#I can’t believe its been 60 years!!

[robiniswriting]

happy doctor who day everyone!

[catholic-character-tournament]

Round 5 - Catholic Character Tournament

Propaganda below ⬇️

Sister Michael

She drives a DeLorean. She does judo on Fridays. She likes a good statue and despises the French. Her full nun name is Sister George Michael, after the guy from Wham!. She is the fiercest nun you’ll ever come across and, if you’re attending Lady Immaculate College, she’s the woman in charge. So whatever you do, if you’re feeling anxious or worried or just need a chat: don’t come crying to her.

joined the nunnery for the free accommodation?

she does love a good statue it has to be said

She is the headmistress of a catholic school <3

sister michael so reminds me of the nuns who taught me. they're tough and sometimes a little harsher than a woman who dedicated her life to god should be but they're also wonderful people. i had a nun teacher who was 60 years old and would do handstands. another nun (also in her 60s) told me god was nonbinary. another was really mean and made me cry. (so did the handstand nun.) while the catholic girls school is The Catholic Experience, the school wouldn't have been the same for me or the derry girls without at least one nun who seemed to have sprung up out of the ground fully formed, ageless.

Kurt Wagner/Nightcrawler Propaganda:

good lord where do i start. in the animated series he converts logan to catholisism and then fucks off basically thats the main thing he did there. i think one time they tried to make him a demon to explain how he looked but everyone hated that. he sold his soul one time to help his friends out after he died. he and logan have a weird little gay thing. he was a priest one time but he was made a priest by a fake bishop from a religion that hates mutants iirc so he just wasnt a priest. like 3 people have written him in a way i like and one of those is my friend just talking about how they view him.

wow marvel loves making catholic characters dress/look like demons

Kurt is a mutant who was born to mystique who looks a LOT like a devil (technically is half one but that cannon truth isn’t real go back to bed), his mother dropped him off a cliff when he was born and he was picked up by a Romani group/circus (fuck old comics man) however he then narrowly escaped being sold to a freak show and found himself in a small German town. There he met a kind priest, who showed him God, and he quickly grew attached to the idea- However, it wasn’t long before people began labeling him a demon and soon the whole town was against him with pitchforks and fire. Cornered and injured, Kurt thought this might be the end for him- maybe he would see heaven so long after finding it- but he was then saved by Charles Xavier who invited him to the X-Men. AND ITS BEEN SO MANY YEARS AND HE HAS BEEN THROUGH SO MUCH THERE. SO MUCH. SO GOD DAMN MUCH. BUT THE MOST AAAA THING TO ME CONCERNING HIS FAITH HE WHEN HE LITERALLY DIED AND WENT TO HEAVEN BUT THEN BECAUSE OF DRAMA WITH HIS FATHER HAD TO BRING HIS FRIENDS IN WITH HIM FROM THE BEYOND. THEN WITH ALOT OF TROUBLE THEY FOUGHT HIS FATHER AND THE ONLY WAY KURT SAW TO STOP HIM WAS IN A MOVE THAT STRIPPED THEM BOTH OF THEIR SOULS AND PUT THEM BACK ON EARTH. SO KURT CANONICALLY HAS NOW LOST HIS ABILITY FOR ETERNAL PEACE, LOST HIS VERY SOUL, TO SAVE PEOPLE- AND ALSO TOLD NO ONE NOT EVEN HIS GAY LOVER WOLVERINE.

Nightcrawler is a mutant vigilante who looks like a classical demon. He can’t even go to church without people panicking and trying to exorcize him. Despite it all, he’s so full of faith and hope and compassion, and he wants to believe the best of everyone. Also, he’s bffs with an extremely angry Jewish sword lesbian. That has nothing to do with anything, but it’s important to me that you all know that.

What if you were a devout christian and literally looked like the devil? He nearly became the pope, which was a plot by some supervillains that also involved faking a rapture? There is nothing like comics I swear to god.

A catholic who is half demon I don’t think I can better explain a struggle than that. But his character is so relatable to people who feel unwelcome with their congregation because of something that is a part of them but still feeling a connection to the faith. Kurt actively engaged in his faith and shares how his faith helps him through all the things he has faced in life and how he found a home with those of the church who leave the judging to God.

so they made kurt a priest briefly before deciding to retcon it, resulting in nightcrawler actually being part of a plan by villains to promote him to pope then reveal to the world that the pope is a demon. wild.

I have a side blog and a tattoo about him and i really really want him to win

Wisecracking devil-appearing devout Catholic with the Best superpower (teleportation)? HECK YES

German Catholic circus acrobat who looks like a demon & can teleport through a hellish alternate dimension with a puff of sulfur. Character of all time.

hes catholic and his dad is the devil. what could be funnier than that. also hes my silly little guy.

Nightcrawler is the world’s most fun catholic priest. I first was introduced to this kindhearted teleporting acrobat while he saved a boat full of stowaway refugees from inter dimensional pirates with swashbuckling gusto!

[vyl3tpwny]

Music Genres

When I was kid, you would have probably heard me say something like “I don’t believe in genre labels”. To a degree, there is still something about that sentiment that I agree with; I don’t think you can really put music and styles of music in neat little boxes. But otherwise, I was pretty much wrong about everything else.

Let’s go over that.

pictured: Mala, one of the godfathers of roots Dubstep

—

To be blunt, “genre” isn’t just about approximating what a song sounds like. If you say “I love pop music”, that honestly doesn’t mean much. The more specific you get, the more you will approach something someone can imagine like “I like experimental progressive noise pop music”. Ok, I can start to imagine things that likely approach what you're talking about, but even then it will usually not help someone fully understand what something truly is. In categorizing and approximating music styles, genres only go so far. So what makes them important then?

Well, not to say that approximating a style when describing an artist to someone is a bad thing or that doing so isn’t meant to be valued, but it’s hardly the only reason these labels exist. Importantly, “genre” helps establish culture, history, and a musical identity. So when you're trying to tell someone you're listening to a "progressive rock” project, you’re not just imagining odd time-signatures and complex riffs, you’re also meant to understand and consider that whatever is being described as to you has some sort of relevance or importance with regards to the history behind progressive rock; the culture of college bands in the UK, the sound that the punk movement revolted against, the progression of musical storytelling in rock music since the late 60’s and early 70’s, stuff like that. There’s a distinct culture and history you can pinpoint and understand when you describe something as being progressive rock and you can’t just go around calling any complex electric guitar oriented music "progressive rock" unless it has those specific ties as well as understanding and iteration of the roots.

pictured: Genesis, because progressive rock mention

—

Genre labels help to clarify what kind of culture and histories a music project is being associated itself with and where a lot of its inspiration comes from. This is much more compelling reason for underlining the importance of genre labels and why they should be used correctly.

So, there is something I need to get off my chest then. There are a lot of misuses of genre labels all over the place, especially online. And I’m not talking about saying something is “Alternative Rock” when it’s clearly some kind of “Folk Rock” record instead. What I’m talking about is something like “Dubstep”.

Even as recent as a few years ago, I started personally reclaiming the term “Dubstep” as a genre label to describe any bass-adjacent music. At the time I did this, I thought it was cool, because the term Dubstep had been dubbed (pun intended) to be cringeworthy lexicon to some people. And while I feel that’s a noble reason to reclaim something like that, because some weirdos think it's cringe, in this case I actually think it’s wrong.

The term “Brostep” has been used to describe any non-roots bass-oriented music that originates from the proper roots Dubstep. It’s a term I didn’t like FOREVER, especially because the phrase was derived as a generalization of the kind of people who tend to listen to it. However, I actually think that Brostep is a title that people should be more comfortable and confident with labeling things as.

The original Dubstep came as a result of Jamaican immigrants bringing Dub music to the UK, which then fused with the remnants of 2-Step Garage which was prominent in the 90’s just years prior. Timbah.On.Toast made a great video called All My Homies Hate Skrillex and it is a really good breakdown of what separates roots Dubstep from the Americanized Brostep, which came after it. I think everyone knows by now that I have a deep, deep love for EDM based Broste and I am the biggest Skrillex fangirl alive. So being both a Brostep and Skrillex superfan, please understand that I think the video is one of the most important things you can watch as an EDM enjoyer.

Conflating the term Dubstep with things that aren’t actually Dubstep is honestly a slap in the face to all of the pioneers of Dub and Dubstep, which famously were both pretty much ENTIRELY invented by black people. I think it’s fair to say that incorrectly labeling music in this way has racist implications. It dishonours and twists the legacy of the music. You can find og Dubstep to listen to on the RYM Ultimate Box Set > Dubstep page. Check some of that out, then listen to some 2010, 2011 Skrillex and see how different things really went.

