#world changing infrastructure

[duohensheng]

#yes jgy wants power but not for no reason #also please consider what he does with his power once he has it #and i'm not talking about what he does when nhs provokes him into losing his shit and lashing out #i'm talking about the 10+ years he spends improving the state of the jianghu #literally creating a world that allows the juniors to grow up into the precocious little shits (affectionate) that we know and love

via op @thatswhatsushesaid

another day, another failure of compassion/inability to understand the weight of fear and filial piety. YES HE WANTS POWER BUT NOT FOR NO REASON. wanting/needing power is, in my opinion, (one of?) the only logical response to the situation at Jin Lin Tai under jgs. to argue that he wants power abstractedly in a vacuum is missing the point so spectacularly. he is built out of the contrast between his lack of power and his competence at wielding it.

also we all need to have an adult conversation sometime about the perceived morality of desiring power. preferably before i lose it entirely but I’m not picky

nothing enrages me more than people wilfully stepping into the intentional mischaracterisation set up by The Crowd (sponsored by nhs (tm)). i will be gesturing in the vague direction of the watchtowers forever

any analysis of jin guangyao that asserts his key motivations stem from a desire for power, rather than from fear and filial piety, should probably be revised to at least acknowledge the role that fear and filial piety played in creating a desire for power.

[astralleywright]

what do you think about the fact that bells hells couldnt have won that battle without the help they got from the gods?

very funny to reblog this post about that and then immediately go to my askbox where i see this question

[marginal-notes]

But one of the biggest things out of this whole mess is the weird sort of. Egalitarianism? What the fuck are words, I don’t know. Whatever, the weird places where people could just not give a shit about gender or sex in Naruto.

AKA, let’s talk a bit about ANBU, land of the “no one knows your face, no one knows your name, fuck your personal identity, no one’s allowed to even remember your body shape since that can give away secrets, just stab that target real good and do your job.” It’s the kind of place where all that matters is how good of a weapon you are, and we can turn it into the fucked up little deadly meritocracy we want to. Because I only have so much patience for dealing with chauvinism in my dumb little fiction project.

The general shinobi forces also broadly has this attitude, though it might not be to the extreme of ANBU and ROOT. At the end of the day, as long as you can carry out your missions well, based on your specializations, the distinctions between male and female shouldn’t be a massive impediment to your ability to serve the village.

It’s the extra politics and the civilian cultural expectations that start messing things up.

[hayanahed]

Emergency: Help Evacuate My Family From GAZA WAR

Dear Humanity,

I'm Haya from Gaza , from a family of 8 people: my parents, two sons, and four daughters (two of them suffer from allergies).

I've witnessed the evidence of the tragedy that has struck our lives in Gaza, where my family and I have survived amidst numerous previous wars. But today, we face the most dangerous and fierce battle in the current war. The urgent need intensifies for us, as we have nothing left and are unable to secure our basic needs such as food, water, and safe shelter.

Here is our story - On October 7th, our lives changed forever, my family and I evacuated from northern Gaza to southern Gaza, hoping to return soon, but it wasn't meant to be. Our home was surrounded, burned, and then completely destroyed, Our home, once a fortress of hope, now lay in ruins, a stark reminder of our shattered dreams.

The night before we left from the north to the south was terrifying. Shelling sounds were everywhere, making a loud noise that felt like it went through our souls. Every explosions shook the ground like earthquakes, sending shockwaves of fear through our trembling bodies. filling us with fear. The air smelled of destruction and blood, making it hard to breathe. When dawn came, we saw the devastation around us, realizing our home was now a symbol of loss and despair.

We ran into the streets and with each step we took into the unknown streets, we felt as if we were plunging deeper into the abyss of our shattered existence, leaving behind everything we own in our home: Clothes, important official documents, the car, and literally it's almost everything - the enormity of our loss weighed heavily upon us.

Our home it was where we found hope, safety, and made precious memories. Losing it felt like losing years of our lives, leaving us adrift amidst the wreckage of our shattered existence.

A brief video depicting the devastation that struck our home and our entire neighborhood in Gaza.

Desperate Plea: Escaping Gaza's Allergy Nightmare

I, Haya, suffer from severe allergy to penicillin-derived medications, and my sister, Amal, also suffers from severe allergies to medications from my family such as Paracetamol and Ibuprofen.

These allergies create a deep sense of fear and anxiety for us, as we live in a constant state of tension and fear of anything that may require a visit to the hospital. We fear being given inappropriate medications due to the unavailability of suitable treatments in Gaza because of war or lack of awareness and not informing the doctor of our allergies, which could lead to serious consequences threatening our lives.

MY Father Income

Our dreams are heading towards oblivion in the labyrinth of an uncertain future

My story, along with my siblings, represents a united team of four individuals, three of whom are skilled programmers and one graphic designer. We work as freelancers in the world of freelancing.

As for my younger sister, she is a student studying at the College of Architecture. She has always carried a big dream in her heart, a dream of being part of changing Gaza, of making it more beautiful and better. She looked forward to the day when she would receive her degree and start building this dream. But the beginning of the war changed everything. The destruction of infrastructure and universities cast shadows of despair over her dreams.

When I think of my brother in Belgium, I can't help but feel deep sadness. He has been suffering from unbearable anxiety and insomnia since the outbreak of the war. Sleep eludes him at night, and his physical and mental health collapses under the weight of these heavy burdens, negatively affecting his performance at work. Problems and challenges pile up in front of him without the slightest opportunity for rest.

We all feel psychological pressure and extreme anxiety. The war hasn't been limited to external attacks but has deeply infiltrated our daily lives. We search among the rubble for a little safety and the basic resources for survival. Every day comes with a new challenge that we must overcome.

As we sway amidst the rubble of shattered dreams, our souls wrestle and our hearts beat strongly challenging the ravages of war.

Our parents earnestly seek a way to rescue us from this hell, feeling the heavy responsibility for every moment we spend under the shadows of fear and destruction. They dream of a safe place where they can build for us a better future, filled with security and hope, for we deserve life in all its meanings of comfort and peace.

Perhaps this fundraising campaign represents a light in the midst of darkness, it is indeed the only hope we cling to firmly.

I appeal to the world as a whole to hear my cry and the mournful cry of my family in Gaza. We need the helping hand that reaches out to wipe our tears and build a bridge to safety.

Your donation is not just a donation; it's an opportunity to rebuild life and brighten a better tomorrow. Be part of our hopeful story, for we need your hand to start anew.

The purpose of the fundraising campaign

The goal of this fundraising campaign is to rescue my family - my parents, my siblings, and me - through the Rafah Crossing to Egypt, which currently requires $5000 per person. This campaign is our only chance to stay alive, and I humbly request your assistance at this critical time. I will provide you with a comprehensive breakdown of the expenses, committing to transparency and clarity.

All of our important links are here https://linktr.ee/hayanahed

Verified by :

⭐️ operation olive branch, number 26 on their spreadsheet. (On Master list)

⭐️ Project watermelon,line 249 on their spreadsheet. Or you could see it as number 212 here is the photo for more clear proof

Thank you for your kindness and support.

.جزاكم الله خيراً

yours sincerely;

Haya Alshawish.

[signode-blog]

The Economic Impact of a Kamala Harris Presidency: U.S. and Global Perspectives

The prediction that Kamala Harris could win the U.S. elections has sparked discussions across various fields, including politics, economics, and international relations. While predictions, particularly those based on astrology, are not grounded in empirical evidence, it is an interesting exercise to explore the potential impacts that a Kamala Harris presidency could have on both the U.S. economy…

[encyclopika]

Tried to find an update now that it's July, but all I found was a June 29th article from ABCNews that sounds like it was mostly written before "Day Zero". Apparently people have been forced to buy water, which is, as you can imagine, as always, ridiculously expensive for low-income and disadvantaged people.

The most glaring cause I can get from that article and this one from Scientific American, is that, even though climate change is really not helping, the major issue is a faulty water system throughout the city that essentially loses 40% of the water to leaks. Which is insane.

It's a one-two punch that lots of places are dealing with and pretty much learning the hard way that they need to invest in their infrastructure. Climate is here. It isn't just about the temperature outside, it's also about rain patterns. For Mexico City, I hope this isn't their "new normal" and the city can just take this as a fire under their asses to update their water management systems.

Source

Source

[ellipsus-writes]

The words they're afraid of.

(Read on our blog.)

The recently appointed Department of Defense head Pete Hegseth (formerly Fox News pundit, perpetually soused creepy uncle, and current group chat leaker of classified intel) banned images of the Enola Gay from the Pentagon’s website for the offense of “DEI” language. In keeping with the far right’s stated war on anything vaguely resembling diversity, equity and inclusion, even historical photos are up for cancellation. When a literal weapon of mass destruction is censored for being a bit fruity under the Trump administration’s war against inconvenient truths, what exactly is left untouched?

This is clown show stuff, but the stakes are far from funny. While some might be hesitant to compare the current administration to the very worst history has to offer, we can at least all agree that they are dyed-in-the-wool grammar Nazis. Policing language has been the objective of the MAGA culture war long before Project 2025’s debut—the wave of book bans orchestrated by astroturf movements like Moms for Liberty, and Florida’s 2022 Don’t Say Gay bill have already had a profound effect in the arena of free speech and freedom of expression (despite the far right’s long tradition of doublespeak performative free-speech martyrdom to the contrary). Don’t Say Gay ostensibly targeted K-3 education, but LGBT+ content at all levels of education (and beyond) was either quietly censored or entirely preempted in practice. The results were not just a war on so-called ideology, or words alone—but on reality and essential freedoms.

