#look how patriotic they are with the colors and everything

[wanderingaldecaldo]

suits | heels | poses

#cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk 2077 photomode #cp2077edit #cyberpunk photomode #videogame photography #rosalind myers #president rosalind myers #president myers #madam president #madame president #valerie vermilion #streetkid!val #thirsty thursday #wlw ship #working au title: the president's merc #myers x v #is there a tag 🙃 #we need a tag friends #look how patriotic they are with the colors and everything #gotta say i am particularly proud of her pin lmao #my screens #i am barking at these #christ almighty #nsft

[mcmansionhell]

this house may or may not be real

on grayness in real estate

Allegedly, somewhere in Wake Forest, North Carolina, a 4 bed, 5.5 bathroom house totaling more than 6,600 square feet is for sale at a price of 2.37 million dollars. The house, allegedly, was built in 2021. Allegedly, it looks like this:

A McMansion is, in effect, the same house over and over again - it's merely dressed up in different costumes. In the 90s, the costume was Colonial; in the 2000s, it was vague forms of European (Tuscan, Mediterranean), and in the 2010s it was Tudor, dovetailed by "the farmhouse" -- a kind of Yeti Cooler simulacra of rural America peddled to the populace by Toll Brothers and HGTV.

Now, we're fully in the era of whatever this is. Whitewashed, quasi-modern, vaguely farmhouse-esque, definitely McMansion. We have reached, in a way, peak color and formal neutrality to the point where even the concept of style has no teeth. At a certain moment in its life cycle, styles in vernacular architecture reach their apex, after which they seem excessively oversaturated and ubiquitous. Soon, it's time to move on. After all, no one builds houses that look like this anymore:

(This is almost a shame because at least this house is mildly interesting.)

If we return to the basic form of both houses, they are essentially the same: a central foyer, a disguised oversized garage, and an overly complex assemblage of masses, windows, and rooflines. No one can rightfully claim that we no longer live in the age of the McMansion. The McMansion has instead simply become more charmless and dull.

When HGTV and the Gaineses premiered Fixer Upper in 2013, it seemed almost harmless. Attractive couple flips houses. Classic show form. However, Fixer Upper has since (in)famously ballooned into its own media network, a product line I'm confronted with every time I go to Target, and a general 2010s cultural hallmark not unlike the 1976 American Bicentennial - both events after which every house and its furnishings were somehow created in its image. (The patriotism, aesthetic and cultural conservatism of both are not lost on me.)

But there's one catch: Fixer Upper is over, and after the Gaineses, HGTV hasn't quite figured out where to go stylistically. With all those advertisers, partners, and eyeballs, the pressure to keep one foot stuck in the rural tweeness that sold extremely well was great. At the same time, the network (and the rest of the vernacular design media) couldn't risk wearing out its welcome. The answer came in a mix of rehashed, overly neutral modernism -- with a few pops of color, yet this part often seems omitted from its imitators -- with the prevailing "farmhouse modern" of Magnolia™ stock. The unfortunate result: mega-ultra-greige.

Aside from war-mongering, rarely does the media manufacture consent like it does in terms of interior design. People often ask me: Why is everything so gray? How did we get here? The answer is because it is profitable. Why is it profitable? I'd like to hypothesize several reasons. The first is as I mentioned: today's total neutrality is an organic outgrowth of a previous but slightly different style, "farmhouse modern," that mixed the starkness of the vernacular farmhouse with the soft-pastel Pinterest-era rural signifiers that have for the last ten years become ubiquitous.

Second, neutrals have always been common and popular. It's the default choice if you don't have a vision for what you want to do in a space. In the 2000s, the neutrals du jour were "earth tones" - beige, sage green, brown. Before that, it was white walls with oak trim in the 80s and 90s. In the 70s, neutrals were textural: brick and wood paneling. We have remarkably short memories when it comes to stylistic evolution because in real time it feels incremental. Such is the case with neutrals.

Finally, the all-gray palette is the end logic of HGTV et al's gamified methodology of designing houses with commodification in mind: if you blow out this wall, use this color, this flooring, this cabinetry, the asking price of your house goes up. You never want to personalize too much because it's off-putting to potential buyers. After twenty years of such rhetoric, doesn't it make all the sense in the world that we've ended up with houses that are empty, soulless, and gray?

A common realtor adage is to stage the house so that potential buyers can picture their own lives in it. In other words, create a tabula rasa one can project a fantasy of consumption onto. Implied in that logic is that the buyer will then impose their will on the house. But when the staged-realtor-vision and general-mass-market aesthetic of the time merge into a single dull slurry, we get a form of ultra-neutral that seems unwelcoming if not inescapable.

To impose one's style on the perfect starkness is almost intimidating, as though one is fouling up something untouchable and superior. If neutrality makes a house sell, then personality - at all - can only be seen as a detriment. Where does such an anti-social practice lead us? Back to the house that may or may not exist.

In my travels as McMansion Hell, I've increasingly been confronted with houses full of furniture that isn't real. This is known as virtual staging and it is to house staging as ChatGPT is to press release writing or DALL-E is to illustration. As this technology improves, fake sofa tables are becoming more and more difficult to discern from the real thing. I'm still not entirely sure which of the things in these photos are genuine or rendered. To walk through this house is to question reality.

Staging ultimately pretends (sometimes successfully, sometimes not) that someone is living in this house, that you, too could live in it. Once discovered, virtual staging erases all pretensions: the house is inhabited by no one. It is generally acknowledged (though I'm not sure on the actual statistics) that a house with furniture - that is, with the pretense of living -- sells easier than a house with nothing in it, especially if that house (like this one) has almost no internal walls. Hence the goal is to make the virtual staging undiscoverable.

If you want to talk about the realtor's tabula rasa, this is its final form. Houses without people, without human involvement whatsoever.

But what makes this particular house so uncanny is that all of these things I've mentioned before: real estate listing photography, completely dull interiors and bland colors all make it easy for the virtual furniture to work so well. This is because the softness of overlit white and gray walls enables the fuzzy edges of the renderings to look natural when mixed with an overstylized reality. Even if you notice something's off in the reflections, that's enough to cause one to wonder if anything in the house is real: the floors, the fixtures, the moulding, the windows and doors.

This is where things are heading: artifice on top of artifice on top of artifice. It's cheap, it's easy. But something about it feels like a violation. When one endeavors to buy a house, one assumes what one is viewing is real. It's one thing if a realtor photoshops a goofy sunset, it's another to wonder if anything in a room can be touched with human hands. I won't know what, if any, part of this estate costing over 2 million dollars actually exists until I visit it myself. Perhaps that's the whole point - to entice potential buyers out to see for themselves. When they enter, they'll find the truth: a vast, empty space with nothing in it.

The better this rendering technology gets, the more it will rely on these totally neutral spaces because everything matches and nothing is difficult. You are picking from a catalog of greige furniture to decorate greige rooms. If you look at virtual staging in a non-neutral house it looks immediately plastic and out of place, which is why many realtors opt to either still stage using furniture or leave the place empty.

Due to the aforementioned photography reasons, I would even argue that the greigepocalypse or whatever you want to call it and virtual staging have evolved simultaneously and mutualistically. The more virtual staging becomes an industry standard, the more conditions for making it seamless and successful will become standardized as well.

After all, real staging is expensive and depends on paid labor - selecting furniture, getting workers to deliver and stage it, only to pack it back up again once the property is sold. This is a classic example of technology being used to erase entire industries. Is this a bad thing? For freelance and contract workers, yeah. For realtors? no. For real estate listings, it remains to be seen. For this blog? Absolutely. (Thankfully there is an endless supply of previously existing McMansions.)

The thing is, real estate listings no longer reflect reality. (Did they ever to begin with?) The reason we're all exasperated with greige is because none of us actually live that way and don't want to. I've never been to anyone's house that looks like the house that may or may not exist. Even my parents who have followed the trends after becoming empty nesters have plenty of color in their house. Humans like color. Most of us have lots of warmth and creativity in our houses. Compare media intended for renters and younger consumers such as Apartment Therapy with HGTV and you will find a stark difference in palate and tone.

But when it comes to actually existing houses - look at Zillow and it's greige greige greige. So who's doing this? The answer is real estate itself aided by their allies in mass media who in turn are aided by the home renovation industry. In other words, it's the people who sell home as a commodity. That desire to sell has for some time overpowered all other elements that make up a home or an apartment's interiority to the point where we've ended up in a colorless slurry of real and unreal.

Fortunately, after ten years or so, things begin to become dated. We're hitting the ten year mark of farmhouse modernism and its derivatives now. If you're getting sick of it, it's normal. The whole style is hopefully on its last leg. But unlike styles of the past, there's a real, trenchant material reason why this one is sticking around longer than usual.

Hence, maybe if we want the end of greige, we're going to have to take color back by force.

If you like this post and want more like it, support McMansion Hell on Patreon for as little as $1/month for access to great bonus content including extra posts and livestreams.

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#architecture #design #2010s #mcmansion #mcmansion hell #nc #2021 #essay

[puzzled-pegasus]

Here's some silly little metaphors that I think the dragon tribes would use

SkyWings

“Don’t count your clutch before they hatch.” (Don't plan too much too soon)

“Gold is better than silver, but silver is better than nothing.” (If you can't do it perfectly, still try your best. Most dragons forget the second part.)

“‘Sorry’ can't suck the fire back in.” (The damage is done and now you're dead to me.)

“You been eating too much burnt meat or something?” (Are you nuts?)

“Stop all this smoke and use your fire.” (Stop rambling and get to the point already; or stop complaining and do something)

“Doesn't know his tail from his wings.” (Stupid or clumsy)

“You fly like a depressed pigeon.” (Slow flier)

“There's no fire in a rainstorm.” (Stop feeling sorry for yourself and get to work.)

“Nighttime is for the NightWings.” (What are you doing up? Go to sleep.)

SandWings

“She’s all rattle, and no strike.” (Like all bark no bite)

“A diamond in a pile of quartz.” (Like a needle in a haystack)

“You’re watering the cactus and ignoring the sapling.” (You’re focusing on the wrong thing; barking up the wrong tree)

“Everyone thinks the camel looks silly until the dry season comes.” (Don't listen to them, they don't know how unique and strong you are)

MudWings

“Crocodile tears.” (Fake crying in order to gain sympathy)

“You can only catch a trout if your mouth is open.” (Be open to new experiences)

“If the tree gives away too much, it ends up as a stump.” (Don't let people take advantage of your generosity)

SeaWings

“Happy as a clam in high water.” (Very happy)

“The flying fish feels like a fool when it sees an osprey.” (Don't compare yourself to others, run your own race.)

“Plenty of fish in the sea.” (Plenty more opportunities to come.)

“You’ve got ink in your eyes.” (You're blind to something important)

“Lobsters only die when they don't leave their shell.” (Keep yourself busy with new experiences and you'll life a long life)

NightWings

“Sleep is for the dead.” (Why waste your time sleeping when you could be productive)

“SeaWings know their fish and SandWings know their cactuses, but we NightWings know everything else.”(NightWing supremacy propaganda)

“Being nice to a deer never got one in my mouth.” (Other dragons don't matter, only your goals.)

“A prophecy always comes true.” (I told you so but more cryptic)

"You're counting the stars." (You're doing something tedious towards an unachievable goal)

RainWings

“Gray’s her favorite color.” (She's a huge bummer)

“A lemon is yellow on the outside, doesn't mean they're not sour.” (Referring to someone who is two faced or fake)

“I love honey, but I’d rather not get stung by the bees.” (I could do this, but it requires effort so I don't wanna)

“Nobody likes a rotten banana.” (Nobody likes a bummer/downer)

“Don't tie your tail in a knot” (don't get all upset)

“I have all my berries in a basket” (I have everything sorted out)

“You couldn't sneak up on a pineapple” (insult to one's camouflage skills, popular among children)

IceWings

“The seal who asks why the orca is chasing him is the first to get eaten.” (A favorite of parents telling their kids to shut up)

“Not the sharpest icicle on the roof” (kinda stupid or slow)

“Clear as polished ice” (i understand or see it very well)

“You're looking a little pink in the face” (you look sickly. IceWings can turn pink from eating too much krill; a symptom of malnutrition. This line can be applied to any illness.)

“Blue blood kills, red blood spills.” (Patriotic propaganda implying that IceWings win every fight

“The SkyWings toss their blue eyed hatchlings because they're worried they'll be as strong as an IceWing.” (More propaganda)

HiveWings

“Pretty is for the SilkWings.” (Vanity is stupid and impractical)

“If it buzzes like a bug and bites like a bug, it's a bug.” (Don't ignore the obvious)

“Clearsight works in mysterious ways.” (I don't know the answer to your question, now go away)

SilkWings

“It's not always good to know how the honey gets made.” (Don't stick your snout where it doesn't belong)

“She's got a couple of threads loose.” (Calling someone a little crazy, threads refers to weaving)

“The bee minds its flowers and the spider minds her silk, it's when they mix that bad things happen.” (Mind ya business)

LeafWings

“Flytraps only trap because the soil doesn't feed them.” (Dragons don't get angry out of nowhere)

“Looking like a leaf only hides you in the forest.” (Time and place)

“If a branch doesn't bend, it breaks.” (Be flexible)

“Even the corpse flower attracts the flies.” (Even someone who seems ugly to one dragon they can seem irresistible to another)

#wings of fire #wof headcanons #metaphor #idioms

[joachimnapoleon]

A look at three Fouché biographies

Over the past few months I've read three English-language biographies on Fouché: Joseph Fouché: Portrait of a Politician, by Stefan Zweig; Fouché: Unprincipled Patriot, by Hubert Cole; and Medusa's Head: The Rise and Survival of Joseph Fouché, Inventor of the Modern Police State, by Rand Mirante. These are a great example of how dramatically interpretations of a historical figure can vary from one historian to another (see also the difference between Alan Schom's interpretation of Napoleon vs. that of Andrew Roberts). And also a great example of why it’s a good idea to read multiple biographies on the same figure, to gain a more well-rounded perspective, instead of simply accepting/adopting that of the first biographer you read.

