#i’ve considered it my whole life and i considered it in bomb shelters too

[jewelleria]

I know it's not how you rationalize it to yourself, but your posts about Israel/palestine come off as a support of the destruction of Gaza and ethnic cleansing of Palestinians. Insisting that it's a war (Palestine isn't allowed to have an army, and Israel cannot claim self-defence against a territory they occupy), denying that Israel is at fault, obscuring support of Palestine in general as being motivated by antisemitism - it paints a picture.

At least 30 000, probably closer to 100 000 Palestinians have been killed as of now. That is so monumentally worse than anything currently happening to Israel / zionists. So when you spend most of your energy focusing on those wrongs, or insisting that people talking about Palestine should focus on them, it comes off as brushing it off or trying to diminish its importance.

You don't have to answer, as I'll be blocking you, but I'm asking you to please consider what you're willing to support, excuse or tone down, and why. I know what it's like to be too focused on the discrimination we're facing to really take in what other groups might be going through.

hey anon, that's some great useful idiot syndrome you got there. how much college debt did you go into to earn it?

[atomosphericnonsense]

Just another thought to prevent sleep tonight but let’s consider polynein platonic/romantic soulmate au where you feel a shadow of your soulmates pain just for the drama of it all. All that pain being shared just a fraction between all of them. Like little Veth feeling Yeza’s bruises but one day she get feels a scrape on her knee and goes to bring him flowers or something and he’s not injured??? And the two of them growing into love together with the knowledge that Veth has at least one other soulmate out there. All the phantom pains from Beau and Yashas training The day they all woke up with their fingers aching because Molly spent the night digging himself out of his own grave. For most of them they were really young when Caleb broke, and they all just wept from the emotion of it all and then had nothing else from him until he broke out of the hospital. Caleb barely even recognizing his soulmates’ pains while he was messed up. All the little unfortunate scrapes and hunger pains that fjord had growin up- all those fights he got in. Cad has his fair share of small injuries growing up but once his family left all his soulmates feel his hunger pains. All of the Nein waking up clawing at their throats when Veth is drowned. All the Nein waking up when happens again but to fjord. Jester growing up sheltered in her home coming up with stories for every pang. All of the little cuts that molly had from his class just worrying the rest of them. Yasha and Zuala sharing the pains from their nomadic life and getting married, when Zuala died Yasha felt it bro, and Yashas pain is also the neins. I’d imagine Yasha didn’t think much about the pains she would feel that were neither hers or Zualas. But her and molly figured out fast they were soulmates. With the rest of the Nein it took some time and a bit of denial on all of their parts. During those first few fights there’s so much going on it’s a bit hard to tell who’s pain is who’s. I’d say that both Caleb and nott figured out they were soulmates rather quickly but didn’t talk about it (in classic widobrave lack of communication). They all realize molly is a soulmate rather quickly considering he causes a good portion of his own pain. It basically becomes a trail of “really you too???” Dominos as one by one they see someone get hurt and feel it themselves. I would think it takes them a bit to talk about it, except for Jester- she’d probably be so excited to finally have names for all the scrapes. She’s the first one to go “you guys, who drowned???” During a truth circle or something all excited to finally know about her soulmates. How they all react to the soulmates thing would defo just follow how they reacted to each other. Most of them mistrusting and then becoming protective. I think Molly would have been a bit weird about it. I imagine him squinting at the other members of the Nein like are these my soulmates or whoever was buirieds soulmates?? But he comes around to them all, escpecially with the circus gone and Yasha yashing off. Oh Lordy Yasha alone chasing stroms feeling the battles the Nein are going through and knowing who they are. Knowing that pang in her side was one of them and she wasn’t there. Fuck I am not even going to think of how they all felt when Molly died. Fuck that noise. Especially how Jester and fjord would have felt it from inside the caravan but that Yasha wouldn’t have because she was unconscious. Instead I’m gonna think about how when nott shot beau and Cad felt it in his side he suddenly realized that he had found his soulmates and they’re dumb as heck. He probably wouldn’t tell them about it, wanting to let them realize on their own that they had come to their soulmate for help. Them realizing it during the rescue mission and having no time to process. Jester definitely cried a little when she realized Cad was another soulmate- like she had just lost one only for another to turn up to help save them. Then al trading late night stories behind injuries and Cad asking who was always getting cut everywhere and just silence falling on the group.

Enthusiastic stories about Mollymauk following as they all loop him in to what he was like. Everyone feeling nott take that last hit from the dragon to save Jester. When nott starts going through withdrawals they all get whispers of the headache. The pain and hurt and shared nausea during the revelations at Felderwin when they first arrived. Them all having to deal with the fact that their soulmates and people who keep lots of secrets and people who aren’t necessarily trusting. Having to figure out what their relationships are- oh holy shit them al feeling it everytime someone is knocked unconscious or killed. Them all understanding Notts aversion to the water a bit better because they all felt her drown. Just all of it. Man all of it. It’s like two am and I’ve been awake for so long but I keep thinking of all the implications of soulmate pain. Oh goodness fjord feeling jester start to drown in that temple and not wanting her to know what it actually feels like being apart of his kiss of life. Them all feeling the stab through the chest of molly and then beau and then fjord all identical im placement and just how much it hurts. Them fighting Yasha when she’s under obanns control and feeling it as they do it. When Caleb was charmed and he threw that fireball he felt the flames. When nott shot Yasha. All of the times they’ve been turned against each other. The blood pact between fjord and Caleb being felt across everyone’s hands. The moments where jester was alone that first time in the happy fun ball being absolute torture for the rest as they wait to feel her being hurt. Oh man I need to go to bed. Imagine first though when they rescue Yeza that whole time Jester managed not to tell him that she was one of Veth’s soulmates through sending. She also manages to keep it to herself when first talking to him because she is good at keeping secrets when they really matter. And then when Veth goes in, after a good part of their canonical conversation she goes “honey, you know how we figured I had one other really injury prone soulmate wandering into trees and stuff somewhere out there?” And he’s like “yes of course did you find them?” And she smiles awkwardly and is like “it’s actually seven really injury prone soulmates and most of them are standing in the hall” and he’s just like “ohkay” like that whole exchange would get so much funnier. Just all of Notts secret family would become even more of a bomb drop because of the added wait a mintue you have another soulmate that your married to and have a child with and you’re not actually a goblin??!??! The whole complexity of no one knowing what to do with the information or with Yeza once they rescue him would just intensify.

[omigiry]

“𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞”

synopsis: Reincarnation AU. Oikawa Tooru still has memories of his past life, falling in love with the same girl every timeline.

POV: Third Person

ry’s notes: I honestly don’t know if this is considered angst, but it is sad. kind off?? Anyways,,, thank you for reading!

“Oikawa!” (Name) waved enthusiastically at him. She was waiting by the school gate so they could go to class together. They knew each other since middle school and became close friends and she would always support him at everything he does. Now at their last year of high school, Oikawa wanted to tell her how he feels. It’s been so long, maybe this time everything will go according to his plan. 

He recalls everything that went wrong, why isn’t the best time, or the time he just hesitated. Hoping this time it’ll be different from all those wasted moments.

The time when he first saw her, during an ancient period, were imperials still rule over the countries and different dynasties trying to overpower one another. He met (Name) one summer day, there she was going around town, buying papers and cloth. He approached her first and they became closer. He would listen to every story she had to tell, and her aspiration of being a writer. From the random scenes that came into her mind, to the problems she was facing. She was also there for him too, she would always know when something is wrong and she would do everything to cheer him up. He fell in love, and when he was about to confess but then he saw her with someone else. A guy kneeling on one knee and putting a ring on her finger. With a sad smile, he walked away.

He woke up again, in a different era. During the war, the first son in the family is obliged to be part of the military. Oikawa was assigned to the west area of their town. Funnily enough, as he grows up in this era the memories of his past life still lingers. He thought that he wouldn’t see (Name) in this era, maybe her soul really rested at the happy ending she had. He was wrong. He saw her, on the day the bombing began in their area. He thought that she remembers him like he did, but she didn’t. Her face was all the same, even her name, it’s just that she has no memories of her past life. He escorted her towards the shelter along with her little brother. She was the last one to escape in that area when they were doing rounds to make sure everyone was safe. (Name) thanked him profusely for making sure that she and her brother were safe. How could he not, when she was someone dear to him. Like before, he fell in love with her again. Promising to himself that once the war is over, he would court her. That didn’t end well too, he was moved to the front line because of how many deaths had occurred. He was given training how to properly use a gun and to attack along with other inexperienced guys. Then that cruel day came, he got shot as their squad got ambushed by the enemy and everyone of them were left dead. As he took his last breath, all he could remember was (Name)’s face before his world became dark.

Then today, was the third time he met her. Everything was normal, technologies advanced greatly and he was able to cope with the new things despite having all his past memories, after all he also grew up in this era. The only good thing that those past memories he had is that he aces history class. When he met her again in this life, he was mocking the works of fate. It’s like a blessing and curse at the same time. He was glad that he had met her again, but a curse since she still couldn’t remember him. If fate was an actual being, maybe he was the favorite character to play with. 

Oikawa still couldn’t help wishing that this was his chance. That maybe this time is where he would get his happy ending with the girl he loved his entire lifetime. Fate was cruel enough for the past two lives he lived. 

Please, just this time. I want to be by her side all the time. To be the one hugging her, to see her smile every waking moment, to spend the rest of my life in this era with her. 

“Hey, you look kinda off today. Are you sick?” She asked and inspected his face closer. 

“No, I’m just worried if I'll ace the history quiz today.” 

At his reply (Name) glared at him. “You always ace history. So don’t give that excuse.”

“I’m fine, I just didn’t get enough sleep.” 

Maybe I shouldn’t be greedy, maybe this would be enough. He would always think of that thought that makes him hesitant whether to confess or not, but he would be restless if he didn’t. 

“Didn’t get enough beauty sleep, I see.” She teased. “Your fans would be devastated to see you all tired.”

“I don’t care, I always look good.”

“Shut up, you narcissist.” 

“It’s not being a narcissist, when you have good looks like me you should be confident.”

“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes at him and he chuckled at the reaction. Throughout the years her personality didn’t change as well. He could remember the first time he met her, she would also joke with him like this. Having a playful banter at every given moment. She was always grateful to others, like the second time he met her; just by a simple gesture she would be thankful towards that person. Even if his moments with her may be short or not, he cherishes those moments. 

“Tooru.” (Name) whined. It was break time and (Name) was slumped on the table. Hand stretched out as she fiddles with the letter she found in her locker.

“What is it?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at her. 

“Someone dropped another letter at my locker.” Oikawa sighed at her problem. She would always receive a letter or two every week, she was smart and beautiful. It’s not a surprise that there’s also a handful of guys fawning over her. 

She would always tell him about it, and every time he did he was holding his breath as he waited for her response. When she tells him that she rejected every guy that asked her out, he let out a sigh of relief. He still had a chance, she remained single up until now. 

“I’m tired of it. It’s troublesome for me to reject them.” She pouted.

“If you weren’t a whole package, you wouldn’t worry about things like this.” 

“How do you even put up with this kind of thing?” She asked him. She knows that he also receives letters, more than her. Sometimes someone would give him cookies or chocolates and they would always eat it together. At first She doesn’t want to, but he insists that it doesn’t matter.

“They aren’t serious.” Oikawa shrugged.

“Wow, that’s why a lot of them come crying to me when you ignore them.” She eyed him in disbelief. “As if my problem wasn’t enough, then those girls come running to me.” 

“Well, I’m sorry.” Truth is, my heart is only reserved for you. I hope you noticed that. I never looked at anyone else because you’re the only girl I have ever loved and laid eyes on. He wished he could tell it to her, but it wasn’t the right time yet. 

“I’m just glad that this would be our last year, and I wouldn’t have to deal with this in college.” 

“Who says it’ll stop at high school?” 

“Wow.” She again looked at him in disbelief. “The attention is getting through your head.” 

They ate lunch as they talked about their plans for college. They talked about the university they want or dream of going to. Whether they want to study abroad or not, or move to the city. Their last day of high school was only a month away after all. 

The day has finally come. It was now or never for Oikawa. After high school, they would go to different universities and Oikawa still wanted to be part of her life even if they don’t see each other often like they used to. 

It was their graduation day, Oikawa and her were roaming around the school after the ceremony to savor their last moment. 

“(Name).” Oikawa called out. They were in their classroom and she sat at her table while he leaned on the chair in front of her. 

“Tooru.” She said back with a smile. 

“There’s something I have to say.” He started out. He was definitely nervous, it was his first time doing it. Centuries of waiting, finally led to this time. (Name) gestured for him to go on.

“I like you. More than what we have now. I’ve always liked you.” He confessed. 

Her smile never faltered, but there was a change in her eyes. And how she smiled also changed. “Tooru. You’re a great guy.” At that statement, Oikawa knew the response. Her tone was apologetic and he could only close his eyes and bow his head as he waited for her to finish. “Any girl would be lucky to have you, but for now I want to focus on my studies first and my career.”

“I understand.” It wasn’t in this time too. 

“Thank you for being there for me since middle school. Good luck in college, Tooru.” She said. Though she rejected him, she didn’t leave him alone. They just sat there in silence as Oikawa tried to get his composure back. 

“Good luck in college too, I hope we’ll meet again soon.” He said after a few minutes and told her that she can go ahead, he will be here for a while more. 

Fate sure is cruel. For the third time, it wasn’t meant to be. I was part of every narrative, but I wasn’t the lead.

[robbyrobinson]

When the Wind Blows: Alternate Ending

When the Wind Blows. That was a title I hadn’t heard in a long time. It was just obviously a British animated film based on a graphic novel by Raymond Briggs. You know, the guy who did The Snowman? It centered around an elderly couple then one day, word came out that war would break out in three days. The graphic novel was written around the height of the Cold War. The threat of nuclear war was as high as it is now.

I’ve always had morbid affection for dark animated films. Watership Down; The Plague Dogs; Felidae, you name it. When the Wind Blows fit snuggly in that bubble. Having watched it religiously on YouTube, the film was ultimately removed most likely because of it violated the website’s terms of service with its objectionable content. My thirst for the darkness of the animated feature was unquenchable and I hadn’t watched it sense.

That would all change one day. While I was browsing the internet, I came upon an online forum dedicated to dark, more obscure cartoons. It must’ve been my lucky day because one of the users happened to discuss When the Wind Blows. It was boring at first with just him elaborating on how he was immensely disturbed by the film when he saw it at 7. Then the discussion took a swerve.

After he explained what he considered the most horrid aspect of the film, he added an interesting tidbit. Apparently, it was an interview with Briggs himself. In the interview, Briggs explained that what contributed to his penning the graphic novel was the reality of a nuclear war and how virtually impossible it was for anyone to survive a nuclear holocaust. As such, there was a secret ending embedded in the home releases of the movie. To further his point, the user left an link to download the movie.

Curiosity overwhelmed my reasoning. For all intents and purposes, he may as well might’ve fabricated the whole thing. But, if it was in fact real, it would prove a good nugget of knowledge. So, I clicked the link. As it loaded, I was growing concerned that I was hoodwinked and that some sort of virus would crash it. I glanced back at my computer screen seeing that it was finished.

The film surprisingly started off without a single lag nor freeze. David Bowie performed the title song per usual followed by the real-life footage and Jim returning home from reading the newspapers in town. He lived with his wife in his country home in Sussex. He conversed with his wife again without issue. I felt a building dread. This was likely the third time I’ve seen the film so I already knew how everything would play out. Its saccharine mask would crumble away exposing its sinister underbelly. I hadn’t the faintest idea as to why this was the case. If I could put money on it, I’d have to guess Jim’s tone of voice. He was voiced by John Mills and yet rather than his jovial, more informed self, he had a forlorn expression on his face. Hilda immediately took notice.

When she asked her husband what the matter was, he informed her about the likelihood of war being inevitable. After she went through her tirade of war being wicked, the radio shuttered to life announcing that war could be expected in three days. The film segues to Jim preparing the house for the nuclear missile such as by painting the windows white or making a makeshift bomb shelter all according to the Protect and Survive pamphlet the government handed out. He called his son Ron only to become disheartened with his son's seeming ignorance. Ron's laughter could be heard over the phone. A mixture of humor and melancholy. He quoted famous songs much to his father’s chagrin. To me, it was clear that Ron was aware than he was letting on. He was losing what little sanity he had left by partying his troubles away.

The film progressed with the couple mentioning previous world wars and D-Day. Hilda was making a cake while her husband further desecrated the house in accordance with the pamphlet. The radio sounded again, the announcer explaining that an ICBM would arrive in three minutes. Jim became more hectic, and shoved Hilda underneath the door after calling her a bitch.

The screen turned to symbolize the missile dropping. A deafening siren blared through my headphones nearly sending me sprawling on the ground. Violent images of civilians' bodies littered the scenery. Fire rained down from the sky and engulfed the bystanders.

A school bus full of children was hit by a wave of the flames; each child’s body bloated up from the blast and ruptured like water balloons. Their skin melted off gorily. Imagine placing a stick of butter being placed in a microwave. Other people were glued to the streets due to their legs fusing with the concrete. Faces burned off as buildings and houses were leveled by the onslaught of chaos.

