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dailyanarchistposts · 4 months

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Footnotes, 301 - 322 (end)

[301] Great changes have taken place since the forties in the attitude of the richer classes towards the unions. However, even in the sixties, the employers made a formidable concerted attempt to crush them by locking out whole populations. Up to 1869 the simple agreement to strike, and the announcement of a strike by placards, to say nothing of picketing, were often punished as intimidation. Only in 1875 the Master and Servant Act was repealed, peaceful picketing was permitted, and “violence and intimidation” during strikes fell into the domain of common law. Yet, even during the dock-laborers’ strike in 1887, relief money had to be spent for fighting before the Courts for the right of picketing, while the prosecutions of the last few years menace once more to render the conquered rights illusory.

[302] A weekly contribution of 6d. out of an 18s. wage, or of 1s. out of 25s., means much more than 9l. out of a 300l. income: it is mostly taken upon food; and the levy is soon doubled when a strike is declared in a brother union. The graphic description of trade-union life, by a skilled craftsman, published by Mr. and Mrs. Webb (pp. 431 seq.), gives an excellent idea of the amount of work required from a unionist.

[303] See the debates upon the strikes of Falkenau in Austria before the Austrian Reichstag on the 10th of May, 1894, in which debates the fact is fully recognized by the Ministry and the owner of the colliery. Also the English Press of that time.

[304] Many such facts will be found in the Daily Chronicle and partly the Daily News for October and November 1894.

[305] The 31,473 productive and consumers’ associations on the Middle Rhine showed, about 1890, a yearly expenditure of 18,437,500l.; 3,675,000l. were granted during the year in loans.

[306] British Consular Report, April 1889.

[307] A capital research on this subject has been published in Russian in the Zapiski (Memoirs) of the Caucasian Geographical Society, vol. vi. 2, Tiflis, 1891, by C. Egiazaroff.

[308] Escape from a French prison is extremely difficult; nevertheless a prisoner escaped from one of the French prisons in 1884 or 1885. He even managed to conceal himself during the whole day, although the alarm was given and the peasants in the neighborhood were on the look-out for him. Next morning found him concealed in a ditch, close by a small village. Perhaps he intended to steal some food, or some clothes in order to take off his prison uniform. As he was lying in the ditch a fire broke out in the village. He saw a woman running out of one of the burning houses, and heard her desperate appeals to rescue a child in the upper story of the burning house. No one moved to do so. Then the escaped prisoner dashed out of his retreat, made his way through the fire, and, with a scalded face and burning clothes, brought the child safe out of the fire, and handed it to its mother. Of course he was arrested on the spot by the village gendarme, who now made his appearance. He was taken back to the prison. The fact was reported in all French papers, but none of them bestirred itself to obtain his release. If he had shielded a warder from a comrade’s blow, he would have been made a hero of. But his act was simply humane, it did not promote the State’s ideal; he himself did not attribute it to a sudden inspiration of divine grace; and that was enough to let the man fall into oblivion. Perhaps, six or twelve months were added to his sentence for having stolen — “the State’s property” — the prison’s dress.

[309] The Medical Academy for Women (which has given to Russia a large portion of her 700 graduated lady doctors), the four Ladies’ Universities (about 1,000 pupils in 1887; closed that year, and reopened in 1895), and the High Commercial School for Women are entirely the work of such private societies. To the same societies we owe the high standard which the girls’ gymnasia attained since they were opened in the sixties. The 100 gymnasia now scattered over the Empire (over 70,000 pupils), correspond to the High Schools for Girls in this country; all teachers are, however, graduates of the universities.

[310] The Verein für Verbreitung gemeinnütslicher Kenntnisse, although it has only 5,500 members, has already opened more than 1,000 public and school libraries, organized thousands of lectures, and published most valuable books.

[311] Very few writers in sociology have paid attention to it. Dr. Ihering is one of them, and his case is very instructive. When the great German writer on law began his philosophical work, Der Zweck im Rechte (“Purpose in Law”), he intended to analyze “the active forces which call forth the advance of society and maintain it,” and to thus give “the theory of the sociable man.” He analyzed, first, the egotistic forces at work, including the present wage-system and coercion in its variety of political and social laws; and in a carefully worked-out scheme of his work he intended to give the last paragraph to the ethical forces — the sense of duty and mutual love — which contribute to the same aim. When he came, however, to discuss the social functions of these two factors, he had to write a second volume, twice as big as the first; and yet he treated only of the personal factors which will take in the following pages only a few lines. L. Dargun took up the same idea in Egoismus und Altruismus in der Nationalökonomie, Leipzig, 1885, adding some new facts. Büchner’s Love, and the several paraphrases of it published here and in Germany, deal with the same subject.

[312] Light and Shadows in the Life of an Artisan. Coventry, 1893.

[313] Many rich people cannot understand how the very poor can help each other, because they do not realize upon what infinitesimal amounts of food or money often hangs the life of one of the poorest cLasses. Lord Shaftesbury had understood this terribLe truth when he started his Flowers and Watercress Girls’ Fund, out of which loans of one pound, and only occasionally two pounds, were granted, to enable the girls to buy a basket and flowers when the winter sets in and they are in dire distress. The loans were given to girls who had “not a sixpence,” but never failed to find some other poor to go bail for them. “Of all the movements I have ever been connected with,” Lord Shaftesbury wrote, “I look upon this Watercress Girls’ movement as the most successful.... It was begun in 1872, and we have had out 800 to 1,000 loans, and have not lost 50l. during the whole period.... What has been lost — and it has been very little, under the circumstances — has been by reason of death or sickness, not by fraud” (The Life and Work of the Seventh Earl of Shaftesbury, by Edwin Hodder, vol. iii. p. 322. London, 1885–86). Several more facts in point in Ch. Booth’s Life and Labor in London, vol. i; in Miss Beatrice Potter’s “Pages from a Work Girl’s Diary” (Nineteenth Century, September 1888, p. 310); and so on.

[314] Samuel Plimsoll, Our Seamen, cheap edition, London, 1870, p. 110.

[315] Our Seamen, u.s., p. 110. Mr. Plimsoll added: “I don’t wish to disparage the rich, but I think it may be reasonably doubted whether these qualities are so fully developed in them; for, notwithstanding that not a few of them are not unacquainted with the claims, reasonable or unreasonable, of poor relatives, these qualities are not in such constant exercise. Riches seem in so many cases to smother the manliness of their possessors, and their sympathies become, not so much narrowed as — so to speak — stratified: they are reserved for the sufferings of their own class, and also the woes of those above them. They seldom tend downward much, and they are far more likely to admire an act of courage... than to admire the constantly exercised fortitude and the tenderness which are the daily characteristics of a British workman’s life” — and of the workmen all over the world as well.

[316] Life of the Seventh Earl of Shaftesbury, by Edwin Hodder, vol. i. pp. 137–138.

[317] See Marriage Customs in many Lands, by H.N. Hutchinson, London, 1897.

[318] Many new and interesting forms of these have been collected by Wilhelm Rudeck, Geschichte der öffentlichen Sittlichkeit in Deutschland, analyzed by Durckheim in Annuaire Sociologique, ii. 312.

[319] A Servio Tullio populus romanus relatus in censum, digestus in classes, curiis atque collegiis distributus (E. Martin-Saint Léon, Histoire des corporations de métiers depuis leurs origines jusqu’à leur suppression en 1791, etc., Paris, 1897.

[320] The Roman sodalitia, so far as we may judge (same author, p. 9), corresponded to the Kabyle çofs.

[321] It is striking to see how distinctly this very idea is expressed in the well-known passage of Plutarch concerning Numa’s legislation of the trade-colleges: — “And through this,” Plutarch wrote, “he was the first to banish from the city this spirit which led people to say: ‘I am a Sabine,’ or ‘I am a Roman,’ or ‘I am a subject of Tatius,’ and another: ‘I am a subject of Romulus’” — to exclude, in other words, the idea of different descent.

[322] The work of H. Schurtz, devoted to the “age-classes” and the secret men’s unions during the barbarian stases of civilization (Altersklassen und Männerverbände: eine Darstellung der Grundformen der Gesellschaft, Berlin, 1902), which reaches me while I am reading the proofs of these pages, contains numbers of facts in support of the above hypothesis concerning the origin of guilds. The art of building a large communal house, so as not to offend the spirits of the fallen trees; the art of forging metals, so as to conciliate the hostile spirits; the secrets of hunting and of the ceremonies and mask-dances which render it successful; the art of teaching savage arts to boys; the secret ways of warding off the witchcraft of enemies and, consequently, the art of warfare; the making of boats, of nets for fishing, of traps for animals, and of snares for birds, and finally the women’s arts of weaving and dyeing — all these were in olden times as many “artifices” and “crafts,” which required secrecy for being effective. Consequently, they were transmitted from the earliest times, in secret societies, or “mysteries,” to those only who had undergone a painful initiation. H. Schurtz shows now that savage life is honeycombed with secret societies and “clubs” (of warriors, of hunters), which have as ancient an origin as the marriage “classes” in the clans, and contain already all the elements of the future guild: secrecy, independence from the family and sometimes the clan, common worship of special gods, common meals, jurisdiction within the society and brotherhood. The forge and the boat-house are, in fact, usual dependencies of the men’s clubs; and the “long houses” or “palavers” are built by special craftsmen who know how to conjure the spirits of the fallen trees.

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total-drama-takes-takes-2 · 1 year

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aftermath 2

A flashy intro sequence reading “TTA Aftermath” flashes across the screen as a merry tune plays. A clip montage of scenes from the past four challenges play- mostly the humiliating ones.

The screen glitches, and the camera pans out and down to a swanky studio. Former contestant Patrick is sitting on a suede couch in front of a clearly-cardboard back wall. In the bleachers off to the side are every camper who hasn’t made it back, or who’s been eliminated so far- Courtney, Ass, Julia, Staci, Mal, Frollo, Kelly, Austin, McLovin, Bonnie, Michela, Sha-Mod, and Joner.

Kitty crawls out from under the couch and sits next to Patrick, covered in dust bunnies. He grimaces and scoots away from them. “Welcome back to another riveting episode of the Total Takes Action Aftermath- I’m your host, Patrick, this is my assistant Kitty, and this-”

“A travesty! This is a travesty! Boooo!” A voice from the audience yells. Patrick winces as if listening to nails on a chalkboard. “Down with the Patrickarchy!”

Caesar is standing in front of the audience, holding a picket sign and booing. He throws an apple at Kitty, though they duck at the last second and it hits Julia in the peanut gallery.

“DAMN IT! Give it a rest, Caesar!”

“Never! Not until we dismantle this oppressive system!”

Patrick rolls his eyes and pulls out a remote, pressing a blue button on it. A few burly security guards come out and restrain Caesar, tying him to the guest chair on stage.

He pouts. “It’s not fair! I’m a host! I should be hosting!”

“You snooze you lose, buddy,” Patrick shrugs. “Can someone gag him? We have a schedule to keep, people!”

Kitty beams, running over to Caesar and digging around in their pockets before pulling out a party horn and stuffing it in his mouth, and then tossing a bunch of confetti over him. He blows into the horn weakly.

“Thank you,” Patrick mutters before pulling out a set of freshly minted cue cards. “First on the agenda… hey! HEY! No fraternizing in the peanut gallery!” he stands and points at McLovin and Sha-Mod kissing in the stands. “In the time-out corner!”

The two guards from earlier run up and grab McLovin, carrying him off stage. Michela’s voice rings out weakly from the stands. “Thank you,”

The audience stares at Patrick. “What?” he insists. “Oh- COME ON! I’m not homophobic, I hate everyone equally.”

Kitty nods and the audience murmurs. Caesar spits out the party horn and addresses the audience. “Yes! Yes! Turn against him! I could be host, I’d let those gayboys make out all they want! I-”

Kitty stuffs a handful of candy in his mouth and then scampers back to the couch, sitting next to Patrick.

“Thank you. First on the agenda, we have a little game of Truth or Scare. Let’s see… Joner!”

Joner stands nervously and gives a firm salute. “Sir, yes, sir!” He jogs down to the main stage and awkwardly stands next to Caesar.