Now, words as innocuous and important as racism, climate change, hate speech, prejudice, mental health, and inequality are targeted as subversive. Entire concepts are being vanished from government institutions, scrubbed not only from descriptions but from metadata, search indexes, and archival frameworks.

If you don’t name a thing, does it exist?

These words are as numerous as they are generic: women, race, Black, immigrants, multicultural, gender, injustice. But what is painfully unserious is also particularly dangerous in its real-world consequences. The process of controlling words is a well-worn authoritarian tendency. Fifty-two universities are now under investigation as part of the President's effort to curb “woke” research and thought crimes. Institutions are being coerced to comply with a nebulous set of ideological demands, or face budgetary annihilation. That means cutting funding for entire departments, slashing financial aid, defunding scientific grants, and pressuring faculty to self-censor.

The possibilities for censorship extend far and wide—interfering, by extension, in everything from reproductive healthcare programs, to libraries and museums. The Trump administration’s proposed budget slashing all federal funding for libraries, including the Institute of Museum and Library Services, will effectively gut an infrastructure that supports over 100,000 libraries and museums across the country—community centers, educational lifelines, internet access points, and archives of marginalized histories (starting with the Smithsonian Institution).

When you erase access, you erase participation. And when you erase participation, you erase people, and the means by which future generations might even learn they existed. A culture that cannot remember is a culture that cannot resist.

The erasure is, yet again, unsurprisingly targeted at minorities and LGBT+ people. The National Parks Service quietly revised the Stonewall Monument’s website to remove references to transgender people—a fundamental part of the original protests. Not an oversight, not a mistake, but a deliberate excision—one point in a wider plan of erasure depicted in stark detail in Project 2025, a blueprint to dismantle civil rights, defund LGBT+-related healthcare, and rewrite history from the ground up.

Dehumanization by deletion—welcome to the reactionary resurgence of doubleplusungood governance. In Trumpland, words are weapons—but not in the way they intend. Their fear of language betrays its power; that’s why they’re trying so hard to police it.

Words hurt them.

Hurt them back.

- the Ellipsus Team

[reasonsforhope]

No paywall version here.

"Two and a half years ago, when I was asked to help write the most authoritative report on climate change in the United States, I hesitated...

In the end, I said yes, but reluctantly. Frankly, I was sick of admonishing people about how bad things could get. Scientists have raised the alarm over and over again, and still the temperature rises. Extreme events like heat waves, floods and droughts are becoming more severe and frequent, exactly as we predicted they would. We were proved right. It didn’t seem to matter.

Our report, which was released on Tuesday, contains more dire warnings. There are plenty of new reasons for despair. Thanks to recent scientific advances, we can now link climate change to specific extreme weather disasters, and we have a better understanding of how the feedback loops in the climate system can make warming even worse. We can also now more confidently forecast catastrophic outcomes if global emissions continue on their current trajectory.

But to me, the most surprising new finding in the Fifth National Climate Assessment is this: There has been genuine progress, too.

I’m used to mind-boggling numbers, and there are many of them in this report. Human beings have put about 1.6 trillion tons of carbon in the atmosphere since the Industrial Revolution — more than the weight of every living thing on Earth combined. But as we wrote the report, I learned other, even more mind-boggling numbers. In the last decade, the cost of wind energy has declined by 70 percent and solar has declined 90 percent. Renewables now make up 80 percent of new electricity generation capacity. Our country’s greenhouse gas emissions are falling, even as our G.D.P. and population grow.

In the report, we were tasked with projecting future climate change. We showed what the United States would look like if the world warms by 2 degrees Celsius. It wasn’t a pretty picture: more heat waves, more uncomfortably hot nights, more downpours, more droughts. If greenhouse emissions continue to rise, we could reach that point in the next couple of decades. If they fall a little, maybe we can stave it off until the middle of the century. But our findings also offered a glimmer of hope: If emissions fall dramatically, as the report suggested they could, we may never reach 2 degrees Celsius at all.

For the first time in my career, I felt something strange: optimism.

And that simple realization was enough to convince me that releasing yet another climate report was worthwhile.

Something has changed in the United States, and not just the climate. State, local and tribal governments all around the country have begun to take action. Some politicians now actually campaign on climate change, instead of ignoring or lying about it. Congress passed federal climate legislation — something I’d long regarded as impossible — in 2022 as we turned in the first draft.

[Note: She's talking about the Inflation Reduction Act and the Infrastructure Act, which despite the names were the two biggest climate packages passed in US history. And their passage in mid 2022 was a big turning point: that's when, for the first time in decades, a lot of scientists started looking at the numbers - esp the ones that would come from the IRA's funding - and said "Wait, holy shit, we have an actual chance."]

And while the report stresses the urgency of limiting warming to prevent terrible risks, it has a new message, too: We can do this. We now know how to make the dramatic emissions cuts we’d need to limit warming, and it’s very possible to do this in a way that’s sustainable, healthy and fair.

The conversation has moved on, and the role of scientists has changed. We’re not just warning of danger anymore. We’re showing the way to safety.

I was wrong about those previous reports: They did matter, after all. While climate scientists were warning the world of disaster, a small army of scientists, engineers, policymakers and others were getting to work. These first responders have helped move us toward our climate goals. Our warnings did their job.

To limit global warming, we need many more people to get on board... We need to reach those who haven’t yet been moved by our warnings. I’m not talking about the fossil fuel industry here; nor do I particularly care about winning over the small but noisy group of committed climate deniers. But I believe we can reach the many people whose eyes glaze over when they hear yet another dire warning or see another report like the one we just published.

The reason is that now, we have a better story to tell. The evidence is clear: Responding to climate change will not only create a better world for our children and grandchildren, but it will also make the world better for us right now.

Eliminating the sources of greenhouse gas emissions will make our air and water cleaner, our economy stronger and our quality of life better. It could save hundreds of thousands or even millions of lives across the country through air quality benefits alone. Using land more wisely can both limit climate change and protect biodiversity. Climate change most strongly affects communities that get a raw deal in our society: people with low incomes, people of color, children and the elderly. And climate action can be an opportunity to redress legacies of racism, neglect and injustice.

I could still tell you scary stories about a future ravaged by climate change, and they’d be true, at least on the trajectory we’re currently on. But it’s also true that we have a once-in-human-history chance not only to prevent the worst effects but also to make the world better right now. It would be a shame to squander this opportunity. So I don’t just want to talk about the problems anymore. I want to talk about the solutions. Consider this your last warning from me."

-via New York Times. Opinion essay by leading climate scientist Kate Marvel. November 18, 2023.

[agentravensong]

I wanted to make a post compiling all the examples of something @krispdreemurr was talking about on their blog yesterday:

1. Hometown's internet has been down for the past few days

2. Tenna hasn't been receiving broadcasts of any new stuff for "a little while"

3. Though Gerson has been dead for a few years, the Booms only stopped receiving condolences for his passing "just recently"

What these together suggest: Hometown is, as of recently, not receiving any information from the outside world. It's not just that the town's Internet and TV/radio infrastructure is bad — taking the third point into account, it's not just those signals that aren't coming in, but also, presumably, physical letters. There's something weirder going on here. But why? Why now?

Well. You know what else has changed "recently"?

To put it plainly, Hometown losing its connections to the outside world coincides with the plot getting kicked into motion. It in fact is half the spark for Queen's villain era, and plays a part in Tenna's desperation as well; it is arguably a requirement for the prophecy playing out as it does. But where in the Chapter 2 days some made the argument that the Knight deliberately cut the Internet as part of their plans, what Tenna and (in retrospect) Alvin's lines imply is something bigger than they likely could have done themself. Which suggests one of two things:

A) Some higher power (Gaster) cut off this instance (or rather, taking the three save files with their small hardwired differences into account, these three instances) of Hometown from the rest of the world as part of the setup for making the current states of things, our interacting with it as a video game, possible

B) There was never a world outside Hometown; it's always been, diegetically, a simulation, with the town's borders as its limits. And now that it's time for The Game, The Story of DeltaRune, to begin, the energy being used to keep up the illusion for its inhabitants that there's more out there has been redirected to more pertinent purposes.

[quantummindclassicalheart]

Leverage has a fascinating relationship with hope. Sophie freely admits in Redemption that they can't fix everything, that there are some problems that are too big to hack or hit or steal or grift your way through.

And so they aim a little lower. Maybe they won't change a whole industry or a whole economy (apart from the time they stole an election). But they can do something good for individuals. For a neighborhood. For a hospital or a club or a workplace.

And so they do. This is how things get better most of the time I think-- you can't unravel the whole ball of yarn at once but you start pulling on one thread and find it's connected to everything else.

The showrunners have said they keep writing the show because the bad things keep happening, and that is indeed the world we live in. But Leverage doesn't just remind us about the bad things-- it says that sometimes if the right people care in the right way-- things actually do get better.

Each of us has the capacity to care. To be the right person in the right place at the right time.

But here's the key thing-- if you want to make change you have to first learn what the levers of power are. Only then can you exert... leverage.

You know, in all the posts I've seen about how great Leverage is (which are the posts that got me to watch the show!) there's one part of it that doesn't really come up. They take down the bad guys, and that's really cool, and the characters are incredible, and that's also really cool.

What gets me the most though? Is the jobs where they make things better.

The jobs where they do still take down the bad guys, give them their due, stop the harm. But they also make things better.

Sometimes it's small things, like the Tap Out Job where the guy they help gets to run the boxing club going forward, keep his people safe. The checks they sometimes give at the end of an episode, with a suggestion of what to use it for, fall into this theme.

