#may we all have our own frank to blame

[ninzied]

writer’s block

She hadn’t written in days-turned-to-weeks, and it was one missed deadline—two—three—before Karen thought to open her laptop again. Her catching up on some much-needed rest hardly meant that the city’s despicable deserved the same.

Her fingers were poised on the keys just as Frank emerged from his shower, back glistening, his towel slung low. His mouth crooking when their eyes met, both of them caught mid-stare at each other—

And the city’s criminals would have to go unpunished for another night, she thought as he drew closer, pulling her out of her chair and into his arms for a kiss.

[madamspeaker]

In an interview for a forthcoming book, Mrs. Clinton also suggested that if Donald Trump won in November “we may never have another actual election.”

Hillary Clinton criticized her fellow Democrats over what she described as a decades-in-the-making failure to protect abortion rights, saying in her first extended interview about the fall of Roe v. Wade that her party underestimated the growing strength of anti-abortion forces until many Democrats were improbably “taken by surprise” by the landmark Dobbs decision in 2022.

In wide-ranging and unusually frank comments, Mrs. Clinton said Democrats had spent decades in a state of denial that a right enshrined in American life for generations could fall — that faith in the courts and legal precedent had made politicians, voters and officials unable to see clearly how the anti-abortion movement was chipping away at abortion rights, restricting access to the procedure and transforming the Supreme Court, until it was too late.

“We didn’t take it seriously, and we didn’t understand the threat,” Mrs. Clinton said. “Most Democrats, most Americans, did not realize we are in an existential struggle for the future of this country.”

She said: “We could have done more to fight.”

Mrs. Clinton’s comments came in an interview conducted in late February for a forthcoming book, “The Fall of Roe: The Rise of a New America.”

The interview represented Mrs. Clinton’s most detailed comments on abortion rights since the Supreme Court decision that led to the procedure becoming criminalized or restricted in 21 states. She said not only that her party was complacent but also that if she had been in the Senate at the time she would have worked harder to block confirmation of Trump-appointed justices.

And in a blunt reflection about the role sexism played in her 2016 presidential campaign, she said women were the voters who abandoned her in the final days because she was not “perfect.” Overhanging the interview was the understanding that had she won the White House, Roe most likely would have remained a bedrock feature of American life. She assigned blame for the fall of Roe broadly but pointedly, and notably spared herself from the critique.

Some Democrats will most likely agree with Mrs. Clinton’s assessment. But as the party turns its focus to wielding abortion as an electoral weapon, there has been little public reckoning among Democrats over their role in failing to protect abortion rights.

Even when they held control of Congress, Democrats were unwilling to pass legislation codifying abortion rights into federal law. While frequently mentioned in passing to rally their base during election season, the issue rarely rose to the top of their legislative or policy agenda. Many Democrats, including President Biden, often refused even to utter the word.

Until Roe fell, many in the party believed the federal right to an abortion was all but inviolable, unlikely to be reversed even by a conservative Supreme Court. The sense of denial extended to the highest ranks of the party — but not, Mrs. Clinton argued, to her.

“One thing I give the right credit for is they never give up,” she said. “They are relentless. You know, they take a loss, they get back up, they regroup, they raise more money.” She added: “It’s tremendously impressive the way that they operate. And we have nothing like it on our side.”

Mrs. Clinton did not express regret for any inaction herself. Rather, she said her efforts to raise alarms during her 2016 campaign went unheeded and were dismissed as “alarmist” by voters, politicians and members of her own party. In that race, she had talked about the threats to abortion rights on the campaign trail and most memorably in the third presidential debate, vowing to protect Roe when Mr. Trump promised to appoint judges who would overturn it.

But even then, internal campaign polling and focus groups showed that the issue did not resonate strongly with key groups of voters, because they did not believe Roe was truly at risk.

Now, as the country prepares to face its third referendum on Mr. Trump, she offered a stark warning about the 2024 election. A second Trump administration would go far beyond abortion rights to target women’s health care, gay rights, civil rights — and even the core tenets of American democracy itself, she said.

“This election is existential. I mean, if we don’t make the right decision in this election in our country, we may never have another actual election. I will put that out there because I believe it,” she said. “And if we no longer have another actual election, we will be governed by a small minority of right-wing forces that are well organized and well funded and are getting exactly what they want in terms of turning the clock back on women.”

Mrs. Clinton described those forces and her former opponent as part of a “global phenomena” restricting women’s rights, pointing to a push by Xi Jinping, the Chinese leader, pressing women to focus on raising children; the violent policing of women who violate Iran’s conservative dress code; and what she described as the misogyny of President Vladimir V. Putin of Russia.

“Authoritarians, whether they be political or religious based, always go after women. It’s just written in the history. And that’s what will happen in this country,” Mrs. Clinton said.

Mrs. Clinton viewed her remarks as another attempt to ring an alarm before the 2024 election.

“More people have got to wake up, because this is the beginning,” she said. “They really want us to just shut up and go home. That’s their goal. And nobody should be in any way deluded. That’s what they will force upon us if they are given the chance.”

But she also seemed to expect that many would dismiss her concerns once again. “Oh, my God, there she goes again,” she said, describing what she anticipated would be the reaction to her interview. “I mean, she’s just so, you know, so out there.”

But she added: “I know history will prove me right. And I don’t take any comfort in that because that’s not the kind of country or world I want for my grandchildren.”

Nearly eight years after her final campaign, Mrs. Clinton remains one of the most prominent women in American politics, and the only woman in the country’s history to capture the presidential nomination of a major party.

Her life encapsulates what could be seen as the Roe era in American life. She embodies the professional and personal changes that swept the lives of American women over the past half-century. Roe was decided in 1973, the same year Mrs. Clinton graduated from law school. Its fall was accelerated in 2016 by her loss to Donald J. Trump, which set in motion a transformation of the Supreme Court.

Had Mrs. Clinton won the White House in 2016, history would have turned out very differently. She would most likely have appointed two or even three justices to the Supreme Court, securing an abortion-rights legal majority that probably would have not only upheld Roe but also delivered rulings that expanded access to the procedure.

Instead, Mrs. Clinton said Democrats neglected abortion rights from the ballot box to Congress to the Supreme Court.

Along with her prediction for the future, Mrs. Clinton offered a detailed assessment of the past. For her, the meaning of the ruling in Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization was clear — and devastating.

“It says that we are not equal citizens,” she said, referring to women. “It says that we don’t have autonomy, agency and privacy to make the most personal of decisions. It says that we should be rethinking our lives and our roles in the world.”

She blasted Justice Samuel A. Alito Jr., who wrote the Supreme Court’s majority opinion in the case, saying his decision was “terrible,” “poorly reasoned” and “historically inaccurate.”

Mrs. Clinton accused four justices — John G. Roberts Jr., Neil M. Gorsuch, Brett M. Kavanaugh and Amy Coney Barrett — of being “teed up to do the bidding” of conservative political and religious organizations and leaders — though she believed many Democrats had not realized that during those justices’ confirmation hearings.

“It is really hard to believe that people are going to lie to you under oath, that even so-called conservative justices would upend precedents to arrive at ridiculous decisions on gun rights and campaign finance and abortion,” she said. “It’s really hard to accept that.”

Yet, she also had tough words for her former colleagues. In the Senate, she said, Democratic lawmakers did not push hard enough to block the confirmation of the justices who would go on to overturn federal abortion rights. When asked in confirmation hearings if they believed Roe was settled law, the nominees noted that Roe was precedent and largely avoided stating their opinion on the decision.

Those justices “all lied in their confirmation hearings,” she said, referring to Justices Gorsuch, Kavanaugh and Coney Barrett, all of whom were appointed by Mr. Trump. “They just flat-out lied. And Democrats did nothing in the Senate.”

She added: “If I’d still been in the Senate, and on the Judiciary Committee, I think, you know, I hope I would have tried to do more about what were just outright prevarications.”

It is unclear how Democrats could have stopped those justices from reaching the bench given that they did not control the Senate during their confirmation hearings. When Mr. Trump took office, Republicans also had unified control of 24 state legislatures, making it all but impossible for Democrats to stop conservatives from pushing through increasingly restrictive laws.

For years, she said, Democrats failed to “invest in the kind of parallel institutions” to the conservative legal establishment. Efforts to start the American Constitution Society, she said, never quite grew as large as the better established Federalist Society, a network of conservative lawyers, officials and justices that includes members of the Supreme Court.

“I just think that most of us who support the rights of women and privacy and the right to make these difficult decisions yourself, you know, we just couldn’t believe what was happening. And as a result, they slowly, surely and very effectively got what they wanted,” she said. “Our side was complacent and kind of taking it for granted and thinking it would never go away.”

Mrs. Clinton was born in 1947, when abortion was criminalized and contraception was banned or restricted in more than two dozen states. In Arkansas, where she practiced law while her husband served as governor, she watched the rise of the religious right and the anti-abortion movement.

From the time she arrived in Washington as first lady, Mrs. Clinton fought openly for abortion rights. She famously declared that “human rights are women’s rights, and women’s rights are human rights” in a 1995 speech at the World Conference on Women in Beijing. When she became a senator, Mrs. Clinton voted against the partial-birth abortion ban, unlike more than a dozen of her fellow Democrats. As Barack Obama’s secretary of state, she made a mission of expanding women’s reproductive health across the globe.

In 2016, Planned Parenthood endorsed her candidacy, the first time the organization waded into a presidential primary. In her campaign, Mrs. Clinton promised to appoint judges who would preserve Roe, opposed efforts in Congress to pass a 20-week abortion ban and pushed for the repeal of the Hyde Amendment, which banned the federal funding of abortions.

Even her language was updated. For years, when it came to abortion, she championed her belief in a phrase popularized by her husband during his 1992 presidential campaign: “safe, legal and rare.”

In a private, previously unreported meeting recounted in the book, campaign aides told Mrs. Clinton to drop the phrase during her 2016 run. Her staff explained that increasingly progressive abortion-rights activists thought calling for the procedure to be “rare” would offer a political concession to the anti-abortion movement. And with so many new restrictions being passed in conservative-controlled states, abortion was increasingly difficult to obtain, particularly for poorer women, making “rare” the wrong focus for their message. Abortion should be “safe, legal, accessible and affordable,” they told her.

“Well, that doesn’t make any sense,” she said in response at the time. “That’s stupid.”

In the interview, Mrs. Clinton said she quickly came to embrace the shift in language. What she and other Democrats had tried to do in 1992 with “safe, legal and rare” was “send a signal that we understand Roe v. Wade has a certain theory of the case about trimesters,” she explained. But by 2016, the world had changed.

“Too many women, particularly too many young women did not understand the effort that went into creating the underlying theory of Roe v. Wade. And the young women on my campaign made a very compelling argument that making it safe and legal was really the goal,” she said. “I kind of just pocketed the framework of Roe.”

Still, Mrs. Clinton felt like many of her warnings over the issue were ignored by much of the country.

When she delivered a speech in Wisconsin in March 2016, arguing that Supreme Court justices selected by Mr. Trump could “demolish pillars of the progressive movement,” Mrs. Clinton said that “people kind of rolled their eyes at me.”

Mrs. Clinton said she saw her defeat in that election as inextricable from her gender. As she has in the past, she blamed the former F.B.I. director James Comey’s last-minute reopening of the investigation of her private email server for her immediate defeat. Mr. Comey had raised questions about her judgment and called her “extremely careless” but recommended no criminal charges.Other political strategists have faulted her message, strategy and various missteps by her campaign for her loss in 2016.

“But once he did that to me, the people, the voters who left me, were women,” she said. “They left me because they just couldn’t take a risk on me, because as a woman, I’m supposed to be perfect. They were willing to take a risk on Trump — who had a long list of, let’s call them flaws, to illustrate his imperfection — because he was a man, and they could envision a man as president and commander in chief.”

Mrs. Clinton said she was shocked by how little the reports of Mr. Trump’s sexual misconduct and assault seemed to affect the race. They did not disqualify him from the presidency, at least not among most Republicans and conservative Christians. But his promises to appoint justices that would reverse Roe helped him win, she said.

“Politically, he threw his lot in with the right on abortion and was richly rewarded,” she said.

[petertingle-yipyip]

WORLD CLASS SINNER - FRANK CASTLE

four - aftermath

tags: n/a // three // five // masterlist

Pairing: Billy x Reader , Frank x Reader

Word Count: 8,477

Summary: A quick run nearly turns disastrous when a bold move goes wrong. An attempted reconciliation between friends turns nasty, all because the aftermath of Midland Circle still lingers in Y/N’s actions.

As you approached your usual entrance, you felt a familiar tingle through your muscles. It was one of intent, one specifically reserved for when there was a mission to be accomplished. A mission you’d work mindlessly, like a task you had practiced a thousand times over. Instructions that were carved into your bones and wired into the deepest part of your brain that you’d never be free of.

The Red Room had seeped into your DNA, altered your very being from the first mission you were given as a child. And for what seemed like the first moment since your freedom, you were thankful to have that darker, much bloodier, much angrier side.

“Just in time.” Frank nodded as you approached. “Let’s go.”

“You’ve been busy.” You gestured to the Mustang. “We get a location on the guns?”

“Yeah, there’s uh… a meet tonight.” Lieberman answered, but it was clear that he wasn’t really focused on the task at hand. “I can’t do this.” He confessed suddenly.

“It’s a two-man job so you don’t have a choice.” Frank answered flatly.

“Hello?” You waved a hand before you gestured to yourself.

“I’m not letting you get in the middle of this. You’re watching our backs tonight, alright? Eyes from a distance. That’s it.”

You glared at him and he met your expression with a challenge of his own.

“Where are your fancy goggles then, hmm?” He said simply, gesturing to your eyes. “Cause if you go out there and someone recognizes you down the line, you lose everything. You even think about that?”

“Yeah... I have it.” You patted the fabric that hid the mask at the base of your throat. “It’s a little beat up but it’ll work.”

“Then it’s a three-person job.” Frank rolled his eyes.

“I don’t do this!” Lieberman said pointedly. “I- I sit behind a screen. You shouldn’t trust me to help you with this.”

“Are you done?” You asked in annoyance. “Cause this whole woe is me act gets old real fast. Get your shit and let’s go. We’re wasting time with this conversation.”