“Kitty, bring out the wheel,” Patrick instructs. “The game is simple. Much like the truth or dare of Total Takes Island, on this wheel the peanut gallery has dictated a list of truths- questions you must answer honestly- and I have a list of scares- punishments that will be inflicted if you lie.”

Joner holds up a finger as Kitty rolls out a large spinning wheel on a dolly. “How can you tell if we’re lying or not?”

“Kitty can smell fear,”

They bare their teeth and grin. Joner swallows nervously.

“You’re up,”

He hesitantly inches towards the wheel and puts the tip of his pinky finger on it, shaking in his boots. Michela shouts from the crowd. “You got this!”

He smiles nervously and spins the wheel, landing on a picture of Courtney. He sighs, relieved, and they give him a big thumbs-up from the peanut gallery.

“BO-RING!” Patrick sighs. “Fine. Courtney’s truth is- “Tell us your most exciting memory with a friend.”

Joner relaxes a little. “That’s easy. Miccy and I had to be… five or six. Our families went camping together, and one morning we snuck off super early to catch salamanders. But we ended up getting lost, and it started raining, and it took like three hours for us to get back to camp,”

Ass rolls their eyes. “That’s your most exciting memory?”

“I had an uneventful childhood,” he shrugs before spinning the wheel again. It lands on Staci.

“Staci asks- who’s your secret Total Drama crush?”

The crowd Oohs and Joner blushes. “I don’t think I really have one,”

Patrick turns to Kitty, who nods. He pulls another stack of cue cards from his coat and shuffles them slowly before drawing one from the deck. “Ah, Max’s punishment, may he rest in peace-”

“He’s not dead,” Michela says from the crowd.

Ass scoffs. “As far as we know,”

“-Spend fifteen minutes in a sound-proof chamber with Julia and a beaver on steroids,”

Julia stands. “WHAT!”

The security guards return again and haul the two off stage. Patrick smiles and waves good-bye, and then turns to Kitty. “I am so glad we hired those guys. Let’s see, what’s next… Sha-Mod, care to take the hot seat?”

He hesitates. “Um. By hot seat you mean the interview chair and not a seat that sets on fire, right?”

“No. Of course not. That would be a hazard. Our chair heats up like an electric oven,” Patrick smiles, watching Kitty pull a lever. The seat drops from the ceiling and crashes into the ground, indenting the floor. Sha-Mod gulps.

“No? Suit yourself. Michela, you-”

“No comment,” she crosses her arms and leans back against the bleachers.

“But you-”

“I said no comment,” she snaps. “I don’t have anything to regret, no secrets, no rumors, no gossip, no lies, I did my bit and I went out protecting someone I love. What do you want from me, a poem?”

“Ugh,” Patrick rolls his eyes. “As much as I hate to admit that anyone but me is right, I’ll pass on the mushy-gushy romance story. Sha-Mod, you’re back up!”

“Why me?!” Sha-Mod shouts. “I’ll just tell my romance story, too!”

“Do you need incentive? Kitty, the screen,” Kitty presses another button on the remote and the massive TV screen lowers above their heads again. “Show him the time-out corner.”

The screen fizzles to life and cuts to live footage of McLovin suspended by rope in the air, dangling above a massive shark tank. Patrick smiles, at peace with the world. Sha-Mod grimaces.

“And for the low, low price of 3rd degree burns, we’ll set McLovin free!”

“Fine!” Sha-Mod huffs. He stands and sits in the hot seat next to Caesar, who finishes chewing the sticky candy just as he settles in.

“You know, Sha-Mod, if you help me overthrow Patrick and Kitty, I can put an end to this James Bond villain crap,” Caesar says. “I’ll let you co-host if you want!”

Sha-Mod holds up a hand. “I’m okay,” he turns to Patrick as Caesar sighs. “So, what’s the deal? Do I have to pull out my teeth or something?”

Patrick crosses his legs and pulls out a notebook. “Not at all- this is free-flowing therapy. I’ll say a word, and you’ll say the first response that pops into your head. While this chair heats to degrees hot enough to cook an egg on. If you can survive just one measly minute in the hot seat, we’ll let McLovin go,”

The screen continues to play live footage of the time-out corner. The peanut gallery turns to each other. “Is anyone going to do anything about that?” Courtney asks. Michela shrugs.

Finally, a single hero stands amongst the crowd. “I’m on it, baby!” Austin says, striking a heroic pose before losing his balance and falling off the stands. Courtney sighs.

“Ready?” Patrick asks. Sha-Mod nods.

“Dolphin,”

“...Ocean,”

“Speedboat,”

“Ocean?”

“2 million dollars in cash,”

“Um- I thought it was only supposed to be one word-”

“Airplane,”

“Musicals…?”

“Hijacking,”

“Um… wait-”

“D.B. Cooper,”

“Hold on-”

The peanut gallery’s attention is diverted from the disaster on stage to the screen- as Patrick and Kitty are obliviously talking to Sha-Mod, Austin stumbles his way into the time-out room and says something to McLovin. He then stands at the edge of the tank, trying to grab the boy without hanging over the water. He resembles a cat batting at a toy more than a hero.

Still, the audience and peanut gallery alike watch as the rescue goes down, and eventually, Austin just falls in the water long enough to distract the sharks. The rope holding McLovin snaps and he falls in, but the binds come undone and he swims out, eventually followed by a wet, pathetic Austin. The peanut gallery cheers and Patrick finally turns to the board. “What the-”

Caesar manages to wiggle out of his binds as Patrick is distracted and he lunges on him like a tiger attacking a deer.

Kitty winces at the commotion and smiles at the camera. “We’ll be right back!”

---

When the commercial break closes off, the studio is quiet. Patrick is now the one bound and gagged in the guest seat, and Caesar is fixing his hair in the reflection of the shiny glass table in front of him.

He looks up. “We’re back? Oh- we’re back, ladies and gentlemen! I’m your new host, Caesar Flickerman, and this is Total Takes Action: The Aftermath! I’m here with some questions from the audience to close off today’s episode- but don’t worry, we’ll be back soon after,” he winks. “Alright, let’s start off with the disgraced former contestants… Julia?”

Julia sits in the stands, covered in scratches and bites, one side of her hair completely sticking up. She crosses her arms and glares.

“Mary M says: Hey, Julia. Imagine losing to McLovin of all people. Couldn’t be me. You should be disappointed in yourself." What an inspired take!"

She rolls her eyes, and refuses to answer.

“Okay- next one, from an anonymous user, open to anyone- “How was spending time with Fren on the playa de losers? is he as rude and loud as he is in his original songs? or is he as nice as he is on his social media?””

“He’s… fine, I guess,” Courtney shrugs.

“He’s a liar is what he is,” Ass murmurs, then turns to the camera. “By the way, Fren, there’s no way you were working at a law firm in elementary school- yeah, I looked it up!”

Staci looks up from her phone. “Who?”

“Yeahhh, I don’t think this is the right demographic to ask. The people Fren was friends with at the ‘casa’ are all still in the game,” Michela says. “Unless…?” she turns back to the peanut gallery and everyone shrugs

Staci squeals. “OMG, Zoey just liked my comment on Instagram!”

“Oookay,” Caesar says. “Well, enough about you people. Time for questions about ME!”

The peanut gallery groans in unison. Bonnie balances their head in the palms of their hands and hunches forward, looking off into the distance. Julia leans forward. “Woke up on the wrong side of the coffin?”

“Shut up,”

“Don’t even bother,” Ass says to Julia, crossing their arms. “You might as well be talking to a Halloween decoration.”

Julia rolls her eyes. “I’m just asking. Sue me!” She turns back to Bonnie. “You and Salad Dressing over there haven’t spoken since he got back, have you?”

“I’m not talking to you,”

“He’s been so busy with the show, he hasn’t even bothered to hunt you down?”

Julia suddenly yelps as Courtney grabs her wrist and yanks her back into her seat. “Watch it,”

The blonde rolls her eyes and scoffs, trying to play off the ordeal by fixing her hair.

“Alright, this first one comes from River: “To Caesar: bro, I thought you were going to sweep. This is so heartbreaking,” Well, that makes two of us!” Caesar chuckles. The audience laughs. “But honestly, I’m in my prime here. What would you rather have- a million measly dollars (minus tax), or a lifetime of luxury from lawsuits and appearance fees? Fame, baby!”

The audience cheers. Ass looks around. “How does he keep getting people to react?!”

“Host charisma,” Bonnie sighs and stares ahead blankly.

“Next up, from Caesar Fan- aw- “I miss you.” Well, Caesar Fan, I’ve missed me, too,” Caesar flicks through the papers. “Can you drop the hair or skin care routine?” Well, I’m afraid to say that’s a trade secret.” He winks.

“Egg yolks and aloe moisturizer!” Julia yells. “What? I could smell it on the island.”

Caesar huffs and rolls his eyes. “Funny you’d butt in, Julia, because this one is for us,” Julia gags. “Again from River- “Who slays more between the two of you. Can we have a contest to determine that? Please.” What an inspired question! Now, I actually took the liberty of taking a quick poll…”

The overhead screen lowers again and a graphic appears in bright blue. “75% of poll takers responded on my behalf, leaving a measly 25% for Julia,”

The audience Oohs.

She stands. “WHAT! You people seriously can’t believe this! He obviously just made those statistics up!”

“Really?” Caesar chuckles. “Let’s show some testimonials from the field.”

The screen crackles to static and then refocuses on the image of a young teenager behind a microphone on a crowded city street.

The cameraman asks an indistinct question and the girl laughs. “How is that even a question? Of course, Caesar!”

Static- another teenager on a different street. “I feel like that’s a pretty subjective question… but that’s the point, huh? I guess I’d have to say Caesar, but I’m biased,”

Static- a boy inside a coffee shop. “Um… well, I haven’t seen the show in a while, but I guess the guy, even though that’s kinda gay,”

Static- an awkward, braces-riddled preteen. He grins widely. “Definitely Julia! She’s so hot!”

The screen turns off and Caesar smiles victoriously. Julia is frozen in place, a wild look on her. Her eye twitches and she suddenly lunges forward. Caesar screams and the screen goes black.

---

Fade in.

Julia is now sitting on the suede couch, smiling with her hands in her lap. Caesar is handcuffed to a radiator across the room, his hair a mess.

“Welcome back. I’m your new-new host, Julia, and this is Total Takes Action: Aftermath,” she stands and begins pacing the room. “Before our break, we had a really annoying shift in tone, and I’m here to right that!”

“So you’re on my side!” Patrick says, still tied to the chair across the room.

“No! You’re both idiots, and I’m only doing this to teach you two peacocks a lesson in humility!” Julia snaps, then smiles. “That’s my speciality.”

“You can’t keep me here forever! Kitty will find me!”

“Ooooh, I don’t know about that,” Caesar chuckles. “We might have given Kitty an all-day pass to the aquarium.”

Patrick’s eyes narrow. “Kitty is banned from the aquarium,”

“A little bribe can go a long way! Ah-ha… like I said, I’m a very thorough planner,”

“BOTH OF YOU SHUT UP!” Julia yells. “God, I am so sick of you guys! Constantly trying to show off and out-swagger each other. You’re both lame, move on!” She takes a deep breath, and then smiles again. “And to punish you, I’ve planned a little something myself.”

“Man, that girl is evil,” McLovin whispers to the peanut gallery.

All the fem-aligned people turn to him. Kelly scoffs. “I didn’t realize you had a problem with women in power!”

Staci nods. “Um, yeah, like she’s totally girlbossing, and this is so going on my blog,”

“Too late!” Mal says. “I’m already streaming this. Julia is so trending on Twitter now!”

Bonnie puts their head in their hands and Michela pats their shoulder reassuringly.

Julia suddenly turns to the pair, pointing out an accusing finger. “BONNIBEL!”

Bonnie jumps, the lights on stage dimming and a spotlight falling over them. “How did you-”

“Oh, please, I have access to a lot of files,” Julia rolls her eyes. She looks back to the chair. “Um, hot tip, Patty- maybe don’t make all your passwords your first name. Anyway… let’s give the audience what they asked for, right? I know all of us… and you… have been very curious as to what’s going on in paradise.”

Bonnie turns bright red and avoids eye contact. Caesar’s eyes widen from across the room and he hisses as the radiator turns on.

