#Coal is a disaster it's hopeless

[ampreh]

Man I can't tell if it was worse or better in the RP version- ಠ_ಠ Coal, her bad social skills aaand 1940s Once-ler (belongs to @nalak-bel | @1940s-onceler) (You know the song : past midnight = free time for Once-ler post, and this time with Coal the Cap-ler in charge of the Smogulus Smog !)

[iamthepulta]

For "recent" mining songs, the examples I look at are: Anias Mitchell's "Quecreek Flood", Tyler Childers' "Coal", and The Dead South's "Black Lung".

Before I comment on the songs, almost all the lyrics of mining songs I've found throughout the years discuss either: "The events of this particular mine disaster", "The social context of mining", "How the social ramifications of mining have affected me", or "Dear God, this Sucks."

All three 'recent' songs are centered around Appalachian coal. I haven't found any recent hard-rock mining songs. Coal and Black Lung fall into "How the social ramifications of mining have affected me". Coal focuses small-scale, on a family struggling to feed themselves while coal money goes to large corporations and the hopelessness it inspires. Black Lung is similar, about a family trying to save and 'escape', but never making enough. Neither are about injuries or death, but the social entrapment of small mining towns.

Quecreek Flood is a little different because it's about a mining disaster in Pennsylvania. The miners drilled into a poorly-documented abandoned mine that had filled with water and the active mine flooded. All miners were safely rescued after several days of attempts. However, Anais doesn't focus on the disaster so much as the social and cultural response to the disaster. Her primary commentary is that the miners and the rescue were immediately forgotten and the budget for coal mining injuries was cut.

... And the President came from his party campaign To shake every hero's right hand After slashing the funds for the miners' black lungs And the regulations, God bless our nation He said, "united we stand" ... - Quecreek Flood

(Which is still one of my favorite stanzas from all the mining songs I've listened to.)

The shift within older songs talking about the social context of mining like The Yablonski Murder and Close the Coalhouse Door that describe unions, rights, and death, to Quecreek Flood and Coal where the commentary inspects hypocrisy and the social ramifications of unchecked capitalism, are both signs of progress AND the troubles of the time.

[bradleyrbradshaw]

Do you have any funny story with the Daggers you can tell?

I’m having a rough day and could use a laugh :)

I’ll give you something for the holiday. I’m really sorry to hear you had a rough day. I tried to teach Bailey how to grill. She’s always wanted to learn and love barbecues. But the girl is hopeless. I swear I was being as patient as I could but when I told her to flip the steak she lost it! She was terrified of putting her hand over the grill. When the coals were burning out I instructed her to put a little lighter fluid down to help reignite the flame and keep the heat where we needed it. She looked at me wide eyed and nodded her head as if she understood. She started to take deep breaths and center herself I stood back waiting for disaster. She shakily squirts some over the fire and screams bloody murder when the flame comes up past the grate. She threw the lighter fluid into the grill and ran as fast as she could away from it. I had grab some tongs and throw it out of the danger zone as fast I possibly could before she blew up our backyard. I looked over at her after it was lying safely on the ground and she was hyperventilating. She was wearing light colored pants and she definitely peed them.

If you ever tell her I told you this she’ll kill me, so let’s keep this our little secret shall we ?

Bailey…if you do see this I’m sorry and I love you!

[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from this story from Vox:

40 percent of Americans feel helpless about climate change, and 29 percent feel hopeless, according to a December 2020 survey. It’s also no surprise that these emotions are coming up during a devastating pandemic — yet another global disaster over which individual humans have seemingly little control.

To help stop climate change, we’ve sometimes been told to change our personal habits: recycle, reuse, take shorter showers, etc. But these individual choices are dwarfed by the actions of corporations and countries. Just 100 companies are responsible for 70 percent of the world’s carbon emissions since 1988, according to one study, and sweeping changes aren’t possible without government intervention. Not to mention the fact that poverty and other factors constrain the choices many people can make in the first place.

Given all this, it’s no surprise that “all of a sudden, everybody’s going into nihilism,” as Heglar puts it.

But experts say we’re not completely powerless, and there’s a way to live in an age of climate change without giving up or sticking your head in the sand. It’s not necessarily about going vegan or making your home zero-waste, either.

The idea of reducing your personal carbon footprint, while not inherently wrong, has often been used as a distraction, “pitting working people against each other with morality choices about how sustainable you are,” rather than “realizing how much you actually have in common,” Mejia said.

Instead, many say the key to fighting despair is to think beyond the individual and seek community support and solutions — especially those that put pressure on governments and companies to make the large-scale changes that are necessary to truly curtail emissions. As Heglar put it, “the most detrimental thing to climate action is this feeling that we’re all in it alone.”

Oil companies like ExxonMobil have used sophisticated PR campaigns to make climate change seem like an issue of personal responsibility, and deflect blame away from their own actions, as Rebecca Leber reported for Vox. “A lot of the individualist solutions that have propagated across society and across our discourse, such as the carbon footprint and the idea of self-sacrifice in order to save the planet, really have the fingerprints of a few oil companies,” Mejia said.

In truth, the biggest contributors to carbon emissions in the United States, transportation, electricity, and industry, are only partly under individuals’ control. People can choose to use less energy in their homes, but household electricity use only accounts for about 10 percent of CO2 emissions in the US — even getting rid of it entirely wouldn’t be enough to stop climate change. And while some people can choose to drive an electric car or go car-free, they can’t individually shut down coal plants or redesign America’s public transit systems to make that an option for everyone.

[fascinated-daydreamer]

I am not usually someone who is into politics. It overwhelms me with a feeling of hopelessness because I know that the people in power in our country do not hold the same values as many of my friends and family, so I ignore it (healthy coping mechanism, I know).

Right now, Australia, my country, my home... it’s burning. The entire country is on fire. This fire has consumed not only rural towns but has moved right onto the doorstep of Sydney. Melbourne and Canberra have been blanketed in smoke for weeks and it has even moved across to New Zealand.

Our fire season started in September this year. We never usually experience fires to this overwhelming severity until January. The fire seasons are becoming longer and threatening more lives than they have ever done before. Today is set to be the worst fire conditions our country has seen and Victoria is in a State of Disaster - no other Premier has ever declared this before. The fires are expected to double in size today and countless towns have been evacuated as a precaution.

Just last week, the isolated coastal town of Mallacoota was trapped by flames, and thousands of residents and tourists had to sleep on the beach, waiting for firefighters to tell them to get in the water in order to survive. Images of pitch black skies at 9am, roaring towers of flames and children in boats with gas masks strapped to their faces haunt me at night.

I am ashamed and terrified to live in a country where our leaders refuse to believe climate scientists and ignore the most imminent threat to our safety. As an island that is one of the most fire-prone places in the world, at danger of rising sea levels and home to extreme tropical cyclones you would think that climate action would be at the top of our government’s to-do list.

Scott Morrison a.k.a ScoMo, our Prime Minister, is the ring-leader of climate deniers. This man lacks empathy for anyone who is not exactly like him (i.e. privileged, male and white) and has no ability to see further than the money symbols he sees when looking at coal. It makes me furious to think that he turned his back on the people that voted him in when they needed it the most. 

Whilst his country was burning he flew to Hawaii for a holiday and even before that was focused on pushing his “religious anti-discrimination” law. This law built solely on hate means that people with religious beliefs would have the right to deny service to others if it goes against their beliefs, for example, a pharmacist who does not believe in contraception could legally refuse to sell the pill to a woman. This is just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the questionable values and priorities of our Prime Minister. 

We need to act now. This is a Climate Emergency and our federal government does not seem to care. We, the people need to act. Whether that be by donating to the bushfire relief fund, trying to reduce our own individual carbon footprints or even being more active in the next election to bring true facts to the public. 

These fires are really hitting close to home and I am so scared for what will come next if we don’t do anything about it. Homes and lives have been lost because of our governments ignorance. Let’s rise up Australia.

[anarchopuppy]

Do you think there is hope for our future? Can we still save Earth in about 12 years? How can we achieve that goal?

I don’t know, but I don’t think this is a useful train of thought. Getting caught up in probabilities and potentials for the future can easily lead to either a crippling hopelessness or an apathetic sense of security, when what we need is motivation and urgency. Thankfully the recent UN report has spurred a lot of people to action, and I think we’re going to see more and more people abandoning the ineffective governmental/corporate means of protecting the environment in favor of popular movements

I think one of the best models for reducing the effects of climate change is Transition Towns, a grassroots movement working on a city-by-city basis to create sustainable circular economies. I like this one in particular because it’s community-focused, putting the power in people’s hands while leaving behind the big corporations that are causing the problem. 350.org is similar

The Buy Nothing Project is trying to build that community-controlled circular economy from the ground up. In particular, industrial agriculture is responsible for a good chunk of greenhouse gases, so growing your own food either in a personal or community garden (as well as producing your own eggs, goat milk, honey, etc. if you’re keen on that) is a good place to start. My practical tag has a lot of resources for this kind of thing

It’s also vital that we strike back, by blocking pipelines, occupying forests and other land, picketing coal mines, etc. Rising Tide is a great organization to go to for this kind of direct action

That said, we’re already seeing the effects of climate change, and things are definitely going to get worse before they get better, so focus some of your effort on helping the people affected by it. Mutual Aid Disaster Relief is pretty much what it says on the tin, people offering help after natural disasters - they were partially responsible for getting solar power to Puerto Rico following Maria (and they have a great list of other organizations on their site). We also need to support climate refugees - in the US that can mean stuff like leaving water out for migrants crossing the desert or sabotaging the wall, in Europe it means supporting groups like Sea Watch who are rescuing refugees at sea. And everywhere it means fighting fascism and any attempt to leave these people to die

Remember that citizens outnumber politicians, and workers outnumber capitalists. We have the power to put an end to this, we just need to organize and fight back. “If the workers are organized, all they have to do is to put their hands in their pockets and they have got the capitalist class whipped.“

[writing-essence]

Switch Flipped - Sweet Pea

Chapter Two: Sober

Pairing: Sweet Pea x Andrews!Reader, Reggie Mantle x Andrews!Reader

Warnings: Riverdale being wack 🤷🏻‍♀️ also language

Summary: After your dad was shot by the black hood, Archie has gone off the deep end, little did you expect yourself to question your northside loyalties

Author’s Note: Slow burn with Sweet Pea. Slight relationship with Reggie. There’s lots more Sweet Pea in this one, I swear. Let me know if you want to be tagged! -Milla

Word Count: 2,608 (oops?)

