#seven hill records

[toysurgeon]

my google search history is literally :    ‘  skateboard tricks,   skateboard bowl tricks,   tricks to do on skateboard.  ’   because i,   in fact,   know nothing about skating except for the fact that i tried it when i was fifteen and ate cement so hard i never stepped on a skateboard again.  

[reasonsforhope]

A reef that has been degraded—whether by coral bleaching or disease—can’t support the same diversity of species and has a much quieter, less rich soundscape.

But new research from Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution shows that sound could potentially be a vital tool in the effort to restore coral reefs.

A healthy coral reef is noisy, full of the croaks, purrs, and grunts of various fishes and the crackling of snapping shrimp. Scientists believe that coral larvae use this symphony of sounds to help them determine where they should live and grow.

So, replaying healthy reef sounds can encourage new life in damaged or degraded reefs.

In a paper published last week in Royal Society Open Science, the Woods Hole researchers showed that broadcasting the soundscape of a healthy reef caused coral larvae to settle at significantly higher rates—up to seven times more often.

“What we’re showing is that you can actively induce coral settlement by playing sounds,” said Nadège Aoki, a doctoral candidate at WHOI and first author on the paper.

“You can go to a reef that is degraded in some way and add in the sounds of biological activity from a healthy reef, potentially helping this really important step in the coral life cycle.”

Corals are immobile as adults, so the larval stage is their only opportunity to select a good habitat. They swim or drift with the currents, seeking the right conditions to settle out of the water column and affix themselves to the seabed. Previous research has shown that chemical and light cues can influence that decision, but Aoki and her colleagues demonstrate that the soundscape also plays a major role in where corals settle.

The researchers ran the same experiment twice in the U.S. Virgin Islands in 2022. They collected larvae from Porites astreoides, a hardy species commonly known as mustard hill coral thanks to its lumpy shape and yellow color and distributed them in cups at three reefs along the southern coast of St. John. One of those reefs, Tektite, is relatively healthy. The other two, Cocoloba and Salt Pond, are more degraded with sparse coral cover and fewer fish.

At Salt Pond, Aoki and her colleagues installed an underwater speaker system and placed cups of larvae at distances of one, five, 10, and 30 meters from the speakers. They broadcast healthy reef sounds – recorded at Tektite in 2013 – for three nights. They set up similar installations at the other two reefs but didn’t play any sounds.

When they collected the cups, the researchers found that significantly more coral larvae had settled in the cups at Salt Pond than the other two reefs. On average, coral larvae settled at rates 1.7 times (and up to 7x) higher with the enriched sound environment.

The highest settlement rates were at five meters from the speakers, but even the cups placed 30 meters away had more larvae settling to the bottom than at Cocoloba and Tektite.

“The fact that settlement is consistently decreasing with distance from the speaker, when all else is kept constant, is particularly important because it shows that these changes are due to the added sound and not other factors,” said Aran Mooney, a marine biologist at WHOI and lead author on the paper.

“This gives us a new tool in the toolbox for potentially rebuilding a reef.”

Adding the audio is a process that would be relatively simple to implement, too.

“Replicating an acoustic environment is actually quite easy compared to replicating the reef chemical and microbial cues which also play a role in where corals choose to settle,” said Amy Apprill, a microbial ecologist at WHOI and a co-author on the paper.

“It appears to be one of the most scalable tools that can be applied to rebuild reefs, so we’re really excited about that potential.”"

-via Good News Network, March 17, 2024

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Any rec for sterek fic in which Derek and Stiles knew each other before the fire?

Hi @dyke-yoonji! I sure do.

Shopping Cart Memories by osointricate

(1/1 I 807 I General)

For Autumn, who needed "more stiles had a cute kiddy crush on derek way back when” fic."

Shades Pulled Shut by OverMyFreckledBody

(1/1 I 1,530 I General)

Derek was there when Stiles' mom died.

Now it's Stiles' turn to be there for Derek.

Tiny Spark, Mighty Flame by eevylynn

(3/? I 4,833 I Teen)

Among born werewolves, it was common knowledge that the prime age for a human to endure the bite of an Alpha and survive was typically during their teenage or young adult years. In fact, the youngest recorded case of a bite resulting in a transformation and not death was previously eleven years old, so imagine the Hale pack’s astonishment when they learned of a small seven year old who was bitten and miraculously survived, challenging the known boundaries of possibility.

one, two, breathe by nemonight

(1/1 I 10,880 I Not Rated)

Empaths are cursed with great power and most don’t know it. Stiles never had anyone to tell him that he was an empath but he knew what he could feel was not all human. Stiles always thought that he couldn’t be the only one who was special. Turns out he was right.

Believing in Yesterday by Antistalgic

(6/? I 12,632 I Teen)

Derek was driving through the city when he suddenly hears a cry that made his wolf howl with pain. He barely manages to park before running to the source and finding little Stiles sitting on the pavement with a bloody scrape on his knee and tears in his eyes.

All But The Brightest Stars by useyrwordsderek

(6/? I 24,658 I Explicit)

Derek Hale met Stiles Stilinski when Stiles was six years old and Derek was sixteen, when Derek’s mother babysat Stiles after Stiles’ mom died. They didn't see each other again until Scott McCall was turned, ten years later.

In which Derek and Stiles both have to become a little less broken before they can help each other and themselves.

Burning House by witchgrassi

(1/1 I 46,113 I Not Rated)

For as long as he can remember, Stiles Stilinski has dreamt of the house in the woods.

Cruel Summer by PotatoJam64

(100/100 I 193,322 I Mature)

Scott gets bitten by what he claims was a wolf, but there are no wolves in California okay?

But there are Werewolves.

Derek Plays Lacrosse, Stiles has a massive crush on the man, and Scott's is the hot girl... (They're all 16 years old and in high school)

Burn with hellfire in the blue light of midnight by babisays

(20/20 I 203,189 I Teen)

Stiles met the Hale siblings when he was eleven years old. Now it has been six years since he lost his best friend Cora in the fire, and Derek and Laura left Beacon Hills.

Six years was a long time, so he didn't think he would ever see them again, but now he was wondering what the hell was Derek Hale doing back in Beacon Hills.

[sophaeros]

arctic monkeys for q magazine, june 2011 (x) (x)

ARCTIC MONKEYS: Inside Alex Turner's Head

Words Sylvia Patterson Portrait John Wright

The day Arctic Monkeys moved into their six bedroom, Spanish-style villa in the Hollywood Hills, where the first-floor balcony looked over the patio swimming pool, they knew exactly what to do.

"From the balcony, you could get on t'roof and jump in't pool," chirps the Monkeys' most gregarious member, drummer Matt Helders, in his homely Yorkshire way. "We looked at it and said, That's definitely gonna happen. So by the end, we did a couple of 'em. Somersaults in t'pool, from the roof. At night time."

In January 2011, as Sheffield and the rest of Britain endured its bitterest winter in a century, Arctic Monkeys capered among the palm trees, eschewing hotels for a millionaire's Hollywood homestead as they recorded and mixed their fourth studio album, Suck It and See.

The four Monkeys, alongside producer James Ford and engineer James Brown, lived what they called the "American man thing": watched Super Bowl on giant TVs, played ping-pong, hired two Mustangs, cooked cartoon Tom And Jerry-sized steaks on barbecues on Sundays, had girlfriends over to visit, all cooking and drinking around the colossal outdoor kitchen area featuring a fridge and two dishwashers. Living atop the Hills, they could see the Pacific Ocean beyond by day, the infinite glittering lights of downtown LA by night.

Every day, en route to Sound City Studios, they'd travel in a seven-seater four-by-four through the mountains, via bohemian 60s enclave Laurel Canyon, blaring out the tunes: The Stones Roses, The Cramps, the Misfits' Hollywood Babylon. For the sometime teenage art-punk renegades whose guitarist, Jamie Cook, was once ejected from London's Met Bar for refusing to pay €22 for two beers, the comedy rock'n'roll life still feels, however, absolutely nothing like reality.

NICK O'MALLEY: "It were really as if we were on holiday. When we came back it's the most post-holiday blues I've ever had!"

JAMIE COOK: "It's hard to comment on that. It were just really good fun."

MATT HELDERS: "We always said, As soon as things like that feel normal, we're in trouble. But it's just funny. You might think it would get more and more serious as you get older but it's getting funnier. We've done four albums now and I'm still only 24, I'm still immature to an extent. So who cares?"

Alex? Al? Are you there?

ALEX TURNER: "Yeah, it were good times. But we were in the studio most of the time. So there's no real wild Hollywood stories. Hmn. Yeah."

Wednesday, 16 March 2011, Strongroom Bar, Shoreditch, East London, 11am. Alex Turner, 25, slips entirely alone into an empty art-crowd brasserie looking like an indie girl's indie dream boy: mop-top bouffant hair which coils, in curlicues, directly into his cheekbones, army-green waist-length jacket, baggy-arsed skinny jeans, black cord zip-up cardigan, simple gold chain, supermoon sized chocolate-brown eyes.

Almost six years after I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor became the indie-punk anthem of a generation (from the first of Arctic Monkeys' three Number 1 albums), and nothing prepares you for the curious phenomenon of Alex Turner "in conversation". Unlike so many of the Monkeys frenetic early songs, he operates in slow motion, seemingly underwater, carrying a protective shell on his back, perhaps indie rock's very own diamond-backed terrapin. The most celebrated young wordsmith in rock'n roll today talks fulsomely, in fact, only in shapeless, curling sentences punctuated with "maybe... hmn.. yeah", an anecdotal wilderness sketching pictures as vague as a cloud. He is, though, simultaneously adorable: amenable, gentle, graceful, and as Northern as a 70s grandpa who literally greets you with "ey oop?".

"People think I'm a miserable bastard," he notes, cheerfully, "but it's just the way me face falls." Still profoundly private, if not as hermetically sealed as a vacuum-packed length of Frankfurter, his fante-shy reticence extends not only to his personal life (his four-year relationship with It-girl/TV presenter Alexa Chung, whom he never mentions) but to insider details generally. Take the Monkeys’ Hollywood high jinks documented above: not one word of it was described by Turner. Before Q was informed by his other Monkey bandmates, Turner’s anecdotal aversion unfolded like this:

Describe the lovely villa you were in. AT: "Well... we certainly had a... good view."

Of what? AT: "Well, we were up quite high."

The downtown LA lights going on forever? AT: "I dunno. It was definitely that thing of getting a bit of sort of sunshine. Is it vitamin D? If you can get vitamin D on your record, you've got a bit of a head start. So we'd get up and drive to the studio."

What were you driving? AT: "Nothing... spectacular. But yeah, we'd drive up the studio, spend all day there and sort of, y know, get back. To be honest... we had limited time. So we spent as much time as possible kind of getting into it, like, in the studio.

So your favourite adventures were what? AT: "Well, they were really… minimal. We were working out there!"

Any nightclubs or anything, perhaps? AT: "You really want the goss 'ere, don't you?"

Yes, please. AT: "I could make some up. Nah!"

And this was on the second time of asking. It's perhaps obvious: Alex Turner, one of the most prolific songwriters of his generation (four Monkeys albums and two EPs in five years, The Last Shadow Puppets side-project, a bewitching acoustic soundtrack for his actor/video director friend Richard Ayoade's feature-length debut Submarine), is dedicated only to the cause – of being the best he can possibly be. He simply remembers the songs much more than the somersaults.

Throughout 2009, Arctic Monkeys toured third album Humbug – the record mostly made in the Californian desert with Queens Of The Stone Age man-monolith Josh Homme – across the planet. While hardly some cranium-blistering opus, its heavier sonic meanderings considerably slowed the Arctic Monkeys' live sets and on 23 August 2009, Q watched them headline the Lowlands Festival, Holland and witnessed a hitherto unthinkable sight – swathes of perplexed Monkeys fans trudging away from the stage. With the sludge rock mood matching their cascading dude-rock hair it seemed obvious: they'd smoked way too much outrageously strong weed in the desert.