When the man didn’t budge, Frank took a few steps closer to taunt him.

“So this is it, huh? This is what Sarah meant?” Frank said with a matter-of-fact tone and Lieberman visibly tensed. “She said you never got your hands dirty, right? If there was a tough job, you’d call a guy.”

“We may be a lot of shitty things, but at least no one can say that about us.” You added on with a mocking laugh. “If Red ever said something like that about me back when we started…” You sucked a sharp breath between your teeth. “Talk about embarrassing.”

You could almost hear a switch flip in Lieberman as he grabbed his gun from the table and got up. He was angry, at you two for being assholes and at the situation. He didn’t want to do it and you didn’t blame him. He had absolutely no experience in the middle of a fight, but it had to be done. And had you not shown up, he would’ve ended up having to do more.

“Finally.” You groaned as the man passed you. “Aw, are you mad?” You taunted.

“You’re both pricks.” He commented and you chuckled.

“Atta boy.” Frank egged him on and you smiled slightly. “Pissed off beats scared every time.”

Frank gave you a quick rundown on the way to the meet. You only half listened, distracted by the almost burning sensation of the mask sitting against the skin at the base of your throat. That mask may have been broken and bloody, but it held memories of its own.

Granted, those memories were angry and disagreeing, times when you and Daredevil stood in opposition. But they were still memories of a man you loved, even if you didn’t realize it at the time. You pulled the mask out and set it to sit at the top of your head instead, hoping your hair would serve as a buffer. And it worked, but only for a few minutes.

With a quiet sigh, you fit the mask into place as you got out of the car and there was almost a jolt along the old scars around your eye. You tapped the scar tucked under your hair and pressed gently, shifting your finger to work through the static until you picked up on the channels the communications were going through. On the other end, you heard a familiar voice that you knew you should be able to put a face to, or at least a name, but all you could tell was that you had heard it before.

“...Hold tight. Calm and careful.” She said, embodying her own words within her voice.

You waited in silence as you heard the song begin to play over the channel. You groaned in embarrassment at Lieberman’s song choice but willed it to the back of your focus. You could make out the different voices barely cutting through the song, panicked uncertainty in their tones as they repeated their messages with hopes of an answer.

Frank tapped your arm as the truck approached and you scooted closer to the ledge. With a nod to each other, you two dropped down and landed on the roof, you on the cab and Frank on the trailer. Frank offered you his hand and you took it before you leaned over and opened the passenger door. You heard the exclamation from inside the truck and leaned away from the swinging arm. Instead, you caught the wrist and yanked the man out, throwing his body across the pavement.

You let go of Frank at that point and maneuvered yourself into the seat, careful to shut the door behind you so you wouldn’t go flying as well. You offered a nod to the driver before turning and slamming both feet against him. His head slammed into the side panel and he fell unconscious almost instantly. In a quick movement, you grabbed the wheel with one hand and reached for the door with the other. You managed to pop it open and Frank pulled the driver out, quickly taking his place.

Once the truck was far enough, he parked it and you both got out. You followed him into the trailer, where he dawned a flamethrower. You almost laughed as he pulled the door down. It didn’t take long for the car that was following you to catch up and for the agents to come very close to becoming barbecue.

The spewing flames took you back to the first fight with Nobu when you thought you had burned him alive. Fisk was there, and so was Matt. You thought he had died that night and you forced yourself to choose between yourself or your unofficial partner at the time. You were only drawn back to the present when you heard the splashes. Frank offered you a hand down from the truck and you accepted it without a word.

You kept your eyes away from Frank, knowing you would catch a worried expression for doing exactly what he had said would be a problem. But you also knew he couldn’t afford to be too focused on you. Not when you were operating in a timed window. You were glad you chose your cracked mask because at least you could partially hide behind the blood.

“Take the van.” Frank told Lieberman as they swapped places. “Go with him.” Frank gestured to you.

“Why?” You asked plainly.

“Keep him alive if this goes bad.”

“And keeps me out of the way?”

“Keeps you alive, too.”

“I don’t care about that.”

“I do.” Frank offered over his shoulder before climbing into the Mustang.

You blew out a quick sigh and faced Lieberman, who was staring at you like a lost puppy. You gestured for him to get in while you hauled yourself into the passenger seat. The uncomfortable tension in the cab made your skin tingle so you rubbed your hands over your arms in an attempt to break it up.

“So.. How’d you meet Frank?” Lieberman asked after a few minutes of driving in silence.

“He shot my boyfriend in the head.” You said flatly, and when you heard it out loud, it was a terrible way to meet someone. “He lived, though. He, uh, he had a helmet. Died of something else.”

“Oh..”

You glanced in the side view to see another car joining your convoy. You shifted in your seat and tapped your mask, hoping for a better view of the driver through the backend. A woman, vaguely familiar.

Why could you not figure this out?

“We’ve got company.” You warned after adjusting your implant.

“Head for the highway. I’ll cut them off.” Frank answered and you groaned slightly at the lack of involvement.

“If we don’t get these guns, he’s gonna be pissed.” Lieberman explained when you dropped the right way in your seat with a huff.

“Not all of us are happy to be sidelined.” You muttered. “Who was this deal with anyway?”

“Homeland. It was a sting on the Greeks.”

“Homeland…” You repeated as the gears turned in your head.

Suddenly, the voice made sense. Did he get dirty?

The woman you saw was the same woman Billy had at the bar. Special Agent Dinah Madani.

“Holy shit.” You realized.

“What?”

“I know someone who was there. I know who’s driving that car.”

“Should I- Should I turn around?”

“I don’t..” Your brows furrowed as you thought. “I don’t know…”

“Dammit, Exodus. Does he need our help?” He asked not urgently, banging a palm against the steering wheel to punctuate each word.

“That’s the problem. The whole point was the guns. We can’t blow that. It’s a major risk for you to get involved like that.”

“But if you know there’s a chance…”

“I don’t.”

He looked between you and the road a few times before he looked over his shoulder. He offered you another quizzical look, one that almost pleaded for you to tell him what to do, but all you could do was shrug. You wanted to go back and help, even if it was just firing shots to throw the driver off, but your gut was telling you that getting Lieberman that close might ruin everything.

“Screw it.” He said to himself and yanked the steering wheel to turn the truck around.

You slammed your hand against the roof to keep yourself stable as he turned. You rolled down your window and you could hear the engines of the cars in a chase.

“If you can get close enough, I can shoot out her tires.” You explained as you pulled your gun. “Make a getaway before anything’s at risk.”

He nodded quickly and muttered some hype words to himself. You gave a small eye roll before you climbed halfway through the window to sit in the opening. You wedged a foot between the seat and the door and braced the other against the center console. Out of habit, you reached for the wire but came up empty. You sighed to yourself and refocused on the task at hand, gripping your gun tightly in one hand and holding the handle near the windshield with the other as you drew closer to the bright headlights.

“Slow down.” You said, though you were ignored.

“Hey!” You banged your gun against the roof of the truck.”Lieberman! You gotta stop!”

No response.

“You’re gonna hit them, stop!”

You realized that was exactly what he planned to do and you reacted as quickly as you could. You pulled back the leg that was against the console and pressed it against the edge of the seat to free your other foot. You had shoved your gun away but held on to the handle to ensure you didn’t fall backward. That was all the prep you could do before the collision hit.

Your back and neck slammed into the mirror and it snapped from the impact while your arm nearly spun around in its socket before you let go. You were sent flying across the asphalt, the entire side of your body colliding with the unforgiving ground before you went rolling. Your head hit the discarded mirror hard with a sick smack that seemed to echo throughout the empty alleys along with the crack of the glass that flattened the broken lens against your tightly shut eyes as you rolled over it. Your wrists stung violently from the hyperextension of your trying to catch yourself on the initial landing. Bits of rock shredded pieces of your shirt away and your chin, palms, and cheek burned with the sensation of a fresh cut crammed with gravel.

When you finally stilled, face down against the asphalt, you coughed hard as air tried to refill your lungs. You managed to get yourself to your elbows and you gasped for breath, spitting out blood in the process, as you felt two hands under your arms. You cried out when you were hauled to your feet, feeling a sharp stabbing in your side.

That rib was definitely cracked.

Get up..

Pain only makes you stronger.

Get. Up.

You rubbed your hands together to clear them of some of the loose gravel before gently dusting your face, wincing when the small rocks moved across the tenderly exposed meat of your cheek and chin. You could vaguely hear Frank’s voice, a muffled and distant sound that was hardly English. Your eyes were wide as you stared ahead, feeling that familiar uneasiness that came before you would pass out. You willed the lightheadedness away and took a staggered step forward, only to collapse immediately against Frank. You shook your head and blinked hard to clear your focus, to regain some sense of self but that only seemed to make it worse.

“Di..” You said to yourself, your voice hardly a whisper as you doubled over and supported yourself on your bent knees. “Dinah..”

You heard a rough slam against metal and the hushed anger of an argument behind you. No doubt Frank was tearing into Lieberman about the collision but you had to keep moving forward. You tapped your mask and heard a small crackle as the shattered lens tried to whir back to life.

You saw the outline of her figure along with a status on the car. It was ticking down to an explosion and if you didn’t do something, Dinah was going to die.

What the hell did you do?

What did I do? What did I do? I got- I got my hands dirty!

Are you stupid? Are you fucking stupid? Look what you did! - Another rough slam. - I swear- I swear to everything you care about, Lieberman. I swear to you, if you ever pull a goddamn stunt like that again, I will kill you. 

You tried to hurry but once you straightened, the stab of your rib folded you in half and the blossoming bruise at your hip made you buckle. Instead, you hobbled and basically collapsed when you got to her side. You couldn’t carry her out. You could barely support your own weight at the moment, so you had to drag her. You worked to get her torso in your lap and your arms under hers and propped the foot of your okay leg against the side of the car. You kicked off and heard the scrape as the car shifted and she moved a few inches.

You groaned loudly and cursed to yourself.

It would take too long to do it that way. You’d both be caught in the explosion. You quickly recognized you needed help so you took a deep breath and whistled as loud as you could. It caught both of their attentions and Frank practically ran over to help you, but not before shoving Lieberman back into the truck and slamming the door on him.

Frank helped you to your feet and asked you to head back to the Mustang. You looked between him and Dinah, new guilt eating at your heart. How that feeling got out of the hole, you didn’t know, but it was something. Something that meant you were still human, that Y/N wasn’t dead. And that was allegedly a good thing so you didn’t fight it off. Not that you had the strength to do so anyway.

He gave a small groan and gently pushed you away before he moved towards Dinah. You let out a breath of relief and managed to get yourself to the Mustang. You dropped into the front seat, and while the weight was taken off your hip, you winced immediately at the hit to your ribcage. Your hand went to the tender area and pressed softly, which was immediately followed by regret when the pain began to make you nauseous. Your other hand balled into a tight fist and hit the door beside you.

Using your shoulder, you dragged your mask down and clenched your jaw as the edges scraped along the newest cuts to your face. You blinked slightly as you looked over and saw Frank having a hushed interaction with Dinah. You wondered what they were talking about, but the bobbing of your head and flutter of your eyes made it hard to focus for too long. You had zoned out of the present moment and felt yourself slipping out of consciousness when the slam of the driver's door snapped you back.

“You alright over there?” Frank asked as he drove off carefully, not to jostle you around too much.

“Yeah… Yeah, I’m…” You answered quietly. “My head..”

“Goddamn idiot.” He muttered to himself and you dropped your head against the seat as you turned to face him. “I told him… I told him to get out of there. Now look what he did.”

“My fault…” You tried to defend him. “Was my idea…”

“Nah, don’t give me that shit. He should’ve- Hey.” He reached over and tapped under your chin and you jumped. “C’mon, you gotta stay focused.”

“It hurts...”

“I know, Princess.” When he got to a stop light, he reached over and gently removed your mask from around your neck and you noticed his fingertips came back stained red. Was that your blood?

“You need to call someone to stay with you tonight, okay? Karen, Nelson, one of your new boyfriends. Doesn’t matter. Call someone.”

“No… They can’t see me like this.” You argued and shifted, whining at the sharp pain running down the side of your body. “It’s pathetic.”

“If you don’t call someone, Imma take your phone and call all of ‘em.” He threatened.

“Frank..”

He only offered a stern look.

You reached for your phone and tried to focus past the new cracks in the screen protector. Your eyes widened for a moment before you found the contact. Your thumb hovered over the green icon to dial and you thought of what he would say when he saw you. He’d want to know what happened and who was involved. He’d want to go and hurt them back, to cause them twice the pain you were in. And in any other circumstance, you would’ve encouraged the revenge.

You had to mediate some of the damage so you took a deep, painful breath and let yourself give in to the pain in your head. It throbbed through your skull and you almost swore you could feel the swelling in your brain by the way sounds muffled to near quiet. If your eyes hadn’t been closed, you would’ve been convinced they were going to pop out of your skull. It continued to grow until the tears burned in your eyes, then it was suddenly gone. So you pressed the button and waited for Billy to answer.

“Hey, pretty lady.” He answered quickly, no doubt with a smile on his face. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Can you come over?” You asked simply, finally hearing the scratchiness of your voice.

“Yeah… Everything okay?”

“No.”

“I’ll be there in ten.”

You dropped your phone into your lap and gingerly prodded the side that hit the ground, counting the tender spots that would likely meld into one massive bruise by the morning. There was the idea of trying to heal it but with the strength it took just to rid yourself of the lurking concussion, you wouldn’t have been able to do it. 

“Happy now?” You glared over as he parked in front of your building.

“The actually sounded lucid. What’d you do?”

“Just got rid of the head trauma.” You gestured to your head. “Everything else still hurts.”

“Thought you would’ve fixed your eye first then.” He snorted slightly.

“My eye?” Your brows furrowed and your fingers gingerly touched your lower lid. “What’s wrong with my eye?”

He flipped down the passenger sunshade and the small mirror was pointed at your chin. You saw all the little scrapes and dried blood as you adjusted the mirror to see your eyes. A stream of blood was crusted under your nose and had made its way into your mouth, staining your front teeth. You had bit the inside of your cheek at some point, which explained some of the blood you spat earlier that night. But your eye, the one that had been hidden behind the cracked lens, now mirrored that red stain as well. The white of that eye was a fair shade of red and the veins within it were even darker. As your focus darted back and forth, you noticed the movement didn’t hurt but the lids were shifting to a deep purple. You waved a hand to block and allow the light to hit your pupil, the small black circle adjusted and responded to the light.