It confused me at first when I was a teenager, I didn't understand why so many people hated Skrillex back in the day. I came to realize so much of the hate wasn’t even really with regards music itself, but the total lack of understanding or care for the roots of the genre, which all of his work was founded upon and he then subsequently bastardized without caring at all. It was pure disrespect, it was practically cultural erasure and so many people will now only know of Dubstep as “that Skrillex transformer screech music”. Yeah. It actually fucking sucks.

But there is a LONG history of black music being erased from history and being undermined, whether entirely intentional or due to systemic unawareness.

I saw a post the other day talking about how it sucks that so much music is just lumped into being “video game music” when so much of this stuff has deep roots and cultural significance. The first example pointed how a lot of acid jazz music is just described as “Persona music” by the layperson now. Meanwhile, Acid Jazz as a genre is a huge development on things like roots jazz, disco, funk, and hip hop music. You know. All genres that were invented by black people. Fascinating, right?

Jungle music was also mentioned. And this one is very particular for me. Jungle music, when not being generalized as "PS1 Music", is often just called drum & bass or breakcore (also please Google the difference between breakbeat and breakcore, thanks) which are all fundamentally misunderstanding what Jungle music even is. Much of Jungle music, AS MANY THINGS DO, finds VERY prominent roots in Reggae, Dub, and sound system culture in Jamaica as well as countless other prominently black communities in the UK.

But it doesn’t stop there.

If you’re unfamiliar, there is a genre called “IDM”, otherwise known as Intelligent Dance Music. When I was a kid, and I first heard that word, I immediately was like “that is the most pretentious, stupid thing I’ve ever heard”. Eventually as I grew up, I just stopped thinking about that and started referring to more music as IDM. This style of music is generally characterized with “complexity” and being “not much danceable”. While I don’t think there’s anything wrong with the music that is called IDM, I do think there’s everything wrong with the term IDM, intelligent dance music.

When asked how he feels about being labeled as an IDM artist, Aphex Twin responded:

"I just think it's really funny to have terms like that. It's [basically] saying 'this is intelligent and everything else is STUPID.' It's really nasty to everyone else's music."

pictured: Aphex Twin, the funnyman himself

—

I think most people would agree with this sentiment. It’s so strange to call one kind of music “intelligent”, out of the hundreds of thousands of genres out there. But let’s bring this back to Jungle music. The reality is that IDM started to become a term around the same time that Jungle music became prominent, in the 90's. Both styles of music are complex, introspective, skittery, and chaotic (but refined and often disciplined) genres. Except, of these two, Jungle music was the one pioneered primarily by black artists. IDM was a sort in competition with Jungle. To therefore call IDM “intelligent” in comparison to Jungle music ... well. I don’t feel like I really have to explain why that’s fucked up.

A lot of people have proposed different names for IDM. A quick look on reddit yields things like “Experimental Electronic” and “Brain Dance” (which was coined by Aphex Twin's label). Me personally, the term “Electro-Prog” comes to mind. Sounds cool.

Similar conversations are presently being had about the term “Riddim”. This brings us back to the dubstep side of this discussion again. Riddim, as an EDM genre, is an offshoot of Brostep music that focuses a lot on repetition over the downbeat, maintaining an insanely distorted sound design, a lot more than the average Brostep song. However, the term “riddim” originates — yet again — from the Jamaican Patois for “rhythm”. And Riddim as a musical style in Jamaica is actually more associated with things like dancehall and reggae, rather than the commercialized "Riddim" that is several hundred times removed from its own roots.

Last year, musician INFEKT proposed that what most EDM listeners call “riddim” should be referred to instead as “Trench” in an article on their website. This proposed name is derived from Getter’s use of the term on his 2014 record “Trenchlords Vol. 1”. I don’t personally know how much I resonate with the term, but whatever the consensus is, I don’t think we should be conflating a westernized, commercialized, and EDM-centric genre like this to Jamaican roots music. Over and over again, it seems that black music is constantly overwritten by developments like this, so I think more care needs to be taken in not allowing that to happen.

As a side note, a lot of people online seem very keen on appropriating Jamaican Patois quite often? There are so many examples of this. When the term “Bomboclaat” started making the rounds on Twitter a few years ago, so many white people were quick to either talk wildly about the term and trend or otherwise start saying it as well. There was a fucking article that sought to answer “The Bomboclaat >> Meme << Meaning Explained”, like they’re not dissecting an element of Jamaican slang lol. Then there was a period of time where people were constantly saying things like “On Jah?” as a stand-in for “On God?” even though this, again, is Jamaican Patois. And even now, you have tons and tons of non-black people going everywhere being like “what is blud waffling about?”, the phrase “blud” ONCE AGAIN also being Jamaican in origin.

I shouldn’t even have to explain what makes these kinds of appropriations weird and messed up. But black people lose jobs and are denied basic things in life over their hair styles, their expressions and slang, and so many other things that a white person can just appropriate and face zero consequences whatsoever for.

That aside, aside. Understanding and labeling genres correctly is such a big part of music history and highlighting and preserving cultures worldwide. When efforts are made to undermine the meaning of a genre label or otherwise use it incorrectly, so much damage is done to the communities and people groups that innovate and pioneer this art to begin with.

For these reasons, I will gladly use the term Brostep. I will happily call things Electro-Prog. And when you talk about genres like Jungle and Dubstep, say it with your whole chest. Be proud of the human race, show respect and love for the people who have forged the greatest parts of music with their bare hands. We will always stand on the shoulders of giants as musicians, so instead of pretending you yourself are the giant, build monuments and maintain the history of these people. You as an artist are nothing without them.

pictured: Augustus Pablo, one of the most important innovators of Dub. Without him, and without many of his contemporaries, I would reckon that half or more of all modern music would simply not exist.

CONTENT WARNING FOR THIS FINAL SECTION, THERE ARE LIKE LOTS OF STRANGE SLURS AND RACIST VIBES.

—

One last thing I wanna mention, this is slightly tangential but I think it's relevant to this conversation. It's always weird how lots of websites categorize things like this:

From Big Fish Audio... "G**sy*? "World/Ethnic Loops & Samples"? What the fuck are you talking about. Seems like racism to me.

On Loopmasters they have a "World" section. Any Americanized genre gets its own category, but the entire continents of Africa and Asia as well as the country of India and region of the Middle East (which are part of Asia, hope this helps btw) and lastly South America are stuffed into the nebulous "World Label". Seems like racism to me. Are you telling me you weirdos can't figure out a better way to represent these things?

But then Psy Trance gets its whole entire own category? Aren't there only like five people who listen to Psy Trance? /hj . But like come on.

Shoutout to WA Productions for categorizing a universe of suspiciously mostly black music as """Urban"""". And this company is a dime a dozen, hundreds of corpos do this shit.

East fucking West, what is this dude. There is a racism happening, I just know it. Please give me a count of how many poc are on payroll at your company, I am so curious.

And while we're at it, East West, what is this. Tell me. Fucking tell me.

Thanks for reading.

[leighlew3]

So I watched the animated Legion of Super Heroes and I just can’t. I can’t with straight Supergirl anymore. Mon El as a villain? Phenomenal. Do I hate Brainiac 5? No. But the romance doesn’t work for me. Despite its flaws, once you’ve seen Supercorp, the plot beats and heteronormativity of Kara and Brainiac 5 just can’t compete. You also can’t convince me Sasha Callie’s Supergirl was straight either.

Preach. While it was hilarious to see Mon-El as a villain and have Kara kick his ass (which now makes 3 separate versions where that ship has been buried one way or another by DC, The CW, WB, etc) ... I'm honestly so sick of watching them do the same things with Kara again and again and again, especially on the romantic front, and it's entirely uninteresting for the most part.

I mean it's pretty ironic that the single best love story she's ever had in any medium was the queerbaited one between she and Lena Luthor in TV series, ffs.

Until they realize that the concept of Kara/Lena (aka the real "Supercorp" despite a couple of DC writers recently attempting to st-- I mean conveniently use the exact LGBTQ fan-created phrase, a very similar logo to the LGBTQ fan-made one and even utilize some eerily similar SC elements from the SGCW TV series) is a literal GOLD MINE of creative opportunity and money to be made... they're going to just continue to rinse and repeat the same dull shit and wonder why most people simply just don't care and they can't break out of the box (except with a couple limited runs like WoT which have no love interest).

Kara/Lena as a romantic couple literally subverts a 60+ year lore of Super vs Luthor -- taking it from a story of hate to a literal love story, and also bringing the characters back to some rather interesting and queercoded dynamics they already demonstrated between the two way back in the Silver Age comics.