The sound wave struck the couple’s house, decimating it. Miraculously, or rather unfortunately, they survived. Hilda in typical fashion wanted to tidy up only to be held back and told that she couldn’t leave until the fallout subsided. In a new addition, Jim assured his wife that they would be fine. Another voice spoke out one that Hilda could not hear. Jim reacted in disgust becoming further unsettled.

“Old boy, while are you sentencing your wife to death?”

The conclusion I drew was that it represented Jim’s innermost thoughts, or more directly his conscience. It was a monotonous voice bereft of any emotion nothing there but a cold, pure logic.

The two attempted to survive as long as they could off what little rations they had left or whatever survived the blast. Their water bottles were disintegrated and subsequently, their water lines were cut off. The couple were immeasurably famished. Throughout the week, they made offhanded remarks about how people lost in the wilderness resorted to drawing lots and sacrificing the weakest member so the others would live. The thought they were so hungry they'd be willing to eat each other was horrible.

Jim once found a meat clover and walked over to his life as she laid on the couch sleeping. He contemplated his options but got cold feet when Hilda was stirring awake. He quickly hid the weapon away, instead telling her that she was hearing things because of her age.

One day while they were walking in their yard, Jim smelled something in the air. Hilda followed him also smelling it. Roasted pork, she thought. Her stomach was so barren, she’d waste no time gorging on the pork.

They walked over a hill, their thoughts immediately turning to sorrow. A family of four was huddled together tightly and were roasted dark by the blast. They were the remains of a husband and wife and their two small kids. Hilda and Jim looked at each other then at me with that thousand yard stare. The camera focused in on Jim’s beady eyes. Fire danced in them. He knelt down and ripped off an arm from one of the kids. Hilda prayed over the bodies before digging in as well.

"The Powers That Be will get to us in the end.”

A few weeks passed by. The couple were somehow still alive. The camera panned to the fridge showing scraps of flesh that were left of the family. Around that time, Jim had also collected the rain water, unaware that it was radiated and unsafe regardless of boiling it. Their water supply had vanished again. Rat carcasses were thrown all over the floor. It then segued to Hilda vomiting into the toilet ranting about hating the taste of rat meat and blood. Boils were all over her body and Jim’s. They were skeletal in appearance with their leathery skin barely being held together.

“I just hope that Ron and Beryl made it out okay,” Hilda weakly said.

As she said this, a jump cut of Ron popped up. He was animated with clay alongside his wife and children. They were melded together in a fleshy blob with their limbs conjoined together. Jim assures her that their son's family would always stick together. Hilda's hair began to fall out by the time she suggested to Jim that they should return to their bags because another attack could come. Jim agreed to her suggestion still assuring her that help would arrive.

The voice from earlier returned now violently criticizing Jim on withholding the truth about their situation. Hilda got into her bag and waited for her husband to join her. It felt like hours before he returned, and when he did, I was taken aback. In his hands was a rifle. He cocked it, and pointed it behind his wife’s head.

“Dear, are you there?” she asked.

Jim choked back tears as he tried to speak coherently. “Recite the Lord’s Prayer for me, would you?”

She obliged. Hilda recited the prayer louder as if hoping that her prayers would be heard. A single tear rolled down Jim's face. A loud gunshot is heard when the camera panned to the outside of the house. Jim looked at the gun in horror and tossed it beside his feet. Kneeling down, he clutched his wife as she laid dying. Tears dropped on her bosom. He remained in that position until the film faded out. The voice reappeared after the Morse code spelled out MAD.

"Old Jim died clutching his beloved wife to his dying breath due to radiation poisoning. But what he ultimately learned was that when you die…nothing happens.”

I was speechless with what I had witnessed. The film was dark, but never would I have thought that Briggs had a more sinister ending in store for the elderly couple. I took a flask and hard copied the download so I could watch it every now and then. Good too because the user’s account was terminated with the only indication of its existence being the other responses that the users gave.

Briggs said it himself that the wanted to show the utter hopelessness of surviving a nuclear war, and he succeeded.

[ablogthatishenceforthmine]

Thoughts on Korra and Mako’s Break Up

So, one of the things I knew before watching the series was that Mako would betray Korra, and then break up with her. Everything i’ve seen about this event made me think that I would be angry at Mako, and take Korra’s side. But actually watching it now... that’s not the case?

Do I think Mako was completely right? No, I do think he was mostly right. Both he and Korra messed up in this situation. But, I think Korra messed up more than he did. 

So, this post is probably going to seem pretty negative toward Korra. But, the point of this post isn’t to bash her. And i’m not bashing her. I love Korra. She is easily my favorite LOK character so far.  But she is my favorite character because he is soooo flawed. And those flaws are just so apparent, in a way which the hero character’s flaws usually aren’t. She is just such a messy person, and she makes mistakes, big and small, all the time. So even though this post is quite critical of Korra, just now that these mistakes and flaws I describe here are part of the reason I love her.

So, I’m going to go through their conflict one step at a time.

One: Advice/Support

In season 2, Korra often asks Mako what he thinks, or asks for advice. However, it’s clear that most of the time, she just wants him to agree with her, and support the choice she is inclined too. There are a few moments in the beginning of Season 2, however, where he actually does this, and she is unhappy with that too, such as when she asks what he thinks about training with Unalaq. For me, this moment, and others like it, Mako offers vague support instead of decisive advice because he genuinely does not know what the right or best thing to do is. And I get why this is frustrating for Korra, because being an Avatar is hard, and she wants help... it just that Mako isn’t really equipped to give advice and help with Avatar stuff.

However, Korra only sees to actually want his advice when she is uncertain. When she’s already make up her mind, she just wants wants his agreement and support, not his actual opinions. Whenever he gives advice or suggests something or speaks out against something that she wants to do or believes, she dismisses him. In "”Peacekeepers,” he tells her she should try to stay neutral and not take part in the Southern Water tribe’s peaceful protest. She is annoyed at his disagreement, and goes to the protest. He tells her that the attack was started by a firebender, and doesn’t think it’s necessarily the Northern water tribe. Korra doesn’t listen to him, and won’t consider the possibility that someone other than the Northern Water Tribe was responsible for the attack. After the president of Republic City refuses to send troops to help the Southern Tribe, Korra immediately views him as her enemy. When Mako tries to explain the president’s side of things to Korra, she doesn’t listen, and accuses him of not supporting her.

In almost all of these things, I agree with Mako. But in one of them, I do agree with Korra: going to the protest, and whether the Avatar should stay neutral. I like how the show is bringing up questions about what role the Avatar should play in the work. In ATLA, Aang’s role and what he should be trying to accomplish was obvious. But in LOK, it’s not so obvious for Korra.  Being the Avatar shouldn’t always been being neutral; sometimes, it should mean taking a stand for the right side. Should Avatars start wars? Or should their only job be to resolve them, to create peace? But what if peace can only come about through war? I do think Korra was right to start a civil war. Unalaq was clearly oppressing the people of the Southern Water Tribe he stole the throne through dubious means, and he held a fake trial, getting opponents locked up. And Korra should stay neutral here? Her public support could really make a difference.

But on everything else, I agree with Mako. He is clearly right about the bombing at the protest being more than it seemed, and Korra is being stubborn and blind by refusing to even consider another possibility. He’s also right that she should try to see the president’s side of things. Korra has a tendency to view anyone who doesn’t agree with her or who doesn’t do what she wants them to do as the enemy. But, I understand where the president is coming from, and so does Mako, and he tries to get Korra to see it too. War is complicated, but Korra just wants the president to just rush into it. It’s unclear how much the president and the public knows. Do they know a lot, or only that there is a civil war? It would be better if the show was clearer on this. But even if the president does have all the information, it’s not bad to want to explore other options first, and see if the problem can be solved diplomatically. We know that there is no chance of dealing with Unalaq with diplomacy, but the president doesn’t, so it makes sense that he would want to explore options that didn’t involve going to war. I’m not saying the president’s decision is the right one, I’m just saying that it’s an understandable one. We, and Korra and Mako, haven’t seen much of him. but he hasn’t shown any signs that he is incompetent, cruel, or corrupt. So Mako is right, Korra should try to hear what the president is saying and not view him as an enemy.

So anyway, Mako and Korra have clear issues communicating. For me, the fault is mostly at Korra; she does not take criticism or disagreement well. But I also think there are things Mako could do better here. Korra likes to feel supported, to a larger than normal degree. She needs people to trust and support her. I think this comes from actually being pretty insecure. She spent her whole life sheltered, protected, and kinda controlled. So, it makes sense that she is drawn to people who say they believe in her, and believe in her ability to make good choices. This is why Korra is so easily manipulated. For most of her life, she had a feeling that people didn’t trust and believe in her enough, they kept her from being a part of the larger world. And if there is one thing that Korra hates it’s someone holding her back, or someone she perceives as holding her back. So, Korra’s lashing out at any hint that someone is doubting her makes sense. I don’t think Mako had made it super clear that he supports the civil war, and that saving her family and her tribe is important too him. I’m sure he does, and i’m sure it is. But he could go a better job of making it clear, cause it seems like Korra thinks he doesn’t care about her family or the Southern Water tribe.

Two: The Betrayal

And then there is the betrayal, which I actually don’t think is that bad. For basically the sole reason that Korra’s plan is a TERRIBLE one. She wants to go behind the president’s back, and get his military to go to war with the Northern Water Tribe. This is basically a military coup. TERRIBLE IDEA. This could have such horrible consequences. The only circumstances she should do this is if the president is corrupt or tyrannical, which doesn’t seem to be the case. The Avatar staging a military coup could have huge and far-reaching consequences, and upsets the balance in their society. I mean, what could this do for Avatar-government relations throughout the world?

And it’s not like there aren’t other options. At the end of the episode, she goes to ask the Fire Nation for help. Surely, asking the other nations for aid should have been attempted before staging a military coup. Hell, maybe she should have tried rallying support with the people of the Northern Water Tribe, exposing Unalaq and telling them how he got the throne. Unalaq’s soldier’s and the people close to him are still going to support him, but the general public of the Northern Water Tribe? We haven’t seen much of them, but it’s hard to believe at least some of them wouldn’t have a problem with Unalaq after learning the truth. And if his people turn against him, that’s a big blow to him. AND it might make it easier for the president and the United Forces to step in, if‘s not longer just a civil war but a rebellion, where his own people don’t even want him to lead. Everyone would be against him, and thus, it would be less complicated for the United Forces to get involved.  Hell, Korra could have tried rallying and gaining support in Republic City, and hope that public pressure could make the president take action

Point is, there are many different things Korra could have tried before staging a military coup. So, going to General Iroh, and trying to get the United Forces help the Southern Water Tribe behind the president’s back is a really bad idea. And yes, when they talk, they plan it so that the president will not know. But it is a terribly flimsy plan and there is very little likelihood that the president won’t find out.

So considering the terrible consequences this actions could have not just for Korra, but for Republic City and the world, Mako is right to betray her. I think he should have gone to her first and tried to convince her out of the plan. But, as stated above, Korra doesn’t really listen to him. So I can understand why he wouldn’t. Still, because they care about each other and are in a relationship, he should have tried it this way first. Maybe he could have told her his dilemma, and that if she goes through with the plan, he feels he will have to tell the president. But, at the end of the day, stopping Korra’s stupid plan feels like the right decision. However, it’s unclear how much Mako’s decision is about doing the right thing and much much it was about his duty as a cop (ew). So it’s hard to tell if Mako made the right decision for the right reasons or or the wrong reasons.

Three: The Breakup

The way Korra handles the betrayal is immature and wildly inappropriate. After learning of his betrayal, she bursts into the police station, his place of work, and starts  yelling at him in front of his colleagues. She airbends his desk, destroying it. Which, to me, feels like the equivalent of punching a wall in the middle of a fight. She has a right to be angry, but in no way, is doing any of this okay. This is not why Mako breaks up with Korra, but, still, I can’t fault him for doing so after this. Korra is not good at handling her emotions (another of her flaws that makes me love her). She needs to learn how to deal with and express them in appropriate ways. So yeah, this is another situation where Korra is in the wrong. Although the stated reason for why the broke up, is that they are both too busy and devoted to their jobs, is kinda dumb.

[victorluvsalice]

AU Thursday: Fallout of Darkness Does Far Harbor

Hey, I did a post for Nuka-World (under the old “Tell Me Where To Find Shelter”) name, and I’m up to the point in Jon of Many A True Nerd’s Survival Playthrough where he’s doing Far Harbor (I’m watching it when I work out), so I figured I could share a few ideas:

-->As stated in the Nuka-World post, I’m picturing the trip to the Island and Far Harbor to be a post-game adventure, with the Institute already defeated and whatnot. This would be a Victor, Alice, Nick, and -- after they meet him and become friendly -- Old Longfellow adventure, and I don’t picture them coming back to the mainland until they’re done.

-->I think Victor would immediately feel protective of Kasumi the tinkerer, and they’d end up bonding over their love of fixing things and modding items.

-->Similarly, he’d get along well with the Mariner, not only getting her the needed supplies but actively helping to reinforce the Hull and bouncing some of his ideas off her. The Mariner would be pleasantly surprised by this mainlander’s enthusiasm for her project! (Alice of course would help out too, but this is mainly a Victor project.)

-->DiMA: Do you think you could be a synth?

Victor: I wondered for a bit after learning about the Gen-3s, but my awesome vampire girlfriend used Auspex on me and told me I’m not.

DiMA: . . .

Alice: Yes, you look slightly different to me with that than normal humans. On the plus side I’m pretty sure this confirms synths have souls?

DiMA: . . .ANYWAY

-->Once the need to infiltrate the Children of Atom comes up, Victor goes and drinks from the spring to do their special rite, following the Mother and getting thoroughly creeped out in the process. . .and then, once he finally comes out of it, he finds that something, uh, happened to him beyond the spooky quest. Something a bit -- fishy.

Something like he’s suddenly got gills now.

Otherwise known as “I’m not taking any ranks of Aquaboy until then because it amuses me to picture Victor somehow mutating from a combination of stress, radiation, and proximity to another eldritch abomination and him freaking out about it.” XD

-->Oh, yes, there are more eldritch abominations in play! Because I’ve had a vague thought about the Mother of the Fog and the Children of Atom. One that ties back into everyone’s favorite World of Darkness.

Namely, I’m thinking the Mother is a Gaia pushed completely over the edge by the Great War two centuries ago -- and the Children of Atom technically a werewolf tribe. The members immune to radiation are either latent Garou or Kinfolk, with Tektus being very willing to explode into his Crinos wolfman warform to top off his sermons.

Alice, as you can imagine, is not happy about this. Any time she spends around the Children of Atom is the worst time of her life as she waits for them to start hunting her down. (Fortunately, they’re more obsessed with spreading the Fog than sniffing out vampires, but given what the Fog does, it’s kind of a lateral move in the end.)

-->The gang is going to try to get a relatively peaceful end out of this whole mess -- I’m thinking they can stop Far Harbor and Acadia from going to war, simply because Victor is a helpful sort and will get on everyone’s good sides in both camps, but I’m not sure how they’re going to handle the Nucleus. One thing’s for sure -- DiMA’s kill-and-replace plan ain’t gonna work here!

-->Oh, and by the way -- you know that quest in the hotel, where you’re investigating a murder among a bunch of rich-and-famous robobrains? Yeah, Victor takes on that quest -- even pulls out the Silver Shroud outfit to play “proper” detective (Nick: Do you take that thing EVERYWHERE just to annoy me?! Victor: Not JUST to annoy you). But almost the minute he gets to the hotel, this happens:

Seemingly random woman robobrain: Victor?

Nick and Alice: [heads swiveling toward Victor] ?

Victor, dumbfounded: Mother?

Nick and Alice: [heads swiveling back to the robobrain] ?!?

Yuuuup, William and Nell are in that vault, as robobrains. They were vacationing on the island when the bombs dropped, and Nell got them in there by impersonating another couple. I’m actually considering making her the murderer, with her motive being the victim was close to finding out the truth. Naturally Victor has a lot of feelings about all this, most of them “why the fuck were my parents allowed to survive when Victoria and Emily weren’t?”

-->Victor: [as they leave the Island] All in favor of never, ever leaving the Commonwealth again?

Alice and Nick: [raise hands]

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Kissing Dead Pearls (Final Part)

There are places where lives unfold and places where lives come to an end, more often than not these places are one and the same. Sometimes these places are quaint harbor towns where buildings are centuries older than any of the citizens currently hustling in and out of them. Sometimes these places are have cliffsides that are older than even the buildings, worked at and eroded by waves significantly more timeless than them. Often these cliffsides see thunderous clouds and tempestuous waves, lit by forks of lightning and filled by curtains of rain. And more often than folks like to admit, these towns have their ghosts; sails on the horizon during a storm, ladies in billowing white dresses that stand at the edge of cliffs, and speters that travel through arches of limestone. It might be that the towns folk get bored and invent legends, or perhaps it is a tourist thrill, still it could be that some of the inhabitants need a good ghost to keep them secure in the realm of the living.

