortable with each other in a way neither of them could have imagined in the early days, and when things get rough they always have each other's backs

things do, in fact, get rough. maglor won't meet his wife until beleriand, caranthir's relationship with his spouse slowly falls apart along with the political situation in tirion, but curufin's wife is loudly team fëanor. she suffers from an acute case of finwean spouse disease, she thinks going to middle-earth to build their own world is an awesome idea, she's deeply embedded in the tirion artisan scene with an entire social circle as think the same way, and when the inevitable civil war flares up she'll probably be even more eager to fight the fingolfinians than her husband. she goes with him and their-still-pretty young son to formenos, and when the trees get eaten and fëanor does the speech she prepares for the adventure of a lifetime

then, alqualondë. i stand by my conviction that nobody on the noldorin side walked in planning to steal the boats, let alone murder the teleri, but it was dark and the world was ending and everybody had sharp things. like everybody else involved in the first kinslaying, curufin and wife got caught up in the battle because somebody shouted 'they're attacking us!' in the distance. she is at first more trying to stop them from stabbing her, obsidian fishing spears glancing off ornamental steel, but then she lashes out and she hits someone in the chest and -

there was this recurring trope in her and her husband’s endless mutual critique. she’d create something beautiful, artfully devised and elegantly constructed, showing off a whole ton of design principles and doing things with the material no one had ever done. he would look at it skeptically and go ‘okay, but what use is it? what is it for?’

red liquid running down the fuller of the exquisite sword she forged herself, light guttering out of another elf’s eyes as he coughs up blood, she knows, sure as once were the light of the trees, what the piece of metal in her hands is for

the next few moments are a blur. she threw the sword into the water, she knows that. somehow she wound up running out of alqualondë, tears streaming down her face, as buildings burned and people screamed behind her. she found a concealed spot by the road, tore off her armour, peeked outside, and watched. when the fires were dying down and the boats were clearly gone, she mustered her courage and went to save her family

in the centuries to come, very few people believe celebrimbor when he tells them his mother tried to get his father to come back by, among other things, appealing to his better nature. nobody believes that it almost worked. but curufin was still only starting out on the road to hellbeastery, and his wife was his eternal partner-in-crime. right there at the beginning, staring out over a burning city, she saw where the road the noldor were walking would eventually lead them, no matter how much they tried to deny it. no dreams could be worth that, she told him. no ideals. and she was always the idealist, wasn’t she?

she was. maybe that’s why he, who had so very few ideals to mark his path, refused to abandon this one. their discussion rapidly devolved into a screaming argument half the camp could hear, much like curufin’s last argument with celebrimbor, centuries later. soon enough, though, it became clear that he wouldn’t turn back, and she refused to go on, and neither of them could change the other’s minds. the only thing left between them was celebrimbor

celebrimbor was eight (-ish in elf years), and completely freaked out, and eight, and knew almost nothing about what was going on, and eight, and had grown up listening to his grandfather’s dreams, and eight, and was surrounded by adults who very loudly thought going to middle-earth would solve all their problems, and eight, and couldn’t tell why his mother was abandoning them. panicking, on the spot, he buried his face in curufin’s smock to wipe away his tears. when he looked up, she was gone

so yeah, curufin’s wife went back with finarfin, that’s why she didn’t go to middle-earth. she initially stayed with nerdanel because almost everyone else on both sides of her extended family remained by (and later burned) the boats, i’m only just realising the horrible curufin argument probably wasn’t even the only one she went through that night, jeez. also she really needed a hug. the sun rose, alqualondë started rebuilding, and she ended up head of her and her husband’s former mutual craft guild, mostly because nobody else with the skills to do it was left. decades turn to centuries, news slowly filters back from beleriand, and her worst nightmares are proven so awfully right

probably the biggest emotion she feels towards curufin in the aftermath is betrayal. they were partners, in every sense of the word, they took on the world and they did it together, using their constant competition to drive each other to ever greater heights. they listened to each other, they trusted each other’s judgement, and she knows he understood the point she was making. him continuing on anyway, and diving face-first into the void - the elf she thought she knew would never have done that. as time passes by, the grief and the loneliness get subsumed by a deep abiding rage. if she ever sees the thing her husband let himself become again, she’ll throw a welding torch in his face

but that anger, that heartbreak, none of that applies to her son. when the hosts of valinor began gearing up for war - she’s the leader of tirion’s most prominent metalworking guild, she can’t not go. while they’re unloading supplies and siege equipment and stuff onto the isle of balar, she happens to pass by this relatively short dusky-skinned noldo hauling some smithing equipment about. as soon as he gets a proper look at her, he gasps. she looks back in confusion, and then she meets his eyes

later, she’ll hear his tales of his adventures in the hither lands, all of the hardships, yes, but also all of the brilliance. later, she’ll learn about the person he’s grown into, someone she can be unreservedly proud of in his choices and works. later, they’ll talk about the future, about his ambitions of making his grandfather’s dream come true, but with open hands and a light to be shared with all the peoples of middle-earth. for now, though, she wraps celebrimbor in a massive hug, and lets the tears flow down her face, because no matter how much they’ve lost, no matter how deep the darkness around them, right here and now, her son is alive

[inkstaineddove]

Man as Mirror

Ships: PruAus if you wish; background PruHun and FraAus

Characters: Roderich, Gilbert; mentioned Erzsi + Francis

Summary: Arriving home early from Paris, Roderich encounters a shirtless Gilbert in his kitchen, leading them to have a conversation Roderich could've gone without.

Vienna, 1774.

Once his carriage safely rolled to a stop, Austria stepped out of it and stretched. While even he could not deny the beauty of Paris, nothing pleased the heart quite like home. Servants rushed about him, ushering in his extensive luggage. Sidestepping away from them, he gazed up at the early-morning sky and allowed himself the luxury of taking it all in. The fading purple of night, the sun shyly poking its face out through his hedges, and the birds singing their daily hymns. Truly, there was nowhere quite like home.

Feeling sufficiently uplifted, he entered the home and mindlessly made his way up the stairs. He froze once his hand hovered above the doorknob to his bedroom. He had been burned once before doing this and while, thankfully, all other parties had been asleep, the event had caused him enough mental anguish to power him through another three decades. Still, the desire to change out of his travel clothes was nigh impossible to dismiss. Leaning an ear against the door, his decision was made for him when he heard something like a moan come from Erzsébet. Changing could wait.

