#it was not immediately and with gusto. used to abuse others

[inkskinned]

we really didn't get violent enough about roe v wade being overturned. but and also - you're one person. you donated money. you went to the protest. you did what you could, which felt like doing basically nothing.

recently some big paper published an op ed (why did you even read it? you knew you'd get upset) about how it's gross that men can't find a partner because women don't want to suffer bad dates - they'd rather go to yoga class. you actually laughed - well, yeah! and it was funny until it wasn't, because something about it made your stomach churn. this is the thing, you want to say, but you don't have the words for what the thing is. just that men being bad at dating is your fault.

the thing is also on instagram. you don't know if it's a setting or algorithm thing, but these days, the most hurtful comments always seem to skim the top. simple reaction is don't read the comments but - you're human, so you're curious. you want to respond to every weird, sanctimonious one with replaying something a million times to find evidence they're lying about their gender is literally sexual harassment you shouldn't be proud of this or maybe get a fucking life you absolute dickhead but you've gotten into enough of these battles as a kid. nothing ever resolves. it just makes you upset.

your father was radicalized. the thing is - you go to therapy about it and yet never find the words for exactly the way that one hurts.

the other day your sister predicted that a commercial that aired during the superbowl was going to cause trouble. you wanted her to be wrong about that. this morning, while scrolling, you saw someone post exactly that - he got so angry i had to leave. it was terrifying. it reminds you, however bleakly: there are entire swathes of people who do not worry about domestic violence. who have no idea why you would put keys into your fist. who do not understand "it's better to be rude than dead." who have never googled am i being gaslit.

the other day you found out there's a bill that would make it so if you have a uterus and are braindead, you could fulfil your cattle purpose and carry a fetus to term. you think about the fact that the leading cause of death for pregnant people is murder. you think about ongoing and informed consent. you think about how, out of fear, if your ex boyfriend had pressured you, you absolutely would have said yes to it. in the comments, you write there is no way that these documents wouldn't be immediately forged. this is going to be misused. and then just delete it, sighing. get up and go to work.

the other day they overturned roe v wade. we weren't nearly violent enough about it. somewhere, a clock is ticking. it's been ticking a long time. you want to say it's time, but it's been time for a while, hasn't it.

#<3 time to get cancelled on the internet #btw this is trans inclusive author is nb #writeblr #i had a kind of argument with someone about that bill bc he was like ''oh but we do this for other organs'' and im like #okay so like the time it takes to safely extract an organ #versus NINE MONTHS of not having consent . not being able to bury the body. #my family unable to mourn. being used a host. #even if ALL OF THAT was NOT the case. #i do not believe for a fucking SECOND this would be use safely. i cannot imagine a world in which #it was not immediately and with gusto. used to abuse others

[aj-lenoire]

welcome, twitter refugees!!

here's a quick and friendly tumblr how-to:

DOs & DON'Ts

DO reblog posts!! regardless of whether or not you add a comment, either in the post itself or in the tags, the OP will get notifications of everyone who likes the post via your reblog and who reblogs it from you! comment as much or as little as you like

DON'T repost things! fanart, fanfiction, etc. this is different from reblogging, a repost is when you copy/save the work to your computer and reupload it in a post of your own, rather than reblogging it

DO follow tags as well as other blogs!! really like one specific character from a tv show? a certain ship? search their name and follow the tag, and you'll see posts that mention or tag them even if you don't directly follow the person who made that post

DON'T rely too much on the search function, it's broken. if you want to search someone's blog for a tag, you're better off going to the URL: tumblr.com/[blogname]/tagged/[tag]

DO tag liberally! you can use the tags to add comments that you don't want to directly add to the post, to make it easier for people to search your blog, or to make it easier for yourself to find things later on

DON'T use tiktok censorship speak when tagging things!! it will make it actively more difficult for people seeking to avoid certain topics. instead of "tw: abu$e" just tag "abuse" and anyone who has blacklisted the tag "abuse" will not see your post.

similarly, DON'T tag things like "epilepsy" - instead, tag "flashing lights" so people can still use the epilepsy tag to discuss epilespy without risking seeing triggering flashing lights

DO use the follow and the block buttons liberally! this site has absolutely no algorithm, so it is entirely up to you to curate your space exactly how you want it!

DON'T send hate to people via the askbox on their blog, either anonymously or not. just block people who annoy you or post horrible things

DO participate in polls! tumblr only got them recently, less than a year ago, and people immediately went ham. vote on stupid things like which bug emoji is superior, which ship is the best, and how much vanilla extract should go in a cake! but remember that you cannot edit the original poll after you post it

DON'T use or endorse "AI" generators like chatgpt! don't reblog AI images and or AI endings to unfinished/abandoned fanfictions

DO cite your sources if you want to educate people on something in a post, we all love to learn, and informative posts on everything from current political events to which geodes could be made into useable dildos, but misinformation is prolific, so make sure anyone reading your information can refer to a real source!

jargon

notes - likes, reblogs (with or without comments or tags) and replies to a post are all agregated to give the number of notes, which is basically the number of times a post has been interacted with

OP - the Original Poster of a post, for example, me, aj-lenoire, with this post. i am op.

hellsite - tumblr itself. this website is insane and unprofitable and broken and we wouldn't have it any other way. hellsite can be either (affectionate) or (derogatory) and often both at once

blorbo - your favourite character, your rotten soldier, your sweet cheese, your good time boyy. post about them frequently and with weird, frenzied gusto

squick - something you personally don't like, such as a ship or a character or a trope, but is not actually bad or harmful - it's just not for you. it squicks you out.

blacklisting means you've blocked a specific tag rather than a blog/person. for example, if you don't want to see anything with spiders, blacklist the tag "spiders" so you don't see any! if someone you follow reblogs a post and tags it with "spiders", or the OP of the post tagged it with "spiders" then your dashboard will hide the post from you and tell you it was tagged with "spiders" and you can choose whether or not to view it

passing peer review means you added commentary to a post in the tags, and someone who reblogged that post from you saw your tags and thought they were funny, so decided to screenshot them and add them as a comment so everyone could see them. congratulations!!

breaking containment is when a post about a niche subject and/or from a blog with not many followers gets super popular because it's funny, and often OP despairs at how their notifications become unusable from the sheer number of notes from this one post

KUNGPOWPENIS - if someone posts something bigoted, tumblr will ban together to reblog, one letter at a time, k-u-n-g-p-o-w-p-e-n-i-s. only do this when the bigot is the OP, because only the original poster will get a flood of single-letter reblog notifications from every single branch of the reblog chain

tips & tricks

pornbots and bots in general are not uncommon here. whenever you get followed by someone, check to make sure they're not a bot by visiting their blog. if they only have a few reblogged posts on random topics, or no posts at all, and their profile picture is a beautiful woman, they're a bot, and you should flag and block them

old posts can and do get reblogged and liked all the time, there's no point at which it becomes cringe to interact with a post. we even have some from 10+ years ago that're considered 'tumblr heritage'

long posts will cross your dash from time to time, the most infamous being colour of the sky. you will see it and it will madden you with how far you have to scroll - inflict your followers with the same frustration by reblogging so they can see it too!! if you're on desktop, pressing j will skip to the next post.

read more allows you to shorten a post with a 'click to read more' link that takes the reader to the root post on your blog. this is especially handy if you're publishing fanfiction or a very long analysis of something.

toggling reblogs lets you choose whether a post is rebloggable or not, for example something personal you may want to delete later, turning off reblogs means there won't be any copies floating around after you delete the root post

follower count is not visible! the only way anyone will know how many followers you have is if you tell them. follow blogs based on whether you like what they post, not by whether they're super popular or not

memes are frequent and long-lasting. tumblr plays with jpegs like dolls and there are some memes that have been here for years. a current favourite is the destiel confession meme which has warped into a shorthand for breaking weird news

important dates

tumblr loves a goofy-ass-holiday!! here are some of the standouts:

ides of march - 15th march, celebrate julius caesar getting his shit rocked

pride month - june, tumblr is generally a very pro-queer space, so expect everything to be decked out in rainbows for the entirety of june and most of the rest of the year, too!!

halloween - the entire month of october and also a week in july, this site loves some spooky scary skeletons

destielputinelection - 5th november, reminisce about the absolute chaos that gripped the internet during the 2020 usa presidential election

blog recs for new users

to each their own, and a main draw of tumblr is that there's something for everyone, down to the very, very niche. so, search for stuff that interests you and follow those blogs! however, here are some blogs that are fun for everyone:

heritageposts - your one-stop blog for all the best, weirdest, oldest tumblr posts will all the drama, expect to see a lot of destiel

staffs-secret-blog - (not actually staff)

one-time-i-dreamt - full of weird and wonderful posts, made all the better by the fact that no one reads usernames here, so inevitably there is panicked confusion over what the fuck is going on

biggest-gaudiest-patronuses - one of tumblr's most ubiquitous shit-posters

aj-lenoire - that's me!

that's pretty much the basics, but most people here are really friendly, so if you're unsure, just ask someone! have fun!!

#tumblr etiquette #hellsite (affectionate) #Tumblr #twitter #aj-abstractions

[ironbonds]

❛  when was the last time you ate something?  ❜ amy to tails! || @badnikbreaker || angsty questions prompt

Oh... that was what he'd forgotten.

It wasn't like he was normally one to forgo food for working on something, he'd been homeless and starving for too long to actually let himself fall back into old habits. But this had been something far more important than eating. He'd noticed during everything with the War and everything after that her primary hammer ( it had a different shade of red and yellow than the others, something clearly given regular care ) was showing it's age and the abuse it had been taking.

He couldn't take care of it immediately, everything with Kit and Surge and then Starfall Islands, not to mention his own newest additions... When everything had finally calmed down, he'd thrown himself into making her a new one with the normal gusto that he approached all projects for his friends.

With single minded purpose that couldn't be broken even by silly things like biological needs. At least he'd finished not an hour earlier.

" Honestly I have no idea. I was too busy trying to make you a new hammer. Which honestly, it was way harder than I thought it would be. " Tails didn't quite have enough self preservation instincts at the moment to understand he shouldn't be giving her a sales pitch right now. " You'll be mad, I had to study you a little, and the damage you can make with your current one, because I wasn't going to ask you to take yours for a bit so I could weigh it. "

If Tails was anemic or had low blood sugar from his unintentional fasting, it didn't show. It took him hardly a moment to get up and pull Amy over to his workshop so that he could have her try out his present. All it would take was a trip down into the depths of his workshop, because of course everything reinforced enough to withstand her strength would be underground.

