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nspwriteups · 10 months

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Kannalane Chapter 5: Rupturing of Hearts

A/N: heavy angst

It was well late into the night when Nandini was woken up by the knocking on the door. She glanced at the still sleeping Kaveri and Ananda before watching her father open the door while rubbing his eyes. Immediately three soldiers badged in with drawn swords in their hands. "Sooryanarayanan" One of them said in a deep menacing voice. "Gather your belongings. You are being displaced". "What?" Sooryanarayanan said, half in disbelief and half in protest "What do you mean? Why are we being dragged out like this?" The soldier raised his sword "Who are you to question me? Just do as you are being told and you can keep your life. Otherwise we'll throw all your bodies into river Ponni". Nandini grabbed her father's arm, and she felt someone tug on her clothes and understood that Kaveri has also woken up. "Go pack" Sooryanarayanan said finally "But I want to know on whose orders are being treated this way. What crime have we done?" His question to the armed soldiers went unanswered as they were busy trying not to make any sounds that might wake up the neighbours. But Nandini had a realisation of what could have caused this unexpected visit. A certain elderly woman and her cold stare flashed through her mind but she couldn't bring herself to beleive it. Oh Krishna! Let that not be the case. Please let this be some sort of misunderstanding and everything go back to the way it was. She silently prayed as she tied up her bundle of clothes. Sooryanarayanan put a sleepy Ananda on his shoulders and climbed into the bullock cart that the soldiers indicated to along with his daughters, mumbling about how he would try to consult the king and bring this injustice to light. But Nandini couldn't join him in his affirmation because the reality of things was dawning upon her. "Akka" she heard Kaveri call her and turned "We are being told to go because you fell in love with him aren't we?" Kaveri whispered so that their father couldn't hear the words. Her voice held no hatred, just a tinge of sadness in not seeing her friends anymore and moreover not seeing her family in their previous bliss. Nandini thought back to how she wouldn't be able to see Vishaka anymore. Nor any more of her enjoying the peace of the Banyan tree. Nor any more horse ride with a boy she has come to love with all her heart. She held Kaveri close, failing to keep the tears from escaping.

****************************************

Vishaka stared at the burnt down house of her Sakhi. The news that spread was how the house of Sooryanarayanan was robbed and how the house was set on fire with the inhabitants perishing with it. By the time the neighbours took note of the flames and smoke and put out the fire, it had turned into ashes. Everyone believed that the family died and mourned their loss.But Vishaka wasn't able to believe it. She had her suspicions - Why didn't they hear any commotion or any screaming? She thought back to how Nandini narrated her meeting with Aditha's family and especially about Patti's hot and cold behaviour towards her. Although Nandini accepted the explanation of Aditha's, that some people generally have a strict demeanor and Patti was one of those people. But Vishaka was unable to digest the fact easily. She have heard stories of how girls from lower influencial families are intimidated and threatened to withdraw from any relationship they might have with boys from aristocratic families. She was afraid for the safety of her best friend and resolved to make Nandini see sense the next morning but apparently she was too late. She sat in the ground in front of the burnt house with Suseel supporting her weight as silent tears ran down her cheeks. Amidst the chaos of people enquiring and grieving, she saw a familiar face - a shocked and confused Aditha.

"Look what you have done! " She screamed at him, and Aditha looked at her helplessly "You have destroyed a girl's life along with her family just because she fell victim to your false affections"

Suseel squeezed her shoulders, noticing the crowd whispering to each other, "Vishaka, stop accusing people like Aditha without any evidence. You'll get in trouble "

Aditha approached her by now, "I don't know…." He began to say in a feeble voice, face overwhelmed with grief

"Go and ask your family" Vishaka hissed at him "And if what we see today is your family's doing then then I curse you with unhappiness. You won't be merry by destroying the dreams of a girl that you encouraged endlessly"

Suseel assumed that Aditha was going to shout back at Vishaka or order her imprisonment for allegedly accusing him but all he saw was Aditha getting on his horse and rushing out of the crowd.

********************************************

Shivarama was getting ready to go to court when an angry Aditha stormed into his chamber "I am sorry for intruding like this Appa" he said "But I need to know something right at this moment"

"Aditha" He heard Adithi Devi come towards him "What is all this noise? Come, have something to eat"

"No Amma" He said impatiently " I want to know what fault you saw in Nandini that you dared to do such a degrading act"

"Aditha" Shivarama's voice thundered inside the chamber "I have told you never to accuse someone before knowing all the facts. What are you insinuating?"

Aditha narrated what happened to Nandini's family and their house.

"Oh Shiva!" Adithi said exclaimed, with a hand on her heart "And you think we are capable of committing such a cruel act?"

"I don't know!" Aditha said exasperated "But I do know that they aren't dead. I can feel it. They are alive. She is alive and I'll search and find her"

"Impossible!" He turned around to see Mrinalini Devi " I didn't undergo this much trouble just so you can find her and bring her back"

Adithi Devi gasped while Shivarama and Aditha stared at the elderly woman

"Patti, what did you do?" He asked in disbelief, that the Patti he knew who told him stories of brave kings and warriors, and always told him to follow his heart was capable of stomping on it.

"What a mature person who cares about her family ought to do" Mrinalini Devi stood her ground. "I understand your infatuation with this girl but what good would a priest's daughter be? Say the word and I'll present more beautiful and wealthy girls from all over Choza Nadu"

"No one can hold a candle to my Nandini "

"You think I am heartless?"

"I think you are underestimating my love"

"Foolish child!" Mrinalini shouted "Although I don't know where they are now, go and search to your heart's desire. The day you'll bring her in front of me again will be the day I'll acknowledge the depth of the love that you profess. I'll do aarti and welcome her as this family's daughter in law myself" saying this she left the chamber, leaving behind a determined looking Aditha and a baffled Adithi and Shivarama.

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The family of Sooryanarayanan was at a changing point in their lives. The soldiers dropped them off at the outskirts of Choza Nadu. For the rest of the night, they took shelter under a tree. In the morning they travelled to Pandiya Nadu and entered a forest where they saw an abandoned Hut and decided to take shelter there. Sooryanarayanan secured a position as a poojari in the nearby temple but he kept a low profile. He still didn't understood why there were exiled from their homeland but he had a feeling that even if he protest against it, he might lose as there seemed to be an invisible influential force acting behind their displacement. He often discussed this with his eldest daughter. "Listen Nandini" He said one day to her "I am growing weak. I may not be able to see all of you grow up and succeed in life. But promise me you'll take care of yourself and your siblings and never let anyone lead your mind to corruption"

Nandini promised him but deep inside she felt her mind was already corrupted with guilt. The fact that her decision to fall in love with Aditha and dared to dream of a secure future with him was the reason they were living as refugees in a strange land. She could no longer hide this truth from her father and so one night when her brother and sister were asleep, she decided to confide in her father.

Sooryanarayanan listened to her with surprising patience and continued to think deeply. He was jolted to present when he felt Nandini touch his feet. "Forgive me Appa" She said amidst crying. He asked her to be seated near him and turned her face towards him.