Zweig is a colorful writer and his biography is highly entertaining—he actually had me laughing out loud a few times—but his depictions of Fouché are so hilariously sinister and malignant throughout that at times it almost feels like a caricature. Zweig also utilizes the least amount of primary source material out of the three biographers--hardly any, actually--and so much of what he writes in regard to Fouché's motivations and thoughts come across as pure speculation or projection, but are always stated very matter-of-factly. Zweig presents a Fouché who chafes at the smallness of the roles he is given, driven by "unflinching selfishness." "When in power," Zweig writes, "he does not work for the State, does not work for the Directory or for Napoleon, but for himself." Aside from raw ambition, Zweig attributes most of Fouché’s actions to his sheer delight in engaging in intrigue for the sake of intrigue, an interpretation that seems to come straight out of Napoleon’s venting on St. Helena: “Intrigue was to Fouché a necessary of life. He intrigued at all times, in all places, in all ways, and with all persons. Nothing ever came to light, but he was found to have had a hand in it. He made it his sole business to look out for something that he might be meddling with. His mania was to wish to be concerned with everything.” Overall, Zweig’s book is worth reading, but out of the three English-language Fouché biographies, it’d be ranked third on my list.

Hubert Cole’s interpretation of Fouché is as different from Zweig’s as night is from day. The key word in Cole’s title is “Patriot,” and Cole’s central point is that Fouché, at each point in his career, was doing what he believed was in the best interests of France, even if that meant negotiating for peace with Britain behind Napoleon’s back, or pushing Napoleon towards a divorce and remarriage for the sake of shoring up the Bonaparte dynasty, or even (repeatedly) abandoning one master to serve another. This is the second one of Cole’s biographies I’ve read, and as most of you following me already know, I loved his dual biography on Joachim and Caroline Murat, the deceptively named The Betrayers, which is actually a very sympathetic look at the Murat couple. Cole is no fan of Napoleon and doesn’t really attempt to hide it, and maybe it’s because of this that he feels inclined to look deeper at the motivations and actions of those who ended up in opposition to Napoleon at various points (and who have therefore been demonized in history books accordingly). Cole draws heavily on primary sources, from letters and memoirs of Fouché’s contemporaries, to Fouché’s police bulletins (quoted at length throughout) to argue that “It is possible… that he was a sincere and moderately successful patriot. It is not uncommon in France for egoists to be hailed as patriots, and patriots condemned as traitors.” Far from the sinister, cold-blooded figure that haunts Zweig’s biography, or the “universally distrusted, feared, and hated” social pariah of Mirante’s, Cole's Fouché is charming, a welcome figure in the drawing rooms of Paris society, with a preference for making friends rather than enemies; nevertheless Cole does not deny that Fouché could also be ruthless, ambitious, and cunning. Cole also uses numerous accounts regarding Fouché by British, German, and Russian contemporaries, “in the belief that their prejudices, if national, are less personal.” Out of these three biographies, this one was my personal favorite, as I think it provides a more well-rounded picture of Fouché as a human being.

The primary focus of Mirante’s book is Fouché’s administration of the Ministry of Police, and the biography goes into great detail about the operations of the police in Napoleonic France, its vast network of informants, subversion of the press, surveillance of emigrés, and steady stream of information flowing in from all quarters. Fouché emphasized to his subordinates how one small detail or event could be “of great interest in the general order of things by its connections with related matters of which you are scarcely aware.” Like Cole, Mirante quotes frequently from Fouché’s police bulletins, as well as from memoirs of the era (though most of the excerpts are those hostile to Fouché). Unlike Cole, Mirante’s Fouché is driven not by any higher patriotism, but—especially after his humiliating flight from France in 1810—by a deep and abiding hatred of Napoleon, towards whose final destruction Fouché is willing to go to any length. Mirante provides more detail on Fouché’s exile and final years than either Zweig or Cole, one interesting aspect of which is the warm welcome Fouché received in Trieste from Elisa Bonaparte, who had been driven from power in Tuscany largely through Fouché’s machinations with Murat in 1814. Mirante ends the book with a critical look at Fouché’s dubious, ghostwritten “memoirs,” the credibility of which he is far more suspicious than Cole, who accepts the argument of French historian Louis Madelin that they are “largely authentic and accurate.” Mirante, on the other hand, is not convinced, and concludes that the memoirs are “highly assailable, at least quasi-spurious, and shrouded in controversy and deceit.” Mirante ends by drawing parallels between Fouché’s policing methods and those of the Gestapo and NKVD in the 20th century.

Overall I enjoyed all three of these for different reasons, and taken together they offer a more complete picture of Fouché. I haven’t gotten around to reading any French-language biographies on Fouché yet, but I do have a couple works on him by Emmanuel de Waresquiel that are definitely on my to-read list.

#Joseph Fouché #Napoleon #Napoleon Bonaparte #Napoleonic #history #19th century #books #biographies #French Revolution

[silent-raven13]

P FKN R!!! 🇵🇷 (Warning Harsh Language!)

Miles is always proud of his Puerto Rican side. Hell, he's the first one in Spider Society to burst out his Boricua music out loud. He wears his flag on his back when there's any Puerto Rican holidays or parades. Hell, he made a special suit with the Puerto Rican flag on it when he felt like showing off his culture, his Pride!

Yet today a racist asshole test him! Miles flew in the air using his venom strike, absorbing energy to give him a boost to do a flip before launching his webs to swing! The 19 year old wore his black, and red suit with the Puerto Rican flag on his chest to his torso.

Miles blasting Bad Bunny song "P FKN R" as he sings out loud as he swings from building to building: Si no sabes de dónde soy, no me ronquen, no -getting pump as he fight a rodder trying to steal from an elderly woman- Si no sabes de dónde soy, eh-eh, (ey) eh-eh, (ey, ey, ey)! -he beats up the robber as he give the purse back to the older woman before going up in the air to look for more crimes-

He sings along to his music: Yo soy de P fuckin' R (hoo)! -bangs his head as he swings- WHOA! Bad Bunny, you know me so well! -he chuckles as he went on a building keeping watch on the City's mainstream. The roads were closed off for Puerto Rican Day parade, he knew he needs to be home early to celebrate with his family. His mom took the day off for this occasion. Little Billie is probably wearing a cute dress with the Puerto Rican flag and her hair with ribbons matching the flag's colors- I should get a closer look to see if everything is good! -he saw the parade is about to start, so he should make sure no hate crimes were gonna be committed-

A familiar voice: Luv, what are you wearing? -Miles turns around to find Hobie standing behind him-

Miles happily smiles underneath his mask to find his boyfriend: OH hey, bae! -he went to hold his partner's hand- I'm glad you came! I thought you would miss today!

Hobie arched his eyebrow being masked: I never missed anything you invited me to. Now, what is this? -he eyes on the flag- A bit too Patriotic?

Miles chuckles giving him a kiss on the cheek with his mask on: Mi amor, it's my Puerto Rican pride.

Hobie: Isn't it a bit much?

Miles pouts: No! I think it's cool! -sounding a bit upset- You don't like it?

Hobie quickly change his statement: I meant, to be devoted to a country... the government, I meant. You know, how I feel about it. -he looks down at the parade seeing massive crowds- Isn't America's way to manipulate Puerto Ricans to appreciate being part of America? When they colonize your country and set up a military base! -he did a quick research on his partner's country and it's history-

Miles understood what he meant: Well, that may be true, but! -he hugs his partner's arm- Look, mi amor! You see how everyone is excited to celebrate being Puerto Rican! It runs in our blood, our pride, our culture is who we are! We may lost too much, hell Puerto Rico never had independence, but we're still here. Still Boricua! Still proud of our flag! It's who we are, and we throw the craziest parties, baby.

Hobie hears the loud music and many families gathering around to celebrate: I guess so.. you know how I am.

Miles: Hey, you're here so you're gonna get the full effect! Come on, let's check around. I know, you may judge America for their crazy ass colonization, but remember, you love protecting POC! There might be racists trying to commit hate crime!

Hobie became alert: Oh! I have no problem beating up a racist! -he grins under his mask, he follows his partner. As they got lower to the parade. The crowds cheers as they saw their Spiderman swinging by-

A random woman: Look! Mira! Mira! Es Spiderman! Boricua Spiderman!

The crowd in the parade cheers playing louder music and getting hype: Spiderman! Spiderman! Te amo!

One guy shouted: He's Puerto Rican?

Miles laughs: Por supuesto que soy puertorriqueño! -as he got low taking a balloon to give a little boy being carried by his mother-

Hobie saw the crowd wearing their flags in outfits, makeup, all sorts to show their pride. He follows Miles through the parade seeing no crime, yet. The music plays outlaid from the parade: Yo soy de P fuckin' R (P fuckin' R) Eh-eh-eh-eh-eh (ah)!

Miles turns around swinging backwards to look at his partner while singing along: Los maliante' con la' R! Prr-prr-prr-prr-prr -he chuckles- Come on, bae! Mejor que la boca cierre, ey Ah-ah-ah-ah

Some of the crowd started to sing or dance getting hype for their parade: Antes que los mío' te entierren (oye) Uh-uh-uh-uh-uh (yeh)

Hobie chuckles: You know what, I get it.

Miles smiles under his mask: I'm glad. You know, my mom made a lot of food so you can try.

Hobie: Yum, I didn't eat just to be prepare. -The two swing side by side-

Miles laughs: She made a lot of food! So you better eat like five plates! Also everyone is coming by for the roof top party! Isn't it exciting! -The loud Bomba music plays as they watch the parade starting having the female dancers following the rhythm of the music. Everyone enjoying the large floats, organizations, and other groups walking as they wave their flags.- Wow, it's bigger than last time!

Hobie saw a small group of men looking a bit suspicious: Aye, luv. Looks like we found a couple of muppets...

Miles looks over seeing them holding up microphones: Huh oh! Let's check it out! -being quick to get over the group-

The hate group had a leader preaching out about God and shouting at the Puerto Ricans: GO back to your countries! This a hate on America! You don't belong here -causing the crowd around to get upset-

A woman speaking in Spanish: No tienes derecho a estar aquí! ¡Estás arruinando el desfile! Déjanos en paz, Puñetas! Pendejos! Mama a tu culos! -some of the other crowd tried to held her back seeing they didn't want the cops to come in or worst stop the parade-

Miles flew down seeing the group of men: Hey fellas, what's going on here?

The hate group scowls at Spiderman's outfit with disgust. The leader had his microphone on: You are an American! You are disrespecting our country's belief! USA! USA!

Miles could only scowl under his mask: Hey man, people are allowed to celebrate where they come from!

The leader kept over talking Spiderman: Your just Spiderman 2! You're not even the real Spiderman! WE WANT SPIDERMAN!

Hobie crosses his arms getting super pissed off. Miles stops him: I got this. -he turns to the group- I kinda suggest you all to leave! Your ruining-

The leader of the hate group: FUCK YOU! GO BACK TO MEXICO! -the crowd behind Miles started to get super mad, almost riling up with anger. The racist insult was enough to cause them to shout back. MEXICO? Miles got mad too. This group is testing him- You and all your Mexican, pals should go back to your country! USA! USA! -the hate group chanted wearing their American flags-

Miles: I'm giving you one chance to apologize to me and my people! Before-

The leader over talks him: Or WHAT? You're gonna hit me? I'm using my first amendment! FREEDOM OF SPEECH, BUDDY! YOUR NOT EVEN A REAL SPIDERMAN WITH THAT TACKY FLAG YOU HAVE ON! -The older leader grins widely to pissed off Spiderman-

Hobie took out his guitar: That's it. I'ma beat this bloke! -the crowd behind him agrees-

Miles push him back: NO! We are better than them! -He turns to the group- you left me no choice!

The leader said: Oh yeah! You're nothing but a dirty sp- -Miles quickly uses his webs to shut up the leader then quickly uses his webs to tied the group, then he swing them high on the building-

Miles smiling happily: Ah-ah-Ah! Tsk. Tsk. I give you a chance to apologize and to go home, but since you want to harass me and everyone here. I think I have the right to shut you up! -the crowd cheers out loud as they saw the hate group being web against the building up high. Some took photos and laugh out loud-

Hobie grins widely seeing one of the dumbass racist pissing himself crying about his fear of heights: Wonderful, luv! -He slouches on Miles being a bit handsy with him-

The leader of the group shouted spotting the two Spidermen being a bit too close for his liking: UGH! YOUR NOTHING BUT A FUCKING FAGGOT! UGH, DISGUSTING! YOUR GOING TO HELL TOO!

Miles arched his eyebrow under his mask: Oh yeah? Well -He lift Hobie's mask to reveal his lips, then he lift his own mask to show his lips. A bit of his nose showing his pierced Septum. Then his lips pressed against Hobie's without a care who was watching. When he pulled his lips away then to hide his lower mouth- I RATHER BE A FAGGOT THAN A FUCKING RACIST!

Hobie froze being too in shock by his partner's action, he felt Miles' hand pulling down his mask to hide his mouth. He could've never love any more than he already did- No, he's falling in love with Miles all over again! Miles grab the Pride flag from one of the civilians having to tie it around his neck, flaunting it. Hobie could only awe at his boyfriend.

The crowd cheers having mix reactions from being shock to joy about the scene. Hell, most of their reactions were positive. The hate group were making loud taunts, until Hobie shut their mouths up with his webbing. Then he got close to the leader: Aye, mate. You're lucky if it wasn't me! I would've throw you in the Hudson River and let you all drown! -his voice low and menacing- I'll left you off with a warning, mate. Start another racist shit, and I will fucking kill you myself, huh? -the men looked horrified.- So you will stop this crap and not bother my darling, do you hear? -they all nodded- Good! -he harshly patted the leader's cheek almost slapping him-

Miles shouted: Come on, we gotta patrol some more, bae! -he launched his web shooter causing the to swing as he wave at the crowd-

Hobie follows him seeing the crowd being so happy, they can have a peaceful parade. The hate group being stuck on the building to be made an example of. As they made their rounds, the two got up on a building to watch one last time. Miles being happy by the parade, then he heard Hobie being breathless: I love you, Miles.