“Fucking Lieberman.” You said to yourself and slammed the mirror back up. “I told him to stop.”

“Yeah, he’s a moron. Shouldn’t have brought him.” Frank answered.

“We got the job done.” You tried to shrug. “That’s what matters.”

“What if you had died, Y/N? What? You expect me to be good with that?”

“No, but it’s not up to you.”

“So what? You lose Murdock and life ain’t worth livin’ anymore?”

“It worth it without Maria?” You challenged and almost instantly regretted it.

“Not at first.” He confessed. “But you and your band of  dumbasses pushed me to keep going… Find a reason to keep going.”

“I'm not sure I want to.”

You got out after that and slammed the door, admittedly harder than necessary. You didn’t hear the engine taking off until you were entering your building. Once the door shut behind you, you practically collapsed against the wall and had to use the railing to haul yourself up to your apartment. On your way, you muttered small complaints and blamed Matt for choosing the top floor.

You practically fell inside and had to kick the door shut. You used the bench near the coat rack to get back to your feet and wobbled over to your couch, where you collapsed again. You fought out of your shoes and closed your eyes as the exhaustion began to creep into your muscles.

Damn, you were weak.

You were tempted to stay there, to sleep on your couch with hopes that rest would clear some of the bruises and the redness in your eye. But as your eyes were closing, you were practically slammed by the concern bursting into your building.

You had forgotten you invited Billy over.

With a loud groan, you pushed yourself to sit up. Every movement of your torso hurt so you had to move in short bursts. You reached across and lifted the opposite arm enough to reach and yank on the straps that kept the vest in place. The movement jostled your upper body and you had to contain the noise you wanted to make. You wiggled out of it finally and forced yourself to quickly get across the room to the closet. You threw it without a care and were just able to fix the lock back into place before the knocks sounded at your door.

You knew better than to yell anything so you hoped your silence would be enough. After a second, he came in. He didn’t bother to shut the door behind him because the sight of you was enough to draw all of his focus.

“Jesus, Y/N.” He said quietly as he got closer, the concern practically latching onto you.

It made you feel warm inside but in a good way. Only it didn’t last long. Once you realized, you shoved it away.

One of his hands went to your slightly outstretched arm and the other moved gently to your cheek. You watched as his eyes scanned your face, brows furrowed with concern as his attention caught on your eye. You offered an apologetic smile and a small shrug, to which he sighed softly to himself. He took half a step back and looked down at your body, staring for a moment as if he were counting the tears in your clothes. You wondered if it was obvious that there was some protection since your chest and stomach were visibly unharmed, not considering the bruises you felt spreading across.

“Thanks for coming.” You said after a while of silence.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” He answered and gently led you to your bathroom.

There he helped you out of your shirt, taking extra caution as he began to see the dark purple patches blossoming across your side and littering your back and you felt his concern growing beside you the same way. You sat on the floor of your tub and you were taunted with the memory of the last time, when you wanted to allow the water to take over and put you out of your misery.

You made sure to stay upright, leaning forward a bit so the water hit the back of your head and neck. Some streams fell down your face and it was stained red, mimicking the blood you saw in your nightmare. At that point, you closed your eyes.

“What happened?” He asked softly and you felt him tap your arm to hand you a washcloth.

“I…” You began and gently rubbed the wet fabric along your arm, knowing it came off stained with the blood and grime covering your body. “It all happened so fast.” You confessed slowly.

He gently took the cloth from you and gestured for you to lift your arm, which you could only get level with your shoulder before your aching muscles threatened to pull it back down. You appreciated the care he took, despite it playing on some deeply buried sense of vulnerability.

“It was a car crash.” You continued, pushing your wet hair out of your face. “I told the driver to stop but he just sped up.”

“Pretty bad for a crash.” He muttered.

“I wasn’t wearing a seatbelt.”

“Was it a cab company? I’m sure you could sue.”

“Maybe, I don’t remember. I hit my head pretty hard.”

“I should take you to a hospital, Y/N/N.” He said pointedly.

You took a chance and looked over, seeing him on the floor beside your tub with arms hanging on the ledge. He fiddled with the washcloth until he noticed you were looking at him. You also noticed small droplets of water bouncing off you and the tub floor, landing in various spots on his shirt, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“I’m sure it won’t be that bad once I wash off the blood and dirt.” You tried with a small shrug. “For the most part, at least. I’ll be good as new in a few days.”

“It looks like half of your body is bruised, Beautiful.” He shook his head slightly. “It’s gotta be from more than a crash.”

“I couldn’t tell you anything… All I remember is the impact.”

“Have you eaten anything?” He changed the subject.

“No, actually. Can you order something? There’s some cash on my counter, I think.”

“I got it.” He smiled slightly. He handed you back the cloth and gently kissed your forehead before standing up. “Mexican?”

“What about pasta?” You suggested instead.

“Alright.” He chuckled.

“Thanks again.”

“You know I look after you.”

He left the bathroom after that, closing the door most of the way. You managed to get your feet and rid yourself of your now soaked and bloody clothes. You left them in a pile at the corner of your tub while you gingerly washed the rest of the residue from the night’s mission off your skin and out of your hair. When you got out, you were able to fully examine the extent of the damage and it was about what you expected.

The splotchy purple spread out across your side and stopped a little below your hip bone. It crept across the back of your shoulder and there was redness around the base of your skull. You had felt a few splits on the back of your head while you were washing your hair but you could fix those in the morning if they didn’t fix themselves overnight. The swelling in your cheek had gone down, as did some of the redness in your eye. Your muscles felt a bit less tense after sitting in the warm water but most movements still ached. Your biggest concern was your rib, which now that you could see, was a darker shade than the rest of the bruises. You gave it a gentle push and heard a small scraping sound which made you frown.

You headed into your bedroom, wrapped in your towel, and saw Billy unbagging the food. You didn’t even hear the knock from the delivery guy. You dug through your drawer for something to sleep in and settled on a zip-up - that wasn’t yours - and some shorts before you dropped onto the bed. You rummaged around the bedside table for the painkillers as Billy came in with a bowl and a bottle of water.

“You don’t wanna sleep on the other side?” He offered and your brows furrowed.

“I always sleep on this side.” You reasoned, which was technically a lie.

For as long as you had Billy over you slept on that side, but when you first moved in, that was Matt’s side. You switched once he died because you couldn’t stomach the thought of someone who wasn’t him being there. You didn’t want any other man’s cologne or bathroom products changing the smell of the sheets on that side, nor did you want some other man’s body reshaping the bed to fit him. Because that wasn’t their bed and it never would be.

That bed was Matt’s and it was yours. Without him, it only left you. And despite the war within yourself, despite the burning and the gap and the echoing rumbles and nightmares, you would stand firm on that boundary. No man would sleep on Matt Murdock’s side of the bed.

“Yeah, but that would have you laying on all the bruises. It’d be more comfortable.” He offered and while the gesture was genuine, you didn’t want it.

“I don’t like sleeping on my left side.” You countered easily as you stirred your pasta. “It’s harder for me to fall asleep so no, thank you.”

“But your right side-”

“Is banged up, I know.” You cut in. “But I can sleep on my back… I’m not switching.”

“Okay.” He nodded in concession. “Want me to stay?”

“Yeah, can you?”

“Of course.”

Back at the little hideout, Frank had been fuming since the minute he saw Y/N hit the ground. He had got into with Lieberman at the time but now that they were back and not worried about getting caught, he had some choice words for him.

“She told you to stop!” Frank said loudly. “And you didn’t! Everything that happened to her is your fault!”

“She told me to go back in the first place!” Lieberman defended.

“She didn’t tell you to ram the goddamn car!”

“I’m sorry, okay?! What do you want me to do?”

“I could do the same thing to you. How does that sound, huh?” Frank threatened. “Break your rib, crack your skull, bruises and cuts. Make it even.”

“Well what about you? And what you did.” Lieberman desperately tried to change the subject. “A trained agent should be able to extract themselves from a vehicle unassisted.”

“And I wouldn’t have had to do it if you hadn’t hit her in the first place.” Frank continued. “The Princess was gonna sit there and try to haul her out on her own anyways. You might be fine risking her life but I’m not.”

“So you think the fact that Agent Madani knows you’re alive isn’t an issue?”

“She was unconscious. What else was I supposed to do?”

“Our lives just got way more complicated!” Lieberman argued. “If Homeland Security enters your name into the system, how long until Agent Orange knows that?”

“Maybe you should’ve stuck to the plan.” Frank pressed, stepping closer. “Maybe you shouldn’t have tried to get tough.”

“You were driving right at her. Was this stupid, bullshit, macho game of chicken part of the plan? If they catch you, I don’t see my family.”

“They catch me, she’ll handle it.” Frank said easily. He may not have faith in most things, but he knew he could trust Y/N. “Unless you get her killed first.”

“You know what-“

“No, you know what.” Frank said loudly. “See, you want me and her to get your shit done but then you bust my balls about it. You are relentless.. You nagged your wife like that? I mean, you sure that she wants you back?”

“Oh come on.” Lieberman rolled his eyes and chuckled, as if they were old friends that were joking. “C’mon.”

“I’m outta here.” Frank scoffed. “Maybe while I’m gone you can come up with new ways to antagonize me with your bullshit.”

“Where are you going?”

“Imma go make sure you didn’t kill the family I got left… And then I think I’ll go see your wife.”

The next morning, you bolted upright in the bed. A hand slammed against your sternum and the other supported your weight against the mattress. Your heavy breathing stung your side and the layer of sweat across your body had your clothes sticking to you. When you glanced down at your chest, all you could see was a slight indent from laying on the zipper throughout the night. You went to rub the sleep from your eyes and one of your hands came back wet.

Were you crying?

Nothing hurt any worse than yesterday. In fact, you felt more mobile. There was a faint throb throughout the various bruises but nothing was enough to make you cry.

Must’ve been the nightmare..

“You alright?” He said from beside you, placing a gentle hand on your leg.

“Yeah, I’m..” You answered, your voice scratchier than you expected so you cleared your throat. “Just a bad dream, Ma… Billy.”

He gave you a small smile before he came around to your side of the bed. He took your hands gently and pulled you to your feet before carefully unzipping the jacket. He stepped behind you and gently slid the jacket off your arms, gingerly pressing his thumb against the bruises.

“Smart to wear the zip up.” He commented.

“You just like that I’m not wearing a bra.” You joked.

“Just a bonus.” He chuckled. “Swelling’s gone down a lot.” He explained from behind you. “Bruises don’t look half as bad as yesterday but still bad.”

“Told you.” You shrugged the material up your shoulders and turned to face him while you fixed the zipper. “It’s the cuts that my body doesn’t heal quick enough.”

“Like these?” His finger traced where the scars on your shoulder would’ve been. He looked at you with a question in his eyes and for some reason, you decided to answer it 

“Russians, the Ranskahov brothers.” You explained. “Looking for information on The Devil.”

“Did you have it?”

“Even if I did, I wasn’t gonna give it.”

“Sounds right.” He gave a small smile. “And here?”

A scar on your cheek that brought you back to that trainyard. You heard Elektra’s voice in your head, I knew you’d have fun.

“Yakuza. Wrong place at the wrong time.”

“This one?”

The scar leading into your hairline that represented the fight you thought killed the Man in the Mask, the night you temporarily aligned with Fisk.

“Corner of a wooden post.”

“Here?”

Your hip, the night you spent on the rooftop with Matt and Frank that ended with Grotto dead.

“Gunshot.”

“And here?”

He sat on the bed and ran his hand over the slice across your thigh. The night Frank Castle allegedly died.

“Some guy at a diner.”

There were plenty of other scars he could’ve asked about, though most weren’t as prominent as the ones he already acknowledged. You realized he didn’t ask about the ones that followed the shape of your mask. Either he didn’t notice those ones or he had his own idea for them.

“I think that’s the most you've ever said about your past.” He looked up at you with a small, almost proud smile as his hand found the back of your thighs and pulled you closer. “I think you’re starting to like me.”

“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it.” You answered with a smile of your own. “You’ve got your own stories, hmm?” Your fingers traced the scar on his shoulder.

Before Billy could answer you, a quick knock came at your door.

“You should put your pants on.” You patted Billy’s cheek before shuffling across your living room to open it.

But when you saw your friends on the other side, you wished you hadn’t.

“Woah.” Foggy said to himself. “Deja vu.”

Your brows furrowed but then you realized he must’ve showed up and had the door open to Matt in familiar shape. You moved back into your apartment and gestured for them to follow you in.

“What is it?” You asked simply, resting against the back of the couch.

“Well, Karen told me you were back and I wanted to see for myself.” Foggy said honesty. “What happened?”

“Car accident.”

Foggy scoffed slightly. “I used that line for M-“

“Don’t.” You cut in quickly. “Don’t say it.”

His brows furrowed in confusion but you saw the realization cross his face as you heard Billy coming out of your room. You sighed to yourself as the awkward tension began to fill the room.

“I gotta get to the office.” Billy began and you glanced over your shoulder at him. “Call me if you need anything.”

“Yeah.” You nodded. “Thanks again.”

“Anytime.” He smiled. “Nice to see you guys.” He nodded to your friends before he took off.

“That really why you hadn’t called?” Foggy asked a minute after the door shut.

“Yeah, clearly.” You rolled your eyes.

“I guess I didn’t realize you had replaced me, your friend since college, with some guy.”

“Has nothing to do with Billy.” You shook your head. “I just didn’t wanna deal with all of this.” You gestured vaguely to the two standing in front of you.

“All of this?” Foggy repeated loudly.  “All of this is because we care about you! But you keep choosing to jump into bed with some guy you barely know? You almost look worse than I ever saw Matt and that guy is the one you call?”

“Yeah, everyone says I’m supposed to stay connected to my friends. That’s what Curtis tells us, that we can have a fight and it doesn’t have to be the end.”

“It doesn’t.” Foggy agreed. “I’m always here for you, Y/N, but I can’t help if you don’t tell me anything.”

