#who had been televised and thus seen by hundreds!

[somestorythoughts]

Sophie: shows up to her own funeral as a relatively unknown figure in a dark veil and large hat, acting

Also Sophie: shows up to her own funeral as a much-beloved future first lady in a tiny hat and no veil

Seriously?

#in case this isn't clear this is not about the showing up to her own funeral #i respect that #this is about not doing anything to cover her face after showing up to her own funeral #where she died very publically and had become a much loved public figure!!!! #who had been televised and thus seen by hundreds! #where a damn veil! #who cares if no one looks up take the precaution!!!!! #sophie devereaux #leverage #the san lorenzo job

[davidfarland]

David Farland’s Writing Tips—Platforming

For the past year, I’ve been interviewing several authors per month on Apex. I’m up to perhaps 80 so far.

All are selling well, gaining notoriety. Some are traditionally published but many of our guests were Indies. Some who had started as Indies had graduated to traditional platforms and were literally making millions, so I asked how they did it.

The answer is rather instructive. All of them, in one way or another, followed the same approach.

Find your audience.

There are a lot of places that readers hang out. Many of them belong to reading groups on Facebook, for example, and so joining a large “Fantasy Readers Forever” group can literally put you in touch with a hundred thousand readers, and advertising to friends in that group becomes inexpensive. But slightly younger readers can be found on Goodreads, or on platforms like Twitter, Twitch, Instagram, YouTube, TikTok, Kickstarter, and so on.

Many authors did almost nothing to promote themselves. They had their audience “discover” them. In other words, fandoms started up spontaneously on a single platform and then began to spread.

In some instances, our authors found large audiences in unusual places. For example, many educational associations like to promote literacy, and if a few hundred teachers adopt you, you may find yourself getting very popular in their schools. I’ve seen other authors find fans at State Fairs or by signing in grocery stores.

It really doesn’t matter where your audience starts: what matters is that you recognize what is happening and take the appropriate action.

Adopt your crowd.

Once you recognize a fan base, it becomes important to promote to them. This means that you might begin advertising books to your Facebook audience or offering early review copies to fans in your Goodreads crowd. You might want to create a street team of Twitter influencers, and so on.

In particular, you start gathering names and email addresses from your readers so that you can notify them of new events in a newsletter.

It’s especially important to recognize which fans are the most faithful “missionaries” for your work. Some of them may have book blogs or work as newspaper editors. Some may even be movie producers or run video game companies. These people need to be promoted to the level of “street team” members, so that they are brought into your inner circle on future projects.

And this is, unfortunately, where most successful authors stop. You can make a very decent living if you have enough fans on one platform, and over time your fan base will expand far beyond that base.

For most of our Indie authors, they developed a fanbase online, then found that traditional publishers wanted their books. So maybe they started on Goodreads and began getting blockbuster sales once their books hit the bookstores. At that point, life gets hectic. They spend more time writing and have less for promotion.

It seems to me, though, that most of us authors are leaving most of our money on the table.

Here is what I mean: When you work with a traditional publisher, the publisher grooms your fan base. They take the books to bookstores to start, and when the buzz warrants it, they begin selling much more broadly into grocery stores and airports. They build your audience in that way, hoping that your works will go into other mediums—such as film or television—and thus continue to spread.

But publishers are notoriously bad still at building online audiences. Most paper publishers keep their e-book prices artificially high in fear of cannibalizing paper sales. This means that they keep your electronic reader base . . . starved, so that it stays tiny.

This hurts you.

Furthermore, the big publishers don’t seem to recognize the importance of some of the offbeat platforms. So while you might be very personable and find fans on YouTube, your publisher probably not know how to promote you there.

On the other hand, as an Indie, authors often will look at several platforms and feel overwhelmed. They don’t want to try to tackle all of cyberspace. Nor should they try.

As an author, if you want to grow your fanbase, you need to build some intimacy with your readers. You have to create a list of people who visit your website, build a street team of influencers, and then as your books come out, find ways to promote yourself to your die-hard fans electronically while selling through mainstream channels.

There are ways to do that, but so far, those who have mastered it—authors who are making eight- or ten-figures per year, haven’t been talking very openly about it. For more on David Farland's Writing tips, visit https://mystorydoctor.com/writing-blog/ And you can also click here to get your David Farland Daily Meditations.

#writing tips #writing help #author platform

[jhapalitimes]

France Faces Unrest and Calls for Change Following Teen's Killing by Police

PARIS - Rioting and protests continue to engulf cities across France for the fourth consecutive night, with over 1,300 people arrested as the nation grapples with the aftermath of a police officer's fatal shooting of a 17-year-old teenager. The violence, marked by arson, looting, and clashes between protesters and law enforcement, persists despite a massive police deployment aimed at restoring order. France's Interior Ministry reported the latest figure for arrests, with 45,000 police officers deployed across the country in an effort to quell the unrest that was sparked by the teen's tragic death earlier this week. President Emmanuel Macron had urged parents to keep their children at home, but the clashes between young demonstrators and police continued unabated, resulting in approximately 2,500 fires and widespread looting. The mourning rituals for the slain teenager, identified only as Nahel, commenced with a private viewing of the open coffin by grieving family and friends. Later, the coffin was scheduled to be taken to a mosque for a ceremony before the final burial in a Nanterre cemetery. While the number of arrests continues to rise, government officials indicate that the violence is gradually subsiding due to increased security measures. Since the onset of the unrest, a total of 2,400 arrests have been made, more than half of which occurred during the fourth night of violence. The impact of the protests has been far-reaching, with incidents of violence reported in Paris, Marseille, Lyon, and even overseas French territories. Tragically, a 54-year-old individual lost their life in French Guiana after being struck by a stray bullet. Meanwhile, hundreds of police officers and firefighters have been injured, with no official injury tallies released for protesters. The killing of Nahel has reignited discussions surrounding persistent issues such as poverty, discrimination, unemployment, and the lack of opportunities prevalent in many neighborhoods across France, particularly those with ties to former French colonies. Samba Seck, a 39-year-old transportation worker from the Paris suburb of Clichy-sous-Bois, expressed the frustrations shared by many in his community, citing a dearth of housing, low wages, and a sense of hopelessness among the youth. The French national soccer team, including renowned player Kylian Mbappe, who is idolized in disadvantaged neighborhoods, issued a statement pleading for an end to the violence. The players emphasized the need for mourning, dialogue, and rebuilding, stressing that violence offers no solution. In an emotional interview with France 5 television, Nahel's mother, identified as Mounia M., expressed her anger towards the officer responsible for her son's death but maintained that her grievances were not against the police as a whole. She vehemently denounced the use of lethal force against children, stressing that a police officer should never take a young person's life. In the midst of escalating crisis, President Macron refrained from declaring a state of emergency, as seen during similar circumstances in 2005. Instead, the government has intensified its law enforcement response, mobilizing a significant number of police officers, including those called back from vacation. The rioting and unrest in France have had diplomatic repercussions, leading to the postponement of Macron's state visit to Germany. The German president's office expressed understanding of the situation and emphasized the intention to reschedule the visit as soon as possible. In response to the escalating violence, Interior Minister Gerald Darmanin imposed a nationwide nighttime shutdown of all public buses and trams, which have become targets for rioters. Additionally, he warned social media platforms against being exploited as channels for incitement to violence, stating that they have cooperated thus far and that French authorities are providing them with information to identify those promoting unrest. President Macron and law enforcement officials singled out Snapchat and TikTok, attributing the organization of protests and the spread of copycat violence to these platforms. Macron called for greater responsibility on the part of social media companies. The ongoing unrest in France raises concerns about the nation's ability to host the upcoming summer Olympic Games, which are scheduled to take place in Paris and other French cities in just over a year. The organizers are closely monitoring the situation as they proceed with preparations for the global event. The police officer involved in Nahel's killing has been charged preliminarily with voluntary homicide, indicating that investigating magistrates suspect wrongdoing but require further investigation before a trial can proceed. The incident has once again ignited discussions about race and police behavior in France, prompting anti-racism activists to call for greater accountability. France continues to grapple with the aftermath of these tragic events and the deep-seated issues they have exposed. As the nation mourns Nahel's death, there is a growing demand for meaningful change to address systemic problems and promote a more inclusive and just society. Read the full article

[darlingpetao3]

Thank You For Ruining My Life: An Homage to Tom Cavanagh

“You’ve ruined all my future expectations of men.”

The costume-clad woman had the courage of steel to say this to the then 53-year-old actor, Tom Cavanagh of The Flash, in front of a ballroom filled with a couple hundred people. This brave utterance was spoken during the 2016 Fan Expo Vancouver convention during a Flash question and answer period with actors Tom Cavanagh and Candice Patton. In its third season, the show was undoubtedly still hitting its stride in popularity, and the room was packed to hear these two speak.

The brave woman whose turn it was at the microphone was referring to Tom’s role as Ed Stevens on the NBC 2000 hit, Ed. I had not known of this show previously, but having now heard such a proclamation intrigued me. “You’ve ruined all my future expectations of men.” That was a tempting notion, and as I continued to listen to this disarmingly charming and wittingly funny man steal the stage, Tom intrigued me even more. I’d watched him play three different versions of Harrison Wells on The Flash since the show’s premiere date, yet I hadn’t truly noticed him in a “life-ruining” way before.

Little did I know that Tom Cavanagh would not only eventually ruin my expectations for men as well, but he would change my life in other ways, too.

After the Q&A, I had this urge to buy a S.T.A.R. Labs T-shirt from one of the vendors at the convention. In my head, I thought I would purchase something so that I could have an excuse to talk to Mr. Cavanagh at his signing booth. Again, he intrigued me, and I wanted to experience more of his incredibly likeable personality. So, I dragged my friend with me to wait for what was maybe ten minutes in a queue. Shortly, I was paying the assistant for my autograph I would soon acquire. They wrote my name on a sticky note so that Tom would know how to sign a personalized message to me. And then, it was my turn.

His eyes sparkled when he turned his attention to me. I instantly had a feeling this was just the way he was naturally. Oh yeah, and I swear to God I’d never seen eyes that blue in my entire life. It genuinely stunned me.

“Hi!” he greeted me.

“Hi!” I responded, equally as thrilled. Tom admired the T-shirt I had brought and took note of my name on the piece of paper. I remember us joking together about the extremely lax security in and around S.T.A.R. Labs on the show, which prompted his message to me on the heather-grey cotton. He wrote my name, [followed by a heart!] and a very welcoming, ‘Come on by, just walk right in!’

I had official clearance from Harrison Wells himself.

I thanked him very much, leaving with my treasure folded over my arms. My friend and I walked towards the hall’s exit, and I couldn’t shake this feeling inside me. It felt strange—I couldn’t name it for the life of me. It felt like an odd fluttering with a simultaneous yet contradictory slightness of breath. My head was confused and would continue to be so for the rest of that weekend.

As I waited at my gate in the airport on that Sunday evening to head home, all I knew was that the moments at the con featuring Tom were the highlights of the weekend for me.

And that I was going to begin watching more of the other films and television shows he’d been in. What was the show the brave cosplaying woman had said ruined her expectations of men? Oh yeah, Ed.

Maybe I’ll start there…

***

Feliz Navidad, Feliz Navidad…

In my house, it’s never really Christmastime until Michael Bublé croons through the speakers of the wooden stereo system in the living room. It felt especially festive as it was now Christmas Eve—a month and some change since the con. It was late, possibly ten o’clock. I was lying on the floor in front of the Christmas tree with my trusty laptop, a word document open. I was writing three holiday-song short stories featuring the new muse in my life, Harrison Wells. I wanted to be able to post them the next day, so my fingers were taptaptapping away.

I had written a handful of things before 2017, most of which had been Marvel-related, under my second, ‘rebirth’ pen name online. I was a little fish among all the grand and fabulous writers on Archive of Our Own, and in many ways, I still feel like that little fish. I was only just learning and feeling out the psyche of the Wells characters. Each one is so different. In my rewatch of the previous seasons of The Flash, I’d taken diligent notes, and as I’d later learn with each following rewatch, I would know them all—what they think, how they talk and behave—like the back of my hand. It was fun to suss out these guys, and I found that I was growing to love the act of writing even more.

One month later, in January, I would post all the stories I’d written thus far on Tumblr. I’d just created an account and, who knows? Maybe I’d get a wider range of readers on here, too.

Might as well give it a shot, right?

***

Wild horses couldn’t keep me from attending Fan Expo Vancouver 2017, especially when the big news dropped. Not only would Tom Cavanagh be attending again, but so would Carlos Valdes, Danielle Panabaker, Candice Patton, and the convention-elusive star of the show himself, Grant Gustin.

Before the moderator for the Flash cast’s Q&A panel could utter the final thanks to the actors at the end of the session, I bounded from my seat and sped down to the photo op booth where the cast would be taking “Team Up” photos with fans. ‘Sped down’ has to be the most appropriate couple of words because I indeed felt like a true Speedster dressed head to toe as the small screen’s adaptation of Jesse Quick, the angsty and brilliant daughter to Harrison Wells turned superhero.

After waiting in a queue that felt like ages, I was next to stand with Team Flash. As I took a step forward, all of the actors’ and actresses’ eyes—the people I spend time with every Tuesday evening—were on me. I heard a familiar voice approve of my costume. It was Danielle.

“Tremendous.”

Grant even joked that he thought for a second Violett Beane, the actress who plays Jesse Quick, had shown up to surprise them. “I was like, what’s Violett doing here?” he said.

I stood in the back row, happily sandwiched between Tom and Carlos. I dared to let my hands rest on their backs, and I couldn’t contain my joy. Shortly after, when I received my near-instant physical photograph of the moment, I saw Tom had pointed at me. In my mind, it felt as if in his gesture, he meant, hey, look at this cool person. Haha. I couldn’t be further from it.

I would go on to further be uncool in public as I later found myself virtually shaking and almost hyperventilating in line for a one-on-one photo op with Tom. The guy dressed as Kid Flash behind me gave me a few encouragements of the “it’ll be okay” variety. As my turn finally arrived, the lovely man of the hour greeted me with a bright smile in recognition of my Reverse Flash T-shirt (I had done a quick change before this photo op because I had worn a Flash T-shirt for a photo with Grant).

“Great shirt!”

The internet comes up with many hilarious and fitting words, but none such so than the term “Cavanarms.” One of the said Cavanarms found its way around my shoulder in such a casual way. My hand rested on his back, and I have told anyone who will listen about how soft his sweater was. What was approximately a five-second interaction will stay with me forever. And to this day, I will always regret how I’m standing beside him in the picture—there’s a distinguishable gap between us. I could have been closer—should have been!—but I like to use the fact that I felt as if I’d combust into flames if I were any closer to the man.

Maybe I’d have another chance to combust later again that day because, believe it or not, this fan hadn’t had enough of seeing Mr. Cavanagh in person. And since he was appearing at the con for this day only, there was no way I was going to squander any opportunities. Besides, there was still one final thing left on my convention docket: the autograph. In my mind, going to get his autograph was an excuse to get to talk to him and simply be in his presence for longer than five seconds. Here, take my money. I’m a sucker, and I’m proud of it. I saved all year for this kind of thing, and Fan Expo has always been my ultimate nerdy Treat Yoself Day.

Plus, this year I came equipped with a question for Tom (something for which I may have prepared a little too far in advance).

“Which of your characters would win in a lawyering battle: Ed or Miles?”

Miles was Tom’s latest character from his newly released project Darrow & Darrow, a fellow lawyer as Ed Stevens (remember, the man who ruins women’s expectations of men?), whom he portrayed almost two decades prior. What I loved about Tom when I got to ask him this was that he was silent for a moment following the question. He was genuinely putting thought into my question. As he pondered, Tom continued to autograph the photo of us together taken mere hours ago.

“Ed. He would wipe the floor with that other guy. Like, Miles is great, but Ed has a rapier-sharp mind, you know?”

I wholeheartedly agreed with his answer and felt relieved inside for some reason. We thanked each other (as politely as two Canadians can) before I left him to pay attention to the next lucky soul in line. I made the mistake of casting my eyes downward at the signed photo.

Tom had signed two little hearts over the I’s in my name. He really needed to stop adding hearts to my things, or I was just going to melt to the floor. In fact, I started to make these strange noises as I tried not to completely maul everyone in front of me while exiting. My friend ushered me as fast as physically possible on our way out of the main hall. One man took one look at me and asked, “Are you okay?”

No.

“Yep!”

The second I made it out of the herd, I broke out into open space. First came the minor hyperventilating. Then came the squealing followed by laughter. Top it off with various fangirlish comments of, “He’s so beautiful!”, “His eyes are so blue!” and “I love him!” and I was probably quite the sight to see (but at a convention, that’s considered normal!). My friend smiled on as she let me express everything that I had to keep inside until I had the right time to expel my emotions. I was on cloud nine. Ten, if at all possible.

The next day would be the con’s final day, which I would attend alone. My friend needed to catch the ferry in order to prepare for her courses the day after. I did a scan of the convention hall one final time in case there was something I missed purchasing. Afterwards, I sat on the cold hard flooring of the convention centre hallway for a bit of a break. I was wiped out. With my phone in hand, I smiled at the messages from this one Tumblr blogger who had been following my posted adventures at the con. I had seen and replied to many of her comments on my stories I’d written thus far, and I enjoyed her matching enthusiasm for Tom and The Flash in general. I felt her to be a kindred spirit. I had no idea then that I was chatting with one of my future best friends, L.

***

I spotted her.

She was wearing an identical shirt to the one I had on—a light grey T-shirt with a sequinned Spider-Man mask in the corner, which around it read, We met on the Web. A giddy me couldn’t wait for the short escalator ride to end. Her back was to me and facing the baggage claim, so here was my chance to surprise her instead.

I towered over my friend, E, and donned a low, authoritative voice.

“Excuse me, Miss, can you come with me?”

She squealed a greeting to me and I returned it as we hugged for the very first time after two and a half years of online friendship. We would still have about two hours to kill until our mutual Tumblr best friend, L, touched down at Chicago’s O’Hare Airport from across the Pond.