In such a town, the rain could be pouring and lightning could be bursting in the sky. People might be rushing to pack in their picnic food and snatch up their umbrellas. Some of them are too late, like a boy named Jet and a girl named Jin. Their umbrella has lifted out of the sand and is riding the gales out towards the sea. It wasn’t his idea of what a date should look like, but at least it was a thrilling one.

Others have more luck on their side; more or less. A married couple could be safely tucked into their restaurant had they decided to take down their patio umbrellas and move their chairs inside sooner.

Inside of a restaurant called La-bsters there is a rather interesting cluster of people. Mostly there are tourists and people who have hustled into the building for shelter from the rain. But there are also two teens interviewing for their first jobs. A girl will venture out of the town for the first time to study marine biology and her friend, Toph will take her place waitressing for the restaurant. There is also a bald boy and his dog, the three are an inseparable duo and Aang swears that he will teach the dog to be a good employee too.

The restaurant is cozy. It is home. In a quaint harbor town that seems caught within a bygone era, anywhere is home really. It is no wonder that some people are hesitant to leave. When home is so warm and inviting, so safe and unchanging, why would a person ask to leave?

For some it is a need for change, a yearning for something new. A desire to see the world with a knowing that they can come back to their harbor town and see it nearly as it was when they had left. Nearly, but not quite. For everything evolves. Everything changes. And if you know a place well, then the most subtle of changes are extraordinarily profound.

The rain pummels the roof of La-bsters as Toph high fives Aang, “Congrats on your first summer job, Twinkle Toes!”

“Yeah, you too.” He smiles meekly.

“When do we start?” She asks.

“How about on the first day that we have some sunny weather?” Hakoda offers.

A table away sits a group of four, they split a platter of fries, onion rings, and hot wings. Azula douses the wings in an extremely generous amount of spicy dipping sauce. “Seriously, I can’t eat this!” Sokka exclaims, eyes watering. “My mouth is burning!”

Azula smirks. “Yes, that’s the point. Either you’re going to build up your spice tolerance or I am going to have all of the wings to myself.”

“Not if I can help it.” Zuko plucks one of the wings. He takes his first bite. After swallowing he clears his throat. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something, Katara.”

“Go ahead.”

“We’re still having a hard time building the lighthouse back up after how far behind we’ve fallen. I was planning on opening up a restaurant of my own. It’s going to be more like a bakery and I’ll run it from the lighthouse.”

“My idea.” Azula cuts in.

“I thought that it would be smart to…” He backtracks. “Azula thought that it would be smart to partner up with La-bsters. It’s going to be folklore and ghost story themed and stuff. Do you think that your parents would want that.”

“Ask them, Zuko.” Katara laughs. “They’ve never said no before!”

“Speaking of parents, how has your dad been?” Sokka asks, nostrils still flared from his second attempt to eat one of the wings. He fans his face.

“He’s a year sober now.” Azula replies.

“He and uncle are planning some kind of road trip to relive the glory days.”

“Why are you cringing?” Katara laughs.

“Do you know what their glory days looked like?” Zuko asks.

“Father just wants to make up for wasting so much of his time on drinks and grief.” Azula shrugs. Silently, she thinks that he just wants to enjoy one more summer before life moves on. Or maybe she is just projecting; for as much as she had fought Sokka on it, it would be nice to have one last summer where everything is as it was, simple and thrilling. Now that she has eliminated his hesitancy, she will indulge him in one more summer of old habits and nostalgia.

She will begin it with one final surf competition and end it with the annual beachview music festival.  That will be nice, considering that they’d missed last year’s. She peers at her surfboard, which she has propped up against the corner. She is going to miss it, how could she not when she had spent so much time riding waves on it? But it is time to put it aside, the sea calls her in a different direction and she has already made the necessary arrangements to answer it. And besides, she thinks it would be kind to allow Chan and Ruon their time to shine. They have more passion for the sport than she. They have worked their whole lives for that competition.

They will be performing Port TuiLa’s first partner routine. ‘Brave and risky! Daring and fun!’ So the townspeople declare. She will do her own routine, but it will be more lax and mundane. Her father and uncle will be there with bouquets of hibiscus, lais, and smoothies, weather she wins it or not. There will be a party in their backyard, a BBQ that doubles as her birthday party and her victory celebration. She will slip an invite to Jet; if he makes an appearance it will be just like old times. If he steers clear...she supposes that, that is just the nature of things. People get hurt and people grow apart.

“Go and ask them, Zuzu.” She nudges as Hakoda enters the building completely drenched.

Zuko takes a deep breath, stands, and rolls his shoulders. Azula rolls her eyes. “So dramatic. How long have we known them?”

Katara laughs and gently pushes him forward.

“Have you decided what you are going to do yet?” Azula asks.

Sokka bites down gently on his cheek. “Khozen has been teaching me to sail again. I know that you wanted me to leave Port TuiLa but I don’t think I’m ready for a change that big and I don’t really like the idea of college anyways.” He rubs the back of his head. “I was thinking of learning to fish, that way I can help bring in some seafood for La-bsters and be around for mom and dad after Katara leaves.”

Azula blinks. “That actually sounds like a good plan.”

He chuckles, albeit, a little nervously. “Yeah. I figured that, that way I could start something new but also stick to the place that makes me happy.” He pauses. “It’s just gonna be weird not having you guys around.” He gestures to she and Katara.

“You’ll have Zuko.” Katara points out.

“We’re trying to make him feel better, Katara.”

“I can still hear you guys!” Zuko calls.

Sokka gives a snorting laugh. The kind that works its way around the table and reaches the door. From its frame a sopping wet Mai remarks, “well that’s my one laugh for today.”

“What are we talking about?” TyLee asks.

“Plans for the future.” Azula pulls up a chair. “Suki and I are going to beauty school! She wants to learn to do special effects makeup. I’m going to make everyone in Port TuiLa beautiful!”

“Good luck with Long Feng.” Mai mumbles and helps herself to a french fry. “I’m going to study mortuary science. It’ll give me something to talk about at dinner.”

“What about you, Azula?” TyLee asks. “You still going to pro-surf?”

It hadn’t really taken much thought to decide, not when the path had made itself so clear. She shakes her head, “no, I have something different in mind.”

“Does father know?” Zuko asks, taking his seat.

“He will.” Azula replies. That is her only hang up, the prospect of disappointing him. But she thinks that her desired career is admirable enough. Surely it is indisputably well suited to her. “I’m going to be a coast guard. I already have experience, more than I should.”

The sea has taken a lot from her but she has taken a lot back. And she will take more back, more and more until it doesn’t hurt. More and more until she knows that she can see her mother again with the ability to inform her that her death didn’t amount to nothing. The waves may have stolen her life but they haven’t stolen the energy she put forth.

The sea will take more lives, likely it will take them right out of Azula’s hands. But it will take less than it would have if she gets her way.

“Thanks to you,” she looks at Sokka, “and all the attention that your story got, I think that my chances are very good.”

“Hey, can we stop talking about the future now and start living in the moment!?” Toph calls. “I’ve got five dollars for the jukebox and twenty for the arcade.”

“How about we spend twenty on the jukebox and five on the arcade?” Sokka asks.

Azula elbows him. “Do you even know twenty dollars worth of good songs?”

“I know plenty of amazing tracks!”

She slings her arm around him. “Your music taste is still stuck on hits from ten years ago.”

And so they listen to twenty dollars worth of songs that she hasn’t heard since they were kids. Their summer starts with the past and plays out as it always has, right until when the leaves would start to change. And just as they always have, they close the summer with an all night music festival on the beach. Sparklers, smoke bombs, and melting ice cream cones. Fireworks and kisses and the same gaggle of friends. The same group plus one, not that Jin hadn’t been an amusing addition.

.oOo.

It only makes sense that she departs on a stormy night. Her car is loaded and the remaining tents and banners of her goodbye party flap in the wind. Sokka presses his head to her forehead and gives her a rather lengthy kiss. Long enough to have her father retreating back into the house to fetch her a parting gift. She won’t open it until she reaches boot camp. It is a simple photo album that her mother had made.

She pulls out of the kiss and Ozai hands her the giftbox. “Your mother would be proud.”

“And you?”

Ozai sighs. “I think that you already know the answer to that.” He ruffles her hair. He hasn’t done that in ages. “I best see you in a uniform when you visit for the holidays.”

“You will, father.” She smiles.

“Take care of father?” Azula requests quietly to Zuko. “Keep him on track, okay?”

“I’ll keep him busy.” Zuko promise with a gesture to the lighthouse and his brand new business. “Trust me, I will.”

She doesn’t doubt it in the slightest. “Alright, well I’m getting soaked so…”

“I’ll see you later, Azula.”

She nods and gives a little wave.

Sokka puts his arm around her and leads her to her car. She buckles herself in and turns her head for one final kiss. “Call me when you get there.” It isn’t a question. “Of course I will, Sokka.” She answers anyhow. He waves again and she rolls up her window. Windshield wipers throw drops off of the window as she steers her way down the winding lighthouse driveway.

The Sea Candle rests on the cliff shining her way as it always has. And it will be there to guide her home when the day comes. She casts one final look at the town in her rearview mirror. She can swear that, in the beam of the lighthouse she can see faint sails, bobbing haphazardly in the waves.

[amphtaminedreams]

We Voted for Murderers

65.2%.

That’s the percentage of people who voted for the Conservative candidate in my constituency, and I feel completely heartbroken. See, things have properly gone to shit. 

If we’re talking numbers?

Local councils estimate the number of people sleeping rough on any given night between 2010 and 2018 has risen from 1,768 to 4,677, a 165% increase. The Trussell Trust, the UK’s largest food bank charity, has reported a 5,146% increase in emergency food parcels being distributed since 2008. An 8% cut in spending per school pupil since 2009. Funding from central government to local government cut by 60% in that same period. £37 billion less spent on working-age social security compared to over a decade ago by 2020. A 90% fall in the number of social homes being built since 2010. A £7,300,000 decrease in funding for women’s shelters between 2011 and 2017. Don’t even get me started on the government’s treatment of the NHS.

I’ve heard stories of individuals applying for PIP due to mental illness being berated about suicide attempts and the likelihood of another as part of a “formal interview” process to see whether they qualify. People collapsing in job centre queues, freezing to death on the streets and the elderly in their homes, suicides whilst on never ending mental healthcare waiting lists. In fact, 17,000 sick and/or disabled individuals have died whilst waiting for PIP payments to come through, and in total, UCL researchers have linked 120,000 deaths to austerity (I’m not going to comment on the irony of my former university that’s notoriously lacklustre when it comes to giving a fuck about the wellbeing of its students publishing this unless...I just did?). 8 years of negligent homicide of the most vulnerable people in our society under the Conservative government and we voted them back in.

So I ask, are people really stupid enough to believe that the politicians responsible for this mess are the ones who are going to fix it just because they make a few characteristically empty promises on TV or does the British public at large really give even less of a fuck about other people than I thought? As in actually not give a fuck about people dying?

I have to tell myself it’s the former. The press’ treatment of Jeremy Corbyn and Labour was scathing. 

Corbyn, a man who has stood by the same principles of fairness, justice, and equality, for the entirety of his career, was criticised by the likes of The Sun, The Daily Mail, and The Telegraph, for being indecisive and a threat to this country whilst Boris Johnson, a man who can barely string a sentence together when he is asked to give a straight answer to something and blocked the release of a report covering Russian interference in British politics, was held up as the one people should put their faith in. 

I know, the press are never going to be completely neutral. But shouldn’t they at least be committed to integrity? And the truth? Isn’t that the WHOLE FUCKING POINT of journalism? I’ve been hearing the phrase “post-truth world” thrown around a lot and it’s probably an indication of my privilege that it was only with this election that I properly understood what that meant; it was found by the NGO First Draft just 2 days before the election, damage way past the point of done, that 88% of the Conservative Party’s Facebook ads (compared to 0% of Labour’s ads) contained misleading information. The repercussions were non-existent. After Boris Johnson’s claim that Jeremy Corbyn wanted to raise corporation and income tax to the highest levels in Europe was publicised, only Channel 4′s Factcheck website published the actual statistics (France, Belgium, Portugal and Greece all have much higher corporation tax rates than Labour’s proposal). Similarly, in many constituencies, the Lib Dems were posting fliers where Labour candidates were, in the previous election, the runner ups to the Conservative candidate, claiming that it was instead THEIR party’s candidate who had the highest chance of unseating the latter. Days before the election, the headline of one of Britain’s most highly circulated papers claimed that a Corbyn government would plunge us into a crisis the likes of which “we haven’t seen the Second World War”, which is kind of wild considering that 130,000 preventable deaths have been linked to austerity under the Conservative government compared to 70,000 civilian deaths in said war. Not that either is good, obviously, and I can’t believe I have to point that out. But then, right-wingers did paint Jeremy Corbyn as a monster for passing up watching the Queen’s Christmas Day speech to volunteer at a homeless shelter, so I thought I’d just cover my back, y’know. 

Shouldn’t there be standards that the media is held to? You know, like not making slanderous statements about some politicians that have no actual basis in fact whilst brushing over the statements of others. Whilst the PM’s father Stanley Johnson was on nation television calling the public illiterate, and Jacob Rees-Mogg was blaming the Grenfell victims deaths on their “lack of common sense”, and Michael Gove was stating that people who needed to use food banks had brought it on themselves because they were not “best able to manage their finances”, it was Jeremy Corbyn who was being called an enemy of the people, accused of trying to plunge us into a “Marxist hell”...I mean, if Denmark and Norway and Finland with some of the highest living standards in the world are “Marxist hell”s  then sure, that’s what he’s doing. But that’s a hell I’m sure a lot of people would find much comfier than a freezing cold pavement. Before Labour had even released their (fully-costed!) manifesto, barefaced lies were being published about how much it would cost and how it would plunge us into trillions of pounds worth of debt, as if it hasn’t increased from £1 trillion to £1.8 trillion in the years since David Cameron took office. Meanwhile, when Labour did publish their manifesto and the Financial Times published a letter signed by 163 prominent economists and academics backing their spending plans? Crickets. Nothing sums it up better than the debate around Jeremy Corbyn’s alleged anti-semitism, discussed ad-nauseam whilst Boris Johnson’s actual racism, islamophobia, misogyny and classism, RIGHT OUT OF THE HORSE’S MOUTH, was completely ignored by most news outlets. 

You know what, maybe people earning £85k just DON’T want to pay an extra £3 in tax a week to make sure children get an education. Maybe everybody IS just as selfish as that one twat on Question Time who got all red in the face over the prospect of having to give up an amount less than the cost of a tub of Ben and Jerrys a week. But if that’s true, this isn’t a country I want to live in at all, or a planet I want to live on, really. I hope it’s not. I hope it’s a case of a need for some kind of collective realisation that the Sun ain’t shit. Merseyside did it. The younger generation are catching on. And look at the results there.

Labour probably couldn’t fulfil ALL of their promises. No political party is perfect. I was told again and again how unrealistic those promises were as if that was enough to make me go ”oh...I guess I’ll vote for 4 more years of people dying in the streets instead”. Yes, in an ideal world, the entire manifesto would be made a reality, but it depended on far too many rich people being good and honest. Let’s be real-the elite will always find a way to avoid paying their fare share on the premise that they “earned it”, as if anybody earns billions by sheer hard work alone and past a certain point, not off other people’s backs. As if there aren’t nurses and teachers and firemen and other public sector workers who don’t put in just as much energy and as many hours and emotional labour as CEOs and business owners and investors. But the point is that Labour under Jeremy Corbyn acknowledged this, and their manifesto aimed to give the power back to the average person, from the vulnerable to the supposedly middle class still struggling to make ends meet, and give them the quality of life they deserve. It was built on the simple premise that the people should use their government, not the other way round, and that everybody deserves the basic human rights of shelter, nutrition, safety and dignity, regardless of their fortune in life. However many of Labour’s policies would actually have been fulfilled, it would’ve been a shift in the right direction. 

Now the election’s been and gone and I’m scared. Already, the narrative is being rewritten by the billionaires in control of this country that a manifesto like the one we saw this year will never sit right with this country, when it is what so many desperately need. The people putting this information out there know the truth: that Labour’s membership trebled in size under Corbyn (more people voted for him than for any Labour leader since Tony Blair), that most of the safe labour seats were lost because of Brexit, and that if the manifesto had been represented accurately, there’s a good chance that Boris Johnson would no longer be our Prime Minister. I’m scared a person like Jeremy Corbyn will never front Labour again. 

Because I do not want a tory painted red who’s friends with Jacob Rees-Mogg behind the scenes, I do not want a war criminal who thinks that bombing innocent people is ever acceptable, I do not want a person who doesn’t see people of colour as part of the working class and indulges in the occasional bit of TERF-ism.

Already, the Conservative party are backpedaling on the few promises they made to increase NHS spending, and I am scared. I am scared for myself, in the event that I need urgent mental health care again, and I am scared for those less privileged than me who don’t have a family to support them, who don't have a roof over their head, who weren’t fortunate enough to be born in a country with relative economic and political stability, who cannot physically go out and work to earn a living. I am worried about the bigots that this election has already emboldened, the Katie Hopkins and the Tommy Robinsons of the world, who think the things that blind luck have graced them with they somehow earned, who pride themselves on ignorance and cruelty and selfishness.