“It’s ironic that I’m the one who needs help, huh?” You gave a dry chuckle while the words started to formulate on your tongue before you could try to stop them. “Even when I say I’m fine, I can’t tell if I’m happy or I’m sad… But no one ever talks about the aftermath. No one ever talks about being the problem and trying to change everything that other people hate about yourself.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You can’t just run around killing people and call yourself a human being.” You threw his old words at him. “You and Matt and Karen, you all hated that I’m a killer.”

His heavy sigh almost made you laugh.

“That’s what I am, Foggy. I’m a murderer. And I knew all three of you would look at me and wonder if I would ever hurt you, so I tried to change it. Just sit back and be the good little lawyer, right? But it’s still not enough, is it?”

“So what?” He shrugged slightly. You could tell from his tone and body language that he was trying to not start a fight, but your constant pressure and challenges were making it hard for him to keep his cool. “You keep Billy Russo around because he doesn’t care to see that you’re more than that? Does he even know about everything?”

“No, but at least he doesn’t flinch away from me!” You shouted as the burn under your skin grew and pulsed in your various bruises. A strange expression crossed Foggy’s feature, a mix between annoyance, regret, and apologetic, yet you couldn’t recall hearing an apology for the reaction. “He doesn’t tiptoe around me or treat me like I’m an explosive just ticking down.. He cares about me, too. I think.”

“For argument’s sake, let’s say he does, okay? It wouldn’t be the way I do. You are the closest friend I have left and I’m not gonna let you push away the person who knows you better than anyone else.”

“You don-”

“I do.” He cut in. “And you’re not gonna convince me otherwise.”

“You know part of me. You don’t know anything about the Widow.”

“What really happened last night, Y/N/N?” Foggy asked. His tone was gentle but there was a slight urgency.

“Like I said, car crash.” You shrugged. “We intercepted a Homeland sting and the driver slammed the Homeland agent’s car. I told him not to but he was a goddamn idiot and did it anyway. I went out the window, rolled maybe a hundred feet.”

“I’m sorry.” Karen finally spoke and you nearly forgotten she was there. “Homeland? As in Homeland Security? Y/N, when I asked you to-“

“You asked her?” Foggy cut in quickly. “Karen!”

“I didn’t think it would get to this!” She argued before turning to you. “What about..”

“Wasn’t the driver.” You shook your head. “Was the one to get me home, actually. He’s fine.”

She let out a breath of relief before Foggy spoke again.

“So we’re all just okay with the fact that she’s being Exodus again?” He asked in shock.

“I’m not… Not fully at least. I don’t know who I am right now so you should go before this gets any worse.”

“I’m not leaving.” Foggy said firmly, dropping his briefcase on your table. “Not until we settle this.”

“Fine.” You said with the same tone as Karen ducked around the corner to answer a phone call. “Say what you wanna say but as far as I care, it’s settled.”

“I don’t want to fight with you about this. Come on, you saw the toll it took on me and Matt.”

“Matt this, Matt that. Matt’s dead.” You spat and the words even wounded you. Before the ache could settle, that deep hole in your heart swallowed the incoming despair. “And part of me died with him. You want your friend from college back or even her-“ You threw a hand towards the closet. “-but neither of them is what’s left.”

“So what? You don’t want us around anymore?”

“I just want to-“ You began before Karen came back and she was practically shaking with uncertainty. “Karen?”

“That um..” She began, fiddling with her phone. “That was Homeland Security. She wants me to come in tomorrow.”

“Was this she Agent Madani?” You asked tightly.

“Mhmm..”

“Shit.” You sighed and moved as quickly as you could to get back to your room so you could change. At least put on a real shirt. “I’ve gotta go. Lock up when you leave.”

You grabbed your keys and purse before shoving your feet into the first pair of tennis shoes you saw. Your friends were talking over each other, asking questions that you didn’t care to answer as you hurried out and down the stairs. Your leg buckled a few times but you pushed through it to get to your car. As you were driving, you got the same call asking you to come in tomorrow.

“Guys!” You called as you hurried into the room. “I’ve got news, that could be good or bad.”

“Jesus Christ.” Frank grumbled before he rushed to your side, reaching for your arm and you leaned into him. “The hell are you doing here?”

“I just-“ You took a deep breath and the sharp pain in your side ignited. “I got a call from Agent Madani. She wants me to come in and talk to her tomorrow.”

“What about?” Lieberman spun quickly in his chair, so fast he almost fell out of it. “Shit.. Uh, Exodus I am-“

“Shut your mouth before I kick your teeth in.” You threatened. “This is because you didn’t fucking listen to me. If you ever pull something like that, I’m collecting the pound of flesh I’m owed. Literally. Ты меня понимаешь?” (Do you understand me?)

Frank chuckled beside you and gave your arm a small squeeze in approval. Lieberman looked at you with a wide-eyed, fearful expression and nodded quickly, undoubtedly not knowing what you said to begin with.

“Anyways.” You said pointedly. “About Madani. I can only guess it’s about you.”

“Yeah, well, she was unconscious in an upside-down car. I kinda had to.” Frank shrugged slightly.

“I know… And I know you did it because I couldn’t so thanks.”

“Besides, you’re good at coming up with shit on the fly. Use that fancy law degree.”

“I’m still irritated that you blew it, yknow.”

“Yeah yeah.” He rolled his eyes. “And we got dinner plans for Sunday. Sarah Lieberman invited me and my cousin who went by looking for me the other day.”

At that, you grinned and Frank smiled back.

“I needed a way in that didn’t look insane… What’s the next move for us on this end?”

“Gunner Henderson.” Lieberman answered. “So far I’ve got that he lives completely off the grid. No phone, no internet, no running water.”

“Where?”

“Kentucky.”

“Road trip.” You nodded before turning to Frank. “Could be fun.”

“We’ll leave when you get back from Homeland.” Frank said with a small nod. “Give you a little more time to get yourself right.”

“It’s just bruises.” You rolled your eyes. “And this eye thing.”

“Oh yeah?” His brows raised and you felt his free hand feeling around your side. You opened your mouth and reached for his wrist but he had already found the break and pressed on it with a mild pressure. You cried out and fell against him, digging your nails into his skin. “Thought it was just bruises.” He mocked.

“I’m fine.” You said through gritted teeth. “I’ll figure it out.”

“This guy isn’t a joke, Princess.” Frank continued. “If he doesn’t want us there, I don’t have time to look after you.”

With that, you felt something ignite under your skin. You forced yourself to stand straight and balled your hands into tight fists, feeling your nails digging into your palms. The sensation shifted from an underlying burn to a thick feeling on top of your skin, as if someone had drawn out your hot blood and left it across your body. It coated every inch of skin that was bruised thrummed throughout neighboring nerves and you felt your breathing increasing as the heat rose.

It hurt. Every nerve in your body felt like you were holding a lighter to it, burning right through it. Every muscle in your body tightened and tried to force out the heat. You almost thought you could feel the shift in your rib cage as the bone reset but you convinced yourself you were overthinking.

You rolled your shoulders slightly and felt no pain in the movement. You shifted your weight between your feet and the new angle of your hips felt like nothing.

“Good as new.” You shrugged and lifted your shirt, turning to show your side was no longer a deep purple. Admittedly, there was a slight discoloration across the patches that had been covered in bruises just moments ago, but it was definitely better than when you had woken up.

“You’re a pain in my ass.” Frank muttered. “Still didn’t fix your eye.”

“Thanks.” You offered a sarcastic expression. “I don’t need you to look after me, Frank.”

“Yeah… You expect me to believe you’re gonna look after yourself?”

“I expect you to understand that I don’t need you breathing down my neck and micromanaging me. I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“Bullshit.” He scoffed. “I left you alone for one goddamn minute last night and look what happened. You let this dumbass almost get you killed.”

“Are we still-“ Lieberman tried.

“Shut up!” You said firmly and pointed at him. He raised his hands in surrender before you turned back to Frank. “It was one goddamn mistake that wasn’t even mine! Can’t you let it go?”

“One mistake.. One mistake? A mistake is turning down the wrong street. A mistake is stepping on your own shoelaces. A mistake isn’t rolling across a hundred feet of pavement and breaking your rib!”

“I don’t need you to look after me!” You shouted.

“My family is gone, Y/N! They are gone because of what I know! Do you understand that?”

“I may not have had any blood family, but I’ve lost the people closest to me, too. Red is gone because he was worried about me! He was my family, Frank!” You spat back. “So yes, I understand that!”

“I can’t let that happen to you. Got it?” He said firmly, though it was more gentle than his previous tone. “I can’t.”

“Y’know what, maybe the mistake was coming here to help you in the first place.”

“Yeah maybe.”

“Understand that I am not your responsibility.” You said simply. “You keep acting like this and you’ll get yourself killed, just like he did. And I can’t let that happen to you. Got it?”

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

January 14, 2024

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

You hear sometimes, now that we know the sordid details of the lives of some of our leading figures, that America has no heroes left.

When I was writing a book about the Wounded Knee Massacre, where heroism was pretty thin on the ground, I gave that a lot of thought. And I came to believe that heroism is neither being perfect, nor doing something spectacular. In fact, it’s just the opposite: it’s regular, flawed human beings choosing to put others before themselves, even at great cost, even if no one will ever know, even as they realize the walls might be closing in around them.

It means sitting down the night before D-Day and writing a letter praising the troops and taking all the blame for the next day’s failure upon yourself, in case things went wrong, as General Dwight D. Eisenhower did.

It means writing in your diary that you “still believe that people are really good at heart,” even while you are hiding in an attic from the men who are soon going to kill you, as Anne Frank did.

It means signing your name to the bottom of the Declaration of Independence in bold print, even though you know you are signing your own death warrant should the British capture you, as John Hancock did.

It means defending your people’s right to practice a religion you don’t share, even though you know you are becoming a dangerously visible target, as Sitting Bull did.

Sometimes it just means sitting down, even when you are told to stand up, as Rosa Parks did.

None of those people woke up one morning and said to themselves that they were about to do something heroic. It’s just that, when they had to, they did what was right.

On April 3, 1968, the night before the Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated by a white supremacist, he gave a speech in support of sanitation workers in Memphis, Tennessee. Since 1966, King had tried to broaden the Civil Rights Movement for racial equality into a larger movement for economic justice. He joined the sanitation workers in Memphis, who were on strike after years of bad pay and such dangerous conditions that two men had been crushed to death in garbage compactors.

After his friend Ralph Abernathy introduced him to the crowd, King had something to say about heroes: “As I listened to Ralph Abernathy and his eloquent and generous introduction and then thought about myself, I wondered who he was talking about.”

Dr. King told the audience that, if God had let him choose any era in which to live, he would have chosen the one in which he had landed. “Now, that’s a strange statement to make,” King went on, “because the world is all messed up. The nation is sick. Trouble is in the land; confusion all around…. But I know, somehow, that only when it is dark enough, can you see the stars.” Dr. King said that he felt blessed to live in an era when people had finally woken up and were working together for freedom and economic justice.

He knew he was in danger as he worked for a racially and economically just America. “I don’t know what will happen now. We’ve got some difficult days ahead. But it doesn't matter…because I’ve been to the mountaintop…. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life…. But I’m not concerned about that now. I just want to do God’s will. And He’s allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I’ve looked over. And I’ve seen the promised land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land!”

People are wrong to say that we have no heroes left.

Just as they have always been, they are all around us, choosing to do the right thing, no matter what.

Wishing you all a day of peace for Martin Luther King Jr. Day 2024.

[Image of the Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial in Washington, D.C., by Buddy Poland.]

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[verdantcrimson]

Heaven and Earth / Discernment of Heaven and Earth - 4

(Unproofread)

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[The next day. In the Seisoukan Theatre Room.]

Keito: ‘Rumbling Heaven and Earth’ and a famous mangaka are going to be collaborating!

Souma: ……

Keito: Also, thanks to Hideyoshi-sensei’s connections, we’re slated to not only have a manga, but also various media adaptations, such as a stage play and an anime!

Kuro: Hold up, danna, I got no idea what you’re yappin’ about.

Souma: Indeed. Hasumi-dono, whenever you begin to speak on the subject of manga or glasses, your speech turns so brisk that one can hardly keep up what you are trying to convey.

Keito: Ah, my bad. I couldn’t help myself. I was just excited because the mangaka we’re working with is one I’ve been a big fan of for a long time.

Keito: Aah, Hideyoshi-sensei is seriously wonderful… It feels like a waste for him to stay as a mere scholar.

 Souma: ......

Keito: He’s a top-notch businessman, I’ll give him that. I ought to learn a thing or two from him.

Souma: (Mgh…… Could it be that Nobunaga-sensei’s prediction was indeed correct? Hasumi-dono seems to have become utterly enamored with, and swayed by Hideyoshi-sensei—)

Souma: (Nay, what else would one do if not have faith in Hasumi-dono! Hasumi-dono is by no means a person of weak-will who would be swindled and strung along by con-artists.)

Souma: Hasumi-dono!

Keito: What is it, Kanzaki?  ♪

Souma: Uwah, what a pleasant smile!? Hasumi-dono, I wish to hear a lengthy explanation of this matter!

Keito: Yes. Naturally, I’ll explain. I do like long tales. 

Keito: Firstly, let's re-establish the premise. Right now, we’re all attempting to create variations of ‘Rumbling Heaven and Earth’.

Kuro: Yeah, that’s right.

Kuro: There’s the version without any of the ‘Three Sages’, a version based on Hideyoshi-sensei’s plan, a version based on Nobunaga-sensei’s plan, and a version based on Ieyasu-sensei’s plan—

Kuro: —Basically, we’re makin’ four different trial versions of ‘Rumbling Heaven and Earth’.

Keito: It’s like food sampling. We’ll conduct a taste test and use whichever recipe is best.

Souma: Indeed. Since filming everything at the same time would be rather difficult, we opted to begin with the simplest part first, right?

Keito: Yes. We started off making the version without any of the ‘Three Sages’. Though the results of this were not ideal, to say the least. 

Souma: Umu…… ‘Tis an educational show that is in absolute need of expertise, however as a version composed solely of amateurs, I cannot fault it for turning out as such.