A few days had passed since the night of the rumble. Archie made an official apology video per Weatherbee's request and disbanded the red circle. Fred Andrews was relieved his fiery son blew out the flame. It wasn't easily spotted on the surface, but you could tell Archie still harbored hot coals in the pit of his stomach. This was most apparent by his grumbling about a certain Nick St. Clair over the blasts of his punching bag.

Reggie had time to cool down as well. The boy would never fail to jump at the chance to show off his athletism and masculinity in the name of dawning school spirit, so it wasn't a shock when he walked out your door that night. The next morning school had been suspiciously quiet due to the hushed details of Dilton Doiley's "mugging." When Reggie walked to your locker ready to lament his actions and announce the fall of the red circle, you didn't give him a chance. The scratches littering his face, the star of the show being a split lip, was enough to bury yourself back into the warmth of his chest. The gesture continued until the grating pitch of the bell rang through the halls bringing you back to the reality of linoleum floors. For a moment you thought the madness was over. It hadn't even started.

Currently, you were sitting in your room studying for a math test you knew was hopeless. Watching the tree outside your window sway in the harsh November breeze, you were surprising thankful your stress would be coming from the angles of triangles and not a circle tonight. The sun was beginning to set causing an orange tinge to flood your room. Basking in the momentary warmth, you decided to call Reggie for geometry advice. Maybe not actual advice, mostly reassurance you couldn't possibly do worse than he had in the same class the year before.

One ring

Two rings

Three rings

Four rings

Reggie always answered his phone, especially after what happened with Jason. He would never admit it, but he would sometimes panic if you didn't answer in the first three rings, even if he had dropped you off at home within the same hour. It took time for fear of losing people to trickle away. So why wasn't he answering? It could either be a sign of progress or a sign of something you couldn’t bear to think.  Hoping for the former you continued to struggle through the practice test your teacher had given you. A few hours had passed, and once again you were graced with four rings and no Reggie. Fighting the nervous jolt in your stomach, you texted Midge instead who you were convinced could anyone off a ledge. Her comforting words lulled you to sleep.

 A rude awakening prompted by none other than Alice Cooper, would answer why Reggie's trend of silence continued. An extravagant, to Riverdale standard, party. With jingle-jangle supplied by your supposedly out of business boyfriend. Your chest tightened as your lungs grew three times their size trying to catch up with your frantic breathing. Slowly you backed away from the cracked window at the side of the Cooper house you crouched behind while snooping. Bushes hugged your shins as you ran back to your yard. The next time you saw Reggie, it was over.

Not only had he been continuously lying about his possession of jingle-jangle but he did something you never thought him capable of. You built it in your mind Reggie was better than them than Jason, Chuck, or any other bulldog who wrote the worth of women on lists. He wasn't perfect by any means but not once did you think he would ever cheat. Archie tried his best to comfort you the days following the break. You knew he was there at the party and knew about Reggie and Josie. You didn't know whether you wanted to curse him out for not telling you or hug him for attempting to protect his little sister's heart.

Business at Pop’s had been slow since the first incident with the Black Hood.  Understandably so, a place that once emulated comfort through neon lights now had an ever presence of darkness. The counter in front of you glowed after being wiped clean for the countless time this afternoon. The cycle of texting Midge and cleaning suddenly broke by the chime of the door and laughter of boisterous teens. Glancing up from your phone your eyes trailed to the rambunctious rebels sporting serpents on their backs.  Hopefully, this encounter would be less dramatic than the last. You grabbed your notepad and headed toward the booth.

"I'm telling you guys the milkshakes are crazy good!"

"Ya know Topaz I'm not sure I trust any milkshake Jones introduced you to."

"Get over yourself Swe-"

"Hi, can I take your order?" You interrupted. Sitting before you was a petite girl sporting pink hair, and two uneasily familiar male faces. Your eyes widened as you examined the two boys sitting on the other side of the booth. The two serpents seemed to notice your saucer-sized eyes and realization seemingly struck them in the chest.

"Uh, guys?" The girl waved her hand in front of their frozen faces, "what's with the staring contest?"

"You're the northsider with the shit for brains brother," the statement came out more like a question from the taller serpent. You sucked in a breath and squeezed your pen tighter, the word, 'unfortunately,' escaped your lips during the exhale. "You know he ruined our drag race today-"

"Wait," the girl cut him off, the corners of her mouth curling up, "you're Archie's sister? Y/N right?" She finished as you turned to her. Your eyebrows furrowed. How would she know that? She seemed to be a mind reader when she continued, "Jughead mentioned you, I'm his friend Toni."

You had practically grown up with Jughead due to his friendship with Archie. He had grown to be one of your most trusted confidants especially during your party girl phase brought on by Reggie. You were forever grateful for Jughead's myriad of cover-ups, saving you weeks of being grounded to your room. You considered it retribution for the time he managed to spill an entire milkshake in your hair when he attempted a magician career during seventh grade. While the chocolate scent could have been worse, it quickly turned to spoiled milk even after the fourth washing. His affinity for being quick with words almost made up for that catastrophe. 

"Good to know he hasn't forgotten about me, not like I've known him since he had that dorky headgear," you jested at the girl sitting to your right.

"No way really?" For the first time, you saw a smile creep onto the larger boy's face. He elbowed his friend in the excitement of the humiliation of young Jughead Jones. Deciding not to ruin whatever reputation Jughead was building for himself on the south side you simply shrugged letting your smile twist into a smirk.

"So what can I get for you guys?" 

Minutes passed as you returned with their burgers and shakes. They politely thank you and returned to their conversation. For serpents, they weren't as intimidating as you suspected. They acted like regular teens, not thugs as many made them out to be. While they looked rougher around the edges in leather and ripped jeans, they were just goofy kids. Throughout the evening you stole glances at the wild crew, catching snippets of their amusing antics.

"Fangs if you blow one more straw wrapper in my hair I swear-"

"Chill out Toni-"

"Oh, I'll show you who needs to chill out-"

Needless to say that dispute ended with twenty wrappers covering Toni's side of the booth and a splatter of milkshake on his face. A chuckle slipped past your lips. You coughed in an attempt to cover up your eavesdropping, but the milkshake free boy wasn't fooled as he looked to your hunched form over the register. You avoided his gaze long enough for him to lose interest and turned back to his arguing friends. Once they had calmed, you decided it was a good time to ask if they were ready for the check. Closing was approaching quickly, and you weren't a fan of riding home alone in the dark.

"We can clean it up," Toni hurried. Your eyes scanned the disaster zone. Straw wrappers, ketchup drips, and milkshake splatters littered the once sparkling table. "Sorry," she smiled sheepishly then glared to the shorter boy who you assumed was Fangs.

"Don't worry about it," you shook your head returning the smile. After momentary consideration you sighed, "look I know my brother won't apologize for any trouble he's caused, I guess this is me saying sorry. I can clean it up its no problem. Afterall it is my job."

"I wouldn't say it's your job to clean up your brother's messes," the taller serpent responded crossing his arms.

"That's not what I meant," your smile faltered. 

You rang the trio up at the front after bussing their table. After a hushed argument about who should pay or how easy they could divide the bill into thirds, they decided on the classic game of rock, paper, scissors.  Fangs' rock lost to the other two's paper. Not before pining for a rematch he gave in, including a commendable tip. You tucked the money in the register and grabbed your washcloth and spray bottle, ready to charge the Mt. Everest of messes. Still wiping down the table you had noticed the group's failure to leave, they were staring back at you while whispering. Toni shrugged, Fangs tried to fist bump the giant next to him just to be met with a smack on the head from Toni. 

"Do you need a ride?" the tallest ask asked.

"Excuse me?" All you could do was blink as you stopped cleaning. Had you heard him right? Was he talking to you? Of course, he was talking to you; he was staring right at you.

"That's your bike out there right?" He pointed out the door's glass window to the bright yellow metal of your bike. You nodded. "It's getting late, and Jones is a serpent now. He talked about you like family, we take care of our own,” he shrugged with his hands in his jacket pockets.

Your eyes involuntarily squinted at his generous offer.  From squinting, they shifted between each serpent as if to decipher a secret code. From the sincere looks on the teen's faces, you decided they harbored no ill will. Your choices seemed slim, either bike home alone in the dark with the Black Hood lurking in the shadows or catch a ride from Jughead's mysterious serpent friend. Even if they looked genuine, you had to establish some form of protection in case of a disaster. You walked toward the group stopping in front of the boy who had asked you the question.

