#flowers for hitler

[erunderovercast]

Flowers for Hitler, L Cohen

[totallyfuckd]

I loved you in blouses. I rubbed sun-tan lotion on your back and other parts. I did this in all seasons. I loved you in old fashioned garters. I wanted to make a brown photograph about you and pass it around cloakrooms. I would have snatched it away from someone and beat up his face.

Cohen, Leonard. “The Pure List and the Commentary”. Flowers for Hitler. Toronto: McClelland & Stewart Limited, 1964. Print.

[manwalksintobar]

What I'm Doing Here // Leonard Cohen

I do not know if the world has lied I have lied I do not know if the world has conspired against love I have conspired against love The atmosphere of torture is no comfort I have tortured Even without the mushroom cloud still I would have hated Listen I would have done the same things even if there were no death I will not be held like a drunkard under the cold tap of facts I refuse the universal alibi

Like an empty telephone booth passed at night and remembered like mirrors in a movie palace lobby consulted only on the way out like a nymphomaniac who binds a thousand into strange brotherhood I wait for each one of you to confess

[lastyears-man]

Flowers for Hitler, 1964

[unwashedace]

I have been working on this sweater since the end of May. It's both a gift & a prototype for another project I want to work on later next year. I am thrilled with how it came out in person and less impressed with how I couldn't find any of my tripods so that I could adequately document this sweater before shipping it overseas. This lousy photo does not do it justice. 

I am delighted to finally be cleaning up all the thread and pins that have been creating chaos in my bedroom at 4 AM most nights/mornings. 

The sweatshirt was thrifted and the letters were cut out of old bedsheets.

Words were taken from a poem by Leonard Cohen in his book Flowers for Hitler. 

[naipan]

THE MUSIC CREPT BY US

I would like to remind

the management

that the drinks are watered

and the hat-check girl

has syphilis

and the band is composed

of former SS monsters

However since it is

New Year’s Eve

and I have lip cancer

I will place my

paper hat on my

concussion and dance

- Leonard Cohen

from ‘Flowers For Hitler’

[gaypexredditor]

leonard cohen

[gatheringbones]

best books I read in 2023:

sophie strand, the flowering wand: rewilding the sacred masculine

alex iantaffi, gender trauma: healing cultural, social, and historical gendered trauma

matthew desmond, evicted: poverty and profit in the american city

betty dodson, sex for one: the joy of selfloving

ching-in chen, andrea smith, jai dulani, the revolution starts at home: confronting intimate partner violence within activist communities

robin stern, the gaslight effect: how to spot and survive the hidden manipulation others use to control your life

nick turse, kill anything that moves: the real american war in vietnam

lori fox, this has always been a war: the radicalization of a working class queer

arline t. geronimus, weathering: the extraordinary stress of ordinary life in an unjust society

roxanne dunbar-ortiz, not a nation of immigrants: settler colonialism, white supremacy, and a history of erasure and exclusion

eyal press, dirty work: essential jobs and the hidden toll of inequality in america

rabbi danya ruttenberg, on repentence and repair: making amends in an unapologetic world

michelle dowd, forager: field notes for surviving a family cult

starhawk, the empowerment manual: a guide for collaborative groups

betty dodson, orgasms for two: the joy of partnersex

timothy snyder, black earth: the holocaust as history and warning

kidada e. williams, I saw death coming: a history of terror and survival in the war against reconstruction

judy grahn, another mother tongue: gay words, gay worlds

jennifer m. silva, coming up short: working-class adulthood in an age of uncertainty

susanna clarke, piranesi

megan asaka, seattle from the margins: exclusion, erasure, and the making of a pacific coast city

starhawk, truth or dare: encounters with power, authority, and mystery

laura jane grace, tranny: confessions of punk rock’s most infamous anarchist sellout

molly smith, revolting prostitutes: the fight for sex worker's rights

richard c. schwartz, you are the one you've been waiting for: applying internal family systems to intimate relationships

timothy snyder, our malady: lessons in liberty from a hospital diary

peter levine, trauma and memory: brain and body in search for the living past

kylie cheung, survivor injustice: state-sanctioned abuse, domestic violence, and the fight for bodily autonomy

timothy snyder, bloodlands: europe between hitler and stalin

joan larkin, a woman like that: lesbian and bisexual writers tell their coming out stories

cj cherryh, hammerfall

[ruby-winchester24]

Craig Tucker headcanons!