"Heheheh, yeah," responds Turner, unperturbed. "That's your theory. You probably weren't alone."

Back in the Strongroom Bar, Turner's arm is now nonchalantly draped along the back of a beaten-up brown leather sofa. He ponders his band's somewhat contrary reputation…

"I think starting the headline set at Reading with a cover of a Nick Cave tune perhaps was a bit contrary. D'youknowhat Imean?! But to be honest, that summer, at those festivals, we had a great time. And I know some fans enjoyed those sets 10 times more. And you can't just do, y’know, another Mardy Bum or whatever. Because how could you, really?"

With Humbug, notes Turner, "I went into corners I hadn't before, because I needed to see what were there," but by spring 2010 he wanted their fourth album to be "more song-based" and less lyrically "removed". He was "organised this time", studied "the good songwriters" (from Nick Cave, The Byrds and Leonard Cohen to country colossi Johnny Cash and Patsy Cline), discovered "the other three strings" on his guitar, and wrote 12 songs through the spring and summer of 2010, mostly in the fourth-floor New York flat he shared with Chung before the couple moved back to London late last summer (the New York MTV show It's On With Alexa Chung was cancelled after two seasons). The result: major-key melodies, harmonised singing and classic song structures.

At the same time he revisited the opposite extreme: bands such as Black Sabbath and The Stooges ("we wanted a few wig-outs as well"); he was also still heavily influenced by the oil-thick grinder rock of Josh Homme, who is clearly now a permanent Monkeys hero. After four months' rehearsals in London, on 8 January the Monkeys relocated to LA for five swift weeks of production and Homme came to visit, singing backing vocals on All My Own Stunts. Tequila was involved.

"Tequila is probably me favourite," manages Turner, by way of an anecdote. "But it takes a certain climate... It's not the same... in the rain. Yeah. [Looks to be contemplating a lyric] Tequila in the rain."

Vocally, he developed the caramel richness first unveiled on The Last Shadow Puppets' Scott Walker-esque The Age Of The Understatement, finding a crooner's vibrato. "Everything before was so tight,” he notes, clutching his neck. "Probably just through nerves. That's just not there any more." Suck It and See contains at least four of the most glittering, sing-along, world-class pop songs (and obvious singles) of Arctic Monkeys' career: the towering, clanging She's Thunderstorms, the summertime stunner The Hellcat Spangled Shalalala, the heavenly harmonised title track and the Echo & The Bunnymen-esque jangly pop of closer That's Where You're Wrong.

Elsewhere, in typically contrary "fashion", there's preposterous head-banger bedlam (Brick By Brick, the rollicking faux-heavy rock download they released in March "just for fun", featuring vocals by Helders; Don't Sit Down 'Cause I've Moved Your Chair, and Library Pictures). News arrives that the first single proper will be Don't Sit Down 'Cause I've Moved Your Chair. Q is perplexed. Brilliantly titled, certainly, but arriving after Brick By Brick, the new album will appear to the planet as some comedy pastiche metal album for 12-year-old boys.

You've got all these colossal, summery, indie-pop classics and you've gone for... The Chair? AT: [Laughing uproariously] "The Chair! I'm now calling it The Chair, that's cool. Well for once it weren't even our suggestion. It was Laurence's (Bell, Domino label boss). And I were, Fucking too right! He's awesome. It'd be good to get a bit of fucking rock'n'roll out there, won't it? It's riffs. It's loud. It's funny."

If you don't release The Hellcat Spangled Shalalala as a single I'm going round Domino to kick Laurence's "awesome" butt. AT: "I think it'll be the next one!"

The record's title, meanwhile, could've been more enigmatically original than the un-loved phrase Suck It and See. The band, struggling with ideas due to the opposing sonic moods, invented an inspiration-conjuring ruse: to think of new names for effects pedals in the style of Tom Wolfe, Turner being long enamoured with the American author's legendarily psychedelic books The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test and The Kandy-Kolored Tangerine-Flake Streamline Baby, "cos that just sounds awesome".

"There's the Big Muff pedal," he elaborates, "That’s the classic. I've got the Valve Slapper. And there's the Tube Screamer. So we came up with the Thunder Suckle Fuzz Canyon. And… wait till I assemble it in me mind… em… it'll come to me… The Blonde-O-Sonic Shimmer Trap. So we were going for summat like that."

A wasted opportunity?

"Nah. Because some of those things ended up in the lyrics anyway. Suck It and See was just easier."

Alex Turner, rock'n'roll's premier descriptive art-poet, still writes his lyrics long-hand in spiral-bound notebooks. "Writing lyrics is a craft that I've practised a bit now," he avers. "In me notebook it looks like sums. Theories. There's words and arrows going everywhere. There's always a few possibilities and I write the word 'OR' in a square."

For our most celebrated colloquial sketch-writer of the everyday observation (all betting pencils, boy slags and ice-cream van aggravations) the more successful he becomes, the less he orbits the ordinary. "I'm not struggling with that, to be honest," he decides. "In fact I'm enjoying writing lyrics much more than I did. Stories. Describing a picture. Um. There's quite a bit of weather and time in this one. Which is probably not reassuring. 'Oh God, he's writing about the weather.' Maybe leave that out!"

There are also some direct, funny, romantic observations: "That's not a skirt, girl, that's a sawn-off shotgun/And I only hope you've got it aimed at me..." (from the title track).

Some of your romantic quips, now, must be about Alexa. AT: "Right. Yeah. Definitely. Well... there's always been that side to our songs, when we weren't writing about... the fucking taxi rank. It's kind of inevitably... people you're with." [At the mention of Chung's name, Turner is visibly aggrieved, head sliding into his neck, terrapin-esque indeed.]

It must have been very grounding being in a proper relationship through all this madness. Because if you weren't, girls would be jumping all over your head. AT: "Em. Hmn. Well, of course that helps you to... I don't really know.. what the other way would be."

Does Alexa wonder if the lyrics are about her? AT: "Oh there's none of that. Yeah, no, there's no looking over the shoulder."

She must be curious, at least. "Maybe."

Did you ever watch Popworld? AT: [Nervous laughter] "Em! Now and again."

Did you ever see the episode where she helps Paul McCartney write a song about shoes? AT: "Ah, yeah I think so, maybe I did see that."

Well, if I was you, I'd have been thinking, "She's the one for me." AT: "Well. Yeah... maybe that would've... sealed the deal! Hmn. But maybe that wasn't when i got the ray of light. When was? Nah [buries head in hands]. I might have to go for a cigarette..."

Q can't torture him any more and joins him for a snout. Turner smokes Camels from a crumpled, sad, soft-pack and resembles a teenager again. As early song You Probably Couldn't See For The Lights But You Were Staring Straight At Me says, "Never tenser/Could all go a bit Frank Spencer…”

In January 2006, when Arctic Monkeys' Number 1 album Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not became the fastest-selling debut in UK history, inadvertently redefining the concept of autonomy and further imploding the decimated music industry (& wasn't their idea to be "the MySpace band", it was their fans': the Monkeys merely kick-started viral marketing by giving away demos at gigs), the 19- and 20-year-old Monkeys were terrible at fame. They weren't so much insurrectionary teenage upstarts as teenage innocents culturally traumatised by the peak-era fame democracy.

To their generation (born in the mid-'80s) fame was now synonymous with some-twat-off-the-telly a world of foaming tabloid hysteria where renown and celebrity meant, in fact, you were talentless. Hence their interview diffidence and receiving awards via videos dressed up as the Wizard OfOz and the Village People. Which only, ironically, made them even more celebrated and famous. (“That were a product of us just trying to hold onto the reins," thinks Turner today. "Being uncooperative.")

Q meets The Other Three one morning at 11am, in the well-appointed, empty bar of the Bethnal Green, Bast London hotel they're staying in (all three live in Sheffield, with their girlfriends, in their own homes). First to arrive is the industrious, sensible and cheerful Helders, crunching into a hangover-curing green apple. He has recovered from last year's boxing accident at the gym, which left his broken arm requiring a fitted plate. Now impressively purple-scarred, the break felt "interesting" and the doctor couldn't resist the one-armed drummer jest: "D'you like Def Leppard?"

Currently enjoying an enduring bromance with Diddy, he still doesn't feel famous, "it just doesn't feel that real, there's no paparazzi waiting for me to trip up." He and Turner, during the four-month rehearsals last year, became an accomplished roast dinner cooking duo for the band. "I reckon we could have us our own cookbook," he beams. "Pictures of us stirring, with a whisk."

O'Malley, an agreeable, twinkly-eyed 25-year-old with a strikingly deep voice and a winningly huge smile, is still coyly embarrassed by the interview process. A replacement for the departed original bass player Andy Nicholson in May 2006, he went from Asda shelf-filler to Glastonbury headliner in 13 months and still finds the Monkeys "a massive adventure". His life in Sheffield is profoundly normal – he's delighted that his new home since last October has an open-hearth fireplace: "Me parents had electric bars." He has also discovered cooking. “I’m just a pretty shit-hot housewife, most of the time," he smiles. "I cook stews, fish combinations, curries, chillies. I made a beef pho noodle soup the other day, Vietnamese, I surprised meself, had some mates round for that."

Recently, at his dad's 50th birthday bash, the party band, made up of family and friends, insisted he join them onstage "for ...The Dancefloor. So I were up there [mimes playing bass, all sheepish] and it were the wrong pitch, they didn't know the words or 'owt, going, Makin eyes... er..." He has no extra-curricular musical ambitions. "I'm happy just playing bass," he smiles. "I've never had the skill of doing songs meself. It'd be shit!"

Cook, 25, is still spectacularly embarrassed by the interview process. He perches upright, with a fixed nervous smile, newly shorn of the beard and ponytail he sported in LA: "Rockin' a pone, yeah, because I could get away with it." With his classic preppy haircut and dapper green military coat (from London's swish department store, Liberty), he looks like a handsome '40s film star. (Turner deems Cook "the band heartbreaker" and had a word with him post-LA: "I said to him, Come on, mate, you've got to get that beard shaved off. Get the girls back into us. Shift some posters.")

His life in Sheffield is also profoundly normal. He still plays Sunday League football with his local pub team, The Pack Horse FC (position, left back), remains in his long-term relationship with page-three-model-turned-make-up-artist Katie Downes and "potters about" at home, refusing to describe said home, "cos I'll get burgled".

A tiler by trade, he always vowed, should the Monkeys sign a deal, that he'd throw his trowel in a Sheffield river on his last day of work. "I never did fling me trowel," he confirms. "Probably still in me shed." He's never considered what his band represents to his generation. "I'd go insane thinking about it, I'm pretty good at not thinking about it… Oh God. I'm terrible at this!"

Back in the Strongroom Bar, Alex Turner is cloudily describing his everyday life. "I just keep meself to meself," he confounds. He mostly stays indoors and his perfect night in with Alexa is "watching loads of Sopranos. And doing roast dinners".

No longer spindle-limbed, he attends a gym and has handsomely well-defined arms – "You have to look after yourself."

Suddenly, Crying Lightning from Humbug rumbles over the bar stereo. "Wow. How about that? I was quite happy the other morning cos Brick By Brick were on the round-up goals on Soccer AM. It's still exciting when that happens. It was like Brick By Brick is real."

He spends his days writing music, "listening to records", and recommends Blues Run The Game by doomed '60s minstrel Jackson C Frank ("who's that lass?... Laura Marling, she did a cover recently), a simple, acoustic, deep and regretful stunner about missing someone on the road.

Lyrically, he cites as an example of greatness the Nick Cave B-side Little Empty Boat [from ‘97 single Into My Arms ], a comically sinister paean to a sexual power struggle: "Your knowledge is impressive and your argument is good/But I am the resurrection babe and you're standing on my foot."