" I had to watch a whole bunch of videos of you, and do calculations based on your height, the size of whatever craters or impact marks you've left with your current hammer. I added some weight because I'd rather it be something you can work up to than something too light and not do the damage you'd expect... "

His chattering would continue on his way down, barely breathing long enough to continue regaling her about how he'd managed to create something similar if not identical to what she was already using. It was only once the door opened again that he would stop talking, pushing her into the room and up to her present.

" You can try it down here if you want, it's plenty safe to let loose. I test weapons and Sonic down here, so I'm sure it will be ok! "

#badnikbreaker #( ask 🔸 tails ) #( ic 🔸 tails ) #( verse 🔸 main 🔸 tails ) #I did not find whether or not you consider IDW canon to your amy #but i know that you have a bunch of IDW muses #so I hope this is ok #But listen! #even 3 ton hammers will get worn out when you are swinging them around all the time

[monstersdownthepath]

Monster Spotlight: Papinijuwari

CR 13

Neutral Evil Huge Humanoid

Bestiary 5, pg. 188

In Aboriginal myth, these vile giants were hated even by other malevolent creatures of yore. Their gaze could cause disease in anyone who looked into it, with these degenerate giants feasting upon the flesh and blood of the sick with equal gusto. Repulsively, they were said to be able to change size, shrinking until they could crawl within their victim’s bodies and drink their blood from the inside. Thankfully, the Papillionjewel--god, okay, hold on--Thankfully, the Papini of Golarion lack this grotesque (but fascinating) ability. They do, however, possess the appetites of their Earth kin, as well as many of their more impressive and impactful talents.

Their Shooting Star ability is perhaps their most dramatic, turning their bodies into burning stars of light that fire 300ft in any single direction. Streaking across the sky as a trail of lights, Papini can use Shooting Star as often as they like... so long as they remain at least 500ft above the earth. The instant they come too close to the ground, they break out of their streaking star form and assume their Giant shape once again. Unfortunately, however, they don’t fatally plummet to the unyielding soil every time this happens, as they have a supernatural 60ft fly speed to hold them aloft, allowing them to either get back into position to resume their star shape or slowly drift down at a safe pace.

Once they’ve shot themselves into position over a settlement of potential prey, Papini can turn themselves invisible 3/day to subtly and sneakily feed upon the life-force of any creature infected with a disease. Unable to inflict sickness themselves with their own attacks or abilities, Papini are nonetheless noted to “feed off the suffering they help spread,” signaling that they may summon, call, conjure, raise, or otherwise harness other creatures capable of spreading plagues. Their hefty bonuses to both Knowledge (Religion) and Knowledge (the Planes) points directly to the use of Undead and Outsiders for this dark purpose.

Once sickness is sewn into a population, Papini can Sense Decay to detect their prey, able to smell diseased creatures no matter how they may try to hide. Despite their intimidating shape and monstrous strength, Papini seem to prefer the stealthy approach, turning invisible and hovering over their victims, inhaling their life from them one breath at a time with Devour Disease. This ranged touch attack causes the target to immediately make a save against a single disease they’re afflicted with... but it doesn’t count towards successful saving throws needed to shrug off a diseases effects, meaning no matter how many times a creature succeeds, the sickness will still linger in them and the Papini can try, try again until their poor victim finally fails. Upon failing, not only do they take damage from their disease as normal, but the Papini gains a hefty 30 temporary HP... and it can just keep devouring their disease, again and again, until they simply drop dead.

The book doesn’t say how much nourishment they receive from a single Devour Disease, but it DOES say that they are “merciless” and seem to derive some joy in watching victims succumb to their sickness, so once a victim fails a single save, they may find themselves targeted again and again by a gaggle of invisible, floating giants who are taking turns betting just when they’ll finally succumb. Someone trying to fight back against the Papini will usually find themselves on the underside of their massive clubs, as the Giants can strike up to three times a round for 2d6+24 damage, all but obliterating their usual targets in single hits and carving sizable chunks from mid-level adventurers. They also have the ever-annoying Flyby Attack combined with Awesome Blow to knock single targets off their feet and make them waste time standing back up, at which point the vile Giants can abuse their 15ft reach to make Attacks of Opportunity from above as their victims try and regain their bearings.

In combat, the Papini are simple smash mooks with no notable defensive abilities or resistances, but their ability to harass the party invisibly out of combat (since Devour Disease doesn’t break the Invisibility spell) means that adventurers unaware of what they’re up against may be operating at half their strength before combat even begins. Diseases don’t even have to finish incubating to be targeted by Devour Disease, so the party may not even be aware of their vulnerability until a chunk of Con, Str, and/or Dex has been torn straight off their sheet.

You can read more about them here.

#Monster Spotlight #CR 11 to 15 #Pathfinder #Dungeons and Dragons

[fluffyquill]

FICLET!

Spoilers for the VM vs MN one shot!

Beau and Jester and Fjord and Molly arrive back in Beau and Yasha’s flat in Rexxentrum in a swirl of magic. The imported vermaloch dining table is a mess, covered with notes and books and scattered spell components.

Yasha startles from where she’s hovering over Caleb’s shoulder with a bowl full of what looks like cake batter. She’s definitely overmixed the ingredients, judging by the state of the poor, abused spoon.

With a relieved gasp, she practically throws the bowl to the counter, scooping Beau up.

“You… You’re wearing Dolorav war paint,” she observes with breathless wonder.

“Hell yeah I did, and we fucking won!”

Caleb, jolted from his frustrated crouch in the dining chair at their appearance, is immediately sandwiched between Jester and Molly as the two start relaying their unexpected adventure with animated gusto. The more they elaborate, the more he looks concerned, and also relieved.

“And then - and then - Fjord turned into a DINOSAUR!” Jester crows, throwing her hands into the air and stomping around the kitchen.

Fjord, who has been trying to hide his ridiculous outfit, shuffles a little as Caleb focuses his blue eyes on him.

“Y-Yeah, I mean I saw you turn into a T-Rex those couple of times. I was running out of options, and I was pretty hurt, so I figured it was a good a time as any to - ”

Caleb surges out of his chair, and in two steps, is in front of Fjord with the brightest damn smile on his face. Fjord barely has time to stammer out a response when the wizard grabs him by the face and plants a quick, enthusiastic kiss on both his cheeks.

“I am SO PROUD of you!” he exclaims.

Fjord is sure the beard does nothing to hide his sudden blush, and Jester makes kissy faces from where she sits in her chair. Molly waggles his eyebrows suggestively as Caleb throws his arms around Fjord’s neck in a warm, jubilant hug. The wizard is near to dancing, he’s so excited. He sits his friend down in one of the remaining chairs, asking him questions left and right.

Although Caleb’s eyes sparkle with excitement, there’s a shine to them that Fjord picks up.

Later that night, after they’ve spent hours theorizing who the devils and their opponents were, and sent an updated message to a frantic Veth who was in the middle of packing her “Ol’ Reliable” crossbow, Fjord catches Caleb alone in the kitchen.

“Hey.”

Caleb pauses for a beat. His fingers tremble on the kettle’s handle. Fjord doesn’t need to voice his thoughts. He’s pretty convinced Caleb can read them at this point. Even without the Somnovum’s powers.

“You were taken from us. Again.”

Fjord stands close, and Caleb leans over to rest his head against his shoulder.

“When Yasha burst into my office, and she told me Beau had been taken away by magic… and then I was only able to reach Veth… the rest of you, gone…”

He sighs, the weight from his shoulders sliding off a little.

“I’m just glad you’re all safe.”

Fjord smiles, leaning his head against Caleb’s. He tries not to think about the devil’s parting words.

Perhaps one day we’ll meet the other half.

“Yeah. Same.”

#critical role #caleb widogast #the mighty nein #fjord #critrole #ficlet #my fanfic #fanfic #jester lavorre #mollymauk tealeaf #beauregard lionett #yasha nydoorin #beauyasha #fjorester #widofjord #pairings if you squint

[telli1206]

Carlos + 4, 15, 28, and 37 pleaaase 💖💖

Always happy to write about this precious boy 😁

WARNING: Mentions of physical abuse, child abuse

4. Have they ever broken a bone?

Yes. Many, actually. But not really any by his own doing. Cruella isn’t satisfied with her punishments unless the sounds of snaps or cracks are heard, and more often than not that noise is a result of a fracture of break. Carlos never truly knew if anything was broken, of course, he just knew the blinding pain and inability to move certain parts of his body. It made doing his chores almost an impossible task. So he learned to take rags to tie up or bind the painful limbs so he could continue his work without them getting in the way. It was a temporary solution, but it was the best he had until the pain became tolerable enough for him to deal with.

15. Have they ever had a black eye?

Yes again, and unfortunately Carlos has had many of those as well. Equally as satisfying to Cruella as the snaps and cracks would be instant tears, and nothing guarantees those better than slaps and punches to Carlos’ face. She leaves those mostly for the weekends though, as black eyes are difficult to disguise and she doesn’t want to be bothered by Yen Sid or any other teachers at school that might have a sliver of compassion for the kids and actually care how she treats hers.

Still, the fading marks on Monday are enough for Evie to notice, as someone who regularly notes her skin’s own flaws and imperfections. She knows enough not to ask Carlos about the bruises though, since every attempt to get him to open up to her has only caused him to retreat further into himself, and then he’ll start avoiding her just to avoid talking about it.

Instead, she silently takes his hand and leads him to the nearest bathroom, where she uses her always handy supply of makeup to touch up the ugly traces of yellow and orange left behind so even Carlos won’t have a visual reminder of his injuries. This action always earns her a smile and a hand squeeze from Carlos, and that’s reward enough for Evie.

28. Do they like to be held?

Not at first, because Carlos isn’t immediately familiar with touch that’s not meant to inflict pain.

Evie is the first to open him up to the idea of being held. She’s so good about consent, and makes sure that Carlos can see her clearly as well as her hand before she reaches out for him, even just to pat him on the shoulder or hold his hand. When she walks next to him, she takes her time to ease in closer, letting their shoulders graze for a bit before she attempts to tip her head over to rest against Carlos. 

And thanks to this concentrated effort on her part, Carlos is the one to finally initiate their first hug. After a particularly awful weekend with Cruella, Carlos had realized the only thing he wanted was to see Evie. And as soon as her blue hair came into view outside of Dragon Hall, Carlos couldn’t stop his feet from running to her. As soon as he was in front of her, his eyes brimming with tears, he let his head drop to her shoulder with a sigh. It was a surprise to Evie, but also elating to have Carlos finally find comfort with her. And when his hands reached around her, she felt like she could burst. She reciprocated with one firm squeeze, hard enough to make Carlos gasp for breath, but also laugh a little at her excitement. 

After that, hugs were a regular thing that neither could get enough of. 