Interestingly, DC has already toyed with a sapphic Supergirl in various versions already. In Bombshells: United #33 she kissed Lois Lane. In DC's Dark Knights of Steel Miniseries in 2021, they had Supergirl and Wonder Woman in a queer relationship. And with the CW tie-in Batwoman comic run for DC, the author recently subtly confirmed Kara/Lena as dating.

So why continue to go back to the same old outdated, bland, repetitive heteronormative angle that doesn't even sell enough to maintain a long-running Supergirl solo comic series, lead the show to be critically panned half the time and end on a flop note with furious fans, etc? Inexplicable, beyond the usual blind spots and phobias.

At some point, somebody will wake up and smell the creative potential and profits. Until then, we wait. And keep pushing, creating fan art and fanfic, etc and show 'em how it's done.

It'll happen eventually. I have faith. I fully believe it. Whether it's in a year, five, ten or twenty. It'll happen. Greatness cannot be ignored or avoided forever. 😉 Some day...

[dontmeantobepoliticalbut]

An ad launched by Progress Action Fund launched, showing an elderly Republican congressman interrupting a couple in the bedroom, has now been banned on X, formerly known as Twitter.

According to the Progress Action Fund, which aims to defeat Republicans in red states, the platform “has censored” its account as well as the ad, called “Keep Republicans Out Of Your Bedroom.” In addition, the platform has “placed a ‘Search Ban’ and a ‘Search Suggestion Ban’ on the account.”

As of Wednesday afternoon, the account did not show up on the social media platform, yet the ad could still be seen on X through retweets from other accounts.

The Progress Action Fund said it contacted the platform’s legal department and “appealed the decision, which was denied.”

Joe Jacobson, Founder and Executive Director of Progress Action Fund, took a stab at X’s owner: “Elon Musk loves free speech, but only when it’s convenient for him and his far-right political agenda.”

“Political speech is protected under law and Musk’s competitors clearly agree that our ad should not be censored,” he continued. “When releasing ads in the future, we’ll be taking them to other platforms, which many others are already doing given Elon Musk’s frantic and poor leadership at Twitter.”

The Independent has reached out to X for comment.

The ad features a scene in which a woman asks a man if he has a condom. He reaches for the condom in a bedside table drawer, and another suit-covered arm appears, reaching for it as well.

“Sorry, you can’t use those,” says an older man, clad in a black suit and red tie, while standing beside the bed. When the woman asks who he is, he replies: “I’m your Republican congressman. Now that we’re in charge, we’re banning birth control.”

The ad urges voters to “vote no” on 8 August, in reference to State Issue 1, which would require proposed amendments to Ohio’s constitution “receive the approval of at least 60% of eligible voters voting on the proposed amendment,” rather than a simple majority.

Since acquiring Twitter, Mr. Musk, a self declared “free speech absolutist”, has touted free speech as a pillar of the platform. As part of this shift during the takeover, he reinstated Donald Trump’s account after a two-year ban, which was “due to the risk of further incitement of violence” after the January 6 Capitol riot. He also reinstated at least 11 accounts belonging to prominent far-right and anti-trans influencers.

On 23 November, the platform announced it “is no longer enforcing the COVID-19 misleading information policy.”

As recently as April, the platform claimed to strive to “promote and protect the public conversation. We believe Twitter users have the right to express their opinions and ideas without fear of censorship.”

In May, he wrote: “I am adamant about defending free speech, even if it means losing money.”

[doll-elvis]

How and why did Elvis go down hill so fast after the Aloha from Hawaii concert

ahh this is a really interesting question, thank you for the ask <3 !! also I’m sorry if I didn’t interpret this correctly and if you mean’t the immediate aftermath of the special, I kind of answered in terms of the long run 😭

now this might be an unpopular opinion but I don’t believe that Elvis actually ever went ‘downhill’ at a constant or steady rate

Many fans, biographers, and reviewers sort of see the Aloha special as ‘past the point of no return’ for Elvis, meaning they see it his last moment of “greatness”, or the last moment where he was truly on top

The Aloha special was no doubt a peak moment for Elvis, but I don’t definitely don’t view it as his “final truly great moment”. I also don't see the special as him reaching the top of the mountain and then next 4 years are him going down it. I see the special as one peak of many, in fact I think he continued to have peak moments up until his passing, which is why the suddenness of his death is so tragic because I don’t believe he was done. He was of course physically not well but not to the point that he wouldn’t have been able to overcome it if he had more time and proper care

Another reason that I can’t say he ever steadily declined is because that throughout his career, particularly in the 60s and 70s, Elvis had periods of highs and lows that often coincided with how his personal life was going i.e family, friends, girlfriends etc.etc

For example the tail end of the summer in 1976 was a particularly rough patch for Elvis. His health was declining, his relationship with Linda was on its’ last legs, his group was split (Dave, Red and Sonny had been fired), and Doctor Nick even stopped being his physician after a fallout had occurred and Doctor Elias Ghanem stepped in

Doctor Ghanem was even more neglectful in taking care of Elvis and as a result Elvis was loaded up on anti-depressants, sleeping pills, and other extremely debilitating narcotics. He was rendered almost completely incontinent. Thus resulting in one of Elvis’ worst tours yet, and one of his worst rated shows ever aka ‘Houston we have a problem’ which was taped on August 28th 1976

Reportedly Elvis was slurring and stumbling so badly on stage that several fans walked out, one reviewer even noted fans crying as they left

“People had witnessed the side effects from Elvis's medications during his performance in Houston. Elvis had taken Sparine (for depression), which contributed to muscle and speech problems. It knocked the bottom out of him, dropped his blood pressure. He couldn't do diddly-squat”

excerpt from the book “The King and Dr. Nick” by George Nichopoulos

It was one terrible show/performance after the next and Elvis was pushing himself to the limits and suffering because of it. According to band members Elvis had to be convinced to go on stage because he was so worried about disappointing the crowd. He wanted to perform better but his body physically wouldn’t let him. It was so terrible that just after 3 days of Elvis being under Doctor Ghanem’s care, Doctor Nick was called back and began working again to regulate Elvis’ prescription use

And then on November 19th, 1976, Elvis met 20-year-old Ginger Alden, and to just say he had “improved” would be a massive understatement. He began performing like he hadn’t been for years, resulting in one of his best tours, and some of his best shows such as his New Year’s Eve performance on December 31st, 1976. And more than just his career/shows, Elvis’ mood had visibly lifted, he was out of his depression and he was much more optimistic for the future

excerpt from the book “Elvis: My best man” by George Klein

excerpt from the book “If I can dream” by Larry Geller

So Elvis went from having one of his worst-rated concerts, to one of his best-rated concerts in just the span of a few months, which again proves to me at least that his “decline” wasn’t steady

When he was motivated and inspired, he could do incredibly great things, whether that motivation came from a single girl he wanted to impress in the audience or billions of people around the world like in the Aloha special

And this pattern can be seen throughout his career

Like in the 60s where Elvis would tend to let himself go a little bit between films and then when a script was given for his next picture, he would find the motivation to get back “in shape”, even reducing the amount of prescriptions pills he was taking in order to do so

But even the films eventually grew tiresome and Elvis didn’t find that motivation for his career again until the 68 comeback special. dontbeecruel breaks down the lead up to the special like Shakespeare I swear- please take the time to read it for yourself if you haven’t (it’s amazing) 😩 ⬇️

Another instance in the 70s where Elvis was able to recover from a low/downhill period and rise again was after his divorce with Priscilla. His saving grace, inspiration, and motivation this time came to him as Linda Thompson

excerpt from the book “A Little thing called Life” by Linda Thompson

The divorce undoubtedly caused was one of the lowest periods in Elvis’ life. He began taking pills and prescriptions that he had never had before such as Demerol and Dilaudid, his behavior became more erratic than ever, and he was in a deep depression, resulting in the decline of both his physical and mental health

It took him a while to recover but he eventually did, and I do honestly credit that to Linda’s presence in his life as she helped him move on

excerpt from “A Little thing called Life” by Linda Thompson

This decline and then rise can even be seen physically ⬇️

Left: Elvis in 1973, the day his divorce was finalized, where Priscilla says she was stricken by his appearance and worried for his health

Right: Elvis in 1974, visibly healthier, and performing in one of his best shows of a incredible tour

So again, Elvis went from enduring one of the worst periods of his life, declining mentally and physically, to improving and performing at his best again… all within the span of a year

I guess that’s why it breaks my heart when people act like Elvis’ last great moment was at 38 in the Aloha Special, and then every year after that was just downhill. He was always singing his heart out as best he could, even towards the end, and again, if his career was managed in his best interest and if his doctors acted in his best interest, I believe he would have many more moments like the Aloha special, he just wasn’t given enough time to do so

[outsideratheart]

60 with guro reiten please (if u write 4 her)

A/N: this ficlet turned in a full grown fic.