"Promise this isn't your master plan to murder me in Fox Forrest?" You held up your pinky to his chest. The boy's dark eyebrows nearly raised themselves off his forehead staring at your gesture. His eyes switched to look at his friends on either side.

"You're serious?" he asked incredulously, a laugh peaking through his inflection. Toni and Fangs had amused looks pointed towards their friend.

"Deadly," you answered unwaveringly back. He shook his head in defeat as his pinky hooked around yours. "I'll be out after I finish with your guys' table," you made your way back to the damp milkshake covered towel. An uncontrollable smile played upon your face. You had managed to get a Southside Serpent to agree to a pinky promise and lived to tell the tale; Midge wouldn't believe it.

After you finished cleaning and put away your supplies, you grabbed your jacket from under the front counter and headed out. The three teens were still there laughing about something Fangs had said. The poor boy had a bewildered look on his face asking what the big joke was. You grabbed your bike from the rack tucked by the front steps and wheeled it towards your temporary carpool buddy. He kindly tucked your bike in the back of his light green truck. You could tell it had been a fair amount of years since its last paint job. There were chips, scratches, a few dents here and there. You wouldn't have described it as run down, but well loved. 

"Um, thanks for the ride," you broke the minutes of silence since you both sat down.

"Don't worry about it," he dismissed.

You took in your surroundings. It wasn't messy like you would expect a vehicle of a teenage boy to be. The knob on the out of date radio had been knocked off, and the seats squeaked if you moved an inch. They squeaked a lot as you fidgeted in your place not knowing whether to look out the window, at the inside of the car, or towards the boy next to you. You decided on the last option. His eyes were transfixed on the road you assumed he traveled down the night of the rumble. A few rings decorated his hands that were draped lazily on the steering wheel. He had soft features which contrasted with his jet black hair. At this moment he didn't ooze an ounce of intimidation even with a snake dancing across his neck. The snake which was the symbol of a gang. A gang that your closest childhood friend got himself wrapped into.

"You good princess?" He glanced at your prying eyes.

"Uh yeah," you started caught off guard, "how's Jughead?"

"A tool," he deadpanned. You smiled at his look of distaste for your "quirky" friend.

"Yeah, you know he probably thinks the thing about you," you let out a light laugh. "Jughead's a lot sometimes, but he means well."

"Sure he does princess," he responded. Your nose scrunched up at the nickname. 

"I have a name you know," you insisted even going as far to point at the name tag on your uniform. Then you realized something. Toni had introduced herself, and you caught Fang's name from the straw wrapper war, but the name of who was sitting next to you was still a mystery.  "Speaking of which you're giving me a ride home, and I still have no idea what your name is"

"Quite the scandal for you huh northsider?" He taunted with a smile. You rolled your eyes crossing your arms sinking deeper in the stiff seat. "It's Sweet Pea."

"You're serious?" A breath of air puffed out of your chest. He had to be messing with you. You watched his face contort with a mischievous glint.

"Deadly," he smirked, repeating your words from Pop's.

"Right, well this is me," you said as he pulled up past the Cooper's to your smaller house. After unbuckling, you hopped down to the pavement and grabbed the door to close it, looking up at Sweet Pea.

"Need help with your bike?" He asked. You nodded mumbling a quick 'thanks.' He pulled your bike out the back, passing you the handlebars. After a more formal thank you, you started your up the walkway locking your bike up at the side of the house in the bushes. Before walking up to the porch, you turned back to Sweet Pea who was leaning against the side of his truck.

"See you around, princess," he concluded, a look of victory strewn across his face. You shook your head at the hopeless nickname but smiled nonetheless. 

"Night, Sweet Pea."

Tags:

@the-original-penguin

@6trash6queen6

@star-mum

@andyl394

@yougottalovefandoms

[crypterion-moon]

Exchange: Resolution

“You can run but not forever.”

Part 3

It’s easy, at first, all Tim needs to do is be gone the moment Jason is near. Vanish he can do, but he doesn’t realize that it’s getting harder and harder as Jason gets more persistent. And Jason has come to realize it’s about time he stopped hedging around the issue.

Dick notices the deliberate behavior. Whenever Jason is close even on patrol, if he can get away with it, he'll be gone before even Batman notices, it hasn’t escaped B’s attention though but he isn’t about to confront either on the matter. He’s almost sure that it would end in disaster if he tried, Dick is too restless to keep out though, he has to hold Nightwing back every time he tries to chase either of them down for an explanation.

Tim doesn’t want to start a fight, fighting with people he’s supposed to be love, people who are supposed to be his allies, friends or family, drains him faster than a consecutive two week of work and patrol non-stop. He can’t look Jason in the eye and now, he realizes he can’t talk to Dick. At least Bruce and Alfred doesn’t force it out of him. He still can’t go back to the manor, the demon brat is there.

He collapses onto his couch, breathing a sigh of exhaustion as he pulls the cowl back. Scratch that, running away all the time is just as tiring, a lose-lose situation. The only thing left is if he...Tim’s eyes trail over to his comm unit, the batarang sits beside it under the spotlight of his kitchen counter. Bruce would understand if he just asked, maybe.

He pulls the cape and cowl off and hold it there, just staring at it from an arms length for a while. Then shakes his head and neatly folds it away. It would be stupid to throw away the thing that gave his life meaning over a simple disagreement, he’s held through worse to keep fighting. He carefully stows it away in his secret compartment.

“Pathetic Drake, you really are hopeless.”

Without even having to turn around, Tim was already groaning in his mind. Of all the people who could pay him a visit, it had to be HIM. If this was what it meant to have visitors then he’ll gladly stick to having none.

“Please, Damian,” he didn’t want to sound whiny but he is this close to crying from lack of sleep, emotional instability and generally just being fed-up, “I’m not in the mood for this.”

“That’s no excuse for being a coward,” Damian spits words like bits of red hot coal.

“Go home Damian, you got your Manor, I got my place, okay? Just...leave me alone.” Tim tries to get out of his suit while making his way over to the bedroom with full intention of slamming the door in the brat’s face and hiding under the covers. He just about makes it to the door when a batarang embeds itself in the wall next to him.

He stares at it for a few seconds before he groans, “Oh my god, I just had that done!”

“So what, you may have bought yourself a shack away from Father but you’re still in my city.”

Tim just leans back against the door, the exhaustion really hitting him hard, “If you’re about to tell me that this is your city and I don’t belong here, cool, I can-” he wants to leave, maybe then he’ll be free of all this crap. Maybe he can get a life. Maybe he won’t have to run around anymore and just be a normal person. But Damian cuts him off before he can finish.

“You’re in my City and that means everyone’s concern for you is doing us no good, get yourself together Drake and stop moping. Todd can’t chase you around forever.”

Tim struggles to get a proper response out, “Wha-I’m not, he’s not.”

“He is and it is getting to be an awfully sorry sight, deal with this for all our sakes or I’ll beat it into both of you.”

Tim would like to chalk it down to either Dick or Bruce or, god it sounds wrong, Damian leaving groceries and cooked food for when he got home. It’s not the first time they busted in on his home, without tripping the systems, but when asked, all he got were “Not me,” or “Don’t be ridiculous,” along with knowing grins or glares. It’s nice though, he hasn’t had a proper meal for so long since he left the manor. He’s convinces they were lying and actually leaving Alfred’s care packages in his apartment, but even Alfred says that he hasn’t needed to since Tim’s mystery carer.

He doesn’t have the energy to go into it so he accepts it gratefully.

Tim is in the middle of sleeping off the exhaustion when he hears a sound from outside his bedroom. His custom built alarm system bypassed, somehow. This sends all sorts of warning bells ringing in his mind and he’s reaching for the staff tucked by his bed. He steps over to the door carefully, opening it as quietly as possible. To Tim’s surprise, he sees Jason wrestling with his jacket and armor, cursing lightly as he does, it’s spattered with blood but there’s an especially large patch on his left side, dark red against the grey.

“Jason?”

The man looks up in surprise, “Oh, uh, hey.”

He winces, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak into your place, but my safe house is a little far at the moment.”

Tim sets his bo staff aside, and walks over in large strides, Jason flinches as he gets close but doesn’t move otherwise. Tim searches around for the catches in the armor.

“Let me, help you out of this.”

After some pulling and tugging, the whole thing is off and Jason’s torso is left bare, with scars criss-crossing and bullet holes as well as the tell tale cuts from his autopsy. Then, there’s the wound, not too deep but the skin’s torn from a bullet.

“Thugs?”

“Thugs,” Jason confirms and Tim stands up.

“Wait here,” he says and makes his way over to the kitchen. He reaches down into one of the cabinets for the aid kit and returns to Jason, already rooting around in it. He kneels down and orders Jason to stay still as he dabs antiseptic on the wound. Jason winces but does what he’s told.

“Sorry, it’s strong but effective, I got some painkillers if you need some.”

“I’m no wimp, this is nothing,” Jason tries to joke but it comes out slightly louder than he’d intended. Tim flinches at the rise in volume.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“S’okay, here, keep your hand on the gauze,” Tim says as he finishes washing the wound, he presses the material to the wound and Jason takes over while he roots around for the roll of bandages, “Keep it tight.”

“’Kay.”