Kuro: I uh, don’t really remember much. What was it about, even?

Keito: You, why do you seem to have such terrible retention issues from time to time? Is it memory loss?

Kuro: I’ve been crammin’ my head fulla history knowledge lately to keep up with Ieyasu-sensei. ‘Insufficient memory’ y’know?

Keito: Hmph. Since you don’t remember, I’ll just show you again right now. 

Keito: Behold, ‘Rumbling Heaven and Earth [Sans Sages Version]’ that we made on our own.

Keito: Heaven and Earth!

Souma: Rumbling…!

Keito: Everyone, do you know about the Sengoku Era?

Keito: Today, we will take a closer look at the figures known as the ‘Three Great Unifiers’ of Japan.

Keito: The ‘Three Great Unifiers’ are Oda Nobunaga, Toyotomi Hideyoshi, and Tokugawa Ieyasu—

Souma: ...... If I may be frank, the more one watches this, the more boresome it becomes.

Keito: Yes. It’s almost painful, like a fan trying to replicate their favorite show.

Souma: Because that is the truth of the matter.

Souma: …… Kiryu-dono?

Kuro: Zzzz… zzzz……♪

Keito: Don’t sleep. You fell asleep during the last screening too.

Keito: That’s why you can’t remember anything. Utter nonsense.

Kuro: O- Ough… My bad, when I’m listenin’ to complicated talk in places that ain’t too bright, I get sleepy, can’t help it.

Souma: Fufu. One cannot blame Kiryu-dono, as he seems to be thoroughly engrossed in his studies as of late. He must not be getting enough rest.

Keito: Don’t be soft on him, Kanzaki. This fellow slept through the entire shoot.

Keito: More accurately, he was reading a history book for filming, conked out, and wouldn’t wake up even if he was shaken or struck.

Souma: Ah, that is right. It is for that reason that only Hasumi-dono and I are appearing in this iteration of the show.

Keito: Listen to the footage carefully enough, and you’ll hear Kiryu snoring away in the background.

Souma: In that matter as well, it is a disappointment…… No better than a school play put on by children.

Prev | Chapter List | Next

[malsfefanfics]

Dimitri and Rosamund B-Support

To collect: Have Rosamund and Dimitri share meals, or have Rosamund as Dimitri adjutant. Summary: Dimitri asks Rosamund to talk in order to find out more about her feelings towards the Kingdom.

Written in script format under the cut.

Dimitri: Rosamund, may I have a moment of your time?

Rosamund: I guess, but you'll have to make it quick. I was about to go herb gathering. There's a rare herb that has to be harvested at moon-high, so I can't afford to dawdle.

Dimitri: I promise, I won't take too much time. I just wanted to ask why you feel the way you do about Faerghus. You seem particularly angry about the Kingdom, though as far as I know, you have never been there., nor have any ties to Faerghus.

Rosamund: Oh, trust me. I'm a delight compared to my mother. She'll go on an entire lecture on everything wrong with the Kingdom, Empire, and Alliance. And expect you to turn in a five page essay afterwards.

Dimitri: Is that a fact? Well, what is it that you hate about Faerghus? I know it is not a perfect place, but-

Rosamund: Do you, now? Did you know on average, one out of every five children struggle to get enough to eat in Galatea and Conand territories? And the number of illiterate adults who aren't nobility in Itha and Fraldarius outnumbers the number of all of Leicester combined? Don't even get me started on the number of people who died because of untreated infections and illness.

Dimitri: What? I knew things in the Kingdom were rather dire, but this?

Rosamund: This is all statistics of how the Kingdom has been this past year, and are nothing compared to the overall statistics of what it's been like since your great-grandfather took the throne. There has been a steady increase in the divide between the haves and have-nots of Faerghus for decades. Though I will admit, Adrestia isn't much better, especially if the latest census is to be believed. We're just barely scraping ahead of Faerghus and the Church in terms of literacy rates.

Dimitri: Things have really gotten that serious everywhere….I…truly had no idea. This is terrible. How could I have not realized it sooner?

Rosamund: To be honest, I don't blame you for not knowing. You've been through a lot over the past five years or so. And you're still just a kid. No one should expect you to know everything, especially after…um…

Dimitri: Ah. So you know about that as well?

Rosamund: Yes. I heard about the Tragedy of Duscur, and how you lost your parents and an old friend. I'm truly sorry for your loss, Dimitri.

Dimitri: Thank you. Your condolences are appreciated.

Rosamund: Sure. But as much as I sympathize with you, your Highness, I still don't like your kingdom. Not as it is now. And I'm personally not a very big fan of who you are right now either. No offence.

Dimitri: You would not be the first person to share that sentiment. So, you hate Faerghus due to the current state of things. Well then, what would you recommend I do? What can I do to fix things in my Kingdom?

Rosamund: Do you really want the opinion of a Vestra who hasn't seen a lot of her own Empire, much less the continent?

Dimitri: Certainly. If I'm going to ascend the throne, I need to know where it is I'm lacking so I can fix it. Any insights from multiple viewpoints would be welcome. And I can tell this is something you're passionate about. So please, don't hold back. Tell me what I can do.

Rosamund: Very well. Where to start…. Apologies, but let me be frank. To start; you're too caught up in your own head. You need to stop focusing on the past, as hard as that might be at times. Focus on what is to come and plan for the future, and make stern, immediate changes to start building things back up to a stable state.

Dimitri: Stop focusing on the past? But…it is our past that defines us. How could you say to stop focusing on that?

Rosamund: Because it is not the past that defines us. It's what we take from the past and put forth in the future. I'm not saying to forget the past entirely. It's what helped create us. Just to learn from it, and try not wallow. Take it and turn it into a blade to carve a better path for all.

Dimitri: You make it sound so easy.

Rosamund: It only sounds easy coming from me because I try to put my money where my mouth is on a daily basis. When I'm not hunting, I'm gathering herbs for the infirmary. When not doing that, I'm helping teach reading to people in Abyss, or tending to the sick. I help pay for necessities for people who can't afford things otherwise. And in between all that, I'm training my dogs to aid the hunters and the guards. I'd do far more if I could, but I still have to try to keep up with my studies and training.

Dimitri: And here I thought I was working myself to the bone with my own obligations. You really shouldn't take on so much. You need to rest.

Rosamund: I rest plenty enough. If I don't work, these things won't get done.

Dimitri: I'd like to think they still would. There are plenty of others who can do these jobs, aren't there? You could afford a day or two to rest.

Rosamund: Actually, that's not really the case. There aren't very many people putting forth the effort, especially from the wealthier side. I'm sure you've noticed the two-faced reactions of some of the clergy regarding many of the people of Abyss.

Dimitri: I have. It's rather disconcerting to say the least. I've had a word with a few of the guards myself to try to get them to stop harassing the civilians there.

Rosamund: Exactly. It's despicable. It's hypocritical. And if there's one thing I hate more than Faerghus, it's hypocrites like them. So I try hard not to be one myself. Because I was lucky enough to be born into a noble house, I learned a lot, despite my own limited world growing up. I never had to worry about where my next meal came from, and I was provided the best possible education. So now I want to take my good fortune and knowledge to give others the same opportunities.

Dimitri: That makes me relieved to hear, Rosamund. I wish for the very same. But… such changes take time. You can't rush them, lest the results make things worse for the people you wish to help.

Rosamund: Fair point. Systemic change takes time. But there's no time like the present. You can't make sweeping change right away? Then why not start small and get involved in the streets? Start with something as simple as teaching people who don't know how to read their letters and numbers. Or help people repair holes in the road, or help pay for medicine for the people in the slums. Help provide food so people don't worry about when they'll eat. It might seem like it isn't much, but a little bit can go a long way.

Dimitri: Hm. I have considered going out and seeing how things are for myself. Perhaps it's time I actually took that thought and acted on it. There's nothing like firsthand experience, as they say. And if there's any way I can help even a little, I want to do so.

Rosamund: Go for it. Just, try not to go it alone? You're still the Crown Prince, after all. If something were to happen to you, there'd be a war to succeed you, and that'll just make things worse. Take someone with you when you decide to go anywhere. I recommend Ashe or Yuri. They could provide you additional insight on how to fix things, and are less conspicuous than other members of your house. And we don't want another unsuspecting hunter shooting you with an arrow.

Dimitri: Perhaps, but…. What about you?

Rosamund: What about me?

Dimitri: Would you be willing to go with me some of the time? Your insights are rather interesting. I'd like to learn more.

Rosamund: Respectfully, I decline. I have far too much to do. I don't have time.

Dimitri: But I…. Oh, very well. But, may I ask you one more thing?

Rosamund: Fine, but make it quick.

Dimitri: How do you know so much about our nations? Most nobles in the Kingdom aren't even allowed near those records, and yet you have knowledge of our census going back decades. And that of the Empire and Alliance. I don't think the Church would let anyone see theirs.

Rosamund: Well, that's, uh....

Dimitri: And what's more, you said I have "been through a lot these past five years or so". How much do you know about-?

Rosamund: Oh dear, we're out of time. My apologies, your Highness, but I cannot answer any more questions. If you'll excuse me, I need to head out. The moon will be high soon. If you need anything else from me in the future, don't. See you later, your Highness. [LEAVES]

Dimitri: Rosamund, wait! I only- and she's gone. [SIGHS] She is an odd one….

[homosexualmorelikehomiesexual]

ok so...we all saw the flurry of Bandom Racism discussion happening. and i have...thoughts.

i know this is late, in theory because i wanted to get my thoughts together, but honestly mainly because i didnt know what to say, so part of me was annoyed that i felt obligated to say anything at all. bc im not nearly as active in bandom as my blog probably makes it look, i didnt learn 90% of the Lore until september and all of that i learned from mcrblr. im new! i dont know about any of this! much less about the racism. so...why am i expected to talk about it? what is there for me to say?

...and over the past few days, its slowly sunk in for me that thats exactly the point.

of COURSE i dont see the racism in the fandom, or know what to say about it. because either none of the other white liberal fans in my circle do, or we just... dont talk about it. and i think when we do know, we dont talk about it, because we feel like its not our place. we dont know what to say, and especially if we feel like we had any hand in it, we're... embarassed? i know i am. and like...i hesitate to list examples, because i dont want to come across as self flagellating. one, because its got to be annoying for people of color, and two, because...i dunno. i dont want to make other white people think thats whats required, to be anti racist? because i think thats one of the assumptions we're laboring under, like...we've created this environment of really aggressive Discourse, so when it comes to racism, and unpacking our own...we talk in really vague terms, we never get past the "UwU!!! Dont Be Racist!!!!" PSAs because naming our own transgressions means admitting to wrongdoing, which is embarassing at the best of times, but in the very spaces we've created, generally being found out as Doing Something Wrong means getting jumped on by other white people for the purpose of their own moral preening so no one will suspect them of the same. so...why willingly subject yourself to that? especially if whatever you have to say, whatever it is in your behaviour you want to discuss, may be triggering to people of color. simply not mentioning it feels like the better - and safer - option.

but...thats what leads to us not knowing enough about all this to feel confident talking about it in the first place.

i dunno. last week, im one of the people who looked right at that piece of art with franks rising sun tattoo, and went... "huh. hey, theres that tattoo he got covered up because it was offensive. i should look into that. ...anyway, cool art!" and hit reblog.

and like...once people started talking about it, (theres one specific post, forget who its by, someone talking about mcrs history with anti asian racism, great post thank you for making it) i felt...bad? but i also felt kinda defensive. in thinking back on it, i was like..."well, im glad to know that now. but dude im not familiar with his tattoos. i kind of assumed what i was looking at was the covered up version where its sort of peeking through. idk it was a watercolor it was kinda garbled. i wont blame myself for not thinking any harder than that."

and then i was like... okay but. if im honest with myself, thats still bad. because it doesnt matter, since i probably wouldve reblogged it anyway, just assuming it was for the sake of photo accuracy or what have you...because i still didnt fucking know or care what the rising sun flag was.

which was the whole point.

because if i HAD. if i HAD done my research when id first heard about it, months ago, i would have recognized that art for what it was and treated it with the wide berth it deserved and avoided it regardless of my knowledge of his stupid fucking tattoo. but i didnt, for a host of reasons. mainly executive dysfunction, general stress in my personal life (nunya bidness) and...if im being honest? i just didnt want to, because...i hate self teaching. i have adhd. i was homeschooled, it was really traumatic, i flunked all of highschool and had to get a GED. my reading comprehension and attention span are piss poor. so i didn't feel like looking into it. i didnt feel like giving myself a whole impromptu history lesson. i opened one wiki page and instantly got overwhelmed.

but thats also the point. because all those reasons for not doing my due diligence and reading up on why asian fans are so pressed about the rising sun tattoo? or why black fans want nothing to do with 21p? the same shit probably applies to them! they don't feel like doing it either, we just give them no choice until eventually they make giant ass posts, comprehensive, easy to digest, step by step posts, for the express purpose of doing what we all refuse to do.

and, again, theres that feeling of guilt. guilt and shame, because im admitting to this, and because i know how reading this is gonna make other white fans feel, because i just went through the exact same set of feelings, and its uncomfortable as hell. so i can only imagine how fans of color have felt.

im not making this to browbeat white fans, or to self flagellate to fans of color. this isnt a soap box or a confession booth. im just.. talking. so lets talk. im gonna be honest, i still havent done real research into the rising sun flag. im literally just now looking at the wikipedia page for imperial japan, which i just now opened, and i still feel just as overwhelmed. (does anyone have good material on learning about this? if i find any, ill post it in reblogs.)

but...yeah. this isnt an UwU!!! Dont Be Racist!!!! PSA. this is uhhhh...We're All A Little Racist, Lets Talk About It So We Wont Be. an open letter, i guess. cause we're doing and saying racist shit, intentionally or unintentionally, whether we realize it or admit it or not, and i think the majority of you who have read this far are, like me, mainly doing so through inaction. and i think the more we ignore that, the worse this feeling will get. so...lets stop ignoring it. i know we all just did exactly that, i saw it happen, i was part of it, i get the reasons why. but its delaying the inevitable, and more importantly, we're hurting other people because of it. so...lets just get it over with, it cant be any more embarassing than burying our heads in the sand.