60 - “I’ve never felt this way before and I’m terrified to be honest”

It wasn’t that you were a player, you simply didn’t want to open yourself up to the wrong person only for them to hurt you……again.

Guro was different to the other girls though. She seemed genuinely interested in you and not just the things on the surface. It first started when the two were assigned to each other on away trips. You remember it was just after the World Cup and you were sour about the way England was knocked out but then the first day of pre-season training you met her and within minutes she had you smiling from ear to ear.

You wanted to get to know her and more important you wanted to let her get to know you. Without realising it you were taking down the walls that surround you heart one by one, or maybe Guro was taking to them with a sledgehammer.

Chelsea had a signing day at the adidas flagship store down Oxford street. You, Millie, Magda, Pernille, Erin and Guro were the players chosen as you were fans favourites, even Emma joined you half way through.

You were sat at the end with Guro next to you. The two of you guys playing games of noughts and crosses as you wait for the next fan in line. Absentmindedly your arm found its way to the back of Guro’s chair, the winger leaning closer to you in response.

A couple of confident fans would sneak you there number but you would hand it back the them stating, in the nicest possible way, that you aren’t interested.

“Y/N turning down a fan, that’s a first” Millie teases.

“Why? She had legs and a beating heart, totally your type” Erin joins in but you can’t help but feel a little bit hurt at her remark. Is this really how she saw you?

“Leave her alone” Magda tells them.

“Thank you”

“At least this way we won’t have her groupies camping outside our hotel just to shoot their shot with the hottest bachelorette in the WSL” Pernille adds.

“Don’t listen to them” you whisper into Guro’s ear.

She doesn’t respond but the look on her face doesn’t fill you with confidence.

Emma, who upon arriving, took a seat next to you at the end before pulling you aside when a staff member calls for a break halfway through the signing.

“What wrong?” She asks and you shake your head, nothing was wrong, this is the happiest you have been in a long time.

“Really? Because the fans are flirting with you and you aren’t giving them the time of day” Emma is straight to the point as always.

“I’m not interested” you response is simple.

“Let’s say I believe you. Can you please just entertain them for the rest of the day. I saw them in line, most of them have your shirt on and we would love for them buy tickets for tomorrow game, don’t you want to play at a sold out kings meadow?”

You sigh deeply. You didn’t want to flirt with the fans especially when the woman you were developing feelings for sat right next to you.

“Are you asking me or telling me?” You want your coach to know that you don’t want to do it but you will if you have to.

“Y/N” Emma says when she sees your face, the cocky confident Y/N she has known for years is nowhere to be seen.

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll do what is best for the team”

With that you walk back to the signing table only to find that Guro has swapped with Erin.

“Reunited and it feels so good” Erin sings.

“Fuck off ez” you weren’t in the mood and given your new task you want to get the day over with.

The next hour is painful for you but the fans are loving it. You flirt them, accept their numbers and as asked, you encourage them to come the game, stating that you hope to see their pretty faces in the crowd.

After an hour or so the signing ends.

You missed Guro in the second part of the signing. Erin was great but she failed in comparison to the Norwegian.

“Hello you” you nudge her shoulder.

“Hi” her reply is short and held a little bit of anger.

“Is everything ok? I know these days can be a little bit overwhelming but it’s part of the job” you try to reassure her.

“Well you seemed to be in your element. How many numbers did you get?”

“It doesn’t matter. They are in the bin now”

“Yeah right. I saw you, you loved it”

“No I didn’t, Emma made me. I don’t care about that kind of thing anymore”

“Hey girlies, we are going for some food, do you want to join us?” Millie asks unaware that she is interrupting.

“Yeah sure”

“No” Guro says “I’m going to head home. See you all tomorrow” and with that she was off.

“Guro wait” you say but it is no use as she is already in one of the cars.

Later that night you are out with your friends but you cannot stop thinking about her. You yearned for her company, more so than anyone else’s. It was a feeling that you hadn’t let yourself feel in years.

“Im going to leave, there’s somewhere else I need to be”

You don’t wait for them to respond. You throw some money on the table, enough to cover the bill and then leave.

Standing in front of Guro’s door you are on on your third attempt at knocking. Each time your knuckles are millimetres away you cowardly pull back.

“Jesus Y/N, what is this woman doing to you” you mumble to yourself before ripping the bandaid off and knocking at the door.

It is clear by her face that you are the last person Guro expected to see on the other side of the threshold.

“What are you doing here. I thought you were out with the girls?” She asks.

“I would rather spend my night with you” you say.

Fear washes over you when Guro doesn’t respond, she leaves you standing there.

“Can I come in? There’s something I want to talk to you about” you can see the conflict on her face “please”

She steps aside, her cheeks slightly flushed when she realises that she should have invited you in sooner.

“Why didn’t you come out tonight?” You ask. It is a question that had been on your mind all night.

“They warned me about you. When I first came to the club I let slip that I thought you were hot. Then a few months later I told Erin that I had a crush on you. She told me that you didn’t do the relationship thing and that I would end up hurt if I told you how I felt but then recently it felt you were changing”

“ I have changed Guro, because of you”

“No you haven’t. Today I saw it”

“You saw me pimping myself out on our coaches orders but I didn’t want to. I haven’t wanted to do that kind of thing for a while now”

“What are you saying?” A small smile tugs on Guro’s lips.

“I don’t know. I’ve never felt this way before and I’m terrified to be honest. I really like you Guro but I don’t want to get hurt again” you surprise yourself at your honesty.

“What kind of chance do we have if you are already thinking about the end?”

“Given my last relationship it’s kinda hard not too” you say hoping that she will see this from your point of view.

“I like you too Y/N, a lot” Guro takes a step closer to you, a knowing look in her eye “I don’t know how this will end but I want to try”

“Would you like to go for coffee tomorrow then we can ride to the game together?” You ask.

“I would but on one condition” your brows furrow in both confusion and intrique “no more getting fans numbers”

“Deal?” Guro holds her hand out

“Deal”

[bolton-buried]

I had the strangest dream while I was in the Strid. It’s probably nothing, but I can’t get it out of my head.

I don’t believe in prophetic dreams, but I’m writing it down anyway. Maybe this will help me fall asleep.

I’m in an empty space, a plane of plain white that goes on forever, so I pick a direction and begin to walk. Then jog. Then run through the emptiness, looking for its edge. Then I fall forward through it, tumbling head over heels into the ground that should have been there until

I land in darkness. A single bulb above my head flickering out, and suddenly I don’t know if my eyes are opened or closed. I reach forward across the cold stones of the floor, crawling with the fear of something being in the dark with me. Then I feel it

An insect—or something with skittering legs crawling on my skin. Then another. And another. The lights come back on just in time for me to see hundreds of centipedes and cockroaches crawling over me. I try brushing them off, but they keep coming. So I dig into the wall with my fingernails, pulling myself through the dirt so tightly that the bugs cannot follow. I dig upwards

And emerge in a trench, ankle-deep in blood and surrounded by men, shaking and shouting and firing across the field. A grenade falls in front of me, and I stumble backwards into a pool of blood before hearing it go off. When I stand

The walls are metal and sterile other than the blood filling the room to my waist. Cuts of meat in shapes I still can’t recognize hang from hooks—but there’s a staircase leading downwards. I follow it down, and open the door into

A hospital hallway. I hear the telltale sound of heart monitors beeping and slowing down, then stopping. The nurses all look at me like I am being mourned already. I try to shout that I’m not dead, but they silently hand me a clipboard. I won’t read it. I bolt to the door

And emerge in an empty street. It is London—I can feel it, but without the crowds. Without anybody. My feet echo on the ground as I start to run again. Desperate to find someone, anyone but the mannequins in every window, I run to

The Magnus Institute. But it’s wrong. The two windows in the front are round—the panes tinted green and the building itself looking at me with the same eyes as Elias Bouchard. Once one of them winks, I turn and run

But the mannequins from the windows are now in the street, all frozen in place as if they are real people and not plastic and rubber. Then their heads start to turn to me along a seam in the neck. They begin a jittery, stuttering walk towards me from all directions, so I pull up a manhole cover and drop to

A bunker. There’s a television, boxy like they were in the 60s. Numbers flash in the static between images of a world in ruins. There’s enough food in the bunker to last me for years, I know, but the TV won’t turn off, won’t stop showing me that nothing remains of the world I know. I open a hatch that should lead deeper into the bunker, but instead step into

A sewer, full of brightly-colored iridescent fluid, and in every direction the tunnels split and split and split in an infinite pattern. I begin to run down them, and think I could be running forever, lost in the glowing colors and endless patterns, when the tunnels let out

In front of my childhood home. I’d know it anywhere, all my memories, packed away in neat little boxes ready to come with me through the rest of my life. But then the building is ablaze. Photos of my youth, everything I’ve ever loved gone in an instant. I want to save it, but someone stands in the doorway

My father, holding a rifle. He starts charging at me and I run, stumbling over branches and roots in the small wood. A shot rings in my ears louder than his accusatory screams, then I stumble

Into white string, laid out between the trees. In my scramble to move forward, all I do is twist myself into the threads, helplessly trapped in a way I’m only just now seeing. Then a hand reaches from below with a pair of scissors. It cuts the thread and I fall

Into a river, flowing swiftly. I close my eyes, no longer afraid; no longer in need of fear. The current pulling me along is a guiding hand, the water a frigid embrace that says it will hold me as tight as it needs to keep the other horrors at bay. I do the closest thing I can to embracing it back, and take a deep breath in.