37. How do they feel about small forms of physical contact?

This was also something that Carlos wasn’t immediately comfortable or familiar with as he was always concerned with the pain factor when it came to touch, but the small forms were something he came to tolerate, then love, and soon even crave a little. Once there were people, friends, in his life that actually cared about him, he couldn’t get enough of the idea of showing physical affection. He loved to freely show and be shown love without fear of punishment or pain.

And the small forms of physical contact may have been the way that Evie was able to get close to Carlos, but Jay quickly became the top dog of physical contact when it came to Carlos Oscar De Vil.

On the Isle, physical affection was seen as an obvious weakness, so Jay only took to bullying Carlos as a way to get closer to him. He couldn’t just avoid or ignore him, he was way too fascinated with the cute freckled boy with the soft bouncy white curls to do that. So instead, he initiated contact in the form of shoves in the hall, noogies in class, and flicks on the ear in the lunch line. Not outright bullying or anything too physical, it was just enough to satisfy the urge to be close to Carlos that was creeping under his skin.

Of course, once they became friends and arrived in Auradon, Jay was introduced to a whole new world of physical touch. And no one there thought it was a weakness at all. In fact, it was encouraged to show...feelings. And with Evie and Carlos immediately taking to the idea of affectionate physical contact, Jay joined in with gusto. 

While he was happy to be physical with Evie and Mal, especially with hugs and hand holding, it was Carlos that always had the brunt of Jay’s attention, and therefore his physical touch. It was an everyday occurence to see Jay’s arm slung over the smaller teen’s shoulders as they walked through the halls at school. And while there was still an occasional noogie, they were softer and more affectionate, along with their tackling and wrestling. It was always in good fun and never meant to hurt, and Carlos was acutely aware of that. Because even though Jay seemed to enjoy wrestling him, it was also clear that Jay appreciated their loving touches more. His grin was wide whenever he had the chance to quickly kiss Carlos’ temple or the top of his head, and his laughter was loud and genuine whenever he picked Carlos up and spun him around the Tourney feel after every goal. And his sighs, full and deep, an exhale of pure contentment, came every time he wrapped Carlos in a hug and held him close, even just for a second.

Of course, those same exhales followed after every kiss, too, but those came much later, and led to much more than small forms of physical contact 😉

Send me a number and a character

#Carlos De Vil #hurt/comfort asks #ask prompts #jaylos #platonic!carvie #carvie #jay son of jafar #evie grimhilde #descendants

[phati-sari]

Hey PS! BIG BIG FAN since 5 years! Love all your work and efforts. Have over the years asked you SO many questions but still occasionally keep coming with questions just to read your thoughts on them! :) so here’s another one. ARNAV was the bad boy who Khush got attracted to but I’ve always wondered what exactly are the bad boy qualities that make a guy a bad boy like ARNAV was? When we say bad boy, dosent categorically mean a bad person , but what r the ARNAV kinda bad boy things? Thanks & TC

Hello hello!!

Wow, five whole and entire years? That's amazing, thank you very much :)

I reckon the bad boy question was covered here:

Another contributing factor is Arnav – he straddles the line between Angry Young Man and Abusive Jerk admirably for a tellywood character. There’s something about our social conditioning that tells women that slightly aggressive (and a little angry) men are more desirable (I guess the idea is that they’re strong and they can protect us). But with that comes the expectation that, however much of an ass he is to others, he will be caring and loving towards those he loves. The challenge is to convince him that we belong in that inner circle. IPKKND plays into this with gusto.

The alpha-male lead is caring and protective towards his family, particularly his sister. An atheist, but he keeps a permanent temple in his home for his family. A self-made businessman and workaholic, but he always leaves work to come home if someone needs him. A rich and powerful man, but he rehearses apologies in the mirror. Arnav represents an ideal that is rarely found in reality, but it’s an ideal many of us (unconsciously?) strive for. Khushi certainly does.

She’s almost immediately attracted to the Bad Boy aspects of Arnav. He’s so forbidden, so outside the realm of what she’s expected to be attracted to, that she’s drawn to him. And Khushi isn’t some paragon of goodness either – there’s an answering darkness in her that makes them perfect for one another. She helps him heal from a trauma and he becomes her anchor.

Hopefully that was the sort of answer you were looking for? Thanks for asking, I'm sorry it took me so long to respond! Take loads of care ❤️

#anon ask #answered #ipkknd #iss pyaar ko kya naam doon #arnav singh raizada #khushi kumari gupta #arshi

[itsinmydunah]

Title: WWE Smackdown

Rated: G

Words: 1290

Fandom: twilight rennaisance fic babayyyyy

———————————-

Summary: Bree may be tiny, but she is mighty.

A warning those who may be effected: mentions of past child abuse.

This one was a request from JaneMalfoy on ao3. So you have them to thank for this one, haha. I’m hoping I’ll be able to churn out more Bree fics with the same gusto. This fic is, as usual, also posted on my ao3.

Please be sure to tell me what you think!

————————————————

The sound of shattering ceramic has Bree cringing. She braces for a blow while stuttering out a hasty apology.

There’s dead (ha) silence throughout the house. No one is even fake-breathing.

“Bree, sweetheart, no one is going to do that here.” Bree peeks from beneath the heavy curtain of her hair. Esme is looking at her with kind and knowing eyes. The woman reaches out a hand slowly and tucks Bree’s hair behind her ear. Her touch is so gentle that Bree doesn’t even startle. “You never have to worry about someone hitting you or harming you. I promise,” Esme vows with an assertive tone.

“I—I didn’t mean to break it, Esme.” Bree believes the matriarch when she says no one will hurt her. From what she’s seen of this family in her short time with them, they don’t cross Esme. And more important than that, they are kind to each other. Even when Emmett ribs or mess around with Jasper and Edward, there is a line. No one hurts each other here. It’s not like the home she was raised in or the foster families she bounced from. Despite being ‘monsters’, they’re gentle. Especially to her.

“Oh, I know, baby. Don’t worry over it. We all broke many things in our early days. No matter what, you can’t be worse than Emmett.” Esme grins widely, nose crinkling as she teases her rowdiest son. Bree cracks a smile that grows even bigger when she hears an exclaimed ”hey!” from the upper floor.

“Yeah, don’t worry Bree. Carlisle makes sure Esme can have everything she wants. That vase wasn’t even an antique. I’m pretty sure it was just from Pottery Barn.” Bree tries not to let the thought of Pottery Barn being just a dispensable brand to anyone. She grew up with plastic chairs in the kitchen and a fold up table and was lucky to have season-appropriate clothes.

The Cullens’ wealth still boggles her mind. She was immediately given a closet-full of clothes by Alice and toiletries from Rosalie and a laptop from Jasper. They didn’t think anything of spending money on her, even in the very beginning. As much as she enjoys those things, she likes being able to regularly shower the most. And the hugs from Esme. And the calm, receptive presence of Carlisle. And the way they’re all so kind.

“If you’re sure,” Bree says doubtfully. She begins to pull herself out of her instinctive cower.

“1000%,” Esme assures. “Anyway, you’re pretty strong now yourself,” the woman winks.

“Sure, she’s strong, but she’s so tiny. Like, tinier than Alice!” Emmett booms. His raucousness has drawn the rest of the family from their rooms.

“Emmett, you know I can kick your ass,” Alice says, eyebrows set in a challenge.

Emmett tuts and waggles his finger. “No, no, no. You can evade me. Probably for days. But you cannot kick my ass. Not even close to the same thing.”

“It’s an important distinction.” Edward shrugs with a crooked grin. “But, actually, Emmett, you're not the strongest in the house right now.”

Bree cocks her head. Emmett certainly looks like the strongest one. Jasper is pretty stocky, too, though. Edward was lithe and fast, but not really one for brute strength. Rosalie was certainly formidable, but Bree didn’t think it could be her, either. Esme and Carlisle were simply too gentle to be the strongest ones.

“Edward means you, Bree.” Jasper offers. Bree blinks. Her? Not a chance! She was barely over five feet! Jasper must sense her confusion because he goes on to explain, “the human blood still in your body from your recent turning makes you stronger than any of us right now. And because you spent your early life drinking human blood you also have that as an advantage.”

Riley hadn’t told her any of this. She was still very unaware of a lot of aspects of being a vampire.

“I mean, I know that’s how its supposed to be, but look at her, Jas!” Emmett gestures towards Bree with exuberant hands. Bree looks down at her slight figure and skinny arms and has to agree with his assessment.

Jasper scoffs and shakes his head. “Newborns half the size of me could take me down before I was trained against them.”

“You’re telling me I could take Emmett down?” Bree inquires disbelievingly. She certainly felt stronger as a vampire than a human, but the very idea of taking down Emmett’s hulking mass is unthinkable. He’s easily 6’5”.

“If you can get a proper grip around him, yeah.” Jasper is grinning now like he knows what’s coming next. Alice is practically vibrating beside him.

“Well I won’t believe it until I see it,” Emmett says stubbornly. “Try me, short stack.” He holds out his arms and gestures for Bree to attack him.

“Emmett Cullen, not in my house you don’t.” Esme isn’t even in the room, but somehow she knows what’s happening. Bree shakes her head in wonder. This family is very in-tune with each other. It makes her undead heart a bit warmer.

“Yes, Esme,” Emmett intones like a begrudging child, “ Outside then, short stack.”

Emmett is already dashing to a cleared area behind the house. Bree looks at the others. They’re all bemused but unsurprised by the turn of events. They don’t seem concerned at all by Emmett’s determination to fight her. She knows that Emmett won’t hurt her, so she shrugs and follows him outside.

He’s already poised to attack when she gets to him. She tenses for a moment before lunging at him. She perches on his back and pushes down with all her might, sending him windmilling forward. A helpless cackle slips from her lips at the sight. She is strong!

“Oh, you’re sneaky!” Emmett booms, turning on his heel to bulldoze towards her.

She isn’t scared of Emmett. His open face is nothing like that of her father before he hit her. Emmett is smiling sunnily and laughing as he dodges her and tries to grab her waist. Bree can’t help the giggle that escapes her when she slips from his grasp. He looks so bewildered as she continues to evade his attacks. There’s the sound of Rosalie’s laughter in the background, but Bree doesn’t let herself be distracted. She hadn’t fought with the other newborns when they attacked the Cullens. It was an odd rush to get to use all the power given to her.

When Emmett finally gets his hands around her hips, she throws herself towards the ground and flips her center of gravity, sending him careening into the rocky bank beneath them.

“OHHHHH!!!!!! Em, she got you!!” Rosalie is full-body laughing now, bent over in mirth. The sight of this tiny girl flinging her huge husband over her body is just hilarious. Alice is grinning widely as Jasper guffaws at Emmett’s grumbling as he climbs up the bank. Edward is smirking. Esme, who came out to witness her son be put in his place by their newest addition, is also laughing.

“I did tell you she’d be able to,” Jasper reminds his brother who is picking leaves off his now-torn shirt.