Tim tucks his hair behind one ear as he unravels the roll. Jason’s eyes sets on the young man’s cheek, butterflies in his stomach as he quashes the urge to give Tim a quick peck there. Just, something about it was so damn attractive. Tim pulls up closer and begins to wind the bandage around Jason’s torso. He’s careful, but makes sure it’s done right. Tim is so close and Jason’s raised arms could close around him and it might not be too noticeable while he’s so focused on the task. He only goes so far as to let one arm hover above Tim’s shoulders while he’s working. He’s so damn nervous.

“There, all done.” Done it was, Jason could go back out there and it wouldn’t shift a millimeter with Tim’s handiwork.

“Thanks, I, uh, owe you one.”

Tim turns to put the kit back, “You’re welcome...to stay for the night. You need to let that rest.”

“Yeah, I’ll..do that.” The tension has never been so unbearable. He would’ve rated the night they first met as a pretty tense moment, what with all the fighting and hatred going around, but compared to now, that was nothing. He watches as the former Robin walks back to his kitchen, barefoot he notices. He doesn’t want to admit it but he looks pretty damn adorable. He starting to wonder how he ended up hating Tim in the first place. The boy walks back into his room without closing the door and a few minutes later, comes back out with an armful of blankets and cushions.

“There’s some extra blankets and pillows I thought you might want, I know it’s not cold but...uh, better safe than sorry,” the statement turns into a question with an upturned lilt in his voice. He’s trying his very best not to seem patronizing. Jason feels that pang of guilt again. “I don’t need your pity.”

Those were his words, words that he shouldn’t have thrown around, words that Tim didn’t deserve, after all the trouble he had to go through himself. He wants to take it back, maybe he can fix this.

“I...appreciate it, really,” Tim looks surprised, “I also wanted to say, I’m sorry, I was a real jerk.”

Tim looks away, biting his lip, “I can’t imagine what it was like, having to survive, and die like that. I can’t imagine what it’s like to be so angry.”

“You don’t want to,” Jason says, he shouldn’t. In the end, no one should have to go through what he did, wasn’t that the whole point of Bruce’s insane crusade.

“I do, there are people out there who aren’t so fortunate, who needs someone who can understand what it’s like, if I don’t then how can I help them?”

“Here’s the deal, Dick made his name as Robin because he needed it, I accepted it because it was as far as I got to having something better to do, the thrill was all it was to me. You asked for it.”

Tim sits back on his heels, watching as Jason pulls himself upright from the couch.

“You asked for it because you WANTED to help, you worked for it. You know what pissed me off when I first heard about you? I thought ‘Great, another dumb kid who thinks it’ll be fun to die on the street for his stupid mission.’ I tracked you down thinking I was going to see another clone of me, pretending to be Robin like it was some game. Then I saw YOU.”

Tim swallows. This must be bringing back all sorts of bad memories, memories Jason would rather deny but he needed to come to terms with it as much as Tim does.

“You weren’t laughing, you weren’t swinging around to show off, you took everything and worked out the quickest and best way to solve cases. I saw you and I knew, this was no game to you. But that also pissed me off because I realized, deep down, you were a better Robin than I ever could be. I hated you because you were better. That you put your LIFE on the line not because of the thrill but because someone out there needs you to save them.”

“When I came back, I read about you, your file. I thought yeah, another dressed up rich kid from one of those Gotham’s elites, but then I learned that they say nothing about you.” Jason slips off the couch to Tim’s level, “Your mom, your dad, all your friends, you lost them all didn’t you trying to fight crime. For the longest time, you didn’t want to let anybody else in your life because you didn’t know if just they’d die just knowing Tim Drake. Then Robin was taken from you, you didn’t outgrow it like Dick did, or lose the name by dying like I did. It was all you had wasn’t it?”

Jason is almost knee to knee with Tim, who looks like he’s ready run. The emotions he’s tried so hard to put aside, the memories he’s tried to forget were surging back with Jason’s words. His fight or flight responses were kicking in. He tries not to. Jason places a gentle but careful hand on his shoulder. He flinches but he doesn’t run.

“You thought it was your fault. Didn’t you. They said you were crazy and you almost believed it. Now you run yourself ragged just so you could prove yourself. Just to prove you’re not useless you’re burning yourself out, or was Alfred wrong?”

“I-it’s not-” Tim tries to say but Jason cuts him off.

“It is, don’t lie to me now,” he says gently. Tim buries his gaze into the floor, trying not to cry. He doesn’t like letting other people see him like this but Jason rests a hand on his cheek and pulls him back to look him in the eye. The tears fall anyway.

“I was wrong, I should’ve stuck out for you like you did for me. What role model treats his fan like that?”

“How did-?”

“Alfred and I still talk you know?”

Tim let’s out a quiet ‘oh’ he closes his eyes and focusing on his breathing. He’s still chewing on his lip like no tomorrow.

“Stop.” Jason says. Tim looks at him in confusion.

“Huh?”

“Biting your lip like that, if you...I can’t” suddenly, his mind goes blank and he can’t find the words to tell Tim why he shouldn’t bite his lip that way or blush like that because he’s still doing it.

“Ah, fuck it,” Jason growls as he lunges, making the worst decision he’d ever made in his second life and capturing Tim’s red bitten lips. Tim makes a muffled sound as he tries to say something, his hands flail a bit before settling on Jason’s strong arms, trembling. Jason in turn pulls him closer, wrapping them around Tim’s waist without breaking the kiss.

Tim’s wide eyes begin to relax and close as he gives in.

When Jason finally pulls away, he mutters and doesn’t look Tim in the eyes again.

“J-Jason?”

“Go on, laugh, tell me it’s not how you feel, but I’m not going to deny it,” Jason growls, “I’m going crazy, I can’t look at you anymore without thinking how much I wanna hold you and make you smile again, you and your dumb, cute smile.” The one that only comes out when Bruce actually fails to make a joke, or when Alfred bakes his special cookies. The sigh when he’s finally warm and holding a cup of coffee on his mornings in, alone on the couch, swaddled in a ridiculous blanket fort by himself and looking smug. Jason watching and wishing he could join him, so Tim won’t be lonely.

Tim’s heart skips a beat, when he hears the passion in those words. Jason’s always been passionate, in his rage, in his vengeance and his loyalty and and friendship. But never in his wildest dreams, did he think his idol would be here now, confessing to him. Holding him for dear life and laying out his heart. It made his own ache.

“Could you ever forgive me?” Jason’s voice break as he struggles with the regret, “For being the biggest asshole, for treating you like dirt.”

Tim sits up on his knees.

“Jason,” smaller hands on either side of Jason’s face gently lift his gaze up, Tim’s eyes softly gazing back, “I forgave you ages ago, I won’t ask what happened or what went on in your mind then, but I will never hold it against you. All that matters...is that you’re here now.”

Tim holds the other man as his head falls against his chest, letting Jason listen to his heartbeat, “I’m not going to laugh or deny my your feelings or my own either.” 

Jason pulls Tim even closer against him in an almost crushing embrace, afraid that if he let go, this dream will end. He never could have imagined that this was where they’d end up, holding each other, confessing to one another. A far cry from the first time they met. He remembered how he’d ripped the R symbol out in anger, but now he would happily let Tim take his heart. That asshole version of himself can go to hell.

“I’ve got a lot of groceries now, thanks to you, if you’d like to stay, I can make us breakfast tomorrow.”

Jason looked up at Tim with amusement, “What makes you think it was me.”

“You’re the only other person that can get past my security system so easily, what I hadn’t figured out yet was how exactly.”

“I, uh..”

“You were watching me,” Tim chuckles, like the knowing little brat he is.

“You live an awful lifestyle, I don’t know how you manage to still look cute when you live off coffee and nearly nothing else.”

Tim laughs, a sound that still makes Jason jittery, “Well, I have you now to make sure I do better.”

“You bet you do.”

Their lips met again, their hearts singing their mutual song, hopeful, healing and of resolution. Robin’s song. Somewhere off in the distance, a -tt- could be heard, followed by a grin.

[faunusrights]

OFFAL HUNT REMASTERED LIVEBLOG // CHAPTERS 10 + 11

we had a week of peace and now we’re gonna get annihilated!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i have no clue how long this liveblog may end up but hell and high water i’m combining them both

she tore the jade pendant from her neck and flung it into the darkness.

let’s give a warm welcome, to sadness,

i’m very excited for all-new cinder content hhhhhhh if u havent gathered by now I Love This Bitch and I Love Her Many Problems so im thankful for this gift 😞

Cinder was a ruin, her pride carved and served like slabs of meat.

i can FEEL diesel n kc rly patting themselves on the back for every bit of wet meat they can toss at me!!!!!!!!!! U HEAR THAT I CAN FEEL U!!!!!!!!!!! but also i still love this shit w/ all my heart!!!!!!!!!! IM NEVER GONNA STOP SAYIN IT

She had never looked at Glynda’s files.

im so sorry cinder baby but that whole thing? is still HILARIOUS oh my GOD i cannot believe you fucked up that badly. u shoved yr entire head into a beartrap. u absolutely crapped yr pants on that one. yr gonna be thinking abt that on yr deathbed,

/looks at the chapter title again

hhhhhhhh im. so pumped. its gonna be hard to talk abt most of this w/o doing a million fingerguns a minute but i’m gonna try my best

Cinder approached the mirror and touched its silvered face with black-tipped claws,

I SAID IM GONNA TRY MY BEST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

She was iron barbs beneath the nail bed, glowing coals underfoot, the singular capacity to do harm. She was a beast, armed with fang and claw and a deep, dark void where her compassion should have laid, and she was dressed for dinner.