Slightly bigger, you get things like the Underground Job where the mine will have proper safety equipment now and an owner who will keep it that way. Or the Blue Line Job, which comes with a show of solidarity between the guys that fight each other on the ice - but not when it could kill one of them. Not once they know. And now they'll make sure no one faces that risk again.

On a personal level, there's the Carnival Job, where a father ends up connecting with his daughter again by the end.

And then there's the episode that got me thinking about this.

The Gimme A K Street Job.

For once, they're doing a (mostly) legal job. And the end goal is simple: get laws into place so teenage girls won't get hurt from the lack of safety regulations.

And they do it.

And going forward, no more teenage girls are going to break their bones because they landed on a mat that doesn't give anything except the illusion of protection.

Leverage is different from the typical crime solving show because of the robin hood angle, sure. But it's also different because every now and then, they don't just catch the bad guy. Every now and then, they make things better.

[tanoraqui]

shoutout to my dash and the Democratic Party as a whole right now for being like

Some good policy reasons to get excited about Harris. Gun control! Heathcare! LGBT rights!

Fighting for the fate of the world: has said she’ll make climate change a top national security priority; was one of the original Senate sponsors of the Green New Deal (others: Ocasio-Cortez, Markey), much of which became Biden’s stealthily VERY green Bipartisan Infrastructure Bill and the Inflation Reduction Act

Yes, she was a prosecuting attorney; no, it’s NOT an ACAB situation—highlights of her time as District Attorney of San Francisco and Attorney General of California include enabling a re-entry/anti-recidivism program for young drug users which is now used as a template around the country, pointedly not prosecuting people for marijuana possession (distinctly before it was legal), defending Californians against foreclosures, got the “gay/trans panic” defense BANNED in CA courts, and being the first statewide agency to require all police offers to wear body cams.

As VP she’s spearheaded abortion rights, developed and nearly passed a landmark voting rights bill (stymied by Senate Republicans + 2 Democrats unwilling to change filibuster rules), and quietly built a solid foreign policy portfolio, including firm support of Palastine.

Find out if you’re registered to vote in any state!

Register to vote in any state!

Other voting resources—and DON’T FORGET to vote down-ballot, too! See how much Harris did as County District Attorney and State Attorney General? Those are elected offices!

[elodieunderglass]

Hi! As someone who grew up in (I think?) New England and now lives in the UK, is living outside the US all it's made out to be? I know you moved a while ago and didn't go to "escape the US", but I imagine you can offer some insight. I'm sorry to be projecting some envy on to you, but the life you describe seems so lovely and livable. Your neighbors, your chickens, your gardens--it seems like you have some actual community. I (probably incorrectly) picture you living in the stereotypical British cottage that all of the British chicken-keeping companies seem to use to advertise their products. When I picture life in Europe, I picture the small fragments of life that we get from you and other bloggers, like the one with the escapist pet llama in France. I know that the UK has plenty of problems, and that we are only seeing slivers of your actual life, but do you think there's a different sense of community and livability over there that we don't have here? New England is also so standoffish that it might just be negatively skewing my perception of the US, too. Thanks for your thoughts, if you want to give them!

I’m sorry it took so long to reply!

I'm going to write a personal response about the impact of material conditions on parenting, because I think that's the most useful response and outcome. However, this response will be missing a lot of the political framing that it ought to have. I believe that describing the policies and infrastructure that the UK has, and how they impact on myself, explains a lot about how I am able to parent, what my life looks like, and in turn how that impacts a society. I think it is useful to outline SPECIFIC POLICIES and show what they do, because understanding specific material changes is a necessary part of any shift, let alone revolution. So this is not about escaping anywhere, or anywhere being better than anywhere else; it's about frameworks that I use which are (essentially) nonexistent in the USA, and how they contribute to a liveable society. It might seem like "why does a question about your life sounding nice, with chickens, start with 'maternity leave'?" but... this is the answer.

1. Parental Leave In the UK, parental leave is a minimum 6 months. After the first 6 weeks of full pay, the government pays you a very small stipend every week (currently £188/week) plus a very small child benefit. Some jobs offer better-paid leave as a benefit. You accrue your fully paid vacation time (6+ weeks) while on leave, and therefore most people use it at the end of their leave to pad it out. Parental leave can usually be split between parents. A perfectly normal thing is for a mother to take the first 6 months, then hand the baby to Dad for his three months off with it. Impacts of parental leave on my personal life: - I had time and space to adjust to being a parent. - I was able to pay my bills while not working. - Our children went to nursery (daycare) when they were over the age of 1. - I was able to return to work in the exact same job, back into the benefits of working (which, for me, include intellectual exercise and making a positive impact on the world.) Impacts of parental leave on society: - "it takes a village to raise a child" - well, here's the bloody village. - You spend time attentively raising a baby, in a stage of life where that returns a lot of dividends. - You have a year to make "parenting friends," forming networks and not being isolated. Everyone else with a baby the same age is doing exactly the same thing too. - Babies grow up in social circles with friends pre-installed. - Parents develop support networks. - "Toddler group" culture is normalised. On parental leave you are supported to build and structure a social life. - There is daily foot traffic and people moving around towns during the day, because Not Everyone is At Work. Some number of mothers are in coffee shops with babies every day of the week. Some number of parents are always drifting through libraries on a Thursday morning. In any town there will be adults in their 30s engaging with local resources, shops, events, classes, museums, culture, and friendships during the weekday - because they are having a year off with their baby. This is hard to articulate, but has huge knock-on effects. - after all, things like shops and museums and libraries are expected to be Always Open (staffed by workers) but workers are also expected to be Always Working (at places that are open) so when are working people going to use these resources? - people can be friendly and know the people in their community if they have had some time, space and reason to meet them.

Culture of part-time working In the UK it's very normal for kids to have two working parents, with one - or both - parents working part-time. That's what my husband and I do. Impacts of part-time working on my family: - My partner and I each spend one day a week with our nursery-age child while the other two are in school, allowing us to have a relationship with the youngest that isn't a constant four-way tug-of-war. - We meet our friends in a regular, routine heartbeat of connection, social expression, and support. It is extremely good to see your good friends once a week, and maintaining friendships over years is extremely good for you. - it's very good for the kids. not only do they have a lot of parental attention (which improves behaviour, teaches them skills, makes them good citizens, etc) but they see their own best friends all the time, building their own relationships and connecting THEM to the networks of "village." - we have adults during the week who can do things like go to the bank, pick up prescriptions, or do other capacity-balancing things within work hours. - we can collect our schoolchildren from school and they don't need afterschool care 2 days out of 5, saving money and letting us see our kids. - working part time means that we need to take less time off work over school half-terms and holidays. Impacts of part time working on society: - more working adults are available during the week to do things like the PTA, local committees, local volunteering, local mutual aid, local classes and groups. More working adults can do things like walk their dogs, have allotments, and take their kids swimming. Working adults can run toddler groups for new parents, who then return to work part-time, to come and help run the toddler group. - I feel like this is obvious, but if you want a society with amenities, then you have to staff and use the amenities. - If you don't have part-time workers, you're relying on retired and nonworking people to run your communities during the week - and they do a brilliant job! - but a balanced society should have people of different ages and abilities working together. - again, you have people in coffee shops in the week; you have people USING things and DOING things in the week. - you are NOT forcing one parent into Permanent Babycarer Role and one parent into Permanent Worker Role! This is threaded through all of these points, but you do NOT have to set up a permanent Stay At Home Parent / Working Parent dynamic when your society offers infrastructure for flexibility and supportive policies.

More Holiday (and different school holidays) Okay, so you're a working parent in the USA. You get 2 weeks of vacation time a year... and your kids are off school for 10-12 weeks of summer. how do you work and also raise your kids? well, usually through some unholy feats of juggling, expensive summer camps, and relying HEAVILY on family. This isn't sensible or necessary. (It's also incredibly hard on American teachers.) but it DOES mean that parents are in a vulnerable state in America. In many American families, the three-month childcare gap in summer makes it really hard for women in particular to work, widening inequality. In the UK, workers usually have 6 weeks of holiday. School summer holidays are only 6 weeks long. There are lots of other holidays - every six weeks, kids get a week off for Half Term - but with two parents and a culture of part-time working, you can just about cover it every year, and still have a bit of vacation time for yourself, Christmas, and travel. What this means for my family: - We can have three kids and two nearly-full-time jobs. - We see a reasonable amount of our children. What this means for society: - you've possibly picked up on the recurring theme that the USA requires a Designated Parent to be removed from the workforce/society and turned into a permanent caretaker, because otherwise the family couldn't manage the admin. The knock-on effects (resentful caretaker, resentful breadwinner, stressed out children, family with less economic/emotional resilience, caretaker expected to do all domestic chores and admin, breadwinner expected to exhaust themselves to provide resources, children do not interact/engage with breadwinner) form the backbone of the American family unit, which is not a great (or default) way of actually raising kids. - another huge expectation in America is that Family and the Church will step in to provide this missing material support - i.e. church summer camps. or grandparents taking the kids. Which - what do you do if you're not Christian? if you're estranged? if you're queer? if you moved away from the small town where that would have worked? if your parents are harmful or unsafe? again, policy changes and infrastructure are making family life workable.