“Yeah, yeah.” Emmett waves him off, narrowing his eyes at Bree. She grins, putting her hands on her hips and tossing her hair behind her shoulder. The much larger vampire shakes his head and breaks out into a good-natured laugh. “It won’t last forever though, short stack!” He scoops her up in a hug, twirling her. Bree shrieks and giggles, smacking his back but also clinging onto his shoulders.

She never imagined what it would be like to have a brother, but now it seems she will have a few brothers for the rest of eternity.

#wow I’m on a roll #imagine that #Bree tanner deserved better #includes emmett being emmett and Bree finding out what family is like #bree tanner #Bree tanner is a tiny firecracker #family feels #family fluff #tw: child abuse #jasper and emmett and Eddie will be good big brothers #heavily caffeinated author-look out #emmett cullen #rosalie hale #alice cullen #jasper hale #esme cullen #edward cullen #carlisle cullen #emmett cullen/rosalie hale #alice cullen/jasper hale #twilight #twilight rennaisance #twilght fanfic #my fic

[extreme-technicality]

On Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt, knight (in absentia) of the Realm of Goodcastle

Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt, knight (in absentia) of the realm of Goodcastle, is peak chaotic good. In this essay I will discuss how his backstory, his choices, the origin of his powers, and the symbolism of a candle combine to create Fitzroy, the hero we didn’t know we needed but very much the one we deserve.

We know from Argo’s investigation into Fitz’s home life that he is the son of a long haul trucker caravaner and a (presumably) stay-at-home mom. His family name is one of the most prestigious elven families on Nua, though he’s functionally a member in name only. One day he got a letter inviting him to become a knight of the realm of Goodcastle for the low low price of 200 gold, several other fees, and a certificate of completion from Clyde Nite’s Night Knight school. His parents didn’t have much, and had to take out a hefty loan to send him to the school (as well as pay for all the fees). He didn’t fit in with the pompous, wealthy elites there, and they let him know it with every obvious snicker and the fact that his classmates actively avoided him outside of class. Griffin explicitly states that he (Fitz) adopted the pompous, proper air he puts on in canon as a direct result of the ridicule and ostracization of his knight school classmates. He finally received something other than mocking disdain from them when he randomly (one might say chaotically) turned his professor into a catfish. He only started to truly feel like shit about the catfishing when he heard they were going to expel him from the school and, by extension, his dream–the notoriety and fear from his peers and professor bothered him far less before there were tangible consequences for his actions, inadvertent though they were. Shortly after this, he was invited to Hieronymous Wiggenstaff’s School for Heroism and Villainy, full-ride–upon graduation, he would be allowed to return to Clyde Nite’s Night Knight School and finish his schooling there, then apparently on to the realm of Goodcastle to serve in the queen’s guard. In summary: Fitzroy Maplecourt is someone of humble background who aspires to Make Something Of Himself and help people along the way; as the catfishing incident displayed, he doesn’t much care how he does that, so long as his actions help people (as well as himself).

He didn’t always lean into that side of himself, however: the catfishing incident ended with Fitz also feeling conflicted about how his power manifested to harm the people around him. At the very beginning of Graduation, he’s constantly worried about controlling his magic and not necessarily using it. A knight, after all, would have little need for magic. This viewpoint changes gradually throughout the episodes as he bonds with Snippers and learns more about the nature of magic, specifically his own. It changes most drastically when he meets the origin of his magic, the entity who goes by Chaos. Immediately after he had that psychic conversation with his magical patron, it’s like he stopped giving a fuck about what is “right” or “proper”. He used his magic with precision and intimidated the centaurs–as well as his Hero classmates–into listening to him and doing whatever he said. It wasn’t the stated object of his assignment with the centaurs, wasn’t what anyone expected him to do, and made Chaos very, very happy. He maintained his chaotic mindset, threw himself into it in fact, once he returned to the school. He attacked Gray when convention would dictate he stood there and let him monologue; he mouthed off to the Unbroken Chain tribunal, and his first action as a full member was to call one of their highest-ranking members to trial on Argo’s behalf; he suggested assassinating Gray instead of fighting a war. None of those actions were dictated to Fitz–in fact, none of those choices were knightly in the slightest. He ripped a man’s hand off and intimidated him and the surrounding centaurs (who outnumbered him and his friends many times over, might I add) into seeing his point of view. If a knight did that, he would be called a bully and said to be abusing his powers. But his motivations were selfishly good–he intimidated the centaur leaders into sitting down and having a conversation to avoid war, while he got to keep the apple Higglemus asked for; he saw an opening to attack the BBEG while he wasn’t expecting it, thereby giving him the edge and a chance to, possibly, end the war before it even began; he defended and stood by his friends in the face of people who cared (in his view) more for their precious order than for the aforementioned BBEG and the brewing war; he saw an opportunity to fulfill Argo’s need for justice and took it, unexpectedly but with due process to the order’s laws; he suggested the underhanded approach to ending the war and fighting Gray because he doesn’t want innocent people to die in a war that isn’t theirs. All of these choices were chaotic, and not all of them made Chaos happy. But they were Fitzroy’s choices, made wholeheartedly and with gusto, and he made them because he wanted to. He doesn’t care what Chaos wants him to do, has specifically said he won’t let Chaos use him to be their instrument on Nua multiple times–and that choice is perhaps the most chaotic of them all. Most everything he did and does, he does because it serves either his purpose or his friends’ purposes–but he doesn’t harm innocent people in the process. Fitzroy is chaotically, selfishly good, despite Chaos.

Chaos specifically is interesting, both as an entity in their own right and as Fitz’s magic glucose guardian. They introduced themself by saying they have many names, but Chaos is the one they like the best. This specific wording makes me personally believe that the entity we know as Chaos isn’t actually chaos, but something often mistaken for chaos. My gut wants to say “discord” or “wanton self-interest”, but I’m interested to see what Travis has planned in that regard. Chaos is also the origin of both Fitzroy and Gray’s power, and the Godscar Chasm is their work and seems to be their base of operation. As much as they claim to want Fitz to let loose with his power and do whatever he wants, Chaos also tells him what they don’t want him to do. They “promised Gray a war”, and for a being called “Chaos” they don’t seem to appreciate Fitzroy’s chaotic actions very much. They’ve said before that they want Fitz to win the war, but that it has to be a spectacle–like a wildfire burning down the countryside, before new growth and chaotic peace can grow. Fitzroy, on the other hand, sees how unnecessarily destructive that would be, and prefers to sidestep that option in favor of something quietly chaotic and peacefully assertive.

If Chaos and Gray’s vision for the war is a wildfire, burning bright and brilliant and fast, then Fitzroy’s is a candle, fitting the symbolism of the most recent episode (25: Burden of Things). Fitz chose the candle key to represent himself because fire is chaotic by nature, leaving both destruction and room for growth in its wake. He also claimed candles are chaos contained and put to a good use, bringing light to the darkness and faint warmth. My own interpretation reads a candle as both instigator and instigated: a candle cannot light itself, nor can it control how it was ignited. Fitz had no choice in either the fact or the manner of his magic awakening, couldn’t control whether or not his metaphorical wick was lit or who got burned in the process. However, a lit candle can be used to light other things–paper, wood, plants, cloth, and so on. Fitzroy as the candle in this metaphor has two available options: he could light a hearth, a welcoming space for his loved ones and a respite from the cold, cruel world, or he could light an all-consuming blaze to destroy the flawed existing system and leave room for a new one–one of Chaos’s design–to grow in its wake.

So, to recap: Fitz is tangentially part of a very prestigious elven family, grew up with relatively little save for a loving family, worked and chanced his way into power, and is currently being groomed into using said power in a certain way. He is also adapting to the situation he’s found himself in, making his own decisions and doing so in the name of his benefactor (ie. chaos) as opposed to the spirit (ie. what Chaos actually wants him to do) such that the outcome benefits himself, his friends, and their goals while minimizing the damage to innocent bystanders. Along the way, his personal image has gone from grandiose knight (in absentia), pompous and proper and EliteTM, to a candle–simple, cheap, ordinary, utilitarian, and more importantly, a light source for people who literally cannot afford anything better. I look at this, and I have to wonder: what was his takeaway from Clyde Nite’s Night Knight School? What did he think of the 1%, of the order and class and propriety they hold so dear? As the son of a caravaner, I wouldn’t think he’d see much fancy shit at home, but he’d definitely see hardship. He’d definitely see needing to compromise, and needing to fight for anything you need, facing a world that isn’t serving you like it should. I would ask if he’s angry, but he literally said it this episode–he’s lost his goddamn patience. Everyone is so caught up in the order of things, in the letters and laws and rules-lawyering and arbitrary measures of “worthiness” that they’ve forgotten to turn the lights on and it’s getting dark. Thats not to say that Fitz doesn’t know when to abide by the laws, or use them to his advantage, as we saw in both the incident with the magma monster and the Unbroken Chain tribunal–but they need light, they need a fire under their asses, and Fitz is just a candle doing his best. But a candle can only do so much.

And it doesn’t take much to put a candle out.

#taz graduation #taz grad spoilers #taz meta #taz fitzroy #fitzroy maplecourt #technical talks #there’s so much more i could talk about but it’s late and i’m tired #like how he didn’t want a war cuz his dad would almost certainly be targeted (both bc of his relationship to Fitz and bc he would be part of #the supply lines and it’s always good war tactics to cut off your enemy’s supplies) #or how the impatience and frustration with the existing system mirrors the impatience and frustration most millennials/gen z’s feel towards #America’s flawed and outdated system #I could REALLY go into how his experience at clyde nite’s night knight school shaped his worldview and self-image #like I know I talked about it in the actual rant but did i talk about it Enough #ummmmm oh I put this into gdocs and formatted it like a typical essay #it’s like five pages. 1.6k words. and it’s also currently after midnight. #tldr I’m super passionate about Fitzy’s character development if you couldn’t tell lmao #IMPORTANT NOTE: i wrote this a few weeks ago (right after ep. 25) so like. i blame any nd all inaccuracies wrt recent eps on that lmaoooooo

[chiseler]

The Weeder in God’s Garden

A moral crusader from his early years, Anthony Comstock was born in New Canaan, Connecticut in 1844. His father, Thomas, was a prosperous farmer who also owned two sawmills. While the family had plenty of money, it was through the influence of Comstock’s fervent Congregationalist mother Polly, who like her husband had descended from Puritan stock, that the seven Comstock children led very austere lives marked by hard work, religious instruction, and precious little fun. Among his siblings, Anthony was the only one who clung fiercely to his mother’s fire and brimstone sensibilities. Polly died when Anthony was ten, but by then he knew full well Satan was a very real force in the world, and the only way to stay right with God was to remain pure in thought and deed, resisting the ever-present temptations presented by the Prince of Lies. Alcohol, tobacco, gambling and especially sex were all tickets straight to Hell, a belief he inflicted on everyone around him. This made him, no doubt, a very annoying child.