[ellena-asg]

Gosh, I had really strange and really dark McDanno dream tonight. I don't remember all, just some moments somewhere in season 2-3 era.

In the first part there was one of their cases and Steve almost died. He was ready to die, it was sacrifice/no big chances kind of action. In the last moment Danny saved him and when Steve came back from hospital Danny was damn furious. He shouted that Steve was stupid and that nobody wanted Steve to be dead. Danny's words were like bullets. "Don't dare to do this again". "We love you, you shmuck". "You're not fucking lonely Rambo anymore!". "Why the hell can't you see that? Why can't you see we will all be dead when you die, ha? I will be dead, Steven!". So it looked like Alex's old idea about Steve dying - but thanks goodness Danny was there.

In the second part (some time later) Danny and Steve argued again cause this time Danny was kidnapped and beaten by Wo Fat's people and Steve blamed himself. Steve was so shaken that he said that Danny and Grace deserved better and they had to stay away from Steve and his issues. For their own safety. Danny yelled that his family was Steve's family too (in this dream universe Steve and Ohana already met all Williamses/Russos) and that Steve needed to stop treating Williamses like fucking soft snowflakes who knew nothing about life and its darker side. Who knew nothing about love and loyalty.

In the third part some Navy guys (Steve knew them) including Mr Rollins came to ask Steve for a help. They needed him for some mission. By the way, Rollins treated Danny like "you may know Steven but you know nothing about our life in Navy, boy" and he generally treated Danny like a weak boy and weak cop. Plus he blamed Danny that he changed Steve too much (and it looked like he was bitter that Steve stopped dating his daughter). Steve didn't know about it all cause Rollins mocked Danny when nobody else was around and Danny stayed quiet. He only said that Rollins didn't like him and had no respect to cops and Steve was like "Don't worry, man. Soon he will like you! Remember how we two met in my garage? It wasn't easy either". So. Soon Steve was like "Okay, I'll help you" and the team wanted to help too but Danny was like "Hey, guys, there's something wrong, these guys...". But all were like "oh, Danny, please, you don't have to love Navy but don't see devils everywhere". And he said that it's not like that, that he loved Navy guys like Steve, Joe, Wade, Frank. He just felt that Mr Rollins and his guys were weird. He knew people, he knew something was wrong. Steve was like "You think that Rollins, oh I know you think he doesn't like you..." and he only wanted to ask Danny about his feelings, his instinct, he wanted to know something more about it but Danny... Oh, anxiety attack. He shouted at Steve "Oh, I knew it! I knew you wouldn't believe me cause it's your dearest Catherine's dad and...". "What?" Steve was shocked. But Danny was more and more hurt. "All your Navy friends, Cath... they'll always be fucking saints to you and even I can't change it. You're gonna be their forever, huh? You're gonna... You were right. I hate Navy ". Steve wanted to say something but Danny went away.

The fourth part was about Danny arguing with Steve and all team (about Rollins, about them all treating Danny like someone too soft for their world and so on - Danny really had enough and he didn't let them explain things, he was so pissed off that he took a break and went to Jersey to his "super soft super golden super naive family").

In the fifth part Steve and team (Danny was still in Jersey) went on their mission to help Mr Rollins and his guys. Part of the Navy guys was there and the other part "will be there where we're going" as Mr Rollins said. But it turned out that these Rollin's guys were really bad guys (Rollins wasn't aware of that, they just used him). I don't even remember what they wanted. I only remember that they planned something really big and they needed to kill all Five-0 and its friends. They treated Steve and his people with some gas and then broke Steve's and others' legs and chained them. Soon they took our guys and Mr Rollins somewhere far away from Hawaii, to some hidden base where those other bad guys were waiting (their faces were hidden under tactical soldier masks). "Good job" said one of the "masked bad guys" and gave all bad guys (I mean the group that came there with Steve and Five-0) water. "No one in Navy and HPD will find you", said one of Rollins' ex-friends. "They all think we're on mission, they'll all believe us when we come back and tell them about your tragic heroic death...". They chained our guys more and forced them to drink something. "Worse than arsenic, the pain is longer". They laughed and started drinking their water. "Cheers" - said one of the bad guys. And then they gagged our guys and said "We're gonna look at your pain but not gonna hear it". They said they're gonna burn them soon and that the bomb is hidden under floor, under Steve's legs, in a tunnel too narrow for Steve and his guys - just in case. The guys laughed more but then suddenly part of them started shaking and soon they were all paralyzed. Steve and the rest of the team were shocked and even more scared. But then these masked guys who still stood there and could move, took off their masks and geez, it was Danny. And Eddie. Clara. Stella. Bridget. Eric. And Bridget's husband. All Five-0 were in huuuuge shock and Clara wanted to explain all but then Danny looked at his friends, at Steve and he felt sudden rage. "They broke the legs, they... sons of a...". Danny started beating the paralyzed guys. Eric and Bridget's hubby started freeing Five-0. Bridget said to Five-0 that what they drunk was water and the real poison was now in enemies' stomachs. Stella said she would prepare their transport and she left with Bridget. Eddie said to bad guys "I know much about fire. And I know that it's not my family that will be burning". Clara then came closer to Steve and said "I lost one son. He didn't care about me. But there is another one. And I'm not gonna lose him. I'm not gonna lose you, Steven McGarrett!". "How..." - Steve tried to ask but then he started panicking. "The bomb!". "Don't worry. It's not our problem anymore" - said Eddie. Then Gracie came to the room. "The tunnel wasn't too narrow for me" - she said. "No, Gracie... Why? Danny! Danny, you can't..." - Stevie was in total shock. "She said she would do it" - said Eddie. - "She said she's your family too". Clara added: "Danny had no choice. He told her what to do, she did it". "What the hell..." - Chin tried to understand. - "How?". Then Clara started to explain that Eric called Danny cause he found out something about evil guys' plan. And when they found out bad guys took Five-0 Danny found the second group and killed them all. And then Danny wanted to call other cops but then they all felt it. They felt the rage. They felt they had to avenge their family. They had to help. And they made a plan. "It was stupid! It was dangerous!!! You shouldn't be here!" - Steven cried. - "Why?! Why you?!". Then Danny came to him and looked into his eyes: "Cause we're Ohana, one for all, all for one, you idiot". Then Danny kissed him and added: "Never ever say you have to leave us. By the way, we will find you and then you...". "I'm sorry, Robocop. I'm sorry...". "Don't be sorry" - said Eddie. - "Thanks to you we got our Danny back". "What you mean?" - Steve asked.

And then my dream ended and I have no idea what was that 👀 - a real plot in my dream world or maybe it was all just Steve's dream and when he woke up he understood some things? 😵‍💫

[renee-writer]

The Changeling Chapter 13

AO3

Wee Ian and his sister, Maggie, exam the newcomers with wide eyes. Maggie has never meet her uncle and Wee Ian was just her age the last time he saw him.

 

“You have grown so big and braw,” Jamie addresses his nephew, “and what a beauty you are, Maggie.”

 

“Uncle Jamie, who is the lass?”

 

“Wee Ian, this is my wife and your Auntie, Claire and our son William.”

 

She smiles at the children. “Hello.”

 

Both react the same way, moving away from her, their eyes wide. The lad finds his voice. “Why Uncle Jamie, she is a Sassanach!”

 

“Aye, but dinna fret. She is a good one. I swear it.” Murtagh is holding laughter back. It is good to know that the bairns are being raised as true Scots.

 

“Ian Murray, Margaret Murray, Claire is your auntie. You shall treat her with respect. Is that clear?” Jenny’s stern glance meets their eyes.

 

“Aye mam.”

 

“Aye mam.”

 

“I understand,” She hands William to his daddy so she can kneel to their level, “the English can be fearsome. I am not fully English. I was raised all over the world. My dear uncle, may his soul rest in peace, he was an archeologist, dug up the past,” the irony of this hits her and she almost burst into laughter. Wasn’t she raised perfect for this adventure she is on! “So even though my voice is English, I am a Scot, for I am married to one and a mam of one.”

 

“That be good.” Wee Ian nods to himself, “very good.”

 

Maggie toddles up and rests against her. She carefully touches her dark curls. Everyone holds their breaths.

 

“Maggie’s Auntie Claire.” She declares. Jamie watches, his eyes full of pride.

 

Later, after the children are tucked in bed, they sit down to talk about the pardon.

 

“Sae this Lord Abernathy is helping cover up Randall’s crimes?”

 

Jamie nods. He understands Ian’s feelings about the man. He has, after all, came close to assaulting Jenny. It was something they don’t discuss.

 

“Aye, it makes sense. There has to be someone high up to allow him to get away with his despicable acts.”

 

“Ned is hoping to persuade him to arrange a pardon for Jamie in exchange for keeping their secrets.” Claire explains farther.

 

Jenny is silent, to silent. Ian looks at her. “Jenny?”

 

“As much as I want Jamie to be pardoned, I loath that he will continue to get away with it.”

 

All nod in understanding.

 

“He won’t for long,” Claire’s declaration has all eyes on her, “there is to be an upraising, we will raise up against the British. Unfortunately, it won’t succeed but, at the last battle, Black Jack will be killed.”

 

“How do you know that? I ken knowing the future but one person out of it, knowing his fate?”

 

“I know, Ian, because before he dies, he will marry a lass named Mary Hawkins. From their union they will have a son. Years after, my first husband, Frank Randall, will be born.”

 

Total silence.

 

“You married one of them!” Jenny hisses.

 

“Frank was nothing like his ancestor. He was interested in the family history. In his research, he found the information about Black Jack.”

 

“Jenny Mon ghrá, remember this is two hundred years in the future. Claire then didn’t know. She can’t be blamed. Her knowledge may help Jamie be free and help us prepare for this coming upraising, eh?”

 

She smiles at him before turning back to her sister -in-law. “Forgive me Claire. I just loath him so much. The knowledge he isn’t long for this world is a comfort.”

 

“I understand and I can help prepare for what is to come.”

 

She explains the upraising and it’s aftermath.

 

“We should stay out then, remain loyalists?” Jamie questions.

 

“Yes. I would love it if we won and could break off their control it isn’t just now. To keep the family safe, we need to stay true to the British.”

 

“We will do as you bid.” Ian says. They discuss what to plant and when, hiding resources away from the conquers.

 

“I am afraid the whole clan way of life will end. The wearing of tartan will be forbidden, the speaking of Gaelic. It will return in our great- great- grandchildren’s lifetime.”

 

There is a solemnness in the air. Her words, though needing to be said, carry a heavy weight.

 

“Thank you Claire. We shall prepare as we can. We shall keep the Gaelic in our hearts. Our children will learn it even if they can only speak it in secret.”

 

“Ian is right,” Murtagh has been quiet, listening for most of their conversations, “the bloody English will never fully conquer us.”

 

“Amen!” Jamie cries.

[pizzaronipasta]

Not for nothing, but the reason people are getting on your case about the AI art thing is because you were literally the one who started it. Someone made a post about how anyone can make art, and you responded by insulting that person, calling them an asshole, and accusing them of ableism. I've checked their blog, and you continued to argue with and insult this person until they finally blocked you, which I don't blame them for. If people aren't listening to you, or are upset with you, it's because you attacked someone else first. You're perfectly capable of discussing your thoughts without being a dick– someone sent you an ask in which they were far nicer to you than you've been to anyone else, and you treated them in kind. Ironically, this was after thanking them for their politeness and good faith, something you have not been affording most other people.

I'll be frank– I do not understand how AI works, nor do I think I ever will. That is not my area of expertise. But I have a wealth of experience in being human and wanting to create things that are beyond my abilities. You seem to think that this is something that only disabled folks experience, but wanting to make something and being physically unable to do so is, in fact, something every artist experiences. It is the feeling that drives people to create art in the first place. Art is a lot of things, but at its center, it is having a thought inside of you that you would like to make physical. This is fundamentally impossible. I will never draw anything as good as the image in my head, I will never sing anything as good as the song I imagine, and I will never take a picture that matches my experience of the world. Those imperfections are what makes our art ours, and when we say anyone can make art, that is exactly what we mean. A child making a crayon drawing is an artist. A tone-deaf person singing a made-up, off-key song is an artist. Art is not about the quality of the finished product, it is about the process of creating.

That having been said, from what I can tell, you genuinely view AI as a tool. You're not entirely wrong. AI is something built by humans, and if someone builds their own neural network, trains it themselves, and provides it with images from consenting sources, there is nothing wrong with using it. Nor would there be anything wrong with using an AI someone else developed provided, again, that the images it's trained on come from consenting sources. You said at one point that when it comes to art theft, "the ones making AI are the culprits here, not the AI itself, nor its users." That is, to put it mildly, bullshit. If someone robs an art museum, cuts up the Mona Lisa, and hands me the pieces and some glue, I agree that the glue is not responsible if I then decide to reassemble it into something new. But the robbers and I would definitely be at fault. By choosing to use an AI that has been trained on stolen art, you are explicitly saying that you, the user, are okay with the theft.

Which you may well be, considering you keep conflating art theft with the legal term intellectual property. No one who is upset about art theft gives a shit about whether or not it's legal to do. Plenty of things are legal and awful. What people are upset about is when people take something that someone else has worked very hard on and use it without permission. This is not exclusive to AI– people have been angry for years about art tracing, after all, or simply taking someone else's picture and claiming it is your own, which is what the term art theft used to be most often used to mean. People are not upset about AI using stolen art because they think it is illegal; they are upset because the people who made that art did not consent to it being used. Speaking personally, I would love to see someone train an AI using my art. It would be very interesting to me to see what it could make. But at the very least, I would want them to ask for my permission first. Consent is, as always, key.

TLDR, people are being assholes to you because you were an asshole to someone else first, and AI may be a tool but the way that tool is currently being used is shitty and that's why people are upset. Maybe stop insisting other people are ableist for not liking the current usage of AI and accept that what they're upset about is the non-consensual use of other people's art.

You're right, I was the one who fired the first shot. I've been aware of this for a while now, and I regret my initial hostility. I honestly don't blame anyone for being combative in their responses. That's why I go out of my way to thank people for especially tactful ones; they don't necessarily owe it to me. On the other hand, however, I can't meaningfully respond to those which haven't meaningfully responded to me. I can't help but be disappointed by how few people have made an effort to actually convince me of anything.