{sfw+nsfw} {fem reader}

when you first met Craig your freshman year of high school you were put off by his “i don’t give a fuck” demeanor

but after getting to know him, you found out he was just a sweet kid with many walls

when you first started dating it came as a surprise to the school, that Craig wasn’t fully gay

Tweek was hurt at first to see his past lover move on but he decided to move on also

he is extremely territorial of you, he hates when other men try to talk to you

during football games he can’t stop staring at you on the sidelines in your cheerleading uniform

for homecoming week you wore his jersey for there homecoming game and he was smitten

pda is sometimes okay, he likes to hold your hand out waist when you walk

he is a secret admirer, even when you are dating he will sit there and admire your beauty

writes love notes to you for every month anniversary

since stripe passed away you guys got a new guinea pig and named him spot

his love language is physical touch, he loves holding you close

is super big on cuddles, every time you hang out there is a cuddle sesh

says i love you in the first month because he is smitten with you

plays with your hair

the first time you ever saw him cry is when you had your first fight,

it scared you at first because you have never seen him so vulnerable 

“the reason why i am upset is because they don’t have good intentions, they want to use you!”

“your the only person i love, i would give you the whole world if i could”

comforting him was a little bit of a struggle because you didn’t know how

when you cry it’s the same for him

he doesn’t know how to respond to your emotions

ok Fridays you and Craig’s gang hang out at Tolkien’s house because he rich, and they have a pool

you and Jimmy are besties 👯

he loves when he lays on your chest so you run your hands through his hair

is actually a very extroverted person when you get to know him better

6’3, fucker is tall

when he kisses you he holds your head with both of his hands on each side of your head

always updates you on what’s happening when your not in class together

“dude Cartman just swung at Kyle”

“ wtf why💀”

“because remember how we have a presentation about WWII?”

“yeah..?”

“well Cartmans presentation was about hitler being right about jews and shit like that and obvi pissed kyle off and he just swung out of nowhere and it was great”

“damn i wish i had history with you guys😭”

late night drives are very common for you, it’s when you can be alone and talk about anything

always kisses your neck or forehead

when you are stressed he will rub your back until you fall asleep

he loves movies and makes you watch them with him

is you do any activities, he is always there with a smile on your face watching your every move

for valentine’s day he gets you a huge bouquet of your favorite flowers and a poem he wrote for you

he sells vapes for easy money

gives you free ones if you want any

his family really likes you

his mom always tells you stories of when he was young, and you guys always gossip🤭

his dad thinks your a good match for his son

Tricia really likes you and asks to hang out with you guys all the time

Craig usually says no😞

your name for him in his phone is “Mrs Tucker🫶🏼”

will always listen to what you have to say he is more of a listener then anything

when he gives you a sweater of his or a stuffed animal, he sprays his cologne on it

he loves when you wear his hat he thinks it looks so cute on you

always tells you how beautiful you look, it is an everyday occurrence

he sees you being together for a long time in the future but he doesn’t want to say anything to jinx it

he really likes eye contact, it feels so sensual to him

tells you all about his hyper fixations, aka all the space facts he knows

always asks if you ate today

is extremely good at reading people and knows exactly when your upset

“hun what is wrong?”

“nothing is”

“yes, something made you upset your shoulders got tense”

“you know me too well”

his parents are pretty layed back so they let you have sleepovers

once his dad flipped you off and it scared the shit out of you because you thought you did something wrong

almost all the photos you have together, Craig’s flipping off the camera🤦🏽‍♀️

he really likes to lift it helps relieve stress

he has a photo of you in his car, locker, phone case and room

you made a scrapbook of all the things you have done together, it contains dried flowers, the love notes he gives you, pictures of you guys and special dates

he def listens to R&B

always play fights with you, he usually body slams you on the bed

when you facetime him he always puts spot on the phone so he can say hi to his mom

you babysit Tricia whenever his parents are away and Craig is busy

she loves you though so it’s always a win win

if you ever ask Craig to be in a Tiktok with you it always takes you begging him for 19 straight minutes

when he snaps you it’s always a photo of him doing this face 😐

he loves the simple things in life like taking a walk or a picnic with you

calls you Mrs Tucker in front of his friends

if anyone tries to flirt with you he will go psycho

he will rip that guy a new one and swing, and yes it’s happened before

he hums or taps his finger to a beat when concentrating

he loves music and has a collection of vinyl records

sometimes he will put on his Frank Sinatra vinyl and you guys will slow dance

NSFW!!