All remnants of his good mood dissipated as he silently grumbled to himself about their guest. While it certainly came as no surprise – Erzsébet did this every time he was out of town and, honestly, Roderich had grown to expect it – but hearing them was different. Sure, he was no fool and they made no effort to pretend but having indisputable proof of their trysts was another. Roderich was cursed to have found a spouse and enemy full of cunning. He noted that, if the two of them ever put their powers to good use, he’d have to compliment them for it. For now, while he was their target, any appreciation was out of the question.

He felt his body yearning for caffeine and knew what the next item on his agenda must be. Still lost in his thoughts, he was completely caught off guard at the sight of a bare-chested Gilbert standing over the kitchen counter. It was comical, really, watching such a brutish man delicately pour cream into two dainty mugs, mentally measuring out the right amounts. Roderich stood back and watched the whole performance in domesticity, studying the man before him as he never had before. The way his back and shoulder muscles shifted with each movement; how he never slouched even when it would be far more comfortable to; how the whole time, he never stopped humming marches to himself.

This scene felt too intimate and Roderich understood that he was not its intended audience. What he needed most from his rival now was hostility and not misguided fantasies of marital bliss. He cleared his throat and stepped into Gilbert’s line of sight. “For me? How sweet of you.” He snatched the mug closest to him and added in his usual five spoonsful of sugar. He held up a finger when he felt Gilbert gearing up to protest. “She’s still asleep. Besides, no one likes waking up to cold coffee. It sets such a tone for the day.”

They settled into a tense silence, neither one wanting to acknowledge the other. It was childish, Roderich understood, but failing to will the other out of his existence was better than devolving into petty insults or a physical altercation. And, if he ignored all rational thoughts, he didn’t even care. When around each other, what else were they but ancient children? There was no reason for them to speak, why invent one?

“Paris again? How many times have you been there over the last three months?” There almost appeared to be a hint of affectionate teasing in Gilbert’s words.

Roderich turned to face him and was surprised to find Gilbert already observing him with mild interest. What a strange morning, one he wished he could find some escape in by returning to bed but felt certain would provide him with no real escape. If anything, the pair would wake him up and demand he leave his own damn bed for another room, that’s how selfish they were. Against his will, he felt himself noticing the strength in Gilbert’s body, all broad shoulders and muscle, the physique of the ideal warrior. All suddenly clicked on why Roderich always found himself flat on his ass whenever they’d begin to trade blows. His arrogance had blinded him to the fact that imperial power mattered little when they weren’t trying to kill each other on the battlefield. With biceps like that, his only chance to get the upper hand would be a swift kick to the groin, which even at his worst he was too principled to resort to.

He was brought back to reality when Gilbert began snapping his fingers in his face. “Jesus, has anyone ever told you how creepy that staring thing you do is? Like you were trying to undress me with your eyes.” He straightened up and shivered. “Commission a portrait, it’ll last longer.”

“Please, don’t be so crass. This,” Roderich flippantly pointed to Gilbert’s outfit, “is already enough. If I imagined you in any less, I’d be ill for at least a month.”

Gilbert smirked as he took a sip. “Funny, most people have the opposite reaction.” He leaned his hips back against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. “Now, how much more stalling can you do? What’s kept you in Paris so much? I don’t recall most treaties taking that much time to…hammer out.” He bit his lip, trying to suppress his snickering.

“It’s rude to talk work at breakfast.” Austria couldn’t be bothered to mask his irritation. Things such as ‘politeness’ and ‘civility’ always seemed to go to waste on Prussia. “And, if you’re fishing for what’s in our agreement, you’ll have no such luck from me. You’re wasting your time.”

“You think I give a damn about what’s on a fucking piece of paper? As if I’d be wasting my time on that. I don’t know who blabs more for the right price, your officials or France’s.” Gilbert’s demeanor was too casual. “Most of the time, we don’t have to go to those damn meetings anyways. We’re little more than decorations, the bureaucrats have everything written before they even breathe a word to us. We know that, they know that. There are always ulterior motives for our little business trips. Whenever I come here, I tell my current minder I’ll be off doing a diplomatic something-or-other in Vienna for a week, don’t wait up.  They buy it even though they know the real reason I come to this shrine of gaudy antiques.”

“Your point, Gilbert?”

“My point is that you’re no different. Sure, you tell everyone that you’re renegotiating this or that little detail and maybe your officials believe it. And you tell it to Erzsi, and she believes it since it’s easier than thinking the husband she loathes so much is just as miserable as her. And maybe you believe it too because you have to lie to yourself first to lie to everyone else. But you can’t fool me.”

The whole time he spoke, Roderich was staring down into the contents of his mug. When all was quiet between them was when he finally looked up, laughing. “You must be desperate if you’re begging to get a morsel of gossip on me from me.”

Gilbert scoffed. “I’m not fishing for gossip. If I was, I would’ve gone through your letters while you were gone. And, before you ask, I’ve never done that. Not for lack of trying, I’m just not good at picking locks.”

The vein behind Roderich’s left eye began pulsating. He rubbed his temple gingerly, wincing. “I think I prefer it when you act like you can’t stand to be in the same room with me. Why the annoying younger brother schtick?”

“Maybe I’m making up for lost time.” For added emphasis, Gilbert made sure to loudly schlurp down a sip. Roderich’s wince at such a noise caused him to snort some coffee out his nose. Wiping it away, he grinned. “Or maybe I just want you to stop thinking you’re any better than me. Get you when you’re unguarded.”

“There’s a glaring hole in your plan. You’ve forgotten that I would never allow myself to be so vulnerable around you, no matter what time of day it is.” He mockingly shook his head, tutting. “I understand that, for now, we’re officially getting along just fine, but don’t mistake that for camaraderie. The first chance either of us gets, we’ll be back to stabbing each other in the back for sport. It’s who we are.”

“Well, aren’t you a pessimist.”

“Hardly. I simply know our natures too well,” Roderich sighed, growing weary at this line of conversation. “So, if this is only temporary, why should I feign tolerance towards you? Quite honestly, you’re not important enough to me for that sort of performance. Even if you were, you would see right through it. No, my energy is better spent on nobler pursuits.”

Gilbert had set his mug down, now drumming his fingers on the countertop. “I’m not asking for friendship; I’m asking for honesty.” He rolled his eyes with the temperament of a teenager. “Whatever. You got me sidetracked. It’s pointless anyways; you’re too delusional.”

“Excuse me?” That was quite the accusation from an unusual source. “At this point, you may as well come right out and say it.”

“If you insist,” Gilbert’s tone lilted up, songlike and jeering. “What you won’t admit is what I started this whole conversation with. All these trips to Paris, they’re not about work or diplomacy or any of your other shitty excuses. I know and you know that the only purpose is to blow a load in Francis’ ass and get away from your miserable life.”