So for now, what can we do? 

Join trade unions. Organise. Write to your MPs. Bring attention to those who are vulnerable. Be vocal with your criticism of the establishment. Call out those in politics for an ego-trip hiding behind “personality”. Do your research. Keep an eye on the numbers. The “it doesn’t matter who you vote for, just vote” sentiment is old, because it does. No “as a feminist, I exercise my right to vote for whoever I want”, because as a feminist, you should care about ALL women, not just the white, middle class, able-bodied ones. 

And if anyone has any more suggestions, let me know. Because I am sick and tired of living under a government who doesn’t give a fuck about the people it’s supposed to protect.

Lauren x

[DISCLAIMER: The photo is not mine. Just devastated and trying to find the words to express it.]

[ijustwanttoexist]

Love Isn’t Just a Walk in the Park Pt. 6

First of all, I want to say thank you for the donations to my ko-fi. I don’t have the right words for how much they mean to me, but they mean a lot. You guys have been and are amazing. Thank you.

Also, a friendly reminder that I don’t work with dogs/pets, so if I include something in my fics that is dangerous to animals, please let me know and I’ll be sure to spread the word so we can keep all our pets safe.

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5

Pairing(s): Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin

Sidney doesn’t actually come back in the next day the shop is open, but Geno doesn’t worry about it. He knows that Sidney and his team are probably really busy with playoffs. Any maybe that teammate of Sid’s hasn’t had a chance to talk to him about coming to the store. And really, with the heat steadily increasing as Spring progresses and builds into Summer, who wants to be outside running, no matter how cute the dogs in Geno’s shop are?

So no, he doesn’t worry about the fact Sidney doesn’t arrive bright and early the next morning to pick a dog to run with. (And Angela can stop giving him those knowing looks when she thinks he’s not looking. So what if he decided to change up the schedule and take on some morning shifts. Change is good sometimes.)

He doesn’t worry the next morning either, because the shop is closed for business since it’s a Wednesday, so it’s just him and the animals as he takes inventory and restocks the shelves and catches up on a seemingly never ending pile of paperwork.

But by Friday afternoon, he’s a bit worried. Or perhaps worried isn’t the right word. The conversation he’d had with Sidney’s teammate had inflated hope in his chest like a helium balloon. And like a helium balloon, it deflated just a little bit for each day that passed. And now that hope feels sluggish in his chest, not floating high to bounce on the ceiling anymore, but hovering in the middle of the room as it slowly grows smaller.

Sara actually asks if he’s feeling okay after he’s returned from lunch. Apparently he’s actually been touching his chest and making uncomfortable faces every time he lets himself stop and think about it, and he feels silly for it.

He gives her a shrug and a smile he knows is a bit strained.

“Heartburn,” he says.

“Did you take something for it, or are you being dumb and trying to tough it out?”

“Took some antacids,” he promises.

“And it’s not working?” She sounds really concerned, and Geno feels guilty for lying.

“Just take at lunch. Should start to work any minute now.”

She gives him a disbelieving look, but goes back to cleaning up a spill in one of the aisles, all the while telling Geno exactly how it happened in excruciating and extremely dramatic detail. Geno finds himself laughing, enjoying her probably highly exaggerated story and appreciating it in the spirit it’s meant.

The bell above the door jingles as Geno is in the middle of a deep belly laugh, head thrown back, one hand clutching the counter so he doesn’t overbalance and the other lifting to wipe the tears from his eyes. He opens one eye as he swipes at the other, and he’s in too good of a mood to freeze when he sees Sid standing by the door looking a little distracted.

“Sid, good to see you,” he says, not even trying to fight the smile that nearly splits his face. And if he hadn’t already known he’d fallen for this ridiculous man, he would know now, because even with that atrocious wispy attempt at a beard Sidney is still the best thing Geno has seen in days.

“Hey,” Sid says back, seemingly coming back from whatever had been distracting him, and gives a tentative half wave. He looks nervous, like he’s not sure of his welcome.

“Hey, Sid!” Sara says, leaning on her mop and waving at him, “long time no see, dude. Angela and I were going to start a betting pool on what happened to you.”

“Oh yeah?” he asks, glancing between Geno and Sara.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “Angela was pretty sure you were cheating on us with one of those other shelters at that photo shoot, y’know? I told her now way, but she was pretty convinced. Told me she saw you cozying up with a springer spaniel while everyone was mingling.”

“Oh, no, I...”

Sara interrupts him.

“But I was pretty sure that our beloved boss somehow put his foot in it while you two were talking, because you kind of seemed to be avoiding him after that? And like, he’s been kind of moping around since then, y’know?”

“No, I...” Geno tries to cut in and save himself the embarrassment.

“Oh, well...” Sid begins.

Sara continues to talk over them.

“And G wasn’t really talking about it at all, which seemed kind of like a dead giveaway. But then I was thinking that maybe you put your foot in it, and were too embarrassed to come back. Because G’s pretty great when it comes to communication, and he’s never too proud to apologize if he messes up.”

She stares Sidney down as she talks, no longer leaning on her mop but using all of her not inconsiderable height, shoulders squared for an encounter, one hand on her hip and the other white-knuckled on the mop handle. Geno watches it all with wide eyes, his brain screaming at him to say something to stop her tirade but unable to get his mouth to work.

“Because really, it wouldn’t make sense for G to be moping so hard if he was the one that messed up, y’know? He’s a great person and he wouldn’t just let bad feelings stew if he was responsible for them. So whatever happened obviously wasn’t his fault.”

She falls silent then, making intense eye contact with the man she knows upset her boss while he gives her a decidedly dear in headlights look.

“Sara,” Geno finally breaks the silence, “take your break.” She startles.

“What? No, I...” She cuts off when Geno gives her a significant look, trying to convey that he’s not angry she apparently decided she needed to defend his honor but just that he wanted a moment alone.

“Long break.” He gives Sidney a considering look, the looks back at her. “Half hour, at least.”

“But the mess,” she says weakly, gesturing with the mop.

“Will still be here when you back.”

She gives him a narrow-eyed look.

“And you promise you won’t try to clean it?”

“Promise,” he agrees. Because hunching over the mop always makes his back ache in ways nothing else ever does and he happily leaves it to the girls. She gives a decisive nod, then walks out the front door, giving Sidney one last stink eye as she leaves.

The men look at each other in awkward silence for a moment.

“I’m...sorry?” Sidney says finally. He’s fidgeting with his fingers, looking between them and Geno. Geno himself has leaned back against the counter, arms folded across his chest, one ankle crossed over the other.

“Don’t need to be sorry, Sidney. Nothing to apologize for.” He waves his hand like he’s erasing the apology away.

“I feel like maybe I do.”

“No,” Geno denies, “done nothing wrong. You run dogs on your time. Know you’re busy now, in playoffs.” Geno shrugs. “Not so much time for best dogs now.”

“I should have called or something.” Sidney insists.

“Don’t owe me anything, Sid.” He says it more somber than he means to, and sees Sidney flinch. He’s not looking at his fingers anymore, eyes solely on Geno.

“I did kind of drop a bomb on you then disappear,” he says, looking chagrined.

“You did,” Geno agrees, “think maybe you don’t mean it, telling me about no boyfriend. Or regret it. Maybe you realize you make a mistake to say that, realize you don’t want me.” Sidney winces.

“I did mean it. I just...I panicked. I’m not really a spontaneous kind of person. I did research on this place for like a month before I came in asking if I could walk your dogs. And telling you I wasn’t straight, that was really spontaneous. And then I started to doubt myself, y’know?

“What if I misread all of our interactions and it was just wishful thinking on my part that you were into me? And then what if me saying that made you really uncomfortable and you didn’t want to deal with me anymore? I convinced myself it was easier if I just didn’t come back.”

“Was easier,” Geno agreed. “Doing nothing always easier. But sometimes,” Geno pauses and looks around his shop with fondness, “sometimes easier isn’t best thing. Easier would mean I’m not here, in America, have no pet shop, never meet best employees.” He meets Sidney’s eyes, gives him a fond smile. “Or beautiful man with best smile and great ass.”

That gets a chuckle out of Sidney even as he turns bright red.

“One of my teammates reminded me that I play professional hockey for a living, and that I’m kind of an outspoken, opinionated pain in the ass about pretty much everything. And that I’ve probably never actually taken the easier path in my entire life up until now. And then, because he’s an asshole, he whipped me with a towel in my own kitchen and gave me a pep talk full of awful hockey innuendos.”

Geno laughed.

“Good stick handling? Work in deep and go in the back? Go in hard and fast?” Geno suggests, and sticks his tongue between his teeth to keep from laughing.

Sidney groans at Geno’s awful entendres and shakes his head.

“Less sex stuff and more stereotypical sports pep talk right before the big game that happens in literally every sports movie and show that has every existed, but for dating.”

“Want to date me, Sid?” Geno asks playfully. Sidney squares his shoulders.

“Yeah, I really do. We’re flying out tonight for a couple of away games, but maybe I could take you out for dinner some time next week?”

“Would like that,” Geno agrees.

“Yeah?” Sid says, face lit up and smile wide.

“Yes. Give me your number and we’ll text, make plans.” They swap numbers, giving each other wide dopey smiles the whole time.

They stand there just staring at each other for who knows how long until the bell above the door rings and they both startle.

It’s Sara. She looks between the two of them and then rolls her eyes.

“Oh thank god, it looks like you two finally figured it out. Two more weeks, and I would have owed Angela fifty bucks.”

“How many betting pools do you two have?” Sidney asks.

“We have all the details in our texts, but maybe like fifteen?” Sara shrugs. “It keeps us entertained. All that matters now is that I won and I’m using that money on all of the pizza.” She says, and goes back to mopping after saying goodbye to Sidney.

“I’ll text you,” Sidney promises as he leaves. Geno waves at him and turns to go back to work. His phone vibrating in his pocket stops him. He checks it and smiles. He knows he must look embarrassingly besotted, but Sara’s kind enough not to say anything as he texts back or when he starts whistling to himself.

She just asks him if he wants to go out for pizza after work, and he happily accepts.

[japanstopbrawler1992]

READ ME

ZERO TOLERANCE FOR RACIST CHASERS/GAY-FOR-STRAIGHT-CONSUMPTION/OOC TRANSPHOBIA/ANY RACISM WHATSOEVER UNLESS SHOWN AS BAD BY NARRATIVE AND CONFINED TO AGREED UPON PLOTTING

I set Savers in its airing year, so Masaru was born in '92. Can take place anytime after episode 49. However, there just won't be any explicit sexual content regardless of when the thread takes place. I also don't auto-ship: I'm here to walk a character through things, so ships will all be more slow-burn. Also, while Masaru's just pan, I'm actually asexual, so don't even expect me to present beyond a textbook understanding of sexual attraction

Masaru's kind of a jerk. My other two muses are generally at least kind unless the other person isn't, but Masaru's kind of abrasive and gleefully violent. If we're playing, I'll probably warn you beforehand, but Masaru may snap at your muse if your muse isn't a little kid. If your muse didn't deserve it, he'll probably apologise at some point, but yeah, this muse is even less like me than 02's Ken (Bleach's Ichigo is my muse most like me)

I'm on mobile. Period. I can't cut threads. I usually just tag "long post." Can't cut threads.

Seen JP ver only. Haven't seen any others, and I have no reason to bother--the original's in my native. Why would I bother with "orange juice bomb"?

Masaru is mixed race here. In a planned project that's a sister project to my Bleach project I already got a bit of stuff up for, Masaru's mum is Japanese and Russian, and related to Junpei of Frontier, and Masaru's dad was Japanese and Afghani. Masaru actually does speak Japanese, Russian, and Persian.

Masaru's also trans here. He never got puberty blockers, but he finally got testosterone at 13. So his voice changed at a pretty normal age. But he does need a binder and all that. (He loved that black tank top he wears after the memory wipe because it was just the right cut to cover the binder while showing off his arm muscles!) He does someday want kids, and Japanese law, like most US states or most places, requires sterilisation to recognise gender change. His papers also say a different first name. Of course, this probably came up with Satuma. Satuma and payroll at DATS probably know all about it. But being trans isn't *as* hard in Japan as the Anglophonic world. Especially thanks to Kamikawa Aya advocating on outlets like NHK radio since '95, which Masaru would be three then.

I toss the epilogue. Don't like the losing their digimon, and Masaru ditching his family he feels so responsible for and his dad he just got back?

Actually, in my project, ep 48 never happens. Suguru is dead, DATS remains, and Sayuri gets BanchouLeomon as her digimon partner.

Oh, another rule--poor spelling and grammar is acceptable if you are not a native speaker. It infuriates me to no end that I'm supposed to be an idiot for being fluent in three just because English is not my first, but native speakers get to run around spelling "bins" "ben's" and congratulating themselves for "kohnichuwa" but I get beaten/decried for actually knowing the language... And also, ,ZERO TOLERANCE for "garnish my human default English with exotic Japanese uwu" See "zero tolerance for chasers and racism"

Totally available to play in Japanese or Spanish, but you must be fluent.

Masaru lives in Tobechou, Yokohama. I went to the Chinatown in Yokohama once with my dad, but I lived in Koube. And we didn't leave Hanshin region all that much. My knowledge of much outside there being a Chinatown in the '80s (obviously still there, as it was the setting for the Savers movie) and big landmarks like Minatomirai is minimal. I also haven't been back to Japan period since '94. My relatives there are all deceased since the '90s, and flights alone are 1,000$, which, until recently, was definitely over a month of rent. Two for a studio, one plus a couple hundred for a 1 or 2LDK, depending. Might even have had 1.5 baths. By the time Savers was airing in Japan, I was able to keep up with Japanese news via now-gone Japanese-language broadcasts in California, as well as the Web, which is also how I saw Savers. But my knowledge of Japanese things may run the risk of being almost 30 years out of date. Or it might be completely current because I still read Asahi News, the most left-leaning paper I can find. Unsure if related to Hanshin region channel 6, but channel 6 was the best when I was there.

The Daimon family didn't move when Masaru came out, but he came out pretty young. It's just difficult to get trans care for minors. That being said, most peers don't know he's trans. They do know he's mixed, though. That being said, it's not like it's *only* him fighting racist bullies. It's only partially that. Like I said, I fully acknowledge he's pretty abrasive. So he's not completely blameless for all the fights. He could easily someday be the kind of parent who gets arrested for punching a rival dad. Violence is not a last resort for him. It's the best resort.

I do multi-para and don't use icons. But I'm not asking for an exact word count match. All I ask is give me stuff to go off of in replies and for Heaven's sake, do *not* format like House of Leaves when you play with me. Format button abuse looks like a visual panic attack, and is just too chaotic for me to read.

I may go spotty on replies with you. I'll still chat with you via the messenger thingy, and I don't play with people I've never spoken to, even if I've started the interaction, because I need to filter for my sanity, so I need to know the people I play with aren't gonna pull racism or something on me, but when my replies slow, it's because I work on-call at a shelter for seriously physically ill people, I'm also disabled myself, and I don't have the ability to put enough energy for the high-quality replies I strive to give in at the moment. I'm stalling because I want to give you my best. If I want to drop a thread, which is admittedly rare, I'll let you know. I won't leave you guessing.

Some h/cs just for fun

Masaru loves metal. The metal I know is 70s prog and 80s glam metal and stuff. I don't really like much music past about '94, and exactly two albums after 2000 (neither are metal)

Masaru has always had the same kind of attention span I have now even though I completely didn't when I was younger. He's running commentary if you watch an movie with him, his biggest problem with school is the whole sitting and passively listening to a lecture part, he thinks he doesn't like reading because others always talk about sitting there and reading for hours on end (if he's older, he may have realised it's OK to read for 20-minute bursts, something I eventually realised, too). He only really learns by doing. That being said, depending on age, he may not have had the chance to *realise* that yet.

He wouldn't become a sumo wrestler, but he totally watches it. Honestly, any fighting sport, and he's there.

He's very Japanese as far as religion. Sort of takes part and believes in a lot of them at the same time, but none are a overly influential part of his life. This is a thing.

Crossovers with any season preceding Savers are pretty easy with this blog considering my project. The project will eventually merge with the Bleach project, toi, so I also have a thing for that. Overall, I welcome crossovers with most animated media. Live action, I'll consider if you don't use icons with me (it ends up looking like Who Framed Roger Rabbit in my head) I don't do any real person stuff beyond, say, having Masaru listen to real bands or know of other public figures.

There is also a flexibility in playing Masaru in other countries. He could visit family in Russia or Afghanistan, he can be sent over from DATS to help with digimon appearances in countries allied with Japan (coughcontroloverjapanliketheuscough) or I totally ship him with Touma, so he could be in whatever that country is (obviously a Germanic nation in Western Europe)

He's definitely leftist, but his tactics aren't really common among the left. Typically, it's the fascists that will throw the first punch. Except Masaru will, as well. Unfortunately, this means he can take *away* from, say, antifa efforts to counter demo anti-Korean rioters.