he is a dom 100%

low key a sadist, he is also very kinky (it’s always the quite ones)

he loves to see you a wimpering mess begging to be touched by him

his favorite is edging

to see you so excited about your release but then being able to take it away makes him feral

6’5 inches but he is pretty girthy

he loves toys, especially paddles

brat tamer all the way

if you have been bad he will bend you over his knee and make you count and say thank you after each spank

he is not lacking muscle, god no, his arms are very defined and he has a great v line and soft abs

is very rough during sex usually

if he is in a very romantic mood it will be slow and passionate

he loves to mark you up, especially on your thighs

loves degrading you,

“god your such a slut”

“you stupid whore, you like it when i fuck you senseless, yeah?”

“be quite slut, you don’t want to be punished, huh?”

loves face fucking

his favorite position is doggy style because he can pull your hair and arch your back

is very into bondage and always practices on you

when he does he makes sure to be careful the first time to make sure it’s safe, if he hurt you he would never forgive himself

nipple clamps are also one of his favorites and gags

he loves to see you tied up, a submissive mess, begging to cum

his favorite part about you is your boobs and stomach

loves to be called sir or daddy

when you first did he swore he almost died because of how hard he came

really likes to go raw, he loves how it feels and really likes to cum on your face

when you suck him off he holds your head so he can be in control

loves to give you head, usually overstimulates you on purpose

“p-please sir i c-can’t anymore!”

“yes you can, i need to taste you again”

aftercare is usually really sweet

he usually apologizes if he went to far or said something that hurt your feelings

will get you water and ibuprofen incase your sore

he will get you all cleaned up and dress you

holds you in his arms with a grip of steel

kisses your forehead and your lips

.

.

i really enjoyed writing this, and i’m always open to requests i love writing for you guys. i hope you enjoyed this❤️

[kvetchlandia]

Richard Avedon Allen Ginsberg, New York City 1963

Aunt Rose—now—might I see you with your thin face and buck tooth smile and pain of rheumatism—and a long black heavy shoe for your bony left leg limping down the long hall in Newark on the running carpet past the black grand piano in the day room where the parties were and I sang Spanish loyalist songs in a high squeaky voice (hysterical) the committee listening while you limped around the room collected the money— Aunt Honey, Uncle Sam, a stranger with a cloth arm in his pocket and huge young bald head of Abraham Lincoln Brigade

—your long sad face your tears of sexual frustration (what smothered sobs and bony hips under the pillows of Osborne Terrace) —the time I stood on the toilet seat naked and you powdered my thighs with calamine against the poison ivy—my tender and shamed first black curled hairs what were you thinking in secret heart then knowing me a man already— and I an ignorant girl of family silence on the thin pedestal of my legs in the bathroom—Museum of Newark.

Aunt Rose

Hitler is dead, Hitler is in Eternity; Hitler is with Tamburlane and Emily Brontë

Though I see you walking still, a ghost on Osborne Terrace down the long dark hall to the front door limping a little with a pinched smile in what must have been a silken flower dress welcoming my father, the Poet, on his visit to Newark —see you arriving in the living room dancing on your crippled leg and clapping hands his book had been accepted by Liveright

Hitler is dead and Liveright’s gone out of business The Attic of the Past and Everlasting Minute are out of print Uncle Harry sold his last silk stocking Claire quit interpretive dancing school Buba sits a wrinkled monument in Old Ladies Home blinking at new babies

last time I saw you was the hospital pale skull protruding under ashen skin blue veined unconscious girl in an oxygen tent the war in Spain has ended long ago Aunt Rose

-- Allen Ginsberg, "To Aunt Rose" 1961

[yanaromanov]

close to your heart

- rosie betzler x daughter reader

summary: rosie comforts her daughter, hesitant about leaving for her training weekend, and gives her a gift to always remember her by.

warning(s): WWII era, mentions of nazis and hitler etc., war talk, slight mention of bullying, tiny bit of angst but mostly just fluff and comfort, reader is jojo’s twin sister (age 10)

authors note: there are barely any rosie fics out there and that’s criminal so i wrote one. ps, i need her to give me a hug rn.