Roderich set his mug down gently. There was no need for it to spill, to make a mess all over the clean marble. “For a moment, I’m going to ignore the vulgar insinuation you’ve made about my relationship with Francis.” He looked up, not breaking eye contact with Gilbert. “You know nothing about my life and my contentment with it. I understand that you are a deeply unhappy and wretched creature and why shouldn’t you be? There is nothing for you to go home and boast about, no shining accomplishments of yours not bathed in the blood of an innocent people, but do not project your misery onto me. For all your crowing to the contrary, we have never been, nor will we ever be, the same.”

Gilbert scoffed. “And everything you’ve ever done, there was only glory to be found there? All the princes you absorbed into your own lands, they were willing? The Bohemians, the Hungarians, they love your rulers? Are you pretending that only Russia and I invaded Poland because I remember seeing you at the table, carving out portions for yourself.”

“I’m not so naïve to believe I haven’t picked up the sword before. And, if necessary, I would again. You’d be wise to remember that.” Roderich straightened up, pulling his shoulders back. “But I’ve achieved just as much without force as with. The home we’re currently standing is a monument to such.”

“Please. It’s a monument to other people’s power and what it can get you. We don’t impact change, we just ride the waves of it,” Gilbert sneered. “This house is a prison for all who come in it. A golden cage is still a cage, Roderich, even for the largest bird.”

Roderich sighed with a roll of his eyes. “Mixing your metaphors doesn’t make you sound wiser, I’ve told you this before.” Needing caffeine for his growing headache, he took a sip. “I assume you’re including yourself among the captives.”

“To a degree. I can leave whenever I want – as you love to point out, I do have my own house – but where would one of us be without the other two? We are the protagonists of our own tragedy.”

“I sincerely regret that old king of yours got you into theater. Next you’ll be telling me how all the world’s a stage and we are but merely players.” When Gilbert opened his mouth to comment on that, Roderich held up his hand. “That wasn’t an invitation for your Shakespearean theories!” He rubbed the bridge between his nose, his prior weariness intensifying. “Why does it matter to you so much? Why must I parade my discontent as you and Erzsébet do? If you make your life’s purpose revenge against an unjust world – there you go! I admit it’s unjust! – you are sure to become more miserable than ever before. Perhaps you should learn that before it destroys you like one of your dear tragedies.”

“It matters because you act like you’re superior to us in every way when, really, you’re no different. And I don’t think I’ll ever understand that,” Gilbert’s voice softened with something akin to regret.

Something in his tone of voice, in his posturing, lit a fire within Roderich. His eyes hardened and he pressed his lips into a scowl. “Understanding is what you want? If it’ll get the defiling power of your pity off me, then so be it! I am better than you in every conceivable way. If I am to you but a mirror, peer close and you’ll realize it too. Where you feel trapped by the circumstances life has thrown us in, with a life that can never truly be our own, I’ve taken what you’ve failed to grasp. While you were slaughtering pagan Easterners in your little bog, I was here, accumulating wealth and power you’ve only fantasized about. I am the seat of an empire that you only have access to through Brandenburg.

“But those are meaningless things, aren’t they? Because here’s what really matters to you – the only thing, isn’t it? I’ve seen how you stare; I know that look – I’ve got what a childhood spent pining among the monks prevented you from getting. Did you ever mention it to them? How young love made that vow of celibacy torturous? How close did you come to breaking it? How many Hail Mary’s did they make you perform for every impure thought? Do you wonder what they’d think of you now, going through all this because you’re in love with your brother’s wife? Phrased just so, they would burn you at the stake again. Ah, but the hellfire is familiar, isn’t it?” Roderich glanced at the clock hanging behind Gilbert’s shoulder. “Erzsébet should be waking now. Go play domestic and bring my wife some coffee.”

Roderich forced himself away from Gilbert, who was left crestfallen with his wide eyes and gaping mouth. He had said enough, gloating would be overkill. He entered his study and locked the door. If there would be consequences for his monologue, let them come later.

The day was still new. Roderich stared out the window. Despite checking the clock, his adrenaline had made him forget the time. He approximated it was no more than nine. He began pouring himself a glass of brandy, but stopped, preferring to drink from the bottle. He gazed around the vast emptiness of the room beyond its sole occupant. He raised the bottle for a toast:

“To the prison of my own making. There is no place quite like home.”

[aion-rsa]

Why Jack Bauer Is America’s James Bond

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Despite what Marvel might have you believe, not all film franchises are perfectly serialized.

Take, for example, another kind of cinematic superhero: James Bond a.k.a. 007. The MI6 spy created by Ian Fleming and brought to screen by Harry Saltzman and Albert R. Broccoli is timeless in the most literal sense of the world. Since Sean Connery passed the role of James Bond to Roger Moore for good in 1973’s Live and Let Die (Connery previously gave way to George Lazenby in On Her Majesty’s Secret Service before returning in Diamonds Are Forever), James Bond has become unstuck in time. 

As played in subsequent films over several decades by actors like Timothy Dalton, Pierce Brosnan, and Daniel Craig, Bond remains the same while the world around him changes. Some fans like to theorize that “Agent 007” and “James Bond” are aliases used by different MI6 spies throughout the years. But within the context of the series, there is only one Bond…James Bond. Bond is always middle-aged, looks good in a tux, enjoys stiff drinks and beautiful women. 

Read more

Movies

James Bond Movies Streaming Guide: Where to Watch 007 Online

By Don Kaye

The Cold War ended in the ‘90s and yet Bond, perhap the ultimate cinematic representative of its aesthetic, just kept calm and carried on as usual. Save for a handful of Craig’s latter year depictions, James Bond rarely learns any new tricks. He doesn’t develop. He is what he is – a hero of espionage and action. In that regard, the James Bond series is a surprisingly honest exploration of the occasional propagandistic aims of major blockbuster filmmaking. Bond isn’t a character in a story. He’s the United Kingdom’s idealized version of itself writ large on a canvas widescreen: a suave spy who is welcomed into every country to get laid and save the world. 

But what about the United States’ idealized version of itself? How has the Cold War’s lone surviving superpower let itself go without a similarly iconic (and occasionally nakedly jingoistic) cinematic creation? The answer is that America already does have an outsized action icon…he was just on television. 

Jack Bauer of early 2000s Fox thriller series 24 is American James Bond whether we want him to be or not. Just as Bond is the idealized Englishman, with his martini lunches and quick wit, Bauer is the America’s warped ideal of itself: angry, merciless, focused, and unfailingly effective. 