He looks down on most weapon use, but probably none more so than guns and other weapons that remove the user from the target. To him, anyone who hides safely behind a weapon and makes the fight so one-sided is a coward. To this extent, he thinks war should be done away with and the leaders of the countries should duel instead of America just wiping out thousands of Japanese (WWII) or Afghani (during his lifetime) civilians (well, in that war, it was definitely not the Afghani government's fault, as that was a radical rebel sect powered initially by Regean, but it was most certainly civilian deaths en masse)

Masaru cannot meditate at all. He's also very reactive. To that extent, he's never really done well with martial arts. There's a lot less focus on self-discipline in boxing and wrestling than in Aikido or karate or what have you. He'd probably love the intensity of Krav Maga or CQC. I just don't know if Krav Maga has a self-discipline component. CQC almost certainly doesn't--it's American.

More when I think of it.

[aemonded]

Recommendations for Social Sciences Literature:

So as a recently graduated law student and lawyer (as well as being affected by many areas of intersectionality related below), I’ve been really into studying the social sciences and how society reflects how it treats the least of its citizens. My friend suggested that I draw up a list of recommendations for her, and share it with others as well. 

While my interest in these books might begin in how to consider the perspectives of others and consolidate my own point of view when representing a client, I can safely reassure you all that these are (for the most part) layperson books that I read in my spare time; not ridiculous legal dirges that will put you to sleep. All these books were spectacularly engaging for me, and I’d recommend them highly.

I’d also  like to preface this list with the fact that I educate myself on books that consider intersectionality and how the experiences of individual subsections of society affect society as a whole and an individual’s position in them. While as a result of the topics themselves these books often consider bigotry and sensitive issues/topics, they are academic considerations of societal constructs and demographics (as well as the history that grows from oppression of certain subsections of society), and attempt to be balanced academic/philosophical narratives. Therefore, while difficult topics might be broached (such as, for example, the discrimination transexual women face in being considered ‘women’), none that I have read would ever be intentionally insulting/ extremist in their views, and many are written by scholars and academics directly affected by these issues. Just research these books before purchasing them, is all I ask; for your own self-care. ♥

That being said, I have divided these recommendations into several areas of study. I will also mark when there is a decided crossover of intersectionality, for your benefit:

Feminist Theory: Mostly concerned with the limitation of womens emotions, the experience of women within Trump’s America, and the idealised liberation of women in 1960s, with a particular focus on the UK and ‘swinging’ London.

Disability Theory: Academic Ableism in post-educational facilities and within the immigration process.

Black Theory: This includes the relations between colonialism and the oppressed individual’s underneath its weight, the struggle through American’s history through ‘white rage’ towards the success of African-American success, and a sad history of racial ‘passing’ in America.

Immigration Theory: This mostly focuses on the experience of the disabled and Southern/Eastern Europeans/ Jewish people entering both Canada and the United States. It also provides this background to the immigration policies against a backdrop of social eugenics. I also included a book on the UK history of the workhouse in this category, as immigrants were often disproportionately affected by poverty once arriving in the UK/England, and often had to seek shelter in such ‘establishments.’

LGBT+ Social Theory/History: The history of transsexualism and the development of transexual rights throughout history.

Canadian Indigenous Theory/History: A history of the movements between the Indigenous peoples of North America and colonialists, as well as a two-part series on Canada’s Indian Act and Reconciliation (’Legalise’ aside in its consideration of the Indian Act, these are fantastic for the layperson to understand the effect such a document has had on the modern day issues and abuse of Indigenous people in Canada in particular, as well as how non-Indigenous people may work actively towards reconciliation in the future).

Toxic Masculinity: Angry White Men essentially tries to explain the unexplainable; namely, why there has been such a rise of the racist and sexist white American male, that eventually culminated in the election of Donald Trump (However, this really rings true for any ‘angry white men’ resulting from the rise of the far right across Europe and beyond). It is based on the idea of "aggrieved entitlement": a sense that those benefits that white men believed were their due have been snatched away from them by THE REST OF US~~~. While good, also just really expect to be mad (not in particular at the poor sociologist studying this and analysing this phenomenon, as he tries to be even-handed, but that such a thing exists at all).

1. Feminist Theory:

Rage Becomes Her: The Power of Women's Anger: 

As women, we’ve been urged for so long to bottle up our anger, letting it corrode our bodies and minds in ways we don’t even realize. Yet there are so, so many legitimate reasons for us to feel angry, ranging from blatant, horrifying acts of misogyny to the subtle drip, drip drip of daily sexism that reinforces the absurdly damaging gender norms of our society. In Rage Becomes Her, Soraya Chemaly argues that our anger is not only justified, it is also an active part of the solution. We are so often encouraged to resist our rage or punished for justifiably expressing it, yet how many remarkable achievements would never have gotten off the ground without the kernel of anger that fueled them? Approached with conscious intention, anger is a vital instrument, a radar for injustice and a catalyst for change. On the flip side, the societal and cultural belittlement of our anger is a cunning way of limiting and controlling our power—one we can no longer abide.

Nasty Women: Feminism, Resistance, and Revolution in Trump's America: 

Nasty Women includes inspiring essays from a diverse group of talented women writers who seek to provide a broad look at how we got here and what we need to do to move forward.Featuring essays by REBECCA SOLNIT on Trump and his “misogyny army,” CHERYL STRAYED on grappling with the aftermath of Hillary Clinton’s loss, SARAH HEPOLA on resisting the urge to drink after the election, NICOLE CHUNG on family and friends who support Trump, KATHA POLLITT on the state of reproductive rights and what we do next, JILL FILIPOVIC on Trump’s policies and the life of a young woman in West Africa, SAMANTHA IRBY on racism and living as a queer black woman in rural America, RANDA JARRAR on traveling across the country as a queer Muslim American, SARAH HOLLENBECK on Trump’s cruelty toward the disabled, MEREDITH TALUSAN on feminism and the transgender community, and SARAH JAFFE on the labor movement and active and effective resistance, among others.

(A heavy focus on intersectionality ♥)

The Feminine Revolution: 21 Ways to Ignite the Power of Your Femininity for a Brighter Life and a Better World: 

Challenging old and outdated perceptions that feminine traits are weaknesses, The Feminine Revolution revisits those characteristics to show how they are powerful assets that should be embraced rather than maligned. It argues that feminine traits have been mischaracterized as weak, fragile, diminutive, and embittered for too long, and offers a call to arms to redeem them as the superpowers and gifts that they are.The authors, Amy Stanton and Catherine Connors, begin with a brief history of when-and-why these traits were defined as weaknesses, sharing opinions from iconic females including Marianne Williamson and Cindy Crawford. Then they offer a set of feminine principles that challenge current perceptions of feminine traits, while providing women new mindsets to reclaim those traits with confidence. 

How Was It For You?: Women, Sex, Love and Power in the 1960s:

The sexual revolution liberated a generation. But men most of all.

We tend to think of the 60s as a decade sprinkled with stardust: a time of space travel and utopian dreams, but above all of sexual abandonment. When the pill was introduced on the NHS in 1961 it seemed, for the first time, that women - like men - could try without buying.

But this book - by 'one of the great social historians of our time' - describes a turbulent power struggle.

Here are the voices from the battleground. Meet dollybird Mavis, debutante Kristina, Beryl who sang with the Beatles, bunny girl Patsy, Christian student Anthea, industrial campaigner Mary and countercultural Caroline. From Carnaby Street to Merseyside, from mods to rockers, from white gloves to Black is Beautiful, their stories throw an unsparing spotlight on morals, four-letter words, faith, drugs, race, bomb culture and sex.

This is a moving, shocking book about tearing up the world and starting again. It's about peace, love, psychedelia and strange pleasures, but it is also about misogyny, violation and discrimination - half a century before feminism rebranded. For out of the swamp of gropers and groupies, a movement was emerging, and discovering a new cause: equality.

The 1960s: this was where it all began. Women would never be the same again.

2. Disability Theory:

Academic Ableism: Disability and Higher Education: 

Academic Ableism brings together disability studies and institutional critique to recognize the ways that disability is composed in and by higher education, and rewrites the spaces, times, and economies of disability in higher education to place disability front and center. For too long, argues Jay Timothy Dolmage, disability has been constructed as the antithesis of higher education, often positioned as a distraction, a drain, a problem to be solved. The ethic of higher education encourages students and teachers alike to accentuate ability, valorize perfection, and stigmatize anything that hints at intellectual, mental, or physical weakness, even as we gesture toward the value of diversity and innovation. Examining everything from campus accommodation processes, to architecture, to popular films about college life, Dolmage argues that disability is central to higher education, and that building more inclusive schools allows better education for all.

(See immigration below for another book by this author on the intersection between immigration policy and disability).

3. Black Theory:

Black Skin, White Masks by Frantz Fanon: 

A major influence on civil rights, anti-colonial, and black consciousness movements around the world, Black Skin, White Masks is the unsurpassed study of the black psyche in a white world. Hailed for its scientific analysis and poetic grace when it was first published in 1952, the book remains a vital force today from one of the most important theorists of revolutionary struggle, colonialism, and racial difference in history.

White Fragility: Why It's So Hard for White People to Talk About Racism: 

Referring to the defensive moves that white people make when challenged racially, white fragility is characterized by emotions such as anger, fear, and guilt, and by behaviors including argumentation and silence. These behaviors, in turn, function to reinstate white racial equilibrium and prevent any meaningful cross-racial dialogue. In this in-depth exploration, the author examines how white fragility develops, how it protects racial inequality, and what we can do to engage more constructively.

White Rage: The Unspoken Truth of Our Racial Divide: 

From the Civil War to our combustible present, and now with a new epilogue about the 2016 presidential election, acclaimed historian Carol Anderson reframes our continuing conversation about race. White Rage chronicles the powerful forces opposed to black progress in America. As Ferguson, Missouri, erupted in August 2014, and media commentators across the ideological spectrum referred to the angry response of African Americans as “black rage,” historian Carol Anderson wrote a remarkable op-ed in the Washington Post showing that this was, instead, “white rage at work. With so much attention on the flames,” she writes, “everyone had ignored the kindling.”Since 1865 and the passage of the Thirteenth Amendment, every time African Americans have made advances towards full participation in our democracy, white reaction has fueled a deliberate and relentless rollback of their gains. The end of the Civil War and Reconstruction was greeted with the Black Codes and Jim Crow; the Supreme Court's landmark 1954 Brown v. Board of Education decision was met with the shutting down of public schools throughout the South while taxpayer dollars financed segregated white private schools; the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and Voting Rights Act of 1965 triggered a coded but powerful response, the so-called Southern Strategy and the War on Drugs that disenfranchised millions of African Americans while propelling presidents Nixon and Reagan into the White House.Carefully linking these and other historical flashpoints when social progress for African Americans was countered by deliberate and cleverly crafted opposition, Anderson pulls back the veil that has long covered actions made in the name of protecting democracy, fiscal responsibility, or protection against fraud, rendering visible the long lineage of white rage. Compelling and dramatic in the unimpeachable history it relates, White Rage will add an important new dimension to the national conversation about race in America.

A Chosen Exile: A History of Racial Passing in American Life:

 Between the eighteenth and mid-twentieth centuries, countless African Americans passed as white, leaving behind families and friends, roots and community. It was, as Allyson Hobbs writes, a chosen exile, a separation from one racial identity and the leap into another. This revelatory history of passing explores the possibilities and challenges that racial indeterminacy presented to men and women living in a country obsessed with racial distinctions. It also tells a tale of loss.As racial relations in America have evolved so has the significance of passing. To pass as white in the antebellum South was to escape the shackles of slavery. After emancipation, many African Americans came to regard passing as a form of betrayal, a selling of one’s birthright. When the initially hopeful period of Reconstruction proved short-lived, passing became an opportunity to defy Jim Crow and strike out on one’s own.Although black Americans who adopted white identities reaped benefits of expanded opportunity and mobility, Hobbs helps us to recognize and understand the grief, loneliness, and isolation that accompanied―and often outweighed―these rewards. By the dawning of the civil rights era, more and more racially mixed Americans felt the loss of kin and community was too much to bear, that it was time to “pass out” and embrace a black identity. Although recent decades have witnessed an increasingly multiracial society and a growing acceptance of hybridity, the problem of race and identity remains at the center of public debate and emotionally fraught personal decisions.

4. Immigration Theory:

The Guarded Gate: Bigotry, Eugenics and the Law That Kept Two Generations of Jews, Italians, and Other European Immigrants Out of America:  

A forgotten, dark chapter of American history with implications for the current day, The Guarded Gate tells the story of the scientists who argued that certain nationalities were inherently inferior, providing the intellectual justification for the harshest immigration law in American history. Brandished by the upper class Bostonians and New Yorkers—many of them progressives—who led the anti-immigration movement, the eugenic arguments helped keep hundreds of thousands of Jews, Italians, and other unwanted groups out of the US for more than 40 years.Over five years in the writing, The Guarded Gate tells the complete story from its beginning in 1895, when Henry Cabot Lodge and other Boston Brahmins launched their anti-immigrant campaign. In 1921, Vice President Calvin Coolidge declared that “biological laws” had proven the inferiority of southern and eastern Europeans; the restrictive law was enacted three years later.

Disabled Upon Arrival: Eugenics, Immigration, and the Construction of Race and Disability: 

In North America, immigration has never been about immigration. That was true in the early twentieth century when anti-immigrant rhetoric led to draconian crackdowns on the movement of bodies, and it is true today as new measures seek to construct migrants as dangerous and undesirable. This premise forms the crux of Jay Timothy Dolmage’s new book Disabled Upon Arrival: Eugenics, Immigration, and the Construction of Race and Disability, a compelling examination of the spaces, technologies, and discourses of immigration restriction during the peak period of North American immigration in the early twentieth century.Through careful archival research and consideration of the larger ideologies of racialization and xenophobia, Disabled Upon Arrival links anti-immigration rhetoric to eugenics—the flawed “science” of controlling human population based on racist and ableist ideas about bodily values. Dolmage casts an enlightening perspective on immigration restriction, showing how eugenic ideas about the value of bodies have never really gone away and revealing how such ideas and attitudes continue to cast groups and individuals as disabled upon arrival. 

The Workhouse: The People, The Places, The Life Behind Doors:

In this fully updated and revised edition of his best-selling book, Simon Fowler takes a fresh look at the workhouse and the people who sought help from it. He looks at how the system of the Poor Law - of which the workhouse was a key part - was organized and the men and women who ran the workhouses or were employed to care for the inmates. But above all this is the moving story of the tens of thousands of children, men, women and the elderly who were forced to endure grim conditions to survive in an unfeeling world. 

5. LGBT+ Social Theory/History:

Transgender History: The Roots of Today's Revolution:

Covering American transgender history from the mid-twentieth century to today, Transgender History takes a chronological approach to the subject of transgender history, with each chapter covering major movements, writings, and events. Chapters cover the transsexual and transvestite communities in the years following World War II; trans radicalism and social change, which spanned from 1966 with the publication of The Transsexual Phenomenon, and lasted through the early 1970s; the mid-'70s to 1990-the era of identity politics and the changes witnessed in trans circles through these years; and the gender issues witnessed through the '90s and '00s.

Transgender History includes informative sidebars highlighting quotes from major texts and speeches in transgender history and brief biographies of key players, plus excerpts from transgender memoirs and discussion of treatments of transgenderism in popular culture.

6. Canadian Indigenous Theory/History:

The Inconvenient Indian: A Curious Account of Native People in North America: 

Rich with dark and light, pain and magic, The Inconvenient Indian distills the insights gleaned from Thomas King's critical and personal meditation on what it means to be "Indian" in North America, weaving the curiously circular tale of the relationship between non-Natives and Natives in the centuries since the two first encountered each other. In the process, King refashions old stories about historical events and figures, takes a sideways look at film and pop culture, relates his own complex experiences with activism, and articulates a deep and revolutionary understanding of the cumulative effects of ever-shifting laws and treaties on Native peoples and lands. 

21 Things You May Not Know About the Indian Act: Helping Canadians Make Reconciliation with Indigenous Peoples a Reality:

Since its creation in 1876, the Indian Act has shaped, controlled, and constrained the lives and opportunities of Indigenous Peoples, and is at the root of many enduring stereotypes. Bob Joseph's book comes at a key time in the reconciliation process, when awareness from both Indigenous and non-Indigenous communities is at a crescendo. Joseph explains how Indigenous Peoples can step out from under the Indian Act and return to self-government, self-determination, and self-reliance - and why doing so would result in a better country for every Canadian. He dissects the complex issues around truth and reconciliation, and clearly demonstrates why learning about the Indian Act's cruel, enduring legacy is essential for the country to move toward true reconciliation.

Indigenous Relations: Insights, Tips & Suggestions to Make Reconciliation a Reality:

A timely sequel to the bestselling 21 Things You May Not Know About the Indian Act - and an invaluable guide for anyone seeking to work more effectively with Indigenous Peoples.

We are all treaty people. But what are the everyday impacts of treaties, and how can we effectively work toward reconciliation if we're worried our words and actions will unintentionally cause harm?