Something I noticed was that E and I carried on talking during our wait like it was second nature, that we hung out like this all the time. Whereas when I met L in person for the first time the year previously, our first meeting was that of quiet, delighted shock, unknowing how to react to one another’s physical presence. It almost felt like a fantasy. The closest thing we’d ever gotten to this was visiting over video chats! I’m not sure what each of these different reactions in these separate meetings meant, but what I do know is that I’ve never had such strong female friendships such as these—so full of uplifting support and love for one another. They are the greatest ladies I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.

And as a searching L eventually turned the corner to meet us in the Arrivals terminal, I caught sight of her Tom & Grant bandana tied around the handle to her carry-on bag. It was an item she had received in return for helping fund the short film produced in 2018 (I’d bought the ringtone). Seeing the accessory jolted me to remember that the former of the titular short was the reason for this long-awaited get-together holiday in the Windy City in the first place. Tom Cavanagh, unbeknownst to him, had just officially united three online friends, each from a different country, to spend six full days of in-person bonding and a whole lot of fun.

***

I should have been shelving books.

I should have been doing a lot of library-related tasks, but my head was elsewhere. Anywhere other than the small-town public library where I work. Instead, I sat on the carpeted floor of the Junior/Young Adult section with my phone in hand and a dreadful article title staring back at me.

“The Flash: Carlos Valdes and Tom Cavanagh to Exit after 7 Seasons.”

My world felt like it was falling apart.

Tom was leaving? There had been rumours and wonderings spreading around the fandom regarding whether he was leaving the show. With a storyline ending with a monumental sacrifice and a time-travelling man saying his farewells, it all seemed to point to the fact. I should have known… I could have rivalled Supergirl as being the Paragon of Hope after all the optimism I doled out to my followers and friends who would come to me worried Tom would exit the show. I would always give reasons to deny such a thing could happen, claiming that I’d believe when I saw it.

Well, there it was, and I definitely saw it.

One could feel the ripple effect over the internet of the shards of broken and riled-up hearts around the world.

Tom’s exit was on his terms, having not felt challenged by his character’s plotlines, as mentioned in a recent Entertainment Weekly article. As a viewer—and I am a viewer (Mike and Tom Eat Snacks, anyone?), it has been increasingly difficult to look past the missed shots made by story editors and showrunner, so understandably, the actor would want to seek something more exciting and meatier. That said, Tom has always shone on-screen and taken what he’s been given in stride. He turns unearthed material into diamonds and indeed shines on screen. Steals it, even! Tom easily makes the episodes he’s in better, and when he’s missing, you feel the loss. The few episodes of Season 7 without him only give us a tiny hint at how the show will be without him going forward. It much resembles when you might bring out your favourite jigsaw puzzle, only to find that the one piece you need to complete it isn’t there.

***

On a personal note, as I write this, I am roughly 20 followers away from reaching a milestone of 2,000. I have written well over 200 stories for The Flash alone (whether they be short or long, one-shots or chaptered), and goodness knows how many words I’ve generated altogether over the course of these many years with inspiration from the show and my favourite character. I’ve written and co-written novel-length stories, one monumental Wellsian story of which was done alongside L and E (almost solely done through alternating text messaging in the app, Line) that reached over 108,000 words and consisted of 42 chapters. And when I’m not writing for my blog, I’m also working on trying to accomplish my dream of becoming a published author. Just as I thought before I launched my Tumblr blog, I think again now: Might as well give it a shot, right?

***

I have watched virtually everything Tom has been in that I could get my hands on, both physically and electronically. Sure, a few titles are out of my reach and probably lost to the very early 90's forever, but from what I've seen through Tom's filmography is enough to know that he can do anything. He can play the romantic leading man that will make you fall head over heels for him or a deranged killer that will have you genuinely scared of him. That is talent. Tom always brings something new to the table from each role to the next, and (when he's not playing those psycho killers) you can't help but admire his craft.

Not only is his acting stellar, but from what we as fans have gathered on the man, Tom has got to be one of the kindest men in the business. His humour and sheer ridiculousness could get anyone through a tough time (we’ve seen plenty of bloopers and behind-the-scenes videos to prove this!). He has clearly bottled and stored an endless supply of Fountain of Youth™ and each year continues to wow us with his handsomeness. Tom is charming, dedicated, and yes, arguably holds the world record for Bluest Eyes.

In my eyes, Tom Cavanagh gave me the two best friends I could have ever asked for, as well as plenty more lovely friends I’ve continued to make online. (One day, I hope to meet him again so that I can tell him in person how because of him, I’ve met such very important people in my life). Through Tom, I have truly found my passion for writing, and in doing so, segued me to dare to dream of becoming a published novelist. I wholeheartedly believe all of this would not have happened if it weren’t for those first series of events that led me to meet Tom and love and admire him immensely. He is indisputable proof that there are indeed men like him out there. Indeed, he did ruin all of my future expectations of men. He ruined my life in the absolute best way and I am eternally grateful.

I am very much looking forward to what Tom will do next. I think it’s rather needless to say that I will follow him in his career, as he has gained a devoted fan for life. He represents so much to me and so much of it I have gained since meeting him that fateful day, when I thought to myself, Maybe I should buy this T-shirt and get this guy to sign it. Wherever Tom goes in life, I’ll be here to cheer him on.

I have a pretty good feeling plenty of others will, too.

#i don't exactly want to tag this with his name #but this is a personal essay of sorts regarding tom cavanagh's effect on my life #if you decide to read I hope you enjoy it!

[avaritia-apotheosis]

Phantom Children [DP x Batman Crossover] Ch. 2

In which: Danny thinks, Talia is concerned, and we finally see Ra's al Ghul's pride an joy: the Lazarus pit

AO3 | Prologue | 1 | [ 2 ] | 3 |

---

DANNY COUNTS THE DAYS by the hours he is in the monitor room. One hour is all that he is allowed. One hour after a day of learning and fighting, of ‘yes ma’am’ and ‘no sir’ and ‘stand up straighter, boy’ and ‘remember that you have feet.’ Of being handed a sword only to have it knocked out of his hand (pickitup-pickitup-pick-it-up). Of ‘here’s eight plants, only one of them is the antidote to the poison you just ingested, and you better hope you remember the difference because this is the life you live now, Danny.’ This is what you agreed to for some time in front of a few television screen.

One hour. Sixty minutes. Three thousand and six hundred measly fucking seconds was all he got to see his family before he’s ushered back to his room. Dark. Barren. Windowless.

God, when was the last time he saw the stars?

He spent his multitude of ‘one hours’ simply watching. That was all he could do, really. Watch and collect snatches of Amity—of Before. Like torn pieces of an antique photograph, unable to be restored but too precious to throw away.

Talia would call him too sentimental. Danny would love to remind Talia that if it wasn’t for her and her freaky older-than-dirt dad, Danny wouldn’t even need to be fucking sentimental.

Breathe in for four. Hold for seven. Breathe out for eight.

Repeat.

Repeat again.

One more time.

There’s a voice in Danny’s head that sounded too much like Jazz telling him that this kind of behavior was unhealthy. The Jazz in Danny’s head didn’t exactly know why, though they’re both pretty sure that constantly watching your family and friends move on after your death probably isn’t good for one’s sanity. Especially since Danny isn’t really dead.

Well.

Dead-er.

He isn’t—

(family-love-mememe-why aren’t they looking harder-don’t they care-they care-for their own good-what about-happy-no-me-them-me-them).

Truth be told, Danny isn’t angry that everyone in Amity seemed to be getting on with their lives. God, he’s seen how his suppsed-death affected them. He can’t—he won’t be responsible for holding them back from living when he can’t even be sure if he’ll ever be able to return to Amity again.

(He’s seen what happens when someone refuses to move on. Hell, the Zone is full of it. It’s either you obsess with grief…or you try to rip it out of yourself entirely.)

Danny wanted them to live on. Be happy. (With him.)The FentonWorks portal remained under constant vigilance, and since Pariah Dark, most ghosts recognized Amity as his haunt and tended to stay away. With any major threats he could only hope that Clockwork would step in somehow and at least keep it contained. Tucker and Sam were more than capable enough to handle most of his regular rogues gallery, especially if Red Huntress was backing them up too.

Amity…didn’t really need Danny anymore to protect it.

(Family-happy-protectprotectprotect-what?-safe-not safe-not needed).

For all that they tried to find out, Danny, Sam, and Tucker never did manage to figure out what his ghostly obsession was. Sam went out on a limb and said Heroism which…wasn’t quite right but fit the bill well enough.

And what was the point of heroes?

To build a world where they aren’t needed.

------

There was a noticeable shift in her son’s demeanor after he learned of the true nature of his parentage. Though it should be noted that while Talia showed a photograph of her beloved to Daniel, she did not disclose his true identity as to Ra’s al Ghul’s orders. Her father reasoned that it was more advantageous for Daniel to develop a closer connection with the maternal side of his family as opposed to the Waynes—a name that would be more familiar and thus better viewed than the strange people who kidnapped him.

No; ‘Recovered’ would be the most appropriate term. Daniel was her child. Would always be her child, no matter who raised him.

Daniel was…quieter. Somber. His eyes glazed yet sharp—blue eyes bloodshot despite maintaining a regular sleep schedule. Like pit madness with neither the madness nor the pit; simply the look of rage that bubbles beneath the skin, close to boiling over yet never there.

He continued to watch his false family obsessively. Yet…he had taken to watching Talia as well. Quietly. Unobtrusively. Small glances at the corner of his eye. Contemplative looks with furrowed brows whenever he presumed she did not notice. He had even taken to meticulously check his reflection in the mirror; pinching cheeks and turning his face this way and that, cataloguing his features as if to find what parts of him was from her—or perhaps if there was any part of him that ever resembled the paranormal scientists he once called parents.

Even if the physical similarities were not there, the DNA testing—regardless of the anomalies found in Daniel’s genes—was proof enough that he was her son.

“You have been keeping with your diet regimen, yes?” Asked one of the League’s physicians. He pressed his gloved fingers against Daniel’s skin, brushing the ridges of his ribcage. Marring her son’s skin was a large, faint scars. Fractals branching across his torso like the branches of a gruesome tree. “You are still too thin.”

“Fast metabolism,” Daniel mumbled. He is sat on an examination table in their medical wing, black shirt neatly folded beside him. His figure, though not skeletal, per se, was gaunt. His ribs poking from his pallor skin, stomach still concave for a boy who ate double the portions than any other member of the League of Assassins. “I’ve had it since the accident, but it’s never gotten this bad.”

The physician hummed, jotting his notes down along side the results of Danny’s vitals. The exact numbers were unknown to Talia, standing as she was by the door, though she could infer the results from previous physical examinations. (Low blood pressure and core body temperature. Faint pulse, slight tachycardia,) “Do you have any ideas why?”

Daniel’s lips thinned, eyes darting to the side as he always did whenever Phantom was related in anyway. His face was too open; Talia needed to train him out of that. “My…” He took a deep breath. “Ghosts aren’t supposed to stay very long in the Material world. It lacks the ectoplasmic energies that helps them ‘stay alive,’ so to speak. Usually they can supplement some of this by filtering some of the ambient energy in the atmosphere to strengthen themselves—it’s why Amity was such a hotspot for ghosts because of the large concentration of ectoplasm in the atmosphere—but it still isn’t a good long term solution.”

He scratched the back of his head. “Since I’m still somewhat human, I’m able to spend way more time in the Material world and can substitute spending days in the Zone by instead filtering ambient energy and eating.”

The physician made another noise, the tip of his pen tapping against the side of the clipboard. “So I take it then that, as your other half doesn’t have access to this ‘ambient energy’ as you call it, it is forced to take what energy it needs from the calories you’ve consumed, yes?”

“Basically.”

“What will happen if you do not have enough calories to supplement this energy?”

Danny shrugged, a rueful smile on his face. “Dunno. Maybe this time, death will stick.”

Talia narrowed her eyes.

Such a thing will not happen. She had been forced to give up on Daniel once, and then later on she lost her youngest to her beloved. Never again.

This child was hers.

------

“Father, did you not say that the anomalies found in Daniel’s DNA were similar in composition to the Lazarus pit?”

Ra’s al Ghul did not pause in pause in his reading to look up at Talia. The bird shaped magnifying glass held steady above the ancient manuscripts spread across his desk, eyes focused on the words and figures carefully inked onto the page. “Yes.” He set aside the magnifying glass and gently flipped the page. “It is what strengthened my belief of the connection between the Lazarus pit and these spirits.”

Talia straightened. “With your permission I would like to place Daniel into the pit.”

Her fathered looked up, curious. “You forget what the pit does to those who are in good health.”

She placed the results of Daniel’s most recent physical exam on to of his desk. Ra’s sat back in his chair and idly flipped through the folder, reading the contents as if no different to reading the newspaper instead of how his grandson is slowly being starved by his own biology. “Well, well. This would be a problem.”

He closed the folder, a wry grin curling at his lips. “Have him ready for tomorrow. I am curious as to how the pit would affect one already half-dead.”

------

Danny is awoken by Talia sometime the next day. “Come,” she said. “You do not need to change, so come quickly.”

He got off the bed with a silent groan, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the heel of his palm. “Where are we going?”

“Not far. Somewhere that will help you.”

He snorted. “Letting me go home would help me.”

Talia doesn’t answer, simply waiting for him at the door. Danny groaned, combing away as much of his bedhead with his fingers as he followed her.

For the first time since being dragged to Nanda Parbat, Danny is allowed to venture beyond his small section of the compound.

He didn’t really know what to expect.

Still didn’t stop everything from being so…anticlimactic.

Beyond the steel door, normally kept locked and guarded by two of his shadow guards, was a hallway. Endlessly long with a wide pathway, lit enough by the fluorescent lights overhead but not enough to banish the shadows that clung to the stone walls. The hallway looked empty. ‘Looked’ being the key word, here. Even if he couldn’t see them, Danny would bet on his half-life that the shadows were teeming with life.

Talia led the way through the maze of twists and turns (were they underground?), a couple of shadow guards quietly following behind them.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

Talia looked at him from over her shoulder for a moment, then turned away. “Have you heard of the Lazarus pits?”

“Lazarus? Like the guy who came back to life?” Neither of his parents were really religious. His dad only really Baptist in name because he was born into a Baptist family that, too, wasn’t overly strict in their religion. The only reason why Danny knew of this Lazarus guy was because of Mr. Lancer’s unit on Greco-Roman and Christian allusions.

Talia nodded, turning a corner. “The Lazarus pits are natural pools with restorative properties, capable of rejuvenating the body, healing grievous injuries, and even bringing the dead back to life.”

Danny nearly tripped over his own feet. “What? That’s—” Impossible. He ran up to Talia, wildly gesticulating with his hands. “What’s dead is dead. Resurrecting the dead goes against the natural law of the universe!”

“Well, you seem to be doing fine.”

He frowned, crossing his arms. “That’s different. I’m still dead, even if my entire existence seems like the but end of a Schrodinger’s joke.”

“Be that as it may, what I speak is truth.” She stopped in front of a door and opened it. Then, stepping aside to usher Danny in first. “See of yourself.”

Danny stepped inside, Talia following behind him, and—

Oh.

Before he even saw the pit, he could feel it. A low and steady hum reminiscent of the ghost portal. But…different. Not necessarily fainter but garbled, like hearing someone speak underwater.

The room was a large, open space, with stone walls framed by red wooden pillars. It was dim, lit only by the green glow of the pit that consumed the majority of the space. A square pool of too-clear waters and toxic-looking steam rising from the surface.

The waters felt of the Zone but…not.

“Ah, Daniel.” He nearly jumped out of his own skin. Ra’s al Ghul stepped out of the shadows behind him, hands folded behind his back. The green glow highlighted the sharp contours of his face; the shadows that clung to him only making his visage harsher. “It is good to see you.”

Danny greeted the Demon’s Head with a League salute. “Grandfather.”

The word felt foreign on his tongue despite being in English. To formal for a boy who never really had the chance to interact with his own grandparents. But Danny was told to refer to Ra’s like this, and so he did. (He was only grateful Talia didn’t insist on calling her ‘mother.’)

Ra’s al Ghul was an enigma. Centuries old yet he looked only about a decade older than his mom and dad. (Jack and Maddie Fenton will always be his mom and dad. They raised him. Loved him, in their own eccentric, science-y way. No blood test or adoption or ninja-assassins could change that). Like Danny’s still-unnamed biological father, Ra’s carried himself with theatrical purpose. Comically villainous in his attire and grand gestures, though unlike Vlad, Ra’s had this overwhelmingly intimidating presence that engulfed whatever room he stepped in.

Ra’s was a man that commanded attention as opposed to demanding it. And now, at the focus of the man’s calculating gaze, Danny could not help but stand stiff at attention.

“You’re mother was right,” Ra’s said. Danny barely restrained himself from perking up at that word. “You are wasting away, Daniel.”

Tell me something I don’t know.

“Well, at least you still have that fire in you.”

Danny startled, slapping his hand over his mouth. Shit, he didn’t know he said that out loud. Out of the corner of his eye, Talia suppressed a small smile.

“You have that in common with the Detective,” Ra’s continue, circling Danny like a carrion that spotted its next meal. “That and the rather foolish notion on not properly reporting the extent of your injuries.”

“With all due respect, grandfather, I wasn’t expecting on staying here for this long.”

Ra’s gave him a knowing look. “But something is keeping you here, isn’t it?”

“Keeping my family and friends hostage is a pretty good motivator, apparently.” An insidious thought bubbled in Danny’s mind. But that isn’t all, is it?”

“I have consulted your mother and your physician as to the nature of your condition, and I have decided that the Lazarus pit would be a sufficient way to restore your health.” He gestured to the pool. “It appears that your DNA shares several similarities to the composition to the Lazarus pit.”

Danny crouched at the edge of the pit, hovering his hand above the water’s surface. “It’s because it contains ectoplasm. An impure kind, I think.”

“Will the impurities be harmful to you?”

He pursed his lips. “I don’t think so? My body can filter out the impurities just fine, it’s just that I’ve never encountered thistype of ectoplasm before. It’s so clear and—aqueous, I think is the word.”

There’s a strange glint in Ra’s eyes. Dare Danny say it, it even looked mischievous. It made him uneasy, and just as Danny made a move to step back, Ra’s al Ghul picked him up by the collar of his night shirt—

And threw Danny into the Lazarus Pit.