You are also right about the nature of art. However, I speak from experience in saying that "wanting to make something and being physically unable to do so" often means something different for disabled people. Due to my ADHD, I struggle with executive dysfunction. I have a severe disadvantage at bringing myself to work on my art in the first place. It's not a matter of imperfections, it's a matter of even getting started. It's not about the quality of the finished product, it's about creating a finished product at all. I am simply not able to make art as easily as most people. Neither are countless other disabled people. This is why I took issue with the original post that said everyone can make art.

I don't like to use the term "art theft" loosely. Its primary meaning refers to literal theft, be it of a physical artwork, or of the tangible medium of a digital one. Such a specific term for it exists because art is important enough to us that we consider crimes against art to be worth identifying. In the era of digital art, though, it has taken on a secondary meaning, which roughly refers to plagiarism. Between our cultural emphasis on individualism in authorship, and the common tendency to mistake intellectual property for an ethical framework (which was my whole point in bringing up IP in prior posts), this newer definition actually reaches far further than just plagiarism, and even encompasses some things which are perfectly ethical in actuality.

Consider the fact that inspiration is inseparable from creativity. Even the most original works of all time are shaped by the artist's lived experiences—after all, our lived experiences are what literally rewire our brains and inform our every decision. You'd be hard-pressed to find someone who thinks creative inspiration is immoral. On the other hand, there is an overwhelming consensus that plagiarism is immoral. Both of these, at their core, consist of producing something by drawing upon existing works. The only inherent difference between them is how transformative the process is. AI training is one of the most transformative processes there are—data is transformed into behavior, and each pixel in the resulting outputs is determined by using the sum total of everything that was learned in the process, not merely copied from a random work. AI is nothing like gluing together cut-up pieces of the stolen Mona Lisa. In reality, it's no different from how we humans take inspiration from existing things to create something new. That's not personification—generative AI is an emulation of the structures and functions underlying brains and nerves, albeit an imperfect and simplistic one. To say that AI can't be trained on publicly accessible art without express permission is to say that people can't be inspired by others' work without express permission. Of course, there's nothing wrong with taking measures to prevent or deter AI companies from using your art. If that's what you want, be it personal preference or because of a problem with the companies and their practices, then go for it! There's plenty to take issue with in regards to the companies themselves, which is what I was talking about when I called them "the culprits."

Thank you for bringing up that first topic; I appreciate the opportunity that gave me to reflect on it. And of course, thank you for addressing things in a constructive manner.

[alasse-earfalas]

It’s very interesting and strange to be a conservative who deals with gender dysphoria on a fairly regular basis.

If you don’t want to hear my frank views on the subject, feel free to keep scrolling. It wouldn’t surprise me given the current cultural climate if my “lived experience” gets tossed out the window or metaphorically burned by the mob because it doesn’t match the rhetoric. But if you want to hear my unique views on all this, feel free to keep reading.

To understand where my beliefs start with this whole thing, I need to go into religion a bit. I believe that everyone has a spirit, that God is the omniscient, omnipotent, and infinitely loving Father of our spirits, and that our spirits have a specific gender, either male or female, which is matched to our bodies upon birth. God does not make mistakes, and though our bodies may be imperfect, we are never placed in a body that is the wrong gender. I also believe, very strongly, that our bodies are sacred gifts from God, that their many imperfections will be overcome one day thanks to the atonement and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Any challenges we face with regards to our bodies now will not be permanent.

Now that I’ve gone over all of that, let me explain how this all fits into my experiences with gender dysphoria.

I don’t blame anyone of my political persuasion for not understanding how distressing and absolutely gut-wrenchingly real gender dysphoria is. The closest my male alts can approximate the experience is as follows:

“Imagine looking in the mirror one morning and seeing Barney’s face staring back at you. That’s mirror dysphoria. Now imagine moving around and realizing that your fingers are purple and three of them are fused together, and then your feet are all weird and you have a fetching tail with nerve endings that brushes against and bumps into things as you go about your day. You have this clear mental image of yourself and your body, but it’s not that. It’s that level of unsettling.” — Turo 

I’ve been a mental fly on the wall to witness the distress this causes, and I would not wish that on anyone. What’s especially curious about this experience, to me, is that there is a very powerful sense of “I am male / female”, not “I am masculine / feminine”. 

“Based on our own experiences, we (or several of us) suspect that the unconscious framework of how the mind defines ‘male’ and ‘female’ may well have to do with how parental figures treat the child in early infancy. In our case, ‘male’ is steady, reliable, safe, grounded, while ‘female’ is hyper-emotive, unstable, powerful, and often (but not always) unsafe.” — Rye

However, no matter how the unconscious mind of an individual defines male and female, we as fellow human beings all need a common term to describe certain physical realities, such as reproductive roles and the chromosome makeups that distinguish those roles. The role of language is communication. If a word means something different to you than it does to me, and we don’t realize it, we can hardly have a discussion using that word without causing massive confusion. Simply replace the meanings of the words “red” and “blue” and you’ll start to understand what I mean.

Though each individual may have their own unconscious ideas of what the words “male” and “female” mean, it is much more helpful in conversation to use the definitions of those words that are tied to physical reality: with the extremely rare exceptions of certain chromosomal disorders, male, boy, or man, means a human being with X and Y chromosomes, and female, girl, or woman, means someone with two X chromosomes. Those who don’t fall into either category are intersex. Every single human being ever born fits into one of these three categories, without exception, and each of these categories share a physical reality that the others lack. That is why these categories were defined to begin with: to describe a shared difference in physical reality. Societal norms and expectations attached to those categories were tacked on later, and can be wholly discarded without degrading the original definitions in the slightest.

This leads me to the subject of “body positivity”, which I’ve touched on before. Previously, I was writing under the assumption that “body positivity” meant “loving your body”. I now realize that this is not the case at all. “Body positivity” is about praising every kind of body, not about loving the body you’re in.

As someone who believes that the body is a sacred gift from God, and who believes that people should love their bodies in spite of the imperfections and hardships that they can present, this is especially disgusting to me. Your body is beautiful. Your body is a gift. Your body is something you should cherish, love, and take care of. Your body deserves love because it is a part of you. This applies whether or not you experience gender dysphoria. One of my male alts is very in tune with the needs of the body we have, and has recently forced his way out to the front several times, specifically in order to take care of it.

I’ve heard so many people spout “body positivity” while in the same breath saying that they hate their bodies so much that they want to mutilate themselves. You cannot love yourself if you do not love your body, and you cannot love your body if you want to chemically or surgically harm it. Believe me, I understand the discomfort and distress that comes along with gender dysphoria, but harming your beautiful body is not the answer. Taking care of your body is the answer. The alt I mentioned earlier, he deals with the dysphoria by viewing the body as an elderly patient that he needs to take care of. Yes it might be uncomfortable, but it’s fulfilling when the task is approached in a spirit of compassion and care.

I can’t think of anything else to say about the issue right now. I don’t know whether I’m going to get crickets or air raid sirens for this, but I haven’t seen a perspective like mine shared anywhere before. I’m open to any honest, good faith questions anyone may have on this issue or on anything I’ve shared. Feel free to send an ask or a dm or a comment or whatever means of communication you feel the most comfortable with. 

Take care everyone.

[regular-lord-reckoner]

a hospice nurse came out yesterday to talk to us and give us the run down of everything

she was nice and i think she's going to be his case manager while other nurses actually come out to check on him, but as soon as she left she was already putting in the orders for some medicines to help calm him and for a hospital bed and all of that

our dining table is kinda in the corner of the living room by the window so my mom and i already cleared all that out so we can put the bed there and that way he'll be right in the middle of everything and won't feel like he's just stuffed in the corner like he is in the bedroom

i kept going to just sit next to him yesterday and be by his side whenever my mom needed to go make him dinner or show the hospice nurse around because he didn't want to be alone

he was a lot more clear yesterday than he was the past couple of days and we had some very frank conversations about all of this which is good, but last night he had an anxiety attack and could barely breathe

my mom almost had to call hospice in because she didn't think he was going to make it but she managed to get him calmed down and settled

he was actually sitting up in his chair in the living room this morning but he pretty quickly had to move to the couch because he's just too tired

she and i talked this morning and i asked her how long she thinks he may have because i was thinking months maybe but she said we'll be lucky if he makes it to his birthday which is the 25th so that's...rough

she said there's just no fight left in him and his doctors are even talking about discontinuing a bunch of his meds and stuff

just...yeah.

i mean, i knew it was going to happen at some point, but i really didn't think it would be like...now. right now.

there still might be a chance he can turn this around and i think it's fucking crazy because i swear to god just like a week ago he was out on the back porch on the exercise bike, albeit he wasn't killing it on the fucking thing, but like...still

for a few minutes he was sitting and peddling a little and could walk back to his chair without a cane or using his wheelchair as a walker, he was able to make his own lunch and get himself a cup of coffee, at one point i even remember i was standing behind him just in case but he was scooting through the house like, "look at me go" and now it's like he's on death's door and i've heard this happens, it's not uncommon for people to do a big upswing right before the end where it seems like, "oh, okay, nice!!" and even his reports from his tests were looking fine, everything was seemingly okay but now i don't know anymore

i guess we'll just take each day at a time. my mom's going to see how this weekend goes but more than likely she's going to take another break from work and said she'd just go without pay, she just can't fathom being at fucking work and he ends up passing and i don't blame her a bit. since i work from home i think i'll try to still work as much as i can but ive got at least two weeks worth of pto already stored up and ready to go and whenever it's time, if it's next week or a month from now or whenever i'll just take that and fuck work

i just hate this so fucking much and i hate seeing him like this. i hate knowing that this is upsetting him but of course it fucking is. i hate knowing that he's scared. i hate so much about this but i guess there's no choice and i'm going to try to put on a brave face and do the best i can and that's that

[letters-to-teaching]

Teaching in FL with standards while bi and liberal

Letters to Teaching

I hope very much that you will read all of this before commenting. I am a human being and have made my own mistakes, to which I have consistently owned up. That being said, 

CW for general shittiness of US, Florida, gun violence, mental illness, poor treatment of teachers and kids. 

Anyone have time/spoons for a frank and open conversation about teaching in the US, Florida in particular?

Still into it? Please consider whether you’re ready to consume this information. It may end up being surprisingly un-traumatic for you, but for me it’s both rambling and just ~a lot~.  Buckle up, star children. 

So yeah here we go. Diary entry or whatever. March 29 2023, in which I say a few of the many wretched things that have sucked in the last four years. This will take a while but I promise it’s all important. 

What follows is a brief summary of my personal experience and the desperate hope that I can fall in love with teaching again. The classroom used to be my most joyful place, but with each year, particularly after leaving my former position at a wonderful school, the profession that once gave me passion and purpose has increasingly become nothing but a cesspool of dread and broken promises. 

Frankly, my students and my program deserve someone like my 23-yr-old self: willing to do and give every particle of my being to teaching,. Realistically, those teachers shouldn’t be willing to do that. We are not able to do that. We all deserve better pay, more respect, and better training, both social and emotional. Our worth should not be determined by our productivity. 

I’m tired now. I’m so fucking tired and so incredibly devastated to see how much teaching, this school in particular (my alma mater), has warped me. Especially with the comparison between my former school’s response to COVID vs that of my current employer. Mine truly used to be an exceptional school, and I’m devastated to see how far it’s fallen. I thought I could be part of the solution, but here’s what has happened in my time here:

Year 1: accepted a job making the same salary ($46k) as my previous job bc I wanted to be close to my mom and I naively believed that this school shared my pursuit of excellence and inclusivity. Taught 7 classes with no planning period for no extra money. Helped colleagues navigate online challenges during COVID, hosted lunches and socials to help students connect in isolation, and designed entirely new curricula to best support online learning. 

Year 2: Forced (on threat of firing) to teach two periods of English with two week’s notice and neither training nor a textbook. Parents and students were vocal, toxic, and furious that I was drowning and couldn’t keep up with lesson plans and grades. Their concerns were valid, but the administration left me entirely without help. 

Year 3: Began with zero support /confidence and increased scrutiny due to my challenges from the previous year. Admittedly, this lack of respect and support did cause me to be behind often on grading and communication. Written up for (legally) discussing pay when I learned a coworker was making $10 less per hour than I was. Took on all of the classes in my program when my co-teacher (justifiably) bailed due to discrimination and poor treatment with literally a week’s warning, which led to me teaching a lunch class and another period with two classes at the same time for a total of nine preps. From day one, a group of students actively tried to get me fired and intentionally bullied kids away from my program. Admin refused to do anything and blamed me, taking away my entry level classes and functionally killing my program. I expressed that this decision ensured that there was no possibility for growth, but was again ignored without consideration. 

Year 4: intense criticism over the fact that I haven’t been particularly successful in my position. I fully admitted my own part in this. Constant terror that my contract means nothing in an at will state. Two new situations in which I am teaching multiple classes in the same period. This year alone I am generating curricula for 10 unique classes during 6 class periods. 

No matter what happens, I will always be honest. In this hostile environment, my grades ~were~ often  late in my second and third years. Parents complained, students actively worked against me, and I have been paralyzed with fear and largely unable to dig myself out. I am not blameless here, nor have I ever pretended to be. My frustration is the choice of my administrators to place every ounce of the blame upon me. My department chair was told that the classes which could save my program were taken away due to scheduling conflicts, while I was told that they were a punishment for my low recruitment numbers. Whatever improvements I make are ignored, while every mistake is a point of discussion. 

My own dean suggested that I get out as soon as I can. He sees the writing on the wall. 

The one breath of fresh air is the possibility of returning to the only school that treated me reasonably well. The school that I loved, the school I left to be nearer my mother. The school that, despite its own problems, I never forgot. 

The education system is broken. In ten years and three schools, my salary has gone up by $8k (now $46k) while my living expenses have skyrocketed exponentially. I am unable to purchase Expo markers or even notebook paper and pens for my students. 

Teachers and students risk our lives every day we set foot on campus. Our livelihoods are threatened when we speak out. 

I generally try to end posts on a message of hope, but at this point I am sincerely asking for help. America’s teachers are HUNGRY; we are TERRIFIED; we are THREATENED; we face DEATH each day. Help me. Help us. Be a voice for the voiceless. I beg you. I love you. I honor you. 