Practical and inclusive, Indigenous Relations interprets the difference between hereditary and elected leadership, and why it matters; explains the intricacies of Aboriginal Rights and Title, and the treaty process; and demonstrates the lasting impact of the Indian Act, including the barriers that Indigenous communities face and the truth behind common myths and stereotypes perpetuated since Confederation.

Indigenous Relations equips you with the necessary knowledge to respectfully avoid missteps in your work and daily life, and offers an eight-part process to help business and government work more effectively with Indigenous Peoples - benefitting workplace culture as well as the bottom line. Indigenous Relations is an invaluable tool for anyone who wants to improve their cultural competency and undo the legacy of the Indian Act.

7. Toxic Masculinity:

Angry White Men: American Masculinity at the End of an Era: 

One of the headlines of the 2012 Presidential campaign was the demise of the white American male voter as a dominant force in the political landscape. On election night four years later, when Donald Trump was announced the winner, it became clear that the white American male voter is alive and well and angry as hell. Sociologist Michael Kimmel, one of the leading writers on men and masculinity in the world today, has spent hundreds of hours in the company of America's angry white men – from white supremacists to men's rights activists to young students. In Angry White Men, he presents a comprehensive diagnosis of their fears, anxieties, and rage.Kimmel locates this increase in anger in the seismic economic, social and political shifts that have so transformed the American landscape. Downward mobility, increased racial and gender equality, and a tenacious clinging to an anachronistic ideology of masculinity has left many men feeling betrayed and bewildered. Raised to expect unparalleled social and economic privilege, white men are suffering today from what Kimmel calls "aggrieved entitlement": a sense that those benefits that white men believed were their due have been snatched away from them.

Happy reading, everyone. ♥

[clarabosswald]

yo so it’s the middle of the night (almost morning actually) and i’ve been laying wide awake for at least an hour thinking about how y’all have been doing my main girl lyra the dirty i was trying to actively avoid the discourse in the his dark materials tag but i’ve just finished reading lyra’s oxford for the first time and i can’t just stay quite while you’ve been getting my All Time Favorite Female Character so damn wrong 

so let’s start with the basics who is lyra by the beginning of book 1?

arrogant, extremely self assured

emotional, with a wild personality

HIGHLY impressionable

most importantly - she grew up almost her entire life in an extremely sheltered environment, protected by jordan’s scholars and servants alike

fucking 11 years old. a Child

then you (or a certain philip pullman) take this lovable little prick and drag her through an utterly ridiculous plethora of traumatic events let’s make a list, shall we? just... some highlights. because this list got so ridiculously long as i was writing it, i literally cannot include all of the traumatic events in this kid’s life

her best friend gets kidnapped by notorious child kidnappers - probably the first truly big blow to lyra’s sheltered world, imo bigger than the attempt on asriel’s life (being herself, she vows to save him, which as we all know is crucial for future events)

she learns the real identity of her parents. the man she thought was her uncle her whole life is actually her father. and the woman who so deeply betrayed her trust, whom she learned to hate, is her mother. that’s fucked up

almost by herself, she finds a boy without his daemon, his soul, a half-boy, an inhuman boy, a ghost, a nightmare - then she shows him compassion because the entire world had turned its back to the poor thing and because she’s just that good - and she brings him to safety only to have him die a few hours later while she was sleeping. what the fuck

she finds out the truth about the operation her own mother’s leading. cutting away the souls of children. and she sees all of them. in cages.

then some men casually grab her and pan - with their human hands - and almost cut them apart. that was clearly a breezy, fun experience 

then, of course, comes the best part, where her father kidnaps her best friend - the one she just saved, the one she was just reunited with after a long and dangerous journey - and cold-bloodedly kills him right before her eyes - she held his body as he died - such a massive betrayal of trust i’ve barely got words to describe it. and after all of that she decides to follow him into a different goddamn world?????

and hey that’s just book 1 the next 2 books only add and add and add to this already impressive pile, here are some highlights:

remember how the alethiometer - her trusted guide, the one thing making her feel special and safe - was stolen by a powerful evil man

and how she and will were hunted by a mob of crazed children who were wholly intending to murder them

and oh that nice bit when lyra spent what was probably weeks drugged to sleep in a cave up some mountains, and that whole time she had a continuous dream about the same best friend she vowed to save and blamed herself for his death - seeing him in the world of the dead, begging her to come help him. lovely experience for any child

a lot of people forget this bit but this kid faced the personification of her own death................. and followed it

a lot of people don’t forget this bit, probably one of the single most traumatic experiences so far if not the most traumatic, when this child forced herself to leave her soul, her closest friend, literally half of herself, on some foggy beach without knowing how she’ll ever find him again. remember how hard she fought two books ago to escape a similar fate? now she’s willingly doing this to herself? how fucking fucked up is that

then comes another underrated event which i think changed her forever. when she failed lying to the harpies. lying. the one thing she was best at. that defined her. that she relied on in so many dangerous situations. failed. this child is in the world of death and torn apart and terrified and now stripped of her power of lying her way out of danger. god

she fights against doubt and her own weakness to lead uncountable trillions of souls out of the world of the dead. then she nearly falls to her death in the hole created by an interdimensional bomb designed to kill her. you know. another casual day for us all

she fights her way through a battlefield full of soul-eating monsters looking for her lost soul what the sHIT

and here i’m gonna stop before the next major trauma and say something. as a kid i didn’t understand lyra’s and will’s romance. couldn’t see the point. as an adult i do. these two children have been through so. goddamn. much. by themselves. learning to trust each other. then protecting each other. being each other’s only ally, only friendly face, only hand to grab. saving each other so many times. they proved themselves, their friendship, to each other for so long. helped each other. believed in each other. two fucked up children in a fucked up situation. honestly? no wonder they fell in love.  and when you read the books and see how it evolved... yeah. so you take that - these two kids finally finding peace and comfort in each other, having that blissful experience of falling in love for the first time - and you rip it away from them. suddenly. violently. they can’t anymore. so you consider all these things i’ve listed above and some things should seem to make sense. 1. lyra cannot possibly be the same person she was in the beginning of book 1. remember how impressionable she is. how protected she grew up. then you drag her through the minefield of everything she’s been through. yes, she will be broken. she will not be exactly as fierce and confident and she was before. she cannot possibly retain that.  you know why?  because she’s not a caricature of a ~strong female character~. she’s human. and amazingly written as such. 2. considering the above while making the next point - will made a huge imapct on lyra and her personality. she learned from him. she admired him. she drew strength and confidence from him. remember again - she’s impressionable. then there’s this quote from the end of book 3:

They looked at her: her eyes were glittering more than usual, her chin was held high with a look she'd learned from Will without knowing it. She looked defiant as well as lost, Dame Hannah thought, and admired her for it; and the Master saw something else--he saw how the child's unconscious grace had gone, and how she was awkward in her growing body. But he loved the girl dearly, and he felt half-proud and half in awe of the beautiful adult she would be, so soon.

and this one soon after:

Once they were in the Botanic Garden, Pan ran away over the grass chasing a mouse toward the wall, and then let it go and sprang up into the huge pine tree nearby. It was delightful to see him leaping through the branches so far from her, but they had to be careful not to do it when anyone was looking; their painfully acquired witch power of separating had to stay a secret. Once she would have reveled in showing it off to all her urchin friends, and making them goggle with fear, but Will had taught her the value of silence and discretion.

and then there’s one from lyra’s oxford:

The poor thing looked so wretched, huddled there in the cold shadow; and the thought of his witch, waiting in the north in the faint hope that he’d bring back something to heal her, made tears come to Lyra’s eyes. Pan had told her she was too soft and too and too warm-hearted, but it was no good telling her about it. Since she and Will had parted two years before, the slightest thing had the power to move her to pity and distress; it felt as if her heart were bruised for ever. 

and this bit a little after that seals the deal:

Lyra’s mind was whirling. They’d nearly walked into a trap - and now Lyra, weaponless, would have to fight to stay alive. She thought, “Will - Will - be like Will - “

and god i just [inhales]

points made: 1. lyra is a growing child  2. lyra’s life circumstances and personality made her vulnerable to trauma 3. she’s then gone through an extremely prolonged chain of highly traumatic events 4. her relationship with will was unusually strong and impactful on her life and personality and feeling of safety and security, being violently forced to be away from him hurt her profoundly 5. she’s a young human being, she grows and changes 6. LEAVE MY CHILD ALONE

[brokenmusicboxwolfe]

Lost in the drafts...

I wonder what made me start this list. 

Yes, “start”. Ridiculously long as it is, I’m rather surprised at the things I didn’t include. Guess I was too sleepy to organize my thoughts.

I’ll put a cut in here because it’s just too long to clutter your dash....

You know, sometimes I wonder if my family might have been a wee bit…odd.

- We have a coffin room…with an actual coffin!

- We have a woods and swamp for a backyard to play in.

- My brother and I used to play on the roof of the shop. Somewhere there is a cute picture of him when he was little tossing things off the edge.

- My brother and I would practice jumping out of a moving car when Pop drove in the driveway.

- My brother and I would ride on the roof of the jeep while Pop drove around the farm and woods. We’d bang on the roof, shouting for him to go faster....and he sometimes would.

- My brother and I learned to use machetes as young children, much to the anxiety of some other parents. Useful tools though.

- When in the woods we’d howl to find each other, since we often wandered alone.

- The kitchen had lab equipment next to the cooking equipment. One whole cabinet was just for slides, pipets, beakers and such.

- In the shop there was another lab of equipment just for Pop’s mineralogical passion.

- Actually there was scientific equipment tucked everywhere. I mean EVERYWHERE!

- My first nine years we all slept in one bedroom, subdivided with shelves full of scientific and technical books, more scientific nicknacks, and a giant jar (large enough to pickle a baby…if that’s your sort of thing) full of fireworks.

- Funnily enough no one slept in the four upstairs rooms. Not so funny when you consider two of them were haunted house level dilapidated where you could see outside through the slats of the crumbled plaster. 

- There was an ancient spinning wheel up in one room, and very little else. I was not named Aurora and did not prick my finger at 16….pity.

-One of the upstairs rooms was the train room. Both beds had been covered over with structures for Pop’s train layout. (When I was little I could crawl in the space between, to lie on the bed with the trains zipping while reading)

-My father knew how to make explosives….for fun.

- There was a hidden bomb shelter to play in. This is not related to the explosives.

- At the river we had the “big boat”, at the time it was built the world’s largest all fiberglass boat (according to old clippings),  and the drydock as another place to play. 

-We’d row miles along the river alone as little kids.

- Down at the “big boat” we had signs up warning people to NOT shoot the snakes. People seem to have it in for the poor things, and it was real battle.

- My family bought an old tug boat to scrap. I forget now what they wanted from it. 

- We never killed spiders, snakes (with one life endagering incident as an exception), or any other creepy crawly. We would fight you on it.

- That said, we would eat any animal offered to us. Folks that wanted to hunt but not eat the kill would give it to us. The Wolves would eat anything! LOL

- In the warm months I’d swim up river a mile, then back, with Pop rowing along to keep motor boats from hitting me.

- We had a pool we built outselves. It’s a deceptively unique pool, above ground but also below ground. We dug it out ourselves, the whole family shoveling down many feet before fiberglassing it. 

- Oh yeah. Fiberglassing. The family had a fiberglassing business, and since it was just the family, we helped out. This meant a lot of glassing, riviting, sawing, cutting, and moving very large objects.

-My family did all repairs, building and yard work themselves. Plumbing, electricity, roofing, appliance repair, cutting down trees, you name it.

- This self sufficency included a small sawmill from which they had cut all the lumber that went into the barn. That was another place to play, what with the giant saw blade.

- My brother’s childhood game of melting things in acetone was a lot less safe than mine of melting crayons on lamps to make patterns of the drips. Our parents gave up trying to stop us.

– We also played with fire. As kids we’d use branches and scraps of fiberglass to make torches whenever there was a fire. We’d run around swinging them. Our parents trusted us not to burn down the world.

- Our parents also let us make “rivers” the length of the driveway. We’d run the hose for ages,  making dams and canals.

- Animal skulls, snake heads, rocks, interesting sticks, old wasp nests, etc were normal home decorations.

- If an animal died we’d save the skull. I have a cool photo of Pop cutting off the head of a deer a train had killed, but I’m not sure it’s Tumblr suitable. I’ve got skulls from beloved pets.

- We were surrounded by old things. I mean dating back a few centuries. These items were never stored away but in common use. A book from the 1700s would be next to paperbacks, the ratty old chair at the kitchen table was pre-revolutionary, the stove in the kitchen (modified by Pop) dated from the 1930s…

- Still, until we ran into money woes, we were also technologically advanced. Pop was always interested in new tech. For instance we were the first folks around here to have a computer, years before the school ever had one. 

- My atheist father and “wake at dawn to read her bible” Baptist grandmother ate at the same table to…intersting results.

-I could write a LOT about my other grandparents. People still talk about Pop’s parents.

- Poor Mom though. She was so…normal, or at least could pass as it. Loving reading science fiction was only odd by local standards. 

-The practice of trying to sneak around without being seen was another family game. When Pop had customers I’d try to cross the area around the shop without being caught.

- My parents let us run free, trusting our judgement to keep us from getting killed. It must have worked since we even managed to avoid serious injury despite a lifestyle others would consider dangerous.

- I’d climb up in the rafters of the barn where the boat was built  where I’d swing on the metal cables hanging down. Admittedly Pop drew the line when I wanted to string a high wire for walking the length of the place. If I mastered walking a tightrope at two feet he’d do it. What can I say, I got bored. 

- Actually imaginary friend lived in that barn, the ghost of a little boy murdered during the American revolution by his uncle. We used the barn door to travel through time and space, often encountering the ghost of the evil uncle. (Is it any surprise I loved both Doctor Who and Dark Shadows when I later discovered them?)

- My father’s favorite book to read to me at bedtime was “Haunted New England” of supposedly true stories illustrated with atmospheric photos.

- Locals believed our house in town was haunted. Some still do. Sadly, it isn’t. Members of my family have lived in it for over 50 years. If a ghost obsessed little girl not only didn’t see any ghosts, but never even had her ghost of an imaginary friend visit the house, no one would see a ghost there. At least it LOOKS haunted! LOL

- By 6 we had out own pocket knives, by 8 we had hatchets, and by our teens we had our own swords.

- My father was building his own submarine. He had designed it himself and had the basic structure built, but the actual workings were going to take money and time to get that money. Needless to say, it never got finished.

[eldritchsurveys]

401.

do you have a lot of barbecues during the summer? >> God, I fucking wish. Barbecues are one of my favourite things about summer. do you plan on going to the movies soon? to see what? >> I don’t think so. I thought I would be interested in Ad Astra but after seeing the trailer, I’m... really not.  do you tie your shoes or just tuck in the laces? >> The shoes I have don’t have laces like that. What is one present you got for your last birthday? >> A Jackson Crawford t-shirt that Rez sent me with the names of Odin on it in runes. What is one thing that you took to show and tell as a kid? >> I’ve never participated in show-and-tell.