“Question number one,” Julia pulls a small garbage bin out from under the table and takes a crumpled ball of paper out of it. “This comes from River- “Can you guys PLEASE talk about what you guys got going on. Please.””

Caesar coughs awkwardly. Bonnie looks down and speaks quietly. “That was in the trash?”

“Hey, don’t look at me,” Patrick says. “You know I love psychological torture as much as the next guy.”

The lavender-haired prisoner sighs. “Listen, I… I didn’t want us to go through this in front of all these people. I just… well, I know you like dealing with things on your own,”

“Is… that why you’ve been avoiding me?”

Julia grins widely and sits back on the couch, enjoying the show. The entire peanut gallery is still, though Mal is moving her phone from speaker to speaker across the room.

“A part of the reason,” Caesar sighs again. “I just figured you would need some time to adjust to… well, everything. I’m still figuring out where I stand on all this myself- the show, the aftermath, our friends, our enemies…” he turns to Julia and glares. “And myself! I still don’t know what’s right for me.”

“You were doing okay at hosting this,” Bonnie says. Patrick laughs and they glare, but ignore him. “You seem to know what you’re doing most of the time.”

“You seem to know what you’re doing most of the time!”

A blanket of deeply uncomfortable silence falls over the studio. Patrick is humming something to himself and Julia is filing her nails with a big smile on her face.

“Maybe we don’t really know each other that well,” Caesar says. “But… that doesn’t mean either of us are doing anything wrong.”

“What does it mean, then?”

“It means that we still have a lot to talk about. And maybe… avoiding the subject and making assumptions about each other isn’t the right way to handle that,” Caesar smiles slightly. “Maybe we should stop putting this off.”

“So?” Julia asks, flicking away her nail file. “Where’s the chorus? The goo-goo eyes? Where are the rose petals, people!”

An intern walks out by the radiator Caesar is cuffed to with a small basket and dumps a few flower petals over his head. “Thank you!” Julia yells from off-screen.

“No, no, this is all wrong,” Caesar sighs, massaging his temples with his free hand. “This isn’t for us! Love you all to pieces, but we’re not Max and Michela, or Sha-Mod and that other one.”

“Well,” Bonnie fidgets nervously, twirling their thumbs around each other. “What are we?”

“I don’t know,” Caesar says, almost confidently. “I’ve been avoiding the subject because I don’t know! But does that really matter?”

“It doesn’t matter to me,” Bonnie says, standing in the peanut gallery. “Why do we even have to be anything to be taken seriously? Why is everyone so obsessed with this whole gotcha moment?”

Julia rolls her eyes as one intern fans her with a palm leaf and another pours her a glass of lemonade.

“We don’t have to be anything!” Caesar insists, the handcuffs rattling against the radiator. “And if we are, maybe we’re something new entirely.”

“Something new?” Bonnie thinks for a moment, and then they sigh. “Listen… I’m not very good at understanding my feelings. I think we all know that.”

The peanut gallery participants look away nervously. They continue: “I don’t know how to put words to things, but I know I hate feeling like I’m supposed to feel a certain way. People put these crazy expectations on me, and then I get mad at myself when I can’t live up to them! It sucks!”

Caesar hangs his head a little and looks at the floor.

“But… you’re important to me,” Bonnie continues. “And I’m pretty [CENSORED] tired of trying to put words to that.”

Caesar breathes a sigh of relief. “God, me too,”

“Boooo! Boring!” Julia yells. Patrick joins her. “Get a room!”

A few of the peanut gallery members look to each other and nod, then rise from their seats and calmly walk across the stage.

“Hey!” Julia yells as Courtney and Michela grab her arms and start dragging her out of the room. “Hey! Wait!”

“Watch it!” Patrick hisses as Staci drags him out of the chair. “I break out when I’m stressed!”

Kelly rolls their eyes and slings him over their shoulder. Staci takes a selfie with Patrick’s flustered face and giggles. “This is gonna do numbers on my blog!”

The struggling hosts disappear backstage and are thrown into the soundproof chamber together. Julia screams in frustration and starts beating on the door.

Ass turns off the overhead monitor with a smirk and sits back down. The peanut gallery returns to their seats, with the exception of Sha-Mod and McLovin, who are busy trying to lock-pick Caesar’s handcuffs.

“I think you’re supposed to hear a click!” McLovin says, using a toothpick to shove around the keyhole.

Sha-Mod moves his ear against the cuffs and winces at the sound of a snap. He stands up as McLovin pulls out half a toothpick. “Oops,”

“Give me that,” Michela says, shoving between the two. She inspects the cuffs and then nods. “Joner, give me the tool box.”

Joner scurries over with a red metal box and sets it at her feet. She flips open the lid and pulls out a screwdriver. “Let’s hope you’ve been working on those arms,” she mutters to Caesar.

Bonnie winces at the sound of metal scraping against wood as Caesar walks over to the peanut gallery, dragging the radiator behind him. He sighs.

“Well. This is humiliating,”

The crowd turns to the left as the sound of arguing and struggling follows, and Courtney drags out Julia and Patrick behind them.

“Watch it, these glasses are expensive!”

“If I break out, it’ll be on your hands, freak!”

“SHUT IT!” Courtney snaps. The two are so scared at the sound of them raising their voice they both immediately go slack. “Now, don’t you two have something to say?”

They both cross their arms and grumble. “We’re sorry, Caesar,”

Julia continues. “You’re a good host,”

“And if you want to host the show… I guess I’ll allow it,”

Caesar smiles and places a hand over his heart. “Well, I accept your apology, and I accept your offer,” he then turns to Bonnie, holding their hand and getting down on one knee. “Bonnie… you are the most important person in my life, and this is probably the highest honor I can ask of anyone… will you be my co-host?”

Bonnie smiles. “I accept,”

The peanut gallery cheers as Bonnie and Caesar shake hands. A few producers in black suits come out from backstage with clipboards and papers to sign.

“But don’t expect us to be happy with this change,” Julia says, crossing her arms. “We’re going to be fighting you every step of the way.”

“I look forward to it!”

“You better not!” she snaps, balling her hands into fists. “Cause we’re working as a team now!”

Patrick puts a hand on Julia’s shoulder. “See, while we were locked in the sound-proof chamber together, Jules and I realized we have a lot in common…”

“Goals, enemies, skincare routines…”

“And we figured that if you and Bonnibel over here are going to chum it up, why can’t we?”

Courtney shudders. “God, you don’t mean-”

“That’s right,” they hold hands. “We’re an item now.”

Ass gags. Michela winces, even Frollo looks disturbed from the backstage corner he’s been reading his Bible in all episode.

Only Caesar doesn’t look bothered. “I only have one thing to say to you two- bring it on!”

The pairs glare at each other and the audience goes silent before the sound of the back doors opening catches their attention. Two police officers walk in with a drenched, handcuffed Kitty.

“Is this yours?”

#aftermath #tta #total takes action

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stephenjaymorrisblog · 4 months

Text

Suckers, Morons, and Other Types of

Trump Supporters

Stephen Jay Morris

6/2/2024

©Scientific morality.

America may be the greatest country in the world, but its patriots are the dumbest people in the universe! What did P.T. Barnum say? “No man ever went broke overestimating the ignorance of the American Public.” Trump may be the first canonized patron saint of the Protestant Church. He became the first convicted felon, former president in the history of the USA; and what do his supporters do? Send him money! Lots of money!! One of them posted on X that he’d canceled his vacation and sent the money to Trump to help fight his legal battles. Five thousand dollars!

Then there is the religious factor—the docile followers of Christianity in small town America. The pastor behind the pulpit, the direct line from God, that his flock believes, unquestionably, everything he says. The pastor who gets visited from God, every night, and receives instructions directly from Him. If you dare to question his word, you are a demon from hell trying to sabotage the word of God! Would that be me? I am from hell, otherwise known as East Hollywood. Nah!

People who are brainwashed, particularly those in cults, have minds impervious to truth. You can show them factual evidence, photos, recordings, documents, and they still don’t believe that which is real. What can you do about it? Not much. Truth be known, Trump donated millions to the White protestant church with the proviso, “Tell them God sent me.” His suckers believed it, hook, line, and sinker! I’ve said it a million times before: that is why conservatives are anti-public education. They’d rather your children sit in a Christian classroom, watching Prager U videos; that or adhere to home schooling. Yeah, that is a rich concept. Having stupid parents teaching their naive children to be ignorant, like they are! Keep them stupid, Jesus! That’s the stuff! What is so hilarious is that Trump tells them, right to their faces, that they are idiots. And they think he’s correct! This is the relationship between the oppressors and the oppressed. The oppressor metes out punishment while the meek assumes masochistic pleasure from the master’s whip. Deep down, however, they don’t enjoy getting whipped; they are conditioned to be masochistic. When you substitute normal sex with violence, you get one decadent, fucked up society!

Now, this thing that progressives and liberals are whining about, losing our Democracy to Fascists, I beg the question: Did we ever have democracy? Ask the Native Americans. Ask the former slaves. Ask the women who were told to shut up. Ask the workers who got shot by anti-union thugs while picketing their factory. Ask the victims of Gay bashing. Ask millions of victims. Fuck you! America did have its victims.

Now, my main message here is: I am from the far, extreme, fringe, hard core left. Some pea brain righties think that equates to communists. That shows what ignoramuses they all are! As an anarchist, I ask: do you really think that we, on the extreme left, would cry ugly on the chance that Trump gets elected? On the contrary, we would celebrate by smoking pounds of weed! You just don’t get it! The sad fact is that Trump had four fucking years to establish a fascist state. Did he? Hell, no! Will he succeed next time around? No. Never. He is too stupid to conceive of the essence of a fascist state, let alone create one. He is a slave to his overblown ego. He would never garner the support of the U.S. military or the American people to actualize it.

If you don’t vote for Biden, the lesser of the two evils, then fascism will certainly be worse under Trump. Biden fascism will be a moderate fascism. But go ahead, vote for a third-party candidate, or vote for Trump. See what happens.

Now something unforeseen could occur before election day. One objective factor for your consideration is that average life expectancy for a man is 72 to 74 years. Both candidates are way past that range. There is that. Then, there is the mid-east crisis. That could devolve into the Third World War. And let’s not forget the Climate Crisis, which is rapidly escalating as you read this. Tornadoes could wipe out Texas, a flood could bury Florida beneath the sea. Let’s not ignore the possibility of assassinations, or a viral pandemic, either of which may cancel the election.

Hopefully nothing catastrophic will happen and all will proceed as normal. Biden gets re-elected and then dies of natural causes during his term; Vice President Kamala Harris becomes the first woman to become president.

So, over the next few months, enjoy life. Go on vacation instead of giving your hard-earned vacation money to a candidate.

#stephenjaymorris #poets on tumblr #american politics #youtube #anarchism #poets of tumblr #baby boomers #anarchopunk #anarchocommunism #anarcocapitalismo #anarcho punk #anarcho primitivism #anarchofeminism #trumpsucks #trump 2024 #fuck trump #traitor trump

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themculibrary · 9 months

Text

70k Masterlist

part two

Amaryllis (ao3) - paperstorm steve/bucky E, 70k

Summary: So do I remind you of someone you’ve never met, a lonely silhouette? And do I remind you of somewhere you want to be, so far out of reach? I wish you’d open up for me, ‘cause I want to know you … amaryllis bloom. // In 19th century Europe, Bucky and Steve are members of neighboring royal families. Steve is the heir to a throne he does not want, and Bucky is the neglected third child waiting to be married off and forgotten about. Trapped in unhappy lives by seemingly immovable circumstances, they find a way out in each other.

Blue Eyes To Hell (ao3) - SmutConnoisseur steve/bucky E, 74k

Summary: Bucky lives a humdrum life in the suburbs and can't wait to see what lies beyond white picket fences and routine. But, unfortunately, his world will soon turn upside down when he meets a young man named Steve Rogers, a goody-two-shoes with the eyes of an angel but a mouth made to sin.

Born For This - Capsicle2013 steve/tony M, 71k

Summary: Being an Avenger was something he always wanted, but for some reason his parents didn't want that for him. He just wishes they could see what he sees.

catching bullets in our teeth - anothercover clint/natasha M, 77k

Summary: Retirement, it turns out, is not a thing that Clint is adjusting to very well. Or, you know, at all. It didn’t occur to him that when he dropped the team, it would mean he’d lose Natasha, too.