"I need a hobby," he suddenly decides. "I'd like to learn another language." Since his mum is a German teacher (his dad teaches music), surely he can speak some German? "I know how to ask somebody if they've had fun at Christmas." Go on, then. "Nah!"

Where Turner's creative gifts stem from remains a contemporary rock'n'roll mystery; he became a fledgling songwriter at 16, after the gift of a guitar at Christmas from his parents. An only child, did his folks, perhaps, foresee artistic greatness? "I doubt it!" he balks. "Cos I didn't. I wasn't... a show kid." Like the others, he doesn't analyse the past, or the future.

"You can't constantly be thinking about what's happened," he reasons, "it's just about getting on with it." The elaborate pinky ring he now constantly wears, however, a silver, gold and ruby metal-goth corker featuring the words DEATH RAMPS is a permanent reminder of he and his best friends’ past. The Death Ramps is not only a Monkeys pseudonym and B-side to Teddy Picker, but a place they used to ride their bikes in Sheffield as kids.

"Up in the woods near where we lived," he nods. "Just little hills. But when you're eight years old they're death ramps." The ring was custom made by a friend of his, who runs top-end rock'n'roll jewellery emporium The Great Frog near London's Carnaby Street. Ask Turner why he thinks the chase between his writing and speaking eloquence is quite so mesmerisingly vast and he attempts a theory.

"Well, writing isn't the same as speaking," he muses. "Not for me. I seem to struggle more and more with... conversation. Talking onstage... I can't do it any more. Hmn. I'll have to work on that."

The ever-helpful Helders has a better theory.

"Since he's been writing songs," he ponders, “It seems like he’s always thinking about that. So even when he’s talking to you now, he’s thinking about the next thing that rhymes with a word. Even when he’s driving. We joke he’s a bad driver, his focus is never 100 per cent on what he’s doing. Which is good for us cos it means he’s got another 12 songs up his sleeve. I think music must be the easiest way for him to be concise and get everything out. Otherwise his head would explode.”

The Shoreditch.com photo studios, 18 March. Alex Turner, today, is more ethereally distracted than ever, transfixed by the studio iPod, playing Led Zeppelin, The Rolling Stones, a version of I’d Rather Go Blind. Occasionally, he’ll completely lose his conversational thread, “Um. I’ve dropped a stitch.”

The first to arrive for Q’s photoshoot, he greets his incoming bandmates with enormous hugs (and also hugs them goodbye). Today, Q feels it’s pointless poking its pickaxe of serious enquiry further into Turner’s vacuum-packed soul and wonders if he’ll play, instead, a daft game. It’s called Popworld Questions, as first posed by someone he knows rather well.

“Oh, OK. Let’s do it,” he blinks, now perched in an empty dressing room. He then vigorously shakes his head, “Um…I’ve gotta snap back into it.”

Here, then, are some genuine “Alexa Chung on Popworld” questions (2006-2007), as originally posed to Matt Willis, Amy Winehouse, Robbie Williams, Pussycat Dolls, Kaiser Chiefs and Diddy.

Why do indie bands wear such tight jeans? AT: “Um. I supposed they do. They haven’t always. When we first were playing I was definitely in flares. You need to be quite tall to get the full effect, though. So, that's why this indie band wears such tight jeans, cos we've not got the legs for flares."

What makes you tick in the sexy department? AT: "Wow. Pass. What do I find most attractive in a woman? Something in the head? That's definitely a requirement. Well... Hmn. I'm struggling."

Tell us about all the lovely groupies. AT: "No!"

If dogs had human hands instead of paws, would you consider trying to teach them to play the piano? AT: "Absolutely. I'd teach Hey Jude."

How many plums d'you think you can comfortably fit in one hand? AT: "They're not very big. [Holds small, pale, girly hand up for inspection] It's a shame. Probably three. Diddy only managed two? Maybe not then. I can carry a lot of glasses at once, though. If they're small ones I can do four."

Are you cool? AT: "Not as much as I'd like to be. There's this clip where Clint Eastwood is on a talkshow and he gets asked, Everybody thinks of you as defining cool, what d'you think about that? And he gets his cigs out, takes one out, flicks it into his mouth, lights it and says, I have no idea what you're talking about."

Here, Turner locates his Camels soft-pack and attempts to do a Clint Eastwood. He flicks one upwards towards his mouth. And misses. Flicks another. And misses. "Third time lucky?" He misses. "I'll get it the next time." And succeeds. "Hey. Fourth time. Don't put that in! So there you go. I'm four steps away from where I wanna be."

Thank you very much for joining me here on Popworld, here's my clammy hand again. There it is, let it slip, hmmn. You can let go now. AT: "OK! Were you a Popworld fan, then? It was funny. Cool. What were we talking about, before?"

Blimey, Alex. What must you be like when you're completely stoned out of your head? AT: "Stoned? What d'you mean, cos I seem like that anyway? Yeah. A lot of people... tell me I'm a bit... dreamy. But I like the idea of that. Of being somewhere else."

Two days earlier, Turner had contemplated what he wanted from all this, in the end. Many seconds later he gave his deceptively ambitious answer.

"I just wanna write better songs," he decided. "And better lyrics. I just definitely wanna be good at it. Hmn. Yeah.”

—

RUFUS BLACK: AKA Matt Helders, on his ongoing bromance with Diddy

Matt Helders has known preposterous rap titan Diddy since they met in Miami in 2008. “He goes, Arctic Monkeys! Then he said summat about a B-side and I was like, He's not lying! I just thought, This is funny, I'm gonna go with this for a while." Last October Diddy texted Helders, suggesting he play drums with his Diddy Dirty Money band on Friday Night With Jonathan Ross, to give his own drummer a day off. “I were bowling with me girifriend at the time. In Sheffield, on a Sunday." On the day of recording, says Helder, "We had a musical director. That were one of the maddest times of my life. Next day Diddy said, Why don't you just stay? Come along with me. So I went everywhere with him." Diddy had "a convoy of cars" and made sure Helders was always in his. "He'd stop his car and go, Where's Matt? You're coming with me! So I'd get in his car. Just me, him, his security, driver." Diddy, by now, had given him a pseudonym - Rufus Black. "He kept saying, I don't wanna fuck up your image. And I'm, I don't think it's gonna do me any harm!" He stayed in Diddy's spectacularly expensive hotel. Some weeks later, Helders almost returned to the Dirty Money drumstool for a gig in Glasgow. "But we were rehearsing in London. I were like, I might come, how are you getting there? And he were like, Jet. Jump on t’jet with me. But I had to stay in Bethnal Green instead.”

Love’s young dream: Diddy (left) with Helders

[annabelle--cane]

it's fascinating to me the way that different social media platforms result in different types of fandom behavior. while s5 of tma was airing, I spent a good amount of time on tma tiktok (I log back in about once every two months now, going back to in-person school after a year a half of lockdown seem to re-blanace my brain and made me once again not really enjoy the format) while still using tumblr as my main socmed, and while there was a lot of overlap in the fan culture, some things were notably different.

tumblr tma fans had near-encyclopedic knowledge of the source material, but it was kind of an ongoing joke for tiktok tma fans that everyone binged the whole show in a week-long fugue state and lost memory of about 35% of it. tumblr has virtually no character limit and allows posts to be passed around by users indefinitely, which lends itself to fairly in-depth meta analysis being made and shared until most any fan could say "the time and space discrepancies at hill top road? psh yeah, I know all about them, I've read seven scrupulously cited posts that lay out all the details." for the entire time that s5 was airing, tiktok videos could still only be a minute long, and I know from a lot of personal effort that there's only so much you can fit into a one minute script that you also have to memorize and record (and cc manually with tiktok text stickers, as they didn't add the caption feature until april 2021) if you want the process to take less than four hours of your one mortal human life. and then you only see the video if your following or fyp algorithm shows it to you. there were a few tma meta-ish videos that got popular because other people would make their own videos referencing them and tag the account so their followers could see what they were talking about, but it's much harder to circulate content you like there. several times I saw people post videos saying "I got into cosplay to film some [agnes or annabelle or gerry or another secondary character] and I just realized I have no idea what their deal actually is 💀".

a thing that tiktok tma fandom was definitely better at than tumblr tma fandom was accurately remembering certain pieces of characterization and the flow of certain scenes. I've seen a bunch of posts on here where someone is trying to argue a point with excerpts from the text ("x character is nicer than you all give them credit for" "x character is so mean to y character in this scene" "z theory can't be true because y character said a line that disproves it") where the argument only holds up because the poster has gotten these excerpts from a transcript dive and hasn't listened to the episodes they're from recently, because while the text alone can be construed to mean one thing, the way it's delivered on-podcast clearly intends another. tiktok, being an audio and video based medium, allows audio clips to be shared around a lot, and cosplayers would often all make videos acting along to the same show clips of juicy interpersonal drama, and so tiktok fans, though they may have had less overall memory of what characters said, always had a better grasp on how they said it. an average tiktok tma fan might not have remembered melanie's subplot about war ghosts, but they would know the nuances of how the way she talks to jon changes between mag 28 and mag 155.

[fatehbaz]

In September 2022, the Australian High Court upheld a law that effectively allows “preventative incarceration,” or the imprisonment of people even after their sentence has been served, based on whether or not a court thinks the prisoner might be at risk of committing a future crime.

Indigenous people make up 4% of the population of Western Australia, but 40% of the state’s prisoners are Indigenous.

At Western Australia’s Banksia youth prison, 75% of incarcerated youth are Indigenous.

Australia allows for the imprisonment of children as young as 10 years old.

---

Excerpt:

Casuarina prison is a sprawling, concrete jungle on the southern outskirts of Perth, Western Australia (WA). It is a maximum-security, adult facility, home to people who may never leave its confines. However, on July 20, the penitentiary “welcomed” a new cohort of prisoners: 17 kids under the age of 18, who had been moved from the Banksia Hill Juvenile Detention Center to Casuarina [...].

When current WA Premier Mark McGowan was elected in 2017, his Labor party promised to lower the rate of Indigenous incarceration in the state, which is the highest in the nation. First Nations people are 16 times more likely to be incarcerated in WA than non-Indigenous people, a number that has only risen despite the promise of the government.

Dr. Hannah McGlade, a Noongar academic and human rights lawyer, isn’t surprised by the state’s failure to uphold its promise. “Our government cares little for Aboriginal lives,” McGlade told The Diplomat. [...]

In the past month, the Australian High Court upheld a law designed to keep the worst offenders in prison indefinitely, even after their sentences have been complete.

Known as the High Risk Serious Offenders Act (HRSOA), the legislation was challenged in Australia’s apex court when Peter Garlett, a 23-year-old Noongar man, was imprisoned after stealing AU$20 and a necklace while pretending to be armed. Despite this being his first adult offense, when his sentence was up, the Western Australian government asked the High Court to keep Garlett, now 28, in prison.

The court agreed, effectively paving the way for preventative incarceration in Australia.

Though five of the seven High Court judges upheld the constitutional validity of the HRSOA, many academics, lawyers, and activists who deal with the lives of First Nations people inside the legal system on a regular basis, note that this will only further trap Indigenous Australians in the carceral system. Garlett had been in near-continuous detention since he was 12, and this became the rationale for keeping him in prison beyond his criminal sentence.

One of the judges even hypothesized that the law could “potentially lead to the imprisonment of one seventh of the entire prison population of Western Australia for offenses that they have not committed.” [...]

“This is a crystal-clear example of an indirectly discriminatory law: one that is not discriminatory in its express terms but is discriminatory in its practical effect.” [...]

Though Indigenous people make up less than 4 percent of the state population, nearly 40 percent of Western Australia’s prison population is Indigenous. That is particularly troubling given the horrific record of Australian prisons. Since the Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody in 1991, over 500 First Nations people have died while imprisoned in Australia. In 2020-2021 alone, 13 prisoners died in custody in WA – five of them Aboriginal.