Miles being surprised: Huh, what made you say that? -he giggles being so bashful-

Hobie pulls Miles close to him for a close hug: You were amazing! No Spiderman would've done what you did!

Miles: Hahaha are you implying not even you would've stop them racist assholes?

Hobie shook his head: You know, what I mean. You kissing me in front of the crowd? Heh, New York City is gonna go crazy for you being bisexual, Sunflower.

Miles snorted: Pfft, good! Let them know that this bisexual boy issuing their asses! AND HE'S PUERTO RICAN! DOUBLE PUNCHES! -he chuckles- I love you, too Hobie.

Hobie: Can I get another kiss, Brooklyn?

Miles chuckles: Do you have to ask?

Hobie holding his love: Consent is important, luv.

Miles smiles widely: Sure, baby! -The two lift their mask to reveal their lips to kiss again. This time Hobie holds Miles like his special gem, being oh so gentle. The parade being loud and proud as the crowd celebrates their Puerto Rican Day while Yo Soy Boricua, Pa'Que Tu Lo Sepas by Taino plays in the background.-

(Sorry for the harsh language! Was listening to Bad Bunny and saw a post that made me inspired @babyhellboy post and comic photo also another comic post of Hobie Brown saying he rather be a F-word than a Fascist. Hehe, you know his Sunflower is heavily inspired by him😉.)

#punkflower #flowerpunk #miles morales #hobie brown #spiderman #spider-verse #spider verse #across the spider verse

[catbountry]

It has been 22 years since 9/11; I was 15 years old in second period art class when a kid, who'd been running down the hallway, opened the door and announced a plane had hit the World Trade Center, and then ran off down the hall, leaving everyone confused. The principal advised teachers not to turn on televisions for us when this was happening, leaving us in further confusion as he tried, feebly, to carry out the rest of the day. We were dismissed before lunch, before fourth period ended.

There are people who are able to legally drink that weren't born yet when this happened and let me tell you, the actual event was fucked up but what happened afterwards, the decisions made in the wake of this fucking event, are a big reason why everything is so fucked up now.

I remember the color-coded terror threat chart, explained by Tom DeLay, who would become a minor internet meme just because of a weird photo of his face. I remember the phrase "known unknowns" in regards to justifying the invasion of Iraq. The "yellow cake" uranium. Being assured that there were weapons of mass destruction. Shock and awe. Bush in a flight suit in front of that "MISSION ACCOMPLISHED" sign. The 2000's was the decade of neo-conservatism and 9/11 was a glorious and golden opportunity to have what America had lost with the fall of the Soviet Union; an ideological enemy that hated us because of how great we were. A perfect vessel to pump patriotic sentiment into the public. And it worked... kind of. Not so much for us younger people, those of us who were teenagers or in our 20's. You have to understand that we were at a point where Jon Stewart, the host of the Daily Show, was considered to be some sort of beacon of truth. We would rather get our news from a satirical news program than the actual news, because Stewart would at least recognize the absurdity of it all. A lot of artists did. Green Day's American Idiot is considered to be their most important album and the whole thing was a protest album. I've always had a soft spot for Radiohead's Hail to the Thief for the same reason. Counterculture was dark and bitter and cynical and brooding, and often incredibly edgy, flying directly in the face of the propaganda about how great America was. Counterculture was more queer, more atheist, dressed in black and online, making memes about 9/11. 9/11, this day that was supposed to be symbolic of the nation's greatest modern-day tragedy since the assassination of John F. Kennedy or the bombing of Pearl Harbor, was being photoshopped to make it look like Hulk Hogan was taking down the Twin Towers through sick wrestling moves. 4chan seems to have since been infected with reactionary brainworms over the course of the 2010's, but in the 2000's, counterculture wasn't conservative. It was making conservatives upset. We saw destruction and mass human death played on repeat over and over and we grew numb to it. Desensitized. We saw the obvious emotional ploy that was being used as an excuse to inflict even more violence and oppression on people on the other side of the globe. We reveled in shock sites, in edgy jokes, in transgression, in scaring the normies.

The young men who fall into the alt-right rabbit hole, who might not even be old enough to remember 9/11... I can't help but wonder what they think of it. Because they still want to be edgelords, but now to own the libs. To work in service of the very same people that we were trying to piss off 20 years ago. Trump spoke on 9/11 about how now, the Trump Tower, which had once been the tallest building in Manhattan, was now back to being the tallest building in Manhattan. He's a completely different breed from Bush, Cheney and company. Completely self-interested. Not even bothering with the pretext of things like conviction or truth. Truthiness incarnate. Embrace it. Feel it. Be it.

I think back to a few years ago, I posted a doge meme with the child doge in front of the Twin Towers, with a joke about how great the future was going to be in the coming decade. I had a teenager try and educate me on how insensitive this was. They hadn't even been born yet and I snapped at them that the meme was a real sentiment, that all of us who were old enough to remember essentially watched our futures explode on television, over and over, in a fireball of jet fuel.

This went stream of consciousness again. It always does. It's hard to summarize 9/11 and its aftermath in a cohesive way because we're still living in the shadow of it. COVID-19 is now the big historical event that traumatized us all that we will have to reckon with for decades to come, and how it affected young people growing up at the time. The new scar on our collective psyche. But 9/11 will continue to be that formative scar. Before that for me, it was Columbine, but only because the aftermath did directly affect me. Before that? Princess Diana's death, the Oklahoma City bombing, and the O.J. Simpson trial, and of all of those, the bombing was perhaps the most actually impactful on us. Before 9/11, it was the largest terrorist attack on the United States, carried out by a far-right racist retaliating against the FBI firebombing a compound because a pedophile cult leader with a bunch of guns refused to give up and used his child brides as human shields. That'd be Waco, by the way.

There was another bombing of the World Trade Center that happened in 1993. It was much smaller, using a bomb inside a van in a parking lot underneath; it's the reason Biggie rapped about "blowing up like the World Trade." Osama bin Laden was also behind that one but that wouldn't be fully realized by us until 1996. It only killed six people. It was considered a failed attempt; it was supposed to take down the entire North Tower. It didn't come out of nowhere. The CIA knew that this was in motion since Clinton was in office, and this ball got rolling because of training the United States offered to resistance fighters in Afghanistan against the Soviets in the 80's. I remember the shock I felt first seeing that photo of Donald Rumsfeld shaking Saddam Hussein's hand, knowing about the Gulf War and living through the War in Iraq. All these puzzle pieces are scattered on the floor and my brain is making connections between all of them as I try and fit them together. I'm looping red string around push pins and asking who Pepe Silvia is, except it's not a conspiracy, it's just me trying to fully grasp this event that happened in my lifetime, before I was an adult but after I'd started paying attention to the news regularly and had developed an interest in politics. Just as I was forming my own political beliefs. 9/11 and its aftermath has informed so much of who I am politically, and what my values are. George W. Bush is my Nixon, and yet, somehow, things got so much more cartoonishly worse as I entered my 30's that I was in denial about it until COVID. Trump's presidency felt like a clown show. How on earth was I supposed to take this man seriously? This motherfucker made the neoconservatives appear restrained and reasonable by comparison, and those motherfuckers are actual war criminals.

I can only really tell people who are too young to remember what this era was like what it was like. It's hard to explain if you weren't there in that moment. We're seeing Y2K nostalgia become a thing, which fits, because of the 20 year minimum big nostalgia cycle, as those whose childhood was 20 years ago are now young adults. And some of those adults were born after 9/11. They never knew the world before it. I knew, but I was a child and couldn't really fully grasp it. The 90's felt very distinct from the 2000's, with it's very open cynicism and even nihilism in the very first years of a society with no Soviet Union.

If only we knew how bad things really would become.

#not fan fiction

[judyfromfinance]

Nymphology

The Homelander/Reader

Nymphology by Melanie Martinez

Summary: He was fucked in the head. You knew that.

You were fucked in the head. He knew that now.

God, you were perfect for each other.

Warnings: Homelander being kinda outta character, he’s more “I’ll kill for you” Yandere than a “I’ll kill you” Yandere. So the reader will not get hurt in this, at least not by Homelander. Violence, Shouting, Swearing. Death. Lying. Manipulation. NSFW themes. (If there’s anything I’m missing please let me know and I’ll add it, thank you)

Look, imma be straight up… I’ve never seen the show. Nor have I read the comics. I don’t know what’s happening or going on. I don’t really know the plot. Everything I know is second hand that I’ve read through the 20 fics I’ve read so far of this man. So take that into consideration when reading my fic. Out of character moments and plot points being misused, forgotten or just totally made up in my mind will happen. And if that’s something you don’t like that’s ok and I understand.

I blame tumblr for suggesting a fic by @blindmagdalena This man wasn’t even on my radar and then I read her fic Say It, chapters 1,2 and 3. Boy howdy, did that fic change my psyche forever. Like I don’t plan to watch the show at all, yet here I am consuming (and now producing) content for this man that truly doesn’t deserve it because he’s awful.

Also, the lyrics from the song I am using will not be in order. I cherry picked the ones I wanted to use for this fic. Now with everything off my chest. Let’s go.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Everything was different now. You were different now. Moving to New York from California was a risky move. But you wanted to take that risk. You wanted a better life. No more fear. No more anguish. Well, the universe had other plans and gave it all right back to you and then some. And it was packaged in bright patriotic colors. He flew into your life the same way he flew through the air, elegantly but fast.

You were never one to blindly idolize supes. You didn’t hate them either. You just… you treated them like you treated every other celebrity in your radar. You thanked them for their service of either saving you or entertaining you and then you went on your merry way. That’s how you met. That’s what got his attention. You being so normal. So unremarkable, it made you remarkable in his eyes. How that works, you’ll never know. But it’s not like you can question it now. You’re trapped within his prickly vines. You move an inch out of place and you’ll get stabbed by his thorns. And he does it all while he looks at you with the utmost love in his oceanic eyes. The rose. The National flower of the USA. Symbolizing love and devotion. Beauty and eternity. But for you, it only symbolized death and destruction. But you must’ve forgotten that death can also mean change. A new beginning. Were you changing for the better?

Or for the worst?

~Damaged oddity, bought by Sotheby’s

Auctioned to a selfish man who thinks that he’s the prophecy~

“You can’t wear that.” John said, his back to you as you hear him fix his gloves. The squeak of the leather irritating to your ears.

“Why not?” You asked as he turns around. You smooth out the black expanse of your dress. You don’t understand why he wouldn’t like it. He’s the one that bought it.

“Because it doesn’t match my suit.” He said it so matter factly that it almost made you feel stupid for not putting on something else. Almost. You shook your head in disbelief.

“Nothing really goes with your suit.” You back track. “Because it’s so unique, ya know? How am I supposed to find a dress that matches?” He smiles that pearly white smile. Every time he opens his mouth you’re shocked to not find blood staining his teeth. He lifts a glove up before pointing towards you.

“You should have just asked me hun? I have just the thing.” He then briskly turns to his side of the closet and pulls out a black box you haven’t seen before. His cape bristles behind him, almost as if it’s trying to escape. You tried that before. It didn’t end well. You feel for the cape, you truly do. He hands you the box before ushering you to the bathroom.

“Go on. It was specially made by Vought’s finest tailors. Obviously to complement yours truly.” Ah, Vought. What wouldn’t those selfish pricks do for their golden goose? You nod along as you enter the bathroom. You know he’s watching you through the walls. You don’t care anymore. He’s seen everything there is to see when it comes to you. Inside and out. He likes to pretend you guys are a normal couple. When he tells you to change in the bathroom, like he’s a gentleman. When in fact he’s everything but. You lift the dress out of the box. It’s the same shade of navy blue as his suit with slight red highlights on the v-neck of the dress. It’s a mix of sexy and modest. Showcasing just a bit of your chest but a lot of your back. The heels were a matching red. Same as his boots. And underneath it all were golden accessories. Earrings, a necklace and a bracelet. To match his golden eagle shoulder applications. You put everything on as you fixed your slightly tousled hair from changing. You turned in the mirror and examined yourself. You didn’t look half bad. You run your hands over your body before finally leaving the bathroom.

“Is this better?” Before he could even ask you did a slow twirl in front of him so he could see it all. His shark like smile softens as he sees you parading around in his colors. And no, the colors didn’t belong to America. They belonged to him. He opened his palm towards you and you took it. He brought you in as close as he could, his breath brushing past your ear.

“You look perfect.” You can feel yourself start to flush at the compliment. Little tiny butterflies banging around your stomach. Threatening to eat you from the inside out. You don’t know when a bug laid eggs in your brain or when those said eggs hatched into the destructive, carnivorous butterflies that they were. But you don’t seem to mind it much. In fact, it feels kind of nice.

“Now everyone will be able to see that you belong to me.”

~Call me your muse

A sprite or an elf you cry to, then use~

Bright lights. Bright people. Shining words that mean nothing to the speaker but everything to the audience. False hope. False promises. Spilled from the lips of the people that you were supposed to trust with your life, like milk from a toddlers lips. Messy. Uncouth. But only behind the scenes. In front of the cameras, they were nothing but America’s little darlings. And if they weren’t, if they happened to slip? Vought would clean up their mess like the good mother it was.

You sat on the sidelines as each Supe went up to say something into the mic that’ll help boost their image. You sat quietly. You sat gracefully. The man next to you however, wasn’t supposed to be there. But you didn’t know that. Your back was to the table, eyes on Starlight as she spun golden promises to the media hounds. Your drink sat quietly behind you. Your drink sat gracefully as it bubbled with whatever drug that the man sitting next you put into it, before finally stilling. Appearing as nothing more than normal champagne. You turned to grab your drink. A quite excuse me leaving your lips before taking a few sips. Homelander would be coming up next.