Better Nursery Options (and nursery support) The UK has some of the worst nursery options and highest bills in Europe, I think? (citation needed) but it's still cheaper and higher-quality than the USA. My mother in the USA is always ranting about "don't you want to raise your OWN children?" and "they will be harmed by their carers, or made to watch TV!" but on the contrary - I LIKE my kids having multiple caretakers and a qualified professional care team. they are NOT watching TV. their nursery staff take them to do LOVELY THINGS and I can work an ENTIRE DAY without being CLIMBED ON. There is SOME financial support available for sending kids to nursery. From the age of 3, or younger if the parents are low-income, kids receive 30 hours a week free childcare from the government. (in practice they've just changed this and it isn't as great as it sounds but it's a slight savings). What this meant for my family: - I could afford three kids. And they are EXACTLY three years apart (lol). this means that as each child turned 3 and got cheaper childcare, the next one started, so we were never paying 2x nursery bills. - This allowed us to have children, a nice number and a nice age gap, who would therefore grow up together as a nice sibling set, but we could afford it and afford their childcare. - this literally shaped my family. size, age gap, and choices. everything about their dynamics, their relationships, and their future as siblings was shaped by this random scrap of policy. What this means for society: - EVEN STAY-AT-HOME MOTHERS IN BRITAIN SEND THEIR THREE-YEAR-OLD KIDS TO NURSERY. - EVEN CHILDMINDERS (people who run in-home childcare facilities alongside raising their own kids) PUT THEIR KIDS IN OTHER NURSERIES! - that's right - stay-at-home mothers DESERVE breaks. it's an EXHAUSTING job, with no recharge time or holiday, and tremendous pressure to be perfect all the time. - it is so, so normal to use nursery. it's not a bad choice, or a place to "park" your children, or something Bad Parents do, or something you Must Become A Stay At Home Parent to Avoid Using. there are no terrors of satanists or people being hurt or kids being locked in closets, as many Americans do worry about. having help with childcare is just a wider village, a care team, another aspect of your kids' lives. - seriously, if you speak to American parents on the internet, it isn't just a financial thing - daycare is perceived as being BAD for children, something a good mom should break herself to avoid using. - in the UK it's... nursery. Kids go to nursery. you pick the days. they go and pick daisies. - it's okay to have a break from parenting and being Touched all the time. - it's very good for kids to start making friends and having other carers.

Decent schooling In England, free public schooling starts at aged 4. children wear uniforms from age 4. hot meals are about £3 a day and are free for the first few years. there are no metal detectors or shootings. kids learn phonics, cursive, maths, tech, cooking, art, sports, etc. at a reasonable standard, not dependent on local property taxes - okay, so, background: in the USA schools budgets are state-set, but are ALSO often linked to local property taxes and local funding pots. so schools in "poor" areas generally have less resources, while schools in areas with nice houses and Good School Districts have a completely different experience. In some USA schools, teachers have to use food banks and buy pencils for their own students. It's all pretty wild and inconsistent. This is somewhat true in the UK (better schools tend to be in 'better' areas) but the funding is more consistently given and there is a national-level monitoring and regulation program. (it isn't left up to 50 insane separate states who all want to strip school budgets and cut their funding to do this according to Personal Vibes.) this means that you can just... send your kids to school. they learn things. and then come home. It's fine. you can just send your kids to school. everyone else is too. Many communities are walkable, and "driving kids to school" is not the default. Kids are expected to become independent earlier, and society is expected to be safer. at the age of 11 they usually walk to school with their friends. What this means for my family: - my kids are pleasant, the older two can read, they have opportunities and are supported. I don't feel like school is damaging them. On the contrary. - it isn't on me as (Femme Parent) to be their entire cultural and intellectual education. they're exposed to diverse viewpoints, people, and teachers. their mental landscapes are broader and more resilient than if it had just been me. - (I was homeschooled, you see.) What this means for society: - children are mildly educated. - children are fairly safe when they're Away From You. - teachers are a reasonable profession that's normal to go into. and teachers live fairly normal lives. - social inequality is reduced through equity introduced in education. - educational opportunities are more consistent and less stratified. - children can safely get out of family homes (and parents can work).

walkable communities, but you got that.

public transport, but you know about that.

socialised healthcare, but you get that. As a result of all these things, raising a family is materially different in the UK, with effects that knock on throughout. With one or two tweaks - now you have present and engaged fathers. Now women can be working parents without breaking themselves in half. Now babies make friends they'll keep their whole lives. Now you CAN be distant from toxic family because you don't need family support to raise kids. But all of those things could be put into policy. They are not something British people invented. ANY SOCIETY THAT LAYS THINGS OUT COULD ACHIEVE THIS. And I think that's worth saying and laying out. Livable communities can be made livable with livable infrastructure. infrastructure is something we can make.

[fawnindawn]

eyes like pretty lights

clark kent x fem reader. (2.6k)

summary: surprising clark with a visit at the daily planet, it sparks memories of the past and how some things never change, especially clark's eyes that still shine like pretty lights only for you. seeing your best friend again in metropolis, it might be harder to leave... especially when he doesn't want you to.

content: childhood bsfs to lovers, so much fluff, long distance besties who secretly like each other finally meet again, your sudden reappearance reignites something in clark (like he very much wants to keep you in Metropolis with him), hidden denial of feelings, clark practically begs you to move in with him, silly chase scene, huge love for his glimmering eyes

"So, how do you know Clark?"

One of Clark's colleagues has already bit the mark on what everyone's been wondering. You suppose bursting into the Daily Planet, yelling Clark's full government name before jumping him with a bear hug was bound to raise questions. Jimmy- you presume from what Clark has updated you through your weekly calls, is staring you down like he's found a new case to investigate. Clark wheels you a spare office chair, pulling another for himself as you settle at his desk.

You’ve known Clark since forever. Living in the farmhouse opposite his, you remember the first time he flew across your fence at an uncontrollable speed, crashing into your chicken coop and scaring all the chicks, sending a flurry of yellow out into the field. He had begged you not to tell your parents, promising to catch all the chicks and bring them back safely. You remember shaking your head, pretending to be pissed and told him you'd only keep it a secret if he taught you how to fly.

A silly promise, but at the ripe age of five, flying still seemed within the possibilities of the world, especially if the neighbour’s son could do it too.

He had agreed, scared as he was to be reprimanded by his parents for exposing his secret so carelessly, so he came back the next day with all chicks in hand, some trying to stumble out of the blanket he had wrapped them in.

"It's not that I don't want to keep my promise!" He tries to reason with you as you lock the chicken coop's door, newly repaired after you lied to your parents about a strong wind bursting through the coop's old infrastructure. "I just don't think it's a good idea for me to let you fly."

"Hey, I'm stronger than I look." You huff. "Do you think cool stuff like 'flying' is something only boys can do?"

"No, that's not it." He grimaces, all anxious and pitiful. "I just don't want you to get hurt."

You give him a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder, a big naive grin on your face. "Don't worry, I can handle anything. Now, come on. Quit stalling and let's fly already."

Tracing the scar absent-mindedly on your elbow, it's really shrunk since all those years ago- you could say flying really wasn't your forte.

At least one permanent benefit was that you get to wiggle the scar in his face whenever you needed him to do something for you that required more coercing. It was rare that he’d ever say no to you, but on the rare occasions, you could still pull out this bad boy.

"We go a long way back." You answer, the heavy, warm weight of nostalgia sitting comfortably in your chest. "I was his neighbour back in Kansas."

Jimmy's eyes widen. "Oh, you're the Kansas girl!"

"The Kansas girl?" Your brows furrow, glancing over at Clark. "Now, what did you say about me?"

"Nothing bad!" Clark exclaims, giving a pointed look to Jimmy. "Tell her, Jimmy."

"Oh, trust me. He said many good things." Jimmy muses, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. "He talked about you a lot."

"Really?" Your grin is practically wicked as you lean in. "What did he say?"

"Wait, that was not what I meant." Clark's growing panic in realisation at where the topic was heading was adorable to witness, and it only added on to your curiousity. It's not everyday you get to hear Clark's perspective on you.

"Oh, where do I start?" You both ignore Clark's repeated refusal for this topic to continue, using your chair to hit him at the torso, blocking him from trying to shut Jimmy up. Jimmy, who you realise has an amazing impression of Clark's mannerisms, puts his head in his hands as if in agony. "I have this friend back in Kansas." He wails. "I wonder how she's doing. Did she read my latest article? Why hasn't she called me? Does she have new friends? Should I call her?"

"Jimmy, that's enough." Clark's face is in a deep wince, and his ears are his signature red.

"Aww, that's so sweet of you, Clark." You cooed, craning your neck to look back up at him.

He gives you with an unimpressed frown. "Are you done tormenting me at my workplace? I have articles to write."

"Articles that you wonder if I read, apparently." You tease further and he groans. "I can have a look right now if you want. You can have my expert opinion."

"No, I really rather not."

Stepping out of the revolving door, the bright sunlight coats Metropolis with golden rays across the shimmering glass of skyscrapers, and you find yourself smiling more than you have in months with Clark by your side.

"So, why did you stop Jimmy from coming along for lunch?"

"It's not like I get to see you much anymore." He mutters. "Your last visit was months ago, so I'd like it to be just the two of us. Why? Did you want him to tag along?"

"Nope, I just wanted to hear you say you wanted my undivided attention." You tease, and dodge his aggressive head ruffling antics just in time. "Easy, it took me forever to comb out the tangles this morning."

Falling back into step, you add on. "Jimmy's a nice guy." You commented, with a nod of agreement from Clark. "But I didn't drive three hours to spend time with your colleagues."

"So you came all the way here to spend time with little ol' me?" His grin is crooked and bright, and you resist the urge to pull at his cheeks. He's so easy to please, you wonder if its only you who gets to see him like this or if all that distance has increased that list of people who got to see that uncovered smile of his.

"Yes, you big buffoon." You push him at his arm, but he doesn't even bother to pretend it budges him. "I came to stinkin' Metropolis to see my best friend."

"It's not that bad here." There he goes again. You know that pleading look. "I mean, ever since I became 'you-know-who', the crime rates have been the lowest ever in years."