No custodial or police officer has ever been found criminally responsible for any of these deaths.

The structural forces pushing Indigenous people into Australia’s prisons start early. In the Banksia Hill Juvenile Detention Center, three-quarters of the inmates are Indigenous. Despite its mandate to rehabilitate people for their eventual release, reports show some of the prisoners receiving as little as five hours of education a month. In April, the state’s prison watchdog outlined a series of “cruel, inhumane, and degrading” treatments in the facility’s Intensive Support Unit. Children have reportedly made suicide pacts due to their treatment, with some being kept in isolation for 23 hours a day. [...]

Penglis and McGlade point to the age of imprisonment in Australia being only 10 years old as devastating. [...]

---

Text by: Dechlan Brennan. “How Western Australia Criminalizes Indigenous Children.” The Diplomat. 7 October 2022. [Italicized first lines/heading in this post added by me.]

[traveler-at-heart]

Finding Home - Part 3

Summary: This is a series imagining what it was life for Natasha after joining S.H.I.E.L.D.

Warnings: Violence, injuries.

Part 1, Part 2

There were only five people in the room.

“Jericho missiles” Fury says as soon as the door is shut. Clint looks at you, alarmed.

“What are those?” Natasha says and Maria turns to the screen.

“Developed by Tony Stark. Selects a target, at a certain height it splits into 16 smaller missiles to have a cleaner impact. The shockwave is also more devastating”

There’s footage of tests conducted in military facilities playing on the screen.

“Obadiah Stane sold five of these to the Ten Rings. Stark was able to destroy them all. Or so he thought” Fury pushes three identical folders in the direction of Clint, Natasha and you.

“There are still two” Clint confirms after skimming through the file.

“At an abandoned factory, close to the Canadian border” Natasha reads out loud, going through all the information at record speed.

“So on a scale of one to ten, how heavily guarded are these bad boys?” you ask Fury.

“They have grenades up their asses”

“So, like a seven”

“Not funny, Agent” he warns, but you turn to Natasha, who let out a small chuckle.

“She thinks it is”

“It will get old really fast. Trust me” the man says and she rolls her eyes. “You leave tomorrow, before the Ten Rings decide it’s time to light up the sky in an American city”

“Let’s go over strategy today. Natasha’s suit and weapons should be ready” Maria proposes.

“I’m looking at the Widow Bites” you interrupt.

“Farley said that if you messed with his tech again he’d quit” Fury reminds you.

“Good riddance. He’s an idiot and she’s not going on a mission with faulty equipment”

“Fine. Hill” Fury nods in confirmation and they leave the room.

“What was that?” Natasha turns to you, but you shrug your shoulders, projecting the map of the factory and reading the file.

“Oh, now you’re modest about it?” Clint teases. “Y/N here is an MIT graduate. Mechanical Engineering, top of the class”

“It was a small class”

“If she wasn’t an agent she’d be running the design department. Made my arrows ten times lighter and faster. Deadly too”

“That’s enough. I just want to make sure Nat has the best equipment” you wave dismissively, still looking at the map.

It’s an important mission, yes. But your priority is Natasha.

—

“Fucking Farley” you mutter for the tenth time, making Clint chuckle.

As suspected, the Widow Bites have a short range and the voltage isn’t enough to incapacitate enemies, so you’ll be fixing that as everyone else discusses the plan.

“Y/N is coming in first. Once she disables the security, Romanoff and I will go set the explosives for the missiles” Clint says, going over the map of the warehouse.

“I’m not leaving her alone” Natasha says and while you keep your eyes on the Widow bites, correcting the wiring, you smile.

“It’s fine, Nat. It’s my area of expertise. I’ll hack their systems, keep an eye out and will join you once the explosives are set” you look up, nodding her way. Maria walks in, looking over your shoulder. “Tell Fury he needs to kick fuckface Farley to the curve”

“Noted, Brains. Which one of you will be Brawn?” Maria turns, smiling teasingly at Natasha and Clint.

“I’m Beauty” Clint says, turning to Natasha. “Romanoff?”

“Sorry to break it to you, but Natasha is all three” you say, removing the magnifying glasses and stretching your back. “Is it dinner time yet?”

“Our order should be ready. I’ll pick it up” Natasha offers, taking the car keys.

“Don’t forget about the…”

“Extra rice, yes” she rolls her eyes and Clints follows right behind, ready to take a break.

Maria sits right next to you, and you don’t need to turn around to know she’s staring.

“Yes, Hill?”

“So when are you asking her out?”

“Pardon?”

“Oh, come on” she pushes your chair and you roll away, annoyed. “You compliment her, she knows about your special order, the pining and the heart eyes”

“I’m one of the few people who treat her like a human being. That’s all” you say, hoping it’s the end of the conversation. Maria throws you a paper ball, just like in your academy days and you snort. “Ass. Yes, I like her. But she’s barely had a life. I can’t ask her out and make it awkward. Natasha needs to live and experience things and once she knows what she wants… maybe I’ll do something about my feelings. Until then…” you point at your friend, and she nods, motioning as if her lips are sealed.

You just hope your feelings for Natasha won’t get in the way of this mission.

—

The air is colder than you anticipated.

“Good to go?” Clint says, looking over his shoulder. You try your comms and go over the equipment. Once you nod, he lowers the jet, counting down to prepare you for the fall.

“Be careful” Natasha says. It’s the first things she’s said to you since you left headquarters.

“Chinese for dinner?” you say with a smile, hoping that it will ease the tension. Natasha nods and you wave, jumping into the darkness.

The landing is a bit rougher than you would have wanted since the parachute was dragged around by the wind, but nothing is broken and you can disable the security alarm in the hatch.

From there, your next stop is to the control room. There’s only one man monitoring the cameras, and you knock him unconscious before he can reach for his gun.

“I’m in. You have twenty minutes” you announce.

“Got it”

Out of pure curiosity, you look over at the computer on the side, browsing through the files.

“Clint” you say as you stumble upon Stark’s designs.

“I’m kinda busy” he says, installing the explosives around the warehouse.

“They have intelligence on other Stark weaponry. Should I make a copy and then clean up their files?”

“Proceed. But be on the lookout, we’re almost done here”

“I can multitask” you say, pulling out a drive to copy all the files. The encryption will have to be done later, but for now, eliminating everything they have should be enough.

Either way, the entire building is blowing up in a few minutes.

An alarm blares across every hallway, and you look up, surprised.

“What the fuck, Y/N? We’re not done here” Barton barks, clearly in a hurry to finish the job now that you’ve been discovered.

“It wasn’t me” you say, frantically looking at the cameras. There’s a man with long hair that frames his face, covered up to his eyes with a dark mask. “We have company. I’m locking the doors on your side, exit through the vent”

“That means you won’t be able to get out” Natasha protests.

“I’ll find another way and meet you. You have to go. Our friend here seems to be… in a hurry”

Your blood runs cold when you see him punching his way through the guards. He is a super soldier, judging by his strenght and now you’re trapped with him on this side of the building.

“Fuckfuckfuck”

Pulling the drive to your pocket, you leave the room and go to the side farthest away from the man.

The thing is, he seems to be going through the walls instead of using doors, so the distance grows smaller with each of his steps.

“Natasha is gone” Clint informs you as you’re sneaking around. That makes you stop in your tracks.

“Bullshit”

She wouldn’t.

“The minute we were out she ran away in the opposite direction. I’m on the jet now. Give me your location”

“East side of the…”

The sound of metal and concrete cracking surprises you from behind, and you come face to face with the man.

He takes your gun and twists your arm, but you aim at one of the pipes in the ceiling to give you a few seconds to run. You can feel him going right behind you, dangerously close.

“The building is blowing up in five minutes, Y/N” Clint says.

“Thanks, I’m trying not to get killed by fucking Frankenstein” a heavy metal arm pulls you down, punching you two times until you’re gasping for air.

He then kicks you down a couple of stairs, and you hang on to the railing by an inch. Once he glances over to check if you’re still alive, you shoot at his eyes, protected by the mask.

Wrong move, as he’s not pleased in the slightest.

Dropping a few feet to the ground, you begin to run down the exit.

A few things happen at the same time.

You turn and see Natasha, breaking a door. You smile at her. Of course she wouldn’t leave. Her eyes widen, and when you turn around, the man is raising his gun.

Two shots and then you’re down, hot liquid spilling down your stomach and leg.

“Y/N” Natasha screams, throwing Widow Bites to the man. His arm is briefly paralized and Natasha takes advantage of the moment to help you up. You limp against her, feeling the building shake.

“Come on, Clint is waiting outside”

Luckily, the ceiling behind you begins to fall, putting some concrete between you and the man.

The next minutes are confusing, since you struggle to remain conscious.

“HQ, this is Barton. We have an agent down. We’ll be there soon” you hear Clint report. There’s a pressure in your abdomen but you can’t look down. “Natasha, I have to fly this thing, keep her awake”

“Y/N” the woman says, trying to stop the bleeding. “Look at me. You can’t fall asleep now”

“I’ll be fine. You were great today, Natasha. I knew you’d be a great agent. Would you tell my mom that I…?”

“Tell her yourself”

“Don’t be a сука” you mumble, your eyelids heavier.

“What is the one thing you always wanted to do?” she asks, desperate to keep you talking.

“I always wanted a cat. My sister’s allergic” you drag your words. But then, you turn to the redhead, smiling. “What about you?”

“A rollercoaster” Natasha says without hesitation. Your smile grows.

“We’ll go to Connie Island, it’s gonna be so much fun…”

“Y/N, stay with me, don’t close your eyes”

But you’re too tired to listen.

—

“Her family should be here any minute” Fury steps in, eyeing your bruised face. Three surgeries later and the doctors think you have a pretty good chance of recovering.

Natasha and Clint are sitting by your side, their eyes glued to the monitor that keeps beeping.

“The man… had any of you seen him before?”

“I thought he was a myth” Natasha says, the image of the metal arm and the symbol on it etched on her brain. “They call him the Winter Soldier”

“KGB?” Clint guesses.

“HYDRA”

“That’s ten times worse” Fury sighs, turning to the Russian. “We’ll need your help to figure out who he is. But for now… nice job”

“I should have done more” Natasha says when Fury leaves the room.

“She’s alive because of you” Clint protests. “But you should let me know, I thought you were running away. When you want to pull a rescue, at least tell me where to fly the jet”

“Ok” the redhead nods.

“Let’s get something to eat. You know Y/N wouldn’t want you to starve yourself”

—

When Natasha and Clint come back to your room, Maria is talking to an older woman. She has eyes like yours, and a smilar hair color, which makes Natasha think it’s your mother.

“You saved my daughter” she says as soon as Natasha walks in. Your mother hugs her tight, thanking her.

She has no idea that this is all new to Natasha, especially the hugging part.

“Let’s go over some forms” Maria rescues the redhead, walking the older woman to the door.

Her words echo and Natasha goes over them till she loses count.

She’s never saved a life before. She never had someone thanking her for keeping a loved one safe.

Maybe, there’s hope for her after all.

—

It’s been a few days and you have yet to open your eyes.

Natasha stays next to you, and reads out loud the way you did for her. Your mom is in the couch, knitting as she listens, keeping an eye on the girl.

Even if she’s not aware of Natasha’s circunstamces, she can tell there are strong feelings involved between you two.

“How long have you been at SHIELD?” the woman says, examining the green pattern on the scarf she’s knitting.

“Not long” Natasha tenses, hoping it won’t be necessary to bring up her past as a former assassin.