#danny phantom #batman #danny phantom x batman crossover #phantom children.txt

[bluebellhairpin]

The Tension In Between

Jaeger Pilot!Levi Ackerman X Engineer!Reader

A/N: Pacific Rim and Attack on Titan are rather similar, in my mind at least. And what’s better than fusing two of my hyperfixations together? (Also, that gif??? “Oh no, he’s hoooooott!”) - Nemo 

Warning(s): Pacific Rim AU. Sparring. Much (unresolved?) sexual tension. 

Summary: In the world of monsters, more monsters were made. To help the latter, Pilots were made too. In such a world, danger is ever present, and tensions run high. One morning, you find out how high they can run until they (almost) break. 

Listening to: Whatever sexy as funk remix of ‘Buttons’ by The Pussycat Dolls this is - ‘You keep fronting, saying what you gonna do to me, But I ain't seen nothing.’ 

Series Masterlist 

Masterlist

The only thing that could make the Kaijus more scary was if they actually actively sought out to eat people, everything thus far was just lots of destruction that humans just happened to be caught in the middle of it all. 

If they looked less like fish and more human, you guessed, they’d probably be more scary too. 

Even so, you’d only ever seen them at a distance at best. Luckily. 

However that one sighting was enough to spur your humanity and kick your instincts into action. From just that one sighting of that roaring mass of salty grey flesh you knew you wanted nothing more than to kick them back into the hole they came from.

You and hundreds of others. 

Piloting one of the machines known as a Jaeger was many people’s dream come true. And - by an unimaginable margin - the greatest of all the Jaegers to date was the Freedom Scout. 

Her pilots? The one and only Levi Ackerman and Hange Zoe. 

While you dreamed of becoming a jaeger pilot, just like them, your skills only allowed you to become a tinkerer. A Jaeger engineer. Not pilot. Your manifested dream of joining Freedom Scout from back in your teen years shattered when you found out there was no one in your class or local Shatterdome that you were compatible with. So you were offered the chance of a discharge, or a transfer to the engineers course. 

You picked the latter. But you never let up on the pilot training. 

You still kept up your knowledge intake. You still did those god-awful sit-ups on your bunk. You still woke up early and went to the in-house gym to have a go at the punching bags. 

In a way it made you a better engineer. You understood how pilots worked, you knew what they needed, you knew what that liked. You knew how to make them work better with their Jaegers. 

So, when the new and rank-rising Jaeger piloted by two of your old classmates was transferred from LA to Tokyo, both Reiner and Bertholdt requested you to be the engineer that followed them. That’s how you became Warrior Titan’s lead engineer. That’s how you moved to one of the busiest Shatterdomes in the world.  

That’s how you met Levi Ackerman.

He was much nicer behind a television screen. 

───────✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰✧.｡:✱───────

“Hit it any harder and it won’t be the only thing that’s broken.” he snapped at you, coming into the gym just like he’s been since you arrived, and setting his bag on a bench with an echoing thud. 

Back on your first morning in Tokyo, both you and Levi arrived at gym at the same time - 6:30. After that morning, filled with annoyed sighs and sharp words, you arrived at 6 instead. He didn’t. 

However, like usual, his words only spurred you to do exactly that - so you sent one last, hard hit to the bag before turning to Levi with a huff.

 “Are you usually this sour, or is it just a nice show you put on for my benefit?” you started, narrowing your eyes at him as you unwrapped your hands. His gaze was unwavering, and cold, as he looked back at you. 

“You’re an engineer.” he said, “But you train like a pilot. What are you trying to prove?” He tilted his head at you, nose in the air - just like the stuck-up and plain old mean pilot you knew him to be. 

“It's a habit, Ackerman. Ever heard of those?” you said, watching him as he said nothing, only walked across his side of the room. You chucked your wraps into your own bag, took a quick drink and then shouldered your bag to take your leave. A wooden stick pressed to your front stopped you just before you could step out the door.

You followed the stick, looking along his arm to his shoulder, and eventually meeting his eyes again. 

“If it’s a habit then you know what we Rangers do with these,” he took the stick away, brushing against your neck in it’s descent, “So grab one. We’ll see how much of a habit you have.” 

You both stood glaring at each other for a few heavy moments, before you flung your bag off your shoulder and next to the doorway, not breaking away from his eyes.

“Fine. I’ll prove it.” 

───────✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰✧.｡:✱───────

When Pilots are in training, they learn about the Drift. A head space where you open your mind to another in ways that no one could ever achieve without Jaeger tech. 

Once recruits start to know each other, and it’s easy to tell, they start to gather in pairs - with the occasional groups of three - and then they’re tested to see if they’re drift compatible. They were tested to see if they trusted each other enough to let them into their mind, memories, feelings. 

It wasn’t something for the weak, or for the recluse. 

Circling Levi on the mat, both your sticks grated against each other, you realized he wasn’t for the weak or recluse either. By taking up his challenge you doomed yourself to embarrassment, or elevated yourself to being one of the few people who could take him down. 

Your chances of the latter were slim, but not impossible. You were stubborn to make sure you’d make it as difficult as possible for him to win. Your Momma didn’t raise no quitter. 

But neither did his. 

Your eyes were locked on his, while he was busy darting his eyes across your form - from your feet to how you held your weapon, all the way up your torso and back to your eyes. He was analyzing you, and being shameless about it. 

You raised your weapon, the wood grating together, and finally held it in both hands. 

‘No hesitation’. You thought. ‘He’s a pro. He won’t go easy on me. I can’t afford to hesitate.’ So you moved, quick and precise. 

You took the small opportunity from when his weapon was still pointed to the floor to when he was moving it to a ready position to strike. It would’ve been a perfect shot. You had pulled the same move on the hulk of a man Reiner, and came victorious. 

But he wasn’t Reiner. 

He wasn’t a hulking mass of raging muscle and scruffy blond hair. 

He was small and lithe with eyes of nothing but pure intelligence and tact. 

He was Levi Ackerman. 

He blocked you. Quickly following up his block by scraping your weapon back around the way it came, landing a heavy hit on your leg, forcing you to take a knee. 

“There’s something no one can learn from books, from training.” He said, scraping his stick up along your neck again - this time it sent a faint shiver down your spine. “When against an unknown enemy - kaiju’s - you never make the first move. You always wait.”

As soon as he let out his last clipped sentence, you stood, now a little calmer, as you moved to meet together again. 

As time passed, hits were exchanged like a football in a game. Everytime he got one, you managed to sneak one in soon after in a very similar way. Even if you weren’t stubborn, you were one fast learner. 

Eventually you went back to square one, circling each other with your weapons dragging against the mat. Unlike before, your breathing was heavy, and if it weren’t for the fact you were laying it on heavily on the punching bag almost fifteen minutes prior, you would’ve developed a sheen of sweat just like Levi had. 

You almost loathed how hot he looked with his dark eyes, heaving chest, and hair starting to stick to his forehead. You even spared a sinful moment to realize it was you that caused it. That did feel good. But you needed to beat him.

With that thought, you threw all rational thinking out the window. 

You went at him, nothing but determination and willpower (with underlying rage, naturally) behind your eyes and aimed hit after hit. You gave him no chance to go offensive. He could only block. 

Until suddenly, as if by some inhuman miracle, he managed to hook a foot around your leg, tripping you so you landed hard on your back. You let out a choked gasp, trying to get breath back in your lungs. He climbed over you, pinning both your arms above your head under his weapon, and his knee dug into your stomach to keep you down as he looked at you. 

For a moment he said nothing. Just stared down at you with short breaths coming from his parted lips. You wondered if he was going to move at all. You wondered if you wanted him to. 

“Why are you an engineer?” he asked. He said it as if he were asking you to go AWOL with him. Like it wasn’t something to ask someone you’re keeping pinned against the floor. You shook your head.

“I wasn’t compatible with anyone.” He went quiet again. You could still hear the blood pumping in your ears as you waited. You knew what he was going to say. You could feel it. 

“You’re compatible with me.” 

“I know.”

“But I already have a co-pilot.”

“I know.” Another beat passed and his knee slipped from your stomach to your side. His grip had started to loosen since pinned you. You saw an opportunity. As tired as you were, was it worth it? 

You pushed yourself up, maneuvering your legs back around his to hook you legs around his waist, and flipped him over. Rolling the stick from you met palms, down to his wrists, you pinned his arms down with an almost wicked grin. 

The look of unguarded shock on his face proved yes, it was so worth it. 

───────✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰✧.｡:✱───────

“Co-pilot or not, I still think this is fun, Levi.” you said. 

His mouth closed, his jaw set, and he swallowed. Hard. You’d never addressed him by his first name before, and he’d never admit it, but he had almost grown fond of you bitter muttering of his last name in passing. It was normal behavior from you. 

But this was not normal behavior. He’d never of expected his first time hearing his first name from your mouth would be in such a precarious position. He’d never expected it to sound so alluring. 

He never expected to like how good it sounded.

You rolled the stick up his arms before the weight of both it and you rose. He watched you walk over to grab the other one to put them away before sitting up. 

His nose crinkled at how his heart tugged, wanting for you to come back, want for you to come close again rising in his chest. 

He caught you smiling to yourself as you went back over to the door to pick up your bag again. He felt words rising in his throat. Words wanting you to stay. But you beat him. Again.

“Maybe arrive a little earlier tomorrow. Then I’ll have more time to kick your ass again, Ackerman.” And there you were. Back again like you hadn’t been straddling his waist and sighing out his name no less than a minute before. 

He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a grunt as he stood.  

He would hear about this from Hange later. 

#levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman one shot #levi ackerman imagine #pacific rim au #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan one shot #attack on titan imagine

[poptod]

The Ivory Haunting (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: His face is engrained into your head but his name is nowhere. Where does he exist? Why are you so obsessed?

Notes: this is strangely creepy and i dont know why. its not what i meant to do but i think its cool anyway. gender neutral as fuckin always WC: 3.1k

+

There's this carving – more of a bust or sculpture – that has your mind twisted every which way. It's a stupid thing, really, but you can't get his expression out of your head, and thus it haunts your waking and sleeping hours. The style is Egyptian, you think. He's wearing a crown on his head, one that you've seen in a couple museums before, and he has an absent smile on his face. While you scroll through the endless amount of photos of ancient Egyptian statues online, you note that it's an all too common expression.

At this point you can't even recall where you first saw it. Could've been through the endless internet surfing or the many museums you visited in your travels, but at the end of the day you're stumped. What was his name? Where did you meet him?

It's clear as day. His alabaster skin. He looks straight at you with empty eyes, the irises having eroded many years ago in the hot sahara sun. His nose has long fallen off, leaving behind a jagged scar that drags from his brow down to his lips, where that haunting smile sits so easily. They're full, his lips – sweet, and soft, even for stone. At each end are little dips, showcasing the slight smile. His chin is a little big, but it makes way for the sharp contrast of his jawline. He has cheekbones – mostly hidden behind the crown – and his ears are a little large. The trait that draws your attention each time is his eyes. Blank. Like they had truly been staring at the world for thousands of years.

You don't get out much anymore, not since the restrictions were put in place. There are moments, especially in the dead of night, in which you want so desperately to leave your tiny apartment, but the curfew states otherwise. Policemen and government workers roam the streets and you'd rather not get into a tussle over something so small as an urge.

Still, you stare outside your window, wondering why it feels like you're suffocating. This is how you spend a lot of your time nowadays, staring at the streets. There's hardly any cars out, and the sidewalks are barren, a sight you'd seen only once before during the original quarantine. London is not a quiet city. It's quite the opposite, and to see it muted is in the least upsetting.

Your job is... easy. Considering the state of the world, you're incredibly lucky, retaining your job and keeping away from the outside. You also get a lot of free time. Usually you'd spend it in front of a television, or in a good book, but now it's in front of your computer screen. The typing marker flashes in front of you, placing behind it the clear words you've searched at least a hundred times by now.

ANCIENT EGYPTIAN BUSTS

By now you know what the first images are going to be. Nefertiti, mostly – her bust is by far the most famous. Then there's of course Akhenaten with his elongated skull, followed by several advertisements for Kemetic worship.

You don't know much about Egyptian history. Or, at least you didn't use to. Now you recognize the faces, though rarely do you ever remember the names of the many forgotten dead. You're just looking for one – one name, one bust, one dead man.

He's nowhere, not in the books you buy or the articles you read. When you sign up for an online course of ancient Egyptian history, you expect to see his face in a textbook, but he's not there. Sometimes it feels like you're the only one who remembers him, which is funny – you don't even know him. Either way it's a way to occupy the time, since you have so much of it lately.

The British Museum is reopening. There's a whole thing about COVID, of course, and the only way to enter is to get tickets online. Only a handful of people are allowed inside the museum at once, and since you don't hear about it until later, you are set to wait a month and a half before you can visit. Bitterness wells up in the pit of your stomach, but like most things you set it aside. None of it really matters anyway – yes, not knowing his name feels like drowning mid-air, but it won't kill you.

From the moment you reserve a ticket to the moment you can actually use it, you dream of him every night. Sometimes it's actually him, no longer a statue, taking your hands and leading you somewhere you don't belong. His skin is warm, unlike his statue, but just as soft as you imagined. His nails are meticulously cleaned and his eyes are bright, full of a life you're desperate to understand. It doesn't make any sense. You're yearning so deeply for him, for something you've never known before, and every second away feels like pure horror in your veins.

Why do you need him this much?

You look at yourself in the mirror, fixing a strand of hair that falls in front of your eyes. You're dressed well – at least comparatively to your former few weeks of dress – and a quiet excitement thrums in your heart. Today is a day you're going to go out, and to make it better you're going to the museum. They have an Egyptian exhibit. A foolish part of yourself hopes you'll find him there, nestled in the corner of a long and fruitful hallway filled with Egyptian statues.

It's... disappointing, to say the least, to find out there's only one room for Egyptian exhibits and it's occupied by only one thing, besides broken pots and stone dolls. The main exhibit's name is Ahkmenrah, a young Pharaoh older than the Great Pyramids of Giza. All information on him can be fitted onto a four by six stone plate. While standing in his room, surrounded by hieroglyphs you've been studying hard to understand, you look him up on your phone. There's little mention of him, but the one article you do find on him has a 3D recreation of his face. He looks white and you know the article's bullshit.

While absently holding a conversation with one of the curators, you discover there's a store of Egyptian exhibits kept underneath the museum that aren't fit for showcase since the downsizing. Whatever that means, you find a sliver of hope, one that pales quickly at the realization you'll never be able to go down there. They wouldn't let some random visitor (who wasn't even an actual historian) to go see closed off exhibits.

Fischer, the director of the museum, hires you four months after you send your resume in. The second he does you set your plan into motion – there's no time to waste.

The same day he gives you the keys, you're sneaking in under the cover of night. For some reason, the lights are still on in the main museum, but fortunately that's not where you're headed. You unlock the backdoor, sneaking through the night guard's break room until you find the door to the basement. Flipping through the keys on your ring, you quickly find the right one, shoving it into the keyhole and almost wrenching the door open.

You run down the stairs. It's almost sprinting, but you can't be too loud with your shoes. There's nothing in your mind except him, his funny little smile, the somehow soft alabaster of his skin. You need to get to him. Something inside you says he's here – he's here, he's here, and there's nowhere else you can be without your whole body combusting.

You stop dead in your sprint, chest heaving as you're faced with the open boxes filled with Egyptian busts. With frantic eyes you look them over, searching desperately for one familiar face, finding none until the very last open box.

It's here.

He's here.

The broken nose, the formation of the resulting scar, you recognize every. Fucking. Inch.

Each box contains little notes on who the statues are (if known), the material, the time period, and other such relevant information. Your hands shake as you reach forward, slipping the piece of paper out of the paper stuffing.

King Ahkmenrah

Date: ca. 3,100 - 3000 B.C.

Period: Old Kingdom

Place of origin: Egypt, Cairo

Medium: Ivory

Ahkmenrah.

Sudden clarity strikes you as it never has when you recall searching his name online. He's the exhibit. He's the mummy upstairs. He's actually here.

The blood in you freezes for a moment, caught up in shock and relief. Now you know his name. A small part of you is finally able to rest with the answer, but the rest of you knows exactly what to do – go upstairs. Find the exhibit. Lay at his side. After all this time you still don't know why, but the ache of neediness in your heart is enough to leave you weak to your inner desires.

Now that your head is clear, or at least unhindered by your questions, you note a worrying amount of sound coming from upstairs. Footsteps pound on the ceiling as you climb the staircase, leaving you curious and terrified. That many people shouldn't be in one place – it's a death wish for the modern plague. You grit your teeth, fingers curling up in to fists that dig your nails deep into your palm. Is it safe to go upstairs? There's definitely people up there and you have no idea who they are. The museum could be being robbed right now and you wouldn't have a clue. It's a death wish.

Why are you still going up the stairs?

Why are you opening the door?

This shouldn't be happening. There's enough people to fill the whole first floor, ranging from the public entrance of the museum to the African exhibits in the back. Almost all of them are wearing historical outfits, in such a wide array you might've thought they'd stolen them from the exhibits, had they not looked exactly like the wax figures. The marble statue of the Roman on his horse is no longer on its' pedestal. Actually, he's talking to a woman a few feet away from you, though he is still on the horse.

You should be passed out on the stairs going by how fast your heart is beating, but instead you stand in the doorway petrified. Your eyes sit wide, scanning back and forth over the crowd, searching for something you don't know of. With all the stimulus in front of you, you don't even know what to think. The exhibits must be coming alive. Does someone watch over them?

It's then, with little clarity in your head, that your eyes land upon the night guard. She doesn't look in the least bit rattled, so you easily assume she's used to this. Her calm is so alarming to you that you blink yourself back into your body.

These are... people. Just people. They haven't been put under some curse that'll bring chaos to the world. All they're doing is partying, and though the noise level is a tad unpleasant, it's just about as rowdy as some teenagers.

When you realize you aren't in danger, you bolt from your place at the door. Twisting through the gathered crowd, you slowly make your way to the staircase, ascending with quick feet as your eyes lock onto the Egyptian hall. It's a few more feet until you turn sharp, shoes squeaking as you slide into the room. The familiar gold lighting greets you, shining off the open sarcophagus, which you skid to a halt in front of as your lungs desperately try to catch up to your legs.