"Easy on the flex there, Big Blue."

He rolls his eyes but continues on anyway. "I could connect you with Perry, he would love to have your writing talents on board."

"And how would he know about my talents?"

"I may have mentioned you once.. or twice."

"Clark, how many people know about me at your workplace?"

"There's well, Perry." He mutters, holding up his fingers to count. "Jimmy. Lois. Cat. Steve. Ron.."

You push down his dwindling fingers, shaking your head to hide your stifled laugh. "So, pretty much everyone." A weakened 'yeah' is his response. "Still, I like where I'm working at right now. You're going to have to do better than the Daily Planet if you want to convince me to move here."

"Well, there's amazing Chinese takeout here." He points out. "You always complain about the ones back home."

You give a non-committal shrug, and he purses his lips, telling you that he's obviously not going to give up soon.

"You could stay for free at my place till you find somewhere you'd like to rent."

"What if want to stay at your place forever just cause I don't want to pay rent?"

"I won't mind." He admits it so quickly, you could only stare at him before he realised it was probably a little strange that he was offering you a free place indefinitely, or possibly forever.

"I mean, you could help out with chores while I'm at work."

"Right." You mutter. "I'm so stoked to be your future cleaning maid."

"Well-" He flails his hands, something he only does when he's close to his breaking point. "There's me."

"You?"

"I want you here." He confesses, a rare serious expression on his face when he stops in his tracks to look at you. "It's not the same through our calls or weekly photo updates."

"Hey, I put a lot of effort in those." You stammer, not knowing how to respond to his vulnerable admission.

"I know you do." He answers so sincerely, you wonder just how in detail he looks through the photos you send him. "But I want to hear about your life through your voice, not some speaker. I want to be in your life, not to be updated about it once every few weeks."

You swallow dryly, and you resist the urge to give in just from that look he gives you, like he can't live without you near.

"It's hard for me too, Clark." You admit. "We always stuck together back in Smallvile, and when you decided to move all the way here, I just felt like you wanted to move on to something bigger- newer with your life, and I wasn't sure if I was ready."

"I don't want anything bigger or newer." He rushes to say. "I want-"

"Hey, lovebirds!" A sausage vendor snaps, causing the both of you to turn your necks in fright. "Continue your quarrel somewhere else, you're blocking my line!"

Looking around, you realise you had both stopped right in front of the stall, blocking potential customers from buying. Feeling something hot on your cheeks for being insinuated that you have something romantic going on, your hand reaches out to grab on hold of Clark. "Sorry!" You apologise, grabbing Clark by his tie and dragging him away.

"I'll consider it." You mutter once you were far away enough for you to loosen your grip on his tie, taking ahold of his hand instead so you wouldn't lose each other in the crowd. "Moving here."

You'd think you had ignited the freaking sun when you said it, because you've never seen his eyes shine as bright as they did now.

"Really?" He grins, almost breathless. You know he has been trying to convince you since the moment he came here nearly three years ago, but you never realised just how much he wanted you to be here too.

"I said I'll consider it, Clark. It's not a yes, so don't look at me like that!"

"Okay." He murmurs, but that stupid grin won't leave his face.

"Oh, you always get what you want, don't you?" You groan.

"No, I think that's you."

"Untrue."

"Who's the one who uses her scar to guilt-trip me into doing whatever she wants?"

"Wow, making fun of the scar." You shake your head in mock disappointment. “Ah, I guess leaving this permanent affliction on me didn’t mean that much to you..”

“That was nearly twenty years ago.” He deadpans.

“Oh, but I remember a certain someone promising that he’d give me unlimited favours to stop me from crying-“

“Fine, fine." He laments. "See what I mean? You always find a way to make me agree with you."

"That's because I'm usually the right one."

He rolls his eyes, before quieting down, and you notice that lip thing he does, biting down at the corner when there's something he's pondering about and can't let go of. "Also.. you didn't deny it earlier."

"Deny what?" Yet, your averting gaze says otherwise.

"When that man called us lovebirds." Ah, there's that hot flush at the back of your neck again. What an insistent man, bringing up the elephant in the streets. "You used to go crazy back in high school and those kids picked on us- saying we were together."

"Well, that's cause they knew we weren't, and still did it on purpose to piss me off." You defended. "That sausage man was innocent, he probably thought we were a normal bickering couple."

"So it doesn't piss you off anymore?" He asks.

"No, why?"

"Oh." He's grinning again, there must be something silly going on in that head of his. "No reason."

"I swear, you're weirder than usual." You grumble. "It wasn't that long since our last phone call, was it? Did your alien side wake up a little more dominant this morning?"

"I don't think I'm being weird." He shrugs. "I'm just really happy that you're here."

Gosh, he's saying all the heart-skippers today. Maybe you missed him too much, but hearing him say that made you smile too, despite your best attempts to push it down.

"You're not saying that to make me move here, are you?"

"No." He affirms. "But if you move here, I think I'll be the happiest man in the whole world."

Staring at you, his gaze feels hotter than the warmth building up between your binding hands.

"If you throw one more cheesy line at me, I'm leaving you for the streets."

He laughs with his whole chest, those blinding dimples rising beneath his glasses when he does so. "You won't even know your way around, you can't abandon me like that."

"Oh, is that a dare, Clark?" He realises his mistakes two seconds too late, for you had already broken off your hold, getting a head start through the crowd.

You remember these chases back in Smallvile, when you'd challenge him to an actual race without the use of his powers. It was mostly to make him feel normal, and you knew he loved it. To just run without feeling his legs kick up into the air to fly, but across the dirt through the fields you always played in together. He loved being on the ground with you, without a care in the world. To be human, like he was raised to be.

That hasn't changed now.

Running through the streets like lunatics, you hear his voice calling your name as you round an alley, away from the crowds to somewhere more desolate. You stop for a moment to catch a break, only to be caught and turned around by large hands holding your waist in a vice grip.

Your eyes meet baby blue, crinkled by the slight wrinkles that appear whenever he smiles, so vivid and bright just like today's sky.

"Guess you caught me." You whisper, chest heaving to catch your breath.

He didn't break a sweat, but there's that adorable red flush in his cheeks you loved to see. "Like always." He murmurs.

"Like always." You repeated. "I missed this."

"Me too." He hums, eyeing you with that glimmer in his eyes.

There are things that have changed between the two of you. The distance between your cities, your jobs, your lives. Yet, there's one thing you'll always want to remain the same. It's that shine in his eyes when he looks at you, and only you.

His gaze softens as he leans into his hold, his entire back bent to engulf you into a hug. "Please consider moving here. For me."

"I regretted not telling you earlier, but you're the only person I feel like myself around." He admits, unable to face you as he says this, his face pressed into the crook of your neck. "I know it's selfish, but I think if I let you go off again this time without saying it, I'll really regret it."

Your hands reach out to return the embrace, leaning into his chest and feeling his abnormal heartbeat, beating so quickly against his buttoned shirt.

"I thought I told you I'd consider it." You whisper.

"I know, I just wanted- no, needed to say it." He mutters. "You can think of it as an added bonus. The cost of my humiliation to persuade you to stay here with me."

Your mind ticks of all the possible scenarios, of the pros and cons- but it all fades to the feeling of his erratic heart and the love you have for the boy who stole it the moment he crashed into your chicken coop all those years ago. The boy with dazzling eyes and the biggest heart you know. Your best friend. How could you ever say no to him, to your Clark?

"..Fine, Big Blue. Consider me persuaded."

a/n: im actually already considering a part 2 of when reader moves in to clark's apartment and all their shenanigans but hmmm we shall see. 🥰. and yes, tiny clark scrambling around trying to find all the chicks that fled was inspired by the squirrel scene.

[whirlybirbs]

— CAN'T WE BE SEVENTEEN? ; shoto todoroki ; 焦凍

summary: he's loved you since he was seventeen. pairing: f!reader x pro hero!shoto ; reader was a 1-A student tags: mutual pining, heavy make-out, thinly veiled sugar daddy shoto, reader does not go pro, touya might be a dick but he's a hero now, shoto is bad at feelings wordcount: 5.6k a/n: i do not fucking know what came over me, enjoy your food my little todorokinas. yes the title is what you think it is. no i will not elaborate.

You never did go pro.

Truthfully, you thought there would be more pushback when, in your senior year, you announced your plan to pursue a degree in early childhood education with a focus on non-conforming quirk development. 

The War changed a lot. It changed you, your classmates, and the world. But, through it all one thing stuck with you:

What if someone helped Tenko Shimura?

How different would his life have been? How different would history have spun? 

You graduated at the top of your class and joined the faculty at Chiba Prefectural Preparatory School for Quirk Specialties two years ago. 

Chiba Prep was opened eight years ago in response to a societal cry for more infrastructure around what was dubbed "non-conforming quirks": a nice way to say quirks that can injure, maim, or kill. Maybe even all three on a bad day. Some parents still see their child being labeled as a non-conforming quirk user in the national database as akin to social suicide. 

You see it differently.

Your quirk allows you to manipulate emotions — anger, sadness, betrayal, love, hatred. If you can feel it, you can sink it into another's psyche deep enough to drive them to act. You can even imbue things with feelings. For example, a cup of warm milk can transform into more than just a simple comfort, now it can hold the feeling of home and safety, or even exhaustion strong enough to put even the biggest foe to rest. 

You could easily use your quirk with nefarious intent. 

You could steep hatred in someone's bone so deep it drives them to harm themselves. You could sew fury so solid into someone's mind it drives them to violence. 

Just a touch and you can control others with something so intrinsically personal it only exists within themselves: their feelings.