“Y/N’s father was in the CIA. Her sisters were more… I don’t know. They argued over clothes and wanted to wear makeup. Y/N would work on cars with her dad or build stuff”

“That sounds nice”

“It was, yes. Drives me crazy that she risks her life for a living. But it’s in her blood, I guess”

“She’s a great agent. And a wonderful person. You did a good job raising her”

“You’re too kind” the woman says, pulling the scarf and presenting it to the redhead. “Here. This color brings out your beautiful eyes”

Natasha is hesitant as she takes the green scarf, inspecting the fine knitting and feeling the softness of the fabric against her fingertips.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you”

“Thank you. For saving her. I’m happy to know my daughter has wonderful partners. I like you, Natasha”

“I’m glad to hear that, because I kinda gave her the secret pasta recipe” you say with a weak voice, making both women rush to your side.

“Oh, sweetheart” your mom says, running her hands through your hair.

“Sorry to make you come all the way here. I know you hate flying”

“No, don’t be silly. Plus, I’ve spent some time getting to know Natasha. You guys make a great couple”

“Ma!” you protest, the monitor beeping loudly as your mother teases you. “Would you be a dear and get the doctor? I really want to eat something that isn’t hospital food”

Your mother rolls her eyes, but leaves and you stare at Natasha.

“Thank you for saving me”

“It’s nothing”

“It’s not nothing. I’m alive because of you, Natasha Romanoff”

“I guess it’s our thing, isn’t it? Saving each other” she smiles, her hand inching towards yours.

“Yes. Yes it is”

—

The doctor promises you’ll be discharged in a few days, but there’s a long road ahead for your recovery. At least six months without missions.

Fury stops by, surprising you.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, eyeing the box of chocolates that Maria brought you. “You mind?”

“Help yourself, boss” he picks a sweet and nods approvingly, clearly stalling. “Come on, you’re not one to sugarcoat things”

“The drive you took. It does have some very detailed information on Stark’s tech. I know we discussed an undercover mission a while back… but I decided to send Natasha instead”

“As what? I was supposed to be a new engineer on his team”

“Legal. Close to Pepper Potts. And hopefully, Agent Romanoff will charm Stark”

“Oh, Nick. Come on, not the playboy angle” you protest. There’s an unpleasant feeling at the pit of your stomach as you imagine Natasha dealing with Stark’s advances.

“It is what we have, Y/L/N. Take some time, recover and come back. I have a feeling we’ll need all the help we can get”

“Yes, Director Fury” you nod, as Natasha walks in. The man nods, and you can tell he trusts Natasha now. It’s a relief.

“How are you feeling?” Natasha says, pulling the usual chair next to your bed.

“Happy that I get to go home. soon Not so excited over my mom running around my place cleaning and complaining”

“I’m sorry. I wish I could stay but…”

“You have missions. I heard you’re booked and busy, Agent Romanoff”

“Well, yes” she smiles, blushing lightly.

“Is that what you want? Because that’s all that matters to me”

“I want to do good. Clean my ledger”

“You’ll do great. I know it” you reach for her hand, smiling.

“I could… put it off. For a few months. It won’t be a big deal”

But you can see how eager she is. To prove herself she’s so much more than the Red Room. That she’s not just the Black Widow.

She’s Natasha Romanoff.

“I’m not going anywhere, Nat. You’ll always have me. Ok?”

“Ok” she nods, looking away, but keeping her hand in yours.

Deep down, you knew this was only the start of your journey together.

[respectthepetty]

How does it feel to stay winning Petty? Also who would've guessed that baby Barcode would be the one of the BOC boys to collect kisses from all the homies!?

Anon, I appreciate you sending this because, right now, I feel like an elite status female rapper. Like CL from 2NE1 rapped in their 2011 hit, "I am the best", Be On Cloud owns me, and y'all can't tell me shit about this show.

I know I have some Wild Ass Theories and I'm always clownin' in these BL streets, but I love when my theories actually hit their target like . . .

When I knew Teacher Chadok was in a relationship with Teacher Dika since the first episode of The Eclipse.

When I knew Kanghan's house was going to be robbed and his dad would be shot since the third episode of Dangerous Romance, even though I thought Saifah would do it.

When I knew Pat was working with Joke to win over Zo since the first episode of Hidden Agenda.

I love making Wild Ass Theories no matter how crazy they are, like my belief that the twins' dad is involved in this whole murder and sex work plot in Playboyy. No matter what happened in this past episode, I still believe it and am eagerly awaiting the upcoming chaos to see how hard I clowned.

Which is why I LOVE Dead Friend Forever.

I want the record to state that no matter what happens after episode seven, that at this exact moment in time, I love this show. It makes me happy to be alive at the same time this is airing, and I'm not joking. I want to remember that at one point, this show was everything to me, and even if it goes down hill, it had all my attention in the first seven episodes. I want to appreciate it right now because regardless of what happens, it did everything right in the first half.

With the way some shows keep losing their footing in the end, sometimes we forget how good they were in the beginning, and the emo in me doesn't want to forget this feeling. Some of my favorite movies are Scream, Heathers, and Jawbreaker so this show has been giving me the explicitly queer version of kill your frenemies since the very first episode, and I love it.

My internal alarm went off the second Tee got upset that Phi was speaking to White in episode one, then the dark hand touched him making him enemy #1. I didn't like the way he told White he needed to obey him, and I feel like the dark hand wasn't too pleased with it either. It was a vibe.

And now Non has a hurt hand in the past from falling off the bike . . .

Then, Jin was the main character of the previous film, so he was either the killer or the biggest baddie.

But Phi was just so sus, that I clocked him as a killer.

Which meant Phi and Jin were the killers, but Tan has no backstory and people with no history are intentionally hiding it, so they can kill everyone and peace out.

So in my mind, Tan and Phi were regulated to the killers, Tee was the second to last to die, which I'm hoping it's by his boyfriend White who he thinks disobeys him, and the rest of the squad would die as needed. Which left Jin to be the baddie.

All of my theories could blow up at any second because we don't know if Jin actually sent that video or if his computer fizzled out before it finished uploading, so he could still be a killer avenging Non instead of a baddie who wronged Non (but he took the video and that is messed up regardless of what he planned to do with it).

But either way, I'm hoping it comes down to Phi and Jin in that forest because the show started with them.

And I don't think Jin realizes who Phi is to Non since Jin never got a good look at Phi's face in the past.

The Twitter folks spotted that Phi's dad was the police chief from the letters the boys got calling them in for interrogation in episode six.

And now the knife from episode two is showing up in the past in Non's backpack.

Up until this point, I feel the show has laid out a solid story with a good cast, and I think Be On Cloud relied on their KinnPorsche casting to throw people off in this show because who expected Us to be doomed in the first episode? That was like Drew Barrymore dying at the beginning of Scream.

People have felt off about JJ's character, but the show wouldn't really have JJ do anything bad to sweet Barcode, right?

And Barcode and Ta being paired together was a pipe dream for the Macau x Porchay shippers, so it could never happen here!

Especially because Ta and Copper won The Hidden Character, which meant they were going to be the main pair of this show, right?

WRONG!

Barcode is gonna be involved in some fucked up shit, and according to those MDL comments, people are realizing they messed up making any assumptions before this show started based on what the actors previously did.

I truly feel like BOC looked at its lineup and said "Baby Barcode was babygirled so hard for the past two years that the audience won't even think his character is capable of such things"

and I love that for us.

BOC gave these youngsters (19-23 in age) a script from Dr. Sammon and the Pit Babe writers and said "go HAM, bitches"

And the audience stays winning.

This isn't about my Wild Ass Theories coming true. This is an appreciation post for what this show has given to me up until this point - a good mystery.

Every week I have more questions and none of them feel like they will go unanswered. Is Non dead? Did Jin actually upload the video? Is Tan a killer? Why did Phi hook up with Jin? Will White finally snap, crackle, and pop like a bag of Rice Krispies treats for the mere fact that he simply wanted a nice weekend getaway with his boyfriend and now has to deal with all this bullshit?

But most importantly, when did Phi realize he was going to kill all of them after making them run around scared for their lives?

Because by time the show makes it back to the present day, I'm sure we're all going to want to watch these kids suffer in the worst ways possible.

Manipulate, Murder, Mayhem

[cazzyf1]

Some facts and stories about Roland Ratzenberger

• When he was seven years old his grandmother took him to a local hill climb race at Gaisberg.

• His first word was 'car'

• He was nine years old when year the family home the Salzburg ring opened. He was get through the gates to go watch the cars drive.

• He had a poster of Jochen Rindt on his wall as a kid.

• When he started karting at sixteen years old he had to get a secondary job at a bakery to fund it.

• In the winter of 1991 he married the former partner of another driver, becoming the stepfather of her son, however they were divorced in early 1992.

• While in the UK, he briefly gained some fame for having a similar name to the TV puppet 'Roland Rat'. ITV invited film to film a segment with the puppet for national breakfast television. He raced against the rat (who was in a car dubbed 'Ratmobile') the Rat Puppet ended up winning the race down to cheating.

• F1 author David Tremayne son's who was three years old insisted on calling Roland Ratzenburg-and-chips-and-beans to his face. Roland found it hilarious and became that young boy's hero.

• Described as 'gentle, always unfailingly polite, tall, good-looking, and with a ready smile'

• Journalist Adam Cooper went out drinking with Roland in Japan and at the end of the night they had decided he should come stay in Japan for a year or two to cover the local racing scene. When he turned up and realised the hotel was more expensive than he had planned Roland let him stay in the spare twin bed he had in his room. He was happy to have company.

• One of his unusual goals was to try to enjoy female company in the team motorhome between stints in 24 hour races. Adam Cooper reccounts ' I think the last time we discussed it he’d managed the feat twice at Le Mans, and once at the Nurburgring.'

• One time he used his deep Austrain accent to record a Terminator style 'I'll be back' answer machine message for rival Jeff Krosnoff

• He kept a black book full of 'ladies' numbers

• One time his friend Anthony Reid had an accident in a F3000 race, and had a lot of blood streaming down his face. Roland had to take charge of the scene as the marshals freaked out. He made sure his journalist friend wrote about the shortcomings of safety in a Japanese magazine afterwards.

• At a Formula Ford festival his team either ran out of funds or walked out and Roland was left with just his car and a toolbox. Because he was so well liked mechanics and personnel from other teams helped him prepare his car. He won that festival.

• On one occasion, Heinz-Harald Frentzen and Ratzenberger entered a nightclub. There was a confrontation between Frentzen and another guy which saw a knife pulled on either Frentzen or a random female bystander. Either way, Ratzenberger selflessly stepped in and wrestled the knife away from the man. 

• A documentary has been put out on YouTube about Roland by Levay film production, detailing all about his life. A recommended watch.

• Bernie Ecclestone personally delivered the confirmation of Ratzenburg's death to the Simtek team

• Ayton Senna commandeered an offical car to hurry to the medical center where he learnt of Roland's fate from his friend, Dr Sid Watkins

• Only five drivers attended his funeral

[astorytotellyourfriends]

The one thing that everyone seems to know about Eddie Munson is that when he's not out touring the world with his band, Corroded Coffin, he makes a point to be as invisible as possible in order to spend time at home with his family. Eddie, along with his wife Chrissy of seven years and their two young children, graciously invited Vogue into their Hollywood Hills home that's about as secluded as you can get while still having that coveted Los Angeles zip code.

Vogue: I have to admit, given what I've seen of Corroded Coffin on stage, I think I expected your home to reflect a bit more of that personality.

Eddie Munson: [laughs] You can thank Chrissy for that. She's the brains behind this whole operation, I just do what she tells me.

So there's no hidden dungeon in the basement?

Hate to burst your bubble, but nope. I've been trying to get a sacrificial altar for the backyard, but I haven't found one I liked yet.

Really?

[laughs] I'm kidding. But I had you going, right?

You really did. But that's what you've always done, right? Leaned into the mania of Satanic Panic and made it work for you?