As a student in the local public school, Comstock never got a firm grasp on reading or spelling, which he considered useless anyway. He also found his growing sense of moral outrage enflamed by his fellow students, those godless little miscreants, who among other things would surreptitiously pass around ads for packs of those French playing cards with the pictures of the girls on them. No, the only education he needed he learned through the Old Testament stories his mother had read him, those tales of a vengeful God and the awful fate awaiting sinful, wicked men who ally themselves with the forces of evil.

When the Civil War broke out, Comstock, then 19, volunteered for the union army and was packed off to Florida. Much to his horror, he quickly discovered that certain Northern businesses, hoping to ease the burden of those proud soldiers willing to sacrifice everything in defense of, well, whatever it was, were in the habit of delivering shipments of not only whiskey and tobacco to the camps, but pornography as well. Although he saw precious little action, he immediately became an enormous pain in the ass to the fellow soldiers in his regiment. Forget about the Confederate army—it was the smoking, drinking, cursing and gambling among those in camp with him that would prove their downfall, and he let them know it on a daily basis. He would claim in his diary to have converted two or three of his fellow soldiers to the ways of righteousness, promising Comstock they would neither drink nor chew tobacco for the duration of the war. But given the evidence of his diary entries, it seems Comstock’s own wartime vice was porn.

In a 1863 diary entry he wrote: “Again tempted and found wanting…Sin, sin. Oh how much peace and happiness is sacrificed on thy altar.” Other entries make it clear the early morning temptations he failed to resist took the form of self abuse.

(In psychological terms, as history has shown time and again, Comstock’s weakness for porn is hardly a shock considering his coming crusade.)

Comstock was not exactly a wholly freelance operator when it came to his wartime proselytizing. He allied himself with The Christian Commission, a project spearheaded by the YMCA which sent missionaries to the front in order to try and save the souls of both Confederate and Union soldiers. His association with the Christian Commission would prove very profitable in the years following the war.

After leaving the army, Comstock moved to New York and took a job at a dry goods store in Manhattan. While most commentators seem baffled by Comstock’s decision to move to the very heart of American vice, a growing dirty metropolis where taverns, gambling join’s, contraceptive devices, prostitutes and erotic literature were all plentiful and accessible, his motivation as a crusader made the move an obvious one. If your self-appointed mission is to stamp out vice, then you go where the vice is.

And sure enough, the bookseller next door to the dry goods store where Comstock worked, a Mr. Conroy, did a brisk business selling pornographic pictures and erotica to those heathens deaf to the word of the Lord. Understandably outraged by this, Comstock entered the store, purchased an obscene book, brought it straight to the police and then led them to the man who sold it to him.

Although the police took Conroy into custody, the bookseller was soon free again and back to his godless business. Every time Comstock demanded the smut merchant be arrested, he was freed again in a matter of hours, convincing Comstock (and correctly) the cops were in cahoots with the city’s purveyors of vice, though this epiphany in no way tempered his holy mission.  

Entrapment not being a major legal roadblock in the late 19th century, Comstock would use the same technique—making an illicit purchase, then fingering the seller—to wage his one-man war om smut peddlers throughout the city.

His tireless crusade soon not only earned Comstock coverage in the local papers, in 1872 it also brought him to the attention of the founders of the YMCA. It was the YMCA’s Christian Commission, after all, which had pushed for an amendment to the 1865 postal bill making it a misdemeanor to send obscene material through the mail. Impressed by Comstock’s efforts to eradicate vice, the YMCA’s brass began introducing the young zealot to a number of wealthy and powerful men around the city who who likewise felt something needed to be done about New York’s shocking moral degradation. Comstock seemed to be just the reformist warrior they were looking for. With their financial backing and political connections supporting him, Comstock founded The New York Society for the Suppression of Vice.

Under the guise of the NYSSV, and with the enthusiastic encouragement of local and federal politicians, wealthy conservatives, and evangelicals, Comstock expanded his efforts, demanding the confiscation of not only blatantly pornigraphic materials and the arrest of those who sold them, but the banning of books, artwork and plays he deemed obscene, though his definition of “obscene” was so broad and so vague it essentially boiled down to “anything Comstock didn’t like.” Over the years this would include medical textbooks, classic literature and newspaper editorials condemning his campaign. The efforts to ban works of art and literature willy-nully came to be known, in a term generally if inaccurately attributed to George Bernard Shaw, as “Comstockery.”

Although Comstock did have any number of outspoken enemies around town, especially among early civil libertarians and women’s rights groups, no one seemed capable of stopping, or even curtailing, his efforts. Because of this, his sense of personal invincibility grew, as did his political clout. People were scared to death of him, even if they hated him and everything he stood for. Cross Comstock, and you could find yourself in prison for sending a Mother’s Day card.

It’s been argued that Comstock’s war on obscene material was, at it’s core, really a war against contraception and abortion, given he argued that the reading of obscene materials inevitably led to the sort of behavior that would bring contraception and abortion into play. Inspired by the 1865 postal law, with the help of his political backers, in 1873 what came to be known as The Comstock Act was passed. The law not only forbade sending obscene material through the mail, but any product or information related to contraception or abortion. Three years later, the Comstock Act (aka The Comstock Law) was amended, its powers greatly expanded. The amended version read:

"Every obscene, lewd, or lascivious book, pamphlet, picture, paper, writing, print or other publication of an indecent character, and every article or thing designed or intended for the prevention of conception or procuring of abortion, and every article or thing intended or adapted for any indecent or immoral use, and every written or printed card, circular, book, pamphlet, advertisement, or notice of any kind giving information, directly or indirectly, where, or how, or of whom, or by what means, any of the hereinbefore mentioned matters, articles, or things may be obtained or made, and every letter upon the envelope of which, or postal card upon which, indecent, lewd, obscene, or lascivious delineations, epithets, terms, or language may be written or printed, are hereby declared to be non-mailable matter, and shall not be conveyed in the mails, nor delivered from any post-office, nor by any letter-carrier.”

After the Act was passed, Comstock was made a Special Agent of the US Postal Service, a position that gave him police powers and the right to carry a gun. Although he received no pay as a postal inspector, it was a position he undertook with gusto, as it granted him the power to make his own arrests without bringing those corrupt cops into it. Returning to the same technique he first used to nab that smut peddler Conroy, Comstock, under a false name, would order material through the mail that was covered under his namesake law, and upon receiving it, would order the arrest of the seller, who would then be charged with a federal offense. This included the publisher of anatomy textbooks, two journalists who had written a piece about the sexual improprieties of a well-known religious figure, even one activist who, as a test, had sent some of the Bible’s racier passages through the mail.

In Charles Gallaudet’s 1913 biography, Anthony Comstock, Fighter: Some Impressions of a Lifetime Adventure in Conflict with the Powers of Evil, Comstock would boast he had destroyed 284,000 pounds of printing plates used to create obscene books, 15 tons worth of printed material, nearly 100,000 “articles made of rubber for immoral purposes,” and millions of pornographic images.

It’s also been rumored, and I wouldn’t be in the least surprised if it was true, that in the process of destroying all that material, Comstock quietly squirreled away a massive secret personal library of confiscated books and images, which he would freely share with his wealthy and powerful friends

By his own account, Comstock arrested some four thousand people over the course of his four-decade career as a “weeder in God’s garden,” as he termed himself. Of these, no case received more press than the arrest of D.M. Bennett, a Free Thinker and publisher of The Truth Seeker magazine. As noted in its first issue, the magazine sought to promote "science, morals, free thought, free discussions, liberalism, sexual equality, labor reform progression, free education, and whatever tends to elevate and emancipate the human race." This, needless to say, did not include religious zealots or self-righteous political opportunists, and so found itself in Comstock’s crosshairs.

Comstock had Bennett arrested for both sending a pamphlet advocating Free Love through the mail, and fore writing an editorial for his magazine entitled “An Open Letter to Jesus Christ.” At the close of the highly-publicized trial, Bennett was found guilty and  sentenced to thirteen months in prison for violating The Comstock Act.

Comstock was also mighty proud his efforts had driven at least fifteen lost souls (again by his own reckoning) to commit suicide. One was an abortionist who’d been arrested for giving a bottle of pills to Comstock, after he approached her claiming to be the husband of a woman whose current pregnancy was putting her life at risk. Another was Ida Craddock, the author of several explicit marriage manuals, who was arrested after mailing them to her naive and confused customers. Craddock killed herself the day before reporting to federal prison, leaving behind a blistering note condemning Comstock and his supporters.

Comstock’s final arrest and court case came in January of  1915, when he arrested Bill Sanger, husband of pioneering feminist and contraception-rights activist Margaret Sanger, for distributing her pamphlet “Family Limitation.” Like most of those targeted by Comstock, Sanger was found guilty.

Although Comstock took aim at some worthwhile targets in his war on vice, including medical quackery and economic fraud, he will always be remembered as America’s foremost book-burner, a man whose influence would linger for half a century after his 1915 death. His postmortem influence over what Americans could and could not legally read or see would only be broken in June of 1964, when the Supreme Court ruled Henry Miller’s Tropic of Cancer was not obscene.

Yeah, Anthony Comstock was a real asshole, a man utterly incapable of minding his own goddamn business. But like Joe McCarthy he still has his ardent supporters among the pro-life and evangelical set, pinch-faced types who pine for the days when abortionists were jailed and books they didn’t understand were burned. In fact one of Comstock’s devotees recently published a graphic novel based on the 1913 biography, which itself was turned into a crudely animated film for those True Believers who remain as illiterate as Comstock himself.

by Jim Knipfel

[scope-dogg]

Wrapup of my return to Gaogaigar

In anticipation of its long overdue return to SRW, I was really excited to watch Gaogaigar again, but that came with a touch of trepidation - the last time I watched this series from beginning to end was over three years ago now, back when I first started to really get into mecha anime, and I’ve seen a lot of other great series from all across the genre since then. I was worried that maybe it wouldn’t hold up, and that the great memories I had of it were potentially misplaced. Ultimately, my fears were dispelled. This is still easily the best show in the Braves series, it’s still my favourite classic-style Super Robot show ever, and in fact it might have just re-established its credentials as my favourite mecha anime of all time. With that said, I’m not going to say a lot here because I think what I said in the review I wrote way back when is still mostly pertinent, but I think it’s worthwhile briefly running over why I think it’s such an effective show, as well as a couple of the ways I actually feel differently about it now versus when I first watched it.