"Kanne, thank you for confessing to me" He began "But never apologise for falling in love. God has created humans with the sole purpose of propagating the message that one should love and care for each other at all times. Isn't it the society that has created Kings and aristocrats and priest's out of ordinary human beings? Strip off all the crown and the silk clothes and the Pooja thaalis and there'll be nothing to distinguish one human from another. All are same. If what happened to our family was in reality instrumented by Mrinalini Devi, then isn't it evidence that we are so obsessed with status and power that we simply fail to recognise abstract ideas such as love and kindness?"

Nandini couldn't stop her tears as she realised how compassionate and understanding her father is. Sooryanarayanan held his dear first born daughter close.

"If you trust that Shivarama's son doesn't believe in social construct and will do anything in his power to reverse his family's action then kepp hoping in your love. Because without love we will only be a shell of flesh and bones. If you don't beleive so, then forget him, Kanne"

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To be continued…..

Chapter 6 Promo:

"Oh Devi" Aditha saw the woman slowly turn around towards them. He was about to ask the way towards the city but the words seemed to be stuck in his throat as he stared at the woman in front of him. He would have recognised those eyes anywhere, the eyes that he searched and haunted him for 7 long years. And the Chempaka flower that was tucked in her hair bun. The woman also stared back at him, at first with confusion at his sudden appearance then with caution at his armour and weapon and at last locked eyes with him, where her eyes widened with shock and confirmed his suspicions.

"Chempaka" he whispered and watched the pot of water slip from her hands and fall to the ground.

Thoughts? @ramcharanobsessed @dumdaradumdaradum @vibishalakshman @harinishivaa @hollogramhallucination @kovaipaavai@rang-lo. @willkatfanfromasia@thelekhikawrites@thegleamingmoon@deafeningflowercat@yehsahihai@whippersnappersbookworm@itsfookingloosah@gemsmusings@chiyaanvikram@elvenladysakura. @matka-kulfi. @madatdisney@bumblebeeskywalker@vahnithedreamer@nkarti@dosai-maavu@utterlynotperfect@winter-birds@happy-bookworm @tumbledout @anabanana4115 @freeunknownwasteland @bhataktiatmacore@rapunzels-stuff@celestesinsight@mairablue@rationalelderberry@existenceiswhateven@arachneofthoughts@spider5884fan11 @cara-2003 @nirmohi-premika @stella12 @thereader-radhika

#ponniyin selvan #ponniyin selvan 2 #aditha karikalan #nandini #arulmozhi #vanathi #kundavai #vanthiyathevan #arulmozhi varman #nandini x karikalan #nanditha #nandhini #ps fanfiction #fanfiction series

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batmanisagatewaydrug · 5 months

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announcement: get ready for Gothamas

hey guys, it's your zesty local batmanisagatewaydrug here. remember several dye jobs ago when I offered to read one page of a terrible Gotham tie-in novel for every dollar sent my way?

as it happens, y'all rose to the occasion spectacularly and bought out an entire 300+ page book (Gotham: Dawn of Darkness) and even some of the sequel (Gotham: City of Monsters).

and I still owe you for that! we made a pretty good start on Dawn of Darkness (it had everything! Thomas Wayne's mutant mistress! Harvey Bullock being way more misogynistic than he ever was in the show! cameos from everyone's favorite evil homosexuals, Oswald and Ed!), but then I had to drop the project for uuuuuuuh reasons. without getting too person, I sort of experienced the most debilitating and disorienting loss of my entire life this year and I'm still kind of trying to figure out what to do about it? but that's not your problem, your problem is that I owe you a story time!

and by god, I'm going to do it. I can't think of any better way to spend the weird existential lurch between Christmas and New Years than by melting my brain out of my ear, so on December 26th 2023, beginning at 12 PM EST, I'm going live on my awful little youtube to keep reading Dawn of Darkness and I'm refusing to stop until the book is finished or I am. and, if we somehow make it that far, we can start City of Monsters.

save the date xoxo

#gotham time

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wipbigbang · 5 months

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WIPBB 2023 - Fic & Art Master List (# - L)

Below is the master list of all the bragging rights/posts that were posted to Tumblr and Dreamwidth, organized alphabetically by fandom from numbers to L. Please go show these people some love for all the hard work they did!

9-1-1

Beyond Appearances: Art (Evan Buckley/Sophia Diaz)

When You Say My Name: Fic | Art Post 1 | Art Post 2 (Evan Buckley/Eddie Diaz)

A Song Of Ice and Fire/Game Of Thrones

Watch the world burn; i set it all alight for you: Fic/Art (Jon Snow/Daenerys Targarean)

Angel: the Series/Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Deep Dark Sky: Fic (Connor/Dawn Summers)

Bungou Stray Dogs

half-time soulmate, full-time problem (so hold me like a grudge): Fic | Art (Nakahara Chuuya/Dazai Osamu)

Chalion Saga/World of the Five Gods

Penric's Last Ride: Fic | Art (Penric, Desdemona, the Bastard)

Criminal Minds

Half Broke Horses: Fic (Art On AO3) (Alex Blake/Emily Prentiss)

DC Comics

Batman

Fatherhood: Fic | Art (Implied Bruce Wayne/Jim Gordon)

right place, wrong time: Fic | Art (Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne)

Batman/Green Arrow

Grains of the Golden Sand: Fic (Dick Grayson/Roy Harper)

DC Comics (Batman)/Prodigal Son

9 Crimes: Fic | Art (Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Malcolm Bright, Gil Arroyo, Jessica Whitly, Jim Gordon, Harvey Bullock, Alfred Pennyworth, The Joker, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson)

Dead Poets Society

Spotlight: Fic (Chris Noel/Ginny Danburry)

Disney

Disney's Descendants

And I won’t lie down, roll over, and die: Fic (Gil/Harry Hook/Uma)

Nothing in this world by myself to protect me: Fic (Jay/Carlos De Vil, Evie/Mal, Evie/Jay, Evie/Carlos de Vil, Evie/Jay/Mal/Carlos de Vil, Ben/Mal, Ben/Jay, Jay/Mal, Mal/Carlos de Vil, Ben/Evie)

Disney Fairies

Death at the Hollow: Fic/Art (Fawn/Nyx)

Encanto

A Single Thread of The Tapestry: Fic | Art (Camilo & Mirabel, Camilo & Mirabel & Mariano, Mirabel & Camilo & Madrigal family)

How do you know what your life is worth: Fic | Art (Camilo & Mirabel, Mirabel & Pepa, Isabela & Pepa, Isabela & Luisa, Luisa & Abuela & Bruno, Bruno & Camilo, Félix & Julieta, Agustín & Dolores, Félix/Pepa, Agustín/Julieta)

Doctor Who/The Picture of Dorian Gray/Torchwood

Passing Through: Art (Dorian Gray/Jack Harkness)

Dracula/Jane Eyre/Sherlock Holmes (ACD Canon)

A Field of Thorns: Fic (Sherlock Holmes/Dracula)

Dragon Age II

Kindling: Fic | Art (Fem!Hawke/Fenris)

Set Yourself On Fire: Fic | Art (Marian & Garrett, Marian & Carver, Marian & Varric, Referenced Fenris/F!Hawke and Anders/M!Hawke)

ER (NBC)

Touch and Go: Fic | Art (Abby Lockhart/Kerry Weaver)