3.2K words

The face that stares back at you in the mirror isn’t one you quite recognise. It seems to have fallen that way over the last year, fading away to a person you didn’t entirely know. Perhaps it was added to by the attire you now adorned, the tan blazer and black skirt sitting oddly against your skin, the white shirt underneath itching at the nape of your neck. You missed the summer dresses your mother often dressed you in, the cardigans patterned with embroidered flowers or the blouses in beautiful pale colours. Now it was all stripped away to a dull uniform, your girly flowers replaced by the red jungvolk symbol stitched into the arm of your coat. It was the image of everything your twin brother loved, and everything you were so unsure about.

“Do you have everything ready, my love?”

The voice startles you from your thoughts, your head spinning from your reflection where you stood previously examining your outfit. But when you spy the owner of the voice, your tensed shoulders loosen, greeted by a soft and familiar face.

“Ja, mama,” your reply, smiling back as the blonde-haired woman walks further into your room. Her eyes glance over you, then to the desk to your left.

“Do I need to check there are more than just books in that satchel or can I trust you this time?”

Your eyes follow to the brown satchel that sits upon the wooden desk, previously packed the night before for your expedition that weekend. Despite your brother having been packed for weeks, it had taken you longer to get round to it, your excitement barren compared to his. Still now, you push a smile on to your face, looking up at your mother.

“There are more than just books. I promise.”

She looks down on you with a playfully suspicious eye, a giggle stifling itself in your throat. “Alright, I’ll believe you this time.”

As a smile creeps on to her lips, her delicate fingers find the rolled neckerchief around your collar, adjusting the woven woggle until it sits perfectly straight against your shirt. She picks an invisible piece of dust from your shoulder before her hands land atop of them, eyes glinting down on you. “Come, I’ll do your hair for you.”

Her head nods in the direction of her bedroom, just across the hall from yours, as she turns away. Guided by a hand grasping hers, you follow your mother until the pair of you stand inside her room, your eyes momentarily fluttering over the comforting patterns and colours the decorations held. In front of the mirror, you take a seat on the small cushioned stool, looking over your shoulder as your mother reaches into the drawer you know she keeps all of her beauty supplies. It’s off limits to you for now but she says she’ll teach you everything there is to know about makeup and being a woman once you’re old enough, something you can only hope comes sooner rather than later.

When your mom returns with the hair brush in her hand, you swivel back around in your spot. You watch in the reflection as she begins to pull the bristles through your hair, humming a nonsensical tune as she frees you from any knots. “Your hair is getting so long, huh?” she muses from behind as she pulls your hair back from your face, intertwining strands to form two long braids down your back. You simply watch in a peaceful silence as she continues to hum to herself, just as much concentrated on your mother’s face as the work of her fingers. No matter what, it always seemed like she was able to appear put together, perpetually beautiful even doing the most mundane of tasks.

When your braids are completed, neatly running over your shoulders, your mother reaches across to the dresser. Atop, sit two small ribbons which she pulls between her fingers, previously unnoticed by your eye. From behind, she lifts up one braid at a time, tying the ribbon around the bottom until she places them both at the front, two perfect little bows in place. The blonde’s head comes to rest upon yours, both of your eyes meeting in the reflection of the mirror. She smiles widely as she looks back at you. “Beautiful.”

A small kiss is placed on the crown of your head before your mother turns away, returning to her dresser and the secret beauty drawer it holds. While she tidies away, your eyes remain fixed on your reflection. For a moment, your fingers reach up to touch the small ribbons in your hair, the material soft and silky against your skin. Then they drop to your lap, a small sigh exiting your lips. The distraction of your mother’s soft touch has now gone, your mind fading back to the small distress it found looking at yourself just ten minutes before.