Of course it's empty. Your Pharaoh – or Ahkmenrah, you suppose you should use his name now that you know it – must be downstairs, where the life of the party is. Why would he stay up in this empty room, all alone? From here you can barely even hear the music that was once pounding into your ears. Still, for a moment you stare at the bottom of the vacant coffin, caught in the awe of such a long-standing history.

"What are you doing here?"

The words catch you by surprise, and in reaction you whip around, eyes wide as the voice continues, "who are you?"

My King. Before you can even process the thought, the words roll onto your tongue, but to your immense relief you catch yourself before actually opening your mouth.

"I..." it barely comes out with how little you've physically spoken recently, "I work here."

As usual, your voice carries that quiet, calm, slightly annoyed tone that makes people wonder why you're being so difficult. It's not really something you can control, but the King doesn't seem to notice. Maybe it's worked to your advantage this time; despite your racing heart and frozen feet, you keep an even tone.

"I don't think I've seen you here before," the King says, his eyes narrowing as he steps closer. You try to back up, but you're already pressed against the sarcophagus, and his glare keeps you from running.

"I just started today," you answer honestly.

"Ah," he says, his voice softer the moment he begins to believe you. "This must be rather alarming for you, then."

You're not afraid to admit he's right.

"A tad. How do you speak english?"

"I learned it during my time at Cambridge University," he answers. He's from over 4,000 years ago, so you know he didn't attend as a student.

"You were on display there?"

"Yes," he says with a bright smile, one that catches you entirely off guard.

It practically blows you away – his demeanor changed so quickly, from a stern Pharaoh to a sweet, young man who probably bought his girlfriend flowers every Monday. For a moment you wonder why you were so caught up in him before knowing him; now that you've heard his voice, seen the way he moves, your interest increases tenfold. It's not enough to see him. You need to touch him. You need it more than anything.

"I've been looking for you," you blurt out, but the words come out so slow it sounds like you consciously chose them. You bite the inside of your cheek as you watch his smile falter.

"What do you mean?" He asks. He's standing in front of you now – if you extended your arm and took a small step closer, you'd be touching him.

"There's a sculpture of you," you say softly, swallowing the lump in your throat, "but I didn't know how to find your name."

"How'd you find me, then?" He asks, but he looks less offended. Now there's a keen look in his smile and in his eye, like he's going to enjoy this, like he knows something you don't.

"Sheer luck," you say with a shrug. It's mostly true.

"I think I know you," he says, and his smile quirks further upward.

"What?" You say, trying to back up again as he steps closer. The sarcophagus is, unsurprisingly, still behind you. "How?"

"Back when I was a King, I had a slave my brother killed," he says in the least comforting tone, "but my father had this idea."

Another step closer. You can feel the heat of his naked waist on your shaking hands.

"See, he had a magician in his employ, and he would do anything for me. Especially since I loved that slave so dearly. Truly," he leans forward a little, placing his hand on the gold case behind you and trapping you against him. His chest is practically right against yours, but what you are close enough to feel is his breath, soft on your collarbones. "And so my father retrieved the soul with a special spell and sent it into the future, to possess another at birth, and to lie in wait until I called for it."

You can't feel your – well, anything. There's a pressure on your chest, but you can't tell if that's your wildly beating heart or just his warmth skewing your senses. All you can do is stare up at him wide-eyed. He can't be telling the truth. Magic doesn't work like that, it can't work like that, that's a sick story and he's telling it like it's nothing more than normal. Possessing a newborn child. Sending souls into the future. It can't make sense. You almost feel bad for your past self – under the employ of someone so cruel as to take a soul from the afterlife for his own pleasure.

But he's standing before you. He's 4,000 years old, and he's standing in front of you, pushing you against his own coffin and trapping you there. Do you belong to him, then? Is that why you can't get him out of your head?

"When did your search begin?" He asks softly, a gentle curiosity evident in his brow.

"A – about a year ago," you say, your voice so broken and shaky you're surprised he understands it.

"Last winter?" He asks knowingly, almost sweet, like he's doting on you. Then comes the part that really makes it shine; he reaches up and pets your hair, moving in long, soft strokes.

You nod, unwilling to meet his gaze any longer. How red you must be by now.

"I called on you then. It took you a little while, but I'm glad you made it," he says, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Unfortunately, I suppose you haven't retained any memories, since you didn't know my name."

"I guess not," you agree quietly. "I just have instincts."

"Instincts?"

You're reluctant to share with him the many instincts you'd had even in the short time from meeting him to now. The pure need to touch him. Past You probably had a crush on him, and even though you aren't really that person anymore, there's a need inside you to hide that fact from him. 

"I wanted to call you my King when I first saw you," you admit, your voice still quiet in hopes of him not understanding you.

"You won't have to call me that anymore. Maybe a tad around my parents, but when we're alone you may use my name."

"When we're... alone?" You question nervously, heart pounding at the thought of spending more time with him.

"You do work here, don't you?" He says with a sly grin. "I think I'll be seeing you quite a lot."

Oh.

Oh no.

Oh God.

If this is how you react just from spending five minutes with him, you can't imagine spending whole nights at his side. You'd explode. From what you don't know yet, but the pulsing rush in your heart is strong enough to worry you, and very rarely do you ever worry about yourself. The words in your head – your immediate reaction – simply won't pass. You can't bring yourself to say them, so you say what he wants to hear.

"As long as you want to."

#ahkmenrah x reader #Ahkmenrah #Night at the Museum #rami malek #rami malek character #ahkmenrah x male reader #ahkmenrah x female reader

[vantaenims]

daffodil street | seokjin

pairing: seokjin x reader

genre: friends to lovers, fluff, angst

word count: 8.1k

warning/s: mentions of death, age difference, unrequited love, and mutual pining.

summary: You’ve been struggling for quite some time to overcome your feelings for your best friend who doesn’t even love you the way that you do but there are instances when he would ignite your hopes or maybe this is all just in your mind but is too much to ask for something more?

Part of BTSGhostieBingo (unrequited love)

masterlist

all rights reserved © vantaenims - do not repost, translate, or claim as your own.

--

Daffodil symbolizes regard and chivalry. It is indicative of rebirth, new beginnings, and eternal life.

Jin has told you the meaning behind this yellow flower countless times that you have memorized it by heart.

Why would he explain and tell this to you? Because Daffodil is the name of the street from where he lives and it also happens to be the street where you occasionally wander around with your bicycles during the late afternoons or evenings.

It’s something you’ve both done in the past when the both of you were still teenagers wherein you still have a lot of time to spare to do those kind of things but Jin managed to reopen the idea last week despite how hectic both of your schedules are - Jin being busy with graduate school and you with work.

You have happened to know Jin through your older brother. They have known each other ever since their grade school days but only got the chance to be closer in high school – a time in which Jin would frequently visit your house to play games after school until he stopped doing so when he turned eighteen.

You were in the living room, watching the television when Jin entered the house without your brother, telling you that your brother’s still in a meeting with his school club members and that he’s just going to wait for him here until he gets home.

But that never happened, your brother never came home.

Your brother was only eighteen when he was taken away in this world. He was on his way home, riding his bike when he had gotten into an accident as a truck van going over a hundred miles per hour in an intersection managed to beat a red light that ultimately caused the death of your brother.

Ever since that incident, you and Jin have become closer than ever considering you two are the only people that know your brother best, with him being his best friend and you being his younger sister. You two had become each other’s sense of comfort through all of the sorrowful and devastating times of your life.

[Sunday, Oct 6, 9:01 PM]

Jin: Where are you?

You: Home

You: Why?

Jin: Meet me in front of my house

Without much thought, you know for sure that he’s inviting you over to wander around his neighborhood. You got up from your bed as you grabbed your windbreaker from the back of your door, wearing it over your pajamas, not caring to dress up into something casual considering the time and the place. 

“I’ll be going to Jin's,” you said to both of your parents as you peeked your head inside their bedroom.

“When did you not?” your mother lightly chuckled, “Don’t come home too late, you have work tomorrow”

“Yeah, I know” you said as you shook your head at your mother’s unwavering strictness with you.

Opening your storage room under the stairs, you got your bike out as you made your way outside of your house and on to your way to Jin’s house which is approximately five minutes away from you. 

Soon as you know it, the subdivision gate then came into view as you turned right but then you instinctively stopped your bike as you skidded both of your slippers against the asphalt when you almost crashed yourself into the barrier gate that usually opens right away since the head security, Mister Choi, has grown to be familiar with you since he’s the one stationing the place over the years but it seems like a new security personnel replaced him.

“Location and I.D. Please” the man said who looked to be in his early thirties.

You panicked for a bit as you only brought your phone and a bit of cash with you, patting the pockets of your windbreaker for the hopes that you could’ve left your company I.D. there but you were met with none. Suddenly, the barrier gate was lifted and a familiar voice spoke out to you.

“The Kim’s at Daffodil Street, right?” Mister Choi asked you whilst he whispered to the young man how you frequent here hence the reason why he should not bother to ask for your identification.

“It’s okay, he’s just doing his job anyway and thank you, Mister Choi” you waved as you then entered the subdivision. 

The security is pretty tight in here and by tight you mean that they have a protocol that should be strictly done - the guard house needs to contact the home owners every time someone wants to visit them to confirm if they’re expecting a visitor and once it’s confirmed, they could only then proceed inside.

The subdivision is considered as one of the exclusive homes for high profile individuals like celebrities, politicians, and such, hence the tight security. There’s no doubt that Jin’s family lives here since his dad is known to be the president of their multinational company which is something Jin would like to follow.

Jin’s currently taking his masterals in a graduate school that specializes in the business field, saying how he felt like it’s his responsibility to continue their company’s legacy someday since his older brother opted to go through the medical field instead which left him with no choice but to be the successor of their family business - not that he’s complaining as he told you because he in fact unexpectedly feels like he’s made for it.

As you entered, the first street post came into view, reciting them in a whisper as you passed by them.

Hyacinth Street.

Lilac Street.

Aster Street.

And finally, Daffodil Street.

It’s the fourth street to the right upon entering the gate. You chuckled to yourself upon thinking how Daffodil Street is the fourth street because you see, number four has become to be more  meaningful for you or should you say that it has sounded foolish enough for you this year. 

Four years is just the number of your age gap between you and Jin that seems to be pretty non-existent with how close you two are.

Four years is just the number of how it has been so long since you hid something from Jin, fearing that you might salvage your friendship with him if you planned to lay it out for him.

Four years is just the number since the time you fell in love with Jin.

Four years. It was also four years ago when you vaguely remember that night clearly, the night of your 19th birthday where you indirectly confessed your feelings to Jin and as a return, you got indirectly rejected too.

It was exactly 12 a.m. when Jin messaged you a birthday greeting and also telling you that he’s outside of your house. Jin has made it his mission to always be the first one to greet you, saying that you’ll have an amazing and great day ahead of you when the first greeting comes from the ‘most handsome man’ as what Jin refers to himself which is probably what you've grown to ignore by now.

Peeking out your window, you saw that he came along with his bike, instantly figuring out what you’re going to do but instead of the usual Daffodil Street, you biked around your neighborhood instead.

There’s something about the midnight hours that can make people emotionally vulnerable. You know how they say that a person tends to reveal the things they wouldn’t think they would say to another person during these hours and you’re the living proof to confirm it.

“I think i like...someone” you said, quickly replacing the word ‘you’ into ‘someone’ out of panic.

“Is it me?” Jin said, probably in a joking manner. Usually, you would just laugh at his statement but you’re pretty anxious right now and all you could do is to just stare at him, suddenly losing the will to answer the question.

“Don’t you think i’m too old for you?” Jin laughed as he ruffled a bit of your hair. You decided to laugh along but more so to laugh at yourself for thinking you’d have a chance to begin with perhaps for also the fact that you’ve been rejected indirectly.

“Kidding aside, who is it?” 

“Nevermind, i think i really don’t like him that much”, you said as you look at Jin who’s completely oblivious to the pain you’re feeling inside.

Ever since that happened, you accepted that Jin would never see you in a different light thus the reason you tried your best to hinder the feelings you’ve harbored for him but it only did the exact opposite thing for you because it ironically grew even more over the years that you felt like you can’t escape from it now.

Soon enough, you took out your phone to call Jin to inform him that you’re already outside of their house but then he quickly dismissed the call, making you furrow your eyebrows until an obnoxiously loud sound startled you, causing you to drop your phone.

Looking to your right, you then see Jin in the driver seat of his pickup truck, doubling in laughter at your reaction and as if he wasn’t satisfied enough, he turned on the engine and the headlights, blinding you in the process as you got off your bike to pick up your phone off the ground and finally, glaring at him as you made your way towards his window.

“Sorry, you should’ve seen your face,” Jin said, calming himself once he saw your annoyed face, “Get in.”

“Weren’t we going to bike around?” you confusedly asked.

“Yeah, we are” Jin got out of his car to get your bike from you as he went to the back, opening his trunk to see that his bike was already loaded in there.

“Where are we going?” Jin smiled at that question but it just ticked you off at how he’s been clearly ignoring your questions as he picked up your bike to place it beside his, closing the trunk once he’s done,  still no answer as he went straight away inside the car.

“You didn’t answer me” you said through his open window.

“Get in first” you rolled your eyes at him but nonetheless walked around the other side of the car, opening the door of the passenger side to get in but his pile of textbooks and a rim of photocopied papers occupied the space.

“Sorry, i just got home and had a meeting with my groupmates”, Jin told you as he emptied the front seat and placed all of it at the back seat along with his backpack.

“Can you now tell me where are we going?” 

“Why don’t you put your seatbelt in first before i tell you?” Jin mischievously smiled that left you to huff in annoyance whilst you buckled yourself in.

Jin put the car into drive once you got yourself safely settled in your seat, the smile he’s been wearing still evident but it quickly broke into a chuckle when he noticed in his peripheral vision how you’re completely facing him and he just knows you’re completely annoyed by now.

“We’re going to Hangang Park.”

“At this hour? And it’s Monday tomorrow” Jin knew you would oppose his idea but he luckily made it work, thanks to your obedience.

“Wouldn’t it be nice to bike around a new scenery and not Daffodil Street?”

“But it’s late and you know that it’s Monday tomorrow”

“Just this once, please? Plus I'm your free pass, right?”

Technically, Jin is indeed your free pass - it’s more of like what you refer to him whenever you plan to stay out late at night back then. As you’ve mentioned, your parents are strict in a sense that they have imposed a curfew on you when you were still studying but that wouldn’t matter to them once you let them know that you’re with Jin or how he’s going to take you home - indicating how much they trust Jin.

Of course, you don’t have a curfew to follow anymore but that still wouldn’t stop your parents to question your whereabouts whenever it’s late but that’s fine with you, reminding yourself that they’re just concerned for you.

“Fine, it’s not like I have a choice anyway” you said as to cover the fact that you’re already into whatever idea Jin has to begin with just because you couldn’t say no to him.

“Don’t make it that way” Jin ruffled your hair, causing you to smile.

--

Biking around Hangang Park is something you’ve never done in your whole life despite living in Seoul for years until now. It has always been one of the things you’ve wanted to do but too lazy to do anything about it, setting it aside for some future time. It’s nice to bike around a new scenery as Jin said - skyscrapers and city lights in sight along with busking performances that made the place livelier at night.

Jin, who’s biking ahead of you, seems to be wearing a more casual attire with his plain white shirt and ripped denim pants, making you look underdressed compared to him as you’re only wearing a set of pink Hello Kitty pajamas, thinking you’re only going to bike around his neighborhood.

“You should’ve told me sooner that we’re going here so i could’ve dressed up” you complained, pedaling faster so that you’ll be cycling beside him.

Jin looked at you, chuckling once he took notice of your appearance, “It’s okay, you’re fine.”

“You’re saying that because you’re wearing normal clothes” 

“You look cute in it, don’t worry”

You opted to look at the buildings to your right instead so that you could hide how that got you so flustered, making you purse your lips to stop your smile from getting bigger. Racking your mind, you’ve thought of things to talk about before the mood gets awkward until you’ve thought of one thing you’ve been curious about the happenings for the past week.

“Why are you being so spontaneous lately?”

You’re only able to reach out and hang out with each other through phone calls and messages or if luck is on your side, you’d get to hang out with him for at least once a month though that also rarely happens but you’re thankful your closeness still remains the same.

Also, you never failed to notice how Jin would message you every single night, inviting you to bike around which is something you’ve both done in the past but failed to continue considering your busy lives now until everything took a turn during the last week and suddenly, you’ve been spending most of your time together whether it be through meetups or through phone calls and messages.

“I just have a lot in my mind right now and you see those textbooks right?”

“If i remember correctly, isn’t your reporting due this week?”

“Yeah but I’ll be burned out if i don’t take a break right now.”

Graduate School is surely taking a toll on Jin specially with the way he always complains to you about how he’s hardly getting any rest or sleep from how his schedule is always filled with day to day lectures, reports, and presentations and at the same time, he would occasionally drop by his dad’s company to help him and learn the know hows. 

Jin has told you how it has taken all of the free time he has and there was no doubt that he is exaggerating any of it. You could only sympathize and show support to Jin who is clearly only doing the best that he can to live up the expectations they’ve set on him as the sole successor of their business.

“How’s grad school for you?” 

“Hell as always but i’m just glad i’d get to leave that hell hole soon”

“Oh so you’re claiming it huh?”

“Wow, are you underestimating me?” Jin dramatically clutched his hand above his chest, making you roll your eyes and laugh.

“Of course not, Mister COO” you teased as what you’ve always called him, telling him that if his dad is the CEO then that makes him the COO - Child Of the Owner, “I now already know what to get for your graduation gift.”

“What?” Jin asked, raising his eyebrows at you.

“A name plaque that you can place in your office - Kim Seokjin, Child Of the Owner”

“Funny” Jin said in a sarcastic manner.

“Oh come on, your jokes are far worse than mine” you playfully slammed your hand against his back when you biked past him.

“You just have a bad sense of humor” Jin snickered at you.