What makes you any different from little Asuke, a shy little girl with a quirk that allows her to see people's greatest fears, and then manifest and control them? You're convinced she can use this for good, if only with practice. In your mind, her future is bright and glimmering. Perhaps she will become a therapist, focusing on exposure therapy? Or, maybe the most prolific horror novelist in their time? 

Or, bright and sunny Tao — a transplant whose parents sought out Chiba Prep's specialized education — whose heteromorphic quirk makes his bodily fluids, namely saliva, eat through nearly anything but his own biologics. A sneeze is quickly the most dangerous thing in the world for the cheery, lizard-bodied class clown. 

He's just a boy given a quirk that needs more care. 

He isn't a villain-in-training. 

None of them are.

It's important to teach them that young — and as their teacher for Year 3 of their elementary schooling, you aim to hammer that in as much as possible. They deserve to feel normal. To feel loved and supported. They aren't scary, they're children. 

So, you take it upon yourself to insist on pushing for privileges like field trips. There aren't many public spaces that welcome the classes of Chiba Prep with open arms. Over the years, there have been plenty of incidents. But, a day trip into the city to visit Tokyo's Hall of Heroes is green-lit with bubbling excitement from both faculty, the children, and their parents. 

You usually keep your history as a graduated member of Class 1-A quiet. 

After all, you never did go pro.

And even still, Shoto Todoroki never stopped thinking about you.

He remembers that weekend everyone moved back in for their last year before graduation. He remembers you smiling at him, and helping him drag up a duffel of luggage from the common room to his dorm. You made a joke about how you're sure he got taller over the summer, and how his hair is longer now. You said you liked it. 

It was the beginning of the end, then.

His crush was a silent, smothering thing. It made it hard to think. Shoto had enough on his plate thanks to Touya's acceptance into the Villain Rehabilitation Program and his father's insistence on staving off retirement. Not to mention his parent's divorce — no matter how amicable, it was still a separation. Add on training, tests, studying, finals, and j-term classes... And a desperate, writhing, burning crush on the nicest girl in class? 

Touya's elbow digs into Shoto's side.

It drags him back to reality — to the stifled quiet of the historical Hall of Heroes. 

Suddenly, the doors to the wing squeak open, and a tour guide ushers in the elementary school class. The buzzing excitement and wonder are visible on each of their faces as the attendant — one of the HoH's lead tour guides — excitedly explains the newest, in-progress addition to the Hall:

Endeavor's wing. 

There's a whisper of awe that ripples through the children as their teacher and co-teacher follow, and as the class moves through the large, open space. They're staring up eagerly at the gilded statue in the center of the room. It's larger than life and intimidating. Years ago, Shoto might have had to fight the odd tremble in his knees at the reminder it brings: to be small in his father's shadow again. But, things are different now. 

Very different.

Touya scoffs. "I thought this wing wasn't open to the public yet."

"They're just children," Shoto hums, turning his back on the gaggle across the way to inspect the large mural winding along the back end of the installation, "I'm sure it's—"

"Oh, ho, no way!"

Shoto quirks his brow at his brother's outburst. His elbow digs into Shoto's ribs again. 

"Ain't that the pretty girl you never got the balls to ask out your senior year?" comes the rasped drawl of his older brother's voice. Touya is clearly amused, his white hair hanging in his eyes as he leans forward to squint, "She is cute, Sho'—"

"Shut up," Shoto grits, turning his head over his shoulder; he tries to bite back the flurry of nerves that ignite in his gut, "Stop talking."

It is you.

You look... good. 

Happy. 

You're crouched by a small, timid girl in the back of the crowd. Your hand is in hers, and you're pointing upwards at the large paneled screens replaying Endeavor's most historic fights. You're explaining something to her, your knees bent as you squat. You look... the same. As if in the six years since they graduated, you sat still in time. 

For a second, it's like he's seventeen again.

It's his senior year, and he's stuck at the corner of the gym's edge with a half-empty glass of punch in his hand. The lights are low, and there's slow music playing. His tie feels too tight. Bakugo keeps telling him to 'ask her to dance already', and Kirishima is considering bashing his head through the wall. Even Midorya is trying to persuade Shoto. 

"It's prom, man! C'mon, this could be your last chance—"

Touya is about to be a real pain in the ass — his favorite pastime — and make some comment about your ass, but when he turns to lob the one-liner at his baby brother, Shoto's gone.

Shoto is on the move.

The crescendo of gasps draws your attention first.

Then, the cry of "WOAH, IT'S SHOTO!" leaves you dumbfounded. The rippling murmur of excitement bleeds into the children as their eyes — and the eyes of the tour guide — widen at the sight of the approaching Pro Hero. 

Shoto Todoroki.

He looks... good. 

Really good.

He's a bit older, and a bit more filled out than when you were both teenagers. You can see the strength in his arms and shoulders — it's a distant echo of his father's physique, though Shoto is so much more elegant and much... prettier. He's always been.

For a second, you're seventeen again.

It's your senior year, and you're sprawled across Momo Yaoyorozu's bed.

They had finally wrangled out of you who your crush was: something they hadn't been able to do in all their years as classmates.

There's a sticky, Miss Midnight-themed face mask clinging to your expression as you try to flip through the large magazine in your hands as nonchalantly as possible. Mina's voice, as she paints Ochaco's nails a bright pink on the floor, is sweet and saccharine as she looks up at you.

"I think you and Shoto would be, like, the cutest couple ever." 

You're still crouched when the tour guide nervously — like she was caught doing something naughty — introduces The Pro Hero Shoto to the already-aware crowd of elementary school students and their teachers. It's like igniting a match; the uproar of excitement leaves you laughing as three of your boys push forward to bombard him with questions about his quirk. 

Asuke is smiling shyly, now. That's a small win. She's intrigued by the appearance of a real hero, not the "scary statues" — and her big, fat tears stopped rolling the moment you laid a gentle hand on her to quell her anxiety over the new environment with a push of comfort through your quirk. She unhooks her pinkie finger from yours as you guide her towards your co-teacher. 

"Boys," you call with a crisp air of authority as you stand and lead Asuke toward the bulk of the field trip group, "What have we learned about personal space?"

"It's fine, really, Insight," comes Shoto's voice; as warm and placid as you remember. 

"Insight?" mutters your co-teacher at the presumed hero-name; a look of confusion plasters itself on her face, and her big, feline ears perk up. She leans in to whisper in a way that borders on conspiratory, "Do you two know one another?"

"Old classmates," you confirm, not daring to get into the finer details.

Shoto's attention is entirely rooted in the way you manage the kids. There's something beautiful about the ease with which you handle the bouquet of students; you quell the excitement into a manageable decibel like it's as easy as breathing. 

"Shoto," you start as you gesture to him, "Has a very special quirk — Toyamai, he has ice like you. And, fire like Tojiro. He can regulate his temperature. Can anyone tell me what that means?"

There's a wave of hands shooting up, a few me, me, me's rise from the gaggle. 

You're using him as a teaching moment.

Shoto's smile is soft.

You nod at Ogomi, excitedly nodding as the reserved child speaks up. Normally, he hates public speaking. But, recently, he's started working with the speech pathologist during lunch. The boy bounces a little as he answers. "He doesn't g-get too hot, or too c-cold."

"Exactly! Isn't that cool?" you grin at the lazy attempt at a pun, "This is why it's important to learn about our quirks as much as we can!"

Touya thinks this whole thing is just too cute. 

You're different than he remembers — but, granted, things were sorta different last time he saw you. He was a little too busy tryna kill his old man and lil' Shoto. He's different now, too. A changed man! A real licensed hero. Support items and all. 

He hangs back. 

He... I mean, he is a jack-ass but he isn't gonna ruin this for Shoto. 

...It's kinda cute.

Just about as cute as Fuyumi said it was. 

Apparently, Shoto had opened up to her and Natsuo about his feelings after graduation — about how he regretted not doing anything about it. Fuyumi then told their mum, who then off-handedly mentioned it to Touya... and well Touya dug in because, duh, he is a whore for good gossip. He might be the family's black sheep, but Shoto is the glue that binds. 

And he deserves to be happy.

Your co-teacher is ushering the kids to the next installation — a viewing of All Might's Legacy, a new documentary following the retired pro's teaching career. It will be a good wind down for them, in comfy seats and the dark. It's hardly the sort of content an elementary school student would find riveting, but it is All Might. And they love him.

You hang back. 

Shoto's heart is hammering in his chest.

"Hey."

"Hi," you greet back, closing the door to the theater and stepping forward as you weave your arms around you, "Long time no see."

"Yea," Shoto breathes, his hands in his pockets as he meets you halfway across the museum's marble floors, "I... I see you're teaching."

His eyes are as pretty as they were back then. Slate grey and piercing turquoise. "I'm in my second year," you confirm softly, fiddling with the material of your sweater, "Congrats to your old man."

You gesture up at the statue, then wave around to the rest of the installation.

Shoto inhales, then nods; he's staring at your face, blissfully realizing you're just the way you were all those years ago. Kind. "I'll pass it along."

"How's he handling it?" you ask, your eyes raking across his expression and trying not to stick to the sharp slope of his jaw, or the bob of his Adam's apple, "Retirement, I mean."

"He's happy, I think. Touya and I are working together and... things are...  good."

Last month, Endeavor finally retired. He cited his age, and his dedication to passing his legacy to his two sons: Shoto and Touya. Shoto has planted himself firmly within the Top Ten in the last year or so, and shockingly, Touya isn't far behind. People love an underdog's redemption story, you suppose. 

And the underdog in question can read a room. 

This is getting a little too sexually tense for even him.