I think the main thing that works in its favour is the way it’s a very earnest and straightforward show. Considering that the Braves series is typically more kid-friendly than other mecha franchises there’s actually quite a lot in this show that’s actually kind of frightening - the Zonder antagonists actually bring stuff like biomechanical body horror into play, and many of the designs of not only their robot monsters but even their basic character designs manage to be strange in ways that’s zany-looking but also kind of unsettling and creepy. Meanwhile, most of their plans bring about really dire and perilous circumstances with minute odds of survival - yet no matter how dire or terrifying the circumstance the show remains firm that they can be overcome with a strong will and guts. It sounds cheesy but the show plays it straight with such gusto that it’s actually refreshing - having seen other shows that do the opposite of that like Iron-Blooded Orphans’ anticlimactic downer ending has only made me appreciate it more.

That’s aided by the show’s presentation, which I think my opinion has improved on a bit. It definitely helps that this time I watched the blu-ray remaster, (which is definitely the way anybody who hasn’t seen this show should watch it if they can, by the way) but I definitely appreciated the work that went into animating it. Originally I criticised the show for using a lot of stock footage, however, I actually think Gaogaigar uses it more intelligently than most, both by mixing it up frequently, using music to change the tone each time, and by using it to build hype rather than just kill time like other shows I could name - in the Braves series alone Might Gaine and Goldran are a lot worse, to say nothing of chronic abusers like Gundam Seed.

There were another couple of things to reevaluate for me as well - for instance, the first time I watched the show I found Mic Sounders annoying, but for whatever reason, this time I found him entertaining. On the other hand, I did notice that the beginning of the 31 Zonder Primevals arc that starts around episode 31 is a little weaker than the earlier parts of the show, though I still think that the very end is a gripping conclusion.

Of course, the main reason I was rewatching this at all was because it’s in SRW T, and I’m having a hard time not seeing it as being one of the main pillars of the overall plot in the game. There are potential connections to be made all over the place, from obvious ones like Mazinger Z Infinity and Might Gaine, to others that are less immediately obvious but potentially even more important, like Gundam Crossbone, Expelled from Paradise or even Rayearth. No matter what, however, it’s going to be really exciting to see Gaogaigar take centre stage in a mainline console SRW game again, for the first time since Alpha 3.

I said in my opening paragraph that this had reestablished itself as my favourite mecha series, and that’s true, but that’s only for now. There’s always been another series that’s been jockeying with it for the top spot in my eyes - Gaogaigar being my favourite Super Robot show, this other one being my favourite Real Robot show, and the one that I took my namesake from when making this blog. No prizes for guessing which one I’m rewatching next.

#gaogaigar #mecha #respect the robot

[burlybanner]

Syzygy - 4

Syzygy - An AU of Infundo (post-Infundo Chronicles).

Chapter 4: Food for Thought

Chapter 4 Summary:  Test results and lots of fast food bring about  dangerous breakthroughs and cautious conclusions.

Link to Chapter 1, 2, 3

**

With the three of them working more earnestly than before, Bruce allowed a few tests that week that he would've normally nixed. Like using Tony's idea of fasting, which worked. A little too well, actually, since yes Hulk did make an appearance. Hulk was none too happy about starving "chubby Banner" ("Hey, at least he didn't say 'puny,'" Tony told Bruce, after the fact). Some small comfort, he supposed.

"What did I say?" Bruce growled. It wasn't much of a growl, though. He was too tired to be any more menacing than a kitten. "Now we're back to square one."

"No, we're not." 

“According to what logic?”

Tony had that look in his eye, the one Bruce hated, the one of foreboding and horribly dark mysteries. Tony tapped his lip as he paced the Hulk Room. "Well, you were out, so you didn't hear all of us talking."

Bruce blinked blearily at him. "Who?"

"Me, Steve, and Hulk. We had a long conversation."

Bruce stared at him like he'd grown a third head. "You what?"

"Oh, don't act like that. You know he's nowhere near as clueless as you'd like him to be and he knows exactly what we're doing. Exactly."

Bruce gulped when Tony came nearly nose-to-nose with him while sporting a maniacal grin. "And I think he understands 'your' body better than you do."

"He most certainly does not," Bruce fired back, affronted and downright indignant. "I'd like to see his degrees in biochemistry and biophysics."

"Hah. He doesn't need 'em," Tony said. He winked at Bruce and pulled back from Bruce's space. "He just told me he's Santa Claus. 'Cause he sees you when you're sleeping and knows when you're awake."

"That's not at all ominous." Bruce ran a hand under his chin, "feeling" the Hulk's deep chuckle inside his core. At the same time Steve sauntered in carrying no fewer than ten take-out bags, and Bruce's hunger took over. "Gimme," he commanded, grasping the air.

Grinning, Steve tossed a bag over and Bruce tore into the first sandwich he found. He ravenously wolfed down three large bites before saying another word. "Mmm. Yes. And Tony, I was already goin' over it in my head--"

"Sure ya were."

"Shut up. I was." Bruce realized he was being mean but he was starving, dammit. He shoved the rest of the burger in his mouth and groped for fries. "Did you get--"

"Shakes," Steve said, handing him a nondescript bag, suspiciously different from the others. But Bruce didn’t care and tore into the bag, immediately clutching hold of a frosty shake. He began gulping it like water and missed the small exchange between Tony and Steve.

"Mmm," Bruce moaned. He ogled the container. "Why's this so delicious?"

"Additives," Tony said, grinning at Steve. "Courtesy of Mean Green. He knew you'd like 'em."

"Swirled in sweetened condensed milk," Steve admitted. "With malted milk powder, melted fudge, flavored syrup and a heavy cream whip."

"And the pièce de résistance, two scoops of the gainer recipe you invented."

Bruce knit his brows and paused as he slurped down the dregs of the frozen treat. "I was still analyzing the compounds."

"Well, fine, but Hulk knew your formula was ready to go, chilling in your office fridge. He told us so we could put your hypothesis to good use when you shrunk back."

"He had no right," Bruce growled, but he rooted around another bag for some fries. "Wasn't finished with the clinical trials."

"Probably thought you needed a push," Tony said, smirking. He fed Bruce another hamburger so he could two-fist his fries with a burger.

"Hulk gave us some good ideas," Steve said, and his face was flushed as he watched Bruce down his food with gusto. "Including the sleeping problem."

"Wha' sheepin' prob'em?" It was tough to understand Bruce with his fat cheeks chipmunk full, and the angry look on his face bordered on comical.

"He knows how to make you sleepwalk," Tony said.

"And sleep eat," Steve clarified. "In fact, he's done it before."

Bruce's eyes shrunk to angry slits as he swallowed his mouthful. He chomped into his fries, ferociously shaking his head. "That's abusive. I didn't consent."

"He said he only did it once, when you were passed out from hunger in India, or some other remote place. He had to, or you'd've died." Bruce tore into his sandwich, jaw working bitterly at Tony's revelation.  "He can still access that part of your brain but he promised not to, unless you're willing to let him."

"That's an unacceptably high risk," Bruce complained. Steve offered him a soda and he snatched it from him. "That fuckin' sneaky motherfucker--"

"Bruce," Tony sighed. "He's asking you now. He could've done it without you but he told us, so we could ask on his behalf. So do you want his help, or not?"

Bruce made a face, even as Steve handed him fries and another shake, and he swirled his fries in the thick chocolate malt.  "That's not the point," Bruce said, pouting.

"I think you're just mad he came up with it and you didn't."

Bruce rolled his eyes and screwed up his face, looking way closer to the Hulk than Tony figured Bruce would've liked. "Not. Even. Remotely. True."

"Quit fussing and finish your food," Steve said, not unkindly. But he was hiding his laugh.

Bruce fumed and suffered silently as he systematically worked through the food bags, but he begrudgingly agreed with their assessment. It solved an issue he'd been mulling over, regarding the night feedings. He'd originally considered an IV but Hulk's admission could potentially produce a better result. But doing so meant giving Hulk unconscious control, and Bruce scoffed at the very notion. He and Hulk had boundaries for a reason. Giving Him absolute control wore those boundaries painfully thin.

"Let me think about it," He murmured while forlornly poking the depleted bags of food. "But is there...any more? I'm, ah. I think I'm still pretty hungry."

"Sure there is," Steve said. He smirked at Tony while tossing another bag to Bruce.

Bruce's eyes widened. Along with extra burgers and fries Steve added one of his favorites, Shake Shack's specialty frozen concrete dessert.

Yum.

"Mmm," he sighed, finally calming down. He hiccuped twice and rubbed his belly. Well, he supposed he could conclude that the gainer formula worked better than he expected - he was definitely hungrier than after a normal Hulk-out, and he could choke down twice as much (the double-SmokeShack burgers and sodas, fries, shakes, and desserts barely made a dent).

But only time would tell if nightly feedings would help or harm.

**

The week's next weigh-in yielded better results and Bruce was nearly satisfied.

"There we go," Tony crowed.  "Two and a half kilos. That's definitely progress. At this rate, you'll be where you want in twenty or so months. Not bad."

Steve was over the moon while sporting a goofy grin and Bruce, although quite pleased, realized he had more options.

"Good," he huffed. He tugged at his tighter belt, determined that this would be the last week he could fit in his current khakis. "But I can do better. So I'm in."

"In, as in--?"

"Hulk and I agreed. I'm gonna let him take the reins," he said. "Starting tonight."

Part five: 

#chubby bruce #chubby bruce fic #IFverse #infundofic #chubby bruce banner #steve rogers #tony stark #bruce banner #polyamory #stark spangled banner #chubby!bruce #bhm #chubby kink #chub love #infundo headcanons #syzygy #chapter four syzygy #bhm bruce banner #starkspangledbanner syzygy

[thephoenix-hq]

☞ NAME: Sirius Black. ☞ AGE: Nineteen (11.03.1959) ☞ BLOOD STATUS: Pureblood. ☞ HOUSE: Former Gryffindor. ☞ GENDER: Cis-male. ☞ FACECLAIM: Ben Barnes. ☞ TRIGGER WARNING: Suicide.

+ THE STORY SO FAR +

Sirius Black wasn’t meant to live in poverty. From the day he was born, he could have whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. It wasn’t until he got a little older and started blatantly questioning the activities happening around him that he got his first taste of how twisted his family was. He learned to keep his mouth shut until he went to Hogwarts, though. It was meeting James, the boy his age from a family he grew up hearing terrible things about. Bloodtraitors. Muggle-lovers. A five minute conversation on the train had Sirius questioning his whole life.

After that, he met Peter who was a half-blood but possibly the kindest person he had ever met. And then there was Remus. He really had to rewire his brain for Remus, because though he was one of the most genuine humans he’d never met, he was also a werewolf. And Sirius had been bred to believe in the dangers of them. The final straw that chucked every last bit of connection he had to his family was the exile and subsequent death of Alphard Black. His uncle had been the only person that seemed uncomfortable by physical abuse and open scrutiny of anyone deemed lesser than them.