As portrayed by Kiefer Sutherland (who won an Emmy for the role), Jack Bauer started off as a fairly three-dimensional character in 24’s first season. That season picked up with Jack as a family man and a glorified pencil pusher at the fictional Counter Terrorist Unit’s Los Angeles office. Over the span of the first season’s 24 hours (24’s hook, of course, is that each season takes place over the span of a 24-hour day in real time), Jack slowly lost grip of his humanity, culminating with his friend Nina Myers turning out to be a mole and murdering his wife Teri. 

The death of Teri fundamentally changed Jack. For eight subsequent seasons and a movie, Jack became an Uncle Sam-style cartoon character obsessed with protecting his country from terrorists all over the globe, because his family was already taken away from him. Elisha Cuthbert as Jack’s daughter Kim was a prominent character for a few seasons, but as she was phased out so too was Jack’s grip on reality.

Unlike the James Bond series, 24 was particularly devoted to its chronology, with the very premise of the show meaning it had to have a close relationship with time. Jack Bauer would in theory grow as a character from season to season. But rather than developing, he mostly devolved into the most base version of himself. 

It’s in this way that Bauer actually became more like James Bond than one might initially expect. Regardless of who is playing him or what time period a particular film is set in, Bond’s characteristics remain static. By the end of 24’s run in 2014, Jack was similarly a Bond-ian relic of the past. Though the country was still feeling the effects of it, “The War on Terror” seemed as dramatically quaint for 24 as the Cold War did for James Bond. And yet here was this rugged American in the miniseries 24: Live Another Day, gripping the life out of a pistol and barking at perceived London terrorists in a gravely timber like a psycho.

24: Live Another Day was the last appearance for Jack Bauer and rightfully so at the time. The character had become a bit too anachronistic and his show, quite frankly, was frequently xenophobic. Still, as the continued success of Craig’s Bond films indicate (with No Time to Die finally set to arrive this October) perhaps there is still room for walking anachronisms in the entertainment world, as long as they’re approached correctly.

Fox has repeatedly attempted to rejuvenate the 24 brand. In 2017, the network greenlit a spinoff starring Corey Hawkins called 24: Legacy. Like its forefather, 24: Legacy, utilized a real-time format, only condensing 24 hours into 12 episodes like Live Another Day did. The spinoff was not successful and was quickly canceled following the conclusion of its first season.

Ultimately, Fox (now owned by Disney) hasn’t made any subsequent reboot attempts work yet because it has misidentified the appeal of 24 as a franchise. While the ticking clock aspect of telling a story in real time is novel and interesting, it wasn’t the reason the original series lasted for nine seasons. The real reason for 24’s success was Jack Bauer. Viewers are typically attracted to characters, not concepts. In Jack Bauer, many an American viewer likely found the embodiment of a paranoid nation they recognized.

There’s an undercurrent of anger and indignance in the American psyche. Exactly why is a question best left for sociologists. Perhaps it’s misplaced guilt over displacing a society to create a new one, or maybe it’s just the disappointment of being promised a Manifest Destiny and getting Wyoming. But whatever the reason, Jack Bauer is as apt a cartoonish American avatar as James Bond is a British one.

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So why then doesn’t 20th Television (again, now owned by Disney) just formalize the comparison and make Jack Bauer literally American James Bond? Just as Connery once handed off the baton to Lazenby and Moore, have Sutherland hand the role off to someone else. That actor would preferably represent the American physicality that Sutherland brought to the role (despite Sutherland being a Canadian, which is somewhat fitting given that the Scottish Connery was the first to play Her Majesty’s favorite spy). The new Jack Bauer would be played by someone who is short, stubbly, and angry rather than Bond’s tall, dark, and handsome. Throw the new Jack back into the field in a modern day ticking time bomb plot without bothering to explain why he is still middle-aged after 20 years. 

The answer to why Disney wouldn’t want to do such a thing is almost certainly all that aforementioned racism and torture. That is admittedly a, uh…roadblock. It really can’t be overstated just how xenophoci 24 was at times and how cruel it could be to characters and actors of Middle Eastern descent. Jack Bauer’s reliance on torture wasn’t just a dramatic crutch, 24 co-creator Joel Surnow genuinely believed in the value of torture as a foreign policy tactic. 

Suffice it to say, the series has not aged well. Then again, however, neither have many of the earlier Bond films. To a certain extent that’s the point of the Bond franchise. It understands that making movies is making myths. James Bond is every bit the mythical figure that Captain America or Iron Man are. The fact that Bond is so obviously an exaggerated character now has helped soften some of his more problematic edges. 

Bauer, on the other hand, comes from an era where Americans were both terrified of the looming threat of terrorism and were starting to invest in television as a more “serious” art form. As such, not everyone of the time was prepared to accept Jack Bauer as American James Bond, that is to say a cheesy cultural figure, not a vital supersoldier of freedom. 

In The Atlantic’s 2007 article “Whatever It Takes” about the politics of 24,  U.S. Army Brigadier General Patrick Finnegan, the dean of the United States Military Academy at West Point, recounts Jack Bauer’s effect on enlistees.

“The kids see it, and say, ‘If torture is wrong, what about 24?’ The disturbing thing is that although torture may cause Jack Bauer some angst, it is always the patriotic thing to do.”

The world has changed since then, obviously. But even now, it feels like it hasn’t fully set in that Jack Bauer is the American James Bond and should be treated with the same amount of reverence, which is none at all. Perhaps the only responsible move left is, in fact, to continue the increasingly ridiculous stories of the character with new actors.

In the right hands, Jack Bauer could be put to use as a blockbuster magnet and an appropriate critique of American foreign policy. In the end, icons don’t matter so much as what you do with them. 

The post Why Jack Bauer Is America’s James Bond appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[sharingthesuffer]

7/12/20

I saw a post today about how we use the word “queer” and it really upset me because it started as a good point, but as you know the more people add their own opinions the more it devolves into a shit show. The post was just about not pushing the word onto people that don’t identify as queer. A noble post. One I agree with. While I like to use queer to describe myself I would never call someone else that without knowing that it’s a term they use for themselves.

But then the white cis gays got their hands on it and suddenly the post is about shitting on people that ever use the term? This really upset me not just because I don’t agree with it but because of the complete lack of sympathy for anybody that does use it. Like why are you trying to fight your own community, one built on the ideals of acceptance and tolerance? The last comment is maybe the worst take I’ve seen about the issue and there are some arguments I see a lot, so, I’m including it here just to break it down:

So first thing I see is you’ve labeled only half of the LGBTQIAP. Why? Are we supposed to assume that those 4 labels include everybody who isn’t straight? Or did you stop because you realized “Queer” is one of the labels and would defeat your own argument? The thing is I LIKE the term queer because it doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t fit into a box the same way that people don’t.