[Begins pre-CACW, through the events of it, and into the aftermath. Otherwise known as: the slow-burn divorce fic we didn’t know we needed.]

Do I Deserve This? (ao3) - id_rather_be_reading_3 T, 72k

Summary: When the Avengers find a malnourished, traumatized, enhanced teen in a Hydra base, they manage to convince SHIELD that the kid is better off in the Compound than the SHIELD Headquarters.

Peter Parker thinks his luck might finally be changing for the better, until he hears a conversation between Captain America and Iron Man that terrifies him--if the superheroes find out that Peter was an assassin for Hydra, he feels certain they'll kick him out--or worse, send him to the Raft for a punishment he surely deserves.

Can the Spider manage to keep his bloodied past a secret from a room full of mind readers, spies and military? It'll certainly prove harder than he'd thought.

Family is What You Make It (ao3) - GoringWriting tony/stephen N/R, 74k

Summary: When Tony is left in that Siberian bunker it's not Pepper or Rhodey, or even Vision that find him. It's a Hydra team. Tony resigns himself to being their science experiment when he's rescued by an unlikely team and he finds out that family is what you make it and along the way he manages to gain some allies, friends, and maybe something more.

Fire and Water for Your Love (ao3) - dragongirlG steve/bucky E, 77k

Summary: When the Avengers investigate an abandoned HYDRA base on behalf of S.H.I.E.L.D., they unexpectedly encounter a dark-haired man with a torn metal arm, who leads them to an even more shocking discovery deeper inside the base. The Avengers must reconcile what they have found with the lies S.H.I.E.L.D. has been telling for decades.

Four (Or Five) Reasons for Kidnapping Tony Stark - scifigrl47 steve/tony, clint/phil T, 78k

Summary: There are four reasons for kidnapping Tony Stark. Tony's sick of all of them. Well, there's potentially a fifth, but it's highly unlikely that Captain America will suddenly fulfill THAT fantasy. Tony's deeply disappointed about that.

Steve Rogers, as always, is oblivious. At least, that is, until someone who isn't him kidnaps Tony. Then he's just pissed.

Good Boys Don't Gamble On Love (ao3) - thelittlestpurplecat steve/bucky E, 79k

Summary: Bucky couldn't remember a time when he hadn't been involved with the STRIKE fraternity on campus. They were a bunch of assholes, but they were really all he had, and they'd wagered a bet for a prize Bucky couldn't refuse. But in order to win, he had to be the first to fuck the tiny, gorgeous, blond freshmen, and he was competing against every other guy in the fraternity.

It was just a bet. A stupid bet.

Sure, it was mean, but no one was gonna get hurt...right?

In The Details (ao3) - Nonymos clint/bruce E, 79k

Summary: Being a hero with no superpowers kind of sucks. Clint Barton feels out of place in the Avenger Tower; Hawkeye feels out of place in his Brooklyn apartment. It's not hell though. He's got friends on both sides of his life, and he never gets bored. Still – there's this deep loneliness inside him that nothing can seem to cure.

After the whole Loki business, both sides of Clint feel a little out of step, and he tries to avoid aliens and giant monsters and world crisis in a whole. Problem is, he's not the only one to exist on several scales.

And who better than Bruce Banner to teach someone about dual nature.

In the Stillness of Remembering (ao3) - elise_509 steve/tony E, 70k

Summary: Steve Rogers is a reminder of a past that Tony Stark would rather forget. But when Steve’s own ghosts suddenly become the present, Tony finds he and Steve need each other to face the future.

It's Our Pleasure (ao3) - NotEvenCloseToStraight steve/bucky/tony E, 71k

Summary: Steve Rogers is not a typical Dom and Bucky is a Switch choosing to submit for his Captain. Together they have a love that breaks rules and flaunts expectations, and when they see a beautiful sub being mistreated by his Dom, Bucky and Steve break another rule and interfere.

Tony is a sub bound to Old World protocol-- seen but not heard, there for Ty's pleasure alone, regarded as half a person without his Dom--and Tony thinks that life is normal.

Or at least, he thinks its normal until he meets Bucky and Steve.

Bucky has more freedom than Tony could imagine and Steve's only wish as Dom is to take care of his subs, and when both Dom and Switch fall for Tony, they make it clear there's room for him in their arms and hearts.

First they have to deal with Ty though, first they have to free Tony from an abusive Dom and a history of hurt, and that won't be easy.

But Tony's ready. He's ready to move on and reclaim his life, ready to take a chance on something new, and ready to learn the beauty of willing submission with Bucky, and the truth of a caring Dom in Steve.

Pavlov was a Jerk (ao3) - BeneficialAddiction clint/phil E, 77k

Summary: Clint Barton: World's Greatest Marksman, submissive, high-functioning disaster.

When Clint comes in to SHIELD he's been on his own for almost four years, and he's been keeping himself level using conditioning techniques he's learned from a lifetime of abuse and neglect. Phil Coulson is the first to notice the imbalance – Clint's system seems to be all punishment, no rewards - but Phil's tastes aren't exactly average and it's none of his business anyway. Certain that what he wants is not at all congruent with what Clint deserves Phil keeps his distance, until a mission gone wrong sends the archer tumbling into an nasty case of subdrop and neither of them have any other choice but to take a chance on the other.

Revenant (ao3).- stele3 steve/bucky M, 73k

Summary: Post-movie AU in which Bucky didn’t just leave Steve on a river bank...he took him.

Take Me Home (ao3) - dabblingwithwords steve/bucky, pepper/tony M, 78k

Summary: “I’m so sorry, I’m gonna help you I promise, just don’t move, fuck, I ran over Captain America–” the man apologized, over and over, and all Steve managed to say was, “You’re really attractive,” before passing out on the guy’s lap in the middle of the road.

The Soldier's Revenge (ao3) - LeeHan steve/bucky E, 76k

Summary: Bucky Barnes turns himself in to SHIELD two years after dragging Captain America out of the Potomac River. He was deprogrammed in Wakanda and has been hunting down Hydra ever since, but he needs help if he wants to take proper revenge on his captors. He turns to his old enemies: SHIELD and the Avengers, but it'll take more than a few words to win their trust after the Winter Soldier brought SHIELD to its knees not long before. Now at SHIELD's mercy, the only thing that stands between Bucky and his revenge is the approval of Captain Rogers: a self-righteous asshole that Bucky barely knows.

Through The Glass (ao3) - dentalfloss pre-slash clint/phil T, 70k

Summary: “Thoughts, Coulson?” Fury asked, finger tapping idly on Barton’s file.

“He’s dangerous. He has trust issues that we may not be able to breach, he will not like working with others, he will lie to us about his motivations every chance he gets and, most likely, be successful every time.” Coulson’s gaze drifted back to the empty chair Barton had chosen earlier, boxed in the corner yet protected on as many sides as possible. “It won’t be easy, but if we can win his loyalty he has the potential to be the asset we’re looking for.”

Fury agreed, though neither of them would ever dream that they already had Barton’s loyalty, or that the price it cost was so steep.

Triple Espresso (ao3) - FestiveFerret steve/bucky/tony E, 72k

Summary: Everything is going great for Steve. He loves his boyfriend, his apartment, his pets. He finally has some opportunities to share his artwork, the coffee shop he manages is doing well, and Bucky is about to finish his exams, which means no more night shifts. It finally feels like life is on track.

And then Tony Stark walks into the cafe and everything goes off the rails.

Winter Undone (ao3) - DCAngst steve/bucky T, 74k

Summary: What if, after the Endgame battle, Dr. Strange used the time stone to save Tony and undo 80 years of Hydra for Bucky? In other words, 1945 Bucky ends up in 2023 and has to come to terms with…a lot.

Withering Away (ao3) - GalaxyThreads T, 73k

Summary: Thor failed. He failed his family, his people, his friends, and drinking solves nothing. When the Avengers arrive to initiate their plan, they find a much different Thor. One who’s only willing to agree on one condition: When they get the Tesseract, it will be on the Statesmen, and Thor will bring back Loki with him. (Fix-it) (No slash, no smut) Avengers as family! Whump!

#themculibrary #masterlists #marvel #mcu #70k #70k masterlist #superlong

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aminta · 2 years

Text

the "kim gets with a new guy and has little babies and jimmy sees her with her new family" theory bugs me SO much. like what would it accomplish? she stresses so much over how the last thing she wanted in life was the white picket fence lifestyle with the 1.5 kids and a plain vanilla husband. her whole life she's strived for "more," for something beyond the bland future she had lying ahead of her in Nebraska. The way i see it, her finding someone else would be the equivalent of her marrying the guy running the Hinky Dinky like she mentions before. And in the entire frame of the story, it just doesnt make sense to me why the show would bother to show us that. In what way would that wrap up a satisfying narrative? There's no message to be found there beyond driving the salt into Jimmys sound, as well as betraying who Kim fundamentally is as a character.

That theory does her such a injustice when it comes to how she truly behaves as a person. What about Kim shows that she would be able to move on so quickly from their love and relationship? She and Jimmy were fairly codependent-- neither had any other close friends or family, and it took them YEARS to build up that rapport to where they were when the finally went steady in season two. He's all she had, and with him gone, she'd be truly isolated. I just can't see her character so willing to jump into another relationship in the span of four years or so, especially with the way she and Jimmy broke things off. At the end of 609, she is still very much in love with Jimmy. It'd be different if they left things on awful, hateful terms, but they both adore one another. She removed herself from the equation as a punishment. Why would she do that just to throw herself into another romance?

Even Jimmy, in the Breaking Bad timeline, is still so clearly haunted by her absence. With how intertwined and in tune the two of them were, I can only imagine she would be struggling the same way.

#bcs #op #6b spoilers #im not even addressing the kid part because its so mindblowingly awful. whenever i joke about mcbabies i am ONLY being satirical

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reading-writing-revolution · 3 years

Quote

Prosecutors have allowed misdemeanor defendants to plead to one of four charges applied to those who went into the Capitol but did not engage in violence or destruction. Thus far, nearly all have chosen “parading, demonstrating or picketing inside the Capitol building,” a “petty offense” that carries a punishment of at most six months in jail and a fine of up to $5,000. The crime also does not require defendants to admit they trespassed or attempted to block the peaceful transition of power. Judge asks why Capitol rioters are paying just $1.5 million for attack Hundreds have been accused of obstructing an official proceeding, a felony charge punishable by up to 20 years in prison. But another federal judge has warned that the Justice Department needs to better explain its rationale for using that charge.

Are Capitol riot defendants being treated too leniently? - The Washington Post

If we’re expecting some kind of justice, swift or not, we’re not going to find it here. Deterrence - definitely not, as long as a slap on the wrist is the only penalty. What’s the point of the plea deal? To expedite things? Certainly not to ensure that the punishment fits the crime. There is the undeniable possibility that any of those yahoos who showed up that day could have tipped the scales and succeeded in capturing Congress and violating the certification of ballots. Does the DOJ not understand the gravity of the situation or the power of penalty to deter another, more organized, more successful attempt later? Deterrence is at least half the point of punishment, am I wrong? I feel like we’re failing at justice when it counts.

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chiseler · 3 years

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The House of D

As one of his final acts in office, Mayor Jimmy Walker broke ground in 1932 for the New York City House of Detention for Women, built on the site of the old Jefferson Market jail in Greenwich Village and colloquially known as the House of D. According to sociologist Sara Harris’ Hellhole (on John Waters’ list of recommended reading), It was intended as a model of prison reform. Opened in 1934, the twelve-story monolith of brownish brick with art deco flourishes loomed behind the old Jefferson Market courthouse on Sixth Avenue, looking more like a stylish if somewhat cheerless apartment building than a prison. Windows were meshed instead of barred, and the one sign on its exterior merely gave the address, “Number Ten Greenwich Avenue.” There were toilets and hot and cold running water in all four hundred cells, and it was going to focus on rehabilitating its inmates – prostitutes, vagrants, alcoholics and/or drug addicts – rather than merely punishing them. From the start the reality was at variance with the intentions, and the facility quickly became infamous as a combination of Bedlam and Bastille. Within a decade it was chronically overcrowded with a volatile mix of inmates: women who couldn’t make bail awaiting trials that were sometimes months off, women already convicted and serving time, alcoholics and addicts, the mentally ill, violent lesbian tops, street gang girls, hookers and other lifelong multiple offenders, and teenagers spending their first nights behind bars. Tougher, more experienced prisoners brutalized and sexually assaulted the weak and inexperienced. So, of course, did the staff. The halls rang with the howls of inmates suffering the agonies of drug or alcohol withdrawal. There were cockroaches and mice in the cells and worms in the food. Village lesbians called it the Country Club and the Snake Pit. The IWW organizer Elizabeth Gurley Flynn did time in the House of D, as did accused spy Ethel Rosenberg and Warhol shooter Valerie Solanas. In 1957, Dorothy Day, founder of the Catholic Worker movement, spent thirty days there for staying on the street during a civil defense air raid drill. Her ban-the-bomb supporters picketed outside every day from noon to two; the Times called them “possibly the most peaceful pickets in the city.”