"Heeeeey, girl," he rasps out, staggering backward with a thumb over his shoulder, "Nice t' see ya. I'll let you two catch up, yea? I'm gonna go pop my head into the theater, see how the kids are handling the snooze fest on screen—"

You jump.

How long has he even been there?

"Hi, D— Touya," you strain, wincing a little; the rehab'd villain doesn't seem to mind.

"Hi, teach'. That cool with you?" he asks, wobbling his thumb and quirking a pierced eyebrow; it's comical, like he's trying to disarm you with humor, "Don't want you thinkin' I'm corrupting your youths—"

"It's fine," you breathe, ignoring the sting of age-old mistrust. You know better. Shoto wouldn't be here, with him, if Touya Todoroki hadn't changed. Endeavor wouldn't be entrusting his legacy to the ex-League of Villain member if he didn't believe in his capacity for good, "Just don't be disruptive."

Casting judgment on someone whose life was nearly destroyed by his own non-conforming quirk would go against everything you taught the kids anyway.

"Touya's whole thing is being disruptive," Shoto grits as his oldest brother slips silently through the doors, "I apologize for him—"

"No," you wave him off, laughing a little, "Don't. It's... nice to see you two together."

Shoto's expression is soft as he wanders a little closer. "It took time — and a lot of therapy — but we've all managed to come out the other side."

"That's great to hear, Shoto," you breathe, your eyes flitting across his face, "I'm really happy for you."

There's a long silence, then — and you can't help but ignore the roil of butterflies in your stomach. The eye contact is heavy with some unspoken thing, and both of your tongues are weighted by secrets-never-turned-confessions. 

It's like finally this dance you've been doing around one another for years breaks — and the two of you throw caution to the wind at the exact same moment. 

"Would you like to—"

"Are you free—"

Hesitant, slow grins bloom on both your faces.

"Dinner?" is all he manages after a sweet moment of soaking up your soft smile, "If you're available...?"

You make yourself available.

Yaoyorozu almost dies when you call her that night — winded from tearing through your entire wardrobe. You explained you had nothing to wear a-and you needed something nice, and you only have an hour to get ready, because Todoroki — yes, stop screaming, Todoroki — is picking you up at 8pm.

Little bro is nervous. Touya can tell. 

From his spot on the sofa, the white-haired ex-degenerate scoffs. Natsuo is digging around for some cufflinks in Shoto's dresser.

"Seriously, Sho'? A suit?" 

"It's a nice restaurant," his brother says tightly, adjusting the collar of the black button-down, "I booked the upstairs dining room for privacy." 

"Who the hell told you t' do that?" Touya quirks a skeptical brow.

"Father was the one who suggested it."

"...That old dog." 

Natsuo rolls his eyes at the exchange before throwing his hands as he emerges from the closet. "Do you have any links that aren't emblazoned with U.A. High School's crest?"

The ones in Natsuo's hands have his graduation year on them.

Shoto winces.

"Want me to ask dear ol' dog of a dad?" Touya snarks from the corner, his posture becoming less and less upright as he scrolls on his phone.

"Already did," comes the soft voice of Fuyumi; she's smiling, padding into Shoto's room with a velvet box, "He offered up his nicest pair. He also says not to screw it up with Insight. He likes her."

Of course, he likes her. You worked under Endeavor for a brief work-study period during your third year. Shoto remembers hearing grumbled praise over dinner one night about your talent for de-escalation.

"You told him who I was seeing?" Shoto asks incredulously, taking the box and working the cufflinks on. He's starting to feel exasperated.

Fuyumi nods, popping down beside Touya. 

"He asked. I'm not gonna lie to him."

"Did y' tell ma?" Touya rasps, peeking up over his phone to inspect Shoto's outfit. Not half bad, honestly. He looks good in all black. A man after his own heart, "M'sure she's gonna be real excited—"

"Yes," Shoto grumbles, "I called her earlier—"

"Chiba Prep is a really good school, y'know," Natsuo buts in as he tries to find a tie that matches Shoto's outfit. Ultimately, though, the middle brother decides against it and tosses the options over his shoulder, "They're, like, on the leading edge for quirk therapies."

"Hey, nerd? Quiet down. The big kids are gossiping," Touya shirks, turning back to Shoto, "What did mum say?" 

"She wants me to call her after—"

"One, you're gonna call mum the morning after," Touya raises a finger, "Because if you don't get laid, I'll be so fuckin' disap—"

Fuyumi slaps Touya's chest. He lets out a pained yelp at the solid smack.

"Uh, ow," he rubs his sternum. "An' two, take a deep breath. You look like you're gonna shit yourself. Those are my pants and they're expensive."

Shoto lets out a long breath. 

Fuyumi's smile is sweet like honey. "Aw, Sho'! It's gonna go great. You two have known each other for such a long time, and catching up is going to be amazing. Just be yourself! Confident and kind—"

"—Hold the door open for her, and pull her chair out," Natsuo adds as he adjusts Shoto's collar for him, "Car door, too—"

It's Touya's turn. He's dead serious. "—And do not chicken out on kissing her at the end of the night. I swear to god."

Easier said than done.

You never did go pro.

Those years of hardened battle instincts have lost their edge. You try to remind yourself this is just Shoto, not The Shoto — but you're a little lost in the whole celebrity of it all when he picks you up in a very nice, sporty little car with ENDVRplates. 

You answer the door and he forgets how to breathe.

He has flowers for you. They're blue and blooming and beautiful. 

Fuyumi's contribution. 

You settled then you were going to kiss him at the end of the night.

The restaurant is... nice. Really nice. The sort of nice you could never aspire to experience on your teacher's salary. Even the valet is a concept that has your head spinning. But, Shoto handles it all with cool ease. The entire time, his hand is settled on your lower back. 

It feels like you've been lit on fire.

You're glad Momo was able to create a dress fitting for the occasion. It's sleek and black. Comfortable, too. Not much can be said for your heels on that front, but it's fine. 

Somehow, Shoto managed to book the entire upper floor of this place in all its glimmering glory — it's just the two of you alone in a sea of tables. 

The waiter is pouring you a glass of the chef's suggested pairing of sake.

You thank him, smile, and take a sip as Shoto unbuttons his suit jacket and watches you. 

For a second, you're seventeen again.

Sero and Kirishima were always in cahoots when it came to parties back then — somehow, between the two of them, they always managed to smuggle enough booze onto campus to obliterate any semblance of promised sobriety from even the most stoic members of 1-A. 

You remember one night, after a lot of hounding, you finally gave in and joined a few of your classmates on the back lawn for a few drinks. 

A few beers turned into a cup or two of wine, and then another big gulp of whatever deranged jungle juice concoction Kaminiari managed to cook up. It tasted terrible, but you were too drunk to really care. Shoto was no better. He was nursing his fourth drink of the night — a rarity he was even drinking at all — and seemed completely fine with the way your arms brushed as the two of you sat close in the grass. 

He was always so nervous around you. Now, he just seemed... happy. 

"I can't believe there is only one week left until graduation."

Graduation day was the last time you saw him. 

Until this morning, that is. 

You smile into your drink. 

"What?" you ask when his eyes never leave your face.

His fingers twitch towards his own glass. Shoto blinks, then rolls his jaw. He was caught staring. He clears his throat, looking a bit shy. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" you press playfully, cocking your head to the side.

"You..." he starts, then bawks. You're stunning, and it's making it hard to even think straight. He thought these feelings might have mellowed out over the years but seeing you again has just reignited everything. He feels like a hormonal teenager again, "You look beautiful."

Your expression falters into something lovesick. You chew your lip. "You're not so bad yourself, Todoroki."

He manages a half-smile. "Touya had me worried the suit was a bit much."

The idea of Touya offering him advice on his outfit strikes a chord in your heart. It makes you smile even bigger than before. "Well, you can tell Touya that I like it. A lot."

You rake your eyes up and down him. On purpose.

He notices.

Shoto's face feels hot. 

He tries to shake the bone-deep want that has swept his entire body up in its grip, but it's difficult when every single word out of your mouth reminds him just how in love he was with you back in school. You explain, excitedly, why you chose to teach at Chiba Prefectural Prep and catch him up on where you've been living since graduating. He's pleased to learn you're still in the area, living in the city, and decidedly in love with the commute to the school. 

Shoto's always been a good listener — but you can see how much he's changed when he begins to speak about his career. He seems so much more sure of himself than he was all those years ago. It wasn't that he was... unsure... but, no. He was shy. Quiet.

Now, less so. 

It's adorable. 

Dinner comes and goes with conversation over sushi that is far too good for you to even process. It's easy talking to him. It was easy talking to Shoto back, then, too but... Things are different. You're both different. Not in a bad way, but in a way that feels like coming home. 

While you both wait outside for the valet, Shoto shrugs his jacket off and puts it over your shoulders without a single word. Suddenly, you're cradled in a warmth that's very Shoto — his cologne clings to the collar and you bury yourself a little deeper into it. 

Shyly, you step closer and steal his hand. It's calloused and warm. He laced his fingers with yours as if practiced. You bite back a grin. You give his hand a little squeeze when you spot the car coming around the corner.

His silence is calming — and he squeezes your hand back. When you look up at him, you realize he's already looking at you. 

His face is close. It's so... intimate. Very. Nearly better than a kiss. 

But, you've wanted to kiss Shoto Todoroki since you were seventeen. 

The valet driver interrupts the moment with a respectful call of Shoto's name and offers the keys with a shake of the hand. With a little bit of hesitancy, Shoto remembers the thing Natsuo said — the car door, too — and moves around the passenger side to open the door for you. 

It's sweet.