Queer = whatever you want it to

When I tell people I’m bisexual it’s not because I think of myself that way, I don’t look in the mirror and think “there’s a bisexual, you’re bi”. NO. I use that as a quick way to out myself to (usually straight) people and to tell them that I like to love a lot of different kinds of people. I FEEL like a queer, but if I tell a straight that there’s a hundred follow-up questions and I probably can’t answer most of them. And I definitely can’t answer them in a way that would make a straight person understand. Bisexuality isn’t an identity to me, it’s a convenient word to use because it’s the closest term I have to describe how I feel.

That’s why I’ve always had a hard time with the LGBTQIAP acronym, there’s a lot of space between those letters for people to fall through. It’s the only term I know of like it, where there’s a letter to represent a part of the community. It sounds inclusive but I think a lot of people like me feel left out of it. That’s why we keep adding letters to it; we keep discovering more and more different ways to love people. So the way I see it we have two options: (1)keep adding letters to it and never stop because human sexuality is always evolving, OR (2) use a new word that encompasses everyone that isn’t straight as a way to represent our entire community under a single term.

I understand it’s a word that has a lot of baggage, as all slurs do, but like you can’t make me responsible for your pain because of how I choose to identify. This sort of thing happens a lot in reclamation movements. There’s going to be a lot of friction because of all the pain that word has caused; but queer isn’t our term, it was the term given to us.  It’s the straight man that has used that word against you, not us. And it’s not like we can make the word go away, people will always use it; but through reclamation we can make it our word and take away the power it holds over us.

I noticed you do this thing where you keep saying “you” and “y’all” but we’re in the same community. You’re taking that pain that straight people have caused you and you’re attacking your own community with it. Not to mention WE aren’t the ones using queer to mean “kink” or “polyamorous”. Again, that’s straight people. Straights have been co-opting queer culture for centuries, but again you attack your own community for shit straight people do.

I’d also like to point out that f*g, d*ke, and tr*nny are being reclaimed. You’re painting us like we don’t understand the history of the word queer and couldn’t care less about any other slurs but that’s just not true. That’s a straw man fallacy and that’s a tactic Fox News loves to use so like, please, you’re better than that.

SO, in summary: Whether you like it or not there is a movement to reclaim the word queer because it’s political and inclusive. You can get with the movement or not; but if you’re online raging at people who like to use it all you’re doing is attacking your own community and taking the steam out of a movement we’re working so hard for. And when you do that, you’re doing the homophobes’ work for them.

Just one final note: if you’re a gay youth struggling with your own identity and want to support your community but you’re unsure how: PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE if you can, get into some therapy. The benefits are endless but at the very least it’ll keep you from turning into this guy.

[parson-kent]

you should die with me

""Nurse," he mumbled through a mouthful of cookie, "why do you always gotta make things so sexual? Can't you just enjoy things, for like one fucking time, without turning it weird?"

"Well, why are you such a fucking prude, Dex? How about letting me eat this goddamn cookie without judgement? 'Why do you make things so sexual, Nurse, blah blah blah?' It's because we're so rooted in early Protestant ideals that you're like this-"

And, yeah, it kinda devolved from there."

or Nursey and Dex get on each other's nerves and also get off on each other's nerves.

My first nurseydex fix!! Also posted on ao3. Trigger warnings for language, ignorance. Check below the cut for the fic :)))

and every word that you mock sounds so pretty to me, you should die with me - Saturday Night, HUNNY

-

Dex was working on the boiler in the basement of the Haus when he heard Nursey come in through the front door. He recognized the stomp of his hipster-thrifted boots across the living room floor and his laugh as he talked to Bitty in the kitchen. He recognized the way he could almost make out their conversation. He also recognized the way he said goodbye and turned to head down the basement stairs.

Nursey came clambering down the stairs with two big cookies, one in each hand.

"Dude, look what Bitty made!! It's his MooMaw's chocolate chip recipe, apparently she has like tasks he has to complete before she rewards him with the best recipe? Anyway, he just got this one. They smell so good, dude! I brought you one."

Dex smiled, face hidden behind the broiler. "Let me just deal with this last screw and I'll grab one."

Nursey apparently seemed content to stand there and ramble as Dex finished up. He was talking about his Mexican poetry class or something, but Dex wasn't really paying attention. He just let Nursey's words wash over him.

Finally, he gave the screw one final twist before standing up and grabbing a towel off the floor to wipe his hands. He brushed off any oil or grease that would be on them before grabbing a cookie out of Nursey's hand. They both took their first bite at the same time, and Nursey let out a small moan. Dex blushed and tried to focus on enjoying Bitty's delicious baking skills. And you know what? Dex could also attest to the sinful delightful-ness of this certain cookie, but did you see him moaning over it? No.

"Nurse," he mumbled through a mouthful of cookie, "why do you always gotta make things so sexual? Can't you just enjoy things, for like one fucking time, without turning it weird?"

"Well, why are you such a fucking prude, Dex? How about letting me eat this goddamn cookie without judgement? 'Why do you make things so sexual, Nurse, blah blah blah?' It's because we're so rooted in early Protestant ideals that you're like this-"

And, yeah, it kinda devolved from there.

-

Shitty stomped down the steps about 15 minutes later to break up their fighting. By then it had gotten so loud that Dex was pretty sure the Lax bros could hear it from their house. He was pretty sure he had been going on about respecting people's boundaries, while Nurse had been off on some rant about Protestant ideals and how they had cursed America. Whatever it was, it had been pretty bad.

But then, Shitty arrived and taken them into the reading room.

"Bros, I want you to reflect on this moment. Do you feel in anyway better than the way you were feeling before? Do you feel accomplished or satisfied"

Dex shook his head, but resolutely refused to turn even the slightest inch to see what Nurse said.

Shitty just shook his head before he launched into some complicated lecture about emotional control and shared space. Dex listened with some level of interest before tuning it out.

Suddenly, Shitty snapped his fingers in front of his face. "Hey, both of you, pay attention. You'll be quizzed on this later."

-

Dex woke up the next morning to sunlight leaking in from the windows. He blinked at the sudden brightness then quickly squeezed his eyes shut. Apparently, his roommate had forgotten to shut their black out blinds properly.

"Are you fucking shitting me, Trevor? This type of shit happens every week, you've got to stop it."

No response. Dex leaned over the side of his bed and stared at the empty bed across from him.

"Oh- fuck, you've gotta be kidding me? He's gone, that's just great, he already left," Dex mumbled to himself as he stood up, back cracking.