He said he had planned his entire speech around you. It was his idea but one that Vought approved of. Telling people of his beautiful none-supe girlfriend. Spinning a tale similar to that of Superman and Louis Lane. You were his muse. You were his everything. Plainly and simply, you were his. And the world needed to know. Because the world was also his. He wanted you there for his speech because after all was said and done, he’d pull you up on the stage with him and show you off as his one and only darling.

You started to feel queasy. At first you thought it might be stage fright. The fear of so many eyes on you. Always watching. Watching you forever and ever until the day that you die. If you die. If he lets you die. You’re not sure if he’s capable of letting you go. But then your heart rate picked up. Pounding in your ears to the point that you didn’t hear the familiar clack of boots that you know oh so well. Sweat started to pour from your face as you started to shake. What the hell was wrong with you? You tried to get up to go to the restroom but your legs gave out before you could fully stand up. Luckily you were caught by arms that held the strength of a god within them. Your eyesight started to blur as your hearing came back tenfold. You could hear every minuscule little sound in the room. It brought on a terrible headache.

Homelander’s eyes scanned your vitals and can see what was wrong with you immediately. You begged him to take you home as you cried. You apologized for ruining his speech. For ruining his night. As you sputtered out apology after apology you didn’t notice the blood that started to ooze from your nose and your mouth. He grabbed you face as he told you to kindly “Shut up.” He noticed some of your organs on the brink of starting to fail as he rushed you behind the curtains. He barked for Vought security to take you back to the tower. His penthouse as he called some of the best Vought paid physicians. He warned them that if they weren’t there before you were they’d have to answer to him. Sadly he couldn’t go with you. This was an important event and if he left now, not only would it damage his numbers but it would make the company look bad. Honestly, he was going to be angry at you for being stupid enough to be drugged at an event filled to the brim with Superhero’s and high level security. He would have gripped your face till you offered up a real apology. He would have, if it wasn’t for the fact that you finally… finally referred to his penthouse as your home.

Your home. He immediately felt a surge of pride fill his entire being. His penthouse was an extension of himself. It was home. He was home. He immediately felt himself stiffen in his pants as he almost creamed them. But he held it off. His cum was only for you. Plus, you were dying, so he supposed he could wait to fuck your brains out till you weren’t. And once the doctors gave him the all clear, you’re fucked. But until then he can play the thoughtful boyfriend, only caring about his girl’s safety.

~You’re in a spell and it worked, and I’m returning the hurt

Cut you off, watch you die, just a fairy with a knife~

As you were rushed into an all black car your vision returned. Your hearing also went back to normal but you can still feel your body dying. Everything in you was twisting and turning in ways that it shouldn’t. Or at least that’s what it felt like. Your mind was going, going, then gone. Paranoia started to creep in on the sides. It’s shriveled hands gripping your heart and refusing to let go. Who did this to you? Were they trying to kill you to get to Homelander? And why… why did you care? Why was one of your first thoughts about him and not about yourself? The car came to an abrupt stop as 2 men and 1 woman immediately pulled you out. They shoved you onto a cot as they made a beeline for the elevator. You assumed they were doctors despite them not wearing anything remotely professional. They talked back and forth as they poked and prodded at you. The elevator ticked closer, up and up. You tried to answer their questions to the best of your abilities.

Sadly they were limited on what they could do since they didn’t dare take you to the medical ward in the tower. Homelander gave them specific instructions and they will follow them to the letter. One doctor was constantly making trips back and forth, bringing all of their materials to them. They eventually made a makeshift hospital room in the living area. They flushed the drugs out of your system as well as they could. The EKG hooked up to you was showcasing good results. You could be better but you weren’t going to die. Which is what they were tasked to do. An air of relief resided in the atmosphere amongst the doctors. They asked if you needed anything before making their leave. John probably didn’t want them in here longer than they needed to be.

Your body felt sluggish. Like every time you tried to move you felt like you were in water. So cold and dark. Your mind was at war. You knew you were safe now but you felt in your heart that you weren’t. What kind of drugs were pumped into you? It was having a field day with your mind and you body. Like a caged animal finally let loose. You guessed that the only thing you could do was fall asleep, let your mind and body rest and heal while you wait for John to get back home. Hopefully he wasn’t upset. You close your eyes and try to even your breathing. In. Out. You shift to get more comfortable. In. Out. In. Out. Your breathing became slower and slower until you heard footsteps come from the bedroom. You opened your eyes and stared at the hallway waiting for the hero to walk in. He never did. Was this a test? Was he mad?

“John? John is that you?” You got up out of the bed, still in your dress minus the shoes and accessories. You grabbed the IV drip connected to your arm as you continue to walk forward. Maybe he was waiting on you to get to him. You try to call his name once more before your cut off by a hand around your mouth and an arm around your throat. You swing the heavy duty pole around in hopes to dissuade your attacker. This wasn’t John. There was no squeaky obnoxious leather. No smell of iron that permeated from the palm of his hand. This was not your John. You hit him and he lets go of you with a small yelp.

“You fucking bitch.” He grips the IV pole and you struggle to keep a hold on it. Your weak as he jostles it out of your grip and you tumble to the floor. The needles in your arms being pulled out by the force of it all. You stumble to your feet as you head to kitchen through the living room. The heavy footsteps follow you as the unknown man tackles you to the floor. Your nose banging against the cool tile of the kitchen. A sharp pang radiates from your nose as blood gushes down and out. The irony taste in your mouth is spat back out as you scream in terror and in anger. The burly man flips you over and you finally get a good look at him. He’s heavy set. Unruly scruff covering his chin and cheeks. Brown eyes stared at you in anger as he held you down with his body weight. You don’t know him. But you’ve seen him before.

Yeah. You’ve seen him before. That day you tried to leave. It didn’t end well. And not just for you but for a lot of others as well. You remember holding onto John for dear life as he forced you to watch first hand as he lasered the building down that you were hiding in. Including everyone in it. Their screams of pain and terror. Begging for someone, anyone… for Homelander to save them. No one would come. You saw as people tried to drag their loved ones out of the debris. They looked like tiny ants scattering away as a mean kid knocked down their hill. You thought you’d remember those cries of agony forever but they’ve gotten quieter over the past few months. Why is that? You’re brought back to the present as you’re slapped harshly across the face. The blood from your nose spreading droplets across the bottom of the kitchen counters.

“You useless fucking bitch.” His spit flying everywhere as he tried to contain all the hatred in his body. He was shaking as badly as you were earlier last night. But unlike you, he was shaking from pure unadulterated anger.

“You think you’re above everyone else? Huh?! Even if you aren’t a fucking supe! You’re just like them. Helping them cover up their fucking crimes!” You tried to wiggle out of his grip but he kneed you in the gut. You gasped for air as you tried not spill your stomach contents onto the floor.

“Stop squirming. You deserve everything that’s gonna happen tonight.” He straddles your legs to keep them from moving as he sits up. He looks down at you in disgust.

“He took something from me. So I’ll take something from him. This is for Marie.” Before he could say or do anything else you use your entire body weight to knock him off balance. His head ricocheted off the marble counter as you scrambled away to the knife block. You grab the biggest one you could find before turning around. He was gone. You spin around and try to locate the intruder. You walk around the center island, your breath coming out short and staggered.

“Where the fuck are you?” You mumble to yourself. The question wasn’t only meant for the man in your home. But the man you were waiting on to come home. The Gala should be over by now. How has no one heard you struggling yet? Was the building really that empty? Or maybe it was John’s penthouse specifically that was sound proof? You could believe that. You walk closer to your makeshift hospital bed as you keep your eyes wide open. The scruffy man pops up out of nowhere as he pushes your cot over and knocks you down, your knife skittering away. He hops on top of you and you see blood pouring from a cut on his head. His hands are around your throat as he presses down.

“I hope you know just how much I’m enjoying this.” He squeezes tighter as you arms start to flail.

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna kill you just yet. I need you in order to get to him. You’re my leverage.” What a fucking dumb piece of shit. Did he really think he could take on Homelander. Your fucking John. He could see the questioning look in your eyes. He kept one hand around your throat threateningly as his other found it’s way into his coat pocket. A syringe was pulled out. You struggled but all he did was click his tongue.

“It’s not for you dumbass. It’s for me. A few buddies of mine helped me get this uh, this shit called Compound V. Heard it’s very useful.” He smiles down at you. A sickly deranged smile. And although you knew that there was no one like Homelander. No one that could even think of beating him. Your heart started to race in fear. Not just for your safety but for his as well. Why? He pinched your broken nose as you screamed in pain.

“Don’t fucking move this time.” He rolls up his sleeve as he gets ready to inject himself. With all the strength that’s left in your body, which isn’t much, you grab at the handle of the knife and aim straight for his head. The wet squelch of flesh and the sick crunch of bone was all you could hear. The man above you gasped as he slowly brought his hands up to his head. The syringe laying forgotten on the ground. You push him onto his back as you grab the knife out of his head. Blood pooling on the pristine rug. You lift the blade up as you plunged it back down into his chest. Over and over and over and over and over and… you didn’t stop. You kept going. His chest. His face. You were covered in blood. As red as the roses that John gave you on your supposed first date. If he could see you now, he’d think you were beautiful. You just know it. You eventually slowed down. Leaving the man underneath you nothing more than ground meat. You dropped the knife in shock as you stood on shaky legs. You threw up all over the decimated body before you. A mixture of the drugs leaving your system and just pure utter disgust at what you’ve just done. You ran out onto the balcony as you screamed into the night, begging for him to get home.

“John!!!”

~Call me your nymph

Praise me for martyr, praise me for sin~

Homelander was finally flying home to his girl. The doctors called him a couple of hours ago telling him everything in detail about what was wrong with you and how they fixed it. You were doing fine now. Safe and secure in your shared home. He didn’t thank them as he hung up the phone, he sadly had some more shmoozing to do amongst the fucking filthy pigsty that they called a ballroom. But that was all behind him now. He could head home. Maybe get a few kisses from you for saving your life. He’s not even halfway towards the tower before he hears a blood curdling scream in the night. If it was just a random person, he wouldn’t have stopped. Well… maybe, just to satiate his curiosity before he up and left. But he could tell by the sweet lilt in their voice that it wasn’t some fucking rando on the street. It was you. You were screaming his name.

In just a few seconds flat he was back in his penthouse. Everything was fucking destroyed. He stepped in a pool of blood before he quietly listened for your heartbeat. He let out a sigh of relief as he heard your distinctive heart. Beating only for him.

“(Y/n). Where are you? Come on out, I’m here now.” He rounded the corner of his couch and stood over a disgusting mangled corpse. Did you do all that? Wow. Who knew you had that in you? He stood in the blood and guts and waited for you to come to him.

You opened the terrace doors. John’s voice a soothing balm for your wounded mind. You entered the bloody crime scene but refused to look at anything other than his smile. So devastatingly handsome. You ignored to the best of you abilities the blood and flesh on the floor as ran to him for comfort. He wrapped his arms around you and squeezed, a small gesture to let you know that he’s here now. Your hero is here. You sobbed as you told him about the dumb cocksucker that you killed. He just nodded his head and rubbed your back. He picked you up and cradled you in his arms, not caring about the blood smearing all over his suit. You finally open your eyes to notice that you were in the bathroom. John starts to get a bath going.

“Come on. Strip. You reek of blood.” You do as he says.

“Will you stay with me?” He looks towards you and chuckles.

“You’re covered in blood hun. You want me to stay in the bathroom and watch you wash up?” He shakes his head before he checks the temperature of the water. You don’t understand where this confidence came from but you don’t question it as you walk closer to him and start to help him undress as well. He looks down towards you in confusion.

“You’re staying with me. You’re not leaving me.” You stare back up into his eyes and he can tell that there’s no room for questioning you. So he doesn’t. He undressed and hops into the tub first. It was huge, so it was perfect for this. You follow after him. He helps wash the blood and brain matter out of your hair as you just gaze a hole into the wall. Usually he’d be complaining that you should be doing this for him, but he’ll let it slide. After all, you were such a good girl today. As he finishes washing out your hair he moves onto your body. He turns you around towards him, wash cloth in hand as he gently swipes the blood off your face. The water around you two growing murkier and murkier.

“You know it’s fine right? You’re not gonna get into any trouble.” You look up into his eyes as he continues.

“That fucker was going to kill you. You had no other choice.” You slowly start to shake your head as your eyebrows furrow.

“No.”

“No?” He questions.

“No. He wasn’t. He was gonna keep me alive till you got home. He wanted to get to you through me. And I…” you look down at your hands. The ones you used to kill for him. The man you’re sitting in the lap of.

“I know that he had no chance of even touching you.” You brought your hand up, scrubbing at your eye in desperation. You look back up towards John. A fire in your eyes he hasn’t seen before.

“I know you’re stronger than anything on this fucking planet but I just got so…” you clench and unclench your fists. Heavy, laden breaths escaping you.

“I just got so fucking angry. You know? I didn’t… I just… All I was thinking about was you.” You laugh a little. Feeling hysteria building within you. You wanted to cry. You wanted to laugh. You wanted to scream. And you wanted to do it all for the man in front of you. John just looked at you as he felt a wave a pure love wash over him. You did that for him. You killed the piece of shit for him. And he wanted to prove that he’d do the same for you. A whole block of civilians meant nothing to him. He sits up straighter as he grabs your sides and pulls you closer. His lips hovering over yours. Petal soft lips brush his.

“I fucking love you.” And for the first time in this tumultuous relationship that you both had, you finally said the words that he’s wanted to hear his whole goddamn life.

“I love you too.” You both kiss as the moonlight filters in through the window. Groping and touching as you rip your souls out of each other, as if to say yours is mine and mine is yours. Your mind briefly flickers to the syringe of Compound V that was hidden underneath the couch before the love of your life enters you and your whole world shatters away, and all you can think about is him. But don’t worry, all he’s thinking about is you too.