Final Fantasy IV/Final Fantasy VI/Final Fantasy IX/Final Fantasy X

Magical Girl Rydia - Summon the Four Warriors of Light!: Fic On Dreamwidth | Fic On Tumblr (Rydia/Yuna)

Generation Kill

Bradley the Damned: Fic/Art (Brad Colbert/Nate Fick, Walt Hasser/Ray Person)

Good Omens (TV)

The Rain We Thought Would Last Forever and Ever (Remix): Fic (Art On AO3) (Aziraphale/Crowley)

Harry Potter

Black House Will Rock: Art (Hermione Granger/Bellatrix Lestrange)

Repertum: Fic/Art (Harry Potter/Severus Snape)

Harry Potter/CSI/Hocus Pocus

And now you're mine: Fic (Harry Potter/Greg Sanders)

Harry Potter/DC Comics (Batman)

Reflection: Fic/Art (Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Rubeus Hagrid, Original Characters)

It (2017/2019)

faraway look: Fic (Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon)

Jak And Daxter

alien lands (overflowing with dust): Fic/Art (Jak/Daxter, Jak/Sig, past Damas/Sig)

The Red Prison: Fic/Art (Errol/Torn, Jak/Ashelin)

Jane Austen/Temeraire (Naomi Novik)

To the Rigor of Service: Fic/Art (Elizabeth Bennet & Charlotte Lucas, pre-Anne Elliot/Frederick Wentworth)

Jujutsu Kaisen

Phantom Origins: Fic | Art (Itadori Yuuji/Yoshino Junpei, Yoshino Junpei & Yoshino Nagi, Fushiguro Megumi & Kugisaki Nobara, Fushiguro Megumi & Kugisaki Nobara & Yoshino Junpei, Iguchi Takeshi & Itadori Yuuji & Sasaki Setsuko)

Knives Out

No Charm Equal: Fic (Benoit Blanc/Marta Cabrera)

Kuroko no Basuke

Three Little Words: Fic (Kasamatsu Yukio/Kise Ryouta)

Last Binding Series (Freya Marske)

The New Blyth Traditions: Fic (Robin Blyth & Maud Blyth, Robin Blyth/Edwin Courcey, Maud Blyth/Violet Debenham)

League of Legends: Arcane

bring me java, bring me joy: Fic | Art (Caitlyn Kiramman/Vi)

Lord of the Rings (Book)

both the sweet and the bitter: Fic On Dreamwidth | Fic On Tumblr (Arwen Undómiel, Elrond Peredhel, Bilbo Baggins, Original Characters)

#wip big bang #fanfiction #fanfic #fanart #fandom event #!completed shit #!artwork #!2023

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blubushie · 11 months

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You've said you've worked as a stationhand-what's that like?

Only if you want to talk about it of course, but it sounds really interesting!

What kind of skills and knowledge are involved, what a day looks like, that sort of thing :)

I was less a stationhand (though I did do that too) but primarily a stockman, what Americans would call a cowboy, and specifically a drover--someone who drives animals from place to place. Primarily all I needed was confidence in the saddle, quick thinking, fast reflexes, and a soft voice that the cattle liked. Also gentleness and a level head. That bit's important since cattle are frustrating to work with sometimes but you can't take your anger out on them. Some ropework was involved but it was very rare and only used for tagging cattle. Most of the time we approached calves on foot for tagging/branding and the horse kept the cow from getting to us. A stockman's best mate is the horse what watches his back.

General day was waking up at sparrow's fart (or already being awake depending on who took the pre-dawn shift) then getting ready. The rest of the drovers stay with the cattle, one person wanders off to wash up. This repeats and takes about 30 minutes to go through all four of us, but depending on the size of the mob it might be upwards of an hour if there was seven of us. We come back clean, someone makes brekkie (which usually just consists of someone [me] digging a pit, making fire, boiling water from a canteen, and making coffee or tea for everyone). Brekkie (and all other meals) consists of jerky, crackers, or damper one of us makes in the evening before nightwatch starts. Works out just fine.

We'd finish drinking, discuss that day's schedule, track where we are and discuss what we're doing and do the maths for how long it'll take to get where we're going. After we get everything planned out we pack our shit away, I'd go unhobble the horses, we all saddle them, and we get the mob moving again. If we're only using horses (as sometimes fourwheelers are involved) I take the flank of the mob and yell at them or crack my stockwhip to keep them moving. I never hit the cattle with the stockwhip. The cracking sound is all they need, but sometimes more obstinate animals get a little bump with the end of the whip to keep them moving or run them back into the mob if they straggle. Mustermaster (or "boss drover," I always call them boss) would lead us from the front and keep record of the maps, cattle, and men. Anything goes wrong, it's his arse on the line.

Generally it was very boring work. We'd sing as we rode, usually call-and-response songs. I shined through when someone would break away from the mob and I'd have to chase them down. Never took longer than twenty minutes, but racing after a piker especially in thicker bush is something that just makes you feel alive. You start breathing in time with your horse because you can feel her ribs move against your calves. It's an amazing feeling, and it requires some outsmarting. You stay on the bullock's tail and crack your whip long enough until he'll keep running even when you let off, and then you have to circle around in your horse to broadside him so he banks back into the mob. It's an all-around great experience.

My favourite time was night. I'm a night-owl in the bush (less so in civilisation) and I usually got nightwatch and would spend my night singing to the cattle with one of the other blokes while the other two slept. The sound helps keep them calm and relaxed through the night and prevents a rush (what Americans would know as a stampede) if they're spooked by something, since they often can't hear other small noises over their stockman singing. When you're awake at the start of the night and the dingos are about, it's actual lyrics and voices. Old bush ballads, country songs, lullabies our mums would sing to us as nippers. It's an eerie sound, and me and my muster-mate would ride through the mob at a slow walk on our horses and just circle. We'd alternate lyrics. So long as we'd alternate between us, we'd know everything was in good order, even when we couldn't see each other.

Me: One Sunday morning as I went walking by Brisbane waters I chanced to stray...

Mate: I heard a prisoner, his fate bewailing, as on the sunny riverbank he lay...

Me: I am a native of Erin's Island, transported now from my native shore...

Mate: They tore me from my aged parents and from the maiden whom I adore...

Me: I've been a prisoner at Port Macquarie, at Norfolk Island and Emu Plains...

Mate: At Castle Hill and cursed Toongabbie, at all those settlements I've worked in chains...

Me: But of all places of condemnation and penal stations of New South Wales...

Mate: Of Moreton Bay I have found no equal. Excessive tyranny each day prevails...

The more the night carried on, the less we sang as we got more tired. Eventually we'd simply whistle tunes back and forth. Waltzing Matilda was our usual go-to, but Tie Me Kangaroo Down, Sport was another one we did a lot. Halfway through the night we'd switch with whoever was sleeping during nightwatch and get some rest. All-in-all I got about seven hours of sleep a night, give or take. It worked out great and I loved doing it.