He stretched his arms up to the ceiling, twisting and yawning. Then, he stomped over and yanked their blackout blinds shut. Dex turned and grabbed his phone and then laid back down in bed in the blissful darkness. His first class wasn't until 1:00, so he had a nice day ahead of him, seeing as it was only 8:30. He checked Twitter first, liking some of Bitty's tweets and laughing at some new memes. Then, he stumbled across a tweet from one Derek M. Nurse posted only a couple minutes after Shitty's lecture.

derek loves smh @dnursey   when ur much better at shitty's end-of-lecture quizzes than that other guy #nailedit #educateyoself   [ Picture of a slightly crumbled piece of paper with what seems to be a quiz on it. Each answer is hastily bubbled in, and at the top is sloppy handwriting that reads "11/12 Excellent job, Nurse. Lots of improvement since last time." ]

Dex felt anger rising in the pit of his stomach. He snorted with intense derision as he finished reading Nurse's stupid post. He threw his phone to the foot of his bed. Dex laid there, just looking at the ceiling for a few minutes. Why the fuck was Nurse so annoying? Sure, his own quiz was lying next to his bed with a "7/12 Dex, I know you can do better. Don't let your anger get to you." written on it, but seriously, who the fuck even actually gives quizzes after lectures anyway. It was all too much for Dex sometimes. He had ideals and ideas and values and morals and a ton of other bullshit engrained in him from years of living in his small town in Maine. That type of stuff doesn't just fade away from 8 months at a private liberal arts college.

Sure, maybe he came to Samwell to discover more things and explore, but he was afraid sometimes. Afraid of rejection, of failure, of judgement. So many times he wanted to do something, but then worried about it getting out or being made fun of... or even of being supported. Knowing he now had people who would love and support him through whatever? That shit was scary. Dex didn't have any more excuses to push himself down because now he had people who wanted to build him up.

He leaned down and picked up the crumpled quiz off the floor. He smoothed it out before grabbing his computer. Maybe if they were so intent on building him up, he could help a little bit too.

-

A month later, Dex and Nursey were hanging out together in the Haus living room. Well, "hanging out" might be stretching it. They were in the same room, working on schoolwork separately. And not fighting. It was pretty much a miracle. However, getting to this point had required some hard work on their part. Something had flipped in Dex after Shitty's lecture. He realized the reason why he had picked Samwell. The slogan "1 in 4, maybe more" was burnt into the deepest recesses of his mind. Samwell represented everything Dex wanted to be - everything he couldn't be back in Maine. So, he had sat down with his computer that afternoon and searched everything he could on Protestant culture and its effect on modern America. Then, through gritted teeth with genuine emotion in his eyes, he apologized to Nurse the next day. Nursey accepted it with little chirping, apparently seeing something in Dex that was different from all the other apologies.

Dex continued to work on his behavior. He would borrow books on social justice and unbiased history from the Samwell library and engage respectfully in debates in his classes and even just out on the quad. He noticed that the team was being more open with him too. Before, they would hide the hard conversations and reprimands from him. But now, they had been including him, asking him for his opinions and educating him on important topics. Still, he and Nurse got into it sometimes, but now it was mostly just playful. Dex had come to love their arguments - it was amazing getting to be so intense and passionate with another person.

It felt... intimate, really. It was almost like, despite their two very different backgrounds, Nursey was the only person who really understood him. He knew the ins and outs of Dex's personality better than anybody, even Dex himself. He knew how to push his buttons, but he also knew to look out for Dex's shaking hands when he codes for too long and then get him a water or gatorade. Nursey knew Dex. And it felt good to be known.

Dex was deep in these thoughts as they laid together in the living room. Suddenly, a resounding BANG from the kitchen echoed throughout the Haus. The two of them scrambled to get up, Dex knocking over his computer and Nursey creating a shower of paper in the middle of the Haus. They rushed into the kitchen to find Bitty, covered in flour, the lid to the food processor missing.

"Oh y'all, I'm such a mess," he said, close to tears. "Finals are just stressing me out, no big deal."  

Dex ran to him, wrapping him in one of his signature bear hugs reserved for close friends. He locked eyes with Nurse over Bitty's head and they exchanged a curt nod. Nursey immediately began to clean up the mess in the kitchen while Dex led Bitty upstairs to the bathroom. He made sure Bitty was situated and ready to take a shower before heading back downstairs with a load of flour-covered clothes for the laundry.

"I'm going downstairs to do the wash," he called into the kitchen as he passed by the door.

Nursey just threw him a small wave before he turned back to scrub the tile. Dex smiled to himself the whole way down the stairs to the basement. Nursey and him were both learning; growing together.

Dex reached the bottom of the stairs still wrapped up in his thoughts. He really did love the way he and Nurse were getting along now - it caused something to stir inside him. He felt it deep in his stomach, something fiery and passionate just like Nursey coiling there every time they were together. Dex dumped the load into the washer. He just wished it had happened sooner. Nursey was one of his best friends now, along with Chowder. They were both such amazing people. Samwell had changed Dex - he was a better person now, with friends who loved him and helped him become the best version of himself that he could be. He set the dial to normal load and finished with pouring the detergent in. Then, he leaned against the washer and sunk deeper into his thoughts.

-

Nursey found him ten minutes later. He had flour in his hair and some in his stubble. His stupid hipster shirt was also covered in flour and he looked pretty angry. Dex had to laugh.

"God, Nurse, what was Bitty cooking in there?"

Nursey just groaned and glared at Dex. "Dude, get your ass up there! I need help cleaning up this mess."

Dex smirked, a glint of amusement in his eyes. ""Help'. 'Cleaning'. Two words I never expected Derek Malik Nurse to say at all, let alone in the same sentence. Didn't you have maids for that in your brownstone?"

Nursey stomped closer to him. "Well, you're the master of cleaning, huh? All those years in bumpkin Maine, on that lobster boat."

Let it never be said that William J. Poindexter was one to back down from a challenge. He stepped closer, laundry and flour both far from his mind. "Like you would know a thing about responsibility. It was all just prep school and expensive field trips and Broadway and hundred dollar dinners with you, huh? Never learned the value of hard work."

"Of course I know hard work, try writing a 20 page essay in a week. With a 15 page-"

Dex cut him off. "Try coding an entire plug-in in the 30 minutes so I have 30 minutes to troubleshoot in my hour long lab! English is just some words-"

"Oh, I've heard this one before! 'My name's Dex and I just think English is just some words on paper!'"

They were both yelling at this point, trying to outdo each other in the loudness factor. Their fights always ended like this. However, Dex was just realizing how close they were. In their fury, they had gotten almost uncomfortably close.

Intimate, Dex's mind whispered.