[clrakeandjosh]

a joy (hard learned in winter)

“This is incredible,” Doc breathed, eyes darting around as falling snowflakes caressed their features. Hush murmured his agreement, but he wasn’t sure if he was referring to the snow.

hush/doc fluff 2k words Read on AO3

fluffy touch-starved hush/doc for @autisticempathydaemon part of @angelicaether's Christmas exchange 💕

“To be honest, I'm thankful,” Doc confessed. “Sure, maybe a white Christmas would be magical, or whatever, but the snow and cold would make getting around a lot more inconvenient.”

Hush kept pace dutifully next to Doc as they cut a path across the city park, considering their words carefully. This had become part of their routine. Since Doc’s latest run-in with a particularly aggressive Demon Articulate, Hush had taken it upon himself to keep a vigilant guard at their side as often as possible. Lately he’d been foregoing more magical means of transportation, and instead kept them company walking with them while they ran errands. Ever curious, Hush often filled the silence, peppering them with questions about the idiosyncrasies of human nature. The subject matter on today’s docket was snow. 

“It seems that snow is a big part of the winter season for a lot of humans,” Hush assessed the park around him. So far, this year’s winter had been especially forgiving on its lush foliage, to an unusual degree, even for a climate with minimal seasonal variation. “Have you ever seen snow, Doc?” 

“I mean, I’ve been to the mountains once or twice when I was in college,” Doc mused. “Ski trip with a few friends…I’m not much of a skier though.” They kicked a rock on the ground sending it skittering off the path into the grass. “Besides, the real magic is in all the things you see on TV - like snow angels and snowball fights. We didn’t really do any of that”

“Would you like it if it snowed?” Hush asked

“I suppose I don’t really need it to enjoy winter. It’s not something I grew up with here in Dahlia, I can’t miss magic I’ve never experienced before” Hush slowed to a stop, compelled as always to find some way to impress and appeal to this wary, level-headed human. He wasn’t sure why they made him feel this way. 

Hush had never felt this way about another being before. In fact, he couldn’t recall a time where he felt much of anything at all. He was, on a fundamental level, simply a set of goals given form, ceasing to exist once the boxes had been checked off. Feeling did not make the to-do list.

Conversely, those around him seemed to feel quite deeply. About him in particular. 

He was the Silence in the Spellsong - an innately scary thing to any human or daemon, diametrically opposed to the steady raucous rhythm keeping time for the users of Aria’s magic. The Chorus saw Hush as something of a void, his magic merciless and anechoic, absorbing all life which dared cross its path. Hush never had a problem with this, or gave it much consideration, really. He was purpose made manifest. He’d no need for connection, thus no need to justify or contextualize his powers within the limited confines of the human experience. 

That is, until Doc.

His Doc, who perplexed him so. They’d thrown themselves recklessly, willingly between him and his otherwise certain end, yet caution and reserve punctuated their every step. For Doc, Hush wanted to be more than the Chorus believed him to be. For Doc, he didn’t want them to see his silence as the absence of life, he wanted to be the potential for it. 

So to create magic for them where there was none? The urge was practically in his bones, he hummed with excitement to try.

“I didn’t ask if you needed it. Would you like there to be snow?”

Doc stopped a few paces ahead, not immediately noticing his sudden stop. “I guess I’ve just never thought about it before, Hush. I mean, it’s 60 degrees. It’s not like I know how to just pull snow out of thin air.”

“No, a human would probably struggle with elemental command to that scale. But I’m not human.”

The world seemed to fall still around them, heavy as the first snowflake whirred through the air and landed gently on Hush’s nose. It melted quickly, no match for the above-freezing temperatures of Dahlia’s mild winter, or for the way Hush’s usually tepid skin now warmed steadily at Doc’s now bewildered stare.

“Hush?” Doc whispered, incredulous. They didn’t move a muscle, as though any sudden movement or too sharp a breath might cause the illusion to shatter, taking with it the snow that was quickly, supernaturally beginning to accumulate at their feet. Hush noted the way they seemed to say his name a lot. It was such an offhand thing, “Hush.” It was practical in its conception and apt enough to describe him, but somehow when they said it, he felt the unfamiliar pull of human connection. He’d never had a name until they had asked for it. Maybe, he thought, his name belonged to them just as much as it did to him.

“I’ve met contra-elementals who could do some pretty amazing things,” they awed, “but I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“I'm sorry I can't hold it forever. Well, I can. It's not a measure of ability, but rather, I don't suppose the local ecosystem would fare too well if I did.”

Doc barked a laugh, turning their attention away to their outstretched hands as delicate snowflakes landed in their palm before dissolving into flecks of water. 

Hush admired Doc as they twirled in the falling snow, embodying a childlike joy that he’d never seen in them before. He wondered how often that side of them had the chance to come out, or if another person had brought it out of them before. He liked being the person to make them feel that way. Selfishly, he wanted to be the only person to make them feel that way, but he wasn’t sure what that meant.

Eager to understand his proclivity for closeness with them, he catalogued the moment in his mind for later. He took stock of the way his eyes dragged down to their mouth, mesmerized as their tongue snaked out to taste the snowflakes that kissed their lips and proceeded to catch more out of the air. He liked thinking about their lips. He liked thinking about the way they curved when he revealed his latest findings on the things that humans enjoy - things he hoped Doc would enjoy from him. He liked the shape they took when they said his name. He was imagining all the ways he might enjoy their lips when Doc looked at him suddenly, eyes bright and sharp.

“Will you make a snow angel with me?” Hush tilted his head inquisitively, pulling another laugh from Doc. “A snow angel - Here,” Doc took his hand, guiding him to the ground by their side, laying on their back. They demonstrated their snow angel for him, their arms and legs arcing smoothly through the patch of freshly fallen snow. Hush watched as the snow parted, leaving his Doc cradled in the wings of a crisp, clean angel. 

“Now it’s your turn,” They said, sitting up to watch him. He replicated their motions, skin tingling under their assessing eye. When he was done, Doc pulled him by the hand eagerly, their excitement giving way to unease on the unfamiliarly slippery terrain. They lost their footing, crashing sharply into Hush, sending them both toppling to the ground, scattering fresh delicate angels in the process. 

Steadying them by the waist, Hush felt the way their stomach heaved under his fingertips, breath leaving them in a surprised laugh. He recalled the way their hands felt on his chest all those weeks ago. Gentle, timid, exploratory. At the time, it had felt so foreign to him - he’d never known a touch that was kind, meant only for sender and recipient; touch that wasn’t administered by the fearful, contemptuous hand of the Chorus. Doc’s hands were warm, and the limited contact seemed to easily warm him from within in response. Now, with the weight of their chest bearing down on him from above and his fingers digging into the warmth of their sweater, Hush burned with wonder at how their hands could ever have felt so significant in comparison.

“Are you alright?” Breathless, Doc steadied themselves in a kneel next to him. Hush felt a million miles away. “Do you want to try again?”

They spent the next few minutes adjusting their form with each newly disrupted patch of snow until they were facing down two crisp, perfect snow angels. Satisfied, Doc plopped back down into the snow, finding stillness once more to admire the gentle blizzard cascading down on them. Hush laid next to them, settling easy into the snow and the comfortable silence that fell between them.

The human form had a number of weaknesses, Hush thought. Though he’d never been held back by much of anything, the vulnerabilities of the body he’d been forced to occupy on Elegy had been…an adjustment. The breakneck speed at which his life seemed to throw danger at him from all directions had forced him to dull his senses, blinding himself to the physical sensations that otherwise accompanied flesh and bone and muscle. Now, in this moment of peace, brimming with curiosity and an urge for closeness he couldn’t explain, he wanted to feel what Doc was feeling. He wanted to understand them.