#blu whos #stockman #?#tagging it

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foreveralwaysanauthor · 7 months

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Hayley's Basic Info

Name: Hayley Anne Mays

Hayley's faceclaims were so fun for me to find, but I had a hard time choosing between my 90s pick and my 00s pick as they both fit her so well. For the 60s, we have Sophia Loren (Arabesque). For the 80s, we have Julia Roberts (Mystic Pizza). For the 90s, we have Sandra Bullock (Practical Magic). For the current day, we have Dakota Johnson (Am I OK?). My pick for the 00s was Michelle Rodriguez (Fast and the Furious) as I feel like her character, Letty, in the first few movies is very fitting for a college-age Hayley, but I kept it simple and stuck with just showing the normal decades.

Nicknames: Hails, Hammy (only her sister calls her that and it’s solely because of her initials spelling HAM), Other Mother/Mom (by Vivien, usually, but Charlie calls her that sometimes when she's talking with Vivien)

Age: 38

Date of Birth: February 25

Zodiac: Pisces

Birthstone: Amethyst

Nationality: Native American and Irish

Sexuality: Lesbian

Birthplace: Newcastle, Maine

Current Residence: Laconia, New Hampshire

Occupation: Engineering Manager

Talents/Skills: Sculpting, speed-reading, and she loves using her skills with computers to mod out video games for friends and family.

Birth order: Oldest

Siblings: Chelsea Alisha O’Brian (older by 10 minutes)

Parents: George Wallace Mays and Dawn Marie Campbell

Signature:

Height: 5’9”

Race: Native American

Eye Color: Green

Hair Color: Brown

Glasses or contact lenses: Only reading glasses

Distinguishing features: She has a surgery scar from having a C-section when she had Vivien, a small scar on her jaw from a car accident she was in when she first got her permit, and a tattoo of a bouquet of flowers on the inside of her left forearm. Each flower symbolizes a family member’s birth month and she plans on adding more to it as time goes on.

Mannerisms: If her mouth is moving, her hands will be too, but she gets more emphatic with it when she’s holding something, she can sometimes be found muttering things to herself while she works - broken, unintelligible sentences usually, and she tugs at her hair if she has it down - twisting it around her fingers, braiding small strands, or simply tugging at it to keep herself focused.

Health: Allergy-related asthma (pollen, grass, and pine wood are the main triggers) and she has iron deficiency.

Hobbies: She habitually participates in street racing - mile and quarter-mile races are her specialty, but she’ll race just about anything if her car qualifies - but she also loves going to comic conventions with Charlie and Vivien, getting all dressed up as different characters, and just enjoying a day out with family.

Greatest flaw (in their opinion): She would probably say how unintentionally sarcastic she sounds when she’s upset, when, in reality, it would be how much pressure she puts on herself. She had a bad habit of pushing herself far past the breaking point to accomplish things as deadlines are very important to her and it takes an army to make her stop.

Best quality (in their opinion): Her first instinct would be to deflect and say her best quality is the bond she has with her family, but even she knows - deep down - that it would actually be her selflessness. Choosing to have Vivien for her sister and brother-in-law was a big factor in this and, despite claiming that anybody would do it for family, she knows that isn’t the case. It certainly wasn’t the first time she put aside her own feelings in favor of helping someone and it definitely won’t be the last.

Biggest fear: Loss. Whether it be a breakup, a death, or a missing pet, loss is Hayley’s biggest fear. It started early as her grandfather on her mom’s side passed away when she was only seven. They had been so close that it was like a part of her heart had been torn from her chest. As time passed, more people in her extended family died and she watched as more people left her life for one reason or another, she grew attached to those around her in the hope that they would stick around. As an adult, it’s slightly easier to deal with, but she still constantly worries about her family as her parents get older and Vivien begins to walk the thin line between danger and safety.

Hogwarts House: Ravenclaw, but the hat took forever to decide between that and Gryffindor

Favorite ice cream: Cookies and cream

Favorite colors: Green and royal blue

Favorite number: 4, how many dates she and Charlie went on before she knew she wanted to get married.

Favorite songs: Come On Eileen by Dexys Midnight Runners, Where'd All the Time Go? by Dr. Dog, and Cosmic Love by Florence + The Machine

A place they want to visit: Caribbean

#character info

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arutai · 7 months

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Zoe Bullock by Tiffany Dawn Nicholson

#zoe bullock #tiffany dawn nicholson

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toulousewayne · 2 years

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Batgirl Movie:

This is a concept for a Batgirl Movie. This movie would be released theatrically and then would end up a streaming service after the initial release.(Similar to the one Leslie Grace was suppose to have but not the same.)

——————

Runtime: 2 Hours 12 Minutes

Rating: PG-13;Gory and graphic

Release: October 14, 2022

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Synopsis: Barbara Gordon has been helmed many responsibilities through her crime fighter career,one of the few mantles she’s held was the role of Batgirl. When a deadly hacker and serial killer starts targeting police officers in the GCPD more importantly her father Commissioner Gordon, Barbara refuses to hesitate,she dawns the cape and cowl again to go after the killer. But there’s a catch, he knows who Barbara is.

——

Cast & Crew:

Barbara Gordon/Batgirl…….Baliee Madison

Commissioner “Jim” Gordon…..Stanley Tucci

JJ……….Patrick Schwarzenegger

Bruce Wayne/Batman…..Oliver Jackson-Cohen

Tim Drake/Robin………Dallas Liu

Guest Appearances/Cameos:

- The Joker…………………..Bill Skarsgård

- Dick Grayson/Nightwing……….Josh Heuston

- Alfred Pennyworth……………Pierce Brosnan

———-

Concept Art:

Batgirl suit:

Batman Suit:

(For this film as well as Justice League Movie: 1)

Robin (Tim Drake) 2nd Suit:

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Director Notes:

-Batgirl (Movie) takes place a few weeks after the events of Teen Titans Movie.

-Barbara had just recovered from the procedure that turned out to be successful in returning the use of her legs,and up until the events of the film she had no intention of returning to Batgirl.

- Tim and Bruce are handling some remaining Talons at the start of the film.

-Gordon and Barbara are having a ruff time, because he doesn’t want her to over work herself,or become fatigue after the surgery.

- The killer is murdering several officers some are close to Jim. Even Harvey Bullock is hospitalized in the film.

- The Killer is skilled in hand to hand combat and highly skilled chemist. But not as smart as Babs in skill and tech.

-Batgirl isn’t holding back and this will test her physical as well has her morals.

- Dick give Babs advice over FaceTime about what she can do to help seeing as Bruce has his hands full with the murderous Talons. The same way she was a voice of guidance for him in the earlier seasons, he returns the favor to her in the film giving her advice.

-Barbara is on her own throughout most of the action will Robin does assist her during the middle of the film.

-The final show down between Batgirl and the Killer will be in the very Clocktower she used as Oracle’s main base of operations.