It was particularly refreshing to stroll around Hangang Park at night until it had to be ruined when you have to maneuver around the couple who’s engrossed in kissing each other in the middle of the bike lane out of all places. If you come to look at it, there are a lot of couples surrounding the area as if it isn’t enough to make you feel more single and lonely.

“How is Nami, by the way?”

Nami is one of the kindest persons you’ve met in your life, she’s so kind that it’ll be impossible to grow some kind of hatred towards her, specially if she’s the one who’s making Jin happy for four years now and you can’t help but sometimes be jealous of her.

They’ve been together for so long that the idea of them ending up marrying together isn’t a far fetch idea at all. Nami and Jin are what you’d like to call the perfect pair, seeing how their relationship looks to be healthy and ideal for a couple. They’ve genuinely both brought out the best in each other that’s why you couldn’t really find a reason not to hate Nami because she deserves him - they both deserved each other.

You’re not even faking it when you think of it that way because you’ve come to accept it a long time ago that you and Jin can only be friends ever since his rejection but it can’t always be helped that there are times you still think of the possibility between you two though rarely but the hope is still there.

“She’s okay”, Jin answered.

“Just okay?” you scoffed at his prompt response.

“Yeah” Jin raised his eyebrows at you, not knowing what you would want him to say, “Anyway, how about you? I keep forgetting to ask how you are every time we meet.”

You stare at Jin’s side profile, thinking if he just dodged his way out of talking about Nami but you shrugged nonetheless as you pressed on the brakes.

“I’m tired.” you exclaimed as you stood up, bottoms hurting from sitting too much on the saddle.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“No, I'm literally tired. Can we take a break on that bench first?” you chuckled as you pointed to the bench that’s facing the river as you made your way over it.

Hopping off your bike, you put down the kickstand as you set it aside the bench where you plopped off as you let your head lull backwards on the edge of the backseat, giving you a perfect view of the night sky and the 63 Building on your right side catching your attention.

Beside you, you then see a group of kids playing with their light up toys as they run along the grass. The view gave you a sense of nostalgia when you and your brother used to beg for your parents to buy you one whenever you would go to a park as you would always get jealous of the other kids who also had them.

“Do you want some water?” Jin suddenly asked, standing up to go to the convenience store nearby when you nodded at him. 

“Can you also buy some ramen? I heard that they taste way better here” you shouted as Jin raised his thumb at you. You turned back to watch the kids having fun when you felt the buzz on your phone.

[Sunday, Oct 6, 10:39 PM]

Moyeon: What’s your passport number?

Moyeon: There’s an ongoing seat sale, so hurry!!

You: Wait, I’m outside!

You: I’ll send it to you later

During your college years, you’ve been planning with Moyeon to take an out of country vacation once you two have graduated hence the text message.

Moyeon: Let me guess

Moyeon: YOU’RE WITH JIN AGAIN!

You: :(

Moyeon is your best friend and the only one who knows your secret feelings for Jin which is something she had countlessly given you advice with - to  snap out of your one sided feelings in to which you would always say that you will but there are things that are easier said than done and this situation is one of those.

In the span of those four years, you’ve tried your best to totally eradicate the unnecessary feelings you have for Jin though your efforts are always wasted at the end because you fail every single time you try as you find yourself back at square one.

Suddenly, your phone vibrated along with the sound of your ringtone, the name of Moyeon with a pig emoji flashed on your screen.

“Hello, Stupid”

“Hi Moyeon” you sighed, knowing you’re in for another sermon.

“Is he with you right now?”

“No, he’s buying something at the convenience store” you said, adjusting yourself on the seat as you twisted your upper body around to place your arm on the backseat whilst you propped your chin above your arm as you stared at the convenience store so you could watch when he’ll go out.

Moyeon’s curiosity perked once she heard the mention of the convenience store and she was rather surprised to know that you’re in Hangang Park tonight, asking you if you two are on a date with you saying that you could only dream about it for that to happen.

“What happened to ‘I’m not going to give in to his hang outs’” Moyeon said in a slightly high pitched voice, causing you to smile and shake your head even though you know you’ve said that - a lot of times in fact, differing from things like ‘I won’t talk to him that much anymore’ or ‘I’ll start to ignore him’ or other things that didn’t seem to happen in the first place and you know that you’ve said it too much that Moyeon could make a screenshot compilation out of it with your replies.

You always give in easily as soon as Jin would message you as if you’ve instantly forgotten that you’re supposed to do the exact opposite thing but how can you not when he has always been irresistible for you.

“I’m just all talk, I know” you said, “My feelings for him will eventually fade soon.”

“And until when are you going to say that?”

Moyeon has her way to always keep you in touch with reality although you know for yourself where you stand in Jin’s life but you’re also not lying that there’s a tiny glimpse of hope within you that maybe or someday, he’ll be able to look at you in a different light but that’s just wishful thinking.

“Soon” you chuckled as you lifted your eyes from the ground only to see that Jin has made his way out of the convenience store and is now walking back towards you, “Okay, he’s coming back, bye!”

You heard Moyeon click his tongue in disapproval as she said one last thing before hanging up the call, “Well, don’t forget to send me your passport number.”

Placing back your phone into your pocket, you smiled at Jin as if you weren’t just talking about him earlier. 

“Who’s that?” Jin asked as he handed you the square tin foil packaging filled with ramen and a boiled egg plus a sausage on stick - your favorite.

“Just Moyeon”, you said as you broke the chopsticks, “How much is this?”

“It’s fine,” Jin said as he slurped on his noodles right away.

“Aw thank you, Jin” you said in a rather cheery voice as you winked and elbowed him at his side, causing the soup of his ramen to splatter a bit onto his jeans that made him close his eyes in an annoyed manner only to open them to give you a glare albeit playfully though he rather looked cute than menacing but you didn’t say as to not inflate his ego but more so to not give away your hidden admiration.

“Oh no, we can’t have a stain on your jeans” you took one of the tissues as you wiped it on the stain as if it’ll make a difference.

“Quit buttering me up”, Jin said as he swatted your hand away, making you chuckle as you focused your attention back on eating your ramen and soon enough, silence filled in between you two as you’re both too busy munching on your food as if you haven’t eaten dinner yet.

“I’m getting cold, can we share?” Jin said through his chattering teeth as he tugged on the sleeve of your windbreaker.

“How can we share? You know i’m always cold” you stated out though you quite feel bad for Jin who’s only wearing a short sleeve shirt whilst you on the other hand is double coated with your long sleeved top and a windbreaker.

Jin instructed you to remove your right arm from the sleeve to give that part of the windbreaker for him whilst you occupy the left sleeve with your left arm thus leaving Jin with no choice but to scoot closer to you and you can’t help but think how his shoulders are touching yours or how the sleeves of the windbreaker is too short for him as it only falls on his wrist compared to yours that’s covering half of your hand.

Butterflies make their way to your stomach and you try so hard to play it out like this is nothing to you as you focused on biting on your sausage. Until you felt a buzz coming off from his jean  pocket, spotting it to be from Jin’s phone that he took out and you were quick enough to see that it’s a call from Nami before Jin flipped his phone over so as not to show the screen and also pressing the side button to stop it from vibrating.

“Aren’t you going to answer that?” you asked, furrowing your eyebrows at why he just ignored Nami’s call.

“I’ll call her later”

Jin’s not so good at being discreet if you could say that because you could definitely tell that something’s up between him and Nami ever since that prompt reply of his, figuring that maybe they just had a big fight and you can’t help but ask just because you’re genuinely concerned if they’re alright.

“Are you two okay?” you asked as you glanced at Jin to see him focused on chewing his food as he took out the water bottle from the plastic bag to take a sip as if he’s trying to avoid your question and you were only certain that you had put him in an awkward place once you noticed his eyes blinking excessively which is an obvious sign for when he feels anxious.

You look straight ahead as you bite from your sausage and eventually humming along to the song that’s probably being performed by a busker somewhere in the distance to make up for the uncomfortable situation.

It wasn’t your intention to make Jin awkward but you could sometimes be quite dumb for not reading the air and you had just realized that Nami is probably a sensitive topic for him right now hence the reason why you didn’t pry any further even though you know everything about each other, there’ll always be some kind of boundary that you both shouldn’t stick your nose into.

“We broke up”

Upon hearing that statement, you stopped yourself from chewing only to swiftly turn your head to the side with wide eyes as you look at Jin who has his head hanging low as he stared down on his shoes.

“What!? How did - why?” you asked in a mess as you try to find the right words to say but you’re too preoccupied in processing this new information. 

So this must be the reason why he was always persistent to change the topic lately whenever Nami is brought up in the conversation and it’s because they’re no longer together anymore which is something you’re quite not sure if you should feel sad or happy about it but one thing you know is that you’re going to set aside your feelings first and be a friend to Jin, specially now.

“What do you want me to answer first?” Jin chuckled for a moment until he got serious again to continue explaining, “We broke up two weeks ago.”

“Why?”

Jin placed his elbows above his legs as he intertwined his hands, fidgeting with his thumb as if he’s hesitant to answer the question but he told you the reason nonetheless, “I don’t know… I feel unfair for not loving her the same way anymore.”

“What do you mean? Like you fell out of love?”

“Yeah” Jin confirmed.

“Did you tell her that?” Jin nodded his head, leaving you to wonder how Nami’s doing right now and how she is able to cope about this, much so because of the reason. 

You don’t know much about relationships but one thing you know is that breaking up because the other fell out of love is one of the painful reasons to take in just because it’s something out of your control or sometimes it’s beyond repair.

“Well, did you at least try to make it work again?”

“I did, in fact, this was the second time we’ve broken up. We were on the rocks since June - we’ve tried our best to fix it but i don’t know… it seems like it won’t really work anymore when i feel like this.”

You heaved out a sigh, feeling quite frustrated because he sounds very much of an asshole right now though it’s not like you could blame him when he tried to make it work but still you can’t just give up in a relationship just because he doesn’t feel anything - Love is not a feeling, it is a commitment.

You could only guess that Nami called a while ago to talk things through and persuade Jin to reconsider their relationship which you think is something Jin has finally given up on, considering how he didn’t answer the call.

“Why don’t you try again? You know, maybe a third try’s the charm.”

You know your place and you’re just being selfless so the least thing you could do right now is for Jin to be happy and you believe that Nami is the perfect person for that and he’s just out of his mind to let her go like this.

Jin only fidgeted with his thumb until he relaxly laid his back on the backseat, looking at you for the first time ever since he broke out the news that had you feeling nervous because of the close proximity but more so because of the way he’s looking at you so softly yet so intense at the same time.

“You think so?” Jin asked whilst he continued to hold you with his stare and you don’t know if you’re just imagining things but why does it look like he’s more of like asking it out of a permission but maybe that’s just what your head wants you to think and before you could even get more delusional, you break the contact as you stare straight ahead.

“Yeah, I think so”, you said as you soon started to chatter your teeth from the cold.

Jin took note of this as he scooted much closer, grabbing the side of your face with his left hand as he guided it to rest on his shoulder, hands still on the side of your face and you could only hope he wouldn’t feel how your face is heating up right now.

“Here, so you’d be warm”

“Thanks” you whispered, not even moving an inch with how the sudden action got you stunned but you know that once you move your head to look up, his face will be perfectly mere inches near you which is something you never imagined that you’ll be able to get this close to him like this.

And you took advantage of the moment to cherish it, you never know when this will ever happen again but you’ll take it if it’s the closest thing he can hold you like the way you wanted him to.

You’ve wanted to put your arms around him but you’re scared, always been scared how he will react so you just let your arm limply lay on your leg and when you were about to do it, you back away at the last minute as you slip out your arm off of the windbreaker instead.

“I’ll throw this out” you said, gathering the trash beside you as you put them in a plastic bag.

Standing up, you excused yourself with the plastic bag on your hand as you walk away in a brisk manner so you could escape for a while from the source that’s making your little hopes grow bigger day by day and it’s quite alarming you to even hope for something more when you have ingrained in your mind that it’ll be impossible to happen.

But how can you stop yourself when Jin is being more in touch with you these days and you mean it literally and figuratively. Your best at acting as if his actions do not affect you but you noticed how he’s being more affectionate than ever like how he’s placing a piece of your hair behind your ear or those subtle touches or how he’s been hanging out with you everyday all of a sudden or how he’s been constantly calling you during the late night hours just because he likes to talk to you more is what he told you even though you just met a few hours ago.

At the beginning, you thought that all of these changes seemed too good to be true and you could now confirm that your intuition is right. The reason why Jin is acting like this is because he just got himself out of a long-term relationship and that leaves him to feel vulnerable and lonely.

He just needs someone to be there for him and that someone is you because like you said - you’re each other’s sense of comfort and that’s enough for you to keep yourself in touch with reality and for your hopes to deflate.

All he needs right now is a friend, someone he could share his worries to. No more, no less.

Sighing, you disposed of the plastic bag as you crossed your arms to keep yourself warm but youre nose eventually started to feel runny that had you sniffing from the cold as you walked yourself back to the bench.

“I think we should go home now” you said as you look over at your mom’s message, saying that it’s already midnight.

“Your nose is red” Jin chuckled as he removed his arm from your windbreaker, standing up to give it to you but he beat you to it when you were about to grab it as he placed it around your shoulders that got you quite stunned for a moment until he spoke up, “Come on, get your arms in.”

This gesture made you feel weak again with how he’s being so caring but you did not show any of it as you try to play it cool.

“It’s okay, i got it” you said as you grab the windbreaker from his but Jin did nothing to move himself away, still standing in front of you as he held the piece of clothing around you and that only leaves you to abide if it’s the only way he could finally stop being this close to you because you’re sure that your heart has been a fluttering mess and you can’t keep up.

“Let’s go,” Jin said with a smile as he hopped on his bike, making you do the same as well. You let him advance for a bit until the distance is safe for you to whisper the whims of your heart.

You’re making it so hard to loose the strings when you tug it ever so tightly.

--

Thankfully, it has gotten much warmer now that you’re inside Jin’s car but that still doesn’t stop your series of sneezes and you’ve now definitely caught a cold and a case of runny nose which only made Jin feel bad for asking you to share your windbreaker with him awhile ago.

“Here have some more” Jin laughed with a lace of worry as he opened his center console to get his pack of tissues to give it to you, “Let’s stop by a pharmacy or a convenience store for a medicine.”

You nodded your head as you blew your nose onto the tissue, resting your head back against the window as you closed your eyes to relieve the headache but you’re glad your sneezing fit stopped for a while.

“Hey, you didn’t answer my question back there” Jin reminded you.

“What question?” you asked with your eyes still closed.

“I asked you how you’ve been doing?” 

“Well, I’m okay except for now”,you pointed to your nose that had you both laughing, “No, but seriously, I’m doing just fine.”

Jin snorted, “Such a generic answer.”

“I think I've practically told you everything”, well you think you did with the amount of hours you’ve been talking and spending time  with each other since the past week.

“Everything?” 

Of course not.

You managed to ignore his question as you bite on your thumb, putting your attention to the scenery out of the window but your attention was soon diverted into something else when you felt something warm on top of your hand and to your surprise, it was because Jin placed his hand on top of yours as he tightly held it in his.

“You know, I've been meaning to thank you for being there with me, specially these days.”

You turned your hand upwards so that you could properly clasped it around his, squeezing it as you warmly smile at him, “Of course, that’s what friends do.”

Those words sounded bitter as it left your mouth but you need to remind yourself to keep yourself grounded, that being friends is as far as what you both can come to which is why you pulled back your hand from his, laying it to rest around your stomach as you turned back to look outside the window.

“Of course” Jin meekly said as he cleared his throat.

The air definitely felt awkward but not for long as Jin parked the car in front of the convenience store by a gasoline station. You opened the door to escape the suffocating silence and walked straight inside the store to get a bottle of water and a pack of decongestants by the counter.

“Drink it with some Vitamin C” Jin said as he appeared right beside you to stand with you in line, giving you a box of orange juice.

“Thanks, anything else you’d like to buy?” Jin shook his head no but changed his mind instantly when he saw the pack of gummies nearby. He was about to reach for it when he stopped midway to take out his phone from his pocket and you were able to get a glimpse that it’s a call coming from Nami again.

“I’ll wait for you outside” you nodded your head as you placed the items on the counter, getting the pack of gummies for Jin as you take a look right by the convex mirror to see him taking the call.

As you got the paper bag in your hand, you pulled the doors as you walk out of the store and you didn’t mean to eavesdrop on their conversation but you were able to make out the words ‘try again’ and ‘i love you’ for you to decipher that Jin took your advice and as ironic as it sounds, you can’t help but feel a twinge of pain.

In an instant, your ever rapid growing feeling of hope quickly deflated until it diminished and you think that this should be a sign that you seriously need to acknowledge for you to stop and move on. 

You stood idly outside of the door of his car as you waited for the doors to be unlocked but Jin’s too engrossed in the conversation for him to notice that you have already made your way outside  and you could hear your heart slowly crumbling as you heard more of their conversation.

“Sorry, i didn’t knew you came out already” Jin said as he pressed on his keys 

“It’s okay”, you said, opening the door but you hesitated for a bit as you watched Jin get in, buckling himself in, “I’ll go to the restroom first.”

You leave the paper bag onto your seat when Jin nodded at you, closing the door as you walk towards the direction of the bathroom, pursing your lips as you try to keep your emotions in bay.

As you opened the door of the restroom, you got inside a cubicle, locking it as you just stood there to stare at the back of the door as you felt all the emotions crashing all at once, making you squeeze your eyes shut as you dug the heels of your palm into your eyes.

You cannot cry just yet.

It’s making you frustrated how you’ve been trying so long for your feelings to let go only for it to resurface again and again and it hurts how this is the most painful slap of reality to you just when you thought that maybe, just maybe your hopes could be realized only for it to come crashing back down as always.

Overwhelmed with emotions, you let out a whimper as you let yourself cry a tear or two for only a moment as you still try to hold it in but your heart is broken and you’re done mending it every time by yourself but you’re also quite stupid for letting him have the power to break it.

Unlocking the door, you were immediately greeted with your reflection as you look back on yourself at how pathetic you are as you turn on the faucet to splash your face with some cold water.