HHHHHH god YES THIS IS THE CINDER IM THIRSTY FOR............ i literally cannot say anything that isnt a massive 👈😎👈 but AAAAAAA

like im reading thru this and i cant cherry-pick lines this whole bit? is SO GOOD...  kc n diesel are Yet Again obliterating me w/ their mastery of the narrative style of offal hunt and i just love all of this i rly wish i could explain how offal hunt is EXACTLY MY BRAND!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! F U C K

The final touch on her mastercraft disaster: the four sawed-off horn stumps which grew among her silver-streaked hair.

HOOOO B O I i am. Losin it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I LOVE HER HORNS.......... CINDR...............

Wretchedly, she wondered: did Glynda even respect her now?

any other villain: my plan didnt work and im mad >:( cinder fall: my plan didnt work and now im mad but also mostly sad :(

CINDER’S TRYING HER BEST GOD.......... i literally hate how the remaster has made her So Soft, Actually... I BELIEVE IN U CINDER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I LOVE U!!!!!!!!!!!!! DO YR BEST

Every part of her was hot and hollow. She was sick with loathing.

i LOVE HER.... CINDER I HOPE U KNO THAT YR LOVED... god tho i dont like how SAD I AM RN... cinder’s so small and the world is so big and wants 2 Shit On Her blease

honestly like. im rly- LOOK I SAID THIS BEFORE BUT. this is why im rly lovin the new cinder content because in the first version we only got glimpses of her internal machinations and now we’re in full-blown Always Sad territory and everything is suffering :)

She blinked. Her double did not.

‘well’, thought murphy. ‘that’s terrifying.’

she’d only survived thanks to a keen instinct for danger, cultivated during her tenuous teenage years.

i NEED. I NEED. CINDER BACKSTORY. all these lil nuggets dont constitute a meal! I WANT A BIG MAC AND FRIES. WHAT THE HELL WAS THIS BABY DOING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

also again. the body horror of offal hunt? peak content. Im Lovin It

its getting harder to divine what is and what is not a 👈😎👈 because we got bits sprinkled around and theres only rly a spoiler potential if u glue em all together so im still being extra careful and the answer is blared in everyones faces so this whole kondor scene will go uncommented unless some Bullshit Happens which it will, so,

When she had become so invested in Glynda’s approval? When had a desire to be recognized as something inhuman, something ferocious, something black and terrible and capable of keeping up with Glynda Fucking Goodwitch turned into this?

oh! oh! i have the answer! i do! i know the answer! it’s you a lesbian,

The spectres of her youth haunted this city, owl-eyed children and fox-eared teens. They’d been a second sort of family, the only kind she’d had within these walls, and she’d wondered what had become of them in the past decades, but…

It was too sentimental, and she wasn’t meant to be a creature of sentiment.

oh boy okay wow

okay so actually this bit made me cry??? fuck OFF im losing it!!!!!!!! LET HER BE SENTIMENTAL!!!! LET HER HAVE PPL TO CARE ABT!!!!!!!!!! IM LITERALLY CRYING IM GONNA DIE!!!!!!!!!

She would go barefoot from this point on, her heels clutched at her side. When she left the hotel room to steal into the night, she promised herself not to look back.

im sorry im just. so sad rn. i havent cried over a fic in YEARS and we still have another chapter ago i hate this SO MUCH..............

here comes chapter 11 

if i cry even once more im going to stab!!!!!! im not sure what BUT ILL STAB!!!!!!!!!!!!

Even without his wings, the Manticore would easily have been twice the size of any of the other Grimm, far outstripping them in sheer bulk.

HATI!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! HATI HATI HATI

holy shit we actually get to see him this time!!!!!!!!!!! WE GET TO SEE THIS LEGENDARY BOY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THIS CHONCC,

also hes a manticore now which is, Radical, may i just say, and just a little bit sexy,

The effortless grace in each move betrayed power most Grimm would not live to achieve. Once he stood, he had to dip his head low to meet her eye to eye. His canines were the length of her forearm.

if u werent here for the remaster? we never even SAW hati but now hes here, hes Big, and rly thats all that matters,

Like a child who’d been allowed to lie and lie until at last they’d strangled themself in the web they’d spun, Cinder couldn’t speak. Could only wait on his verdict.

every single one of cinder’s inherent themes is killing me and this business w/ family? stop. im dying. this is rude

The scant space between them popped and cracked like an sparking flame, warm and effervescent, and this time, Cinder lingered, hugging Hati close.

IF I CRY ONCE MORE!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I MEAN IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IF U ASSHOLES MAKE ME CRY ONCE MORE I WILL DOXX YOU,

aaaaaaaaaaaaaah im loving this content i rly dont have words for it dhjfgsdfgjh i just, rly like the words, and the order theyre in, and i honestly keep forgetting to liveblog it cause i just wanna READ EM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Tempting as it was—as it always had been, ever since she’d left the relative safety of the wastes and learned what happened to scraggly-limbed teens with horns and fangs and gleaming eyes—

with every chapter i desperately have 2 kno more abt baby cinder i HAVE to know i am so. UNBEARABLY CURIOUS... baby cinder what happened... what happened 2 u....

A lantern’s glow warmed her, bleeding into the darkness leeching at them both. It was a gentle gold across her skin, and like an answering signal from a distant outpost, Cinder saw a flush of light through the dark fur lining Hati’s throat, as though flames licked at his insides.

i forgot. that cinder glows like that when she feels Loved or full of pride and you know what i dont like these chapters. they were made to hurt me and i Dont Like That (im mclovin it)

From the safety of Hati’s neck, she found it easier—after all this time, he was still her bastion.

WHEN YOU REALISE? THAT YR ACTIONS HAVE CONSEQUENCES?? STOP,

For a regular person, the machine would be able to draw out short bursts of power, the likes of which no Semblance could ever channel. The taxation would eventually destroy the soul so deeply, so thoroughly, as to leave it empty for good.

For a Witch? For—

the fact. she cut herself off before she could think ‘for glynda’. has me on the FLOOR. this bit is just So Much i dont like it

Glynda Goodwitch would not abandon this hunt. Cinder knew it, had read it from her palms like an open book—Glynda Goodwitch did not know how to stop. If it had been anyone else on Remnant, they might never return, might never pull themselves back into action after today—but Glynda did not have a shred of self-preservation.

me, knocking against cinder’s head: u kno for someone w/ so many schemes in yr brain yr pretty dumb and gay, huh,

firstly let’s talk abt cinder’s “””””””””””””””””””self-preservation””””””””””””””””””” instin-- whats that? not found? yes

[Glynda’s] eyes were empty, hungry, insatiable.

i feel like ive read this line before! lets jump back a chapter--

In [Cinder’s] eyes, there was a subtle, endless hunger.

WAKE UP CINDER SHE’S YR SOULMATE!!!!!!!!!!! THE COFFEE’S READY U CAN SMELL THE BACON FROM HERE WAKE UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

With a fluid leap, they were in the air, the ground quickly shrinking beneath them. Pressing her face against his neck to shield herself from the wind, she closed her eyes and prepared herself for what was to come, trusting Hati to deliver her safely.

that said i ADORE my boy hati is literally the best part of offal hunt kc and diesel do not interact,

He was frozen in horrific anticipation, like watching an imminent tragedy and being absolutely helpless to stop it. Like all the tension was mixed with grief and hopeless, futile fear.

when will offal hunt be nice to me. when will any of these characters get to be happy. hello. im full of sadness.

The sound was like a saw working back and forth, but resonating inside her head, rattling every tooth in her jaw, deafening to her ears.

im literally gritting my teeth at this i can hear it in my own head and its Very Bad!!!!!!!!!!!!! GOD AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

okay god i can barely handle to quote anything more this bit is hurting ME so lets swiftly move on before I Die

Cinder closed her weary eyes, sinking into sleep like a shallow grave.

BE NICE TO HER!!!!!!!!!!!!!! BE NICE TO HER JUST THIS ONCE, PLEASE, IM BEGGING YOU,

They only knew death, only ever sought death; fangs and claws slicked with blood, magic rending meat and marrow apart, and everywhere that choking, scalding heat, spilled blood like magma, like the core of a planet.

hmm... that seems like a 👈😎👈 ~reference~

They were all alert, ears pricked, hackles raised like Hati’s. They all fixed on the same spot, somewhere beyond the darkness of the cave opening, and though she could barely think, she knew:

She was out of time. The Witch was here.

oh no.

okay so THATS CHAPTERS 10 AND 11! i only cried ONCE and u kno what thats. a Victory. these two chapters were VERY GOOD i rly loved em and i can tell new readers r gonna have a blast w/ this shit!!!!!!!!!! meanwhile i, a veteran reader, am full of peril,

terrible.