~I won’t be ashamed, yeah

For lovin’ you so honestly~

#the homelander #the Homelander/reader #homelander #homelander x you #welp #that’s it I guess lol

[whentranslatorscry]

Ikusamonogatari

Full EPUB [MEGA]

Hitagi Honeymoon, by nisioisin

001

There was something odd about the name Araragi Hitagi. No matter how I try, it just doesn’t sit right with me. If I were to trace our acquaintance back to our freshman year at Naoetsu Private High School, where we became classmates, I would find that I have known her for almost a decade. Yet every time I see this name, it feels as unfamiliar as if we had only just met. If you ask me to pinpoint whose responsibility this unshakable strangeness was, I can say with absolute confidence that it was none other than mine, still it felt as though trying to force together two jigsaw pieces that don't fit.

Look at the joints; they're practically crumbling.

It was at the hallowed grounds of North Shirahebi Shrine, in the presence of its very god herself, that we swore an irreplaceable oath to bring each other happiness. But once married, there was a hideous sensation, akin to smudging the most precious aspect of a person I hold most dear in my life, the one and only Senjougahara Hitagi, with cheap paints. It was an indescribably disgusting, unsettling feeling.

The wedding gown and white kimono were meant to symbolize something pure, “a canvas ready to be dyed in the colors of our choosing.” This oft-repeated phrase, while understood, felt old-fashioned, archaic to say the least. Moreover, for reasons unbeknownst to me, I had stripped her of her most precious and fundamental possession: her name. The mere thought of this fact felt like a sharp stab, an eternal reminder to accompany me for the rest of my life. Truthfully, the confidence to create a blissful and harmonious home had eluded me.

How unfair, how unjust.

How utterly tragic.

Under such circumstances, it was simply impossible for me to say that I had no sense of guilt.

“It's not bad at all, Koyomi. I think it sounds even better. Araragi Hitagi, see, it rhymes and rolls off the tongue with such ease it's like it's been my name this whole time.”

Although she claimed not to mind, I couldn't help but be painfully aware of the burden imposed on her that should've been equally shared: we were no longer on equal footing, and the intense sense of immorality did not fade as time went on. If anything, my guilt only intensified.

What I mean by “burden” encompasses the need to reapply for a driver's license, passport, and license plate number, among various other things. The name she had carried for a quarter of a century was forcibly and legally stripped away—wasn’t that an unbelievable, unforgivable act of barbarism?

Just like the domestic violence that suddenly emerges after marriage.¹

The life of Araragi Koyomi had always been one of ceaseless battles against all kinds of unreasonable circumstances. So, even now, he should continue to fight for the sake of his family name. But this time, his opponent was not a monster, nor was it a mystery or tale of supernatural transformation, regrettably—it was the country of Japan itself.

Well, it could be argued that there wasn’t much difference between the country of Japan and its world of supernatural creatures, but I can't simply let that claim go unchallenged. As an experienced public servant, someone who had truly sworn loyalty to both the nation of Japan and its people, it was hard to advocate for the immediate abolition of the antiquated custom of married couples sharing the same surname. After being transferred to the FBI for advanced training and subsequently being headhunted for employment, and after buying my own home there, I found myself questioning my own patriotism.

Naturally, if we were to go by logic alone, rather than Hitagi legally becoming Araragi Hitagi, I would have become Senjougahara Koyomi. In fact, I had secretly been working on this plan behind the scenes. At first, everything was going smoothly, but the surreptitiously obtained written documentation was soon discovered by her. Hitagi, that is.

Well done, I must say.

“From the very moment we met, I felt a sense of harmony with Araragi-kun—like we were meant to be together. Also, I don’t want my father's surname to be combined with ‘Koyomi.’”

Okay.

Setting aside the latter part, even she shared the same sentiment as me in the beginning. No matter how fiercely we fought, it seemed as though we were ultimately conquered by convention.

Although marriage itself is inherently a form of constraint, and whose surname is used is of little consequence, in the end, tradition dictates that the wife takes the husband's last name. This custom has been ingrained in society for ages. Indeed, it may make sense from a logical standpoint, but ultimately, it is not logic that we must bow to in this matter.

As I recall, the family of Hachikuji— the god worshiped within the grounds of North Shirahebi Shrine, where I pledged myself in marriage—all bore the mother's surname, Tsunade. But alas, as the twin-tailed lost god once confessed to me:

“In the end, things didn’t work out well for my family, you see. We’re no longer a family. During my third year in elementary school, my parents divorced and I had to change my name. I wonder what the point of it all was.”

That’s all.

When I first heard her speak of that, I was young and naive, so I played it cool and responded with a smooth and seamless reply. Now that I’ve become a party to the incident myself, I can’t help but ruminate on the workings and procedures of the law.

Even when putting aside the fact that I work in law enforcement, it’s not something that a civil servant should say, but indeed, one might call it quite bureaucratic. I have inherited this occupation of police officer from my parents (albeit reluctantly). I even believe that I don’t need to inherit the family name.

If it were high school Hitagi, especially during her most intense and edgy days, she would have unquestionably shoved a stapler deep into my mouth just to make me Senjougahara Koyomi.

She should have been resolute in not relinquishing her father's name— I guess you could say that she has grown softer over time. Well, whether she’s grown soft or not, I guess she’s grown up, too.

Back in my youth— or rather, in high school, I would have said to myself, “Won’t get married then. We won’t be bound by a little piece of paper. To preserve our names, our identities, we'll live together with two surnames under one roof. Hell, even with Oikura if I have to.”

Though in the end, as usual, it would most likely have led to a not-so-happy but rather bad ending. But inside the mind of twenty-four-year-old Araragi Koyomi, countless unbearable adult rationalizations came rushing in like a storm, saying, “Well, but things don't usually work out that way, do they? When you are a member of society, you must take reputation and position into account, and in the long run, Hitagi might also find it hard to live such a stubborn life. Besides, it's self-evident that various procedures would become troublesome if we don't enter the marriage registry, so, on the contrary, if it's just a matter of a single piece of paper, it would be best not to fuss about it and get it over with.”

But wait, what’s this? Has Araragi-kun suddenly become so enlightened that he begins to admonish all those ordinary families who have married uncomplainingly and blandly, keeping their own surnames? The times have changed. Nowadays, you can even go by your maiden name at work. Don't be so annoying and nitpicky about it. People like that aren’t popular, you know?

In all honesty, the idea of living with Oikura is tolerable, but the notion of taking Hitagi as a common-law wife is rather unsavory. As a career officer of the Japanese police force and an unofficial member of the FBI, it wouldn’t be surprising if I suddenly died in the line of duty, at least to the same extent as that hellish Spring Break. With the chances of an unforeseen accident being about fifty-fifty, I would rather avoid a situation where Hitagi might be kept from witnessing my final moments due to a bureaucratic technicality like a discrepancy in our last names. I'm sure everyone is well aware of how prone I am to life-threatening situations. No insurance company would ever enroll me in a life insurance policy.

On the other hand, the reverse was also a possibility.

Hitagi worked in the Japanese branch of a foreign financial firm, and you might think her life wouldn't be in any real danger. But she once confided that because she deals with massive amounts of money within the company daily, when she’s seriously out and about, she needs the accompaniment of bodyguards who cling to her like stalkers. I’m not sure if she was pulling my leg, but every time she leaves her home, she carries the latest version of her will with her.

“How strange, I was once swindled out of all my possessions, and now my job is akin to that of a swindler, treating strangers' money as my own and making it multiply incessantly—through stocks, foreign exchange, and cryptocurrencies that I'm not even sure really exist. It's all an enigmatic, ethereal mystery.”

Though her words carried a hint of self-mockery, it was because she had been both a pampered heiress in a mansion and a penniless tenant in a wooden box that she had managed to acquire certain skills. Good or bad, she believed that money were but an illusory thing.

Of course, that's not to say that she could approve of the person she was when she lost her weight and her mother… no, that too was a cherished memory and a cherished trauma.

It could never be forgotten.

Right.

These were the life experiences of Senjougahara Hitagi. Could they really be covered up with just my surname? As if erasing her individuality.

“I think the name change is fun, like a game. But why do you care so much, Koyomi? Is it because you're thinking of another person?”

“Another person?”

It's hard to ignore the seemingly lighthearted remark that it's like a fun game, it feels all the more like an attempt to escape reality. But for now, let’s let it slide. So, who could this other person be?

“Shinobu. Although I’m not sure if I can call her a human person. Come to think of it, Koyokoyo, wasn't it during that Spring Break that you cruelly stole her name?”

Koyokoyo.

The endearing nickname I miss so much…

I also used to call her by the nickname “Gahara-san,” but after she changed her surname, I could no longer address her in this way. It’s embarrassing for adults like us to use such nicknames, but hearing that I could never use it again made me feel as if I had been deprived of a basic human right, leaving me in a state of distress.

It was true, no matter how you put it: the King of Aberrations, the iron-blooded, hot-blooded, cold-blooded Kiss-Shot Acerola-Orion Heart-Under-Blade— the name of the vampire who has lived for six hundred years.

But it was taken from her, just like life itself.

After losing her prestigious title, the oddity specialist Oshino Meme gave her a new name— Oshino Shinobu.

The man in a Hawaiian shirt said, employing his specialist's surname as a constraint, he would seal her away, deeply and securely.

Which, to be honest, was contradictory and riddled with double standards. Yet, for me, calling her Oshino Shinobu resonated truer and felt more befitting for her as I have known her by that name for longer.

Of course, nobody refers to her as Kiss-Shot Acerola-Orion Heart-Under-Blade nowadays, but there seems to be a faction of specialists who still call her the “Old Heart-Under-Blade.”

Old Heart-Under-Blade.

What an antiquated name.

“When you think about it, it's a strange and wonderful thing to have the word 'old' added to your name. Don’t you think so, Old Gahara-san?”

“Indeed, if you are going to keep calling me that, I don't want to continue this conversation.”

“I have already experienced the guilt of taking away someone's name… What's going on with this marriage, it's like I'm making the same mistakes over again.”

“It's almost like a de facto remarriage.”

“No, it's a first marriage, actually.”

Although this example exposed the depths of my subconscious, it didn’t entirely resolve the issue which had already taken deep root. It seemed that because I had done it once before, I no longer cared about doing it again now, as if to say that killing one person was the same as killing two. This frightening thought was something that neither Japan nor America would endorse.

Rather, should we not learn from our mistakes?

That had been an emergency measure taken out of necessity for Shinobu, so it couldn’t be said that it was entirely wrong… In this day and age, I can't help but think there might have been another way to do it. It's hard not to question whether my decision to barely keep alive by turning the vampire— the King of Aberrations— that otherwise faced certain death, into my slave, was an immature one, driven by a child's desire for simplicity.

Even as the former Heart-Under-Blade happily gobbles on Mister Donuts in my shadow… And since it's acceptable to use your original family name in the workplace, why then must we discriminate and not apply the same rule to other situations?

With this in mind, I might as well create a business card featuring my Senjougahara pseudonym while at work. I wonder if it's possible to mark your former name on the police officer's guidebook. I'd have to ask Chief Kouga about that next time.

“A seemingly insignificant battle, huh? Ah, yes, an infinitesimally small skirmish indeed.”

“Sounds like you're saying ‘overmorrow's tomorrow.’”

“Even if you were to take the name Senjougahara, it wouldn't make any difference. It won't even make you feel better. It's like we share the same hardships, but it's not the same at all, it's not. The constant labeling of hardships might be painful as well.”

“Do we have no choice but to fight against the state?”

“That’d be quite the unexpected turn of events. Just imagine your high school supporters, they would be flabbergasted as they watch Araragi Koyomi take on the world of politics in a sequel.”

“But I can't overlook those die-hard fans' support. So, should I run for office under the name Senjougahara Koyomi?”

“In that case, to ease the voter process, it might be best to simplify the complex kanji in 'Senjougahara,’ say, using hiragana instead.”

“Must I change my name even if I run for office? Just because it's hard to write. What a troublesome thing, follows me everywhere. But revolutionaries didn't use their real names either.”

“Are we talking about starting a revolution now, like Hanekawa-san?”

“I can't use my real name to run a campaign and cause trouble for my parents. I'm not that unfilial.”

“I wonder about that. It may not be limited to revolutionaries. Nowadays, it seems that a pseudonym one can choose themselves is more valued.”

The conversation had delved into the complicated topic of real names versus pseudonyms… In such an era when anonymity is held in high regard, aren't real names becoming more important than ever? Apparently, in the past, one could not reveal their real name to anyone other than their parents.

“I'm not sure if I can let such a thing be erased on a whim.”

“Was marrying me also on a whim, Koyomi?”

“I retract my previous statement and apologize under the name of Senjougahara Koyomi.”

“You are apologizing under a pseudonym.”

“I apologize under the name of Sen jou ga ha ra Koyomi.”

“Please stop apologizing like a politician. I don't want such a person to be the future chief of the National Police Agency.”

“Your demands are too high for a husband.”

“Philosophy and thought do warrant contemplation, but let's think more about the pressing needs of life, Koyomi. Weren't we supposed to be excitedly discussing our honeymoon destination?”

Right, we were.

Having completed the wedding ceremony, with a god as our witness, and the tedious paperwork, we had finally settled down and arranged a meeting, albeit belatedly, to discuss our long-awaited honeymoon plans.

Although the novel coronavirus could be said to have been eradicated from the earth, given that I currently have a foothold in the FBI and Hitagi is a young leader at the Japanese branch of a foreign firm, we were communicating remotely more often than not. Nevertheless, we both understand the importance of a meaningful face-to-face conversation. After all, it would be impolite not to attend to such a significant matter in person.

Our wedding had narrowly avoided taking place entirely remotely, but fortunately, it was held with only family members present, regardless of any infectious disease-related concerns. It was charming and intimate.

“The only thing I regret is not getting to drag empty cans behind the car; I wanted to try it.”²

“Back in the old days, you would've tied me to the car and dragged me around the city as a public execution. But a honeymoon, huh?”