It seems with your sigh, you show more expression that you intended, and with it, you cause your mother to turn in her spot. Her eye meets you again in the mirror, her smile quickly dropping into a perturbed frown. “Why such a long face, hm?” she asks, closing the gap between you both as she comes to stand behind you. “You don’t think I did a good job?”

Immediately, you shake your head, forcing a smile onto your face. “No, you did, mama.”

But this isn’t any old person you’re trying to fool. Your mother knows you like the back of her own hands, and sees straight through your forced happiness. “Then why do you look so sad?”

With her words, your expression drops once more. Your eyebrows dip as your lips fall into a pout, your gaze dropping to your lap and the pair of anxious hands that rest there. “I don’t want to go, mama.”

The words ring out familiar, something you’d not only already told your mother, but also yourself a hundred times over. The training weekend was supposed to be a great trip for the jungvolk, a chance to learn real skills surrounded by professional soldiers, but the entire idea of it made you feel rather sick to your stomach. Going to school alone made you feel a slight homesickness, longing to return back home with each hour you spent away, so the concept of an entire weekend spent out in the forest sounded almost unbearable. Perhaps it was just the idea of being away from your mother for so long that made your stomach churn, a longing attachment to her lingering around your head ever since you’d been a small child, something the other girls at school hadn’t missed out on and found opportunity to pick on you for. The entire thing wasn’t helped by the fact your brother was a complete fanatic, entirely devoted to the jungvolk and non-stop going on about the weekend and how much fun it was going to be. You, on the other hand, just couldn’t wait to be back home.

A small sigh escapes your mother’s lips as your statement befalls her ears. You feel her move beside you, then in your peripheral see her kneeling down on the carpet in front of you. “I know, darling,” she says, voice gentle. “But you have to. Who else is going to look after your brother, hm?”

You scoff as you raise your eyes to meet hers, scowling slightly as you look at her gently smiling face. “Jojo will just be with his stupid friends the whole time. And he says I can’t hang out with them because I’m a girl.”

Your mother clicks her tongue. “Ah, yes. Well, boys are stupid. A sad fact us smart girls have to learn.”

You know she’s trying to joke, trying to make you smile, but this morning it’s not in your heart. It hurts a little to ignoring her playfully smirking face, one that always has you creasing at the corners of your eyes, but still your eyes fall back to your lap, your expression returning to the sad frown the planned expedition has caused.

You hear your mother let out a small sigh, adjusting herself where she sits as a hand reaches out for one of yours, grasping and squeezing ever so gently with silken soft skin. “Maybe this weekend you can make a friend of your own, hm? Finally find someone to talk to besides your books?”

You know your mother’s words are coming from a place of warmth but still they manage to twist the knife in your gut. You’d always struggled to make friends, the girls at school never quite accepting you and always finding a reason to holler a mean comment your way. “Maybe,” you mutter under your breath, knowing that the likelihood of her proposition was next to none. The fact all the girls from your school were also attending the training weekend was just another reason for your hesitation to go. Now trying to fight back small tears that pool at the corners of your eyes, you look back up from your lap. “Why can’t I just stay here with you, mama?”

Rosie gives you that motherly look she so often does, soft but assertive. “Darling, we talked about this,” she says, head tilting, the previously spoken conversation seemingly translating through her eyes. “Besides, I have things to do while you’re away.”

You frown. “What things?”

“Mama things,” she replies, eyebrows raising.

Her response only seems to deepen your troubled expression. “You’re always doing mama things.”

Rosie sighs, adjusting herself where she kneels on the floor. “Well I have to do mama and papa things now, hm,” she hums, trying to meet your gaze that has fallen away from her face. “It’s not so easy keeping you and your brother fed, especially since he’s decided he’s the man of the house and should eat as such.”

Another joke, another one of your mother’s attempts to make you laugh. The memory of your brother’s demands surfaces in your mind, dictating that as a ‘man’ he should get a bigger portion than you because you were just a ‘little girl’. An argument had of course ensued over the fact he was only fourteen minutes older than you and that he wasn’t a man, just a little boy too. The memory of it all is one you know your mom has brought up to make you laugh, but your mind instead sticks to the previous comment befallen from her lips.