[hymnrevival]

AN URGENT MESSAGE 03-07-2009 David Wilkerson (May 19, 1931 – April 27, 2011) “I am compelled by the Holy Spirit to send out an urgent message to all on our mailing list, and to friends and to bishops we have met all over the world. AN EARTH-SHATTERING CALAMITY IS ABOUT TO HAPPEN. IT IS GOING TO BE SO FRIGHTENING, WE ARE ALL GOING TO TREMBLE - EVEN THE GODLIEST AMONG US. For ten years I have been warning about a thousand fires coming to New York City. It will engulf the whole megaplex, including areas of New Jersey and Connecticut. Major cities all across America will experience riots and blazing fires — such as we saw in Watts, Los Angeles, years ago. There will be riots and fires in cities worldwide. There will be looting—including Times Square, New York City. What we are experiencing now is not a recession, not even a depression. We are under God’s wrath. In Psalm 11 it is written, “If the foundations are destroyed, what can the righteous do?” (v. 3). God is judging the raging sins of America and the nations. He is destroying the secular foundations. The prophet Jeremiah pleaded with wicked Israel, “God is fashioning a calamity against you and devising a plan against you. Oh, turn back each of you from your evil way, and reform your ways and deeds. But they will say, It’s hopeless! For we are going to follow our own plans, and each of us will act according to the stubbornness of his evil heart” (Jeremiah 18:11-12). In Psalm 11:6, David warns, “Upon the wicked he will rain snares (coals of fire)…fire…burning wind…will be the portion of their cup.” Why? David answered, “Because the Lord is righteous” (v. 7). This is a righteous judgment— just as in the judgments of Sodom and in Noah’s generation. WHAT SHALL THE RIGHTEOUS DO? WHAT ABOUT GOD’S PEOPLE? First, I give you a practical word I received for my own direction. If possible lay in store a thirty-day supply of non-perishable food, toiletries and other essentials. In major cities, grocery stores are emptied in an hour at the sign of an impending disaster. As for our spiritual reaction, we have but two options. This is outlined in Psalm 11. We “flee like a bird to a mountain.” Or, as David says, “He fixed hi https://www.instagram.com/p/CUsEB4HAqX_/?utm_medium=tumblr

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Sci-Fi Doesn't Have to Be Depressing: Welcome to Solarpunk

Yet dystopian fiction can at times also catapult readers into a future of ambition. Alexander Weinstein is the author of Children of the New World, a 2016 collection of dystopian stories centered around new technology. When he started writing the book, he says, “fracking was making tap water flammable; banks, with help from our government, were robbing people of their houses; the BP oil spill was spewing crude oil daily into the ocean; coal companies were blasting apart Appalachia, and on and on and on.” Weinstein wanted to reflect that moment, describing his work as “a kind of realism.” He cautions against too much utopianism; according to him, “dystopian fiction can be there to speak to the realism of our present-day struggle.”

And to some, like Canadian author Cory Doctorow, who co-edits the blog Boing Boing, writing about a dystopian future in itself isn’t pessimistic. “I think it is pessimistic to write about a future where things go wrong and we are hopeless to affect it,” he says. His most recent novel, Walkaway, is set in a heavily polluted world in which the rich have established a high-tech dictatorship, yet people choose to disconnect from society and create self-ruled communities. Doctorow calls it an “optimistic disaster novel.”

Solarpunk’s proponents, like Ulibarri, aren’t fond of boxing the genre into binaries of utopian and dystopian, though. After all, she says, because solarpunk is about people, it will never be perfect, there will always be conflict.

http://www.ozy.com/fast-forward/sci-fi-doesnt-have-to-be-depressing-welcome-to-solarpunk/82586

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Azula Ship Challenge

Week 2; Partners in crime.

Ship: Azula/Toph

Song Recs (idea from @feedingthewrongwolf): Eric Whitacre’s Lux   Aurumque, Atmozfears' This Is The Time and Helalyn Flower's I'm Human Detective.

Ngl this one is my favorite of them. Toph/Azula (which I am calling rockzula) is just such an underused ship and I wanted to give it  go. This is a cyber goth/solarpunk(ish) AU.

They were just two beat down kids in a beat up world.

No wonder it was so easy.

So easy to run away.

So easy to fall in love.

So easy to make such a mess, to have such a thrill.

 Days in the city of breathing in smog and staring at distant smoke stakes were taking their toll on Azula. Listening to the noisy clatter of industrial trains constantly on the move transporting mountains of coal, iron, and metal to the factories. Azula knew it wasn’t much better for the neighbor kid, Toph in an apartment with a leaky ceiling, dented walls infested with rats, and a tattered matters stock full of mites. She sighed and took a drag from her cigarette. She supposed she should be grateful; at least she lived in a house, however trashed it was. And it was decently trashed, your typical decaying yet somehow overgrown lawn littered with heaps of trash; a few rusty car parts here and over there, a weather abused swing set that hasn’t been used in year. Broken pieces of their house that had landed in their yard, a beater car that was on its last breath of exhaust fumes. Shards of a flower pot that called back to a time when flowers could still grow. A cracked birdbath reminiscing of when their mom was still with them.

That was what did their family in. They were never well off; nobody was these days. No one but the oil tycoons, unbreakable cooperations, and the industrial fanatics. Azula had reason to believe that even they had it bad now that there were so few people left to buy their products. They probably realized that they fucked up. But they keep up their poison, because what else did they have left to do? No one stopped them. It was too late to do so anyhow, everyone was just waiting for the world to die off in one last polluted cough. Her own family didn’t feel the effects until after Ursa had fallen ill just like everyone else who couldn’t adapt to the new toxic air. The Airbenders dropped like flies. Balance was thrown off and soon bending was a thing of the past.

 Azula peered over at Toph’s sorry excuse for an apartment and counted her blessings again. Zuko was a nervous wreck and Ozai was a hopeless drunk who had the biggest hand in letting their house go. He also couldn’t be assed to go to work—not that she blamed him. He used to work for Tak-Dom’s Rail Co., ‘proud’ owner of the smokestacks in the distance. One of four major companies that violated the world. At least her father had the decency to feel like shit for playing his part. Her family was a disaster, they didn’t even talk anymore, content to be alone with their own demons. But at least she had a family. Toph was living alone and was able. Azula couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen any form of security or authority, much less someone to check on the kid. Azula speculated that no one even knew that anyone lived in the apartment. But Toph seemed okay with that.

But Azula knew it, she decided to make an adventure of exploring the broken world she lived in. That’s how she met Toph. Toph with that spunky bandana she had tied over her mouth and that quirky pair of goggles that sat on her head. Toph who took her by surprised and bashed her a good one with a baseball bat. Toph who tied her up and held a gun to her head and told her that she’d used one before. Toph who held her captive for a good two days.

 Azula liked Toph. The kid knew how to survive. She also knew where to go if you wanted to forget the world for a while. And if all else failed she knew how to make a good time. Azula taught her how to skateboard and Toph taught her the best spots to breach the closest factories. She said that she needed to get food somehow and wasn’t a good cook. Eventually though, they began breaking in not for to steal the food—it was pumped full of radiation anyways—but for the thrill. Azula would pick up her board, adjust her studded gasmask that she was lucky to have received (back before things got wildly out of hand, at the time it was more or less a trend to have), and venture with Toph into the warehouse.

 On their first endeavor—one that happened only after the pair had felt each other out, Toph handed Azula a bat adorned with rusty nails and drawings that were both cute and crass all at once. “I thought I’d give it to you as a token of our friendship.” Toph had said.

“This is the one you hit me with, isn’t it?”

Toph just smirked.

And they were off. Since Toph didn’t have a board of her own, Azula let her wrap her arms around her waist and told her to hold on. Over the wind rushing passed and the sound or kicking up pebbles Toph would shout things like, “make a left, now a right, keep going straight.” Finally, they had arrived. Azula called with vivid detail how putrid the place smelled. Toph forgot to mention that the secret entrance was positioned smack in between a compost that hadn’t been emptied in months and a waste discharge pipe that spouted colors all over the nasty green and gaudy brown spectrum. Azula recalled nearly retching on the spot, only managing to keep it down so not to make herself look like a wimp. She watched Toph scope the ground. Azula had figured that the girl was looking for something to help them force the warehouse door open. Intent on proving that she was a useful partner, she rummaged through a pile of scrap metal and rusty iron beams. Wedged between two, she had found a crowbar. “That’ll work.” Toph declared. And in minutes they were sneaking around the building. Not that they had to. The place was both trashed and empty. Though Azula was certain it was still in use on occasions.

That night they stole a considerably sized crate of food and a wrench. And that night, in light of their first success, she kissed Toph, if for no other reason than just to try it. But she liked how it felt to do so, both of them did…

 From then on they moved on to wilder adventures that included skateboarding in the ‘stay out’ sections of the industrial park, looting stores—nothing major, just to see if they could—and smashing car widows just for the hell of it. And on the nights when they were to wiped to do anything else, they’d share a smoke.

  Before the world began to decay, Toph was someone Azula would have never talked to. Toph had moved in from the east side. The part of the city that was known for being less civilized, if she was putting it gently. The BeiFong family started out in poverty—it showed in the way Toph talked and in her posture among other things—and had finally gotten out, just in time for the world to go poor. Azula had been raised to, “stay away from that lot.” Perhaps she should mind her father’s words, before Toph the worst that she would do was swipe a light from Lo and Li. She snickered to herself, it’s not like there were laws anymore.  She took another drag and watched the smoke puff into the sky. It reminded her of the smoke stacks that never ceased to stop puffing, and for a fleeting moment she felt guilty. The skyline already had smog on top of smog, what did it matter if she added a breath more of it? She yawned, deciding that a trip to Toph’s place was long overdue. She stood up and stretched, pulled her ratty sneakers on, and headed across the cracked street. She noticed that some vines had finally pushed through some of those grass and made a note to take a quick picture before they shriveled up and died. At the thought, she tightened the gas over her nose and lips.