In 1975, he brought home a muggle woman and though Sirius didn’t understand it, his uncle (the only person in his family aside from his younger brother that he felt unbridled love for) seemed happier than he ever had. It confused the young boy immensely when his own family threw him out and told him never to come back, lest he correct his tragic ways. A year later, that woman went missing and Alphard Black ended his life. His oldest nephew ran away from home when his mother wore white the whole next week displaying the most outrageous sign of disrespect Sirius had ever seen. He would never look back on them, and he would always fault them for the death of his uncle. There was no going back after that.

-  J U N E  1 9 7 9 -

It was the ultimate rebellion. When Dumbledore sat him down and asked him to join the Order of the Phoenix, his answer was (unsurprisingly) immediate and impulsive. Sirius didn’t quite know what he was getting himself into, but he knew he was standing up for something much bigger than himself. He was fighting for his uncle, his friends who were dear to him and couldn’t help where they came from, and those who weren’t able to fight for themselves. His decision to join felt right, like there was nothing more befitting of the disgraced rebel boy, Sirius Black.

←  C O N N E C T I O N S  →

→ James Potter

James was the friend that could always be counted on. His loyalty was stronger than the gravity surrounding the earth and nothing could change his mind once he made it up. Occasionally that was something of an annoyance about him, but very rarely to Sirius. He had weaseled his way in with the golden boy, securing a lifetime spot as something good beside him. He would be eternally grateful to James for that, because it was too easy to feel himself slipping. He loved the people he surrounded himself with now, but it would be so easy to do exactly what had always been asked of him. It was an extremely fleeting thought. Sirius was firm in his stance against his family, unwavering in his love of his friends. It was just the old thoughts that came to him sometimes. James was the person he went to, nonjudgmental in his entirety - especially in his old age. He was the one person Sirius could confide in without worry, because he had the absolute highest regards for the friends he chose.

← Remus Lupin

The friendship they held had always been odd. From the start, Sirius had seen Remus Lupin as a sickly, skinny little thing that obviously came from a family of little financial value. He kept to himself at first, but James had been determined to make their threesome into four. They lived together, they needed to be friends was his constant excuse. Sirius, on the contrary, felt like it wasn’t their place to force the kid to hang out with them. Later on, he became grateful for James’ persistence, because Remus was funny. Despite how closed-off he had been from the start, upon cracking open that cold, slightly frightened exterior, Remus revealed his intellect. He was wise beyond his years, had a whip quick wit, and was so sarcastic it was almost rude. They got along swimmingly after that because the second Remus opened his mouth, it was bound to be a catch and the other three boys were lucky they got to hear it.

→ Peter Pettigrew

Quiet, kind Peter wasn’t as mousy and timid as everyone seemed to think he was. He had a knack for flying under the radar that Sirius admired endlessly. The Marauders truly were like the gears in a clock when they got going, each taking up space but not overpowering the others. James was the central axis that brought them all together. Remus was the careful planning and detailed numbers. Sirius was gusto and color face, all raw emotion and impulsive thought. And Peter was the small hand. He ticked away, kept things going. He was the fly on the wall that you would miss if you weren’t specifically looking for him. That’s what Sirius noticed. Peter wasn’t timid and shy, he was crafty. Sneaky. It impressed him.

→  Dorcas Meadowes

Dorcas Meadowes is the type of person that can look straight through the skin and see into the soul. Sirius noticed her in school by the way she treated others. The incident involving Mary and Mulciber spread around the grounds like the wildfire on the post office. They all knew the story. Mulciber used the imperius curse on Mary MacDonald and coerced her to set fire to the post office in Hogsmeade. This disabled the anti-apparition charms surrounding the school and every aspiring Death Eater left to join the Dark Lord. The professors managed to get the wards back up in an instance, making them infinitely stronger than they had been before. Mary wound up in the hospital wing with burns up and down her arms and a faded memory. Dorcas was by her side in an instant, something Sirius commended. He couldn’t imagine how he would feel if James were in Mary’s place, he in Dorcas’. He would have lost his mind, but the Ravenclaw girl handled it with a quiet grace that went almost entirely unnoticed. He approached her a few months after the incident and struck up a conversation. Things were rocky between the Marauders at the time because of a thoughtless prank Sirius pulled on Snape and he found himself wanting to get to know her. It was interesting to see someone who seemed so similar to himself from the outside. She, naturally, shot him down with a look of disgruntled contempt. This only made him admire her more, and eventually they became mates on the basis that she saw right through him and he got on her nerves. Though life separated them upon graduation, their reunion will likely prove that nothing much has changed between them.

SIRIUS BLACK IS CURRENTLY CLOSED FOR APPLICATIONS.

#harry potter rp #harry potter rpg #marauders rpg #marauders rolepelay #marauders rp #sirius black #male #tpsiriusblack #taken #takenm

[teentitantruefriend]

Everything That Rides Below The Surface

"Get in the damn car," Dean screams for the third time.

He shoves the gun in Kaia's face.

Subconsciously, the hunter can register Sam's placating gestures and Jack's horrified expression.

If this was any other day, he might have cared about heeding the advice of one and setting a good example for the other, but not now.

He did not grow up in this miserable life, working a thankless job, with a hole in his chest only to have it rip him apart 33 years down the road.

He meant what he said: he was going to have his Mother back no matter what.

Chuck help any little Dreamwalkers that stood in his way.

The girl does the one thing he is not antecipating, though.

The one thing that disarms him.

With a firmer grip than Dean would have expected from a teenager of her height and weight, Kaia grabs the barrel of the gun and touches the muzzle to her forehead.

She looks him straight in the eye, resolute. "Then, do it,” she says. "Do it. Shoot me."

Dean just stares, dumbfounded.

He is so unnerved that he nearly does pull the trigger out of surprise.

Kaia takes that as her cue to keep talking.

Or maybe she simply does not care.

"Shoot me, you bastard. You’ll be doing me a favour. You think I give a damn? I have been dealing with this shit since the day I was born. Nightmares. Monsters. Creatures you wouldn't believe. And it's only gotten worse."

There was something in the kid's exhausted, cynic tone that took him back over a decade.

To a little brother crying on the floor over visions he was just beginning to understand.

Back before the Leviathans, the Angels and the Horsemen.

To the helplessness and fear of knowing that this was no flesh wound.

He could not fix this with beer, a movie marathon and half a dozen "Sammies".

It was hard enough to learn to live with weird powers as adults, surrounded by people who were aware of the Supernatural. Good people that would teach you how to fight back and not call you "crazy for simply telling the truth.

He can not imagine what this must be like for Kaia, a normal girl from a normal family with a normal life to go on like this.

Yet, Dean can not allow himself to feel for her.

Not when his Mom is probably being tortured by the other Michael at this very moment.

If his musings show on his face, however, Kaia pays no mind.

"And that is only half of it. My parents fucking handed me over to the State, like so much as trash on the street. You see, being a Dreamwalker comes with this little problem where it is highly advisable that you do not fall asleep because, if you do, you will never want to sleep again. So I took the only option I had. I swallowed pills and I injected every vein that I could reach. I have been drugging myself for years, just so I can sleep through the night. I am poisoning myself every day. When my parents found out about my extra-curriular activities, they immediately sent me from rehabilitation center to rehabilitation center, nevermind the fact that me keeping waking up bloody and bruised is the real problem here. Still, it could be worse. No, wait, it is - and that is the best part, listen up - do you know what happens to kids in those places? Kids the staff know will not bother talking because, hey, 'who is going to believe what a stupid junkie says, right?' Do you know? So, yeah, go ahead, shoot me. No, seriously, shoot me. Because I am just done."

Jack can only stare as Dean lowers the gun.

He knew that humans could get hurt.

Sick.

Die.

He never even imagined that they could break.

Sam watches as Jack moves his hands as if he is holding a sword. He is not close enough to understand what he is saying, but the wind carries a distinctive buzzing to his ears.

Bless his heart, the Nephilim is probably trying to cheer up Kaia with tales of his favorite Star Wars movie. It is a privilege to have the chance to parent such a kind-hearted boy.

In hindsight, Sam can not believe how he could have ever thought that Jack would reach out to a biological father he has nothing in common with. No. Jack is Kelly's. And theirs.

Dean sits down beside him on the park bench, carrying two trays filled with greasy fastfood. "What are you doing?" he asks, leaning towards the screen of his brother's laptop.

"Excuse me, but are we really going to skip over the fact that you pointed a gun to an unarmed, civilian teenage girl that posed no threat to us? Because that's not you, man."

Dean unwrapped a burguer. "If we can skip over the fact that you stood by and watched while I pointed a gun to said unarmed, civilian teenage girl that was no threat to us..."

Sam pinched his nose. Touché. "Look, we all want Mom back. But kidnapping kids is not the answer. And she would agree. Kaia is the victim here. It is our job to help her."

The older Winchester laughed. "The girl is suicidal, Sam. Uses drugs. Has no one on her corner. And a very shitty gift. She is beyond any kind of help that you or I can give her."

"Like that's ever stopped us before. Look, Kaia was telling the truth, not that I ever thought she was lying, but there is more to it: she has been a Ward of the State for six years"

'Fuck," Dean thinks. That is a long time to go without a family, especially for a kid. 'Still not our problem, though', he tells himself for the umpteenth time. Mom is their priority.

"So?" Dean manages to get out, eating with gusto. Dean has always been a messy eater, but Sam can see it in his shaking hands and subject dodging tactics. He feels remorse.

This is the closest that Sam will ever get to feeling grateful for his older brother's mile wide guilt complex. If he feels regret about threatening Kaia, then that means he cares.

If he cares, it means that he is not so far gone that he can not be brought back to himself. So that when they do get their Mother back, they do not have any explaining to do.

She can have two mostly whole sons. "That means she is eligible to be adopted by 'upstanding, law abbiding members of the society.'" Sam explains, and lets the idea sink in.

Dean frowns. "Come on, Sammy. Don't you think we have asked enough of the good sheriff already? I mean, how many rooms do you think she has in that place of hers?"

"We can help keep an eye on her. And she can relate to Alex, Claire and Patience. Their lives were also affected by the supernatural. Besides... I think Jack has a crush on her."

Donna shifted the patrol car into gear, turned on the radio and got into the highway. She was expected in a Sheriff Convention on the other side of the state this weekend.

Instead, here she was, having just said goodbye to the Winchesters and their newest charge, with a precious, young new cargo keeping her company on the passenger's seat.

The first thing she had understood about her sidejob was that when Sam, Dean or Jody call you for help, you drop everything and get to it. Life or Death was the norm, really.