It’s been almost three years since your father had been conscripted for the war, and over two years since you’d received your last letter from him. Your mama told you constantly he was doing what he could, fighting to end the war so he could come home to all of you. But every day his absence seemed to hurt a little more, like a thousand needles poking at your little aching heart.

“I miss papa.”

The words are uttered to your lap, the tears threatening to fall off the cusp of your waterline. There’s a sound from your mother that echoes out, almost a gasp but somehow gentler. Then another, a sigh, as you hear her stand to her feet. A pair of hands reach out for yours, pulling gently and tugging you to your feet. As you stand, long arms envelope you in an embrace, one of your mother’s hands coming to rest on the back of your head. You bury yourself into her warmth as she sways gently, holding you close. “Me too, little cub,” she whispers softly. “Me too.”

For a moment, you simply bask in the comfort of her touch, hidden away in her arms from a world you didn’t want to face. “He’ll be home soon, right?”

You're pulled away from the hug, your mother holding on to your shoulders as she smiles down at you. "Very soon, my darling." Her words are meant as a comfort but you're old enough now to know they're not strong in truth, the same promise uttered to you over more months than you could care to count. Still, you take this moment to pretend to yourself that this time it is true, that very soon your family will be reunited once more.

It seems your mother must notice your still solace expression as her hands move to your own. She grabs hold gently as she turns you, guiding you towards her bed. "Here, sit," she says. You follow her instructions, sitting yourself on the edge of the mattress, watching as your mother crosses the room. You try your best to see around her as she rakes through a drawer in her desk, moments later returning with something hidden in her hand. "I was going to save this for your birthday but I think now might be a better time for you to have it." You watch intently as she kneels next to you, eyes focused on her clasped hand and whatever it may be concealing. "Plus, I think it might give you some strength for this weekend."

Curiously, you watch as her hand extends out to you, her fingers unfurling to reveal whatever gift she may have. When you spy what it is, a soft gasp elicits from your throat, eyes trained on the alluring glint radiated by the golden metal sat in your mother's open palm. You notice her smile from the corner of your eye as she reads your face. "You remember this?" she asks and you nod quickly.

A small hand reaches out to touch the piece of jewelry bundled up in her hand, fingers tracing along the chain and then the shape of the metal. "Your old locket," you reply, voice barely above a whisper as you admire the necklace, the golden centrepiece delicately inlaid with intricate swirls and patterns. There was a time your mother wore it every day, up until your father had bought her a new one for their anniversary.

Rosie hums happily at your recognition, her smile deepening. "Open it up," she says, face awaiting your reaction.

You do as she says, carefully reaching out for the necklace and taking it in your hands. With attentive fingers, you click open the clasp, opening up the locket's two halves and letting them sit delicately against your palm. A smile immediately appears on your face as you see the images printed inside, a warmth bubbling up inside your chest. On one half is your father, the other half your mother, both smiling back at you in their Sunday best. They are the same images contained within your family portrait down stairs, only this time they are hidden away in a small locket meant just for you.

"Do you like it?" Rosie asks, her face waiting in front of you. You meet her eyes with a glint, smiling wide from ear to ear.

"I love it."

The smile on your mother's face deepens as she laughs gently. "Here," she says, standing to her feet. "Let me put it on for you." You follow her to your feet, moving to stand in front of the mirror as she takes the necklace from your hand. Watching the reflection, you seen her unclasp the locket before moving it around your neck. She fastens it back up, allowing it to rest against your shirt. Quickly, she pulls your hair out from the chain, making sure it is perfectly secured around your neck before meeting your eye in the reflection. You smile widely up at her as your fingers find the locket, playing with the metal and once again tracing its engraved details. "It's beautiful, mama."

Rosie smiles, placing a soft kiss to the top of your head. "Almost as beautiful as you." She reaches out gently for your shoulders as she turns you around to face her, bending ever so slightly at the knee to reach the same height as you. "Now," she says. "You wear this and me and papa will always be with you." Her hand reaches out towards your chest, resting to cover the locket. "Right here. Close to your heart, okay?"

You nod, feeling the warmth in your chest not only from her touch but from the sentiment of your new found gift. "Ja, mama."