Despite its bland exterior, the House of D made its presence very known in the neighborhood through the daily ritual of inmates yelling out the windows or down from the exercise area on the roof to the boyfriends, girlfriends, dealers and pimps perpetually loitering on the Greenwich Avenue sidewalk – a carnivalesque Village tradition for almost forty years. Waters first caught the spectacle in the early 1960s. “It was amazing. No one can ever imagine what that was like. All the hookers would be screaming out the windows, ‘Hey Jimbo!’ And all the pimps would be down on the sidewalk yelling stuff.” Writer and film producer Jeremiah Newton initially encountered it at around the same time. “It was this huge, monolithic building, looking like the building the Morlocks dragged the Time Machine into, and the girls were always yelling down, screaming obscenities and throwing things out the window. It was the biggest building there. I sat on a stoop watching the people walk by. I’d never seen anything quite like it before.” The Village writer Grace Paley lived near the facility in the 1950s and 1960s, and walked her kids past it regularly. She wrote that “we would often have to thread our way through whole families calling up – bellowing, screaming up to the third, seventh, tenth floor, to figures, shadows behind bars and screened windows, How you feeling? Here’s Glena. She got big. Mami mami, you like my dress? We gettin you out baby. New lawyer come by.”

Women arrested at antiwar rallies during the Vietnam era found themselves locked up in the House of D with the hookers, junkies, crazies and butch lesbians. On Saturday, February 20 1965, two eighteen-year-old college students, Lisa Goldrosen of Bard and Andrea Dworkin of Bennington, were arrested during an antiwar protest at the UN and sent to the House of D. There, they later testified, they were brutally mistreated and humiliated by male doctors “examining” them for venereal diseases, and forced constantly to fend off the rough advances of other inmates. They were not allowed to use a telephone until Monday. That March, the New York Post ran an exposé based on their testimony. They didn’t experience anything other women hadn’t for thirty years by then, but in the 1960s those other inmates were overwhelmingly poor black and Hispanic women. Dworkin and Goldrosen were white, middle-class college coeds. As so often happens, that’s what it took to generate public outrage.

When Grace Paley herself was arrested at another war protest some months later, she was detained in the facility. Conditions had slightly improved in light of the outcry the Post had stirred up. Paley had been arrested before at antiwar protests, but it had always resulted in at worst overnight stays. This time a judge threw the book at her and gave her six days. “He thought I was old enough to know better,” she later wrote, “a forty-five year old woman, a mother and teacher. I ought to be too busy to waste time on causes I couldn’t possibly understand.” At least she could look out her cell window and watch her kids walking to school.

In October 1970, Angela Davis was arrested in the Howard Johnson Motor Lodge at Eighth Avenue and Fifty-First Street and taken to the House of D. It was not her first time in Greenwich Village. She was born in 1944 in Birmingham, Alabama, where her father was a car mechanic and her mother was a teacher and a civil rights activist. They lived in a black neighborhood called Dynamite Hill because the Klan had firebombed so many homes there. With help from the American Friends, she and her mother moved to New York, where her mother studied for her Masters at NYU while Angela attended Elisabeth Irwin High School in the Village. She went on to study philosophy at Brandeis, the Sorbonne, and at the University of California, earning her Ph.D. One of her teachers was Herbert Marcuse. By the late 1960s she was an avowed Communist, a member of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee and affiliated with the Black Panthers. She lectured in philosophy at UCLA until 1969, when her Communist and radical affiliations got her fired.

In August of 1970 a black teen named Jonathan Jackson took over a Marin County courtroom and demanded the release of his older brother, Panther member George Jackson, from nearby Soledad prison. He took the judge, the district attorney and three jurors hostage. In the attempted getaway, Jackson, the judge and one other person were shot and killed. When police discovered that Davis, who knew George Jackson, was the registered owner of Jonathan’s weapon, she was charged as an accomplice to murder, a capital crime in California. She fled the state, which put her on the FBI’s most wanted list. A beautiful twenty-six-year-old with a huge and magnificent Afro, she became a global pop star of the revolution a la Che Guevara. When the FBI arrested her she’d spent a few days walking openly in Times Square, unrecognized because she’d slicked down the Afro and dressed like an office worker.

Within thirty minutes of her being locked up in the House of D a crowd of protesters began to gather outside the monolith, chanting; prisoners stood in their windows and chanted along, their fists raised. The NYPD sent a Tactical Defense Force unit – riot police – and House of D officials turned off all the lights inside, hoping to quiet things down. Instead, women set small fires in their cells, and demonstrators cheered the flickerings in the windows. They dispersed without major incident. Placed in isolation, Davis went on a ten-day hunger strike. She spent nine weeks in the facility while fighting extradition to California, where, she was quite convinced, she’d be convicted and put to death. In fact she would be acquitted of all charges in a San Francisco courtroom in 1972, after spending eighteen months behind bars.

Davis was the facility’s last celebrity tenant. Through the 1950s and 1960s, Greenwich Village civic and neighborhood groups had constantly called for the facility to be removed to some location more appropriate, which is to say far away from where they lived and walked their children to school. More liberal souls in the neighborhood thought it should stay, fearing that if the women were shifted to some more isolated location they might be all the more easily mistreated. Before he wrote the hit Broadway musicals Hello, Dolly! and La Cage aux Folles, Villager Jerry Herman wrote a satirical revue called Parade, which included a song about the House of D controversy:

Don’t tear down the House of Detention

Keep her and shield her from all who wish her harm

Don’t tear down the House of Detention

Cornerstone of Greenwich Village charm…

So I say fie, fie to the cynic

Know that there’s love in these hallowed walls of brown

There’s love in the laundry, there’s love in the showers,

There’s love in the clinic

'Twas built with love, my lovely house in town

Save the tramp, the pusher and the souse

Would you trade love for an apartment house?

Dworkin and Goldrosen’s testimony before a commission studying conditions at the House of D helped lead to its being shut down in 1971. Inmates were moved to a new facility on Rikers Island. After some debate about possible new uses for the Village monolith, it was simply torn down in 1973. The site is now a small, fenced-in garden. In 1974 Tom Eyen’s spoofy play Women Behind Bars, set in the House of D in the 1950s, premiered. John Waters’ star Divine performed in a later production.

by John Strausbaugh

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ukiyoeunoia · 3 years

Photo

information and statistics for mantotohpa wallace

including an in-depth personality analysis

BASIC INFORMATION

Full name: Mantotohpa Akio Wallace Nicknames: Toto, Akio (his dad) Age: 19 Date of Birth: February 21st, 2002 (12pm) Hometown: Forks, WA Current location: Salem, MA Ethnicity: Japanese, Native-American, Caucasian Nationality: American Gender: cisgender male (he/him) Sexuality: Pansexual, Panromantic Religion: Pagan Political Affiliation: Unaffiliated Occupation: Student Languages spoken: Whulshootseed, English, Japanese Accent: Western American

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Face Claim: Booboo Stewart Hair Colour: Darkest Brown, almost black Eye Colour: Brown Weight: 170lbs Height: 5′8 Build: Athletic between Lean & Burly Tattoos: None Piercings: None

PERSONALITY

Label: The Downtrodden Positive Traits: +enthusiastic, resilient, welcoming, earnest, loyal, gregarious Negative Traits: - awkward, distracted, sensitive, clumsy, flighty, passive Goals/Desires: to learn more about where he comes from and what his blood pack was like. Fears: death, losing control and hurting someone, his mother finding him Hobbies:

FAMILY

Father: adriel wallace. (46) Mother: akira todoroki. (44) Sibling(s): unnamed wallace. (26) Children: none. Pet(s): none, sadly.

EXTRA

Zodiac Sign: Pisces - “As the twelfth and last sign of the zodiac, Pisces contains within itself a little experience of all the signs. This gives Pisces Suns the ability to identify with people from all walks of life—from all backgrounds—in some way. These individuals are not only changeable and adaptable, but they also have open minds and tremendous understanding. But Pisces itself is often misunderstood. Pisces Suns may spend a good portion of their lives yearning for understanding, and the other part in a state of divine discontent. Suffering is sometimes glamorized in the Piscean world.Sun in Pisces people are frequently pegged as wishy-washy, but this is all a matter of opinion. What you will find behind a vaguely directionless, spacey manner is a deep person with real dreams. Their dreams are more than getting that picket fence or making it up the corporate ladder. Pisces are tuned in to a higher purpose and their dreams transcend the individual. A deep love for humanity and compassion that knows no bounds is found with this placement of the Sun.” MBTI: ESFJ-T - The Consul. “People who share the Consul personality type are, for lack of a better word, popular – which makes sense, given that it is also a very common personality type, making up twelve percent of the population. In high school, Consuls are the cheerleaders and the quarterbacks, setting the tone, taking the spotlight and leading their teams forward to victory and fame. Later in life, Consuls continue to enjoy supporting their friends and loved ones, organizing social gatherings and doing their best to make sure everyone is happy. Discussing scientific theories or debating European politics isn’t likely to capture Consuls’ interest for too long. Consuls are more concerned with fashion and their appearance, their social status and the standings of other people. Practical matters and gossip are their bread and butter, but Consuls do their best to use their powers for good.“ Alignment: Chaotic Good - “A chaotic good character acts as his conscience directs him with little regard for what others expect of him. He makes his own way, but he's kind and benevolent. He believes in goodness and right but has little use for laws and regulations. He hates it when people try to intimidate others and tell them what to do. He follows his own moral compass, which, although good, may not agree with that of society.Chaotic good is the best alignment you can be because it combines a good heart with a free spirit.Chaotic good can be a dangerous alignment when it disrupts the order of society and punishes those who do well for themselves.“ Enneagram: Type 2 - The Helper. “We have named personality type Two The Helper because people of this type are either the most genuinely helpful to other people or, when they are less healthy they are the most highly invested in seeing themselves as helpful. Being generous and going out of their way for others makes Twos feel that theirs is the richest, most meaningful way to live. The love and concern they feel—and the genuine good they do—warms their hearts and makes them feel worthwhile. Twos are most interested in what they feel to be the “really, really good” things in life—love, closeness, sharing, family, and friendship.“ Celtic Tree: Ash - “Ash individuals have a dual nature, trying to balance their artistic and vulnerable side with their logical and realistic side. They are compassionate and sensitive, with a strong intuition. They could do well financially if they followed through on their ideas.“ Temperament: Sanguine - “People with a sanguine personality type tend to be lively, optimistic, buoyant, and carefree. They love adventure and have high risk tolerance.Sanguine people are typically poor at tolerating boredom and will seek variety and entertainment. Naturally, this trait can sometimes negatively affect their romantic and other relationships.” Hogwarts House: Hufflepuff - “Hufflepuff is the most inclusive among the four houses; valuing hard work, dedication, patience, loyalty, and fair play rather than a particular aptitude in its students. Hufflepuffs were known to have a strong moral code, and a sense of right and wrong. Hufflepuffs were usually accepting of everyone.” Primary Vice: Sloth - ““Unlike the other capital sins, which are sins of committing immorality, sloth is a sin of omitting responsibilities. It may arise from any of the other capital vices; for example, a son may omit his duty to his father through anger. While the state and habit of sloth is a mortal sin, the habit of the soul tending towards the last mortal state of sloth is not mortal in and of itself except under certain circumstances.” Primary Virtue: Humility - “Humility is the quality of being humble. Dictionary definitions accentuate humility as a low self-regard and sense of unworthiness. In a religious context humility can mean a recognition of self in relation to a deity (i.e. God) or deities, and subsequent submission to said deity as a member of that religion. Outside of a religious context, humility is defined as being “unselved”, a liberation from consciousness of self, a form of temperance that is neither having pride (or haughtiness) nor indulging in self-deprecation.“ Element: Fire - “Your priority in life: Joy. You’re a free spirit, with a great need for fun in life. Fire people seek stimulation and so tend to always have a lot of balls in the air because they hate to be bored! Your secret to success: Communication. You easily communicate your thoughts and feelings and are naturally warm and affectionate. Fire people love heartfelt conversations with another person, whether in a lifelong romance or 30 seconds in the lift.”