To begin with, neither Hitagi nor I were particularly fond of traveling; in fact, we both frequently shuttled across the Pacific Ocean. So, the word “travel” doesn't strike a deep chord in me. It's merely a transfer through different places, and it's difficult to attribute more significance to it.

I'd much prefer surely chats at home like this—without having to specifically go somewhere.

“I agree. Why not take a short trip then? How about the supermarket?”

“That’s too close.”

“But it sounds so super.”

“Well, you have a point. Supermarket is a pretty bold name.”

“But then, if the honeymoon has no significance, we’d better have not had a wedding at all, since it wouldn't be significant anyway.”

This statement sounds like something the old Hitagi would say—not Araragi Hitagi, but Senjougahara Hitagi.

In fact, many people these days consider weddings to be a grand waste of money, and couples often quarrel during their honeymoon, that’s why “Narita Divorce” gets thrown around as a phrase.³

Nowadays, you might also hear “Haneda Divorce” or “Kanku Divorce.”⁴

“Traveling has a way of revealing a couple's true nature, for better or worse. That's why I think it's a necessary ceremony.”

“A ceremony, huh?”

Surprisingly, Oshino was a man who valued such customs.

We can't take this lightly, then… considering our relationship.

“Speaking of which, that plan to go to Hokkaido to eat crab still hasn't come to fruition.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to go?”

“It’s tempting to tie up loose ends like a completed achievement, but it might not be the best season for that. I'd rather enjoy the best crab in wintertime anyway, that's what I really want.”

It's a tough one. Hokkaido, seemingly near but further than Washington D.C., has gradually taken on the nuance of being saved for our enjoyment during our twilight years. However, since we have refrained from indulging up until this point, it is only natural to savor the finest crab in the ideal setting of Hokkaido.

Yet as we speak, the warming of Hokkaido progresses at a steady pace. By the time we reached our retirement years, would it still be a snowy landscape?

“If we were to travel overseas, I think we should consider Europe or Africa. Including South America, both of us travel to the Americans for work often. Or what do you think about crossing the Atlantic Ocean?”

“There is also Oceania. Why not eat crab in Australia? I think you can't climb Ayers Rock anymore… Maybe New Zealand?”

“Apparently the stars there are beautiful. It's famed as a World Heritage of starry skies, they're even working to register it as an actual World Heritage site or something.”

A bit vague, but hmm.

Come to think of it, ever since high school—no, even before that during her sheltered upbringing, Hitagi has had a profound love for the starry skies. An unapologetic adoration.

If I recall, our first date was also at an observatory.

“In that case, what about revisiting that observatory nearby? It's only a few hours' drive.”

“Might take a bit longer if we dragged a heap of cans behind.”

“We probably shouldn't try that on Japanese roads, you know.”

As a cop, I couldn't pardon this.

The idea of revisiting a dating spot from our youth was not a bad one, but Hitagi didn't seem too keen on it, and she exaggeratedly tilted her head—a gesture straight out of the anime.

"What's up. If there are no lodging facilities, we could rent a camper van or something. The state should…"

"There's no need to bring up the state for that. You should be able to rent a car by yourself, right? Anyway, over there, I go pretty often usually with my dad and Kanbaru."

"Really?"

While I was training as an FBI investigator, Senjougahara and Kanbaru rekindled their relationship… It's good that she's getting along with her family, which was delicate for a time, but still.

Whether that's how she truly feels or not, at least Hitagi says it's fine with her, but what does her father—and my in-law—think about it?

To have the surname he gave his daughter smeared by some random guy's…

Whoops, gotta stop thinking about it. If I'm not careful, my thoughts get pulled in that direction. The gravity of the issue is too strong.

I'm sure the meaning is just as precious either way, but the name Senjougahara is quite rare, so I can't help but contemplate the loss…

"Rather than somewhere you always go, like the supermarket, it should be somewhere special for the ceremony. If it's too familiar, the memories don't stick as strongly. Shouldn't you make memories of going somewhere you've wanted to, like an observatory? Or New Zealand is good, but wasn't there an amazing one in Hawaii or something?"

“Hmm. Electronic telescopes on that scale exceed my realm of expertise. But in the end, it seems we come back to America. Another idea is to go all the way to the Arctic Circle to see the auroras.”

“The Arctic. Mm, I wonder if Kagenui-san is doing all right.”

She doesn't live at the North Pole year-round of course, but when I hear “Arctic” she’s the first thing I think of—her and her shikigami. With that shikigami we could go anywhere in an instant... But the days of merrily living with a corpse doll under the same roof ended quite some time ago. Fraternizing with corpses is strictly forbidden nowadays.

The auroras. Not an uninteresting prospect.

I believe they can be observed either in Canada or the Nordic countries. If given a choice between the two, I would lean towards the latter in this case.

How about Finland, often said to be the closest to Europe? Who wouldn't want to taste the cinnamon rolls straight from their birthplace? The progress of women's social advancement in the Nordic countries is also noteworthy, and I assume, with a vague image in mind, that there wouldn't be any stipulation requiring spouses to share the same surname.

“Aha!”

And then it struck me.

It struck me like a shooting star.

As I've grown older, my brain has lost its freshness, and such instant inspirations have become all too rare these days. But at this moment, I felt that I had truly been hit by inspiration.

Not merely a shooting star, it could be likened to the brilliance of the Aurora itself.

Too bad about the Finnish licorice, but there was no need to cross the ocean for one. Couldn't there be an equally fantastic location in our very own country for our honeymoon? Although we wouldn’t be able to see any auroras for sure, the destination would more than compensate for it. We could call it a return to our roots.

Nay, there's no other way to describe it other than our roots.

“Senjougahara.”

“What? Do you still intend to rebel against our nation?”

“No, no, it's my love for our country! And our honeymoon destination.”

“……”

“Let's go to Senjougahara. According to our class president who knows everything, it's one of Japan's most beautiful marshlands for stargazing.”

Next Chapter

Originally: "DV". Refers to domestic violence in Japan, where men who were previously reserved but become violent after marriage are called "DV Men".

Dragging empty cans behind a car is a couple activity, the loud clatter they produce being a symbol of auspiciousness.

Tokyo Narita Airport is the largest international airport in Japan, and a necessary stop for many newlywed couples traveling abroad. However, because some shortcomings or habits of each person are exposed during the trip, many couples choose to divorce after leaving Narita Airport when their honeymoon comes to an end.

Haneda: Tokyo Haneda Airport. Kanku: Kansai International Airport. 

#monogatari series #senjougahara hitagi #araragi koyomi #ikusamonogatari #translation

[writtenjewels]

Dress Uniform

[Happy Veterans Day and thank you to all who served in the military]

Jason only wore his dress uniform one time in his entire military career: the day he officially earned his commission. All those days he spent making his brain nearly leak out of his ears brought him to that moment. He swelled with pride as they pinned the stripes on his uniform.

And now he was pulling it out of the closet again. The thing was wrapped to keep it in good condition despite being shoved in a closet for years. He put it on one piece at a time, remembering how everything was supposed to fit even after all this time. He got a look at himself in the mirror.

Jason was a different person from the guy who wore this uniform the last time. He was so lost before—desperate to get away from his shitty life, not even caring if his military career ended with a folded up American flag sent to his family. He repeated lies that grew into a shield around his real self. He was the overzealous patriot, the guy on the fast track with his career.

On the outside, he hadn't changed that much. He sported a few more lines around the eyes and mouth, but he still had the physique of a soldier. Jason wore his hair in the same style, though that was because he saw no reason to mess with it. And there were his tattoos. Whatever his motivation for getting them, Jason kept them on his skin.

“Jason?” He turned at the voice and smiled at Salim. The older man was in his dress uniform, too. Jason had never seen him in it before.

“We match,” Jason noted with a little smile. The colors were a little different but the style looked pretty similar. He reached out to smooth the collar of Salim's top. His fingers ran along the shoulder to Salim's medals. “Look at you. Pretty decorated.”

“Yours are pretty impressive, too,” Salim answered with a light brush over Jason's chest. “Are you ready to go? Penny has the car running.”

“Yeah, just about. You sure we don't gotta say anything?”

“No, Eric will be the one doing all the talking. All we need to do is stand there and look pretty.”

“Guess I can do that,” Jason nodded, chuckling. His fingers tightened a little on Salim's collar and he pulled the man toward him. “Hey, Salim. Thank you for your service. I know you didn't have a choice, but... you know.” He wet his lip and heaved a sigh. “This is why Eric's doin' talking.”

“It's all right, direi,” Salim assured him gently. “There is a saying that actions speak louder than words, and you are the loudest person I've ever know.”

“Can't really tell if that's a compliment or not,” Jason snorted.

“I understand what you mean to say,” Salim said. His hand cradled Jason's cheek as he leaned in closer. Jason swallowed the lump in his throat. Yeah, Salim always understood him from the first moment they met.

And that was the biggest difference between who he was now and the man he used to be. He hadn't lowered his shield so much as thrown it away, and he stopped telling so many lies.

“Thank you for your service, Jason,” Salim rumbled. The words carried such a wide range of emotions when Jason heard them. Sometimes he was proud, others embarrassed. Hearing them from Salim made him feel humble.

“I love you,” he confessed, and pressed his lips to Salim's. He heard Salim echo the words against his mouth before their lips sealed again. A sudden bang interrupted the moment. Jason extracted himself slowly—he wasn't going to be ashamed of kissing the love of his life.

“Hey!” Jason's sister Penny stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips. “Y'all can do that shit later! We got an honorary ceremony to get to!”

“Yes, ma'am,” Jason replied as Salim chuckled beside him. The two moved to follow but Salim stopped them.

“I almost forgot to give you this,” he mentioned, holding out a hat. Jason's heart jumped a little in surprise recognizing the gray color. But of course it wasn't his old hat; he threw that thing away a long time ago. This one was new, and on the front someone drew in two symbols: a sword and a shield.

“Salim.” Jason swallowed the emotion welling in his throat. “This don't go with the uniform.”

“Maybe not,” Salim allowed, placing the hat on Jason's head, “but you wouldn't be you without it.”

#jason/salim #jalim #jason x salim #salim othman #jason kolchek #jason kolchek x salim othman #house of ashes

[ha1taniwh0re]

OMG! You write for Moriarty The Patriot?! Ugh, my heart is bursting with excitement! *wipes away sweat* Alright, here's my request:

The Moriarty brothers with a tomboyish baker s/o who makes them the tastiest baked goods and desserts. Unfortunately, with her messy hair and plain clothes, she doesn't catch a lot of attention (ofc the boys thinks she's beautiful the way she is)

One day, however, a noble lady wanted to invite her (and the brothers) to a party she's hosting so she can humiliate her because she's a "peasant baker girl". But s/o has a secret plan up her sleeves.

On the night of the party, the brothers are looking for their lady (who asked for her baked goodies to be delivered to the party by other staff) and she's nowhere to be seen.

Suddenly, the manors doors open and in comes s/o dressed in a simple yet gorgeous ball gown with her hair worn elegantly much to the brothers' (and everyone's) shock

Well hello my lovely anon💕

Im so happy to do this request because we have some ✨DRAMAAA✨ heree😌💕

Im so sorry for the wait and hope this was what you wanted💕

Star of the night

/reader’s pov/

It was such a beautiful day i wore my pants and my white t-shirt, Louis and I came to store to buy something for dinner. Of course when we were in the store i didn’t get much attention of guys and that’s good for me, I have my boys and I don’t need someone else. But girls always had something to tell me.

“Lord Louis how are you”, one lady said.

“Oh Lady Anita, pleasure to see you Im good how are you?”, Louis said.

“Im good how are you?” She asked and grabbed his hand.

As they were chatting and everything i saw that Louis never put Anita’s hand away from his. Does he likes her? Is it because she is more in dresses unlike me?

“Am we are in hurry Lady Anita but it was lovely to see you”, I said and took Louis’s hand and went out.

We were driving to mansion and i was still thinking about that in shop.

“I don’t like her baby, and no Im not lying you are beautiful the way you are”, I looked at him and saw that sweet smile he had.

I just smiled at him and got out from carriage because we got to mansion. As we entered the house William was heading downstairs.

“Sweetheart what a pleasure to see you earlier home today, but where is Louis?”, he asked and than Louis got inside.

I kissed other brother and got myself to kitchen. I wanted to bake something because it will help me for my mind.

As i was preparing cookies i felt someone running to me. He got me in the air and kissed me.

“Hahhaa when will you stop doing this?” I asked the oldest brother.

“Never”, Albert said.

He sat on chair we had in kitchen and looked at cookies.

“Don’t you dare to take one before I finish”, I said.

He looked like one little angry baby. So cute.

“Alright, alright. Lady Anita invited us to her party and asked if you can bake a cake for the party”, he said.

“Yeah I can do it, but i don’t have any beautiful dress to wear”.

“Babe you are beautiful in pants too. Wear what you want not what people want”, he said and kissed me.

I smiled and got back to bake cookies and to see what cake i will backe for Lady Anita.

/time of party/

“Have you seen (name)-chan?” Louis asked.

Other Moriarty brothers looked at him and shook there heads as no. At that time Lady Anita came to them in her beautiful rose gold dress.

“Moriarty brothers, It’s pleasure to see you all here, but where is (name)-chan. I wanted her to be a star of the night”, she said and had little smirk on her face.

“She should be here any minute”, Albert said.

“The cake was delivered by some young man”, she said.

When brothers wanted to say something everyone were looking at the doorway. I walked in, my dress was in 3 layers and 3 colors. Light blue was first layer, than red and than emerald green. Each color was for each brother. I walked to them.

“Good evening everyone. Lady Anita my pleasure to be here tonight”, I said.

I could see jealousy in her eyes, but last thing that was said to her for the night was by William.

“You were right miss Anita, our (name) will be the star of the party”, he said with smirk on his face.