He shifted his awareness inwards, sharpening his focus to the way his skin was bitten by the snow at his back and the brisk wind at his face. His mind felt heavy, limbs weighed down by cold like a thick blanket, the feeling equal parts comforting and disquieting. 

He glanced at Doc, who lay next to him in the snow. The rising chill around them had flushed their cheeks, and their chest heaved, the cause alternating between fits of gleeful laughter and physical exertion. He found his eyes drawn once again to their lips, hyper-aware of the way a smile seemed permanently fixed at the corners of their mouth. He counted the soft puffs of breath that slipped across their parted lips, clouding in the air above them, and needlessly mirrored the rise and fall of their chest with his own. A subconscious, human action, to him somehow more and less.

“This is incredible,” Doc breathed, eyes darting around as falling snowflakes caressed their features. Hush murmured his agreement, but he wasn’t sure if he was referring to the snow.

A few more moments passed in easy silence.

When Doc finally rose from the bed of snow beneath them, they longingly scanned the snow-covered park around them, eyes eventually landing on Hush as he followed them to an upright position. Clumps of soft snow clung to his hair and shoulders, dampening his clothes. 

“May I?” without waiting for a response, they leaned in slowly to brush snow from his shoulder and hair. In a subconscious motion, Hush leaned in to their warmth, turning his face towards their hand. Doc considered him for a moment, taking their turn to dissect him.

“It’s starting to get cold. You know, there are plenty of things humans do to enjoy winter indoors.” Hush looked away from them now, the flurries clearing in his mind as the gears began turning once more.

“Hmm...I’ve read that for some humans, a warm drink can be comforting during the winter months.” Hush began to stand, extending a hand to Doc to help them up. “I think I can remember a recipe for hot cocoa, which humans seem to like a lot. Do you like hot cocoa, Doc?” 

They nodded, allowing him to guide them from the ground. Returning the favor, he brushed the snow off their back. He liked learning what it took to take care of them.

“I’d really like to make some for you, if you’d like that.” Doc gingerly grabbed his arm, nestling close, cold finally settling into their bones as their damp clothes began to chill. As Doc led them back to their original path towards their apartment, Hush fell into a quiet match step beside them. The best part about silence, he thought, was perhaps the drop of a pin to set off a tidal wave of sonic vibration, upending everything in its wake. He replayed the events of Doc’s magical winter wonderland in his mind, the magic he’d created for them. Maybe they wouldn’t mind if he kept just a small piece of that magic tucked away in his mind for himself.

[justforbooks]

Things you didn't know about board games

Many of us loving playing board games and people have been playing them for millennia. Here's some fun facts about this excellent pastime

1. We have been playing board games for millennia

Chess, checkers, backgammon and Go all have origins in the ancient world. King Tut was buried with multiple sets of an Egyptian game called senet. Hundreds of pieces of Greek pottery depict Ajax and Achilles hunched over a board in the midst of play. And the Ashanti people of Ghana are believed to have created a board game called wari, which you may know as the count-and-capture game mancala.

2. It wasn’t until the 19th century that board games began to be sold commercially

The first, The Mansion of Happiness, came out in England in 1800. The “mansion” was heaven, and players raced to get there. Decades later, an American named Milton Bradley reworked— and rebranded—it as The Checkered Game of Life.

3. Ludo has roots in ancient India, where it was called pachisi

Pachisi is from the Hindi word for “twenty-five,” the highest possible outcome of a single throw. But whereas Americans only tweaked the name to Parcheesi, the British decided to call it Ludo (‘lew-doh), Latin for “I play.” So when Englishman Anthony E Pratt developed his murder-mystery board game in 1943, he called it Cluedo, playing on Ludo. (In some countries, it’s called Clue.)

4. Around the world, the colourful cast of Cluedo can look quite different

Professor Plum was originally called Dr Orange in Spain. Mr Green goes by Chef Lettuce in Chile. Mrs Peacock is Mrs Purple in Brazil and Mrs Periwinkle in France, and in Switzerland, she’s Captain Blue, a man.

5. Board games occasionally inspire screenwriters

There’s the 1985 mystery Clue, the 2012 action movie Battleship and the 2023 fantasy film Dungeons & Dragons: Honour Among Thieves.

6. At least one board game is being adapted into a television show

The game's creator was a famous French filmmaker , Albert Lamorisse, who wrote and directed the 1956 Oscar-winner The Red Balloon, also created a board game he called La Conquête du Monde (Conquest of the World).

Parker Brothers, an American toy and game manufacturer, introduced it to the US soon after, and renamed it Risk.

7. Another game inventor, Alfred Butts, called his game a couple of other names before Scrabble

Butts first called his creation Lexiko, then Criss Cross Words, before settling on Scrabble—a word that means “to hold on to something.” The hugely popular game has been translated into 29 languages and more than 150 million sets have been sold around the world.

8. Over a game of Scrabble, Canadians Chris Haney and Scott Abbott came up with the idea for their game, Trivial Pursuit

Its success launched a years-long legal battle with an American encyclopedist who claimed Haney took trivia from his books, something Haney readily admitted to doing. In the end, the courts decided you can’t steal trivia and dismissed the suit. During the 1980s, Trivial Pursuit outsold even Monopoly, racking up $800 million in sales in 1984 alone.

9. At the highest levels of play, it’s not all fake money

The winner of the World Chess Tournament takes home up to 60 per cent of the €2 million purse, with the runner-up receiving the smaller share. Even the Monopoly world champion takes home real cash: US$20,580, the amount that comes in a standard Monopoly game.

10. Arguably the wrong person is credited with the creation of Monopoly

The American who sold Monopoly to Parker Brothers in the 1930s, Charles Darrow, often receives the credit for creating the game. But it was another American, Elizabeth Magie, who, decades earlier, earned a patent for her invention, The Landlord’s Game.

Players purchased railroads, paid rent and occasionally ended up in jail. Ironically, Magie’s aim with the game was to show the evils of accumulating wealth by bankrupting others.

11. Monopoly was a polarising game in communist countries

Fidel Castro banned it in Cuba, and it was also banned in China for much of the 20th century. But an even more dramatic bit of board game history occurred during the Second World War. Since prisoners of war in Germany were allowed board games, American troops hid maps, compasses and real money inside Monopoly sets to help them escape.

12. The idea for the kids’ classic game Candy Land came from Eleanor Abbott, an American polio patient

In 1949, Abbott wanted to create something for children to play in quarantine. In fact, illness has served as game inspiration many times. In the British mobile-app-turned-board game known as Plague, players take on the role of deadly diseases trying to mutate and spread across the world. Conversely, in Pandemic, created by an American, players try to contain the spread of diseases and discover cures.

13. Thousands of new games are released each year and there's annual awards for the best

How can you tell which ones are worth buying? One reliable indicator is the Spiel des Jahres (“Game of the Year” in German), a prestigious award given each summer by a jury of (mostly German) game critics who volunteer to play and vote for the winning games. Previous award recipients include Settlers of Catan, Dominion and Ticket to Ride. 

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[feminismisstillahatemovement]

Found a saved copy of this ask from a few years back, before my original tumblr got nuked for no reason. Still stand by it:

______________________________________

Anonymous asked: Do you believe all feminists are hateful? I use the word but I just want equality, and that includes standing up for trans people, male rape victims, etc

-----------------------

No, I believe the great majority of people who identify as feminist are otherwise rational, concerned, well-meaning people who have been hoodwinked and peer-pressured into supporting a hateful, bigoted and appallingly destructive ideology by having it sold to them as a force for good through a relentless campaign of hysteria-inducing propaganda and brute force attempts to corner the market on the word ‘equality’.

On the other hand, I think the great majority of radical feminists are either profoundly damaged or sociopathic individuals seeking to project their own internal uglinesses onto the rest of the the world, people we would all avoid like the plague if they did not have this ‘we just want to help the poor defenceless women, you don’t hate women, do you?’ mask to hide behind. And the problem is, all feminist theory (’The Patriarchy’, ‘rape culture’, ‘the pay gap’, etc) originates only with radical feminists - yes, becoming more diluted as it reaches the mainstream, but still exclusively rooted in the same unhinged, irrational, ideology.

Radical feminism is not fringe feminism but core feminism: the ‘why can’t we all just get along’ feminists don’t write the books on feminist theory taught to young, impressionable minds in gender studies classes around the world, or teach those classes, or draw up the petitions to lobby for anti-male legislation, or organize feminist action groups, etc. The feminists who make a life of it (and a living off it) are all RadFems, and the proclamations pretty much every single one of them make about ‘MEN’ would sound like the most unmistakably horrific genocidal hate speech to everyone overhearing them if they were only talking about any other group of people on planet earth. If you don’t believe me, just try mentally inserting the word ‘black’ or ‘gay’ in front of the word ‘men’ the next time you read any feminist text or listen to one of them rant.