#musings.mantotohpa #mantotohpa #salem.intro

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blvckmvgicwoman · 4 years

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I was tagged by @illtakeitgoddammit , thank you for the tag, doll! 💚✨

1. What do you prefer to be called name-wise?

My name's Bruna, friends usually call me Bru or any other pet names they feel like, so I'm always open for pet names.

2. When's your birthday?

March 7th.

3. Where do you live?

São Paulo.

4. 3 things you are doing right now?

Scrolling through tumblr, listening to music and writing.

5. Four fandoms that have picket your interest?

GVF, Mayans, The Punisher and classic rock in general.

6. How has the pandemic been treating you?

Well, I can say I'm blessed because I haven't got covid, neither have any of my close family, so in that part we're good.

But mentally speaking, it fucked me up a lot. Brazil has been the worst country in pandemic's management, everything is becoming harder for us here, so there's not much light at the end of the tunnel right now.

7. Song you can't stop listening to?

Heat Above by GVF

8. Recommend a movie?

The Witch

9. How old are you?

Turning 26 this week.

10. School, university, occupation, other?

Management

11. Do you prefer heat or cold?

I like winter better, but I'd rather be warm than cold.

12. Name one thing others may not know about you.

I do boxing, I guess I never mentioned it before, hah.

13. Are you shy?

Depends on the occasion, but mostly yeah.

14. Pronouns?

She/her.

15. Biggest pet peeves?

Slow walkers and people being late.

16. What is your favorite -dere type?

As my tagger, I have absolutely no idea what this is.

17. Rate your life from 1 to 10, with 1 being crappy and 10 being the best it could be.

5, because it's been worse, but it could be SO much better.

18. What's your main blog?

I only have this one.

19. List your side blogs and what they're used for.

I don't have any.

20. Is there something people need to know about you before becoming your friend?

I'm not always the best at reaching out, but I'm always here for you and I'm working to be better.

I'm tagging @doyalikewaffles2 @tattooedwithblues @dufflesmckagan @satans-helper and anyone else that feels like doing it!

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doc-pickles · 4 years

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this love is worth the fight

Fun Fact: I had such a hard time choosing a song from Lover, mainly because there are so many good songs on the list. (I feel like I’m gonna say that about every single day so don’t mind me) I almost went with Cruel Summer or Paper Rings because they are SUCH Jolex songs, but I kind of wanted to push myself this week.

I ended up going with Afterglow because I knew it would be perfect for a fluffy fix it fic (my favorite type of Jolex fics hehe) and I really love how it came out. So without further ado, here’s my Afterglow, angst to fluff inspired fix it fic!

(Also, technically this *could* be a part two to my Red/I Almost Do fic. I didn’t write it that way but reading it back it could be interpreted that way since I use some of the same plot lines)

I lived like an island, punished you with silence

Went off like sirens, just crying

Why'd I have to break what I love so much?

It's on your face, don't walk away, I need to say…

The world, for what it’s worth, did not stop spinning when Alex Karev disappeared off the face of it. For a moment, it did feel like everything might come to a grinding halt and Jo Karev’s world would never be the same again. But the nagging feeling, the pressure in her chest that kept her up at night, began to ease the longer and longer Alex refused to answer his wife’s calls.

Jo finds herself working late nights at the hospital, the lonely hallways a better companion than the quiet loft that she shared with Alex. No one questions her motives, if they do they don’t do it to her face, and for that Jo is grateful. The reprieve from the never ending questions about her well being were getting old, she thinks that Link might’ve yelled at everyone they know to leave her alone. Either way, the quiet moments she spends at night with herself help Jo get her mind into a stable space.

She had come to terms with the realities of her new life, that someday someone would call her and tell her Alex was dead or that he had sent divorce papers or he was in a coma, lying somewhere unable to reach her. It didn’t matter what scenario Jo drummed up, the pain of Alex leaving had come and gone sometime in the past month that she had failed to hear from her husband.

Her feet are walking across the first floor reception on her way to the ER when Jo hears it. She only pauses for a second at first, because she is absolutely certain that she’s hallucinating things. But she hears it again, her heart and feet stopping in tandem as she listens to the voice that she now knows is really there, really speaking to her.

“Jo!”

Jo’s eyes find Alex standing behind her, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans like he does when he’s forced to confront something he doesn’t want to. His beard is thick and scruffy, Jo almost thinks he must not have shaved since the last morning they spent together. Alex’s eyes are tired, his face holds an exhausted expression, and Jo can’t will her feet to move towards the man she had presumed dead.

“We need to talk,” Alex speaks. Jo hears him, she really does, but she can’t comprehend what he’s saying. “Jo? Are you listening to me?”

Her brain catches up finally, a hand coming to cover her mouth as Jo lets a sob break through the tension of her and Alex’s reunion. Her feet are the next to recover, moving towards Alex at a frenzied pace. Her hands are around his neck, pulling him close to her as she cries. Jo can feel the breath that Alex releases when her hands make contact with him, relief flooding both of them as they touch for the first time in four and half weeks.

“Jo, I’m so sorry,” the words are a whisper, Alex’s breath hitting Jo’s cheek as he continues to hold her just a little tighter than usual. “I… I’m sorry. I’m just sorry.”

“You came back,” her words are quiet, muffled as she buries her face in Alex’s shoulder. “You're here. You came back.”

Despite telling herself for weeks on end that Alex had left her or was dead somewhere, Jo can’t help the tears that are flowing down her face. In all of the scenarios she had gone through, Alex coming home wasn’t one that she had let herself entertain. The hope would surely break her heart if he did end up being dead or gone somewhere.

“Of course I came back, I love you Jo,” Alex pulled back to look into Jo’s eyes, fingers coming up to brush her hair out of her eyes. “I love you and I swear I’m not leaving again unless you’re by my side. I just… we have a lot to talk about.”

“I don’t care, I thought you were dead,” Jo cried, eyes welling up with tears again as she grasped Alex’s face desperately. “I don’t care Alex because you came home and that’s all I wanted and-”

“I was with Izzie,” the words freeze Jo, her hands stopping where they were on his cheeks. “Like I said… a lot to talk about”

Jo finds herself sitting across from Alex an hour later, fingers nervously pulling at the edge of their sofa. She hadn’t said more than three words since Alex had told her where he had been, too scared of what the next words to come out of his mouth would be. Jo had handled a lot of rejection and pain in her life, but this blow might be the one that undid her well and truly.

“I’m sorry I didn’t answer your calls or texts. I was… busy, distracted and I... ,” Alex sighed, Jo’s eyes finally flitting up to look at him. “When I was calling people for Mer’s trial, Izzie was on my list. And she… she has twins, I could hear them in the background when I talked to her. She told me she used the embryos we had frozen, that the twins were mine. So I went to Kansas, I had to go to Kansas and see them. They’re my kids, Jo.”

The world does seem to stop spinning for a moment, Jo taking in what Alex was telling her. Her stomach dropped, panic welling up inside of her as she realized that Alex had come back to leave her, to build a new life with Izzie and their kids. Jo couldn’t stop the tears that began to silently roll down her face as her heart began to beat out of time.

“Jo? Jo, baby please,” Alex was kneeling in front of her now, hands holding hers in a desperate attempt to get her to listen to him. “Babe, you gotta let me finish. I told you I’m not leaving you, let me finish.”

“You have kids! Somewhere outside of Seattle you have kids and in no universe are you going to know that and stay here with me, Alex,” Jo’s voice was shaking, but the words rolled off her tongue so easily that she knew this was a fear she had held too tightly for too many years. “I meant what I said, you’re a good man. Good men don’t leave their kids thousands of miles away to be with their wife, we both know that all too well.”

Her and Alex hold each other's stares for a moment and Jo wants to scream and kick and beg him not to go. She can see that look on his face, the one that means his mind is far far away and she knows deep down that he’s counting down the seconds until he can leave her and get back to whatever perfect life he had already started to build in Kansas. Of all the people to leave her in her life, she had never anticipated losing Alex, especially not like this.

“Izzie is remarried, to this great guy named Vince. He… the kids love him and she loves him and…,” Alex let out a small chuckle, tears welling up in his eyes as well. “It’s exactly the life I had pictured for her. She’s happy and she’s alive, she’s got some great kids and I don’t… I don’t feel the need to stay there and be a dad to those kids because that perfect life Izzie has? I want that, I want a big house and kids running around like crazy and I want it all with you, Jo Karev. I can’t picture that with anyone but you. And I’m sorry that it took weeks of me laying alone in a hotel room in freakin’ Kansas to realize that, but I love you so much, Jo. I don’t ever wanna not see you again.”

Jo stared at Alex for a moment longer before reaching a hand up and slapping his shoulder. The worry she had been holding onto, the fear that he was going to leave for this new life, slipped away and Jo almost cried at the relief she felt. She wasn’t shocked that he had wanted to see his kids, see the two little people who were half him. And if you had asked her, Jo would’ve bet money on Alex insisting that he needed to help raise them. But he didn't… he came back home to her.

“Fucking asshole! Maybe you should’ve started with the ‘I’m staying in Seattle’ part so I didn’t start spiraling out,” Jo exclaimed, her hands coming up to hold Alex’s face, just as he had done for her. She met his nervous eyes with a smile, leaning down to kiss him chastely. “I’m glad you aren’t left wondering about what could’ve been, about them. But maybe call me next time? Please?”

Alex nodded, Jo’s fingers running over the thick beard on his cheek as she kissed him once more. She knew that he would need time, that despite him coming back home to her seeing his kids was a huge shock. Alex had stood by her side more times than she deserved though, walking him through this was nothing compared to the psycho ex husband and the biological mom trauma that she had saddled him with.

“I want it all with you too, you crazy man. White picket fences and a dog and kids and everything we didn’t get growing up,” Jo let a chuckle slip from her as she rested her forehead against Alex’s. “I missed you so much, I’m gonna keep you in bed for a few days just to make sure you remember what you’d be missing if you left me.”

Alex’s deep laugh sounds then, the sound that Jo had been so desperately craving to hear. She kisses him again, hungrily brushing her tongue against his lips and pulling him onto the couch without a second thought.

“I promise you Jo,” Alex’s breath is hot against Jo as his fingers trail under her shirt. She fights off the urge to close her eyes in pleasure and meets his eyes again. “I’m always gonna come back home to you.”

#tsjolexweek #jolex #alex karev #jo wilson #jo karev #greys anatomy #nina writes #jo x alex #jolex fic #jolex fanfic #greys anatomy fanfic

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gunsmokesoul · 4 years

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Meet Me in the Aftermath

Some people say there are infinite universes.

I know this to be true.

There is a universe in which we have never met. Where I go my whole life without your name on my lips, your fingers twined in mine, your breath against my skin, your warmth in my arms, and in this universe, I somehow still live. There is another in which we did meet. We pass by, as that old saying goes, like ships in the night. We bow our heads in testament to the lives we will lead; we wish each other well. In this life, perhaps sometime while my body is no longer my own and we are both obedient, we may spare a moment to think of one another and what we used to be.

In still other universes, one of us dies and the other lives or perhaps we both die or, hell, maybe one or both of us are never born. Maybe I am the one to die in the mud that night instead of my brother, and he makes the smart choice not to try to raise me again. Maybe he moves on… he gets a job and a family and a dog. There’s a white picket fence and sometimes he goes to the salvage yard and sits in the passenger seat of the car and thinks of me.