Yeah, I guess so. I mean, people are gonna believe whatever they wanna believe anyway so I might as well give 'em what they want, right? Plus, [laughs] it's a hell of a lot of fun.

What's it like having that devil-worshipper stage persona with two young kids at home? Do either of your kids know what their dad does for a living?

Oh, yeah. They [redacted] love it. Wait, can I say [redacted]?

We can't print it, but you can say it.

[Redacted] yeah. Our little one doesn't really get the whole stage thing yet, but she sure looks cute in those big-ass headphones.

And your other daughter?

Oh, if she could be on stage with me every night, she would be. On our last tour, we had this gimmick where Gareth rigged a bunch of blood packs to his drums to explode during the encore and she thought it was the coolest [redacted] thing in the world. He even offered to let her do it when we were in rehearsals!

And did she?

Maybe.

From the look on your face, I'm guessing she did.

[laughs] Don't tell Chrissy.

Scout's honor. Until this article comes out, anyway.

[Redacted]. Is it too late to say off the record?

Way too late.

[Redacted]. Oh well. Worth it. She had the biggest [redacted] grin on her face when she was covered in fake blood, it was priceless.

Seems like you might be raising a mini version of yourself. Would you support your kids following in your footsteps and joining the music industry?

[Editor's note: At this point in the interview, the eldest Munson child came running out of the back door and pounced on her father, who took it in stride and continued answering questions as though he didn't have a six-year-old hanging over his shoulder.]

I mean, if that's what they wanna do, then hell yeah.

[gasps] Daddy said a bad word!

Daddy did not, Daddy said hell.

Mommy said hell's a bad word.

Mommy also said you were supposed to stay inside, didn't she?

Pip was crying. She misses you.

Do you need a moment?

[laughs] Believe me, if I took a moment for every time I wanted to be with my kids, I'd never get anything done.

Because you love us so much?

Exactly.

How much?

To the moon and back.

That's a lot!

Sure is, kiddo. Now shush and let the nice lady ask her questions.

Ooh, ask me! Ask me! I got lots of stories.

If you don't mind?

It's your funeral. [laughs] She'll talk your ear off if you let her.

What do you think about your dad being a rockstar?

[shrugs] It's okay.

Wow, thanks for the endorsement, kid. You heard it here first: being a rockstar is just okay.

Would you rather he had another job?

[shrugs] What other job?

I dunno. Playing music's the only thing I've ever been good at.

Nuh-uh! Daddy's good at lots of things.

Like what?

Telling stories. Playing with me. One time, he built me a big castle out of pillows and chairs and blankets and we played in it all day 'til Mommy said it was time for dinner. And then we all went to bed in it. Like camping!

Camping? When did you go camping?

Mommy let us sleep outside and said it was like camping. It was when you were gone. I don't like when you're gone. It makes Mommy sad. And then I'm sad. And Pip's sad. You're not going away again, are you?

No, baby. I'm staying right here with you.

Good. [to Vogue] Do you wanna see what Daddy brought home for me last time he went away?

I'd love to.

Okay!

[Editor's note: just as quickly as she came, Munson's daughter ran off to go fetch the present from inside the house.]

Do you need a minute?

Nah. It just… [sighs] never gets easier, you know? Hearing how much they miss me when I'm gone. I miss them all the [redacted] time.

I'm not surprised. Just from the last five minutes, I can see how much she adores you and I can't imagine what it's like to leave that behind, even when it's to go on a worldwide tour.

It's tough. I love my job, don't get me wrong. It's what's given us this house, all the [redacted] that the girls need, anything they could ever want, but… [shrugs] I dunno. Sometimes giving it all up doesn't sound half as hard as leaving them is. Maybe that's just me being ungrateful.

I don't think so. I think it means you're human. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, you know? Torn between two worlds.

[laughs] Now there's an idea for an album. The dichotomy of being a rockstar and a father.

I'd listen to it.

Hell, so would I.

(might continue this with a lil follow-up fic of chrissy and eddie reading the interview before it goes to print... thoughts? 👀)

[cobrakaisb]

life in a glass house

summary: you and mark are getting closer, but are you really? based on one tree hill season one episode seven

word count: 1.6k 

“i think that’s it for today,” you said, closing your laptop with a small smile on your face. mark nods, also smiling at you. the two of you begin to pack up your things, when mark checks his phone. he throws his head back, a loud groan escaping from his lips. 

“you okay?” you asked softly. “yeah just, an unexpected practice was called tomorrow, do you think we could meet at my house instead?” he replied. you froze at his words; you and mark never went to each other’s houses. meeting in the library, student union, or anywhere else on campus was fine, platonic even, but going to his house made this seem more real. it made it seem like you were friends, and you knew that was far from reality. 

“i don’t know,” you trailed off, biting your lip. “please y/n. i really need your help studying for this next test,” he begged. “i-” you started, but he interrupted you with another please. “fine! but you’re not going to be distracted. right?” you answered, raising an eyebrow as you crossed your arms over your chest. “no, of course not!” he replied. “thank you so much! i really appreciate this!” he continued. you nodded, smiling, and mark took that as his signal to leave.

as you watched his retreating figure, you couldn’t help but let your mind wander to how much the dynamic between the two of you had changed. it was obvious, at least on your end, that you were starting to view mark as a friend, possibly even more. although you refused to let yourself go any further than friendship. and yet, mark’s views on you remained unclear. 

deep down there was a part of you that wanted more with mark, a deeper friendship, maybe even a relationship, but you felt as if it was one sided. during your tutoring sessions, which were becoming more and more frequent, mark was constantly talking about other girls. ones that were just the complete opposite of you. they liked hockey, understood it, were willing to put themselves out there, and enjoyed spending a night out. all the stuff that mark loved, and you hated. the two of you — you and mark — were just too different. 

a fact that was reminded to you when you showed up at his house the following afternoon.

“hi! i’m here to see mark,” you said, when a boy, shorter than mark but still taller than you, opened the door. he looked you up and down, several times, before smiling. “i don’t think you’re his type sweetheart,” he replied, moving to close the door. your mouth fell open in shock, and before you could answer, the door was slammed in your face. 

you stood there for a moment, trying to regroup, before pulling out your phone. you dialed mark’s number, foot tapping rapidly on the porch. “yeah?” he answered. “your roommate just slammed the door on me,” you replied, short and snippy. “fuck. i’ll be right there,” he mumbled before hanging up. 

he was in deep shit, mark just knew it. finally, after making some sort of progress with you, one of his idiot friends had to ruin it for him. he made it down the stairs and to the front door in record time, holding it open for you as you walked through the threshold. 

“i’m so sorry! let’s just go up to my room yeah?” he apologized, grabbing your wrist as he led you up the stairs. you couldn’t help but feel icky, like he was hiding you from his friends. further proving your point that he didn’t return your feelings. 

inside his bedroom, mark took the seat at his desk, spinning in the chair to face you. “you can sit wherever. make yourself comfortable,” he explained, gesturing around his room. you nodded, plopping your bag down on the floor as you sat on the edge of his bed. “okay so we have the test tomorrow, on the two books we covered,” you said, getting right to business. 

“right. i have my notes and the outline from my last essay, which i was planning to review, but i feel like it’s not enough,” he answered, showing you the documents on his laptop. “mhm. but those are a great start. i would try to think of some questions she might ask,” you replied, leaning over his shoulder as you stood behind his desk chair. 

“idk dude, like a symbolism one,” he mumbled, running a hand through his hair. “did you just call me dude?” you asked, scrunching up your nose. mark laughed, “yeah why?” “because! that’s so weird,” you answered. he continued to laugh at you, and you shoved his shoulder, just as someone knocked on his door. 

“come in,” he called, turning the chair towards the door. the two of you were really close together, closer than you expected, and somehow, mark’s arm made its way around your waist. “hey dinner’s here. y’know before the party,” the boy, a blonde with a backwards cap on, said. 

mark nodded, swallowing thickly. he didn’t invite you to the party, and he wasn't planning too, but he felt super guilty about it now. “right. thanks eddy,” he answered. 

mark looked at you, feeling sad and a teeny bit guilty. “party? i thought you needed my help to study?” you mumbled. “i do…but the hockey guys they just…they don’t get it,” he tried to explain and you hummed in agreement, stepping away from him. mark’s arm fell to the side.

“right,” you said, picking up your bag from the floor. “please don’t be mad. i couldn’t invite you. it’s hockey guys only,” he said, standing from his chair to take the empty space next to you. you nodded, taking a deep breath. “of course. i get it. anyways here’s a copy of my notes, and study guide. i would try to review them, if you have time. have fun at your party,” you said, plastering a fake smile on your face as you left his room, and the house. 

hours later, the party was in full swing. the house was packed with people, and music was blaring from the speaker downstairs. mark kept trying to get into it. he played beer pong with eddy, but his heart wasn’t really in it. all he could see was your disheartened face every time he blinked or looked into the crowd. he was angry at himself for not inviting you, for not accepting his feelings towards you. he tried to harbor them, shoving them under the rug for as long as possible. something that finally caught up with him. 

“mark, you good man?” someone asked, shaking his shoulder. mark blinked, meeting the eyes of rutger mcgroarty, a freshman on the hockey team. he nodded, “all good.” rutger didn’t look convinced, but he was smart enough not to push it. he needed to call you, mark decided, excusing himself from the downstairs area and heading up to his bedroom. imagine his surprise when he found some girl digging through his stuff.     

“what the hell are you doing?” he asks, grabbing the girl by her elbow. she’s wasted, mark can tell that much, and before she can even get out an explanation, he’s showing her the way out. thankfully she finds her friends at the bottom of the stairs, who seem more than ready to take care of her. “one problem solved,” mark mumbled to himself, bounding back up the stairs to his room. 

yet somehow, a whole new problem arose. he thought he was making progress with y/n but now he’s right back to square one: being ignored. he kept trying to talk to her, but she never gave him the time of day, instead opting for an eye roll and dramatic exit. 

“i don’t know what happened. things were going great between us,” mark explained to ethan and mackie as he stared at y/n from across the dining hall. “really? i think it’s pretty obvious, she’s embarrassed,” mackie replied. 

“embarrassed? about what?” mark asked, looking at the connecticut native. “because of the letter,” he said matter-of-factly. mark raised his eyebrows, confusion written all over his face. “don’t tell me you don’t know! it was in your room!” ethan exclaimed, but there was no sign of recognition on mark’s face. 

“she wrote you a little note, very simple, but not something you’d want to go around campus. some girl was showing it to everyone,” mackie explained, and suddenly mark was getting flashbacks to the girl on his room from the party. he was livid, filled with rage towards this girl for screwing everything up. 

he stood up from the table, walking confidently over towards y/n. she was eating her dinner, sitting with a couple of friends. “y/n, can i talk to you?” he asked, standing by her chair. she froze, body going rigid. “i really don’t want to talk with you mark,” she replied, refusing to make eye contact with him. 

“i know you’re mad at me about the note, but i didn’t even know it existed! i swear! and i would never spread that around,” he explained, rushing over his words as she began to pick up her trash and gather her belongings. as she moved to step away, still refusing to acknowledge him, mark wrapped his hand around her bicep. “please y/n, please,” he begged softly, so quietly that only she could hear. 

“i asked you not to waste my time mark,” she answered softly, escaping from his grip. mark watched as she exited the dining hall. he was fucked.

[criptochecca]

"[...]

The images of Palestinians that see we in our imperialist settings are usually pictures of depictions of devastation, bereavement and death. The humanity of the Palestinians is made conditional on their suffering, on what they’ve have lost, and what they endure. Palestinians get sympathy but not emancipation; emancipation would eat away at sympathy. This image of the victim produces the “good” Palestinian as a civilian, even better as a child, woman, or elder. Those who fight back, especially as part of organized groups are bad: the monstrous enemy that must be eliminated. But everyone’s a target. The fault for the targeting of the “good” Palestinians is thus placed on the “bad “ones, further justification for their eradication: every inch of Gaza provides a hiding place for terrorists. The policing of affect squeezes out the possibility of a free Palestinian.