If you want equal rights and treatment for all people, there are other words you can use to describe yourself rather than ‘feminist’ - such as ‘egalitarian’ - which are far less loaded with hateful bigotry and accompanying crazed ideological assumptions about the world. You don’t need 60 years of hysterical conspiracy theories to say you don’t want women or men to be discriminated against, all you need to do is say what you think.

So my recommendation for you would simply be to express what you think and believe on your own and in your own way, without being forced to adopt the ideological framework and scaffolding of a hateful political movement with its many accompanying agendas.

Distrust the hive mind. Be yourself.

[myhauntedsalem]

Real Ghost Stories From The Military

Something in the Walls

“When I was stationed at MacDill AFB we lived in base housing and while I was TDY (temporary duty) my wife use to say she would here clanging at night. She said it was as if something was trying to escape the walls. After we moved, I found out that an Airman back in the 1950’s had killed his daughter and hid her body in the attic. He lived in the same unit we did. I never told my wife this because she would surely freak out!”

A Hostile Light

“This happened at Malmstrom AFB in Montana. Sometime in November, one coworker said he was checking a site (I can’t remember which one) when he spotted a single bright light moving around a farmer’s field outside the restricted area. It started to move towards the site, and he assumed it was hunters with a spotlight. He got on the loudspeaker of his vehicle and gave a warning not to approach the site. Immediately, the light went 0 to 60 directly at their vehicle. The vehicle abruptly turned off, the engine, radio and headlights dying.

He managed to scream into his handheld radio ‘they are going to ram us!’ as his alpha departed the vehicle in a hurry. He threw himself flat across the seat for impact, which never happened because the light appeared to stop on a dime, just short of striking their vehicle. When he sat up, the light was retreating away from them, and quickly moved away till it vanished over a hill. The vehicle suddenly came back to life, engine restarting on its own. How he didn’t soil his shorts, I have no idea.”

The Girl

“If you want military ghost stories just ask any military police that’s been around a while. We tend to see really weird crap late at night. Especially around places were there has been a lot of warfare and death. Like in Germany and in old hospitals. In Babenhausen, around the elementary school, there was always this particular area around the rear that would creep me the hell out when I would walk around doing security checks at night. It always seemed as though I was being watched.

In 99 I found a side door to the school open. I radioed for another unit and backed up several feet to a corner to observe the door. It took 20-30 minutes for my backup to arrive. I had a wall to my back and could see down the side of the building to the corner, about 70 or more feet. I was staring straight ahead and saw a figure appear at the far corner. It didn’t come around the corner or anything. It just appeared. It was a young female, 9-12 years old, wearing a red jacket or cloak of an old style. Maybe 20’s thru 50’s style. It must have been about 0200 or so. I started forward and told the figure that it was late and she needed to go home. And she just vanished. I sprinted forward to the corner to see if she had run around the edge. The area was open and I got there less than ten seconds after she disappeared and she was nowhere to be seen. I shined my Surefire around the building and didn’t locate her.

I went back to my position, and when my backup got there they cleared the building. They said they had heard noise in the gym like someone bouncing a basketball but no one was inside. They did find a basketball in the gym though. I told them what I had seen, and my team leader just laughed and said a lot of stuff goes on there at night.”

Ghosts of the Crow Creek Massacre

crow creek massacre 1325“F.E. Warren Air Force Base in Cheyenne, WY is extremely haunted. Not only is there the ghosts of soldiers who once served here, but there is also Crow Creek running through the base, right where the Crow Creek Massacre occurred.

My fiance was walking around at midnight one night, down a dirt road running alongside the creek, when he heard the screams of women and children. He described it as sounding faint, but like it was coming from right next to him. Buildings that are under construction, including a building said to be contaminated with polio, has been the site of many instances of believed paranormal activity. Strange noises have been heard and there have been possible sightings of a figure in the window. Women’s desperate screams have been heard at the FamCamp, but when Security Forces investigated the screams would shift and seem to come from a different location. The base was established in 1867, so it is very old and has been the site of many occurrences of solider apparitions dressed in full Calvary uniform from their time. There are many more stories that come from this base, and I would love to see it get investigate and see some solid proof.”

[episodicnostalgia]

Star Trek: The Next Generation, 113 (Jan. 23, 1988) - “Angel One”

Written by: Patrick Barry Directed by: Michael Rhodes

The Breakdown

The Enterprise picks up on a distress signal from a freighter called ‘The Odin’ that went missing a few years back, so they decide to check out the nearest M-Class planet (ie, capable of sustaining life) to see if the survivors made it that far.  It turns out they did, but the problem is the survivors all happened to be men, and the planet they landed on is run by a matriarchal oligarchy that objectifies the males, and believes they should accept their place as slutty-play-things-without-rights.  Naturally the Odin survivors (being enlightened federation folk) take issue with this on-the-nose-metaphor, and go public with their opinions, resulting in a social justice movement (which we are told about but never actually see). 

Beata (The ‘Elected-one’ aka the ruler), agrees to let the Odin survivors go, since that would silence the dissenters, but not before getting Riker to spend the night with her, which he’s all-too-happy to oblige (she may be a misandrist, but Riker will not pass up on some perfectly good… diplomatic relations).  While Riker flounces around in a pretty little get up (all an essential part of the diplomacy), Tasha and Deanna talk to the survivors who refuse to leave since they have families now.  Their unwillingness to leave results in a death sentence, to which Riker is like, “Fuck this, lets just beam everyone out of here”.  Unfortunately the Enterprise is having it's own issues.

Back on the ship, a nasty virus has broken out, which has incapacitated most of the crew  (There’s also some stuff about Romulans, but none of that really amounts to anything) Anyways, since beaming everyone to the Ship is out of the question, and the executions are imminent, Riker makes a nice little speech to Beata about how “evolving world views are necessary for any civilization and maybe don’t be so mean to your men?” Somehow that works, and Beata decides to stay the executions on the condition that the survivors-and-their-families all go far away to a less pleasant continent (where they’ll be too busy surviving to worry about human rights). She reasons that if she can’t stop change at least she can slow it to a crawl, and everyone is like “Yay, what a progressive sentiment.” The end.

The Verdict

I’m not sure sure where to start with this episode, but I guess I’d have to say that the script just seems clueless. We’re shown a sexist matriarchy that is seemingly meant to mimic our own patriarchy, but it’s so broad that it fails to capture any nuance whatsoever. It’s also pretty telling that the feminine coded men of Angel One are all written as vapid, jealous, emotional, and devoid of any real agency; not unlike most of the women characters from this season so far. It’s well known that the women cast struggled with how their characters were portrayed, especially during the earlier seasons. I don’t know if ‘Angel One’ was one of the offending episodes, but it certainly throws its weight towards confirming the pattern.

1 star (out of 5)

Stray observations

Remember folks. It’s okay to hook up with a brazenly sexist dictator if they’re hot.

Tasha thinks Riker looks sexy in his skimpy-frilly-outfit and states it outright. Now I’m not one for kink shaming, but that’s not a very professional thing to say to your commanding officer.

Geordie gets to sit in the Captains chair. Nice.

Season-one-Worf is kind of adorable, like a pitbull. He’s big and strong looking, but just a teddy bear deep down. His scenes with Geordie on the bridge are so wholesome.

The prime directive sure is confusing. I thought the rule was that any pre-warp society is off limits, but Angel One is said to be equivalent to our mid-to-late 20th century. Apparently, the federation made contact with them 60 years ago, and that was okay because it didn’t involve a starship? I feel like the Prime Directive must have been a concept the writers were still figuring out. Then again, the Federation does seem to have some fairly arbitrary rules.

[virtie333]

One Year Ago

I almost didn't post this. I wrote it for catharsis, but a friend said I should post it as it may help others. I can count on one hand the number of people who know about this. I don't know, maybe I'll delete it....

One year ago today, while cleaning Chester’s paddock, I made plans.

A few days earlier, I had received an email from my brother-in-law that involved some very hurtful and offensive accusations. My sister responded a few days after that, but not with an apology. She defended him, and added her own opinions.

When someone you have loved and trusted your whole life essentially says you are worthless, then it must be true.

So, the next day, I made plans.

I would have to complete my will, first. I would have to make sure Chester went to a local rescue. He wasn’t ridable and though I know a friend might take him as a ‘pasture pet,’ if push comes to shove and they ran short on money, he would be the first to go. The rescue would care for him, and I would make sure that if ever they could no longer do so, they would euthanize him.

My brother would get the other animals and all my belongings. He could sell my truck, trailer, etc. and use the funds to care for my dog Jackson, my cat Rodney, and Stache, the barn cat I had just brought home from work a month earlier. He would take care and love them.