#dc comics #batgirl movie #batgirl #barbara gordon #batman #batfamily #batfam #dc universe #conceptdesign #gotham knights #dick grayson #robin #GCPD #movie concept art #batgirl returns #dc live action #live action

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randomnameless · 11 months

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Just wanted to say I was going to be dropping a thing comparing Tales of Symphonia's handling of Racism compared to FE:Tellius, but then it kinda hit like a ton of bricks that Tellius has no leg to stand on. It may have some, despite being in general a normal "Purple" story, where "oh no oppressed babies, so racism bad". (Where yes, Laguz once, long ago, so not really relevant at all, were the oppressors)... but then Tellius actually has a not-so-well hidden "Racism GOOD, actually" message because of the Laguz losing what makes them Laguz thing that just turns the whole thing into a clusterfuck. Thanks for pointing that out. I mean, Radiant Dawn isn't well written (The complaints levied back in 2007 and 2008 are still valid! Time doesn't change quality of writing!) but yeah. Because as far as handling the topic of racism, Symphonia against Tellius already was Hydrogen Bomb vs Crying Baby (Because Symphonia wasn't a simple purple story-- instead the main villain was of the oppressed minority and was actively racist himself), but that makes it even more poignant.

I liked Symphonia's take on racism (even if Mithos is imo treated with sugar tongs), but Tales's storywriting has always been better than FE in general...

I haven't played the recent entries (ToX2 was my last!) but even in Xillia the issue was sort of the same, even if I love Gilland (Alvin's uncle?) going all "it wasn't me" to Milla who accused him of, well, what Elympios had been doing for the past several centuries that made Maxwell say "nope" and create Rieze Maxia.

(But then Xillia's ending is bullocks, apparently the cast (including Milla!) is okay with letting spirits dies because Jude will develop one day tech that doesn't need them to die, and in the meantime, well, it's just too bad for them I guess)

#airshipcanon #maybe it's just me #about the mithos stuff and all #or llyod in general #ToX2 is basically another story set in another verse with the same characters #but after the shit ending of ToX1 what were they supposed to do?#sure Cronos is pissed because his pal Origin suffers etc etc miasma and reincarnation cycle #but no one can be unhappy because Milla and the cast said okay spirits will continue to die until Jude develops new tech?#Like Jude chokes on a pretzel tomorrow the situation remains the same? Elympios will try to use Rieze Maxians as mana source again?#since all of their spirits died?#bar mentions here and there it's just ignored #iirc Muzet mentions how she doesn't like Elmypios and still doesn't feel safe there #but bar that?#Fe Tellius's take on racism was so racist lol

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ethantalkstoomuch · 2 years

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Mr. Blue Eyes

Plot bunny where Tommy has Arthur's 'anger' issues and he and Alfie keep meeting. AKA: Tommy is spinning lose across London as he ignores the scars the war left, Alfie keeps running in to him.

Sweat dampens the air making the musty boxing ring even more repulsive. Really, Alfie will have Ollie’s fucking neck for even getting him into this particular district of London, let alone agreeing to scope it out as a possible business expansion. What a crock of shit. The only time he enjoys being in a room filled with sweaty bodies and panting was after hours, a distinct difference between business.

Ollie does most of the talking, no point bamboozling the sleazy looking man if not to lull him into confusion enough so that he agrees to any conditions Alfie puts before him. Only when the rhythmic pounding of flesh stops for a split second, is Alfie's attention captured. Because it’s that split second before the violence, the calm before the storm. Someone shouts and the men around them, the trainers, punters and who the fuck else is hanging around rush to a box. There is yelling and hollering and for all the life of him, Alfie is still trying to see what the fuck made them all jump like race horses from the gate.

A man roars like a bullock and there's shouting, something along the lines of stop and calm down. They’re all grappling for this slip of a thing Alfie finally clocks eyes on, he thrashes against the grip of two men hauling him away. They pass Alfie and Ollie as the rabid boxer wrenches free and makes to bolt. In unison, the bakers hasten to grasp the runaways arm.

“On three!” Alfie growls. “Three!”

The man weighs surprisingly little, Alfie and Ollie lift him up and crash him down to the ground. He screams into the damp floor. Shovels and tunnels and mud. Pale skin is clammy and blood coats his hands and if Alfie is better of a man, maybe he would feel sickened, or shocked at the man’s blind rage. Evidently note, because, because instead of disgust, Alfie feels pity.

“Hold him fucking there,” a man shouts and the sound of a cocked gun fills in the air. It dawns quite bloody suddenly on Alfie, as a stout man strides over, gun in hand, that they intend to put this fellow down like a lame horse. Beneath Alfie’s knee, the man has stilled beside full body trembling.

The gun is pointed down at the bloke's head, Alfie almost lets it happen. But he can’t, for some fucking reason.

“Hang about just a fucking minute!” He barks, staring at the barrel of a gun. “You shooting this bloke, for what?”

“For what?” The gunman spits. “Tommy’s fucking mental and I don’t want it to be my fucking problem.”

“Then it’s my problem.” The words are out of his mouth before he realises what he just said. Surprisingly, the gunman is easily persuaded. He throws his hands in the air, waving the gun before stalking away. “Fucking hell,” he seethes under his breath, but there’s no time to seconid guess what possessed him to make this rash decision. Only that now he’s in charge of a fucking lunatic.

“Get him up, Ollie,” Alfie grumbles and the men pull the slight body, Tommy, to his feet. He thrashes at the hold but by a quick once over, Alfie deems Tommy to be fairly fucking out of it. Another man approaches, a bundle of clothes in his hands which he distastefully chucks at Alfie’s feet. Ollie holds this Tommy bloke as Alfie shoves his arms through the shirt, leaving it unbuttoned and draping the woollen coat around his shoulders. The bastard would be walking around in shorts but that was far from his problem at the moment. If he’s as mental as they all say, Alfie’s sure he doesn’t mind.

They’ve only made it to the reception room of the warehouse, yeah, if you can fucking call it that, really, when the man sandwiched between Alfie and Ollie starts. Blue eyes focus sharply on the trousers in Alfies hands and he snatches them. Spindly hands tug the cloth over his legs, sharp eyes never moving from Alfie’s.

Only once the trousers are fixed over his legs, suspenders hanging by his knees and white shirt roughly tucked in, only then, did this Tommy bloke say something.

“Who are you?”

“I’m the guy that just saved your fucking life. Didn’t plan to, nah. Came down here for business and I come back with a fucking pet. Blokes in there wanted to shoot you like a mad horse.”

Alfie shifted beneath the gaze, like pins and needles it looked him up and down.

“Maybe you should have let them.”

He’s gone before Alfie can decide whether to take him home or shoot him.

Pubs were for business, no reason to go and buy someone elses fucking booze when he it was coming out of his ears at home. So like paddy’s law, his one social occasion was fractured by blue eyes haunted with ghosts and washed with an uncontrollable rage.

The commotion reaches Alfie in the snug, a glass lofted in the air just inches away from his lips. Crashing glass splinters across wooden floorboards, easily ignorable alongside the yelling and the familiar sound of tables being up turned. But then someone shouts a name that's too context specific to ignore.

“Calm down Tommy!”

“Oh fuck,” he sighs and the man across from him raises an eyebrow. Draining the glass, Alfie makes to stand up. “We’ll be in touch. We, us, not you. We’ll find you. Now fuck off.” He leaves the bewildered man behind to face the cacophony of noise in the pub.

A familiar body is slung over the bar, narrowly missing the barkeep. Pale, bruised hands emerge, grasping at the edge. Alfie stands in Tommy’s peripheral, close enough to see the glazed look in the man's eye. He lunges forward as Tommy reaches for the bottle of gin behind him, large hand ensnaring the petite wrist.