Do you remember losing your first tooth? >> No. In the summer would u rather have the windows down or the AC on in the car? >> The windows down, unless it was so oppressively hot that even the breeze that comes with motion wouldn’t relieve it. are you itchy anywhere right now? >> No. Have you ever thrown anything at a moving car? >> No. Have you ever been addicted to a game? What game? >> No. What song makes you laugh when you hear it? >> I Punched Keanu Reeves by Hello Peril. xD do you believe in “the one”? >> No. Do you like maple cookies? >> That sounds good, but I’ve never had one. Have you ever volunteered anywhere? where? >> No. are you afraid to pop a balloon? >> No, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy it. Name one person you’d like to see this month. >> --- How high do you put the volume while using headphones? >> It depends. When was the last time you laughed when you shouldn’t have? >> I don’t know. What would be the worst possible way to be woken up? >> By... bombs going off? Probably? I don’t know. which was better: lion king 1 or lion king 2? >> I didn’t even see the second one. Do any of your grandparents have a tattoo? >> --- When was the last time you had a bubble bath? >> When I was a child. have you ever had a pet rock? >> No. Do you believe in marriage? >> “Believe in” is a really weird phrase to use... Like, what is there to believe or disbelieve in? It’s just a legal arrangement... Or, wait. Do I believe in the idea that marriage is forever and ever and is a sacred rite under God or whatever? Yeah, no, not at all. I believe it’s a legal arrangement that can have some decent benefits (like sharing insurance, or being able to make medical decisions for your spouse if they’re hospitalised and unable to advocate for themselves). I have no magical thoughts about marriage. I don’t even think it’s necessarily a declaration of “romantic love” or whatever. (Obviously, right? Because if that was the case, there’d be no reason for me to be doing it, lmao) What word do you say way too much? >> I have no idea. What do you usually buy when you go to the corner store? >> I miss corner stores... are you currently cold? >> Nope. do you believe that your pets feel love towards you? >> --- what is a creative way to paint your nails? >> I don’t know. does your computer have built in speakers or do you have some plugged in? >> It has built-in speakers, but I usually use a bluetooth speaker or headphones with it. bubbles or sidewalk chalk? >> I love blowing bubbles. What do you use to tell time when your gone out somewhere? >> My phone. what colour is your alarm clock? >> --- what brand is your TV? >> LG. are you proud of your body? >> Yeah, I’m actually quite proud of it. It’s put up with a lot. Watermelon or Cherries? >> Cherries. What is your all time favourite song? >> --- Have you ever had a crush on a fictional character? >> Hm. What is the band you’ve listened to most lately? >> I don’t know, I haven’t been fixated on any one band. Except maybe Master Boot Record. how much effort do you put into how you look? >> Not much. My appearance is pretty self-sufficient. Favourite brand of cookies? >> --- what would you do if you found out your mother had killed someone? >> If I turned on the news or something and my mother was on it for murdering someone I’d lose my fucking shit laughing. If you could meet anyone who lived before your time, who would it be? >> --- Do you pay for your own things? >> I pay for some, Sparrow pays for some. Have you ever been rushed to the hospital in an ambulance? >> Yeah. Do you think the world is getting worse every year? >> No. I don’t even know what that means. Have you ever had a reoccurring dream? >> Recurring themes, but not whole dreams. Have you ever gone a day without eating? >> Probably. How do YOU believe the world & universe started? >> I’m pretty okay with the Big Bang theory. What was the topic of the last essay you wrote? >> --- how old were you when you discovered what sex was? >> Oh, I don’t know. Do you wish you had smaller feet? >> No. Have you ever stuck gum under a desk/chair? >> Yeah. When shopping at a grocery store, do you return your cart or just leave it? >> I return it. What is one thing you’d never want your parents to find out? >> --- Who is the best cook in your house? >> Sparrow, by virtue of actually practicing. When you were little, did you like Dr. Suess books? >> I don’t recall reading any. Do you have a ‘prized possession’? >> No. Have you ever felt trapped in a relationship? >> Yeah. Not in the sense that I felt like I couldn’t leave, but in the sense that I wanted to stay and work shit out, but I felt trapped in the cycle of manipulation and other mad shit that completely ruined any chance of actually reaching equilibrium. Eventually I did break it off, and that went about as well as I could have expected. *shrug* How many dryer sheets do you put in a load of laundry? >> I don’t use dryer sheets. I think it’d be cool to try that yarn ball with essential oil trick one day, though. Recommend a good book to me. >> --- What would you consider unforgivable? >> --- When you hear someone talking about lice, does your head start itching? >> No. What would be a clever name for a giraffe? >> --- Are there any items of jewelry you never/rarely take off? >> Yeah, my piercing jewelry. What’s something you like to do while you’re drunk? >> I’m not even sure. Being drunk in recent years has just made me spacey and sleepy.  Do you think you deserve more than what you have? >> No. Would you rather give your food to a homeless shelter or money to charity? >> Give food to a homeless shelter. Kiss on the neck or kiss on the cheek? >> --- True or False: you this read wrong >> Heh, I sure did. Don’t you hate when you hit your tooth on your cup trying to get a drink? >> That doesn’t happen to me. Which store would you choose to max out a credit card? >> --- Who has the loudest mouth in your house? >> Sparrow is, overall, louder than me. Can you understand shakespear english? >> Not really. I’ve always had trouble reading his stuff. Do you usually buy or make your Halloween costumes? >> --- Do you like eating out at restaurants? >> I do. What was your least favorite year of your life so far? >> --- What is the most ridiculous law you ever heard about? >> Whatever it is, I can’t remember it now. Is your name common? >> Not at all. If you could have any pet in the world, illegal or not, what would you get? >> --- Do you like fried bologna? >> I used to, but I’m not sure I’d like it now. How do you act around people you dislike? >> I try not to be around people I dislike. Do you like decorating rooms or would you rather have someone else do it? >> I like decorating rooms. Have you ever been to Canada? >> No. have you spent money on a game online? >> Yeah -- Second Life has definitely gotten at least a few hundred dollars from me over the years I played it. And of course there’s the various MMOs I’ve played and the one I still play (which doesn’t have a subscription fee, but does have an in-game currency that you can buy with real money). Are you good at making small talk? >> I suppose I could be if I bothered to be. Has someone ever taken something from you that you could never replace? >> Yeah. Are you a fan of tattoos? >> Yeah. Are you bikini ready? >> I don’t know, but I know I would never wear one. What do you dislike the most about being the gender that you are? >> I dislike being seen as a person with a gender.

[violetsmoak]

maybe this is how it starts [2/?]

Cover & Disclaimer 

Author’s Note: Sorry it took so long since the last update. I ended up deciding not to pants this thing and just do whatever with the chapters, but I went and found an honest-to-goodness plot. Go me! So, to further said plot, have some Jason and Roy Bromance. Because as far as I’m concerned, the best jaytim fics I’ve read always have Roy and Jason doing their girl-talk thing.

The Red Hood’s base of operations is in a bomb shelter beneath the One Police Plaza in Gotham. It’s chilly inside, which doesn’t bother Jason under normal circumstances, but then everything is pissing him off today.

There are a lot of things Jason has learned to endure over the years—torture, death, total mental and physical exhaustion, unending moral dilemmas…

All of them are just more of what life has to throw at him and what he responds to with a smirk and the middle finger. Physical limitations are something for lesser men—men who were never trained by Batman or the League of Assassins.

And yet…

If there’s anything that might drive him almost to the point of Lazarus-Pit-crazy, it’s itching.

“It’s decided. I’m going to kill Ivy,” he growls, slopping another handful of aloe vera over the expanse of his arm, leaning back so as not to drip the green gel onto his keyboard.

Whatever was in the venom from the vampire-plant hybrids, the rash has lingered for the whole week without a sign of improving. He has a peevish hope that Tim is having a worse time of it, since it’s his fault Jason is even in this situation to begin with.

Can’t even fucking go on patrol without wanting to tear my skin off every goddamn minute.

He’s been trying to fill the time doing the whole research schtick for a few of his ongoing cases but has barely even been able to focus on that. It’s irritating and leaves him alone with his thoughts much more than he’s comfortable with.

It’s been three months of pushing down any acknowledgement of what happened. That for the first time in his life, Dick Grayson is dead. Not somewhere being Nightwing or filling in as Batman, but dead. His predecessor-mentor-not-brother-but-yeah-sorta-brother got himself unmasked and killed.

Jason is not entirely sure how to deal with the new reality, and it’s possible he’s been more adrift than he would ever admit. But the cure to that is denial and distraction, which is why when the giant screen in front of him fills up with a picture of Roy making finger guns, he accepts the vid call.

“I swear to God, Roy, if you’re calling to tell me you’ve been evicted again and need money,” he trails off, feigning annoyance despite being glad for the interruption.

“Hello to you too, sweetheart,” his best friend replies dryly, fiddling with something metallic and sprouting wires. He squints at Jason. “Dude, what’s with your arm? That rash is fugly.”

“Compliments of a soon-to-be-dead Poison Ivy and an idiot in a cape.”

“Heh. Which idiot?”

“The one who’s supposed to be the smart one.”

Roy raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t ask for clarification, either because he knows who Jason is talking about or because he knows he won’t get an answer. “That’s more polite than you’d usually put it. You feelin’ okay?”

“No, I’m not feeling okay, I’ve spent the last week scratching my nuts off!”

“Man, come on! TMI!”

“You know what I mean.” Jason rubs his back against his chair, seeking relief from a spot he can’t reach to scratch. “Fuck Ivy…”

“I thought you liked Ivy.”

“Respect. I respect Ivy. I don’t like her.”

“How did you even end up running into her? I mean, greenspaces aren’t exactly your thing.”

“I told you already, I was saving the moron in the cape. Who’s damn lucky I did, because I wasn’t even going to take that route last night.”

All because he’d (not that he’d admit it) been thinking about Dick. Which he had been for months now, a fact which he’s pretty sure influenced him to help Bruce and the rest of them go on that suicide mission to get back Damian Wayne’s body. He’s still a little in shock that the whole thing ended in the kid’s resurrection and not a second explosive and painful death. But then, he’s living proof that it’s possible, so maybe he shouldn’t be.

Roy must sense the direction of his thoughts, because he changes the subject. “So, have you given anymore thought to that idea I had?”

Jason gives himself a mental shake.

“No. Because going after Kori reeks of desperation, and you’re better than that.”

“Am I? Am I really?” Jason exchanges looks with Roy, who then sighs. “Fine. So how long are you hanging around Gotham? Because, by my count, this is the longest consecutive amount of time you’ve spent there since before you died. Family hasn’t grounded you, have they?”

Jason scowls. “They’re not my family.”

“Right, okay, sure. That’s why whenever there’s a fart jammed out that way, you go running—shit!” One of the devices he’s working on emits a minor explosion.

“I go back because it’s my city and I have stuff to take care of.”

Rapists and human traffickers won’t break their own kneecaps.

“And because the Bats are your family.”

“I’m going to shoot you.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“That was an accident, and you know it. This time it would be on purpose,” Jason grunts, using the heel of his hand against his arm. He winces when the action brings on equal parts of relief and pain, since his skin’s already been clawed almost raw.

Roy snorts in disbelief.

Jason pauses for another moment, considering his best friend, and then decides what the hell, they aren’t the type to keep secrets from each other.

“Demon brat’s alive,” he says at last.

Roy startles, dropping his soldering iron. “Whoa. No shit?”

He was the one who showed up to drag Jason out of the bars he’d practically destroyed in the days directly following the kid’s death. He knows the exact depths to which Jason was or wasn’t affected.

“No shit. It was this whole…thing. Ninjas and boom tubes and a Chaos Shard.” He doesn’t mention the overly-sentimental team-up with the Bats, or the surreal “birthday” dinner afterward. Damian and Tim had been almost pleasant to each other, and Jason had caught Bruce watching him with such overwhelming gratitude in his eyes he’d had to duck out early.

It’s still weird to him when he sees anything other than judgement in the older man’s eyes.

Roy whistles. “Damn. He okay?”

“I didn’t really stick around for the group therapy session. I’d say so—the little shit got superpowers when he woke up. I figured I should make myself scarce before he took it into his head to throw me like a javelin.”

“Didn’t we do that once with Kori?”

“Kori’s end goal wouldn’t be for me to go splat.” 

“Not unless you left the toilet seat up again.” 

“That was you.” 

“Can’t prove it.” 

“Of the two of us, who was practically raised by a British butler that wields guilt and disapproval like the Lasso of Truth? You think I will ever in my life dare to leave a toilet seat up?”

Roy sniggers and Jason smirks, and the tension hanging in the wake of their conversation fades somewhat. Humor is how they have always dealt with this kind of stuff.

“Still, that’s pretty heavy,” Roy says after a beat, reaching for a pair of wire strippers and electric tape. “I get why you’ve been hanging around there. I mean, what is this, three out of four now? Four out of five?”

“Huh?”

“Dead Robins. You should start a club.”

“Who says we haven’t?” Jason grumbles. “I’m the goddamn president.”

“I’m just saying, I see why you’re staying. Going by the balance of probability, the moron in the cape is probably next. It’s, like, his turn or something. So I get it—you want to keep an eye out.”

Jason narrows his eyes. “Drake’s not going to die if I have anything to say about it. No one gets to kill my replacement except me. When I feel like it.”

If I feel like it.

He and Tim have sort of come to an understanding of sorts in the past few years, if only in a professional sort of way. Exchanging information or giving the heads-up on a rogue showing up in each other’s territory. Occasionally sharing a bite to eat.

And saving each other’s lives, apparently.

The idea that a grisly death awaits Tim just because he had the misfortune of being a Robin bothers Jason more than he likes.

“When you feel like it?” Roy prompts. “You’re just trying to sound tough to cover up the other thing.”

“What other thing?”

“The thing where you feel like you have to step into big brother’s shoes now,” Roy informs him. “With Dick gone, that’s you, man.”

Jason physically jerks away from the screen, staring at Roy. “Fuck no. That’s not my deal.”

“If you say so.”

And just…no.

He jokes about it, sure. Calls them ‘bro’ or makes pointed remarks related to family or siblings, but it’s always tongue-in-cheek and more mocking than serious. It’s just to get a rise out of them, to remind them how he really doesn’t fit in with Bruce’s messed up idea of a ‘family’.

Besides, he’s pretty sure even if he wanted it, he’d be a shit older brother—he doesn’t have any of Dick’s likeability or sense of responsibility or general concern for everyone’s welfare. And Bruce’s kids all have their own level of fucked-up that, coupled with his own many and varied list of issues, could very well land them all in Arkham.

No way he’s going back there.

“Sorry, you’re breaking up,” Jason says flatly, and terminates the call before Roy can get too smug or think he’s actually on to something. He glares at the blank screen for a few minutes, and then queues up all the overseas cases he’s been flagging the past week.

Time to get the hell out of dodge. Before I get called to babysit or something…

֍

Tim is not keeping tabs on anyone.

At least, no more than usual.

The myriad of windows open on his workplace computer screen, showing several different sources of surveillance footage, is simply his method for remaining prepared for whatever crisis is inevitably coming.

(There’s always a crisis coming.)

And he’s definitely not watching out for Jason, even if his eyes keep drifting toward the grainy image of the Red Hood followed by traffic cams in Montreal, where he’s infiltrated a human-trafficking operation.

Tim justifies it as pre-emptive damage control, in case he needs to send someone to save Jason from himself.

(Never mind that Tim never did this before three months ago, never mind that Jason’s mellowed out a lot in the past two years and has developed something almost in the realm of good judgement, never mind that—)

As if to make the point to himself, Tim focusses his attention on the other windows. Damian at Wayne Manor, singlehandedly lifting the roof onto what appears to be a new pet enclosure while Alfred watches, bemused. The kid still has superpowers, which is another mark against the existence of a higher power—what kind of benevolent force would give the brat heat vision?

Bruce isn’t in Gotham; last Tim heard, he’s gone to the Hall of Justice, probably to figure out how to drain off Damian’s powers. There are no camera there (and if there were, Bruce would probably have disabled them by now), but the tracer Tim slipped into the cowl the last time they met is still going strong.

Tim pretends he doesn’t know that Bruce knows he put it there; he hates feeling like he’s being humored.

Steph is in class, Cass is out of the country, Barbara is at a information management conference in Metropolis.

They’re all fine.

And he’s not keeping tabs.

He just has to be ready. In case he needs to shut down the power for a city block or remotely cut camera feed, if it looks like someone is about to die or be unmasked.

Not again. Never again. Not like Dick, won’t let it happen—

The speaker on his office phone trills. “Mr. Wayne? Your eight o’clock is here.”

Tim shakes off his disjointed thoughts and reaches for the intercom button. “Send him in.”

Warrick Powers has a face Tim would very much like to punch.

Maybe if he was in uniform, he would find an excuse, but at the moment, he is fully immersed in his Timothy Drake-Wayne persona. Any attack on the CEO of Powers Technology would not only bring a few dozen lawyers down on him and Wayne Enterprises, but it would also wreak havoc on Tim’s image as a feeble, recovering cripple.

Which would be a waste, since he’s been cultivating that image for over two years.

His crutches are long gone, but he still carries a cane with him everywhere for ‘bad days’. It’s not even really a lie, since there are mornings after he hasn’t slept in thirty-six hours where he needs something to fidget with. Some kind of prop to offer a believable reason for his pauses. It’s better if people think he’s reliving the shooting that supposedly injured him, rather than pay attention to the obvious sleep deprivation or concealed injuries. 

“Tim! Great to see you again,” Powers declares in a false voice that would do even Brucie Wayne proud. “Glad you could fit me in this morning.”

“It just so happened I needed to speak to you about something,” Tim replies with an insubstantial smile.

“Excellent, excellent,” Powers says vaguely, by-passing the usual polite handshake and sprawling in one of the chairs across from Tim. He hasn’t said so out loud, but it clearly bothers him having to do business with a teenager. “I just wanted to come by and tell you that our little project is right on schedule. Ahead of it, in fact…”

Out of the corner of his eye he watches the footage of Jason outside a restaurant in Chinatown and he suppresses the urge to swear.

The idiot had better not be messing with the Ghost Dragons, because I cannot deal with that right now.

Though, the older man is in civvies, so it’s entirely possible he’s just grabbing lunch.

And…nope. Wishful thinking. Damn it, Jason.

If his suspicions about what’s about to happen onscreen are correct, Tim’s going to have to put an end to this meeting faster than he expected.

Powers is still rambling.

 “…we could move up the launch by a month or two without sacrificing quality. Maybe even release it as a limited-edition prototype. For a higher price, of course, but people have been waiting on this model for five years now, they’d pay for it.”

The older man chuckles; it doesn’t reach his eyes, which remain cold and calculating as a snake’s. The overall effect makes Tim’s skin crawl, in a different way from the lingering phantom itch of Ivy’s toxin.

(Stupid mistake. Shouldn’t have been anywhere near Robinson Park without backup, even if it was recon. Another stupid mistake—)

“Thank you for the progress report, Mr. Powers,” Tim says, cutting his thoughts off before they can become too rambling, “but that was not the reason I agreed to see you today.”

“Oh?” Powers looks politely interested.