She just went back to her friends and only thing I will say is the night was magical, because of my precious lovers.

#albert james moriarty x reader #anime #moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #moriarty the patriot x reader #william james moriarty x reader #william james moriarty #louis james moriarty #louis james moriarty x reader

[evita-shelby]

National Anthem

Chapter 6

Cw: pregnancy, fainting, childbirth and the catholic sin of contraception

Taglist: @thegreatdragonfruta @zablife @call-sign-shark @cljordan-imperium

July 4th sees them celebrating in their new home.

Things are better between them even if the issues remain there in the background.

Eva’s been told to take it easy by her midwife, the doctor and Jack himself as they ready the house for tonight’s party.

“Let Alice and Mary do the rest; you heard the midwife its not good for the two of you to overwork yourself like this.” He has half a mind of tying her to the bed if she refuses to sit down and relax.

The midwife said Rosie could be expected in early September since the boys came early, so now all babies will do so too. Eva determined to make sure their last celebration for the summer is the headliner in the neighborhood newsletters and the twat who keeps trying to shove her off the children’s hospital charity will eat shit when she sees the Democratic Gubernatorial Candidate attend it.

“I’ll rest if I’m tired, Jack.” She dismissed his concern even as she looked ready to collapse. “I’m fine.”

She has fainting spells, from the picky eating the baby already displays, and that thing her shellshock does that when she is overwhelmed, she just passes out cold.

Eva holds onto the back of the chair for support, tries to keep herself steady and promptly faints dead away.

“We can cancel the party.” He suggests once the doctor left.

It was a combination of the heat, the stress of the party and Rosie just being difficult.

He’d prescribed bedrest, was Evie gonna do that?

No, instead she was ordering Jack into helping her dress for the evening.

The gangster wasn’t complying, so she’d done it herself.

“No, everything’s done. I just need to make sure it goes off without a hitch.” The witch said putting on a very patriotic red dress.

She favors dark colors, black especially, but makes an exception to make a good impression.

Last year had been a quiet thing since the boys were still too little for them to do much, and this year was meant to make them the direct competition to the neighborhood’s top socialites.

Eva had the advantage of money and powerful connections while what’s her face had been born and raised in this neighborhood. She knew Eva was seeking her crown, only she thought she had a chance.

“You heard the doc, you’re on bedrest until the baby is born.” He reminded her and she rolled her eyes at him.

“You do know that means no fucking either, Jackie dear.” She used that nickname he hates so much.

The priest used to call him that, the bullies in the schoolyard, the gangsters he rose up against and even the people who refuse to let him into their circles.

Nothing ever gets under his skin as calling him Jackie does.

“Don’t call me that, Evie.” He warned trying to keep himself from flying off the handle. “For a nurse you make a shit patient.”

“On other news, water is wet.” She tried to be witty but only came out rather annoyed. And she was, could’ve just said take it easy, but the doctor had said Eva was to stay in bed until the blessed day came.

“I’ll have to tie you to the bed if you don’t behave, sweetheart.” And yet he doesn’t stop her, instead helps her put on her shoes. “Try to enjoy yourself and let Carrie and Gina do the rest.”

Caroline Nelson had married an Adams, named after the president who made the family what they are, and while a pain in the ass was a good enough hostess. Gina had become ornery, hating how she was still an outsider in her new family, hating the way she was now at the bottom of the food chain.

Unlike Eva, she didn’t have a shining personality to overcome it. Every day she turned more and more into a vile combination of Carrie and Jack.

A cutthroat snob that would be useful if she studied something like economics or politics, but Jack refused to agree to send her to college after high school. Even after knowing his wife had a private education in Mexico City because money can buy you professors even when women aren’t admitted to university, Jack refuses to allow it.

“Easier said than done.”

They have done this before.

She’d timed the pains and when they became alarmingly close and painful she made him drive her to the hospital instead of calling the midwife and doctor here.

This time Eva’s too in pain to argue with the suggestion of having a home birth.

She’s afraid of complications, of dying because help came too late, but man never does anything God doesn’t want him to do and Evie is no exception.

“The midwives are on their way, sir. Mary and I are taking the boys outside, so they don’t hear---” Alice’s words are cut off by Eva’s cries of pain.

She stands behind a chair, unable to lie down as the contractions appear worse than the first.

The witch had refused the twilight sleep offered to her at the hospital and have them just yank the babies out with forceps like most women do claiming she thought it unsafe.

Now she curses everything under the sun in several languages as there is nothing available to even minimize the agony she feels.

“She’s coming.” The witch shuts her eyes and sits at the edge of the bed. “Oh, fuck, Rosie’s coming.”

In the next second Eva barks orders at Alice and him because babies aren’t born on schedules.

It is the longest and shortest time in the world for him as Eva tells him and the maid what to do.

By the time the midwives come, Jack’s holding their baby daughter in a bloody towel with everything from his clothes to the bed ruined.

But it doesn’t matter, Rosemary Eve Nelson is worth everything and more.

“September 2nd 1920 ,

Mr and Mrs John Fitzgerald Nelson announce the birth of their third child, a daughter, named Rosemary Eve after her late grandmother, Rosemary Kennedy and her mother, Eva Smith.

Mr. Nelson delivered his daughter himself on his twenty-sixth birthday as she came far before the midwives could attend her mother, a former nurse.”

He reads the announcement just as he had done when the boys were born.

Only this time they had to demand a reprint when Eva learned only Jack was being credited for the feat.

Really, they had to intimidate a man because he thought it superfluous to mention Eva was a nurse and knew what to do.

“Most people stop at three.” She mentions knowing he’ll say no.

The church had ruled contraception as inherently evil and while most claimed not to use it, many still did.

Eva had learned Jack was as much as hypocrite as your average catholic. He’d used sheaths when fucking whores to prevent diseases and bastards, and yet claimed Eva was committing sin by getting a Dutch cap in homes of keeping a good amount of time between children.

Unfortunately the thing didn’t work, but Eva won’t stop trying to have some control over herself.

“Most people haven’t been told they’ll have nine fucking kids by god himself. But God didn’t say we had to have one every fucking year.” The birth had scared him, truly scared him by the sound of it.

He hadn’t seen what was going on at the other end and now he’d gotten a front row seat to the shit show.

That had helped get him to see reason.

They would be adding using contraception to their list of sins.

It wasn’t like they were going to heaven ---if it even existed--- anyways.

A/n: Republican Channing Cox won the election for governor of Massachusetts, but since Jack is a democrat he and Eva would be sort of campaigning for the democratic candidate thus forcing the guy to come over to their house for a party with mysteriously sourced alcohol.

While Rose Kennedy was made to close her legs (cutting off oxygen to Rosemary thus almost killing her and impairing her for life) while waiting for the doctor, Eva has had midwifery training in the middle of a war so Jack and the housekeeper/head maid were given a crash course in how to deliver a baby.

Rosie will still have disabilities, just not due to birth complications as she did irl.

Next up the Wall Street bombing of 1920 while the Nelsons have a lover's quarrel across teh street from it

#eva smith nelson #jack nelson #jack x eva #national anthem fic #jack nelson fanfic #jack nelson x oc

[12angrypears]

Obama, Trump, and Biden play SBURB:

i can’t believe this is my first attempt at homestuck fanfiction:

—————————————

Obama: Alright guys, let’s be careful with our kernelsprite. We don’t know what it’s for yet and—

Trump: Barack, everyone knows what we do with a kernelsprite. We prototype it and get a guide. [tosses American flag]

USprite: [chitters patriotically]

Trump: Now that’s a good, honest hard-working American sprite. thats what this game needs.

Obama: Donald what the hell did you do.

Trump: I prototyped the kernelsprite.

Biden: hey guys there’s some weird looking African Americans out here waving American flags.

Trump: Look Barack, I told you I was popular with minorities. Even Sleepy Joe thinks so.

Obama: I don’t— Joe what are you doing? Not everything with black skin is African American. I don’t think those are even human.

Trump: Oh, so when I say I don’t see color—

Obama: Shut the fuck up or I’ll prototype you in the damn kernelsprite.

USprite: [chitters patriotically]

Biden: Hey I think they’re doing something—

Trump: Maybe you should prototype me! Can you imagine how amazing—and I’ve seen a lot of amazing things in my life other than myself—how incredible of a sprite I would be?

Obama: Oh my god.

Trump: No, no, hear me out. What this session needs is some good old Uncle Sam, and I can’t hardly—you probably can’t either—hardly imagine anyone better for it than the president of the United States of America.

Obama: Former president.

Trump: Former this and former that. Why don’t we focus on—

Obama: I can’t believe we destroyed the White House for this.

Biden: [muffled thud] Oh my god.

Trump: There goes Sleepy Joe falling down the stairs. You’d rather prototype him for our Uncle Sam project?

Obama: I don’t want to prototype anyone until we know what—

Biden: these African Americans are full of grist

Obama: Imps, Joe, just call them imps.

Trump: You want a president with grist? If you—when you put me in that kernelsprite, you’ll never believe how much grist I can bring to the citizens of this great country.

Obama: Grift, you’re a grifter Donald. What the hell is grist?

Biden: Holy shit!

[Bathtub crashes through the ceiling onto USprite]

Biden: Sorry guys, I guess I ran out.

AMERITUBSPRITE: God bless the US— [flushing noises]

#homestuck #us presidents #I can’t believe this is my first homestuck fanfiction #not asking for validation but ooooh I hope you guys like it #Obama #trump #Biden #sburb #heheh

[gatekeeper-watchman]

It Seems

I readily recognize I don’t know everything, and I don’t pretend to, the thoughts of my critics notwithstanding; but it seems to me that, in their mismanagement, our government is treading a perilous path in these difficult times, rapidly approaching a line in the sand; which, if they cross, will lead us beyond a point of no return.

You might correct me on this, but I believe our country and our people are different from those of other nations. We are different, if for no other reason because we were born free. Personal freedom is ingrained in the minds of every one of us from the very beginning of our great nation–the Revolutionary War; and that inner subconscious belief continues with us to this very day–whether we were born here or immigrated. Freedom is ingrained in our culture–freedom of speech, freedom of thought, and freedom of action limited only by that of others, i.e., my freedom ends where yours begins.

In the beginning, our Constitution approved in 1789, was written and approved behind closed doors by the power elite of the time and given to us, the people, for our approval, effectively telling us we were free. Subsequently, the Bill of Rights (the first ten amendments) was added, again increasing our freedom. Further along in history, we decided that the people would elect members of the Senate, once again increasing our freedom. Then, in 1865, slavery was abolished, followed one hundred years later by the Civil Rights Act of 1965. As a nation, freedom is all we know–this is the color of all our glasses.

I mentioned earlier that our government is treading a perilous path. A government of the people exists for only one purpose–only one. That is to manage the affairs of our nation. As the Preamble to the Constitution says, “To form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general Welfare, and secure the blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity…..”. Managing the affairs of our nation, in my opinion, does not constitute playing chess with party politics at the expense of the people. I heard former Senator Tom Daschle say on Washington Journal this morning, to the effect that, what our government needs is a good dose of bipartisanship. I contend that what it requires is a good dose of patriotism–patriotism for our nation’s affairs. Rather than the one and one-half days per week, they are now working (they go home on Thursdays and return on Tuesdays), we require them to take care of business and relieve us from our overwhelming stresses, and you can believe–they are overwhelming to all of us. We can use a bit of that Tranquility right now.

Now, having provided the groundwork, I’ll get down to it. Our nation and our people are under immense stress right now. I’ve pointed it out over and over in my several postings to this blog, but I’ll briefly do it again:

1.     We have approximately thirty million people either unemployed–looking for work, employed part-time, or who have given up looking. Our recession may be over, but we are still in depression.

2.     Many, if not millions (I don’t know how many, but too many) are living in cars, under bridges, on the streets, or in homeless shelters. They are living on welfare, securing food from food banks, eating out of dumpsters and food kitchens, or whatever.

3.     Since the 1970s, and more so since the 1980s, the income and wealth of our middle and under classes have steadily decreased right along with their standard of living. The rich have gotten much richer and the poor have become poorer.

4.     As a result of the burst of the housing bubble and the financial collapse of the financial markets in 2008. Millions of our people have lost their homes, are underwater with their home mortgages, and over their heads in personal debt with no apparent way out.

5.     Large corporations (long-standing members of the power elite, our Shadow Government), to increase their profits, have been outsourcing jobs to slave labor abroad, exacerbating unemployment and reducing tax revenues. You call it what you want, but a rose is a rose is a rose. I call it slave labor. Not all, to be sure, but many of our slaves in 1865 lived better than those to whom we are now outsourcing.

6.     On top of all of the above, our nation is saddled with a national debt of $17 Trillion, accumulated over a short period of thirty-three years. A debt so huge that our ability to manage the nation's fiscal policy has been seriously constricted.

7.     Now comes the Affordable Care Act, aka Obama Care. This nation severely needs a healthcare system. Every thinking person knows that. We require a new system to improve the health of our people; and we require a new system to reduce costs (and, therefore, our deficit). The way this system is designed, however, presents severe hardships to far too many of our people who live from one paycheck to another (if they are employed, that is) and employers.

8.     I’m sure there are more sources of stress for our people at this time, but I’ll name one more and conclude this post. There is the stress of the NSA, our National Security Agency. This is a big thing, folks. If you don’t think so, why do you think they kept it a secret? Have you heard the news today? They are even monitoring many of our conversations as we walk down the street. Let’s cut this to the quick. Suppose our government can monitor us this closely. In that case, they are only half an inch away from having the ability to dominate and control us, just as many dictators have done throughout history. Adolph Hitler and Joseph Goebbels would have loved to have some of our security systems. Are you a Democrat? Are you a Republican? Mmmmm……

Now, folks, tell me. Isn’t this more than enough stress and uncertainty? I submit to you that these problems are and/or can be simpler to solve than our government, Democrats and Republicans alike, are making them. They are simple, but they are significant, however. It has to be obvious to all that our people are in turmoil and under heavy stress. It’s a known fact, also, that our people are armed to the teeth, just as is our Department of Homeland Security, which has been buying ammunition for billions of dollars for quite some time. There is a lot of political propaganda on the website, but so also is such with Fox News, MSNBC, etc.–You can sort out the truth from fiction). My point is that, surely, our government doesn’t want to continue its present governance, introducing even more stress points upon our people. Trust in government is the lowest in many years. We don’t want it to go even lower, so let us not let Pandora out of the box. Once she is out, it will be a long time before she gets back in, if ever. Once the first shot is fired, what little democracy we have left will be gone, I believe, forever.