“Alright Tommy, let’s just fucking take a minute alright?”

The haunting look locks onto him and Alfie finds himself yet again under that awful scrutiny. But it softens, the gaze, that is. In his hand the gin bottle almost slips but Alfie pulls it from the pliant grip before it can shatter what clarity Alfie managed to impress on Tommy.

Outside, the cool air seems to snap further sense into Tommy. He wipes at the blood dripping from his nose before lighting a cigarette, dragging it across his bottom lip.

Alfie takes a post leaning against the wall and stares at Tommy. “We have got to stop fucking meeting like this.” Unsurprisingly, he receives no response. “You're going off your chops. What is it, are you just an angry bloke or are you proper mental? Knew a bloke who couldn’t stop arguing with people. Didn’t ever throw a punch, just seemed to like riling them up. Never broke a sweat himself, never fought back. Come to think of it, he was probably fucking mental.”

“Do you ever stop talking?”

“When the person I’m talking to fucking responds, yeah.”

Tommy scoffs and the hot air escapes from his mouth into the night air. “You can’t stop yourself from getting involved.”

“You can’t stop yourself getting in trouble.”

“Trouble,” he says. “Trouble? Is that what you call this? No, this is just a bit of fun. A few minutes of being far removed from my sense of self, a reprieve.”

Alfie shakes his head. “Mental, that’s it.”

“Maybe so,” Tommy murmurs. “Like I said, maybe they should have put a bullet in my head. Third time a charm hey?”

Just like before, Tommy disappears off into the night leaving not a hide nor hair to prove that he was ever there. Something stirs in Alfie’s chest, sickening for something. Perhaps the will, the hope that their paths would cross over again, some day.

#alfie solomons x tommy shelby #pre relationship #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #alfie solomons #ao3 #fanficiton #Blazingstar29 FanFics

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renaissanceclassics · 16 days

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Up From Slavery: Part 15

of 18 parts. Chapter XIV. The Atlanta Exposition Address

The Atlanta Exposition, at which I had been asked to make an address as a representative of the Negro race, as stated in the last chapter, was opened with a short address from Governor Bullock. After other interesting exercises, including an invocation from Bishop Nelson, of Georgia, a dedicatory ode by Albert Howell, Jr., and addresses by the President of the Exposition and Mrs. Joseph Thompson, the President of the Woman's Board, Governor Bullock introduce me with the words, "We have with us to-day a representative of Negro enterprise and Negro civilization."

When I arose to speak, there was considerable cheering, especially from the coloured people. As I remember it now, the thing that was uppermost in my mind was the desire to say something that would cement the friendship of the races and bring about hearty cooperation between them. So far as my outward surroundings were concerned, the only thing that I recall distinctly now is that when I got up, I saw thousands of eyes looking intently into my face. The following is the address which I delivered:—

Mr. President and Gentlemen of the Board of Directors and Citizens.

One-third of the population of the South is of the Negro race. No enterprise seeking the material, civil, or moral welfare of this section can disregard this element of our population and reach the highest success. I but convey to you, Mr. President and Directors, the sentiment of the masses of my race when I say that in no way have the value and manhood of the American Negro been more fittingly and generously recognized than by the managers of this magnificent Exposition at every stage of its progress. It is a recognition that will do more to cement the friendship of the two races than any occurrence since the dawn of our freedom.

Not only this, but the opportunity here afforded will awaken among us a new era of industrial progress. Ignorant and inexperienced, it is not strange that in the first years of our new life we began at the top instead of at the bottom; that a seat in Congress or the state legislature was more sought than real estate or industrial skill; that the political convention or stump speaking had more attractions than starting a dairy farm or truck garden.

A ship lost at sea for many days suddenly sighted a friendly vessel. From the mast of the unfortunate vessel was seen a signal, "Water, water; we die of thirst!" The answer from the friendly vessel at once came back, "Cast down your bucket where you are." A second time the signal, "Water, water; send us water!" ran up from the distressed vessel, and was answered, "Cast down your bucket where you are." And a third and fourth signal for water was answered, "Cast down your bucket where you are." The captain of the distressed vessel, at last heading the injunction, cast down his bucket, and it came up full of fresh, sparkling water from the mouth of the Amazon River. To those of my race who depend on bettering their condition in a foreign land or who underestimate the importance of cultivating friendly relations with the Southern white man, who is their next-door neighbour, I would say: "Cast down your bucket where you are"—cast it down in making friends in every manly way of the people of all races by whom we are surrounded.

Cast it down in agriculture, mechanics, in commerce, in domestic service, and in the professions. And in this connection it is well to bear in mind that whatever other sins the South may be called to bear, when it comes to business, pure and simple, it is in the South that the Negro is given a man's chance in the commercial world, and in nothing is this Exposition more eloquent than in emphasizing this chance. Our greatest danger is that in the great leap from slavery to freedom we may overlook the fact that the masses of us are to live by the productions of our hands, and fail to keep in mind that we shall prosper in proportion as we learn to dignify and glorify common labour and put brains and skill into the common occupations of life; shall prosper in proportion as we learn to draw the line between the superficial and the substantial, the ornamental gewgaws of life and the useful. No race can prosper till it learns that there is as much dignity in tilling a field as in writing a poem. It is at the bottom of life we must begin, and not at the top. Nor should we permit our grievances to overshadow our opportunities.

To those of the white race who look to the incoming of those of foreign birth and strange tongue and habits of the prosperity of the South, were I permitted I would repeat what I say to my own race: "Cast down your bucket where you are." Cast it down among the eight millions of Negroes whose habits you know, whose fidelity and love you have tested in days when to have proved treacherous meant the ruin of your firesides. Cast down your bucket among these people who have, without strikes and labour wars, tilled your fields, cleared your forests, builded your railroads and cities, and brought forth treasures from the bowels of the earth, and helped make possible this magnificent representation of the progress of the South. Casting down your bucket among my people, helping and encouraging them as you are doing on these grounds, and to education of head, hand, and heart, you will find that they will buy your surplus land, make blossom the waste places in your fields, and run your factories. While doing this, you can be sure in the future, as in the past, that you and your families will be surrounded by the most patient, faithful, law-abiding, and unresentful people that the world has seen. As we have proved our loyalty to you in the past, nursing your children, watching by the sick-bed of your mothers and fathers, and often following them with tear-dimmed eyes to their graves, so in the future, in our humble way, we shall stand by you with a devotion that no foreigner can approach, ready to lay down our lives, if need be, in defence of yours, interlacing our industrial, commercial, civil, and religious life with yours in a way that shall make the interests of both races one. In all things that are purely social we can be as separate as the fingers, yet one as the hand in all things essential to mutual progress.

There is no defence or security for any of us except in the highest intelligence and development of all. If anywhere there are efforts tending to curtail the fullest growth of the Negro, let these efforts be turned into stimulating, encouraging, and making him the most useful and intelligent citizen. Effort or means so invested will pay a thousand per cent interest. These efforts will be twice blessed—"blessing him that gives and him that takes."

There is no escape through law of man or God from the inevitable:— The laws of changeless justice bind Oppressor with oppressed; And close as sin and suffering joined We march to fate abreast.