You wiped your face with some tissue paper whilst still looking back at yourself, sliding your finger under the rim of your eyes to remove the evidence that you’ve just cried. You took a deep breath and checked to see if you look normal enough to go back inside the car.

You get yourself settled in right away as soon as you get in and thankfully, Jin didn’t notice anything different when he casually asked you if you’re good to go in to which you nodded your head. You take out the items out of the bag as you pop in the tablet of decongestant, downing them in an instant with the bottled water.

It was nice and quiet for a while as you sip on your orange juice as you let the side of your head rest against the window. You noticed on the reflection of the window how Jin would turn his head at you to take a glimpse right then and there, unsure what he’s been trying to do but before you could think of it too much, you felt your eyelids starting to get droopy from the drowsiness that probably is the effect from the medicine.

Next thing you know, you were woken up as you felt the car jolt only to realize that Jin ran through a speed bump without slowing down.

“Sorry” Jin apologized when he saw you rubbed your eyes from sleep.

“Weren’t you going to drop me off first?” you asked as you noticed the surroundings that look like to be the inside of Jin’s subdivision.

“Yeah but i forgot that i was supposed to give you the kimchi my mom made” Jin said as he parked the car in front of their house, “Do you want to go inside for a while?”

“I’ll just wait here” you yawned, stretching your arms. 

“Okay, I'll be quick” Jin smiled, ruffling your hair as he got off and closed the door whilst you watched him walk through their front walkway until he halted as if someone called him when he turned to look at his right with a quite surprised look.

Curious as well, you looked back to see that it was Nami who had just gotten out of her car as she rushed forward to envelope Jin in a soul crushing hug. It took almost a while for Jin to return the gesture, not expecting her presence tonight hence the reason why he looked over at you to give you an apologetic look.

You watch as Jin said something to Nami that had her looking over your direction. Jin left Nami to stand there for a while as he went to your side, opening the door to tell you something.

“Hey, maybe you should go inside for a while. I just need to talk to Nami and then i’ll take you home.”

“No, it’s okay. I could bike my way home” you said, feeling like you shouldn’t be here at all to witness this but it looks like Jin’s opposed to your suggestion as he blocked you before you could even step a foot outside the car.

“It’s late, I’ll drive you home, okay?” there’s no way Jin would let you win thus you obliged.

“Fine but can i just stay in here?”

Jin nodded with a worrisome look, “Sorry, i didn’t know she would come over.”

“It’s fine, really.”

“I promise it’ll be just quick” you pushed Jin away playfully as you told him not to worry and go back to Nami who then offered you a warm smile once both of your eyes met.

As soon as Jin closed the doors, you watched as he ran up towards her, the forced smile you were showing now completely turned into a frown, making you look away as you try to look everywhere else except them so that you could keep your mess of emotions at bay.

Hold it in just a few more.

Heaving out a sigh, you took the last ounce of courage in you to look at them and concluded that maybe this is how it will always be and that some things just don’t go the way you would want them to - you can never be in the picture.

It has been four years but it isn’t too late for you to finally let him go.

As much as it hurts to think about it, this will be the last time that you’re letting yourself be with Jin and you truly mean it this time. It might be hard at first but you need to keep a distance in order to give yourself time to heal and you could hope he’d understand why you have to do this.

Loving someone who could never love you has always been dangerous in the first place as you find yourself in a never ending loop of anguish suffering and you could only truly let go when you take the courage and will to do it.

Letting go of someone doesn’t always end up with you losing them but just maybe you need to let go in order for you to handle yourself better and to be able to take a better hold of your own worth so you could stop holding on to something that’s not even meant for you to hold on to.

As you were able to wrap your head upon this realization, your eyes flickered towards the car’s side mirror where it perfectly showed you the street post that reads the name Daffodil Street that had you chuckling as you remembered it’s meaning once again but more so because of its other meaning you’ve come to learn recently that perfectly explains your predicament.

Daffodil symbolizes regard and chivalry. It is indicative of rebirth, new beginnings, and eternal life.

Jin has told you the meaning behind this yellow flower countless times that you have memorized it by heart.

It’s such a funny thing how Daffodils look so bright with it’s yellow petals yet so dark with its other underlying meaning. Maybe Jin is unaware of the other meaning or he may have forgotten to say it to you but that doesn’t matter anyway as he made you feel it instead.

Daffodil also symbolizes unrequited love.

--

A/N: This work is inspired by the songs called fallingforyou by The 1975 and Someone That Loves you by Honne (ft. Izzy Bizu) which perfectly gives out unrequited love or mutual pining vibes. Hope you’ll like this!

#seokjin imagine #jin imagine #seokjin fluff #btsghostie #bangtanscenery #bts imagine #seokjin angst #jin angst #bts fluff #bts angst #seokjin one shot #jin one shot #seokijn x reader #jin x reader #bts x reader #bts one shot #seokjin scenarios #jin scenarios #bts scenarios #seokjin unrequited love #jin unrequited love #seokjin fanfic #jin fanfic #seokjin friends to lovers #jin friends to lovers #kim seokjin #seokjin #jin

[gatheringbones]

[”Ellen’s predecessors were the two lesbians on the cover of Newsweek from 1993 heralding “LESBIANS” (fig. 1). The women pictures are young, white, and conventionally attractive. Presumably they are partners, as one sits behind the other, hugging her girlfriend around the waist. Both women have dark, styled hair, dark eyes, and attractive faces. The “hugger” has soft, curly hair and a slightly smiling, slightly made-up (and thus feminine) face. We see her from the waist up only; she wears a long-sleeved denim shirt— not particularly feminine attire, but it is balanced by some standard markers of both femininity and affluence: peal earrings, pearl necklace, and a shiny ring on her finger. The other woman, leaning back in her girlfriend’s arms, also is conventionally attractive, though her short, pageboy haircut isn’t quite as feminine as her girlfriend’s hairdo. What she does have going for her, however, is her body: lean and tanned, she wears a brown, long-sleeved button-up top with a deep scoop neck. Her neck and collarbone are thus accentuated and “marked” clearly as petite, feminine, and pretty. The photo, coupled with the Ellen cover, seems to assure mainstream audiences that there is nothing “different” about lesbians, except that they might hug one another more than straight women might. Indeed, these images— images of clean-cut, well-dressed, economically secure, feminine lesbians— promise readers that Ellen and the Newsweek women are, simply put, all-American girls.”’

(...) Aside from lang, there is a certain homogeneity to the lesbian bodies we see in mainstream media. Take the much talked-about 1995 lesbian wedding on Friends, for example. The sophisticated brides “had their hair in ringlets and wore dresses out of a Merchant Ivory film”, in other words, they looked nothing like the stereotypical lesbian. On the one hand, this representation might have been effective at dispelling some preconceptions that the public holds regarding lesbians, convincing audiences that even “straight-looking” women could be gay and that even lesbians could have such impeccable taste in clothing. Such disruption is important. At the same time, doesn’t this “corrective” seem too correct? As an article in Entertainment Weekly suggests, “[television] writers may have gotten a bit too conscientious in avoiding stereotypes. Out comic Lea DeLaria, who had a cameo in the lesbian wedding on Friends, complains, “They needed at least 30 or 40 more fat dykes in tuxedos. All those thin, perfectly coiffed girls in Laura Ashley prints- what kind of lesbian wedding is that? And no one played softball afterwards?” Although DeLaria is being humorous about this instance of lesbian representation, she nonetheless raises an important point: the “thin, perfectly coiffed girls” might well be lesbians, but where were the others ones, the “dykes” to use her words?

(...) I have spent some time now pointing to the various ways that lesbian bodies are coded in mainstream culture— coded materially, spatially, discursively, and racially. What I hope to have pointed to is the excess of such coding. What, then are these representations effecting in culture at large? The answer to this question is by no means simple; certainly any image can have different and varying effects on different people. By way of response, however, I want to point out some other cultural ideas that belong to the mainstream imagination, using them to suggest why the femme is so overrepresented. Our starting point with this is with the obvious: within mainstream culture, the femme is not really considered a lesbian. A hundred years ago, Havelock Ellis declared that "the principle character of sexually inverted woman is a certain degree of masculinity"; femme or feminine lesbians he deemed "pseudohomosexuals." Diane Hamer elaborated on this preconception: "Always, it has been the butch woman who is constructed as the authentic lesbian; rarely is the femme seen as such. Traditionally, the femme as been constructed as essentially feminine and heterosexual; her lesbianism is at most a passing phase, resulting from seduction by a predatory butch or a temporary retreat from men after some damaging experience." The femme, in other words, is representable not only because she is desirable but also because she is perceived as "inauthentic." We might also note that the feminine (or feminized) lesbian bodies we see are usually shown alone (e.g. Ellen's Time cover), coupled with another conventionally feminine lesbian (e.g. Melissa and Julie, the Friends brides), or— tellingly, perhaps?— with a man (e.g. Chasing Amy). Virtually none of the mainstream representations pairs a femme or feminine lesbian with a butch or masculine lesbian. Perhaps the configurations of single and coupled femmes work to undo the "lesbian" signifier and to de-lesbianize the subject for mainstream audiences."]

Making Her (In)Visible: Cultural Representations of Lesbianism and the Lesbian Body in the 1990's, by Ann M. Ciasullo

#femme #lea delaria #ann m. ciasullo #lesbian literature #wasteland radio #terra preta #history stuff

[ldcu-12stem1-group6mil]

"Media Evolution and the Changing World"

Blog #2

Media is a method of transmitting data from a communicator to information collectors. It has become a crucial aspect of human nature that permits people to thrive and survive in today's hustle world. As time passes, numerous eras have come and gone, and so have the evolution of media. In the past, information was shared down through word of mouth or messages scrawled on stone tablets and the Egyptian papyrus platform. The messenger in the 17th century, who was part of the media, accomplished this by riding a horse to the recipient's location. Letters had been developed to aid in this procedure. People with prior experience in message delivery were employed to deliver letters in various areas.

The media in the past merely disseminated information to others via newspapers, radios, and other tangible objects. They communicate by writing and sending long-distance letters that can take weeks, or even months, to arrive. However, the media is gradually developing, making people's lives considerably easier, particularly in the realm of communication. The development of Homo sapiens approximately a hundred thousand years ago is a suitable reference point for a discussion of technologically advanced humans in the 21st century.

TRIBAL AGE

This is the period wherein people only utilized hand tools with no machinery. They depended on their sense of hearing, touch, and smell. Hearing, rather than seeing, aided conceptualization in this period as it enabled them to become more aware of their surroundings. This is crucial in the tribal age since these senses help detect what the naked eye cannot see. During this time, rocks or sticks are being used as a medium for them to communicate.

PRE-INDUSTRIAL AGE

After years, the first period, which we refer to as the tribal age, was succeeded by the pre-industrial age. From being a period with an acoustic environment where the senses of hearing, touch, and smell were developed, to becoming the first period to be seen with evidence that the earliest civilizations had already refined the abilities to communicate information through writing and drawing. This is the period wherein the evolution of media has started. People came up with innovative ways to enhance their means of communication.

INDUSTRIAL AGE

The pre-industrial age has given way to the industrial age. This is the period wherein the birth of machines took place, which also indicates having new materials to utilize in terms of communication. Media has been progressed at a different pace. The printing press, typewriters, telegraphs, telephones, and cameras were all invented during this period. This paved the way for the media to be more well known to people.

ELECTRONIC AGE

The industrial age has given way to the electronic age. This is the period wherein more advanced inventions were created. It paved the way for the development of electronic devices. As a result, mass media arose, allowing news to be disseminated in real-time.

INFORMATION AGE

Finally, the information age has overtaken the electronic age. This is the period wherein the use of media has widely evolved. Various social media platforms were introduced due to the internet. The public now has the power to regulate the media. They are given the opportunity to express themselves and share whatever they desire. With the aid of modern technologies and internet connections, media use has become more widespread in recent years. Thus, allowing information to be disseminated in an immediate manner.

The progression of each period with the passage of time is evident. Each period is distinct because they possess unique characteristics. The evolution of media has created an impact on not only the world's progress but also the lives of countless people. They are introduced to a wide range of viewpoints that shape their perspectives and experiences of the social world. Given the power of limitless information from the internet, current events are no longer limited to print media, radio, and television. A lot of inventions have been created, and the means of communication are constantly evolving as well.

The information age will eventually come to an end. The world has revolutionized as a result of the internet, and people from all over the world may now communicate with one another. Therefore, it's worth noting that, as the world evolves, there will always be another period succeeding a certain period. In comparison to previous times, one may infer that the following periods will be more sophisticated. Thanks to the modernization of high-tech products and platforms, the current generation is the most technologically literate in history. However, if the historical pattern of advancements is taken into account, future generations are anticipated to be more technologically knowledgeable, with a higher ability to develop their expertise, comprehension, and awareness of certain matters.

All of us are exposed to the world’s dilemma of change. Evolving is equivalent to changing. It may take place in a wide variety of ways, and it is dealt with in a variety of ways as well. In this world, everything is dynamic and adaptive. As they say, the only thing that remains constant is change. But one thing is certain: we must never lose sight of the essentiality in the acceptance of change, for it is inevitable.

#MediaandInformationLiteracy2021

[ryqoshay]

Putting on Hairs: Audition Day

Primary Pairing? Trio?: YuuAyu... Setsu? Words: ~4.2k Rating: G, maybe light T for some implications? AU: Theater, Werewolf, Werebeast, Monster, Cryptid, Angel, Demon, Eldrich Horror

----------

Author’s Note: I’ve no idea how real theaters work, so anything that may be off with the timeline or proper procedure or whatever, I’ll just have to excuse as author ignorance, or handwave away by this theater being different, in many ways. That said, thank you lonelypond for fielding the questions I’ve sent thus far.

----------

“Ayumu!” A voice called from a few rows up. “Up here! Up here!”

“Yuu-chan?” Ayumu had to consciously keep her own volume down due to her surprise on seeing her girlfriend. “Shhh!” She added, holding a finger to her lips.

Yuu simply chuckled in response as Ayumu moved up the aisle. Well, it wasn’t like the twin-tailed girl was being any louder than the blonde sitting nearby. Ohara, was it? The theater’s patron, or one of them at least.

“I saved you a seat.” Yuu said with a grin as Ayumu reached her.

“Thank you.” Ayumu replied as she sat.

She was pretty sure they both knew the gesture was unnecessary as there were literally hundreds of empty seats, but it was the thought that counted. Ayumu loved that part of Yuu, always seeking little ways to make her feel special, even simple and unnecessary ones.

As for why the seats were empty, it was because this was merely an audition session. The only people in the theater today were cast and crew. And the cast were all up on stage, ready to make their bids for their potential roles. Well, all but the two leads, Yazawa and Nishikino, as they had been brought in specifically for their star power and were also sitting in the house with most of the crew.

Also, not everyone present was theater staff. There was of course, Ohara, the patron, and her driver, Matsuura. And there were the two from the catering company that had brought lunch earlier, Honoka and Rin, who insisted Ayumu refer to them by their given names when she spoke with them during the meal. She wasn’t quite sure why they were still around as they had finished cleaned up a little while back.

“I didn’t expect to see you here, Yuu-chan.” Ayumu whispered as Dia and Umi prepped the future cast for their auditions. “How did you even get in?”

“I told ‘em I was Ayumu’s girlfriend.” Yuu shrugged. “And they obviously figured out what I am, which probably helped. Although speaking of that…” She glanced around quickly, sticking out her tongue a couple times. “I’m pretty sure everyone here is like us. I don’t remember them advertising that they were only hiring monsters, but… oh sorry, supernatural beings.” She corrected.

Ayumu let her grimace relax. She had never liked the term monster as seemed to carry more negative connotations than other similar terms. And while Yuu was usually careful to avoid using the word, so many of their fellow cryptids used it that Ayumu couldn’t really fault her girlfriend for accidentally using it as well from time to time. Of course, that still didn’t mean she had to like it.

“But I don’t think there’s a single full blood human here.” Yuu continued. “And man, what a mix.” She flicked out her tongue again. “I’m getting a bit of everything. There’s gotta be a werewolf among them. And someone with feathers. At least one undead. I’m getting a bit of sea salt, so there’s probably a mermaid or the like. Sulfur, brimstone, so maybe a demon, or other fire creature I suppose, maybe both. And…” her brow furrowed, and she held her tongue out for longer than usual “that’s odd…”

“What’s odd?” Ayumu pressed.

“I don’t know. There’s something… else… here.” She shook her head. “I’ve never smelled anything like it. Heat. Flame. But not like any I’ve ever known… It’s otherworldly, and yet, not unpleasantly so. Huh…”

“Oh, I think they’re starting.”

“Right.” Yuu turned her attention to the stage where a young woman with long brown hair with some tied in a bright red ribbon was about to begin.

If Ayumu remembered right, the young woman’s name was Osaka Shizuku and had graduated alongside Nishikino Maki from Waseda, a prestigious school known for its arts degrees. For her audition, she had chosen to recite and act out a dramatic monologue in English. Ayumu felt like she had heard the lines before, though not on stage. Perhaps a movie? In any case, Shizuku left little doubt as to her skill and training, leaving Ayumu rightfully impressed.

Next up was… Nakasu Kasumi? Ayumu knew she had seen that face before. The young woman had appeared in a handful of television commercials, usually cute things aimed at a certain female demographic. Ayumu had actually purchased a few items promoted by Kasumi. As such, it came as little surprise that Kasumi’s audition resembled one of those cute commercials.

The next few auditions were a bit of a blur for Ayumu. It didn’t help that she was far less familiar with their names and faces.

But then, she stepped onto the stage. A short, raven haired young woman with an aura Ayumu could only describe as passionate. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Yuu sit up straighter as she seemed to sense something about this girl. Like the previous several others, Ayumu wasn’t familiar with this one, but something about her held her attention.

“Yuki Setsuna, was it?” Umi read from her list.

“Yes.” Setsuna confirmed.

“And what do you have for us today?”

“Well, I read the script and really enjoyed one character, so I would like to recite a few of her lines.”

“You’ve already memorized lines from the script?”

“Yes.”

“The script you were just given earlier today?”

“Yes. It was just so~ good. I couldn’t put it down.” Setsuna seemed to be actively holding back her excitement.

“Impressive.”