 Tonight, Azula just wanted to relax—relatively speaking—so she was going to suggest a trip to BioBlaze. A secret rave nestled in the hidden tunnel of the abandoned Laogai water works that played somewhat disconcerting machine sounds and electric vocals over techno beats. A place for teens like them. People who still somehow managed to be misfits in a world full of underdogs.

Toph has never been there and would surely get a kick out of it. It would be the best birthday present Azula could muster up. She gave the door a sturdy knock. Apparently too sturdy, for her hand went through the rotting wood.

 Toph inspected her newly decorated door. “Surprise.” Azula grinned.

 “Gee, thanks.” Toph muttered.

 “Have you ever heard of BioBlaze.” Azula asked.

 Toph tapped her chin, “nope, don’t recall.”

 “Wonderful.” Azula replied, taking Toph’s hand. “It’s my turn to show you a hidden part of the city.”

[gallery19chicago]

Chicago Artist Kathy Weaver has always used her artwork as a reaction to the injustice and failures in our society. Her newest series currently showcased at Gallery19 does not veer away from some of the most difficult issues of our age.

Weaver initially started expressing her observations through fiber arts. Quilting and embroidery created by the Amish in her home town affected her artistic sensibility from an early age. The artist still works with fiber, but has primarily transitioned her techniques to heavy art paper. She stitches, burns and reassembles the ripped pieces that make up her compositions. The significance of these almost violent assemblages is the representation of our wounded world, held together with Weaver’s own sutures.

The artist’s newest series, titled “A Tear in the Fabric” serves as a warning of the political and environmental degradation of our world. Weaver uses robots, animals and infants as visual warnings of the disaster yet to come. Her subjects stand in as replacements for the adult human, creating neutral and enticing focal points in vulnerable landscapes. The fragility of the environment is heightened through these forms, who plead for understanding through their body language.

Weaver favors a bright color palette and surreal imagery to pull people in.  Her most current piece “Toxic Game” came into focus after she spotted a photograph of workers walking around on stilts after the Fukushima Daiichi Nuclear Disaster. The juxtaposition of these men striding through toxic water without much protection really hit a cord with Weaver. She felt the need to create Toxic Game to honor the sacrifice these workers made, as well as illustrate the absurdity of this deadly situation. Gold finches perch in the foreground of this embattled piece, serving as the “canaries in the coal mine” to an almost hopeless situation.

The continued war in Syria has had a deep impact on the artist as well. Weaver recently created three monumental scrolls depicting the brutal treatment of civilians as part of the traveling exhibit “A Voice for Victims”. The panel titled “Barrel Bombs over Aleppo” was shown at Gallery19, and showcased Weaver’s very poignant ability to make artwork embody humanity’s hurt. The primary figure in the piece, clothed in Medieval armor, sits atop barrel bombs as blood, screws, nails and rebar rains down. The gazelle, a symbol of the country, stands exposed with its faun as death approaches.

Weaver isn’t afraid to dive into difficult subject matter, handily taking it on and creating work that is both beautiful and meaningful. The artist hopes the work will draw people into a dialogue, and ultimately create a reaction strong enough to help create change…

-Mieke Zuiderweg

[aerishikari]

Hopeless Chapter 2: Ruines

I post here the chapters none corrected because I would like some advice and review of the plot.

Read chapter One

Disclamers: Beware, don’t read this if you’re sensible to subjects like kidnapping, poisoning, hurting, characters in really bad shape, Drinking or if you really hate AUs...

A powerful headache woke her. She could hear around her the clamors of monsters. Many cried, others let out their anger, but all spoke about the same thing.

She would never have believed that she would like noise before this day, her who exiled herself in Waterfall for its tranquillity. Every noise amplifies her pain, reminding her that she was still alive. She had managed to survive.

But where was she? She couldn't see. She felt something soft had been tightened around the head. She did not want to touch it.

But she did not recognize the sound of this place. There was no soft splashes of water like in Waterfall or the smothering heat of Hotland. It was not cold there enough for being Snowdin either. Maybe the capital but in this case the enemy was near and the ambient speaking of the monsters was dangerous. No, she did not feel the aura of the barrier as close as in New Home.

She tried to concentrate to try to have more information.

" Hey, I think she woke up! " Says a familiar voice not far from her.

" Captain? You are with us? " Asked an other, graver one.

She grumbled as any answer. They were too near and their baritone voices resounded in the head.

" Jeanot? Garret? Where are we? " She just hoped that they had not taken her in the dump. But the smell here was not disagreeable thus it wasn’t the case. That smelt flowers.

" In the Ruins, we had of to make a big detour but we brought to you in safety. "

" In the what?! " She got up all of a sudden, waking some wounds doing it. Her breath was cut, she was extended by powerful arms. Feelling the fur, she knew it was Jeanot.

" Slow down! You will reopen your wounds! "

" H… How? "

It was this time Garret’s voice that answered.

" We… We traveled the old mine between New Home and Snowdin. We... we know that it it is dangerous but we were lucky. The rare collapses were not on us. "

The Old Mines. They had been condemned by the sovereigns since their arrival in the Underground. The human had dig them to find coal and had abandoned them like then. They connected perfectly the low caves of Snowdin and the sewers of New Home but the tunnels, badly conceived, tended to collapse for nothing.

" It was dangerous but we could not leave you there. Even if you had to dust on us, we would not have left without you. "

She grinned. These two were really too good.

" Haps which told us that the Ruins would open to the survivors. "

" Why not the Lab? Usually it is the best place to take refuge. "

They were a long silence between both men. She couldn’t see their faces but the only fact they stayed silent worried her.

" Do not tell me that … "

" According to the last message from Grillby, they managed to enter the Lab. Napstatton did not survive … "

" And … And Undyne? "

" We do not know at the moment. King Asg … I mean… Sir Asgore seems to receive information sometimes but won’t say a thing. "

Asgore? The King would have hidden in Ruins during all these years. She did not know if she wanted to hit him or be delighted by his presence.

“Fetch these information at once! I need to know if the Royal Scientist is still alive!” She heard hasty steps and felt the wind of Garret's wings beating to go faster. It is a pity they had not been in the Royal Guard, at least they knew how to obey orders.

No refugee had gone this far in the Ruins. It was doubtless its last haven of peace. He needed time to think. The moment was grave but he needed to think alone. The refugees were very noisy and he was not used to have so much company. Furthermore, he did not want to impose his presence. He knew that the monster in charge of the massacre was another version of himself.

The firsts to arrive were all from Snowdin. Many dogs, some rare rabbits survivors of the Royal Guard and Muffet, the barmaid. Then in the evening arrived a group from the capital. They had taken a very dangerous path to come to the Ruins. Hapstablook had apparently advised the survivors that the Ruins would be opened to the persons in need.

The Guardian of the Ruins was proud of his ghost friend. He had saved numerous lives. Now he only hoped that the enemy wasn’t aware of this.

Asgore raised his green eyes towards the hole above him. One of the rare places where we could still see the sky of the surface. It rained. No need to water the flowers today. He thanked the stars for these rainy drops, they hid his tears.

His wife was dead. He had left her after she had made the decision to kill the humans falling in the Underground but still, he always loved her sincerely. Bitter, he regretted not having been able to see her one last time. If he had been by her side, could he have been able to save her... would he have died with her?

Both cases seemed preferable for he was scared of the future from now.

The survivors demanded vengeance for the deads. No child had reached the Ruins and the rare news reported by Haps and by the rare calls received by the survivors were disturbing.

Some people told that all the children had been taken by the invaders through the portal. A Fire Elemental from the capital had news from her father who managed a group of survivor in the Core. And finally, there was Muffet.

When she had arrived from Snowdin, she had immediately spoken to him. She had an idea. He gave her the child's room for what it had to make. At least, somebody had hope, even a small one.

And he wanted to believe in it. He wished to believe.

Going out of the child's room, transformed into care room, Muffet approached a girl dressed like a punk, cowering in the hallway, hung on her phone. A green Fire she knew well. She had arrived with the group of survivor from New Home.

" News? "

" Yes. Dad and his men resist well at the moment. The magic and the traps of my father slow the ennemis. "

" And Undyne? "

" They found her but she will not hold for long in Hotland. They took some water with them but it evaporates fast. "

" And they are not able to use the same passage as you? The old mines? "

" For that they would have to get rid of their aggressors to make an exit. "

" Your father is a veteran no? He must have an idea! "

" You don’t know him Muffy! He lost it for years. He do not think like you and me. "

The spider sighed and dropped next to Fuku.

" And we can’t count on Alphys to go to help them either … She woke up? "

" Yes, she asked to see Asgore. "

" Did someone told her about... "

Fuku shrugged and took out of her bag a flask. Doubtless some alcohol or gasoline. The only things that Fire Elemental could drink. Muffet knew that Fuku was the kind of monster who drink to have fun … And irritate her father.

The Fire girl drank a big mouthful and tidied up the flask on its place without proposing it.

" No. You want to do it? "

" And to risk my neck? Even blind, I bet she is capable of finding me and torn me apart! "

She tried to laugh. She did not make it, it was not sincere. And she was so tired. She hasn't slept since before the attack.