Nearly sixteen millions of hands will aid you in pulling the load upward, or they will pull against you the load downward. We shall constitute one-third and more of the ignorance and crime of the South, or one-third its intelligence and progress; we shall contribute one-third to the business and industrial prosperity of the South, or we shall prove a veritable body of death, stagnating, depressing, retarding every effort to advance the body politic.

Gentlemen of the Exposition, as we present to you our humble effort at an exhibition of our progress, you must not expect overmuch. Starting thirty years ago with ownership here and there in a few quilts and pumpkins and chickens (gathered from miscellaneous sources), remember the path that has led from these to the inventions and production of agricultural implements, buggies, steam-engines, newspapers, books, statuary, carving, paintings, the management of drug-stores and banks, has not been trodden without contact with thorns and thistles. While we take pride in what we exhibit as a result of our independent efforts, we do not for a moment forget that our part in this exhibition would fall far short of your expectations but for the constant help that has come to our education life, not only from the Southern states, but especially from Northern philanthropists, who have made their gifts a constant stream of blessing and encouragement.

The wisest among my race understand that the agitation of questions of social equality is the extremest folly, and that progress in the enjoyment of all the privileges that will come to us must be the result of severe and constant struggle rather than of artificial forcing. No race that has anything to contribute to the markets of the world is long in any degree ostracized. It is important and right that all privileges of the law be ours, but it is vastly more important that we be prepared for the exercises of these privileges. The opportunity to earn a dollar in a factory just now is worth infinitely more than the opportunity to spend a dollar in an opera-house.

In conclusion, may I repeat that nothing in thirty years has given us more hope and encouragement, and drawn us so near to you of the white race, as this opportunity offered by the Exposition; and here bending, as it were, over the altar that represents the results of the struggles of your race and mine, both starting practically empty-handed three decades ago, I pledge that in your effort to work out the great and intricate problem which God has laid at the doors of the South, you shall have at all times the patient, sympathetic help of my race; only let this be constantly in mind, that, while from representations in these buildings of the product of field, of forest, of mine, of factory, letters, and art, much good will come, yet far above and beyond material benefits will be that higher good, that, let us pray God, will come, in a blotting out of sectional differences and racial animosities and suspicions, in a determination to administer absolute justice, in a willing obedience among all classes to the mandates of law. This, this, coupled with our material prosperity, will bring into our beloved South a new heaven and a new earth.

The first thing that I remember, after I had finished speaking, was that Governor Bullock rushed across the platform and took me by the hand, and that others did the same. I received so many and such hearty congratulations that I found it difficult to get out of the building. I did not appreciate to any degree, however, the impression which my address seemed to have made, until the next morning, when I went into the business part of the city. As soon as I was recognized, I was surprised to find myself pointed out and surrounded by a crowd of men who wished to shake hands with me. This was kept up on every street on to which I went, to an extent which embarrassed me so much that I went back to my boarding-place. The next morning I returned to Tuskegee. At the station in Atlanta, and at almost all of the stations at which the train stopped between that city and Tuskegee, I found a crowd of people anxious to shake hands with me.

The papers in all parts of the United States published the address in full, and for months afterward there were complimentary editorial references to it. Mr. Clark Howell, the editor of the Atlanta Constitution, telegraphed to a New York paper, among other words, the following, "I do not exaggerate when I say that Professor Booker T. Washington's address yesterday was one of the most notable speeches, both as to character and as to the warmth of its reception, ever delivered to a Southern audience. The address was a revelation. The whole speech is a platform upon which blacks and whites can stand with full justice to each other."

The Boston Transcript said editorially: "The speech of Booker T. Washington at the Atlanta Exposition, this week, seems to have dwarfed all the other proceedings and the Exposition itself. The sensation that it has caused in the press has never been equalled."

I very soon began receiving all kinds of propositions from lecture bureaus, and editors of magazines and papers, to take the lecture platform, and to write articles. One lecture bureau offered me fifty thousand dollars, or two hundred dollars a night and expenses, if I would place my services at its disposal for a given period. To all these communications I replied that my life-work was at Tuskegee; and that whenever I spoke it must be in the interests of Tuskegee school and my race, and that I would enter into no arrangements that seemed to place a mere commercial value upon my services.

Some days after its delivery I sent a copy of my address to the President of the United States, the Hon. Grover Cleveland. I received from him the following autograph reply:—

Gray Gables, Buzzard's Bay, Mass., October 6, 1895. Booker T. Washington, Esq.: My Dear Sir: I thank you for sending me a copy of your address delivered at the Atlanta Exposition. I thank you with much enthusiasm for making the address. I have read it with intense interest, and I think the Exposition would be fully justified if it did not do more than furnish the opportunity for its delivery. Your words cannot fail to delight and encourage all who wish well for your race; and if our coloured fellow-citizens do not from your utterances gather new hope and form new determinations to gain every valuable advantage offered them by their citizenship, it will be strange indeed. Yours very truly, Grover Cleveland.

Later I met Mr. Cleveland, for the first time, when, as President, he visited the Atlanta Exposition. At the request of myself and others he consented to spend an hour in the Negro Building, for the purpose of inspecting the Negro exhibit and of giving the coloured people in attendance an opportunity to shake hands with him. As soon as I met Mr. Cleveland I became impressed with his simplicity, greatness, and rugged honesty. I have met him many times since then, both at public functions and at his private residence in Princeton, and the more I see of him the more I admire him. When he visited the Negro Building in Atlanta he seemed to give himself up wholly, for that hour, to the coloured people. He seemed to be as careful to shake hands with some old coloured "auntie" clad partially in rags, and to take as much pleasure in doing so, as if he were greeting some millionaire. Many of the coloured people took advantage of the occasion to get him to write his name in a book or on a slip of paper. He was as careful and patient in doing this as if he were putting his signature to some great state document.

Mr. Cleveland has not only shown his friendship for me in many personal ways, but has always consented to do anything I have asked of him for our school. This he has done, whether it was to make a personal donation or to use his influence in securing the donations of others. Judging from my personal acquaintance with Mr. Cleveland, I do not believe that he is conscious of possessing any colour prejudice. He is too great for that. In my contact with people I find that, as a rule, it is only the little, narrow people who live for themselves, who never read good books, who do not travel, who never open up their souls in a way to permit them to come into contact with other souls—with the great outside world. No man whose vision is bounded by colour can come into contact with what is highest and best in the world. In meeting men, in many places, I have found that the happiest people are those who do the most for others; the most miserable are those who do the least. I have also found that few things, if any, are capable of making one so blind and narrow as race prejudice. I often say to our students, in the course of my talks to them on Sunday evenings in the chapel, that the longer I live and the more experience I have of the world, the more I am convinced that, after all, the one thing that is most worth living for—and dying for, if need be—is the opportunity of making some one else more happy and more useful.

The coloured people and the coloured newspapers at first seemed to be greatly pleased with the character of my Atlanta address, as well as with its reception. But after the first burst of enthusiasm began to die away, and the coloured people began reading the speech in cold type, some of them seemed to feel that they had been hypnotized. They seemed to feel that I had been too liberal in my remarks toward the Southern whites, and that I had not spoken out strongly enough for what they termed the "rights" of my race. For a while there was a reaction, so far as a certain element of my own race was concerned, but later these reactionary ones seemed to have been won over to my way of believing and acting.