In a nearby seat, an orange-haired girl bounced a little, seemingly excited by the admission. Perhaps she was the one who had written the script?

“Oh, I may have also added a few lines.” Setsuna admitted. “I believe they fit the character.”

Umi gave a glance toward the orange-haired girl behind her who nodded enthusiastically.

“Very well.” Umi turned back toward the stage. “Carry on.”

Setsuna closed her eyes and took a deep breath before releasing it slowly. When she opened her eyes again, her entire demeanor had changed from restrained excitement to a fiery passion. Even from several rows up, Ayumu felt she could see flames in the young woman’s eyes.

Suddenly, Setsuna struck a dramatic pose. “At last, I have found you, foul beasts!” She practically shouted, pointing to somewhere else on stage.

Ayumu jumped a little in her seat, having not expected the outburst. She heard Yuu giggle quietly beside her.

“It is I, Artemisia Ullrin! Hunter of Horrors by trade and Collector of Cryptids by hobby.” She held her hand to her chest as the belted the lines proudly. “By order of Lady Lycaonian, I am to exterminate the infestation of werebeats suffered by her lands. You are welcome to resist, though I assure you that you shall lose. However!” Setsuna emphasized her lines with exaggerated gestures. “I offer an alternative! Surrender and be added to my collection.”

As melodramatic as the performance was, Ayumu couldn’t deny that it was quite entertaining. She watched in amusement as Setsuna skipped ahead to what she assumed to be a battle scene where she called out attacks like a cheesy hero show for kids. She knew the production was intended to be a little tongue in cheek, but Setsuna seemed intent on not just chewing, but flat out consuming the scenery, happily.

And then, seemingly all too soon, it was over.

“Bravi! Bravi!” Mari cheered, loudly, as she stood up from her seat. “Bravissimi!”

The orange-haired girl joined in standing as well, clapping and laughing. Then Yuu stood, as well several others.

“Thank you, everyone.” Setsuna bowed before standing back up with a beaming smile.

“<Where in the world have you been hiding,> Secchan?” Mari exclaimed in English

“Se-Secchan?” Setsuna blinked.

“Really, you were perfect!” The script writer added. “I love the new lines! I’ll be sure to add them!”

“It would appear you’ve earned a few fans.” Dia spoke next, fairly coolly and calmly, though Ayumu was certain she detected a touch of amusement in her tone. “That will undoubtedly play in your favor when we make our final casting decisions.”

“Thank you.” Setsuna bowed again before moving off stage to allow the next audition to proceed.

“Alright, next we have…”

Whatever else Umi was saying was lost to Ayumu as hands grabbed her shoulders.

“That was amazing!” Yuu did he best to keep her volume down. “That really got my heart racing! Actors are amazing! Theater is amazing! Ooo… I want to meet Setsuna-chan in person now!”

“-chan?!” Ayumu balked.

“I can’t wait to see the production!” Yuu continued as though she hadn’t heard Ayumu. “How long did you say it would take?”

“Well, it’s a musical, so that apparently adds more time.” Ayumu recalled. “I think I remember either Umi or Dia saying they were slotting for twelve weeks before opening night.”

“Twelve weeks?” Yuu visibly deflated a bit. “That’s like three whole months! I don’t think I can wait that long…”

Ayumu chuckled at her girlfriend’s newfound obsession. She’d seen this dozens of times before as Yuu would latch onto and hyper-focus on some new hobby or interest. “Maybe we can find some old clips of plays performed by the other Sonoda or Kurosawa theaters?”

“That’s a great idea, Ayumu!” Yuu’s eyes sparkled like emeralds. “Let’s do that tonight.”

“Alright.” Ayumu nodded in agreement.

Satisfied, Yuu settled back into her seat to watch the ongoing audition.

For her own part, Ayumu found her thoughts drifting. Artemisia? Ullrin? Lady Lycaonian? Mythology was not her strong suit, but it sounded like that wasn’t the case with the script writer either. It was almost as if she had simply Googled something about werewolves and just went with the first result that came up. Also, wasn’t Artemis already a woman? Did her name really need an -ia at the end to make the character female?

Well, the showrunners seemed fine with the ideas and the script writer and at least one of the actors were excited about them. So, who was Ayumu to judge? It wasn’t as if she herself hadn’t been entertained by Setsuna’s performance.

Setsuna… -chan… Ayumu glanced at her girlfriend. She had seen Yuu fawn over fictional woman before, but this was a first time she remembered her doing so over a living, breathing woman. And for some reason, that bothered her. Was she jealous? Ayumu shook her head to clear it of such thoughts. She was probably overthinking things and being insecure. She and Yuu had been happily dating for several years now. She shouldn’t be worrying about losing her at this point… right?

----------

“Yuu-chan, wait!” Ayumu protested as her girlfriend pulled her through a door clearly marked Employees Only. “We… I mean, you shouldn’t…”

“I just want to meet Setsuna-chan and thank her for the wonderful performance.” Yuu responded, not letting up her pace.

They rounded a corner and…

“Takasaki Yuu-san.” Dia stated solemnly as she stood in the center of the hallway.

“Oh, hi!” Yuu responded cheerfully. “You’re one of the women I met at the front door and decided to let me in. Dia-san, right?”

Dia blinked, obviously not expecting Yuu to skip a level of formality. But Yuu had been like that for the entire time Ayumu had known her. Still, Ayumu winced as she wondered how much trouble they were now in.

“Yes…” Dia confirmed.

“Right. Thank you again for letting me watch the auditions today.” Yuu continued. “They were amazing! My heart was racing pretty much the entire time. Especially with Setsuna-chan’s.”

There she goes again with -chan…

“Yuki-san did indeed give us quite the performance.” Dia agreed. “Anyway, as I was about to say, Takasaki-san, you are not employed here.”

“Nope. Not yet.” Yuu grinned.

“Not yet?” Dia raised an eyebrow.

“This whole experience has been so inspiring that I want to apply to work here.”

Ayumu also raised an eyebrow. That was news to her.

“You wish to become an actor?” Dia inquired.

Yuu shook her head. “No, I don’t really want to be on stage; I’d rather watch from the audience. But I can’t help wanting to support the amazing members of your cast in whatever way I can.”

“I see.”

“I could haul supplies around.” Yuu suggested. “Oh, I’m pretty good with my hands.” She held them out for emphasis. “So maybe I could help assemble sets or props? Ayumu has taught me a thing or two about hair and makeup, so I could definitely help her. Oh, and I worked a while as an editor for my college newspaper, so maybe I could go over the script and help there? And I did some composing for the band and orchestras, and even learned to play a couple instruments, like the piano, so I could help in the pit as well.”

Dia nodded. “I think I am starting to understand. You are essentially a jack of all trades.”

“Master of none.” Yuu confirmed.

“But better than a master of one.” Dia completed.

“Right. I’m no specialist, but I’m pretty good at picking up the basics.”

“Yuu-chan is a fast learner.” Ayumu added.

“I see.” Dia nodded. “Then I would suggest you get a resume in order and send it our way. Uehara-san should have the contact information.”

“Oh, I have that already. I was actually the one who found this place and recommended that Ayumu apply. I probably would have applied as well at that time, but I had a job then.” Yuu shrugged. “But they decided they needed to cut costs, and as I was the most recently hired, I ended up being part of that cost.”

“Well, I admire your enthusiasm and desire to help my cast and crew.” Dia smiled. “I shall look forward to working with you soon. Now, if you will excuse me, there are matters to which I must attend elsewhere.” That said, she stepped past the couple and moved down the hall.

Ayumu released a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding. So… Dia wasn’t kicking them out after all? She wasn’t in trouble for letting a non-employee into this area?

“C’mon!” Yuu said, grabbing her hand again and shattering her thoughts. “We still gotta find Setsuna-chan. Say, do you know where her dressing room is?”

“I, uhm… know some of the rooms are off to the right.” Ayumu motioned in that direction. “Though I’m not sure if she has one assigned to her yet.”

“Well, let’s go see.”

“Uhm… alright…” Again, Ayumu was pulled down the hall.

The couple turned another corner, moved past the rooms for Yazawa and Nishikino, another without a name plate and… huh…

“She has one.” Yuu said, stopping in front of a room. “They must have just given it to her.” She indicated the paper sign taped over where the a more permanent placard would be placed. “Maybe she already got the part she wanted?”

Ayumu shrugged. She didn’t know enough about the overall process to comment.

“Setsuna-chan!” Yuu called as she knocked. “Are you in there?”

“Yes,” the young actress replied from within “you can come in.”

Yuu opened the door and stepped in.

“Uehara-san?” Setsuna turned away from whatever she was setting up on the vanity. “And… uhm…?”

“Yuu.” The twintailed girl responded. “Takasaki Yuu. I’m Ayumu’s girlfriend and they let me watch the auditions with her.”

“Ah…”

“So, you’re the source.”

“Eh?”

Yuu flicked her tongue. “Of the scent I smelled earlier.”

“Sc-scent?” Pink dusted Setsuna’s cheeks.

“Flame. Fire.” Yuu stepped closer and leaned in toward the young actress. “But not the kind I am used to… Just what are you, Setsuna-chan?”

“Yuu-chan!” Ayumu scolded, moving forward to pull her girlfriend away from Setsuna who was starting to display some defensive body language. “You shouldn’t just ask such things so bluntly.”

“Mm? Why not?” Yuu seemed confused. “I think it’s pretty obvious now that Dia-san and Umi-san intended to create a sort of haven for us here. And if we’re all going to work together, it makes sense to know what we all are.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Anyway, I’m a lamia.” Yuu indicated herself. “I’d show you, but I wore pants today.”

Well, at least she has the decency to not unceremoniously drop trou in front of someone she just met. Ayumu thought to herself. Like she so often does at home…

“But I can do this.”

Eh? Ayumu felt her cheek being pinched.

“There. As you can see, Ayumu is a moon rabbit.”

Eh? Eh?! Ayumu caught her reflection in the mirror near Setsuna. Sure enough, white, fluffy rabbit ears had sprouted on her head.

“Mohhh… Yuu-chan!” Ayumu punched her girlfriend lightly in the arm.

“What?” Yuu giggled at the playful jab. “Ayumu always looks so cute like that. I can’t help wanting to see you like that more.”

“Mmph…” Ayumu puffed her cheeks out to pout, though she couldn’t deny liking the compliment.

“They are indeed quite cute, Uehara-san.” Setsuna agreed with an amused smile.

“Oh, uhm… thank you.” Ayumu replied. “And, Ayumu is fine. Like Yuu-chan said, we’ll be working together a lot, so I don’t mind being a bit less formal.”

Setsuna’s smile grew. “I’d like that. Please feel free to call me Setsuna in return. Oh, and if you don’t mind my asking, by moon rabbit, do you mean…?”

“Well, I wasn’t actually born on the moon, if that’s what you mean.” Ayumu explained. “My ancestors were though.”

Setsuna nodded in understanding.

“But you should try her mochi, though.” Yuu spoke up. “It’s the best. Same with her rice cakes.”

Setsuna seemed to recall something. “I think you’ll find a good friend in Koizumi-san.”

“Oh yeah,” Yuu thought out loud “Ayumu, wasn’t she the one you said they brought a huge container of rice for?”

Ayumu nodded in confirmation. “I was honesty surprised how much she was able to eat, though she wasn’t the only one.”

“I suppose some of us have larger forms to feed.” Yuu shrugged. “Anyway, I gotta know the source of that fiery smell.” She turned her attention back to Setsuna. “You know what we are now, so what kind are you? Why is your fire so different than that of an ifrit, salamander, phoenix, dragon or whatever?”

“Oh, uhm…” Setsuna fidgeted a bit. “I’m a Cthughan.”

Yuu furrowed her brow in thought for a moment before something came to her and she looked up excitedly. “You mean you’re the Elder God, Cthugha?”

Setsuna shook her head. “Great Old One, actually. And I’m only a descendant of him. Cthugha is my great great great… I actually don’t know how many greats, grandfather.”

Oh, kind of like me being a descendant of rabbits who actually lived on the moon way back when. Ayumu thought.

“That’s. So. Cool!” Yuu practically squealed. “No wonder I couldn’t identify it, I’ve never met an Elder God before.”

“Great Old One.” Setsuna corrected again.

“Right, sorry. Anyway, that wasn’t actually the reason I wanted to meet you today.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I actually wanted to tell you how amazing you were in your audition and that I really hope you get the part.”

“Thank you. And they did actually already give me the role.” Setsuna said. “That’s why I’ve been setting up my stuff here.”

“I was right.” Yuu tossed over to Ayumu. “Congratulations, Setsuna-chan!” She offered the actress.

“Thank you again.” Setsuna smiled. “I really like the part.”

“It looked like it was a lot of fun to play.”

“I know right?” Ayumu detected some of the excitement Setsuna displayed before her audition.

“I haven’t read the script yet, but…

“It’s so~ good!” Setsuna seemed less able, or perhaps less willing to suppress her excitement. “I was able to talk with Chika-san, who wrote the script, and she was able to tell me a ton of things about what she had planned for possible modifications, depending on who got what parts and, oh my gosh, it all sounds amazing, and I think they already know who to cast for the main villain and while I didn’t expect that choice, Chika-san’s explanation was awesome as she revealed her plans to me and what she has planned for Yazawa-san and Nishikino-san’s characters, oh it sounds like so much fun and…” Setsuna suddenly recoiled and stepped back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to go off like that…”

Yuu laughed. “It’s fine, it’s fine.” She dismissed. “Your excitement makes me want to see if I can track down this Chika-san and get a copy for myself.”

“You can have one of mine!” Setsuna pounced at offering.

“One of…?” Yuu asked, picking up on the word choice.

“Oh, uhm… I may have made a couple copies for myself to write ideas on after Chika-san said she would like to see what I think.” Setsuna admitted as she shuffled through a stack of papers. She started to hold out a set before pulling them back. “Wait, you don’t work here though.”

“Not yet.” Yuu admitted. “But your audition, and many of the others, inspired me to apply here so I could support the amazing actors here however I could.”

“Ah.” Setsuna nodded, holding out the papers, only to pull them back yet again. “You’re not a spy from that other theater down the street, are you?”

Yuu chuckled. “If that was the case, I’d just get my info from Ayumu.”

“Right, that makes sense.” Finally the actress gave the script to Yuu.

“I already offered to Dia-san that I could help with editing.” Yuu skimmed it excitedly. “I wonder if Chika-san would mind if I slipped in a few ideas of my own.”

“She seems pretty willing to accept ideas from others around the theater.” Setsuna said. “Both Osaka-san and Nakasu-san have offered some of their thoughts already.”

Yuu opened her mouth, but whatever she was about to say next was interrupted by her stomach growling. She giggled. “I guess it is getting a little late.”

“Let’s head home then.” Ayumu spoke up. “I’ll make dinner for us. It was nice meeting you, Setsuna-san.”

“I don’t think I can make it all the way home.” Yuu said. “Why don’t we stop at that sandwich shop along the way.”

“Alright.” Ayumu agreed.

“Wanna come with us, Setsuna-chan?”

“Eh? Me?” Setsuna seemed caught off guard by the invite.

“Yeah, that way we can talk about the script and stuff.”

“Oh, uhm, thank you, but I wouldn’t want to impose. Besides there’s still a couple things I want to do here before I head out.”

“Alright. Maybe some other time then.” With that, Yuu took Ayumu’s hand and headed for the door. “See you later, Setsuna-chan!” She called as she exited.

At first Ayumu felt relief that Setsuna had declined, but as she and Yuu walked down the hall, a sense of disappointment set it. She actually did want to talk about the upcoming play. Perhaps next time…

----------

“Ne, Yuu-chan.” Ayumu said as the couple walked home.

“Mm?”

“Would you… uhm… Would you support me if I decided to become an actress?” The way you say you want to support Setsuna-san and the others?

“Of course!” Yuu gave her a toothy grin. “I think Ayumu would be an amazing actor.”

“Really?”

Yuu chuckled. “Well yeah, the Ayumu I know and love may be shy sometimes and hesitant to try new things. But when she decides to do something, she’s the hardest worker I know. She always gives it her best. That’s one of my favorite aspects of Ayumu.”

Ayumu blushed at Yuu’s affirmations.

“So, what prompted this all of a sudden?” Yuu looked at Ayumu with sudden curiosity. “Did the auditions inspire you as well?”

“A little…” Ayumu admitted. Did she need to include her desire for Yuu to look at her the way she looked at Setsuna?

Yuu smiled. “Well, maybe tonight we should look into finding some acting classes for you to take.”

“Classes?”

“Well, I don’t know anything about acting, so I’d be no help to you there.” Yuu explained. “Though I’d be happy to help you rehearse lines or whatever. And you’ll want some knowledge before you start auditioning for roles, right? Surely there has to be some evening or night course you can take somewhere.”

“Alright.”

Yuu’s expression became whimsical. “Mm… I can imagine it now. Uehara Ayumu stars in… something something big show, the marquee proudly proclaims with flashing lights. Ayumu on stage bowing before a standing ovation. Flowers are tossed on stage by devoted fans.”

“Y-Yuu-chan…” Ayumu murmured a quiet protest.

“What? I can’t imagine my amazing girlfriend being adored by all?”

“Well… I don’t really need to be the star, do I?”

Yuu shrugged. “Even if you only want supporting roles, I’ll still happily come watch your performances.”

Ayumu smiled. She loved this side of Yuu, her unwavering and unconditional support, always willing to adapt to anything Ayumu wanted to do. It was a constant source of confidence from which she drew to take on those new things, when she did.

Maybe she was overthinking the thing with Setsuna. Yuu was just being Yuu, getting excited over a new obsession, and Setsuna’s performance just happened to be the gateway into that obsession. As for Setsuna herself, she seemed equally excited about acting as Yuu, if not more so. And as her audition proved, she had talent. Perhaps Ayumu could learn a thing or two from her through observation, or just talking with her.

“Alright.” She set her mind on her decision. “Let’s look into classes when we get home.”