Really sweet. 

The car ride back to your apartment is punctuated with easy conversation — you ask him about Bakugo and Midorya, and you're pleased to hear they're both doing well. He asks about Momo, and if you still keep in touch with Mina and Ochaco. He smiles to himself when you admit you did call Momo for help with an outfit. 

"She did a beautiful job," Shoto breathes, a palm moving from the gear shift to brush over the dress' fabric on your thigh.

His hand settles there. 

Your stomach does a flip. 

You chew your lip, swallow down a sudden burst of nerves, and let your hand rest over his. You squeeze it. Shoto tries to focus on the road. His gaze drifts for a moment at a red light, his heterochromatic eyes dancing across your figure. 

Keep it together. 

He isn't seventeen.

He's twenty-five. He's a Professional Hero. One of the Top Ten in all of Japan. He's more than capable of keeping it together in the face of physical touch from the woman he's dreamed about for years. 

...Right?

Green light.

His hand is still on your thigh when he pulls up to your apartment. 

The touch is relinquished in favor of putting the sports car in park. 

It makes your chest ache.

Shoto swallows thickly.

Do not chicken out on kissing her at the end of the night.

He'll never forgive himself. But, admittedly, he's bad at this. He's not good at reading body language, or even knowing himself enough to realize he looks mildly terrified as you blink up at him in the passenger's seat. His heart is hammering a mile a minute.

What if you don't want to kiss him?

When would he even kiss you? Now? Or at the door?

Why does he feel like he's going to die?

"This was really... Shoto, are you okay?" you ask as you unbuckle your seatbelt; you pause, your brows knitting tightly. 

"What?" he asks, blinking back to the present moment. The look of fear disappears, "Sorry. Yes. I'm fine."

You're working his jacket off your shoulders, gently leaning to fold it neatly in your lap. Your voice dips low, into something playful. "You didn't look fine..."

"I—" Shoto clamps his mouth shut as he leans an elbow on the center console, "Sorry. I suppose I'm just nervous."

"Nervous?" you grin, a little giggle punctuating your words as you wriggle in the red, leather seat, "Why?"

Your expression makes his expression crack. He ducks his head as he huffs out a laugh. You continue to egg him on via expression alone. "I... Stop it."

"Stop what?" you push some more, your back pressed to the door as you face him in the car, "You're the one being weird—"

"I'm not being weird—"

"Then what's wrong, Shoto?" you tease in a sing-song voice.

"I'm nervous because I want to kiss you."

His words are punctuated by a slow look that takes in every inch of your face. Butterfly wings kiss your stomach walls. And your knees. You feel a little tremble in your chest. 

It feels like someone has sucker punched you square in the sternum. Shoto's no better. He isn't entirely sure what the expression on your face means. Is that... good? Are you happy?

Your voice is a little quieter now. You duck your head and fiddle with his suit jacket as you lean back against the seat, a little closer now. 

"You don't need to be."

Shoto's breath catches at that.

So, he makes his move.

His hand comes first — his calloused palm settles nicely against your face, his thumb brushing your cheekbone as his pointer finger brushes the underside of your jaw. Shoto is slow. Methodical. It's like he's trying to ground himself in the moment. 

Truth be told, he thinks he might be blacking out.

Your eyes flit up his wrist — a dark leather band around his wrist with an expensive watch face, a dark dress shirt with glimmering cufflinks, strong arms and a broad chest, and you can see the dip of his collarbone where the top two buttons of his shirt remain undone. 

He looks so damn handsome with his sharp jaw, pretty eyes, and his trademark white and crimson hair. Even his scar is beautiful. 

The touch pulls you in like he's got his own personal orbit.  

Your elbows are braced along the center console, your eyes flicking across his face as his fingers continue to brush along the soft expanse of your cheek. You wring your fingers together. 

Then, his eyes stick to your lips.

"Can I kiss you?" he whispers, his breath fanning across your face. 

You never did go pro.

But, Shoto did. 

It shows. 

Because, at this moment, all you can do is nod feebly before you're swept into the sort of kiss people go to war for. It's the sort of kiss that sticks to your ribs, that feels like warm, fresh food. It's the sort of kiss that would drive you to the brink, that would make you nod and agree sure, let's get married and have three kids, let's name one after your father, and paint the house blue like your mother's favorite flower—

His mouth is eager, but not in an overbearing way. It's gentle. Slow. As if he needs to remind himself this is real and not some midnight fiction that leaves him aching and alone. Shoto reminds himself to be tepid, pliable, and easy, which is easier said than done when somewhere deep inside of him there's a seventeen-year-old screaming in victory. 

It's better than anything he could have ever imagined. 

And then you whimper. 

It's a sound tied between bliss and relief and it's muttered against his mouth as you lean in and let your fingers brush the fabric of his dress shirt. The tips of your fingers brush his abdomen and he flexes, the feeling foreign and warm. It warrants his other hand to drift to your face and you break for a breath; he doesn't care that there's lipstick smeared across his mouth. He's kissing you again — this time a little bit more feverish, a little bit more aching. 

You melt against him, this time your hands trembling to grip his wrists.

He needs to slow down.

He is not having sex with you in his father's car.

That's shameless.

He needs to slow down.

He has to, or he'll lose himself in this and he refuses to fuck this up. 

Shoto's breath is ragged when he finally peels himself away, his lip parted and eyes half-lidded. His grip on your face is still so soft, so gentle. It's very him. 

You're glad you didn't do this when you were seventeen.

It would have permanently altered your brain chemistry, you're sure of it. How could you ever kiss someone else again after that? 

He's rubbing your cheek with his thumb. You swallow, and try to level out your breathing. It's hard when he's still so close, when he's so... perfect. 

"I've wanted to do that," he murmurs against your cheek, "Since our last year at Yuei."

A well-kissed smile breaks across your face. You reel back, your nose wrinkling as you shake your head in disbelief. Shoto is smiling. A real smile. The sort that's so rare you can count on one hand the amount of times you've ever seen it in person. 

"Are you serious?"

"Very," he says, chastely pressing another to your other cheek as he leans back.

"Me too," you admit shyly, "Can we... do it again sometime?"

Shoto's eyes widen incrementally. Then, his smile eases back onto his face. 

"Are you free this weekend?"

"I can be," you reply easily with a honeyed look, "And I will be. For you."

"I get off patrol on Saturday around seven," he explains before asking timidly, "We could... do dinner again?"

"Works for me," you breathe as you move for the handle of the car door, "After all, I never went Pro. Weekends are free."

Shoto scoffs. 

Then, as you open the door and swing a leg out:

"Oh, and tell Touya I thought the suit sexy."

Shoto's laugh is dry. You leave his jacket on the seat and scurry into your apartment with a lovesick wave. He swears he sees the silhouette of a familiar ponytail greet you at the door, but he doesn't dwell on it. He waits until you're inside and the lights to the front door are shut off.

Then it hits him. He has another date with you this weekend. 

Not so seventeen anymore, Shoto Todoroki. 

[gb-patch]

Our Itch statement

On July 24th, Itch released a statement regarding the recent removal of all NSFW games from their platform. If you aren’t familiar with the situation, you can read their full notice here.

We want to begin by stating that the blanket removal of all 18+ games, is, in our view, an overcorrection. This decision impacts both developers, who have spent years creating these projects, and players, who paid for them and should retain access to their purchases. We stand in solidarity with the creators affected by this sweeping action and with the communities that have been fractured as a result.

It’s important to note that this is a layered situation. We believe Itch was pressured by its payment processors, and forced to make an impossible choice: protect creative expression or preserve the infrastructure of their platform. (Steam recently experienced a similar situation on a smaller scale.) While it’s not quite clear what has happened behind the scenes, we know that gaming communities across the world are struggling due to this decision.

At this time, the 18+ DLCs for Our Life have not been affected, as they are hosted primarily through Patreon. Should that change, we will update our community immediately. We hope to see a more nuanced solution in the near future. In the meantime, we’ll be supporting creators wherever we can.

If you agree with our position, we encourage you to sign this petition by the ACLU, who is fighting to end payment processor discrimination against sex work as a whole.

[robertreich]

Let me just come right out and say it: I love @BernieSanders. While many in the Democratic Party appear to be asleep, Bernie is leading the charge against the Trump regime. His "Fighting Oligarchy" tour is spanning the country and drawing massive crowds in Republican leaning districts. He's tapping into the anxiety that so many of us are feeling. And he's energizing us to stay engaged in the fight we're in right now — and the fights to come. Why do I love Bernie? I love his authenticity. Some people like Donald Trump because he says whatever he wants and he’s an asshole. Bernie’s authenticity comes from saying what he wants and speaking the truth. And although he’s blunt, he’s anything but an asshole. When he growls “this grotesque level of income and wealth inequality is immoral,” he means it. And he’s right. I love Bernie because he’s a true populist — a word that has gotten a terrible rap since Trump but should be redeemed. It means for the people and against the powerful. Trump pretends to be a populist, but he’s always wanted to be one of the powerful and has forever been in their pockets. Bernie is a true populist. I love Bernie because he has almost single-handedly changed the national conversation — turning proposals that had once been on the Democratic fringe into respectable, and in some cases mainstream, Democratic positions. Creating jobs by rebuilding infrastructure. Providing free tuition at public universities. Breaking up the big banks. Guaranteeing workers paid medical and family leave. The policies no longer seem far-fetched. I love Bernie because even at the age of 83, his indignation hasn’t faded. Nor has his energy. I love Bernie because he has more guts than any politician I know. Hell, he has more guts than just about anyone I know. Bernie — thank you for continuing to fight for a better world. I'll be right there alongside you, friend.