In some parallel place, we are friends and that is all. We save each other and laugh together and in the end, we stand side by side to face the end. We are parted when death comes for me and I go having known smile, your tears, your embrace. I die with two brothers instead of one.

I think of these other universes sometimes and there is a part of me that wonders if it might have been better. Maybe there is a universe where we achieve happiness. Maybe it is the universe where we do not meet, or the one where we pass each other by, or where we die as friends, as brothers. I have to believe that against all odds, there is a universe where we are happy. I have to. Otherwise, what is all of this for?

I am thinking of these universes and their infinite possibilities now, with the edge of the table digging into the backs of my thighs and the palms of my hands. I think about them while I snap at you, say words I don’t mean, blame you for things that we both know are not your fault. Things always go wrong. It’s no one’s fault, it’s just the way of the universe. There has to be a balance… for every good, a bad. We win the game of cosmic chess, but it is impossible to win such a game without losing pieces. It’s part of the game.

It doesn’t make it hurt any less when I see them line up in neat little rows of crosses pressed into dirt. It doesn’t make the pain easier to bear when each pawn, bishop, knight… when they all have names and faces and infinite universes and possibilities of their own.

I blame you because in blaming you, I blame myself. I know that by hurting you, I am, in fact, hurting myself. I am punishing myself in the way I know will hurt the most. I am, with the knife’s edge of my words, cutting out my own heart and pressing it into the dirt with the toe of my boot. I know this. It’s not fair to you, but when have I ever been fair to you? I call you when I need you because I know you will answer. I cry on your shoulder because I know you won’t call me weak. I use you… I use you because you are the only one who has ever let me.

I see your pain on your face and know that mine is not showing in my own features… because I am so used to burying it, hiding it away, protecting others and helping them with their pain… I’m the strong one. I have to be. I’ve always had to be the strong one. The protector. The fixer.

It has been my experience that everyone I love eventually leaves me. I suppose I always give them reason in some way or another… in every universe, I am certain as I am of the color of your eyes… that cloudless sky blue… I am certain that no matter how many universes there are… that some people always leave me.

So, when you turn around and start to go… I don’t immediately go to stop you. I’ve been waiting for this day since the moment my heart first whispered the dreaded four letter word, more offensive to me than any curse could be. I have seen you walk out that door so many times that it just seems natural. You were always going to leave. I was always going to do something to make you leave. It doesn’t occur to me until I see the tails of your coat disappearing up the stairs this is not written in stone. That at the end of all things, I still have free will. That’s what we’ve been fighting for all this time isn’t it?

It occurs to me, later than it should, that I can stop you.

Or at the very least, that I can fight this as I have fought so many other things.

There are infinite universes. I know this to be true.

In this one, I push off from the table.

In this one, I run up the stairs.

In this one, I catch your hand.

In this one, I say your name.

In this one, I say, “Don’t go…. Stay.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stay.”

In this one, I say…

“I love you.”

A gift for @norighteouspath .

Merry Christmas.

#norighteouspath #destiel #destiel fic #short fic #i am sorry in advance

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pandoraimperatrix · 4 years

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Two Names For Change

Gotham | BatCat | Four Names ‘Verse | Two Shots | Read on AO3

Summary: First he was threatening her all the time with a proposal and now she actually wants one he seems to forget he ever wanted to marry her in the first place. People say that women are hard to understand. They never dated Bruce Wayne.

This is an introductory piece for the actual sequel. The sequel will tell Jason’s story so you can expect angst, this introductory piece however will be pure sugar sprinkled candyfloss cavity inducing fluff.

It got too big so I had to break it in two parts which was nice since I used it to expose myself as a Fairy Tale nerd. Thanks to my mutuals on Twitter for the incentive and Lily for helping me with the title.

Enjoy.

Two Names For Change

Part I – Restoration

"When they found that she was a Princess born, there was another burst of joy, which was almost the death of them; but when she told them the names of the King and Queen, her father and mother, they recognised them as the sovereigns whose dominions they had conquered. They imparted this fact to Finette, and she immediately vowed she would not consent to marry the Prince until they had restored the estates of her father. They promised to do so, for they had upwards of a hundred kingdoms, and one more or less was not worth talking about."

- Finette Cendron by the Countess d'Aulnoy

Selina fell next to Bruce, her heart still racing, she was panting hard. She smiled when she felt Bruce taking her hand and raising their arms over them, the blue glow of the monstrosity that Dick insisted in calling the “Batcomputer” being the only source of light in the room bouncing on their sweaty skin as their fingers laced together.

“You drained me, Cat.”

She let out a throaty laugh.

“You are tired? I did all the work myself.”

“In my defence, you do it so well, can you blame for liking to just lie down and watch?”

She snorted.

“You are such a pillow princess.” Saying that she slipped her hand from his and stood up. Bruce watched with longing and affection as she tried to make sense of the mess her hair had become, her naked form looking surreal under the penumbra of the cave.

“Let’s go to bed. The sun will rise soon.”

She turned back to him, her expression bashful.

“Sorry, B. I have to go home.”

Bruce’s soft smile fell, his jaw tense. Selina winced.

In a quick powerful motion he stood up, pulling his hair up nervously.

“I don’t get why we’re still doing this. You and Helena are here all the time.”

Guilt left Selina’s face and was substituted by annoyance.

“I already told you. I like having my own place.”

“I’m not talking about giving up your flat completely, but it’s stupid that you keep insisting in pretend that you still live there when you’re here all the time. It’s selfish. Helena doesn’t deserve to be keep being dragged from home to home.”

“Fine. She won’t. Because for now on I’ll keep that in mind and remember where we actually live.”

And she turned to leave, when she felt Bruce hug her from behind.

“No, no, no. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” His voice muffled by her hair. “I know what having your own place means to you.” Selina relaxed under him. “And it was wrong to bring Helena up, even though I stand by what I said regarding to her.” Bruce couldn’t see, but Selina bit her lip to control the pang of guilt. “I just hate that we’re not living together.”

Selina sighed and turned in his arms, Bruce’s hands left Selina’s waist and went to her face, holding her curls in place tenderly.

“I know… I’m sorry too. But as you said, I, we are here all the time.”

“It’s not the same.”

“Bruce…”

“Please? Just consider. You don’t have to say yes…” His serious demeanour cracked. “Now.”

She slapped him weakly on the chest.

“You are so full of yourself.”

“I could say the same.”

Selina’s chin fell and she closed her eyes in outrage.

“Oh my god, Bruce! Gross!”

“And yet true.” He mocked.

He could see she was having trouble trying to control the urge to laugh, her lips twitching despite her whole disgusted performance.

“That’s it. I’m leaving,” she said as they picked the parts of their scattered suits from the ground “I’m gone.” She turned back dramatically from the stairs. “And I’ll never come back!”

“Don’t forget to bring the things Dick needs for his school project when you come to dinner.”

“Shit, yes, I forgot. Thank you.” A few moments after she was back, but sadly not naked anymore. She eyed Bruce who was sitting on his ridiculously enormous chair, dressed in sweatpants, mug of espresso steaming in one hand as he worked at the computer.

“Didn’t you say you were going to sleep?” She raid running her fingers through his moist hair.

“Didn’t you say you were going home?”

“Your shower is better than mine.” She bended over to kiss him scrunching her nose at the bitter taste of coffee. “Text me later to remind me of Dick’s stuff? What is he doing again?”

“Some flying machine I think. He won’t let me help him. Hardhead.”

“Yeah, I know someone like that. But will you?”

“I’ll do better than that, I’ll text Helena.”

Selina smiled and then kissed him again. This time lasting longer, Bruce put the mug on the table so he could touch Selina, wishing they were back on the floor, with her feverish and wanton all around him.

She purred softly as they parted.

“See you later.” She whispered.

“Cat. Promise me you’ll think about it?”

Selina sighed but nodded before leaving, this time for good.

Bruce used the rearview to spy on his kids. Helena was drooling on her hand, her head on Dick’s lap, her legs folded against her body, very uncomfortable sharing the back sit with Dick who was also asleep and Bruce could hear the hum of the earbud that had fallen one of his ears but was still hanging on one of his knotted curls. The boy was in need of a haircut. They were coming back from a weekend in Metropolis, Bruce was investigating Superman and when the kids learnt that the was going to the city they used all sorts of blackmail and schemes to go with him, in the end it became a whole family trip. He eyes then, Selina, she was looking through the pictures they took on her phone.

“I talked to Lucius about the proceedings to recognize Helena as my daughter.”

“Hmm… And you didn’t think about talking to me about it?”

“I’m doing it now.” He sighed. “I don’t want us to fight about it. I just want to give Helena what is rightful hers, including the Wayne legacy and name.”

“I know… I know… It’s just…”She hugged herself. “I was so afraid someone would take her away from me if I told them she was yours too.”

“I understand, but things are different now. We are different.” He diverted his eyes from the road to Selina, picking her hand and lacing their fingers together, she rolled her eyes, but there was unable to stop her own fond smile.

“We’ll need to talk to her.” She turned briefly to the kids. “I’m not specially attached to my last name, if she wants to ditch it for yours I won’t mind.”

He let the words sit for a while before continuing.

“About that…” His voice an octave higher from his faux absent-mindness.

“Too soon.” She said dryly.

The car shook when he suddenly pushed the brakes the kids didn’t wake but mumbled annoyed.

“Meaning that eventually will be the right time?”

She bit back a smile at his excitement.

“I guess? I don’t know why you make such a huge deal out of this.”

“Because I love you, that’s why.”

She looked away shaking her head.

“You are so cheesy.” Her smitten tone brought a pleased smile to Bruce’s face that broadened after her thumb started rubbing his hand absently.

Two years later, Selina had been sending signs that she was ready for what she feels like ages but nothing happens. And Bruce being Bruce she can never pinpoint when he actually is trying to create proposal settings to troll her or just being his usual sappy self. But after a while when a walk on the beach by the sunset when they took a trip so San Francisco for Dick’s fourteenth birthday was just a plot to convince her do it on the sand – and she found sand in weird places for weeks. All dinner dates in fancy restaurants were only PR appearances. And all special homemade desserts just because he liked to cook to her, it started becoming ridiculous.

She was ranting about that as she folded laundry and drank wine. Barbara was just drinking the wine. Heaven forbid her royal Kareness to help do any housework.

“But have you told him you want to tie the knot? I actually don’t know why the wait, how long have you been together since he came back? Four years?”

“Three. And no, but wouldn’t that be like proposing to him?”

“Well, kinda. I didn’t think you from all people would care about that.”

“It’s not like that. I don’t care about tradition, and shit. But have you any idea of how full of himself he’ll be if I’m the one to propose? I can see his already giant head inflating and flying him to space.”

Barbara laughed.

“Sorry, kiddo. I don’t know how to help you. Nobody proposed to me either.”

“Really? I thought Gordon did, back in the day.”

“He did. Sort of. We talked about it. Even thought all the shit that happen later I’m glad we never got to do the white picket fence, 2.5 kid scenario. That was no life for me. And as much as I’m grateful for how good he is to Babs, I couldn’t take five minutes of Lee’s life.” She shivered. Selina snorted.

“Would you have married Tabby? If you could back then?”

“I don’t know.” She chuckled. “Do you think she would’ve married me?”

“Oh man, imagine how extra that would have been. All rogues in one single place. I’d be the maid of honour, of course. Ivy providing de the décor with some poisoned flowers, Oswald throwing a fit because you were getting more attention than him. Do you think anyone has a minister’s licence?”

“I did something like that to punish Jim. Wore a dress and all” she snorted “I was one crazy bitch back them. Tabby helped.”

“Geez. I don’t even get to imagine a fucked up scenario because reality in this city is crazier.”

“We were so much worse before Tabby took you in. I sometimes wonder if you were what grounded us a little.”

“Really? Because you were such a bitch to me when I went to live with you guys. I used to miss vanilla straight Barbara a lot.”

“Oh honey, I’m sorry. I was jealous.”

“Of what?”

“Tabby. She gave up on me and took you as her new little project.” Barbara rolled her eyes dramatically. “And there was Butch.” She groaned.

“Now I’m very happy that I didn’t have the same destiny as him.”

“Oh kitty-cat, I was jealous but I loved you. I always did. I might even have been jealous of you too. You were my little project first.”