Just then, the serenity of your moment is suddenly shattered as you hear a scream radiating through your house. Both you and your mother turn your head towards the door as the yells from down stairs travel through the house and to your ears. It's your brother's voice, most likely from his bedroom, screaming the same words over and over, a salute to your country's ruler. His voice gets louder as you hear him run through the house, eventually throwing the front door open and simply howling out to the outside world. As you hear it dim away, guessing he's moved away from the house and most likely down the street, you turn back to look at your mother. Her expression is rather amusing, looking quite confused but, in a way, also entirely used to your brother's odd antics. "That boy has too much energy for his own good, you know that?" she says, meeting your gaze. You laugh at her comment, imagining your brother running down the streets of town like he so often did. Just then, your mother smiles back at you, her expression immediately softening. Her fingers reach to hold your cheek, grasping so gently at your skin. "There's my beautiful smiling girl."

Her words can't help but deepen your smile, looking up her eyes so full of love and comfort. You two bask in the moment until she turns away, reaching for the small black beret that sits upon the edge of the bed. "Here," Rosie says, placing the hat upon your head and adjusting it so it sits just right. She bends at the knee, looking at you with a warm expression. "You are going to be just fine this weekend, I promise." Her hands find your shoulders, giving them a reassuring squeeze. "And when you come back, I'll give you the biggest mama lion hug in the whole world and we can eat chocolate by the fire while you tell me how annoying your brother was all trip. How does that sound?"

You meet her playful glance with a lighthearted smile of your own. "Sounds good, mama."

Rosie winks, clicking her tongue in unison, a trick that always brings a smile to both you and your brother's face. "That's my girl," she says, holding on to your chin for just a moment before she straightens up once more. She brushes away invisible dust on her trousers then smiles down at you. "Now let’s get some breakfast packed up for you and your brother. You can catch up with him and both eat it on the way, hm?"

You nod, content in the idea. "Okay, mama."

But before she can turn to leave the room, you're reaching out for one final touch, your arms wrapping around her waist and face burying into her chest. She holds you back, placing gentle kisses to the top of your head. "I love you so much, my darling cub," she says, voice as gentle as the summer breeze. And in her warmth you smile, because no matter how frightening the world may seem, how apprehensive you are to venture out there, she would always be there as a shining light to guide you back home.

"I love you so much too, mama."

[leastdatablebracket]

FINAL ROUND

Propaganda under the cut!

Solas

He believes all mortal beings deserve to die. He is bald but in a very unsexy way. He exudes zero chemistry and talking to him about romance is like talking to a boiled egg. 

Described by major media as "elf hitler," he dumps you to destroy the world

He is a smelly know it all, and that's before you find out he is a deity in disguise who caused the rift you spend the game trying to fix in the first place and he betrayed you and chopped off your hand

Breaks up with you, disappears without saying anything, plans to destroy the world

Look. I’ll admit I have not personally romanced solas. I am baffled that anyone would WANT to romance solas. I know we all love a waify little elf wizard with questionable motivations but jfc look at him like im trying not to say anything demeaning about bald dudes but he does not wear it well. Also iirc you can only romance him if you’re also an elf and then he’s weirdly rude and dismissive if your character is Into Elf Culture. Look im a huge lesbian but Iron Bull is RIGHT FUCKING THERE why would you do this.

Peter King

Oh I could go ON AND ON but here’s a list: He’s a stalker, he showed up late to a date HE REQUESTED, he killed either your landlord, roommate, or coworker (depending on route) and stuck them in a freezer, lied to the police about it, followed by a car ride either consisting of traumadumping about his family (valid tbh) or him talking about how much he wants to fuck your brains out, then you finding a bloody knife in his glove compartment, asking about it, and him smashing your head into the window to shut you up while he takes you to his house. He is The Worse Datable, as well as The Only Datable because well…he killed the others…and kidnapped you….