[...]

The first intifada, in 1987, began with the “Night of the Gliders.” On November 25 and 26, two Palestinian guerrilla fighters from the PFLP – GC (Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine – General Command) landed in Israeli occupied territory. Both were killed. One of them killed six Israeli soldiers and injured seven more before he died. Afterwards, the guerrilla became a national hero, and Gazans wrote “6:1” on their walls to taunt the IDF troops. Even PLO Chairman Yasser Arafat praised the fighters: “The attack demonstrated that there could be no barriers or obstacles to prevent a guerrilla who has decided to become a martyr” Nothing could hold them down or block them in if they had the will to fly.

[...]

In 2018, during the Great March of Return, Gazans used kites and balloons to evade Israeli air defenses and start fires in Israeli territory. It seems as if it was Palestinian youth that first started sending the fire kites. Later, Hamas got involved, creating the al-Zouari unit that specialized in making and launching incendiary kites and balloons. The kites and balloons boosted morale in Gaza, while damaging the Israeli economy and irritating Israelis living near the Gazan border. In response to an Italian journalist’s remarks about the “iconic new weapon” that was “driving Israel crazy,” Hamas leader Yahya Sinwar explained, “Kites are not a weapon. At most, they set on fire some stubble. An extinguisher, and it's over. They are not a weapon, they are a message. Because they are just twine and paper and an oil-soaked rag, while each battery of the Iron Dome costs $100 million. Those kites say: you are immensely more powerful. But you will never win. Really. Never."

There’s further context for reading kites in Gaza as messages from a people that refuses to submit. In 2011, 15 thousand Palestinian children on a Gazan beach broke the world record for the most kites flown at the same time. Many of the kites featured Palestinian flags and symbols, as well as wishes for peace and hope. An eleven-year-old, Rawia, who made her kite the colors of the Palestinian flag, said, “When I fly it, I feel like I’m raising my country and my flag up, up in the sky.” The 2013 documentary “Flying Paper,” directed by Nitin Sawhney and Roger Hill, tells the story of some of the young kite fliers. “When we fly kites, we feel like we are the ones flying in the sky. We feel that we have freedom. That there is no siege on Gaza. When we fly the kite, we know that freedom exists.” Earlier this year, kites were flown at solidarity demonstrations that took place around the world, expressing and amplifying a hope and a will for Palestinian freedom.

[...]

In 1998, Palestinians built Yasser Arafat International Airport. In 2001, during the second intifada, Israeli bulldozers demolished it. As Hind Khoudary explained, the airport was deeply interconnected with the dream of Palestinian statehood. She interviewed workers who built the runway that was reduced to rubble and sand. As Khoudary writes, “Gaza airport was more than a project. It was a symbol of freedom for Palestinians. Flying the Palestinian flag in the sky was the dream of every Palestinian.”

The paragliders who flew into Israel on October 7 continue the revolutionary association of liberation and flight. Although imperialist and Zionist forces try to condense the action into a singular figure of Hamas terrorism, insisting against all evidence that with the extermination of Hamas Palestinian resistance will disappear, the will to fight for Palestinian freedom precedes and exceeds it. Hamas wasn’t the subject of the October 7 action; it was an agent hoping that the subject would emerge as an effect of its action, the latest instantiation of the Palestinian revolution.

Words used by Leila Khaled to defend the justness of the PFLP’s hijacking tactic apply equally to October 7. Khaled writes: “As a comrade has said: We act heroically in a cowardly world to prove that the enemy is not invincible. We act "violently" in order to blow the wax out of the ears of the deaf Western liberals and to remove the straws that block their vision. We act as revolutionaries to inspire the masses and to trigger off the revolutionary upheaval in an era of counter-revolution.” 

[...]

In the six months since the beginning of Israel’s genocidal war on Palestine, there has been a surge in global solidarity with Palestine, one reminiscent of the previous wave of the 1970s and 1980s. As Edward Said told us, by the end of the seventies “there was not a progressive political cause that did not identify with the Palestinian movement.” Solidarity with Palestine united the left, knitting liberation struggles together in a global anti-imperialist front. As historian Robin D.G. Kelly says, “We radicals regarded the PLO as a vanguard in a global Third World struggle for self-determination traveling along a “non-capitalist road” to development.” The militancy and dedication of the Palestinian struggle made its revolutionary combatants models for the left.

The struggle for Palestinian liberation today is led by the Islamic Resistance Movement — Hamas. Hamas is supported by the entirety of the organized Palestinian left. One might have expected that the left in the imperial core would follow the leadership of the Palestinian left in supporting Hamas. More often than not, though, left intellectuals echo the condemnations that imperialist states make the condition for speaking about Palestine. In so doing, they take a side against the Palestinian revolution, giving a progressive face to the repression of the Palestinian political project, and betraying the anti-imperialist aspirations of a previous generation. "

[mixtapemag]

MYSTICS VS FEVER IN WASHINGTON DC.

Photos by Christopher Hall

The Indiana Fever rolled into a very loud and sold out Capitol One Arena in Washington DC on Friday night. Over 20,000 strong were on hand to see Caitlin Clark tie the WNBA rookie record for 3-pointers in a game, hitting seven shots from deep en route to a game-high 30 points in an 85-83 win over the Mystics. Her 30 points on the night tied her season high to go along with 8 rebounds, 6 assists and 4 steals.

Friday's crowd was the largest for the WNBA since 22,067 attended Game 5 of the 2007 WNBA Finals between Phoenix and Detroit at the Palace of Auburn Hills in suburban Detroit on Sept. 16, 2007. It was the largest crowd for a regular-season game since 20,674 attended the Mystics-Rockers game on July 21, 1999, at the same arena as Friday's game, which was then called the MCI Center.

The rising tide of the WNBA continues with its new arrivals including Caitlin Clark, Angel Reese and Cameron Brink and veterans including Las Vegas Aces center A’ja Wilson, Los Angeles Sparks center Dearica Hamby, and Phoenix Mercury wing Kahleah Copper. 

"The crowds never get old; they're great," Clark said. "I think at times they might have been cheering for us. It's fun to see people in Fever gear. It's fun to see people screaming about women's basketball."

Christopher Hall posts over here. CC.

[eevylynn]

Tiny Spark, Mighty Flame

Sterek || eventual Alpha Werewolf Stiles [ao3]

Among born werewolves, it was common knowledge that the prime age for a human to endure the bite of an Alpha and survive was typically during their teenage or young adult years. In fact, the youngest recorded case of a bite resulting in a transformation and not death was previously eleven years old, so imagine the Hale pack’s astonishment when they learned of a small seven year old who was bitten and miraculously survived, challenging the known boundaries of possibility.

Chapter 2 - Perception Ignited

The late afternoon sun broke through the thick canopy of trees on the long, winding road through the dense preserve casting dappled patterns of light and shadow on Roscoe. The lush green leaves danced in the gentle breeze, creating a picturesque scene of nature's vibrant beauty. The summer heat wrapped itself around the vehicle, adding a sense of warmth and anticipation to the air.

Seated in the backseat, Stiles' imagination soared amidst the seemingly surreal surroundings. His young mind, now awakened to the existence of supernatural beings, conjured images of mythical creatures running alongside the car. Perhaps a majestic unicorn with a gleaming horn or a fierce griffin soaring through the sky? Stiles yearned to encounter these fantastical beings, unsure of which ones were mere legends and which ones held the truth. Now that he knew werewolves were real and that he himself had become one, his entire world, his very perception of reality had forever shifted. Anything seemed possible, and the boundaries between the ordinary and the extraordinary blurred in his mind.

Stiles marveled at the fact that he had been discharged from the hospital yesterday after being there for only a day. He’s still amazed at his own healing. He pulled his sleeve up to look at his arm where the giant werewolf had bitten him and still found it astounding that there wasn’t a single trace of injury.

When they had arrived at Beacon Hills Medical Center two days ago, Melissa McCall happened to be on duty, a stroke of luck that would prove crucial. It was Ms. McCall who first noticed something extraordinary about Stiles' injuries - they were healing at an astonishing rate. The sight both relieved and alarmed the Stilinski family and the medical staff, leaving them bewildered.

Unbeknownst to them, Alpha Talia Hale had cultivated connections within the medical center staff, ensuring that she would be promptly informed of any supernatural occurrences. As soon as she received word of Stiles' condition, she wasted no time and made her way swiftly to the hospital. Talia sought out the bewildered parents, Noah and Claudia Stilinski, to deliver the astonishing truth: their son had been turned into a werewolf.

With utmost care and compassion, Talia explained the physical implications that Stiles would now face, including the transformations, the influence of the full moon, and his heightened senses. She also shed some light on the intricate dynamics of werewolf packs and the profound impact they have on the mental and emotional well-being of their members. Overwhelmed and nervous, the Stilinski family found themselves grappling with the magnitude of the revelation. Noah especially struggled to accept this new reality unfolding before him.

Being a parent herself, with three children of her own, Talia could relate to the stress and uncertainty that accompanied such circumstances. She provided them with her personal contact information and assured them that she would be available whenever they needed assistance, guidance, or simply a compassionate ear to listen or a shoulder to lean on.

As the jeep came to a halt in front of the imposing Hale house, Stiles glanced up and caught sight of a boy not much older than himself standing at one of the upstairs windows. His black hair framed his face, and thick eyebrows added intensity to his piercing green eyes. Though Stiles couldn't comprehend the significance of the moment, he felt an inexplicable pull toward this mysterious boy. With a friendly wave, the stranger acknowledged Stiles' arrival as the younger boy climbed out of the old jeep. Stiles grinned and waved back.

“Mischief,” Claudia called softly, gaining the boy’s attention, and he joined his parents as they headed to the large covered porch.

By the time they reached the stairs, Talia had already opened the red door, ready to greet them with a tall teenager standing at her right that had the same long dark hair and dark eyes as her mother.

“Welcome to our home!” the Alpha said regally. “This is my eldest, Laura,” Talia added, gesturing to the girl next to her. “She has recently started her training to take over as Alpha after myself, so she wanted to join us. Laura, this is Deputy Noah Stilinski and his wife Claudia.”

Talia paused before crouching down to be level with Stiles as she continued, “And this little one here is our newest pack member, Mieczysław.” 

Stiles blinked and raised his eyebrows over at his parents at the correct pronunciation of his name. No one outside of their family had ever been able to say it correctly before.

“Nice to meet you all,” Laura said kindly, “especially you, Meechslav.”

Noah smiled at Laura’s stumbling, “You can call him ‘Stiles’ if you want.”

“I am so sorry!” Laura looked horrified, like she had offended them or something, “I’ve been trying to practice saying it. Everyone has the right to have their name pronounced properly.”

Claudia put a calming hand on the girl’s shoulder, and replied, “Sweetie, we appreciate it. Honestly!” She added, seeing Laura about to interrupt. “Mieczysław was my father’s name. They were first generation immigrants from Poland, and, trust me, as a native speaker of the language, I completely understand that most Americans would have issues pronouncing it. Even my little Mischief here has problems saying his own name at times.” Claudia smiled down at Stiles, running her fingers through his shaggy hair. “For the longest time, he pronounced it ‘Mischief’, which is both adorable and, admittedly, accurate,” Claudia laughed lightly and everyone joined in.

“Stiles was originally my own father’s nickname,” Noah added, “so in a way, he’s named after both of his grandparents. We won’t be offended which you choose to call him by. You’re good. I swear.”

Talia smiled at Stiles, still crouched next to him. “What would you prefer, pup?” she inquired softly.

Stiles fidgeted as all eyes turned towards him. He shrugged, “Stiles is what everyone at school calls me.”