While speaking of changes in public sentiment, I recall that about ten years after the school at Tuskegee was established, I had an experience that I shall never forget. Dr. Lyman Abbott, then the pastor of Plymouth Church, and also editor of the Outlook (then the Christian Union), asked me to write a letter for his paper giving my opinion of the exact condition, mental and moral, of the coloured ministers in the South, as based upon my observations. I wrote the letter, giving the exact facts as I conceived them to be. The picture painted was a rather black one—or, since I am black, shall I say "white"? It could not be otherwise with a race but a few years out of slavery, a race which had not had time or opportunity to produce a competent ministry.

What I said soon reached every Negro minister in the country, I think, and the letters of condemnation which I received from them were not few. I think that for a year after the publication of this article every association and every conference or religious body of any kind, of my race, that met, did not fail before adjourning to pass a resolution condemning me, or calling upon me to retract or modify what I had said. Many of these organizations went so far in their resolutions as to advise parents to cease sending their children to Tuskegee. One association even appointed a "missionary" whose duty it was to warn the people against sending their children to Tuskegee. This missionary had a son in the school, and I noticed that, whatever the "missionary" might have said or done with regard to others, he was careful not to take his son away from the institution. Many of the coloured papers, especially those that were the organs of religious bodies, joined in the general chorus of condemnation or demands for retraction.

During the whole time of the excitement, and through all the criticism, I did not utter a word of explanation or retraction. I knew that I was right, and that time and the sober second thought of the people would vindicate me. It was not long before the bishops and other church leaders began to make careful investigation of the conditions of the ministry, and they found out that I was right. In fact, the oldest and most influential bishop in one branch of the Methodist Church said that my words were far too mild. Very soon public sentiment began making itself felt, in demanding a purifying of the ministry. While this is not yet complete by any means, I think I may say, without egotism, and I have been told by many of our most influential ministers, that my words had much to do with starting a demand for the placing of a higher type of men in the pulpit. I have had the satisfaction of having many who once condemned me thank me heartily for my frank words.

The change of the attitude of the Negro ministry, so far as regards myself, is so complete that at the present time I have no warmer friends among any class than I have among the clergymen. The improvement in the character and life of the Negro ministers is one of the most gratifying evidences of the progress of the race. My experience with them, as well as other events in my life, convince me that the thing to do, when one feels sure that he has said or done the right thing, and is condemned, is to stand still and keep quiet. If he is right, time will show it.

In the midst of the discussion which was going on concerning my Atlanta speech, I received the letter which I give below, from Dr. Gilman, the President of Johns Hopkins University, who had been made chairman of the judges of award in connection with the Atlanta Exposition:—

Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore,

President's Office, September 30, 1895.

Dear Mr. Washington: Would it be agreeable to you to be one of the Judges of Award in the Department of Education at Atlanta? If so, I shall be glad to place your name upon the list. A line by telegraph will be welcomed.

Yours very truly,

D.C. Gilman

I think I was even more surprised to receive this invitation than I had been to receive the invitation to speak at the opening of the Exposition. It was to be a part of my duty, as one of the jurors, to pass not only upon the exhibits of the coloured schools, but also upon those of the white schools. I accepted the position, and spent a month in Atlanta in performance of the duties which it entailed. The board of jurors was a large one, containing in all of sixty members. It was about equally divided between Southern white people and Northern white people. Among them were college presidents, leading scientists and men of letters, and specialists in many subjects. When the group of jurors to which I was assigned met for organization, Mr. Thomas Nelson Page, who was one of the number, moved that I be made secretary of that division, and the motion was unanimously adopted. Nearly half of our division were Southern people. In performing my duties in the inspection of the exhibits of white schools I was in every case treated with respect, and at the close of our labours I parted from my associates with regret.

I am often asked to express myself more freely than I do upon the political condition and the political future of my race. These recollections of my experience in Atlanta give me the opportunity to do so briefly. My own belief is, although I have never before said so in so many words, that the time will come when the Negro in the South will be accorded all the political rights which his ability, character, and material possessions entitle him to. I think, though, that the opportunity to freely exercise such political rights will not come in any large degree through outside or artificial forcing, but will be accorded to the Negro by the Southern white people themselves, and that they will protect him in the exercise of those rights. Just as soon as the South gets over the old feeling that it is being forced by "foreigners," or "aliens," to do something which it does not want to do, I believe that the change in the direction that I have indicated is going to begin. In fact, there are indications that it is already beginning in a slight degree.

Let me illustrate my meaning. Suppose that some months before the opening of the Atlanta Exposition there had been a general demand from the press and public platform outside the South that a Negro be given a place on the opening programme, and that a Negro be placed upon the board of jurors of award. Would any such recognition of the race have taken place? I do not think so. The Atlanta officials went as far as they did because they felt it to be a pleasure, as well as a duty, to reward what they considered merit in the Negro race. Say what we will, there is something in human nature which we cannot blot out, which makes one man, in the end, recognize and reward merit in another, regardless of colour or race.

I believe it is the duty of the Negro—as the greater part of the race is already doing—to deport himself modestly in regard to political claims, depending upon the slow but sure influences that proceed from the possession of property, intelligence, and high character for the full recognition of his political rights. I think that the according of the full exercise of political rights is going to be a matter of natural, slow growth, not an over-night, gourd-vine affair. I do not believe that the Negro should cease voting, for a man cannot learn the exercise of self-government by ceasing to vote, any more than a boy can learn to swim by keeping out of the water, but I do believe that in his voting he should more and more be influenced by those of intelligence and character who are his next-door neighbours.

I know coloured men who, through the encouragement, help, and advice of Southern white people, have accumulated thousands of dollars' worth of property, but who, at the same time, would never think of going to those same persons for advice concerning the casting of their ballots. This, it seems to me, is unwise and unreasonable, and should cease. In saying this I do not mean that the Negro should truckle, or not vote from principle, for the instant he ceases to vote from principle he loses the confidence and respect of the Southern white man even.

I do not believe that any state should make a law that permits an ignorant and poverty-stricken white man to vote, and prevents a black man in the same condition from voting. Such a law is not only unjust, but it will react, as all unjust laws do, in time; for the effect of such a law is to encourage the Negro to secure education and property, and at the same time it encourages the white man to remain in ignorance and poverty. I believe that in time, through the operation of intelligence and friendly race relations, all cheating at the ballot-box in the South will cease. It will become apparent that the white man who begins by cheating a Negro out of his ballot soon learns to cheat a white man out of his, and that the man who does this ends his career of dishonesty by the theft of property or by some equally serious crime. In my opinion, the time will come when the South will encourage all of its citizens to vote. It will see that it pays better, from every standpoint, to have healthy, vigorous life than to have that political stagnation which always results when one-half of the population has no share and no interest in the Government.

As a rule, I believe in universal, free suffrage, but I believe that in the South we are confronted with peculiar conditions that justify the protection of the ballot in many of the states, for a while at least, either by an education test, a property test, or by both combined; but whatever tests are required, they should be made to apply with equal and exact justice to both races.

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