Two weeks and a family picnic on the Wayne state organized by Alfred, regular post-coitus moon bathing on the roofs and a very interesting day on a boat only the two of them after, nothing changed, except that Holly was home and spread on the carpet with Selina. Her head on the lap of her surrogate mother as Selina played lazily with the strands of hair that were dyed in a fading blue. The girls were in Helena’s room playing videogames. And Barbara was coming from a kitchen a batch of something supposedly drinkable on a tray.

Selina wrinkled her nose.

“What is that?”

“My favourite, alcohol.”

“No thanks.”

“Why not? What’s the point of girl’s night without getting wasted?”

“My stomach is hurting. Bruce took me to that new Indian restaurant three days ago. I’m too white for that.”

“Really? Because I’m pretty sure I have seen you eat rock.”

Holly snorted, Selina pulled her hair not hard enough to hurt enough to send a message.

“Ouch, Selina!”

“I’m getting old, I don’t know Barbara, if I wanted a doctor I’d have called Lee.”

They continued their chatting though the night, Holly telling them all about college drama and they trash talked their mutual friends until they all fell asleep. Selina woke up feeling horrible. Everything was dark. Even Helena’s room was silent. She pushed Barbara’s legs off her lap and got up from the sofa, dragging her wobbling legs to the kitchenette. She barely made to the sink before empting her stomach.

Shit.

She jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Fuck, Barbara! Don’t do that!”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” She said is a shaky voice, wiping her mouth. “Maybe I should see a doctor.”

Barbara looked at her with one eyebrow arched and folded arms.

“What?”

“Nothing. I’m just having a déjà vu now.”

Selina widened her eyes in horror.

“No…”

“You said that too back then.”

“Fuuuuuck.”

The wave of nausea hit again, but now there was just bile. She was still hiccupping when Barbara made her sit down.

“Is it possible?”

Selina just glared at her.

“Very possible, then.”

“I mean. We use protection, mostly. You know I can’t take the pill. But I had my period.”

“Did you?”

“Yes!”

“Did you?”

Selina shut up for a second counting and then she covered her face in realization.

Barbara laughed and walked across Selina returning to the living room. She shook Holly awake.

“Wake up Holly, dear. We have a baby shower to plan.”

Pleeeeeease reblog my work if you liked it. It really helps me out. Thank you.

#batcat #bruce wayne #Selina Kyle #gotham #helena wayne #Four Names for Love #two names for change

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sweetcatmintea · 4 years

Text

Dogwood & Co scene 1

So I started writing a new wip and figured, hey, why not post it? So, here’s the first scene so far. (It doesn’t have a title yet so the place holder is Dogwood and co.) Image credits are in a reblog so tumblr doesn’t hide this post :v Feedback is always very much appreciated

[image description: a mood board of three images on a herb background. The first is a photo of pair of copper crane shaped scissors. The second is a digital illustration of a person’s eyes. They have brown skin, dark eyes, and curly hair that’s shaved on their right side. They have orange makeup under their eyes. The third image is a photo of a dogwood flower, a white four petalled flower with a yellow centre and dark stem. description end.]

Words: 1858 Trigger warning(s): None. Ask to tag Character(s): Dogwood, Suecica, Hosta, Niobe, and Dogwood’s mother.

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This is not one of the greats, an epic adventure of brave heroes bringing long overdue justice to an ancient evil. There is no shining knight, nor corrupt monarchy felled. It is a simple story of a young witch and the trials they never imagined themself facing. There is triumph, loss, magic, and food. There is a baker with a wild glint in her eye and a smile so infectious even the cantankerous little dragon is swayed to joy. There is danger, of course, but, at its core, this is a story about love. You may not agree with that at first. That’s fine. This story is not one of the greats, but you have some time and I have a tale so would you lend me your ear and hear Dogwood’s plight?

Death will always follow in your footsteps, an inevitable shadow at your heels, but Dogwood, it will never take you.

To start at the beginning is to start much too early. Instead, we come to meet our protagonist midway through their morning chores, kneeling in clovers and dewy soil, gently snipping countryside herbs with ornate scissors. Brass, carved in a crane’s image, they sat light in Dogwood’s grasp. Suecica, the youngest of Dogwood’s brothers, crouched as close as Dogwood’s movements allowed, eagerly thrusting a basket towards them at the first hint of its necessity. Though his enthusiastic help was in name only, Dogwood was happy for the company. They placed the cuttings with the others, a single fluid movement, never breaking the flow of their work. They mused an explanation here and there, the function of this herb, the necessity of that ritual. For many, it may not have been the fun side of magic, but for Dogwood, it felt like home. Magic was their heartbeat. To teach it was a fulfilment they knew they would not be able to indulge in for much longer. Suecica was a young lad of eight, in but a few more seasons, his own magic would begin to manifest. It was only a matter of time until he made his vows with Nes. Dogwood wondered idly what form Suecica’s Dustmorph would take. A cat like their mother? A fox like their father and brother? They thought a dog might suit him better but there was no way to tell. There was an element of inheritability, to be sure, but the shape of a person’s essence has many hands moulding it. Until he was ready, it was a secret between his soul and the Gods.

The tug of magic pulled them out of their thoughts. Followed quickly by the appearance of The Respected Hosta. Dogwood rose to greet her, wiping their hand on their pants as they stood. Although it was not uncommon to see a witch of Hosta’s status in the countryside, or that she might seek out an apprentice in person, it was strange to see her usual mischievous graces shadowed by a worried brow and stiff gait. Shoulders rigid and back straight, her natural flow was entirely absent. Her robes battled at her ankles as she approached, raising a hand in greeting as soon as she made out the pair. Sharp vision was not a blessing she had claim to. Dogwood wondered, not for the first time, if the snake draped around her neck was a cause or a coincidence.

“Hosta, Niobe, your presence blesses us. What brings you to the country?”

Never one to be left out, Suecica parroted Dogwood’s greeting. “Your presence blesses us!”

Hosta nodded in return. “Your company is appreciated, Dogwood, as is yours young Suecica.” Niobe curved around her wrist, sliding the dimming location charm Hosta had used to find them over his head until it might be needed once more. As he reclaimed it, the magic pull faded to nothing.

“Unfortunately, I am not here for pleasantries. In regard to your recent behaviour, the Council has deemed it appropriate that you are to report to the catacombs on the ninth hour of this night for disciplinary action.” Hosta’s voice was sharp, leaving no room for argument.

The drastic change a slap in the face to Dogwood. They blinked at her, eyebrows arching in surprise. Her stony gaze gave nothing away. Moments lapsed before they remembered they should respond.

“Oh, okay… Will I need to bring anything?”

“No. Do not be late.” With a dip of her head, she turned and left. Niobe stared from her shoulder as she went, studying their reactions with an emotion Dogwood couldn’t place.

The siblings exchanged a look, broken by Suecica jabbing Dogwood in the ribs, laughing as they jolted.

“Ooooh, you’re in TRouBle~”

“It would certainly seem so.” Dogwood shook their head, taking on a mock stern expression. “If you don’t want me to turn you into a toad for that, you’d better run!”

Of course, they weren’t capable of that kind of magic, but that really wasn’t the point. Following a threat through was never the point with siblings.

Suecica shrieked in delight, taking of in the direction of their home. “You can’t run with scissors!!”

Dogwood pocketed the scissors and took off after him. “Don’t think you can escape so easily Sue! You’d better not drop those herbs unless you want to be the one picking them all up again!”

They ran through fields, spooking chickens and amusing friendly neighbours until they arrived, panting, out of breath, at the pink picket fence lining their family property. Sue clamoured through the hard wood door, kicking off his shoes and nearly upending his basket in his haste to enter the house. Fortunately for the pair, Dogwood caught it in time. They followed him inside, slipping their shoes neatly beside the brick wall, and setting the herbs aside to be properly prepared later. Though a chore to some, Dogwood enjoyed each and every First Moon Ritual, the ceremonial burning of hand-picked herbs at the height of night under a new moon to thank the stars for their continued guardianship. There was such a monotonous peace to it, a feeling of belonging and purpose they could seldom word, let alone explain, even to fellow witches. Would they still be able to perform it tonight? Would three hours be long enough for the Council’s intent? Even in punishment, they had always respected the rituals. But then, the whole situation was not quite right, what sway would ‘always’ have here?

Sue thumped down the hallway, nearly barrelling into their mother as she left the nursery. “Mum! Muuumm!! Save me! Dogwood’s gonna turn me into a toad!!” He feigned terror at his sibling’s approach, tucking himself behind her for safety.

Porlock, the sturdy white and red striped cat sitting on her shoulder puffed their fur and hissed at him while their mother scolded his noise.

“Hush, you silly monkey! I just got your sister down!”

“Oops!” He dropped his tone to a stage whisper, grinning sheepishly. “Sorry!”

She sighed, rolling her eyes just as dramatically as his antics, and ruffled his hair. She ushered them away from the sleeping baby. Porlock’s fur settled back to the almost tabby pattern as they left. With a huff, the cat leapt to the floor, plodding back to nursery, their red tail a flag behind them.

The three gathered in the kitchen, Sue fishing a honey biscuit from the tin and offering one to his sibling. Their mother nodded towards the basket.

“How did you go?”

“Good. The plants have grown well this cycle. We found plenty for the First Moon, as well as some to eat. Sue listened to instructions but, unfortunately, will have to live the rest of his life as a toad.”

“That is a shame,” she laughed as Sue whined, “I suppose he will have to develop a taste for flies.”

“Muumm, no! I don’t want to be a toad!” He crumpled into her, the mockery too much to bear.

“Maybe we can work something out. I doubt a toad will be as useful as our little Sue.”

“Muuuuummmm.”

She laughed again. Dogwood’s mother had the warmest smile they had ever seen. Her brown eyes sparkled with so much joy and life, the tired lines running through her skin could do nothing to dampen her spirits. She had always been a lively woman, but fatigue was unavoidable at the moment. Nuttallii, the youngest member of their family, had proven herself a difficult sleeper. She seemed to be committed to keeping their parents awake as long as possible and had shown no signs of slowing her tirade yet. It was only a matter of time until she would though. Just like her siblings before her, Dogwood knew she would learn peace eventually.

Dogwood was the second born and eldest of their three siblings. They did not mirror their mother as Sue and Nut did, sharing her coppery hair and soft face, nor were they made in their father’s image like Cornel, their other brother, carrying his dark locks and straight features. Rather, they were somewhere in between. On multiple occasions, they had been compared to their Grandmother, a portrait of her youth. The same warm russet skin, deep brown, near black hair, and the same ebony eyes that seemed to say more than their face ever could. They missed her dearly, a weakened constitution taking her long before they were ready to say goodbye. It was not the first Memoria Bell they had received but it was the one that truly introduced them to loss.

“Besides, I shouldn’t get punished!” Sue’s face lit up in a treacherous grin, “Since Dogwood was the one who got in ~tRoUbLe~!”

What a brat. Siblings. Honestly.

Their mother paused her teasing, looking to them for an explanation. They’d like one too if it was on offer. Instead, they kind of shrugged.

“Hosta asked-”

“Ordered!”

“… Ordered my presence in the catacombs at ninth hour tonight. I am to be reprimanded for my recent behaviour. She didn’t say what I had done, or really anything else.”

“Except not to be late!”

“Except that. I’m not sure what this is about. The only thing I can think of is falling asleep in the library during studies, but I doubt that would amount to such formal measures…”

A worried moment passed between them. The kind that is all consuming between adults yet hardly noteworthy to children. Though witches may command change from their fingertips, it would seem they turn shy when it is thrust upon them.

Their mother tried to gather herself, putting on faux airs for her children. “Well, there’s nothing much we can do until tonight. I’m sure it is a simple mix up, nothing to fret about.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

She put a comforting hand on their shoulder. It would be okay. They would get through it together if it wasn’t.

“In the meantime, I have some deliveries that need to be made. The Roselia family have several pots to be delivered and Ms. Prunus has a mortar and pestle. Can you take them? If the pots are too heavy, leave them. I’ll get your brother to take them when he gets back.”

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Tag list

@snobbysnekboi, @inkovert, @kainablue, @i-rove-rock-n-roll , and @goblin-writer

#Writing #writblr #original fiction #original story #original characters #Dogwood and co #my story #Character mentions #Dogwood

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