FUCK THIS DUDE!!! Country Human looking-ass bitch, I want him dead and obliterated

Many violence, Yandere behavior, cut your leg off in a semi-canon series of illustrations, smashed your head into the passenger side window of his creepy van, chloroformed you in your own house, brought you flowers that were probably tainted with his own blood, given context from another route. Generally a terrible person. Also just very strange to look at :/

He knows what he did….😒

He broke into Y/N’s house and chloroformed them. Generally a really creepy and perverted guy. TK is better :/

Send that man to Worst Datable Hell! Put him in the trash file (he’s a pseudo-sentient AI, similar to Monika, so this threat is valid)! He sometimes looks like a kicked puppy when talking to you, but with your small contributions, we can make him look even more like a kicked puppy! Vote Peter King for Worst Datable Datable Character today! Bonus: Funny canon facts about him! - He can’t swim - He’s allergic to peanuts - He has to wear glasses, but usually wears contacts - He had an emo/goth phase in high school - He’s a YouTuber; he does product reviews - He has very strong mother issues (understandably) - He will respond to and greatly enjoy the nickname “Cockbite” (there are many other names he enjoys, but this one’s the funniest to me)

[blueiskewl]

Vladimir Putin lays flowers at a World War II memorial for Hitler at the Kremlin.

[totallyfuckd]

I have lost a telephone with your smell in it I am living beside the radio all the stations at once but I pick out a Polish lullaby I pick it out of the static it fades I wait I keep the beat it comes back almost asleep Did you take the telephone knowing I’d sniff it immoderately maybe heat up the plastic to get all the crumbs of your breath and if you won’t come back how will you phone to say you won’t come back so that I could at least argue

Cohen, Leonard. “Waiting for Marianne”. Flowers for Hitler. Toronto: McClelland & Stewart Limited, 1964. Print.

[crazywriter1]

A Compelling Villian... The Hunchback of Notre Dame

I'm going to go ahead and say it, the Disney movie, the Hunchback of Notre Dame is underrated. The music is fantastic, the storytelling is phenomenal, and the villain, Frollo, is remarkably well written.

Why is Frollo terrifying? He's terrifying because he's realistic. Frollo is entitled, he thinks he's always right, and he uses religion as a tactic to justify what he's doing is right. As a Christian, it intrigues me how someone can do that so easily and get away with it. And since we're on the topic of religion, I think there are a lot of people who still have this mindset.

People will always use religion to justify what they're doing is right, people will aways think they are in the right. It's proven throughout history, Hitler was Catholic, and during the colonization in the early U.S. people came to the New World to express their religion freely, when they oppressed an entire group of people.

Frollo is also a creep, we see this when he grabs Esmerelda's neck and sniffs her. Not once, do we see Frollo think what he's doing is wrong, he sees the gypsies as inferior, and beneath him. He sees anyone who thinks differently or looks differently doesn't deserve his attention. Frollo is so far gone in the hole of thinking he's God's servant, that he's doing him a favor.

Frollo never shows compassion towards others, the only "compassion" he shows people is usually for his own benefit or gain. He manipulates or "comforts" Quasimodo only when he knows it gives him an advantage of something. Much like Mother Gothel in the movie Tangled.

I also love Mother Gothel as a villain almost the same way I love Frollo. They're both manipulative. In most Disney movies we see the villain is a witch, or has powers, or has great intelligence; but not Frollo and Gothel. What makes them terrifying as villains is they're just humans. Humans with manipulation techniques. They both want something, Gothel wants the flower to stay young, and Frollo wants power over the gypsies, he wants Esmeralda, and they use their power to get there.

What's terrifying is that there are still people like Frollo out there. There are still people who will use religion to justify a wrong, I won't deny it. There are people in the church who do unspeakable things to others today, it's something we can't ignore. I love Frollo as a villain because in a way, he's real.

[maximumphilosopheranchor]

People belonging to national minorities “should be forced to their knees and shot like mad dogs.” It was not an SS officer speaking but a communist party leader, in the spirit of the national operations of Stalin’s Great Terror. In 1937 and 1938, a quarter of a million Soviet citizens were shot on essentially ethnic grounds. The Five-Year Plans were supposed to move the Soviet Union toward a flowering of national cultures under socialism. In fact, the Soviet Union in the late 1930s was a land of unequalled national persecutions. Even as the Popular Front presented the Soviet Union as the homeland of toleration, Stalin ordered the mass killing of several Soviet nationalities.

Timothy Snyder, Bloodlands: Europe Between Hitler and Stalin