" Otherwise. What’s in this room? Asgore forbade to go there, except for you . "

" Badly wounded monsters, they cannot be in contacts with the others, that could kill them. I look after them, this is why I have the right to go there. "

" And the others? "

" Their lives are not in danger anymore and the healing magic manages to heal their wounds. "

" And not those in the room? "

" No. They Fallen Down. We need Undyne! Without her, we cannot save them! "

" Then they are lost … "

Muffet got up, demoralized by the words of her young friend and went away to join the hall of the king’s house. There was dozens of monsters. Some cried, others, hung on on their telephones, shouted or repeated the same looped numbers. But most discussed between them.

And all of the same subject. Those native of Snowdin cried out that they were suspicious since the beginning. That they should have hunted Red out of their village from the first day. That it was obvious that this skeleton so strange set them a trap.

If she was not so polite and diplomat, Muffet would have told them to shut up. Nobody had seen it coming, it was not after the disaster that it was necessary to react if they had so been so persuaded that Red would betray them. Herself only  half believed in it  .

She liked this small skeleton. Even if he preferred the spicy flavor of mustard to the sweetness of honey. Yet, she learnt to appreciate him. And he brought back Papyrus true smile.

It was her who found them, wounded, unconscious and together. If Red had betrayed them, would the other have left him for dead? She had arrived just after the departure of the evils Papyrus and Undyne. To avoid confusion, she named them Demon and Shark.

The Shark had seriously hurt Papyrus and had left him for dead in the snow and ashes of Snowdin. With her arachnidan stealth, she approached her best customer and friend and verified his state. He was dying. The wound in his soul could be mortal in itself if she did not stop the magiarhagia (magic hemoragie)  but even if she healed him, she could see at first glance that he had been poisoned.

Being a spider, her knew a lot about poison. She could delay the effects with a dose of her own while waiting for a chance to purge it.

She used her magic strings to sew the soul wound of the skeleton and her saliva to paralyze the magic flow and stop the poison, stabilizing him.

After a quick look at Red, she knew that she could do nothing for him personally, but he could be useful. And if the rumors were real, Undyne was able of bringing him out of his state.

But for that, she had to find a safe place. Just staying near the skeletons put her in danger. She whistled, making come to her hundreds of spiders as well as her pet who wrapped the skeletons in white silk, protecting them. She was about to leave towards the forest with her two burdens when she glanced at the square of the house of the skeleton brothers to see well known blue bandana covered with dust. One second could make the difference between life and death in this situation but she could not leave the adorable Sans behind, even dead. Quick as lightning, she caught the garment before charging the remaining skeletons on the back of Cupcake and ran away.

It was there that she had found survivors. Some were on the phone and she learnt that running away to Holland's labs was out of the question. They could hear the howling of the Dogs from the evil universe in the forest. Their only chance were the Ruins, which door was sealed from centuries.

This how she had found herself in the house of Former King with the survivors. She had given for mission to look after the wounded, whoever it was, but first and foremost, Papyrus.

She had saved him after several hours of intervention. To look after a soul was a delicate operation. Now was only necessary to wait that he wakes up. If he ever woke up. His HPs had drastically fallen. To give him luck, she had attached the bandana around his neck. She was sure that it was what he would have wanted.

Red had been hidden from the other survivors by Asgore. He had understood Muffet’s intention by saving him. But the monster had Fallen Down. A miracle was needed for him to wake up, even if his Hope went back to a single decimal. A miracle, or the famous treatment from Undyne.

[absurd-socratic-blog]

Hillbilly Nationalists, Urban Race Rebels, and Black Power: Community Organizing in Radical Times

In July 1969 a dozen self-identified hillbillies showed up to a Black Panther Party conference with Confederate flag patches sewn to their ragged jean jackets. Just above the flag, three hand painted letters identified their radical outfit: Y.P.O., the Young Patriots Organization. To outsiders the Panthers reputation for self-defense combined with the very real violence committed under the Southern Cross might seem to guarantee a nasty brawl. Instead, prominent Panthers welcomed members of the Young Patriots Organization like all revolutionary brothers and sisters- with a fist in the air and “All Power to the People”

The YPO was  a Chicago-based group of poor, white, and revolutionary southern transplants. They played a crucial role in founding the original 1969 Rainbow Coalition, a groundbreaking alliance initiated by the Illinois chapter of the Black Panther Party, which also formally included the Puerto Rican street gang-turned-political organization, the Young Lords, as well as informal members such as the Chicano-American Brown Berets and Rising Up Angry, another group that appealed to working class white youth. The Young Patriots are also, because of their explicit identification as “hillbilly nationalists” and symbolic adoption of the Confederate flag, one of the most fascinating, controversial, and understudied organizations to emerge from the intersection of the New Left student movement, civil rights, Black Power struggles, and new forms of community organizing that unfolded over the course of the 1960s in urban neighborhoods across the United States. Defying the stereotypes that they were ignorant “hillbillies” and hopeless racists, Uptown Chicago’s southern migrants and their allies organized the Young Patriots Organization(YPO) in 1968. Uptown had some of the worst poverty in the city and living conditions were grim with hunger and poor health for many.

The Young Patriots had come to Oakland, Calirfornia, for the United Front Against Fascism Conference. They arrived from Uptown, a Chicago neighborhood home to thousands of economically displaced Appalachians, mostly white, who had turned the area into a bastion of southern culture. Their families had moved North in search of work after mining and agriculture work started to disappear. But only a few found steady jobs. The rest scraped by on day labor, hustling and domestic work. By one estimate more than 40 percent of the neighborhood was on some form of welfare. It was their families, the Sunday Tribune had deemed “plague of locusts” descending on the city. As one Patriot member put it “We are the living reminder that when they threw out their white trash, they didn’t burn it, that trash was picking itself up”

The Patriots had a coherent regional identity around which to organize, and one with a history that often took on radical political valences: its membership was composed of southern migrants mainly from Appalachia, whose families had settled in the Uptown neighborhood of Chicago, a major hub along the northbound route dubbed the “hillbilly highway.” Historically, Appalachia has had a fraught relationship to other regions of the South, especially in terms of racial formation and ideological perspective; often, its inhabitants were marked as distinct from other white, Anglo-Saxon groups, and this produced combative expressions of both “national identity” – as “mountain people” – and at times, expressions of discontent against economic and state authorities and solidarity with other oppressed groups. In other words, there was a strong understanding of Appalachia as its own region of the South, and, because of its economic status as one of the most impoverished areas in the country, there was a general current of class resistance against the massive coal and power companies that monopolized whole towns and even counties.

The YPO quite consciously modelled itself after the Panthers by combining revolutionary nationalism and community defense as a political strategy, and in their viewing of the “pig power structure” as a common enemy for both poor whites and African Americans. The YPO was also marked by the specific conditions of radical politics in Chicago where the “organize your own” activist model, famously advocated by SNCC in its later phase, meant not identity-based essentialism but a forging of connections across class, race, and ethnic lines. This is reflected in the YPO’s own 11-Point Program.

“Racism was a demon that had to be driven out and slain if we were going to have unity with other groups and to believe that all people have a right to self-determination and freedom… We had to change to make life tolerable, and for life to have some sort of meaning.” —Hy Thurman, a founding member of the Young Patriots

“If Americans knew the disasters that lay ahead, they would transform this society tomorrow for their own preservation” ~ Huey P Newton, a founding member of the Black Panther Party of Self-defense.

(Black Panthers and Young Patriots- Excerpt from the documentary, "American Revolution 2." This segment showcases Black Panther Bobby Lee helping comrades in the Young Patriots (a Chicago Urban Appalachian civil rights group in similar vein to the Panthers) organize a group of working class Whites to demand for radical change in their neighborhood (which has been victimized by police brutality and economic disenfranchisement) and/or take it into their own hands. This took place in 1968 Chicago, some time after the riots that had happened after the Democratic National Convention)

[thisisanalarmcall]

#Coal disaster We the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America. #coalpollution #tiffipollutia. In the West we #waste an average of 70kg (155 lb) of clothing in a lifetime- directly to #landfill. Please recycle your used clothing. 🙏🏼 #textilerecycle #plastic #greatpacificgarbagepatch #toxicdyes #oceanconservation #waterpollution ♻️#airpollution recycle your used clothing, Please! #climatechangeisreal #plastic #Textiles & #clothing, fashion, it’s a love. Not to wear, but to watch. I also love 🌏 and 🌈🕊🐝🦋🐋🐘🐕🐈🌲🌼🌕🌚 the world! The earth/planet is where/wear we live. We get one #planet & many 👗👚👕👖👘👢👛Which is more important to you? #Sustainability or #Fascist #Fashionistas? #Tanneries and Textile manufacturing has been a #toxic chemical producer for too long, as does the #drycleaner? #ConspicuousConsumption, #neocapitalism/late-stage capitalism, call it what you wish. This is it. This is what it looks like. The world collapses around the ‘normal’ peasants & the wealthy consume and #consume with endless resources & reckless abandon. They’ve already rigged the system- the best of everything for those with the most cash. The rest of us will melt in the heat created by their carelessness. #ClimateChangeisREAL. It’s No HOAX. It’s not yet hopeless. #ITMFA #RESIST 🗳🌈🌊✌️💖👗not to mention the tremendous waste of ACTUAL fabrics!! Clothing that is old? I’ve made every attempt to use #AMERICAN #POLLUTION- will specify otherwise #reusereducerecycle #industrialpollution https://www.instagram.com/p/BrexwaJnqwg/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1bwit0yjatk1x