[patstevens5]

Attendance Prompt, Secrete Lives of Color page 82. “In its glittering natural form, which was thought to resemble gold, it was one of the mineral pigments and one of two yellows, along with ocher, used in ancient Egyptian art.” This quote from the passage made me wonder what colors I associate with what and so on, I would simply never see any color and associate it with mineral pigments or ancient Egyptian art despite maybe that being it’s true origin. I would be far more inclined to see a yellowish gold color and think of the Pittsburgh Steelers or WVU or the 49ers. It’s interesting to think of how each of us could be looking at the same color and thinking of two completely different things.

1. The animal I incorporated into my drawing was a whitetail deer. Growing up, hunting and fishing is something basically everyone lives and dies for in my town. We had the first day of deer season off of school as it was basically a holiday. I spend a lot of my time in the fall and winter chasing these beautiful creatures as I learn their habits and schedules hoping for the opportunity to be able to harvest a mature deer.

2. Fall for me means college football and deer season as I don’t get to amped up for any of the Halloween festivities. It’s gotta be one of my least favorite holidays but with that being said nothing beats a chilly night around a fire with my best friends listening to country music legends like Jason Aldean, Luke Bryan, Zach Bryan, Luke Combs and more.

3. I was born on August 16th, 2001, exactly 26 days before our country changed forever. My mom was from Long Island and went to an all girls school in NYC before coming to college at Bonas where she met my dad. My grandfather was a NYC fireman for 30+ years. On the day that I was born they rushed to Meadville and stayed for a week or so but then had to go back home for a little while. On September 10th they got in the car and drove back to Meadville meaning my grandfather wasn’t going to work the following few days. On September 11th our country changed for ever and despite me not only being a month old that idea of patriotism is forever bedded in my roots.

4. “Take it easy, take it easy, don’t let the sound of your own wheels drive you crazy” is a line from the Eagles hit song “Take it Easy” that always stands out to me. I think it today world people are always so caught up in their little problems and road bumps in life that they let things change the outcome of their days and really affect them. I’m as easy going as it gets and you really couldn’t ruin my day if you tried. Nothing in life is worth getting upset over to a point where it drastically changes your mood or day, just take it easy and everything will always work itself out.

#Youtube

[sarahhillips]

This is a Children’s Cartoon From PBS FFS

Honor and Compromise

Imagine if Disney made a movie of this in the 90s instead but f Pocahontas.

Little dogs are my weakness hey lets follow that guy

Oh they’re note passing

A woman and a minority walk into a room full of old white men.

Rabble rabble rabble

Ya’ll need to get along if you wanna win this war

“Sort of like a king?” 😮

Henri just charged into him like a rhino

James is not going to expose the spies

Henry said ooooo feathers

We’re going to hunt for feathers

Henri forming a battalion of Turkys

“It’s too windy IN here” 🌬️

Henry 0 Turkeys 1

Hamilton getting heated

“They shame their French blood!” Lol

Henry 0 Turkeys 2

How are Sarah and Moses allowed in there.

Redcoats coming this way!

Lee you bitch

“WE ARE GONNA ATTACK”

Attack poodles 🐩

Sarah is sending messages to congress on behalf of Washington girl that’s treason right there

Henris risking his life for a feather

Lee didn’t listen to Washington and it backfired

“Lee, you’re fired! Get out!”

Go back inti battle guys, it’s not over k

Ok that last shot with the turkeys, and Henri sleeping

The New Frontier

We get to see Sarahs dilf of a father

“And you, Sarah, are you an American?”

Sarahs like omg forgot about me looking for my dad

Boooooooo children are starving

I love how James wants her to be safe and Sarahs confident in her safety.

How often does Sarah have to sleep outside?

Why did he just straight up desert her?

Imagine passing out in the forest and waking up in the log cabin of a stranger.

Sarah why are you scared of them they’re people

What is that pig eating, pizza on a baguette?

Sarah was definitely not expecting that

Papa Phillips is an outdoors nature men at heart

“It all started when these rebels started throwing tea off the ship I was sailing on.”

Rich people ruined everything in every era of time

Damn. That’s a hell if a debate club meeting.

Because most white people are bad people.

Tarring and feathering is way too extreme

Well James congrats on your first tar and feathering threat

“I fell in love with this country just like I fell in love with her.” 🥲

This is when Sarah finally doubts her views

These men didn’t deserve to be warned

This was the last straw for Sarah that made her say fuck this shit I’m out.

James, you are a writer. That was poetry.

“I lost you for six years”

Papa Phillips really is dad of the year all in one day

These scene would have been perfect for Sarah to go on a passionate and tearful rant about all the men who have mistreated her and how they’re both patriot and loyalist.

“I have been chocked, slapped, bound and gagged, spat on, ridiculed, threatened, and nearly had my virtue taken away more times than I can count! These are the exact kind of men who would have a prisoner executed even if he’s only just a boy! And the worst part is, the men who do this, come from both sides!”

Sarahs very anti-violence. I need to remember that for my writing.

Oh Sam, she’ll lovvvvvvvve that beard

James doesn’t want a goodbye hug

Poor Henri

Not Yet Begun to Fight

Omg yay the pirate episode

Omg is Jones a ginger

Sarah and Jones forming a friendship off of hair color

“Ah, another ginger.”

Sarah what are you doing above deck.

Ok but how did she survive that?

So no scene with Jones taking off his hat coat and boots to jump into the water and save her and while he’s holding her he says ‘Ay, whas ye name lass?’ but Sarah only responds with heavy coughs?

Just two gingers bonding over ham.

*Instant concern when Sarah says she doesn’t write anymore*

200 English prisoners!?

“Take my first riding teacher, Alec Spencer.”

Jones teaching Sarah a sea shanty.

Yesssss Sarah.

“I cannot write what I do not believe in” “Forgive me Ms. Phillips, but you strike me as someone who believes in liberty.”

Bros just sailing a burning ship like nbd

And then Sarah switched views right then and there. Treason complete.

“Serve our cause with your eyes and your pen.”

And she wrote the article on a plank of wood. Amazing.

Great idea with the grenade

Cue Titanic theme

“Ms. Phillips, I look forward to many more articles under your name.”

I bet Sarahs still getting used to shaking hands with men after having her hand taken and kissed so many times.

The Great Galves

So Sarah was a townhouse kind of girl in England

Why is Sarah being carried? Her being unconscious makes no sense here.

I wonder what books Sarah has on her shelve

I know James acts unmoved about Sarah leaving but I think he misses her.

Where’s Henri?

Oh jfc not the skunk

Who’s this chubster

“The war is already lost bro.” “But for Britain, America is lost.”

“Boys who’ll not be forced to fight other poor boys.”

“I’ve seen some shit mom. Anyways, I wanna go back.”

No article from Lady Whistledown about Sarahs surprise return?

“Log up ahead!”

Ooos Henri fell in the water can he swim

James stfu they can hear you

Time to steal a boat

“Hi one way ticket to America.”

“And your America will be different?” Yes, it’ll be so much worse.

I would be uncomfortable af if I saw shackled prisoners walking past me like a slow sad parade

*looks at captured American boy* “Courage.”

“Mom, I’m American.”

In Praise of Ben

I feel like this was just a filler episode but Sarah coming back is a yay

This would have been the opportune episode for James and Sarah to finally start flirting and because they have so much pent up, they find themselves kissing each other shamelessly.

So she switches sides in 1780

“Probably that I’m a silly girl who keeps changing her mind about who she really is.”

A lady like Sarah has ti have more than one bag I mean c’mon. I bet her mom bought her new clothes

Moses is so happy 🥹

James is like hmmmmmmm

Ope Henris gettin into fights

Imagine Henri was short when Sarah left but had a growth spurt while Sarah was away

Moses is in full dad mode

Kid, time for a history lesson

Wtf is that thing a glass harmonica

That’s sounds kinda annoying though

Lightning doesn’t strike that damn slow

Everyones just stanning Ben

Is the turkey laughing at him?

Bens mom was a slut too

Everyones infodumping

Imagine sharing a hospital room with 20+ people.

Noooo poor Ben

“Slavery is the economic foundation of the south” bish shut yo ass up

Ben Franklin as a mall Santa

Ben in a shirt that says 🐱🧲

#sarah phillips #libertys kids #james hiller #liberty's kids #henri lefebvre #lafayette #john paul jones

[llycaons]

I've been revisiting youtubers recently. some I like under the cut

Folding Ideas: a marvelously well-spoken social and media critic, with commentary on symbolism in film. his breakdowns of the editing failures of films such as Suicide Squad and The Snowman are entertaining and informative, and he has mini-episodes on narrative concepts like Thermian arguments (the Watsonian of Watsonian vs. Doylist explanations) and ludonarrative dissonance. politically on top of it (mostly), extremely astute, and a pleasure to listen to. See Earthsea and Adaptation Sickness, End of Evangelion and the Audience Author Membrane, The Thermian Argument, The Art of Editing and Suicide Squad, Cinematic Trainwreck – The Snowman: A Vlog, Cooking Food On The Internet For Fun And Profit, Annihilation and Decoding Metaphor

Ariel Bissett: a delightful young Canadian book reviewer takes us on her journey of renovating her old house. mostly cosmetic changes rather than structural as she's essentially self-taught, but she's a charismatic and charming host with a unique eye for style and color. her design sense matches closely with my own (we're both Monet fans), so I find her videos very soothing and satisfying to watch. I haven't seen any of her book reviews, but she seems thoughtful and passionate. I like all her house videos, but particularly the three yearly house tours so far (intro video, one year in, two years in,), Building The Perfect Guest Room, Complete Office Renovation!, Living Room Renovation To Look Like Emma's House!, Building The Perfect Reading Nook, Transforming the Smallest Room In My House With Wallpaper, and honestly all the others. it's a real pleasure to see the changes she makes over the months. I can't wait for the kitchen redo!

Accented Cinema: probably my favorite youtuber right now. he's a Chinese Canadian filmmaker with a focus on films and film-making processes, both his own and those from China (most often) and other non-American countries (occasionally). his videos have brought me to tears more than once. honestly I love too many to list all of them so I'll just list my top favorites but I highly recommend this channel. I loved Why China Cared About Kung Fu Panda, Shadow: Adapting Chinese Art, Who Killed Captain Alex: What Makes a Movie Good?, Chinese Animation: In Search of a Style (brief shot of mdzs donghua at the very end), Why Ghibli's First 3D Looks Soulless, East vs. West: Differences in Story Philosophy, Mahjong & Crazy Rich Asians, Why Are Kung Fu Movies So Patriotic, How I Made a Fake Video Essay

Local Script Man: a professional screenwriter whose advice and commentary on creating stories is really interesting and different than what you tend to see on tumblr. he tends to be kind of harsh but not in mean-spirited way, just in a way that makes it obvious that he knows what he's talking about. I like Oops No Plot, The Key to Writing Freakishly Good Dialogue, and both parts of 5 Essential Storytelling Rules I Just Made Up (part 1, part 2)

Schaffrillas Productions: a guy breaks down and ranks various animated films, often by studio. these videos are just a lot of fun. I liked his videos on the Shrek franchise (one, two, three, four, and the musical), and Raya vs. Encanto - How One Message Failed and Another Succeeded

Super Eyepatch Wolf: this man is, as we speak, convincing me to read Berserk. he has a slow, dramatic presentation of his arguments that draw you in and a great sense of humor. All of his "Why You Should Watch" videos are interesting even if you don't have any plans to watch the show he's describing, because they give an overview of the themes and strengths without spoiling it. he also presents a wealth of information on manga/anime history, and miscellaneous commentary on other media. I liked in particular The Fall of The Simpsons: How it Happened, "Non Battle" Battle Anime, What Makes A Fight Scene Interesting?, The Impact of Dragon Ball Z: The Series that Changed Everything, Why You Should Watch Yu Yu Hakusho, What Makes A Good Character Design?,

Cinema Therapy: these two guys are charming and sometimes funny. they can get annoying and their analyses tend to be very superficial, but I really like their videos tearing into bad romantic cliches. I like 10 TROPES We Hate About Rom Coms, 7 Tips from THE ADDAMS FAMILY to Keep Your Marriage Alive, TITANIC: Love Triangles and Compatibility, Therapist Reacts to THE KISSING BOOTH (Part 1, Part 2), Relationship Therapist Ranks Christmas Romances with guest Shona Kay

Sideways: a channel about music! knowing nothing about music at all, I find these videos really interesting and accessible. see Why the Music in Cats (2019) is Worse than you Thought, Why Pipe Organs Sound Scary, Decoding the Music of The Matrix, Why Avatar has the Most Ironic Soundtrack of All Time, Why the Soundtrack to Shrek is Actually Genius, Ear Training and Sight Singing: The Superpower you get from Music School, Why "Spoken Word" Makes me Nervous

Pop Culture Detective: I like this channel for the analyses of troubling tropes in media, especially the ones on misogyny. See Marvel Defenders of The Status Quo, The Ethics of Looking And The “Harmless” Peeping Tom, Born Sexy Yesterday, The Complicity of Geek Masculinity on the Big Bang Theory, Sexual Assault of Men Played for Laughs (Part one, Part two), Stranger Things, Belligerent Romance, and the Danger of Nostalgia

favorite misc videos here

#part 2 for misc videos coming next #cor.txt #save #video essays