It would have to look like an accident so my life insurance would pay out. God forbid my sister would have to pay for my funeral! I am an avid hiker, and there are trails very close that follow the canyon rim, with a 60 to 100 foot drop straight down. I usually hike with Jackson, but I could say I was leaving him home because he was sore. It would be very easy to slip while checking out the view. It’s happened before up there.

Could I actually do it? Was I brave enough? It was the only way. And I needed to do it soon.

That was my plan.

But wait. I can’t do it right away. Moon Knight just started, and I waited so long for this show and it’s even better than I had hoped and only two episodes have aired so far. I really want to see the rest. It takes my mind off the pain. I’ll wait.

Then I started posting a new story I had written. I didn’t think it would be very popular, as it was very different from my last, popular one, but I have loyal readers. I can’t just leave it unfinished, and have them wondering what happened to me. And I can’t post it all at once, because that will give away the fact that it was planned. So, I’ll wait.

An acquaintance that hated Moon Knight complained and criticized it over and over and I finally broke. I said things. I don’t regret them, because they were the truth, but I immediately became the villain to the rest of the group. Once more, I was reminded that I was unimportant, that my thoughts and feelings were inconsequential. How could I tell them? How could I explain this show literally kept me alive?

So, I waited.

A spark of hope. My brother and I worked toward a future we could both live with. I prayed, and found that I began to believe again for the first time in a long time. The story I was posting, the one I thought would not do well, became my greatest hit. Not only did its success thrill me, but once again, I had something to thank for keeping me alive.

Though low on funds, I made a trip west, to California, to meet up with my best friends in the world. They were the only people I told about my plans. They made sure to let me know how grateful they were I hadn’t followed through. I loved every minute of Galaxy’s Edge and I continued to hope for a better future. And I waited.

The hope was realized just before Christmas. My future wasn’t as dark and scary as it had been. Unfortunately, the loss of Rodney just before New Years kept me down. I was still depressed and full of non-stop anxiety, and on the anniversary of my mother’s death, I once more started falling into that darkness. I left a group I cared a great deal about because I realized a lot of my anxiety was coming from there; it’s hard caring more about people than they do about you. I bawled my eyes out while I clicked that ‘leave’ button, but I don’t regret it. It’s been over two months and only two people have even noticed I left. That says something right there.

Now, for the first time since Tariq got very sick in November 2020, I actually have the desire to do things. I’m not working and writing just to keep sane. I’m reading again. I’m playing with Chester. I’m taking Jackson on walks. I’m going back to mass, not because I have to but because I want to. I still resent my brother-in-law, and I’m still waiting for an apology from my sister, but I’m not holding my breath. I’m still alone. I’m still uncertain of my worth. But I have my animals, including two new cats, and my home. I have plans. New plans. Better plans.

One year ago today, while cleaning Chester’s paddock, I made plans.

But today I’m alive. And I’m happy. All because I waited.

Don’t give up. Things WILL get better.

[pebiejeebies]

Soo I wanna talk about my (possibly) chronic illness, because I’m so tired of this.

My reason to self diagnose: I have to self diagnose, my dad doesn’t believe in “disorders and disabilities (specifically ones like chronic illness, he normalized it in such a horrific way, it made me feel like I was an odd one out when I realized how healthy everyone else is)” *please don’t hate him, we don’t have money for much things anyways, it’s fine*

If you hate self diagnosis, just leave and spare both of us,

For now I wanna talk about what makes me feel like I have chronic illness, and that is literally being sick, I’ll be generally talking about everything painful/tiring that has been affecting me for over a year now..

TW: Mentions self harm/hate, gore, of gag/spit/vomit, dizziness, unease, etc. if you are sensitive to this topic please read at your own risk,,

Let’s start, so lately ive been accidentally swallowing mucus, all day, all night, to the point I have to breathe from my mouth, which COMPLETELY destroys my smell and taste. Especially when I get the common cold..

Barely any mucus comes from my nose, it’s almost ALWAYS my throat and saliva, to the point I started to think my saliva and mucus have been completely combined now. Like.. literally.

my breath always stinks, minty tastes really sucks and I hate toothpaste, I hate the mint and the texture, I’ve tried some things like these little bottles of meds for the cold, but they NEVER worked.

I almost always have a headache, my heartbeat has went from my normal 60/70bpm to 90/120 min/max.. and I always get voice changes, sometimes too deep, sometimes too high, and sometimes I lose my voice.

AND YOU KNOW WHATS FUNNY?! I LOVE SINGING. ITS LITERALLY MY SPECIALTY, MY ONLY TALENT THAT I CAN DO WITHOUT ABANDONING IT LIKE THE REST OF MY FAILED TALENTS, AND IT FUCKING SUCKS SO MUCH WHEN MY VOICE CHANGES.

I’m sorry.

back to my point, when I cry, I feel like my mucus explodes from everywhere, my throat, nose, eyes, and when I blow my nose too hard it hurts my ears for a while.

I’m so tired, I can barely run, I don’t wanna say I have asthma, but maybe I’m just not energetic and lazy.. or something.. and I CANT. I repeat.. I CANT. SLEEP.

It’s almost physically impossible (unless I stay up for too long to the point I slowly faint to sleep, which has been normal now for me)

did I mention my constipation? (Maybe this isn’t related, I’m just curious what makes someone chronically ill, especially since I’ve had constipation for around a year now)

I can’t sleep, smell, sing, cry (I hate crying so much, it’s become so terrifying and horrible) laugh, (cause all the mucus chokes me and makes me gag and almost vomit.

oh how I wish I could just rip out my throat and replace my nose and throat for a working one. How I wish I could breathe normally, to smell, to sing properly, to walk properly without my legs hurting or straining, to laugh and cry without choking and gagging, spitting mucus in the bathroom for what seems like 30 minutes, to think properly without a headache, to feel NORMAL again. It’s been a year or two now. Cant I just feel like a normal person again?

God why do I turn everything into a fucking vent.

Edit: does this mean I am chronically ill?

[littleboatangel]

Right so I live in the south, right? And of course, yes, I suffer all the slings and arrows and curses of being a trans masculine individual in Florida, but you know what? I’m tired of looking up “transmasc outfits” trying to figure out how to dress in a way that won’t make me want to peel my skin off, and:

(More rant and a shorts recommendation beneath the cut)

Only seeing pants. We have a heat index of over 110° and you’re telling me to wear pants???? I understand that these are just general outfit ideas but I’ve spent the last five years trying to fight my body dysmorphia and dysphoria to put on a pair of shorts. Just a simple pair of shorts.

Price. Maybe I’m just barking up the wrong tree, or maybe I’m just cheap. I’m not spending $60 on a pair of jeans and you know what? You shouldn’t either. If I’m spending that much on a pair of jeans that I will never wear because it’s too fucking hot where I live, they better make me feel like I’m the shit.

The people I see modelling the clothes. (Every single model I see is white. That shouldn’t be a problem for me, considering that I am white, but that’s also a discussion for another time and can probably be better vocalised by someone of colour.) Every model is super skinny. They fit perfectly into the stereotypical anorexic super skinny and hairless transmasc picture that’s been perpetuated over the years. Now, I’m pre everything—but hopeful—so I can’t say that everything I’m going to say is accurate, but…last I heard testosterone causes weight gain and hair growth. And like I said I’ve never been on t—yet—but I’m also not super skinny. I’ve got some weight on me. A lot of its working muscle so I’m not exactly toned. I used to hate my arms so much but I was also lifting 150+ lbs boats on the regular. I used to hate my thighs, but I used to do a lot of running and when my knees gave out, I started biking instead. I used to hate my body hair, I used to shave every night, but at some point I saw that “everybody has body hair dipshit, it came free with your fucking endocrine system” meme and then I started to view it as a nonissue. But seeing this stereotype when I was just trying to find clothes that fit me honestly hurt and brought back a lot of bad thoughts. For those of you who are struggling, you’re not going to be happier if you lose weight, people are not going to misgendered you less if you lose weight. Sure, you may not exactly feel content in your skin, but be thankful for what you have. Your body is a fragile thing and you need to be gentle on it. You don’t have to love your body, you just need to be neutral. You’ll get there someday, I believe in you.

Okay, enough of a rant. You want transmasc shorts? You’re going to head down to your local Walmart (yes, I also hate Walmart) and find the men’s clothing section. It’s summer as of when I’m posting this, so they should have shorts out. The wrangler men’s stretch cargo shorts. I wear them to work and I work as a dockhand—outside. Pockets are big, fabric is durable, and they run from a size 30 to a size 50. And guess what? They’re only about $20.