“Stiles it is!” Talia said cheerfully before she stood up, clapped her hands once and motioned for everyone to head inside. “How about we show you guys around real quick while Elijah finishes up lunch.”

[continue reading on ao3]

[raaorqtpbpdy]

Why Are Seers Always Cursed? (3)

Wesley Weston is a son of Apollo with the rare gift of prophecy.

Written for @crossoverdanuary Week 2024, Day three: Percy Jackson | Lake

This takes place shortly before Annabeth, Luke, and Thalia arrive at Camp Half-Blood, and while Wes is still in middle school, meaning it's set before the primary canon events of both series. You can also read it on AO3!

Chapter 3: Downhill Fast

First | Previous

[Warning for mild violence]

Over the next two weeks, Wes started to really get the hang of Camp Half-Blood. A few more campers had arrived, including another Apollo Camper close to Wes' age named Lee Fletcher. The two of them got on really well right out of the gate. Wes did not manage to get out of explaining to Archer that he had the gift of prophecy, but for some reason, Archer told him that it would be wiser to keep it secret from anyone outside of Apollo Cabin.

Wes wasn't sure why, but he was starting to get the sense that his ability was more dangerous than it seemed. Archer warned that people might try to take advantage of him, or pick on him because they saw him as having an unfair advantage himself. So Wes' powers of foresight became cabin seven's little secret.

Unsurprisingly, Wes demonstrated a knack for archery. He'd never done it before, but it was like the bow simply belonged in his hands. His cabin-mates were very encouraging and helped him with his form so the bowstring didn't snap against his forearm. They were also fun to play basketball with. Wes established a personal record of scoring 90 feet from the hoop. Nowhere near the cabin's record, but still basically a full-court shot.

He wasn't as good as the others in the infirmary, but he wasn't so useless that they sent him out. They mostly had him cut bandages and get things for them, which was fine by Wes. 

When it came to singing camp songs, Wes was exposed for his awful singing voice, but he was picking up the ukulele remarkably fast, so maybe he had inherited a little bit of Apollo's musical talents. Not as much as Lee, though; he was a regular musical prodigy as far as Wes was concerned. At only thirteen, he could play several instruments and his singing voice was downright mellifluous.

The one thing Wes really struggled with in the Apollo Cabin was seeing his cabin mates as his siblings. Technically they were, but Wes already had siblings. These people were basically strangers in comparison. And it didn't really help that he'd made a conscious decision not to think of Apollo as anything like a father to him back when he was ten years old. 

The Apollo campers were warm, and accepting, and he liked them a lot... but they weren't family. Not yet, at least.

Aside from that, the only thing that really bothered him about this place was the pine tree that wasn't there, the one he kept seeing on the crest of the hill.

He brought it up to Chiron once, in private, and Chiron told him that sometimes they couldn't know what a prophecy meant until it came to pass. Wes only begrudgingly accepted that answer. He didn't like it.

What was the point of seeing the future if it didn't make sense until it became the past?

That pine tree became increasingly frustrating. Even more so than the monster attacks. They weren't daily or anything, but there had been two so far, counting the drakon, and both had been taken care of with only mild injuries and no deaths. That pine tree though....

Once, when Wes saw it, there was something gold hanging in its branches, and a dragon wrapped around its trunk fast asleep. Then he blinked, and the golden thing and the dragon were both gone. Then he blinked and the tree was gone too.

At the end of the second week, there was a terrible summer storm. For some reason, while the storm raged, Wes' eyes were drawn to the top of the hill. Each time a strike of lightning lit up the darkness, the pine tree appeared, just for that instant, before vanishing again. That felt important, but Wes didn't know why.

He told Archer about it, but Archer just told him the same thing Chiron did.

He didn't like it any better the second time.

Then, one night, Wes had a dream. He dreamed about the pine tree. About lightning striking, about a hoard of monsters straight from Hades.

The forbidden child approaches, the dream told him. The forbidden child approaches.

When he awoke, he thought about telling Chiron again, but then he remembered what he'd said before.

"You can't always know what a prophecy means until it comes to pass."

Wes sure as Hades didn't know what a 'forbidden child' was, and Chiron had already said he had no idea what the pine tree meant. Maybe this was one of those things where he should just wait and see how it panned out, rather than bothering anybody with his stupid dreams again.

Although... the last time he'd had a dream like that, it had told him Apollo would visit his mom.

But Apollo hadn't been in this dream. Just that stupid pine tree and a bunch of monsters. And it wasn't even worth it to warn everybody of monsters coming because he had no idea when this was going to happen.

Maybe he should ask anyway.

"Hey, Chiron," he asked the centaur during archery practice, "Do you know what a forbidden child is?"

Suddenly, Wes felt as if he'd been struck by something heavy falling on him. He stumbled and let go of his bowstring and the arrow missed the target by a mile. As it left his bow, he could swore the whistling sound it made as it shot toward a tree trunk sounded like an apology.

"Sorry, kid," it said. "I hate to do this to ya. I can't defy my father, you understand." Then it pierced the tree trunk with a thunk.

"My, are you alright, Wes?" Chiron asked.

"I'm... fine, but my question."

"I'm afraid not," he said. "I suppose if a child were to be sired by one of the three most powerful gods they might be considered a forbidden child, since the three of them swore on the River Styx not to sire children. But no such child exists."

"What if one did?" Wes asked. "And what if they were coming here and a whole bunch of monsters were chasing them?"

"That would be preposterous," Chiron assured him. "None of those gods would go back on their word, not when it's so important for them to honor it."

"But I saw it happen!" Wes insisted. "I saw three demigods and satyr climbing that hill," he pointed to the camp's border. "I saw them being chased by a horde of monsters from the underworld. I heard the trees whisper that a forbidden child approaches. I saw it in my dream last night."

"Dear boy," Chiron said. "You may have the gift of prophecy, but not every dream is prophetic. There is no forbidden child, and no horde of monsters. I can assure you. I hope you'll be able to calm down now."

"What?"

This didn't make any sense. Chiron's advice was sometimes frustrating, but he'd never been dismissive like this. He knew what Wes could do, what he could see. He knew that prophecies should be taken seriously. So what the heck was this?

"Why don't you focus on your archery for now?"

"But...." Wes was too confused to formulate a proper argument. He shook his head, his face scrunched up in a mix of emotions. "Okay...."

Wes lifted the bow again and lined up his shot. This time, his arrow flew true, and landed right in the bull's eye. But again, the sound of the arrow taking flight was a whispered apology.

"I cannot defy my father's wishes," it said. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

That night, Wes had the same dream again. The forbidden child approaches. The forbidden child approaches.

A few days later, on an otherwise ordinary evening, while the campers were enjoying dinner, it happened. An uproarious cacophony of monstrous shrieks and bellows shook the valley. The blue sky darkened as smoke rose up from the far side of the hill.

Wes sprinted to get his bow and arrows and followed the rest of his cabin mates to the ridge while the other campers headed for the hilltop. 

They couldn't get ready fast enough.

They weren't even halfway to their positions when four figures crested the hill, three demigods and a satyr.

"Go!" one of the figures, a girl, shouted. "I'll hold them off!"

She stopped at the top of the hill, wielding a spear and a shield, and the other three kept running. She fought valiantly, slashing and stabbing at bat-winged creatures and hell hounds until they overwhelmed her, and she fell.

It was only then that the other campers finally got close enough to help her.

They were too late. Wes knew it innately. That girl was the forbidden child, and she was going to die.

Without warning, a bolt of lightning shot out of the clear blue sky, and struck the girl. Then she started to change. 

As the battle raged around her, she grew bark and sprouted branches until a tall, proud pine tree stood where she'd once been lying, half-dead on the ground. 

Wes had seen that tree before. This time, though, it was actually real. It didn't disappear when he tried to blink it away.

A pulse of light emitted from the tree, expelling all the monsters from within the bounds of the camp. Then the light faded, leaving an invisible barrier protecting all the demigods within its bounds.

Later, the three who survived explained what happened. The satyr, Grover Underwood told them all that Thalia was a child of Zeus, a forbidden child. He explained that ever since he'd found her, creatures of Hades had been chasing them. Hades himself had sent them, angry at his brother for breaking their pact.

Wes kept his anger contained until Chiron dismissed everyone. He waited until everyone else was gone. He stayed silent.

"Is something wrong, Wes?" Chiron asked, noticing that he wasn't going to leave.

"I told you this was going to happen," he said, barely keeping a lid on his rage. "I warned you about the forbidden child, about the monsters from Hades, all of it. You didn't listen to me. You told me it was just a dream. 

"If you'd just listened, we could have done something. We could have put a group of guards up on the hill. We could have been prepared for this! Thalia Grace didn't have to die!"

"I'm sorry," Chiron said. "I don't know what came over me. I knew of your abilities, and yet... when you told me about the forbidden child, it was as if... ah... I see...."

"What?" Wes did not accept this apology. He glared viciously at the centaur.

"Did you hear anything else? That day you told me about your dream, or afterwards?" 

His glare eased as he thought about it.

"Actually, right before I told you, when I stumbled and my arrow misfired, it sounded like an apology" Wes recalled. "And then again the next time I fired at the target. 'I'm sorry. I cannot defy my father,' is what it said."

"The arrow spoke to you?" Chiron repeated derisively, but he quickly shook his head with pained expression. "My apologies.

"It is the fate of all oracles that such great power must come at a price," he said. "Either one must make a willing sacrifice to balance out that power, such as the Oracle of Delphi does, living as a maiden her whole life in a cave. Or, the gift will lead the bearer to be cursed, such as Tiresias who was inflicted with blindness, or... Cassandra.

"I believe Zeus did not want the secret of his child to get out," he continued, "so he had his son Apollo inflict you with Cassandra's curse to prevent you from sharing what you knew, or rather, to prevent anyone from believing you, even if you did."

"What exactly is this curse?" asked Wes.

"That you may see the future, but that you cannot share it with anyone, for they will never believe you," Chiron answered. "It's a terrible curse. It means only you alone will ever be able to benefit from your abilities, but you cannot help others with them."

"Is there a way to break it?" Wes asked.

"I'm afraid not," the centaur answered mournfully. "A seer's curse cannot be broken. Even those who know of the curse will have difficulty overcoming it's effects. Even I... well, you've seen already. I have a strong enough will to fight my initial reaction if I'm ready for it, but my initial reaction will always be disbelief. I'm sorry, Wes."

Chiron's appraisal turned out to be right on the money. As much fun as Wes had at camp that summer, and as much as he learned and grew, his precognition became completely useless. Even his cabin-mates, who already knew about his powers, didn't believe his visions until they came true.

Sometimes people would even ignore things Wes didn't realize were prophecies. The entire Aphrodite Cabin got poison ivy, all because their counselor didn't listen when Wes said to take the other path.

The same thing happened when he went back home at then end of the summer. His mother, who always humored his hunches before, now fully dismissed them. His father would laugh like Wes was telling him a joke.

And the next summer, when he returned to Camp Half-Blood, it was the same story. 

Now that they had a magic barrier, there weren't any monster attacks to keep their skills sharp, they'd introduced regular games of Capture the Flag in the woods. It was the perfect opportunity for Wes to use his foresight to help his team win, but when none of them would listen to him, he had to go ahead on his own.

He won the game for his team, but it wasn't as satisfying as he'd thought it would be.

It was a relief when he finally went home for the summer. He wasn't looking forward to starting high school, but outside of camp, there were a lot fewer situations where not being able to tell people about his visions was a serious problem. Or so he thought.

Strange things happened in Amity Park that year. There were monsters around town that everyone could see, ghosts, rather. Not from Greek myths, but from a portal to another realm in the Fentons' basement.

Wes tried to make it not his problem, he really did.

Until the night he woke up in a cold sweat with prophetic knowledge echoing in his brain.

Danny Fenton is Danny Phantom.

But no one would ever believe him.