Dex tried to shove that thought from his mind and focus on Nursey's rant, but it lingered. Suddenly, almost as if he couldn't control his own limbs, he pushed Nurse against the washing machine. He held him there, wrists trapped against the cool metal.

Nursey became very quiet and swallowed.

Dex looked at him, with flour everywhere and a righteous passion still contained in his warm brown eyes. He leaned in close and released one of Nursey's wrists so he could cup his cheek.

"Is this okay?" He asked, head bent in close enough that his warm breath washed over Nursey's face.

Nursey nodded and whispered, "Just fucking kiss me, Poindexter."

Dex leaned in with just a faint brush of the lips. Then, Nursey pulled his other hand from Dex's grasp and pulled him in close, trapping him in an almost brusing kiss. They fought with each other just like in real life. Nursey moaned just a bit when Dex moved his body so he and Nursey were flush against each other. Dex took that as a sign, pushing his tongue into Nursey's mouth.

They pulled apart slowly, each breathing heavily. Nursey looked up at Dex from lidded eyes. Dex smiled in his head.

Finally, Nursey's passion was directed at him. And only him.

[en241]

Wednesday, 8 April

WEEK 10: The Secret Garden: Chapters 9-17

Questions & Comments: 

So much this:

First, I would like to make a note about the garden. No wonder Mary had such a push to see the garden. I would have been exactly like her to see rosebushes as tall as trees. When Mary starts working in the closed, dead, and overgrown garden she becomes healthier and have something to look forward too as well as something to keep her busy and show affection too. I do relate personally to this garden. I think that most of us are experiencing a since of depression and looking for something to do.  I have been working in my gardens every day because it’s something to do, and if done with a little luck you will create life. I can really relate to what Mary is feeling.  

On the darker side, though:

Why does Colin constantly talk about death? A lot happened during these chapters. Many emotions were coming to mind while reading, but one part that made me happy was when Dickon became friends with Colin.

Illness and death is certainly something that comes up a lot. Seems wrong for a child to be obsessed with it, tho, amirite?

In these few chapters, you can see the turn of some of the adults. At first Ben is startled by the beauty and closeness of the robin. Then more of the adults start to turn to Mary to calm down Colin. This shows a real change in who is learning and depending on who. 

OK wait -- the adults are changing? I thought this was about the children, about Mary and her growth? 

Mary immediately trusts Dickon with the secret garden. It seems like children are better at reading what people are really like. She knew to trust Dickon and Martha but knew to wait on trusting Colin. Not only does this show children are able to see the truth, but she learns from the animals and how they trust Dickon. This shows that often animals are better at determining who to trust than humans. 

Trust. And if you were Mary wouldn’t you have trust issues? I know I would. And then Colin . . . 

I love the relationship between colin and mary chapter 14 was the most cutest moment when he tells the doctor that he forgets he is ill when he is around her. Mary used to be a colin like a figure and now she has shown him you don't have to be like that. It shows that there is really someone for everyone 

It can clearly be seen that Mary and Dickon were foil characters but then what does that make Colin. He is clearly another version of Mary. He is exactly like she was in the beginning and how she was in India. The book is showing that people can be both kinds of people. It also shows that sometimes all you need to understand a problem is to have someone who has gone through it. It took Mary yelling at Colin for him to start behaving and being a real child.

Very cool that you are seeing connections & comparison between Mary and Colin. And while I’m not a fan of the “foil characters” concept (because it tends to flatten characters and their relationships into a plot device) it’s really important to pay close attention to their relationship. It’s making me think of how we used the mature-o-meter in Treasure Island to compare Jim’s options for an ideal grownup. But also, could it be that we are seeing more than one maturation story at the same time in this book? 

Mary has finally made it to the garden and it doesn't disappoint. (I’m so glad!) When she arrives, a lot of the roses are dead. I think this is symbolic of the love that used to be there between Craven and his wife. I am curious as to the significance of Mary being the first one to discover the garden in ten years. I like that within minutes of being there, she refers to it as hers. She is very possessive. (Very true. What’s up with that?) I believe Mary likes gardening because it is the one thing she has control over in her life at this point. (Control issues? Mary? hmmmmm.) Her care for the garden shows that she isn't as sour as people think. She just struggles to connect with people due to her past and connecting with inanimate things is easier. (Excellent point) Another area of interest is the idea of the human interest in secrets? I believe that there is an inherent value in exclusivity so when things are secret, they are viewed as more special. (So how do the special nice secrets differ from the creepy mysterious secrets?) The children in this book always talk so formally that is strange to me. They seem like little grownups. (!!!) At one point, Dickon makes an analogy about how the strongest flowers thrive and the weakest die. To me, this represents Mary's family. She is the strongest since she survived and they didn't. Not only did she only survive, but she is becoming a better person in the process. (What kind of strength is this, and where does it come from? Certainly not from her parents.)  I find the contrast between Dickon and Colin interesting. Mary likes both of them, but they are quite different. With Dickon, she can work on her garden and more casual. (Work vs. Play. Aren’t kinds supposed to be playing?) With Colin, they share more deep bonds. Both boys provide her with different types of relationships. Dickon is more easygoing and happy while Colin is cynical and miserable. Mary gets along with them both well despite having issues liking people which is ironic. (A good kind of ironic, yes?) 

A central theme that seems to be devolving more in this section of the book is the theme of "trust". Trust is shown between Mary and Dickon, Colin, and even the robin. Mary seems to thrive on developing quick but solid trust to ensure that her secrets remain a secret and her friendships are genuine. Trust allows her to feel safe, confident and alive. Somehow she has trust "radar" because she quickly decides who to let in to her innermost thoughts and desires. Trust is symbolized by mere physical gestures such as putting her hand on Dickon's arm, for reassurance as well as things like the missel thrush and it's indication that Dickon will keep her secret as well as return to the garden. She develops a trust with Colin, on the night she goes to his room because she relates to his situation because of the similarities to her life in India. Even though she didn't reveal that she had actually been in the garden, she trusted Colin enough to tell him a version of the story that she felt he could understand.  She devised a plan on how he and she could get in sometime if he kept the whole idea a secret for now.  Mary, Dickon and Colin seem to share the same understanding of nature, secrecy and loyalty.

Nice! trust, reassurance, relating, revelation -- nature, secrecy, loyalty -- and making plans -- these are all good things to notice.  