“I received a tip two weeks ago from a concerned individual that Powers Tech has been dumping toxic waste,” Tim tells him, careful to keep his inflection mild. The term ‘concerned individual’ is loose, but it was Ivy that mentioned it to him and told him to fix it or she would. He doesn’t remember if that was before or after she let her plants have their fun, though. “We take that kind of accusation very seriously. The entire reason Wayne Enterprises agreed to collaborate with your company was because you’ve boasted about your eco-friendly containment practices.”

Powers expression doesn’t betray anything; in fact, the way his eyebrows raise, and his mouth turns downward in confusion, anyone else might consider him legitimately affronted.

“And you believed it? Come on, Tim, I’m sure WE gets half a dozen similar accusations a week. It’s just the granola movement trying to shut down our operations. They’d be happy if we still did things the Amish way.”

“Maybe. But those accusations don’t usually come with evidence to back them up.” Tim slides several folders across the desk. “Only a percentage of your industrial waste is being disposed of responsibly, I imagine for publicity’s sake; the rest, you’re burying in the sublevels of your main facility.”

Powers lips thin ever so slightly. “Hearsay.”

“We do our due diligence in these matters. Some of your employees were willing to confirm the report—anonymous now, but willing to come forward in the event of a formal investigation,” Tim says. “There was also an undercover investigation commissioned by…outside parties.”

No need to admit he was the outside party.

“The results indicate that not only are your containment measures insufficient, but the run-off from that waste is close to entering the groundwater, which could jeopardize Gotham’s entire water supply. Possibly even on a global scale if it gets to the ocean and reacts with the salt water.” He holds his hands in front of him. “I’ve held back on having this released to the public as a curtesy to you to get your affairs in order today.”

“What?” Powers growls and there’s not even an attempt to keep his charming mask on.

“I’ve asked you here so that we can finalize the dissolution of Wayne Enterprises partnership with Powers Tech,” Tim continues. “It’s a fairly cut and dried situation, so there was no need to call in the board.”

“That isn’t going to happen—”

“In exchange for an uncontested dissolution of our agreement and a clear plan to fix the problem, I continue to keep this information from going public—along with several other discrepancies I’ve discovered in your company, many of which are such blatant health-code violations that if they’re made public, you’ll be declaring bankruptcy by nine o’clock tonight. Personally, that isn’t the path I’d choose; your recent indiscretions aside, Powers Tech has the potential to do great things—if it’s being run by someone with half a conscience.”

Which you clearly don’t possess.

“You’d do well to watch your tone, boy,” Powers growls. “Does your father know the career suicide you’re committing right now?”

“He trusts my judgement or I wouldn’t be sitting at this desk,” Tim shrugs, unconcerned, and slides two more folders across. “These are to dissolve our partnership. Feel free to have your lawyers look it over, but I am serious about the nine o’clock deadline. If you intend to keep your company operating for the foreseeable future, you will sign it and send it over before then. You’ll also make an announcement that you intend to step down from your position as CEO, since you are taking full blame for your company’s blatant disrespect for environmental laws.”

“I will do no such thing! That’s tantamount to an admission of guilt—and I have no intention of going to jail over these…these fabricated accusations.”

“The choice is yours, of course. And you are pretty well-off, so even though this is an open-shut case, I’m sure you’ll land in a white-collar institution that’s nicer than most of Gotham’s criminals enjoy. But make no mistake—either you come forward on your own, which will be helpful in negotiating a lesser sentence, or you wait for the evening edition of the Gotham Gazette, which I know won’t paint you in a very favorable light.”

“This is blackmail.”

“Actually, it’s extortion,” Tim corrects him, reaching for his half-filled coffee cup. As Powers eyes gleam at him, a small smirk forming, Tim continues, “Oh, and just so you know, anything we’ve said in this meeting is completely confidential. I took the liberty of installing a scrambler in this office, which knocks out all mechanical devices. Your phone and the recorder in your pocket won’t have caught any of our conversation. To ensure neither of us chooses to play any unfortunate quotes out of context, of course.”

“Of course,” Power grunts tightly.

“I would go with the first option,” Tim says, switching back to the previous conversation with ease. “This way your company’s stocks won’t fall too badly. And this way your son has a chance of being a better man and better CEO than you. I look forward to discussing the changes with Derek at the Green Energy Expo in Hong Kong next week.”

Powers looks as if he’s about to jump across the table and throttle Tim, who casually reaches for his intercom, “Mr. Powers will be leaving early, please ensure someone can escort him down to the lobby.”

“I can find my own way,” Powers snaps, shoving his chair back and grabbing the folders Tim gave him. “And this isn’t over, you jumped-up little brat. You’re going to regret this.”

“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard that before,” Tim replies, adopting the cold, distant smile of Janet Drake. “Have a nice day, Mr. Powers.”

As soon as the older man has stormed from the office, Tim lets out a breath he hadn’t even noticed he was holding. It only occurs to him when the tight feeling in his chest dissipates. He leans back heavily in his chair, feeling like he’s run a marathon, which makes no sense. It’s not the first time he’s had to strongarm a partner or competitor.

He notices he has been bouncing his knee up and down under the desk, and scowls. Good thing Powers didn’t notice that, or he might have taken it as a weakness.

He’s hungry, but the effort involved in procuring food is too much. The stupid cane is not worth it, and despite his stomach complaining, he has no appetite. Not worth it.

On screen, Jason flips a table through the restaurant window. 

Damage control, Tim decides, relegating his hunger to the back of his mind and preparing to scrub any footage of Jason’s activities. It’s not keeping tabs.

So, yeah, Tim’s in denial and Jason doesn’t do warm and fuzzy family feelings. And Roy is way more observant than he would like heehee.

Sorry there was a lack of direct jaytim interaction this chapter, but I’d kind of like this fic to be more than boy-broods-about-other-boy-every-chapter. I find it makes for a more authentic slow-build relationship if they also have other stuff going on in their lives. But next chapter, we shall have dialogue once more!

TBC

NEXT CHAPTER ( in progress)

[guidanceofficer-fr]

Astral Discoveries

Prompt: Space-themed lore!

I decided to actually focus on the stars for once.

Summary: A troubled flight controller of the Baikonur Spaceflight Agency contemplates the importance of his role. A stranger from the Starfall Aisles helps him deal with grief after two cosmonauts died on his control team’s watch.

Warnings: Extensive discussions of death, guilt & spaceflight disaster. Also, very long. I’m sorry, mobile users. (It’ll read-more on reblogs, I swear!)

@fr-community

Clear skies were a rare treat in the Shifting Expanse. They came only once a month, or every two months, if at all for a whole season. The breaks in stormy weather were traditionally a time for Lightning dragons to cram in as much outdoor labor as possible, while they weren't under the constant taunting of the stormy sky. Though there were no electrons hopping busily from atom to atom in the few clouds above, the dragons who harnessed them were busy far below making their own sparks of creative magic happen. Even dragons working desk jobs like Pathfinder felt the rush of the sunny swells; as projects were completed quicker down at the Launch Base, the demand on the workers in Mission Operations grew too.

But Pathfinder had no urge to rush now, under a clear starry sky. He'd been rushing for the past seven months to keep up with a tight schedule from the Spire. The whole agency had. It was an old story: the Stormcatcher needed things done /now,/ so people cut corners to get the work done. He'd notice, after all, if you faked a few figures. So the work had to be done honestly, and fast. But quality takes time, time the Baikonur Spaceflight Agency hadn't had. They all rushed like workers under sunny skies to complete the newest crewed spacecraft and the systems that would support it. Hasted decisions were made; "it'll have to do" became the unofficial motto in all the Agency's divisions, adopted by dragons who didn't have time to relax, to think deeply and thoroughly about the problems they'd been given, and solve them in the best manner. Everyone knew if they'd pulled off the mission, it would be a miracle.

But miracles don't exist in Lightning. The sky strikes wherever the land beneath it is vulnerable. If you leave yourself exposed, you're struck. Miracles don't save you. Preperation does.

That day at work had been the hardest day of Pathfinder's entire career. There are no words to describe the feeling in your bones as you watch a rocket explode eighty seconds into its launch. Dragonkind, for all its ingenious, couldn't invent a language capable of describing the inescapable sickness of watching a vessel of hope--a physical testament to the dreams and work of an entire world of dragons--turn into an atom bomb, shaking the windows of the blockhouse with a terrifying force, obliterating the poor crew within. There was nothing in Pathfinder's lexicon that could describe the horrifying beauty of cracking a firework in the dawn on the high desert, the blinding light which cleansed Sonrieth briefly of the unforgivable sin of incompetent engineering, an angel of probability, judge of Murphy's law, carrying out its awesome duty to smite down any vehicle vulnerable to its own flaws. It paralyzed him, even now, to remember that day.

And yet, in the moment, Pathfinder had been anything but paralyzed. The holy fire had cleansed him of any emotion, and all that was left was cold, dead precision. It became an obsession, checking over the logs for any funnies in his own console, then moving to help his more paralyzed team members process the information while it was still fresh in their minds. He'd been given congratulations (or, more accurately, been acknowledged) for how his actions helped out his team. In the moment, he'd performed the best he could have.

Doing his best work wasn't a comforting feeling anymore. Doing his best work hadn't saved two starry-eyed cosmonauts. No. The agency had been unprepared. And he was a part of that agency, meaning part of that guilt lay on him. He wished he'd had some of the experiences of the military types in the control center, who had trained with the Air Force before being transferred to Baikonur. At least they had some experience with mortality. Comparatively, Pathfinder had lived a sheltered life, teaching at computer museums and studying software engineering.

Then again, he shared a space with people who'd worked with test pilots, not all of whom came back. They hadn't seemed any less shocked than he was. But what did he know? Social cues were the last thing he was looking for when he was stressed.

"They're beautiful, aren't they?"

It took Pathfinder a moment to realize someone had spoken to him. When he did, it startled him, and he froze and turned an ear to the speaker.

"The- The stars, I mean. You guys must not get to see them much from out here."

Pathfinder nodded. He wanted to speak, but a pain in his throat told him when his voice came out it would be unstable.

The dragon behind him was silent for an awkward portion of time. Pathfinder wondered if he was waiting for a response. He didn't quite understand what he was supposed to say, though, other than a note of affirmation... It wasn't worth revealing how shaky his voice was feeling just to add a "yes." Still, though, the stranger stayed silent, so he closed his eyes and beckoned his courage to speak. Just when he was about to, though, he heard the other dragon's voice again:

"If it's alright, I'd like to sit with you."

Pathfinder gulped to keep his emotions from getting the better of him. "Yes. That's alright."

He heard motion behind him, and a fairly large Imperial lay on all fours next to him. Without waiting for another word from Pathfinder, he spoke again. This time, he was softer, about as soft as an Imperial could hope to be. "They called us all out from the other launchpad in the Aisles. My flight came in a few hours ago. I don't- I don't know what to say."

Pathfinder's voice was barely a whisper. "Me neither."

He was tempted to introduce himself, but he stayed quiet. An introduction to another Agency member would mean reciting his title as Guidance Operations Officer and Software Engineer for Baikonur Mission Operations, and MO wasn't something he wanted to think about right now.

"Thiore sure is bright tonight."

Pathfinder nodded, though he wasn't sure how the other dragon knew the fifth planet from the sun apart from the other stars in the sky. "Hmm."

As if reading his mind, he shifted his weight to point. "She's the bright one up there," he said. "The one just to the- to the left of that lightning tower to the northeast."

"Interesting. I thought planets didn't twinkle."

He couldn't see his companion, but he practically feel the expression change. "Twinkling has nothing to with whether it's a star or a planet. See- see, it has to do with- with the atmosphere. The atmosphere distorts the light from the star, or the object, so planets appear to twinkle too."

"Well, I stand corrected."

"Don't- don't feel bad about it. I've heard that same question from plenty of other smart dragons."

He smiled, and Pathfinder could hear it. He considered that a fair response, and didn't feel a need to add anything else to the conversation.

The pair lay under the stars for hours. It was hard for Pathfinder to fully relax; he was used to being on top of everything, or trying his hardest to be on top of everything, needing to know exactly where the spacecraft was and everything that could be pushing it off course. It was why he worked with a team to start with. No one person could handle that task without other dragons there to process data and hand it to him to use, and they needed his information as much as he did. So everything was a conversation, every little funny, every speck of error... and every number in the trajectory of a broken spacecraft that led the Range Safety Officer to explode the remains of a decapitated rocket before it hurtled down towards the town miles downrange.

"I- This is- This is an odd question... I'm not sure how to phrase it..."

Another awkward silence passed. He figured he couldn't complain, considering he could barely talk at the moment himself.

"Do you think they're up there?"

He turned his head. "Who?"

"The cosmonauts."

It hit Pathfinder like a brick to hear those two words. He felt a painful lump in his throat that he didn’t know was there. He shut his eyes quickly, trying to keep hot tears from rolling down his face. He wasn’t about to sob in front of a colleague. It had never happened, and it wasn’t going to happen today.

“I can’t think of anywhere else for them to be, can you?”

He heard a sigh next to him, as if it took physical labor to bring words to his comrade’s lips.

“No. I- I can’t.”

The wetness of tears on his eyes felt cold in the desert evening.

“And you know what?”

Pathfinder didn’t turn his head, fearing his tears were more visible than he wanted them to be. “Hmm?”

“I think- I think-” He sighed. “I think they’d want us to keep trying.”

He felt a grin form on his lips. He blinked, trying to keep tears in, but he felt one on his cheek.

“I think that’s a good guess.”

“No… You see… They didn’t die because they wanted to give up. They died because they were as determined as we were to get up there and touch the stars.”

“And we rushed them,” Pathfinder almost spat out. “We were too caught up in the stars, we didn’t focus on what we could have done down here-”

“We did what we could, and-”

“But we didn’t!”

Pathfinder’s breath was heavy. He was whispering, but with such force his words were practically a hiss. “We didn’t do what we could! We did shoddy work, and now two innocent cosmonauts are dead! While you guys were out-” He gasped- “While you guys were out at Tereshkova launching tracking satellites, we worked our asses off to keep up with deadlines that we knew we couldn’t meet! We knew we weren’t ready, and now two dragons-”

He stopped himself. He’d never thrown a tantrum at work before. But he’d never had blood on his hands, either. He didn’t know how to wash it off.

The air was silent. A satellite passed by somewhere up above. Pathfinder focused his vision on it. He wondered if he could judge the height of the object by how fast it was orbiting. But he’d already missed when it crossed over the horizon; there was no use counting how long it took to cross over the other. Ah, well. He kept his eyes fixed on it. It was like a miracle, he realized, all the work it took to put that thing up there, that it even bothered to stay.

Was that what he was supposed to be? A miracle worker?

“... I think you’re right to be angry, and I think they’d think so too.”

He sighed. “You think?”

“Well, I- I can tell that you have a lot of passion for what you do, even if you don’t want to talk about it. And I don’t know you, but out in the Aisles, well, we don’t ignore things like that. We channel our passion. That’s why Arcane dragons can be so intent on being dreamers. They use those dreams.”

“So what, am I supposed to dream of cosmonauts not being dead?”

“No, I- Listen. Passion doesn’t have to be a dream. It just has to energize you. It has to be enough to wake you up in the evening, or the morning, if you wake up then. It has to be the driving force behind what you do. You need to let it invigorate you, let it ignite the breath inside of you.

“What I’m saying is, I think it’s good that you’re so angry and regretful. In Arcane, we don’t throw that away. We use that anger to remind us to do better.”

Pathfinder nodded. “So I have to feel it fully, so I remember that I never want to feel it again.”

His companion was silent.

“Well… Something like that.”

Pathfinder lay in contemplation for a few moments. It was late, and perhaps it was getting to him; while he thought he’d been contemplated, he’d been thinking of nothing at all. He watched the stars pass above, and realized he’d been watching a constellation get closer and closer to the horizon for the past… god, what time was it? He’d better get back to his dorm; the last thing he needed was to be sleepless during the next weeks’ briefings. He was barely prepared as is. Sleeplessness wouldn’t help.

He stood up and brushed off his feathers. But before he left, he turned to the stranger.

“Thank you for talking with me.”

The Imperial’s eyes were still fixed upwards, searching the skies for lost wanderers of the cosmos.

“It was no trouble at all.”

As he headed back to his dorm, Pathfinder felt a strange sense of ease about him. He wasn’t at ease at all; on the contrary, he was still turning the events of the past few weeks over and over in his mind. But he knew he wasn’t wrong in doing so.

Starting tomorrow, he’d be sure he and his colleagues were exacting in their work. They would be slow and methodical, and refuse to proceed to the final steps of a launch until they were sure that their data was nominal. They would design and construct all the devices necessary for a launch with excessive care, leaving no room for dragonmade error in their work. They would leave as little up to the hands of fate as possible; Murphy was too harsh a judge to trust with cargo as precious as life. When the crew climbed the gantries and strapped themselves into their capsules, he wanted them to know their lives weren’t in the hands of fate, but in the claws of the dragons who’d welded its seams and sottered its avionics, and the few who watched over the craft’s telemetry with care at the launch site and back at Baikonur Mission Control.

He’d wronged those first cosmonauts, and he knew they’d want him to right things again, so no more would die as they had. It was Pathfinder’s duty to ensure that; the stars themselves had told him.