[bkdotblog]

"RSVPlease," S3 E8

The Real Housewives of Salt Lake City Season 3 Episode 8 Recap

My Title:  “Danna...?"

My rating: 2.6 out of 5 my father's obituaries

Support for Lisa Barlow: Very strong

<><><>

AHH! We open the scene with Lisa Barlow's terrifying sons. The family is sitting around their black and white kitchen. Lisa, perhaps sensing the presence of Satan, suggests that a better relationship with God might make their lives "a little easier." The older one demurs: There are many ways to be spiritual, mother. You can meditate, for example, or run your own YA hair gel company.

The youngest one vibrates with malevolent intentions. Lisa's husband is also there. He is the largest of the four but offers the bare minimum in terms of presence.

Lisa, Jen, and Whitney hit the slopes. Must we see winter sports in every episode? Jen and Lisa barely make it down the hill on skis. Whitney is deft on a snowboard. They meet up on some bluff overlooking the most gorgeous mountains God has ever made.

"Heather escorted me from her house the other day," Whitney says, due to Whitney's defending Lisa in their ongoing squabble. Emphasis on escort: Whitney says Heather "physically turned me around." A little dramatic, but that's our girl. So why is Heather offering Whit soprano in the Gay chorus?

Hearing that Whitney came to the defense of her character, Lisa looks like she is going to burst into tears of joy.

All three women share grievances with Heather's behavior as of late. Even Whitney, who doesn't have anything specific to blame Heather for other than not being supportive in her hilling journey. "I just shared with you that I've had all this trauma that I'm working through," Whitney says, "And when I have stirred the pot or been messy, that's how I learned how to behave." The other women are like... OK...

We transition next to Chez Shah, where it appears Jen's husband or the show's fabulous producers are gonna go ahead and host a barbecue for the househusbands. It's a "no-wife zone!" Shah declares. Thanks for letting me know because I am only interested in wife zones, and am too happy to skip this sequence!!

Who the SWEET fuck cares?

Who the FUCK is "Ernesto, Danna's husband"????

????????

OK, let's move on...

In another snow-white kitchen across town, Meredith is making a "little snack" with her sister, niece, and nephew, who are in town from Chicago. There is nothing more important to Meredith than fahmlae, pronounced with a Chicago accent that twinges on Scottish. Meredith's megatwink son Brooks loomed large on the first two seasons of the show but has since been off in New York. And we mustn't Marks' invisible daughter, who may very well be in the room with us right now.

This is how many of them it takes to cut a single lemon:

Meredith recalls herself recalling the traumatic events of her past year — her father dying, her nephew's mental health issues — at the Season Two reunion. But how lovely now that the family can gather together happily to cut a single lemon! Lisa Barlow's God is good.

The children are dismissed from the scene as Meredith commands them to take a place of white bean salad to "Unkie" who is upstairs, and she is alone with her sister Myra, pronounced Meera. The two discuss Myra's son, who last year attempted suicide gruesomely. Meredith has a very purely emotional moment in her confessional.

But the conversation quickly turns to Lisa thank GOD. Apparently their husbands convened at their all-male no homo hang and Lisa's husband shared concerns about Meredith's attacks at Lisa. Meredith of course is on the defensive. For a woman who famously refuses to engage, I think Meredith enjoys when she feels forces are conspiring against her. Or maybe not. I actually don't think about Meredith very much at all, if I'm being Frank N. Honest!

Heather Gay is Bottega Veneta boots on the ground at her first choir rehearsal. At the Gay Choir, everybody who is not a woman wearing luxury Italian-made fashions is a Tom of Finland drawing come to life.

When Good Angie picks up Jen and takes her to rehearse, she gossips about the chatter at a recent spin class: apparently Danna (remember Danna?) said that Jen went off on Bad Angie and was "bullying" her at the choir auditions. If there is one thing that will cause Jen to fly into a rage, it's accusing her of flying of rages.

Danna reveal:

Jen Shah reaction:

(As a side note: I love love love this confessional look on Jen as she is pleading her innocence in a federal fraud trial. "Would a guilty woman wear this?")

Heather is wearing a little cropped green vest over body con dress that I think looks great. Bad Angie, Whitney, and Lisa arrive, all separately. Other people are also there. Everybody sits in a great big circle and the hunky choir director makes a speech.

When everyone stands to do vocal warm ups, Heather takes Lisa aside to, it seems, thank her for coming and salvage what is left of their good feelings toward one another. But then in the confessional, Heather says this:

BK's Take: Heather is quickly losing credibility for me. We mustn't forget: She has admitted to mean-girlhood in the past. And at the risk of applying an overly simplistic and misogynistic behavioral analysis as having "mean girl" energy, Heather is committing the number one act of high school clique leaders since time immemorial: Fault finding with someone's character on the basis of not vibing with them. Despicable!

We reach the cliff before this commercial break when Lisa cuts to the bone of the argument and asks Heather if she likes her. Remember 10 seconds ago, when Heather said she hated her?

She pauses for one hundred years and one full commercial break before she responds:

Uhh... kinda, mama!

BK's Take, Evergreen: Lisa is right!

They go around in a few more circles before addressing the rumors spewed against Lisa at the Garbage Whore Party a few episodes ago. Whitney is brought into the fray -- a crucial misstep in deescalating any sort of conflict, as Whitney is volatile when she's in the process of hilling. While another voice is added to this din, the rest of the choir continues to rehearse mere feet away.

At one point Heather just... walks away! And rejoins the chorus. This is how this particular fight ends: With a song. From the varying pious bellies of the Mormon Church's misfits and outcasts:

(Eagle eyes will notice Lisa Barlow is in her defensive stance)

What is the climate in Salt Lake City? At the beginning of the episode we were on the powder white slopes, and now Jen is meeting Good Angie at a rooftop pool? I hope I don't sound foolish but will anybody explain this to me? Simultaneously, the episode's breakout star DANNA visits Meredith at home, assembling a common formation to this franchise: Doubles screaming matches, where each team is comprised of a housewife and friend-of.

Last ep we had Good Angie and Jen against Bad Angie and kind of Whitney. Now it seems like reigning champs Good Angie and Jen have advanced to their next challenge: Danna and kind of Meredith.

But first, Jen appears in her villainry talking about how the stress of being indicted for fraud has her craving a vacation...

...and I brace myself for some dumb ass budget locale knowing Jen can't leave the country and doesn't have a ton of money anyway, and then she reveals where she will be taking everybody, and are you ready ladies?, grab a big tote and a single carry-on duffle, because las amigas, we are flying down to San Diego town!

It gets worse, because they're staying in Good Angie's friend's house. "And it's close to the beach!" she says, beaming.

BK's Take, Peeved: We the people have had enough of these AirBnb ass vacations. Please take us somewhere where the ladies don't have to share bathrooms — I am begging! Hotels are FINE! Bravo can figure it out. They do it in Potomac all of the time!

Good Angie (who is becoming Mid Angie... she's been put on watch) and Jen decide to break the news to Meredith by FaceTime, assembling a back drop of inflatable palm trees to trick her into thinking they're somewhere tropical. (Like San Diego.)

"For all she knows, we're in Hawaii right now," Good Angie says of their setup:

When Meredith reveals who is with her, Jen's face cracks.

Good Angie lists off the ladies who be going to San Diego — basically the main cast plus herself — before Jen cuts in. "I would invite you Danna, except I heard you were talking shit, girl."

Danna respond plainly that she doesn't like how Jen talks to people. Maybe "bullying" is not the right word, but it seems to me like Danna takes issue with the way Jen can shout down people or escalate an argument very quickly. Jen responds by hanging up and then... stomping out of the pool and yelling?

Poor Jen. Looks like she could use a vacation. Luckily for her, we'll all be together in San Diego soon — friends, lovers, enemies, bloggers, Mid Angie, and Danna...? Thank you for reading! –BK

<><><>

Gay Imagery

I really loved this fit on Hedda. If you are someone feeling alienated by Heather's fake ass behavior this season, please get in touch with my support group.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

January 15, 2023

Heather Cox Richardson

You hear sometimes that, now that we know the sordid details of the lives of some of our leading figures, America has no heroes left.

When I was writing a book about the Wounded Knee Massacre, where heroism was pretty thin on the ground, I gave that a lot of thought. And I came to believe that heroism is neither being perfect, nor doing something spectacular. In fact, it’s just the opposite: it’s regular, flawed human beings, choosing to put others before themselves, even at great cost, even if no one will ever know, even as they realize the walls might be closing in around them.

It means sitting down the night before D-Day and writing a letter praising the troops and taking all the blame for the next day’s failure upon yourself, in case things went wrong, as General Dwight D. Eisenhower did.

It means writing in your diary that you “still believe that people are really good at heart,” even while you are hiding in an attic from the men who are soon going to kill you, as Anne Frank did.

It means signing your name to the bottom of the Declaration of Independence in bold print, even though you know you are signing your own death warrant should the British capture you, as John Hancock did.

It means defending your people’s right to practice a religion you don’t share, even though you know you are becoming a dangerously visible target, as Sitting Bull did.

Sometimes it just means sitting down, even when you are told to stand up, as Rosa Parks did.

None of those people woke up one morning and said to themselves that they were about to do something heroic. It’s just that, when they had to, they did what was right.

On April 3, 1968, the night before the Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated by a white supremacist, he gave a speech in support of sanitation workers in Memphis, Tennessee. Since 1966, King had tried to broaden the Civil Rights Movement for racial equality into a larger movement for economic justice. He joined the sanitation workers in Memphis, who were on strike after years of bad pay and such dangerous conditions that two men had been crushed to death in garbage compactors.

After his friend Ralph Abernathy introduced him to the crowd, King had something to say about heroes: “As I listened to Ralph Abernathy and his eloquent and generous introduction and then thought about myself, I wondered who he was talking about.”

Dr. King told the audience that, if God had let him choose any era in which to live, he would have chosen the one in which he had landed. “Now, that’s a strange statement to make,” King went on, “because the world is all messed up. The nation is sick. Trouble is in the land; confusion all around…. But I know, somehow, that only when it is dark enough, can you see the stars.” Dr. King said that he felt blessed to live in an era when people had finally woken up and were working together for freedom and economic justice.

He knew he was in danger as he worked for a racially and economically just America. “I don’t know what will happen now. We’ve got some difficult days ahead. But it doesn’t matter…because I’ve been to the mountaintop…. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life…. But I’m not concerned about that now. I just want to do God’s will. And He’s allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I’ve looked over. And I’ve seen the promised land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land!”

People are wrong to say that we have no heroes left.

Just as they have always been, they are all around us, choosing to do the right thing, no matter what.

Wishing you all a day of peace for Martin Luther King Jr. Day, 2023.

—

Notes:

Dr. King’s final speech:

https://abcnews.go.com/Politics/martin-luther-kings-final-speech-ive-mountaintop-full/story?id=18872817

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[3ntrylevel]

Taking Care of Yourself

One of the biggest things that I have noticed as someone who is currently in the middle of adulthood is the responsibility that is held upon me to take care of myself. There seems to be a current trend on social media and “gen z” of self-care, and I think it has inadvertently made the gap of taking care of yourself much larger. Clips of TikTok videos or Instagram posts showing people with minimalistic rooms, clean pristine kitchens, and a ten-step skincare routine circulate daily. To me, these are simply far too intimidating for those who are just starting their own step into adulthood.

The fact is, many of us have generational trauma or certain mental illness conditions that make it daunting to even commit to the basic steps of “self-care”. Thus in the process of witnessing these kinds of internet content, we ostracise ourselves when watching them. The thought process for me is simple, I see those kinds of content and I think, “well it’s impossible for me to achieve that sort of thing!”.

For us, we simply do not have the privilege to achieve that level of “self-care”, we do not have the time nor the energy to do so. Our days are spent labouring in our jobs, or in my personal case, trying my best to submit assignments on time and attend classes. We go home exhausted and end up doing whatever it is we feel capable of doing.

Just so we’re clear, I absolutely do not place the blame on content creators who do post about these sorts of materials. Some do it because they enjoy it, some because it may encourage others to be able to reach that level of self-maintenance. But from my own perspective, I find them discouraging and actively avoid them out of shame of the conditions of my own room.

To be completely frank, I am still struggling with “taking care of myself”. I try my best, but sometimes I could even physically feel my body telling me you’re not doing enough! That doesn’t mean I agree with those that camp themselves in the position of “life is hell and I can do whatever I want to my own body.”

Which is well, fair enough!

What I’m here to say is that living life constantly on the edge and risking it daily may not be the best option. Saying “well I don’t care!” is not something that I, morally agree on. Still though, my opinion starts and ends with my own point of view on life. I don’t think I could, or would ever, judge someone on what they think about themselves.

But as the French say, c’est la vie! Life will always continue to move on, no matter how you say it doesn’t. If you’re here right now, reading this, then that means that the two of us are still living. There’s a saying that I think has been bastardised too many times (especially by paedophiles), and that’s “age is just a mentality”.

In the words of Japanese-American indie-pop singer Mitski,

And I was so young when I behaved twenty-five,

Yet now I find I’ve grown into a tall child.

is a mentality that I find many of us have grown with. Especially those that have been raised as a woman (see how this spins back into misogyny?). Sometimes, we grow up too fast and too soon, that we just simply do not see the point of it all. As a child who behaved like they were twenty-five, we feel like we’re too old to reside in our young bodies. We live life as if we’re already halfway past our expiration dates.

From this mentality, it’s difficult for us to care for ourselves. Why should we? When we already feel like we’ve lived twenty different lifetimes already.

Apologies to burst your bubble of self-deprecation, but I am (unfortunately) here to say that it’s time to grow up. No one will take care of you other than yourselves. You need to start caring about your own body, your own self, because it’s all that you have. When we strip ourselves down to the core and remove any sort of social construction society has placed on us, all we have left is our own body.

I am not here to preach the language of self-love to you. Learning to do so is something that is personal to you and only you. Each of us has our own experiences and it may be easier for some and harder for others. “Taking care of yourselves”, may not even be a part of self-love. I think it’s a part of respecting yourselves. Your body has served you well, and you should give it the same respect.