In chapters nine through seventeen of the secret garden you can see Mary moving up on the mature-o-meter since she discovered the garden. This development is highlighted be two quotes from chapter ten of The Secret Garden. The first quote "Mary was an odd, determined little person, and now she had something interesting to be determined about, she was very much absorbed, indeed. She worked and dug and pulled up weeds steadily, only becoming more pleased with her work every hour instead of tiring of it.” shows Mary maturing because she has the motivation and focus to work on something and to work hard like an adult would rather than put no effort in and give up like a child would. Another quote from chapter ten ”because she disliked people and things so much. But now the world seemed to be changing and getting nicer." shows Mary maturing because she is noticing change in the world and showing positive feelings to other things and people than herself. She’s also becoming less quick to judge and showing interest in learning about a person or topic before judging it. She is not even close to fully mature as shown by her increased curiosity, but Mary is significantly less selfish and negative, and has higher work ethic than she did at the beginning of the book.

I really like the use of quotations as evidence here -- and the careful attention to maturity as something with multiple dimensions. Maturation doesn’t all happen at once, does it? That’s too simple. 

It seems that Mary is really fond of Dickon sense she speaks of him all the time and at one point mentioned he was beautiful. I like how keeping secrets is such a thrill, like with the garden and the visits with Colin until soon later the staff finds out. I believe that Colin thinks he's going to die because everyone believes he will. His imagination is running wild like the hunch back idea but is soon cleared by Mary stating that his back is straight. The question is, is he really sick or are they keeping him inside making him sick? If that makes any sense... It doesnt help when Colin uses his " sickness" as an advantage of what he wants and getting it, like the incident of becoming jealous with Dickon and Mary spending more time with each other. Mary is helping him in a way to see that he is acting like a spoiled child and that he is not going to die, all he needs is some sunlight and fresh air. In a way their friendship is really close to a point where they are both helping each other out in so many ways. 

Yes -- yes -- Mary & Colin are helping each other! 

another illustration by Inga Moore 

[smokeybrandcompositions]

Growth and Dissent

I always find it funny when former SJWs regale us with their tales of conversion. Like, it’s always these crazy, super left, borderline fascists who, all of a sudden, have a epiphany that maybe their views are a little too extreme after actually having a goddamn conversation with someone who has opposing ideals. I just watched an entire YouTube testimony basically admitting to the fact that this particular person, a self proclaimed SJW, wouldn’t even hear a counter-argument to their beliefs. If you didn’t think like they thought, you were flat out written off as a bad person. That sh*t is wild to me. Who willingly closes their mind off like that? Why would you limit yourself and your thesis to such a small data pool? Who just flat out denounces avenues toward new wisdom and understanding simply because the new information chafes against their “beliefs”? That way of thinking is just too self destructive for me to understand.

I don’t consider myself an SJW. I don’t consider myself a feminist. I don’t consider myself a supporter of BLM or any other activist group like that. I find that the necessity for distinction of such things to be disgusting, that the necessity for splinter groups to champion basic human rights; Literally that black lives matter or that women should be considered equal in society to men or that discrimination is bad and should be fought against every time it rears it’s ignorant head, is f*cking ridiculous. Yes, i believe in a lot of the same things these people believe. Yes, i hold these beliefs as truths. Where we differ in those beliefs, is that i subscribe to the fact that these truths are be self evident, to paraphrase the Declaration of Independence. If you are a person in society, regardless of race, gender, religion, whatever, you should be treated with compassion, understanding, and respect. No one is superior to anyone else. Everyone is equal and should be treated as such. i feel like that’s not just common sense, but that it’s basic humanity.

I don’t understand how we get to the point that we criminalize people literally screaming out against a specific demographic who are unduly persecuted and killed by the very uniforms who are suppose to protect them, with terrifying regularity. The data backs that sh*t up, easy. you can walk up to 10 black people in the street, anywhere, and i guarantee at least 3 of them can tell you a story about how they were unjustly harassed by cops. That’s 3 too many and i’m more than certain that the real number is closer to 10 than anyone would like to admit.

I don’t understand how championing equality and rights has devolved into Tumblr vomit and PC persecution. The SJW movement started with the best of intentions. I watched it burgeon on Tumblr all those years ago but, over time, it devolved into a rancid nest of teeny-weenies who refuse to accept that life isn’t all gold stars and participation trophies. People suck. they don’t have to subscribe to your pronouns or 86 genders. It’s okay for people to disagree. That doesn’t mean they’re the f*cking devil. The fact that you won’t even engage them in intellectual debate basically makes you the same as the close minded bigotry you supposedly champion against. Ignorance is ignorance, however well intentioned.

And these third wave feminists? These Anita Sarkesian zealots? f*cking really? you’re out here trying to turn trolling into hate speech? You’re out here attacking video games like they have a detriment effect on the youth? you’re masquerading your rampant and obvious misandry as the repeated persecution of the female existence? Get the f*ck out of here! Of course there’s work to be done on equality, for everyone not just women, but when Harvey Weinstein is out here raping women for 30 goddamn years and you’re upset because of sex scenes in Mass Effect, you need to get your sh*t together. The boob physics in my DOA games or the fact that Princess Peach gets damseled in a 30 year old video game takes precedence over the fact that women are stoned to death for being raped in India or have acid thrown in their faces for turning down a date in Iraq, is f*cking absurd. Maybe focus on that stuff instead of narrative tropes that have been around since there were narratives. Seriously, if you’re pitching a fit over fictional depictions of violence toward women instead of trying to change the real life culture that facilitates and encourages actual violence against women around the world, your feminism is both hypocritical and useless. Particularly when sh*t like this can be easily addressed by, you know, f*cking parenting.

Look, i get it. We need change. I agree with that. I also agree that you can’t change some people. Sometimes, dynamic action needs to be taken to shock the system into acknowledgement. I understand that. MLK was considered a domestic terrorist at he height of the civil rights movement. Hell, a civil case won by his family basically had the FBI admit they assassinated the good doctor at the behest of Hoover way back when. Our government killed a man who just had a dream because social change was that terrifying to the establishment. But, also like the good doctor, i understand there needs to be a dialogue across the aisle for things to truly evolve. Shutting out a dissenting voice as ignorant without trying to understand why it’s so obtuse is a detriment to growth. Focusing on frivolous nonsense that can be addressed after the actual, real world issues have been addressed, is a detriment to growth. Nitpicking social constructs while the people who are being “championed” by these revelations of 20 year olds, are being slaughtered is f*cking stupid to me. Your pronouns or brand new genders or trans acceptance aren’t saving the lives of transpeople, they’re just muddying the narrative.

Equality is not a bad word. Progression does not have to be terrifying. Social evolution should not be so divisive. I get that there will be people on both sides who vehemently disagree but that’s the fringe. There should be more people closer to center, closer to consensus, than the loudest on the outside. There has to be more people willing to exchange ideas, to grow proper dialogue toward something better, not just personal agendas and fad-based beliefs. I have to believe that because, if there isn’t, then what’s the point of any of this?