Case in point, sixteen-year-old Kaia Aisha Nieves. Native American kid with a long history of substance abuse and a small spreadsheet of petty theft to sustain said habit.

Poor thing had been committed at the age of 10 for both the addiction and the wild claims of vivid nightmares. Never got a visit or a call from her family. Not even a postcard.

The cop had gotten familiar with tragic lifestories like that from day one on the force. "We can't save everyone," her mentor had said. "Some people just slip through the cracks."

Right. Donna did not survive High School, Police Academy and a bitter divorce to let something like Status Quo or the The System stop her from helping kids in desperate need.

"You're not much for talking, are you? Here," she reaches a hand out to the glove compartment and retrieves one of several tin foil-wrapped sandwiches and passes it to Kaia.

"You look like you haven't eaten in over a day." Come to think of it, considering what they had told her, that was probably true. "We have long way to go before we get to Jody's".

Kaia can not resist long before hunger wins over. She takes two large bites, eyes closing as she savours the food. Donna cheers internally. Grandma's recipe. Worked every time.

"Jody Mills is the sheriff of Sioux Falls. A good friend and all around awesome gal. Got three foster daughters and a cottage by the woods. Nature can do wonders for the soul."

Kaia chortled, as if that was the most absurd thing she had ever head of. "Believe me, it is going to take a lot more than 'open space'. What I need is a freaking lobotomy, lady."

"We will see. Just so you know: I can be very, very stubborn, especially for a good cause". She then let Kaia finish eating and told her to take a long nap before they arrived.

Turning her eyes back to the road - safety first! - sheriff Hanscums vowed to herself that no one, human or not, would hurt Kaia again. They would have to go through her first.

#supernatural #spn #kaia nieves #dean winchester #sam winchester #jack kline #jody mills #patience turner #alex jones #claire novak #donna hanscum #castiel #lucifer #kelly kline #suicide #suicide attempt #suicidal thoughts #drug abuse #tw: drug abuse #implied/referenced rape #implied/referenced non con #star wars references #guns #rehabilitation #dreamwalking #supernatural the bad place #spn the bad place #13x09 #spn 13 #spn 13x09

[seenby-c]

#bjyooled – will you marry me?

With the #bjyooled wedding coming up just around the corner (what. in. the. world.) I figured there’s no better time to share the behind the scenes of the proposal.

I’ve photographed many a proposal–at a lake, in a cave, by the ocean, etc. etc. but watching my own brother get on his knee was a whole new experience.

The very flesh and blood you put up with, annoyed, and fought for the first 17-ish years of life–the one you hated to love and loved to hate and eventually grew to love–that existence (once the bane of your existence) declares he is ready to commit to loving, serving, and laying down his life for one special lady... forever.

But first, he gotta get her “yes.”

With gusto, I gave him my blessing and we began to brainstorm immediately. Strings of incognito texts via Snapchat ensued, peppered between a few face-to-face convos. 

Here’s how the day started: carbs on carbs on carbs. 

The plan? I’d ask Julia to hang out one-on-one, venture into the city for food and a photoshoot (we had shot before–the gorgeous gal is a natural model). It had to be a certain day with the excuse being my out of state move was approaching and I could only make that day work, cause you know, I’m a hot commodity. 

Being the chill soul that she is, Julia was down for anything. 

The day came and all fear dissipated that she might postpone–she stuck to the original scheJule. I picked up Julia, drove 30 minutes to San Francisco, and we went to town on appetizers at Neighbor Bakehouse. Then onwards to Tartine Manufactory for the real meal, plus sauntering through boutiques nearby. 

Oh wait, let’s rewind a couple weeks. 

February 11, 2018 – a day of location scouting all over the bay from Fremont to SF, disguised under the annual Yoo sib quality time. Plan A, Plan B, and many other options to consider in between. Mighty windy then too.

And we’re back at Marshall Beach, overlooking Golden Gate Bridge on February 24, 2018. 

A 10-minute walk from the parking lot puts us in the spot Brian and I had scoped out. Thankfully, no tourists or locals are hovering by the lookout. 

We’re taking some tester shots when ravenous winds howl all around us. Suffering under some fierce windchill and skirt blowing out of control, Julia asks multiple times if she can change into pants. 

Oh crap. 

“Wait, let’s just shoot a little more. The lighting looks great right now. Can you stand over there?” 

Internally, I’m yelling at Brian–come. out. of. hiding. n-o-w! 

Julia probably wondered what in the heck was wrong with me at this point. Model abuse. 

What seemed like forever later, this guy popped up out of nowhere.

She knew what was up. It was a faux-toshoot. 

“No!” She yelled. 

Just kidding.

Tbh, I’m not sure what was going on here. A little wrestling, 

scuffing, 

begging/reasoning

and a whole lotta laughin’.

[Insert romantic words I could not hear] 

And then, the moment.

Fire away.  

Commence the longest and funniest reaction to the infamous single-kneed question.

“Should I get down on my knee, too?”

“Ok, I pledge allegiance...”

Eventually,

she said yes!

#proposal #sf #sanfrancisco #marshallbeach #adventurouscouple #photoshoot

[tfrohock]

The joys of partisanship, or how rage brings happiness

I happen to belong to an organization that views their own elected leaders as trusted servants. One of the maxims of this philosophical outlook on leadership stems from the idea that each person must put principles before personalities. Rather than finger-pointing and exacerbating problems, the leaders, or trusted servants if you will, are supposed to work through a series of improving compromises in order to find practical solutions to the problems facing the organization.

It sounds easy. But having served in various capacities as a trusted servant in this organization, I can tell you from experience that putting aside one’s ego to work toward the betterment of a particular group of people—all of whom have highly diverse interests and interpretations of those guiding principles—can be a balancing act worthy of any high wire. Sometimes, it’s necessary to disappoint one faction in order to protect the organization as a whole.

However, and this is the part that will test any leader’s mettle, it is also the trusted servants’ job to bring people together, especially when one faction feels they were slighted or left out of a decision. It’s a matter of bringing people together rather than driving them apart, and that takes tact, patience, and respect.

This is, ideally, how our democracy is supposed to work. Each city, county, state in the U.S. elects leaders whose main responsibility is to the people, which essentially makes them trusted servants. These trusted servants are supposed work for the betterment of the city, county, state, not just the red/right or blue/left side, so that theoretically, while various sections of the country fall solidly into either red or blue, it’s the job of our trusted servants to see the country in shades of purple.

The idea of politicians intent on manipulating partisan rage in order to maintain positions of power is not new by any means. Aldous Huxley noted identical attitudes in his psychological analysis of an incident at Loudun in 1634, when a group of nuns were allegedly victims of demonic possession in The Devils of Loudun (1952). Huxley writes:

“There are many people for whom hate and rage pay a higher dividend of immediate satisfaction than love. Congenitally aggressive, they soon become adrenalin addicts, deliberately indulging in their ugliest passions for the sake of the ‘kick’ they derive from their physically stimulated endocrines. Knowing that one self-assertion always ends by evoking other and hostile self-assertions, they sedulously cultivate their truculence. And, sure enough, very soon, they find themselves in the thick of a fight. But a fight is what they most enjoy; for it is while they are fighting that their blood chemistry makes them feel most intensely themselves. ‘Feeling good,’ they naturally assume that they are good. Adrenalin addiction is rationalized as Righteous Indignation and finally, like the prophet Jonah, they are convinced unshakably, that they do well to be angry …

“…The untutored egotist merely wants what he wants. Give him a religious education, and it becomes obvious to him, it becomes axiomatic, that what he wants is what God wants, that his cause is the cause of whatever he may happen to regard as the True Church and that any compromise is a metaphysical Munich, an appeasement of Radical Evil …

“… Partisan loyalty is socially disastrous; but for individuals it can be richly rewarding—more rewarding, in many ways, than even concupiscence or avarice … Because they do these things for the sake of a group which is, by definition, good and even sacred, they can admire themselves and loathe their neighbors, they can seek power and money, can enjoy the pleasures of aggression and cruelty, not merely without feeling guilty, but with a positive glow of conscious virtue. Loyalty to their group transforms these pleasant vices into acts of heroism. Partisans are aware of themselves, not as sinners or criminals, but as altruists and idealists. And with certain qualifications, this is in fact what they are. The only trouble is that their altruism is merely egotism at one remove, and that the ideal, for which they are ready in many cases to lay down their lives, is nothing but the rationalization of corporate interests and party passions.”

Which essentially describes all the hand-waving hysterics we’re seeing from the extremists in our government today. These politicians work hard to stir self-righteous anger, because self-righteous anger feels good. And don’t get me wrong, anger can be the motivator that jettisons us out of complacency, but only when that the anger fits the offence and is directed toward redressing the wrong.

Manufactured anger designed to disguise egoism is more rewarding for extremists and enables them to avoid compromise. The situation at the border is a good example. Rather than discuss the influx of migrants as a humanitarian crisis, which it is, extremists paint the issue as an invasion. The former requires a nuanced remedy that will take time and patience to implement while the latter is framed in overly simplistic terms of “build a wall,” which over the long term will suck more money and resources than a more thoughtful solution to deal with the root causes of migration.

When they don’t get their way, extremists happily use their rage to paint the opposing party in shades of “Radical Evil,” especially if the opposing party is a woman or BIPOC, because the implication that women and BIPOC are evil is already well-seeded in the public mind. A mere sprinkling of triggering words adds wicked designs to the extremists’ target. If murder by character assassination were a crime, all the extremists in Congress would be in jail right now.

Meanwhile, the press delivers all this pomp and circumstance with the same gusto as a reality TV show films its contestants back-biting at one another, and somewhere, lost in all this, are we the people—half of whom are convinced they are experts on political science because they read an article on the Internet, and the other half desperately trying to survive in an increasingly hostile world. No wonder we’re all on medication.

Unfortunately, we the people bear a certain amount of responsibility for this mess, because we fall for the click-baity links and use the social media water-cooler of our choice to further poison the well of algorithms. This, in turn, sends the extremists to the front of everyone’s pages so that we’re all assaulted on a daily basis with the latest rage-scream from the party’s current list of grandstanding intellectually challenged adrenalin addicts.

The solution is to break the cycle of abuse, and we the people have the power to change our country. We need to focus more on electing people who have a desire to seek compromise and solutions, rather than adrenaline addicts whose only cause is to exacerbate rage and anger so they can reap the rewards of money and power. Listen carefully to the candidates and know that if they are offering quick remedies or screaming about perceived slights, they are snake-oil salesmen and hucksters.

It’s time we take responsibility for our future and demand better from our candidates and ourselves. We need to ask ourselves: Is the person offering a practical solution, or are they simply trying to pick a fight?

Then we have to decide whether or not we want extremists to control our country. If the answer is no, it’s time to temper our anger and begin a legitimate search for trusted servants.

#politics