----------

Author’s Note Continued in Followup Post

#YuuAyuSetsu #Takasaki Yuu #Yuki Setsuna #Uehara Ayumu #Putting on Hairs #fanfic #Love Live Nijigasaki #AU August

[writtenbyvenus]

What We Do In The Shadows

Werewolves and vampires: two species that are mortal enemies. But in a small town in Upstate New York, they seemed to find a way to co-exist by staying out of each other's way and minding one's business. However, the dynamics of the local pack of werewolves and coven of vampires would change when a certain pair got too close for comfort. Alfred is an over seventy-year old werewolf posing as local law enforcement, while Ivan is a centuries old vampire working at a blood bank. Both try to get through the struggles of being immortal creatures, who find themselves in a cultural and family struggle when they fall for each other. Between an anti-vampire pack leader, suspicious in-laws, and a death that could nearly tear two families apart, the pair questions if a relationship is a reality, or if they are too much baggage they carry. 

Chapter 1: How To Get Blood Stains Out

Ivan checked the time, it always moved expediently quick, so fast that a whole hour slipped between his undying fingers. It was inevitable, the changes in wardrobe, the action of scenery. Recently, he and his sisters had moved off and out of the country. With the endless amount of time in their collective hands, moving was simply vacation. They've spent twenty short years bundled up in the upstate part of New York together. As the only living company they own, it was only befitting that they clung to each other but only separated by a few blocks. Close but not too close to disturb or hover over each other. The middle of the three, Ivan, lived in a sizable apartment by himself. It was refreshing for him to try out new and different parts of the world every once and awhile. They were a quiet and reclusive species and he had plenty of words to say about the compact population density that came with the city. It was almost worth it to him to catch others of his kind when he's out on a walk, but the pure odor of his neighbor could give him a headache on the warmer days. Werewolves, he's never been that fond of the creatures, but he's grown accustomed to this certain neighbor's charms. He pondered on the idea that if their landlord implemented a no pets policy, what would come of Alfred and his fur-coated clothes. As for Ivan, he was sure his turtleneck sweaters wouldn't be a cause for alarm; though they may be wildly out of style for the time and a few drenched in the blood may catch someone off guard. Even if it was considered primitive to him, he still went out on the town scouring out fresh blood now and then, but that's only when his job didn't pay off and that was rare. He landed himself a plentiful gig working at a blood bank and for untrained customers, he would sneak out an extra pint just for himself. The blood packs were like caprisuns that he'd suck down to stay as youthful as he was.

There were alternatives that his family would cook up, but it didn't stand a chance to the rich milky serum of type B-negative or the popular O-positive. Getting ready to head out, he plucked up one of the various plastics packs he held in his fridge to quench his salivating mouth. His pointed teeth slipped out from their sleeves and punctured the bag in one fell swoop before guzzling it down. Crumpling up the remains, he wiped his lips and tossed it out. He perked up instantly, scooping up his laundry basket and walking out the door, locking it behind him. On most of his free days, he would invite Alfred to come down to the laundromat with him. The company was always nice, someone to talk to as he waited for his clothes to dry. Knocking on Alfred's door, he adjusted the sweater collar shielding his neck. It isn't much of a secret to other vampires or werewolves about what he is, the DNA imprinted in his scent, his natural code. Yet, when talking to Alfred, he didn't do much to state the fact or pry on the canine's own identity. He's seen too many of his kind staked through the heart to risk talking to someone so casually about being a vampire.

Alfred had started his day late, a habit of the man. Being a night owl, from either running around in the woods with his fellow pack members or being forced to change forms due to the shift in the moons. Working the third shift became needed for him, desperate for a job that would allow him to sleep in on mornings. In the countryside town, there aren't too many cops interested in working nights, so he easily found a job there. Members of his pack always knew how to work the system, being the immortal creatures that they were. Move every few decades, don’t make yourself super popular, don’t keep in touch with friends when you move. Alfred being the youngest member of the pack and was still getting used to not aging. Quite a weird reality, but one he’d have to accept. The constant moving never bothered him, but he did hate always lying about himself and his background. One of the older members of the pack said next time they move, he needs to change his name. He kept Alfred for his move, but his elders found it risky, however, let it slide since it was such a woodsy, small area. There was slight loneliness to being a supernatural creature, but Alfred found comfort in knowing that there are more of him out there. He isn’t truly alone, they were just hiding plain sight. 

Ivan was one of those, his neighbor obvious being non-human to him. Alfred could smell Ivan when he was down the street, let alone when he was at home. Vampires had that smell- extremely strong depending on each vampire. It was always weirdly sweet, but not in a good way. More like burnt, overdone sugar. Werewolves never cared for it, and he guessed vampires probably thought the same. On the other hand, living next to Ivan got him used to the smell, and he’d come to not find it horrible. It was just a tad bit too sweet, instead of sickly. His attraction to Ivan probably helped, his scent ability closed up when he saw Ivan. Perhaps it was his body doing him a favor when he saw the beautiful vampire. Members of his pack had warned him about them: Vampires, they are beautiful but dangerous. Don’t be charmed. Nevertheless, Alfred found himself charmed and enjoying his time alone with Ivan. He wouldn’t dare tell any of his packmates that, even if some would question why Alfred sometimes smelled like he had helped a vampire fold laundry. Whatever, it’s his life and his life alone. If he wanted to befriend one vampire, it couldn’t hurt. Their status of immortality and not spreading it is an unspoken rule, even among themselves. They both knew who each other were, but no one would speak on it. Alfred never asked Ivan what was his favorite blood to drink, and Ivan would never ask why he had stuff covered in fur in his house at times. A fair exchange. Ivan’s presence would gift Alfred when he knocked on the man’s door. Picking his head from the pillow, he got up from his sofa that he rested on. Attempting to catch up a season's worth of not watching, Game of Thrones played in the background. Already smelling Ivan coming up the stairs, he knew it was him. Stretching out his arms, he yawned and walked to the door. Opening it, he showed a toothy grin when he saw the tall vampire. “And I was just thinking of you. What’s up?”

The aroma hit his nose like a sack of bricks when the door cracked open. It wasn't an entirely unpleasant smell, but it could be strong and reek of wet dog in the worst cases. If he ever wanted to sniff out Alfred's blood type, there was a mask of different smells that blocked him. It would frustrate him. Ignoring the clear indicator, he adjusted the basket to his hip and patiently admired the smile. Cheerful and lively just like a mutt- he wasn't jealous of how werewolves morphed. He could barely handle his fangs let alone a full bone-cracking experience. He wasn't well versed in the world of the age-old rival species because he didn't grow up near very many of them. Vampires plagued eastern Europe in his old home, they fended off other creatures from their territory so spotting any other supernatural being was unlikely in those parts. Werewolves were a more western-based species, thus, he wasn't surprised to find one living so close to him. Nevertheless, he heard tales of their sharp teeth and their bright eyes that seemed to shine even during the day. He found it precious, the encased youth. "I was about to head down to wash my clothes. Do you want to gather up your own load and go down with me?" Asking felt more as he was inviting Alfred on a walk, the scent was just that hard to press through. Mentally shaking off the speciesism, he suppressed the sense just to have a normal conversation with his friend. "Unless, of course, you're preoccupied." He could only pick up on the faint mumblings of the television, his head wouldn't be able to dip in any further than the doorway.

Nine hundred years and he still hasn't managed to stumble into someone else's home without being invited in. It was especially frustrating when family-owned businesses didn't have a sign to welcome him in. Restaurants were a nightmare for him, but he was happy to see himself in reflections other than a camera or glimpses of the water. Once they took silver out of mirrors, he was ecstatic, but completely terrified the first time he caught himself in one. Come to find out that the curse was still wrapped around his frame like an infected vine. He didn't wish for immortality, but he found himself lucky to have family still with him. Most vampires didn't have the luxury of having someone by their side. It made him curious to find out Alfred's situation. Yet, it would be too rude for him to simply ask. "You probably want to rest up some more, don't you?"

The werewolf could only grin at the invitation. He found it humorous to always be invited by the vampire for outings because he couldn’t go into homes without being invited. Ivan would never cross even his feet past the doorway, as if a magical force was around Alfred’s door, keeping the vampire at bay. His pack had warned him to never have a doormat or sign that said ‘Welcome In!’ As it would give a vampire the clear ability to come inside. Even if being the friendly type, Alfred still followed the advice of his pack. Looking back on his sofa, he knew he had no plans later in the day. It was his day off, as he had work tomorrow. He planned on spending the day bumming around, so why not do some cleaning. “I’ll go with you. I got nothing better to do, honestly.” He teased, stepping back. “Give me a second.” Leaving Ivan’s side and going into his apartment without inviting him in, he forced the vampire at his doorway. It was sort of ‘fun’ to make the man wait at the door for him. Alfred was a playful man, nothing was ever too serious with him. Going to his room, he had a tall basket filled with dirty clothes. Ivan had come during a perfect time.

Picking up the laundry basket, he carried it to his front door. He slipped some sneakers on that were sitting next to the front door, excusing himself past Ivan. He didn’t bother locking the door behind him since he was only going downstairs. “I guess you came during a perfect time, huh. You are always like that you know. Always at the right moment.” He joked, walking to the elevator with him. “I wonder how you always know when I have a pile of dirty clothes. Must have superpowers.” Alfred’s tone was even more sarcastic, acting as if he didn’t already know Ivan was a vampire. Or that Ivan didn’t know that he was a werewolf. He wondered if they ever acknowledge their supernatural status, or if their friendship will always be based on mutual respect for their secret and the privacy of it. There were some lonely nights when he wanted to throw that out of the roof. Perhaps he’d be drunk or smoked too much weed, and inner emotions and wish would overcome logic. He’d wish to invite Ivan over and talk, but, wasn’t their thing to act as if they were just, normal? It was a difficult thing to balance. His fancy for Ivan, but not wanting to risk the interesting friendship the man brought him. He’d spent too many nights heart-broken over losing friends due to his werewolf immoral status, why do it again for lust? The tall, pale vampire would stay a foreign beauty, but a good friend for now.

There was plenty of love that went into making friends, but Ivan never had the knack for it. His longtime friends, and a few still living exes, scattered across the world. He had trouble keeping up with them because he traveled so much, but he couldn't say anything different for them. It didn't help that he never stayed long to talk. With a few of his past mortal companions, he could have taken a slumber and wake to find them dead. It was a while until he learned to not sleep for so long, but that was just his earlier days when he was first adapting to vampire life and society. Since then, he's become an expert in retracting his teeth and calming his cravings. Languages, landmarks, he's been around to study them all. He's been through ten different lifetimes in the same recurring body. It was hard for him to refrain from being downright miserable with the process. Each day was repetitive, every love faded and grew old. It brought him the slightest amount of joy to see someone else like Alfred still living life normally. Something deep inside of him hurt to think about how he could be wrong about the werewolf being a werewolf. It was selfish of him in many ways, he wanted someone else to suffer in the endless immortal cycle with him. He wasn't deeply in love with Alfred, but the man was pleasant enough to keep a smile lifting upon his face. Nothing made him happier than to hear that his offer was accepted by his new curiosity. Yet, he was only left to let the grin drop once Alfred walked off. He'd follow the man in if he only could.

Once the small adventure started, he narrowed his eyes to the observations. Picking up on the satire, he laughed. "Yes, I have a power called sensing Alfred's dirty laundry- never did I think it would come in handy... and it still has yet to help me." He smashed the down button for the elevator, the technology still intriguing him to this day, but somehow just as dangerous as when they were first introduced. The machinery in an elevator has stopped on him at least four times, he's grown to hate them. It was hard to explain why he survived the numerous crashes and why the remaining passengers had mysterious wounds. He couldn't deny free snacks like that; they were already dead or bleeding out, he had to put them out of their pain somehow. There was no pleasure in it, he did what he had to not suffer. If that were to happen with Alfred riding with him, he wasn't entirely sure what he would do. His bat form wouldn't be adequate to support a grown beast. "I suppose it does serve some purpose... I mean, if I don't remind you to take after yourself then who will? I know you certainly won't." The words bounced off the elevator walls as playful as they could be. After stepping off and into the foyer, he repositioned the basket back between his hands. "It's not as if you'll live forever, after all. People need maintenance."

Alfred walked down along with Ivan, enjoying the playful banter they had. Who knew that he’d get along with a vampire out of all people? Let alone have a small crush on the man. It was entertaining at the least, getting to laugh over his friendship with the man. They were both creatures of the night, perhaps it’s why they were able to bond. Even if they were different creatures, they still were ones of powers. Some would say they were works of the devil, that satan had inspired evil into their souls. But Alfred didn’t have a mean bone in his body, even in werewolf form the man would act as more of a puppy. The transformation to another creature didn’t have a huge effect on his personality like most. There were changes, of course, but he wasn’t a new person. He was still Alfred, just a tad bit more aggressive. Ivan had an interesting way of calming the wolf, he’d rather roll on his back and yawn in front of Ivan then growl and show off his toothy grin. “It’s nice being reminded that someone cares about if I have clean clothes or not.” His smirk grew at the word forever. Being an immortal being, it was his reality. Ironic to hear Ivan saying that he wouldn’t live forever- he wondered how old Ivan was. His dressings weren’t modern, far from it. He dressed like an old man, even if he was rather young-looking. And the way he spoke, it was as if he learned English in a different period. There was something uncanny about Ivan, and Alfred wanted to figure it out. Throwing his clothes into the washer, he poured the soap on top, closing the lid afterward. “Yeah, forever. You’re right.” He lied, still grinning as he turned on the water. He hopped on top of the washer, taking a seat on it as he watched Ivan finish his clothes. “Anyway, how’s work been? Does the blood bank have any drama going on? Or is it the same old same old.”

A few machines down, Ivan stowed his garments into a washer with a glimpse of a smile to his face. He always fell peacefully in the environment of laundromats; everyone kept to themselves and the air carried the alluring smell of softeners. There was a time that he helped his sisters tend to their dirty laundry. He didn't miss washboards or clotheslines; they ended up leaving his clothes cold. Nowadays, he couldn't survive without some clean warm fabrics wrapped around him when he finished folding. His body had been naturally frozen to the touch during the winter months as if he had become cold-blooded. It was one of the many things he missed about being human, the ability to keep warm or stay cool. The sun would burn and pierce his skin like knives if he stayed out too long as if chemicals were melting him down to the bone. While the chill stung and sent him shivering easier than before. He was curious to find out what Alfred's limitations were if werewolves had that kind of disadvantage, but the neighbor seemed to be even more distant than himself and that was anything but noteworthy. "I wish you would talk about your job more. You should know by now that nothing interesting happens at blood banks except for donors fainting and twisted veins." The real concerning bits he would leave out were his scandal starting to be investigated by the rest of the staff. None of them were nearing his trail, but it was entertaining nonetheless. Telling that part of his week would require acknowledgment of what he was and he wasn't fully able to trust Alfred like that. For all he knew, his cute little neighbor could be a vampire hunter hiding out as an untouchable breed of the werewolf. The idea was too outlandish for him to believe, but he couldn't be too safe when he had two of his family members hiding out with him. "You work in the middle of the day, don't you?" He moved back over to Alfred, watching how his legs dangle and bounce off the machine.

Transforming from human to werewolf had the opposite effect on Alfred. His body temperature was a few degrees hotter, making himself warmer overall. The cold didn’t have the same impact as it did in his human years. Being shirtless when it was snowing wouldn’t make him shiver. He went from loving tropical, warm climates, to preferring chillier places. He could still handle the sun and heat, his body just needed more time to adjust to it. With modern-day air conditioning, he was fine visiting hot places. It was now just a preference to live in an area with a cooler climate. Like a dog, he did enjoy laying out in the sun when it was warm, soaking up the heat. That habit was something he wouldn’t give up soon. The comment about his job kept the grin, as he knew more than Ivan might give him credit for. “I work the third shift. So, seven PM to seven AM. Three times a week, and I get the rest of the week off. Really, dreams come true. A mix of weird shit and serious stuff happens during those times, but this is such a quiet town, that a lot of calls I get are domestic or random crackheads acting up in public. Buttttt-'' He leaned back, looking up at the ceiling of the laundry room. “I do know all about the weird cases. Some shit we don’t want the public to know... Like this one- A couple of months ago, we found a body. Some middle-aged man, near the forest. We think he was homeless since no one came to claim his body and no one was looking for him. Anyway, his whole body was drained. No blood at all.” He looked at Ivan, still smirking.

His eyes didn’t go wide telling the story, he only just raised a brow as a cocky smirk stayed on his face. His expression read, ’I know you know’. “We didn’t let the media know about it since we don’t want anyone to think some crazy conspiracy up like as if there are vampires in this town or something. Sucks to say, thankfully the man was loved by no one, so no one’s looked into it.“ Alfred raises his hand, pointing his finger up in the air as he brought it to his lips, the classic ’It’s a secret’ sign. “But, don’t tell anyone I said that. Just keep it between you and me, okay?” Alfred adored the teasing, letting Ivan know that he knew. Alfred would bet his life and his pack that Ivan or one of the other vampires associated with him had to do with the murder. Alfred could smell another vampire like a scent on Ivan from time to time, and their scents were even stronger when they came inside the apartment. There were more of them, Alfred knew. His inner cop wanted to snoop and find out who these little vampires were. He knew one of them, but were the others? He guessed two, but there could be three. If he sniffed around more to look. “There’s a lot of weird shit that goes around in this town, for real. Someone once came to our station, a hiker, swearing that they saw a group of humans transform into wolves. They were high off of shrooms, though, so I don’t know how good their... uh references are.”

 "What a luxury, I wish I was that free to roam." There was no permanence to Ivan's footsteps, he was a nomad. Any obstacle that stood before him was merely an inconvenience unless it involved a sharpened piece of wood aimed at his chest. The only place he wouldn't dare step foot in again was Italy. He was perfumed in the nastiest garlic and swathed in the constant heat of the sun while mirrors were targets he dodged to avoid suspicion daily. The northern half of the states wasn't as unpleasant, he could feel the cold more often, but the climate gave him the excuse to cover and shield his neck from wandering eyes. Two puncture marks rest on the nape of his neck like scarred up craters. He wasn't entirely sure as to how werewolves get their roots, but he assumed it was something similar. A bite was sure to do it like an infectious disease passed from vessel to victim. His attention peaked with the mention of a corpse being discovered on the outskirts. He nearly cracked a smile remembering tackling the crude drunken man to the ground. Mercy wasn't something he divvied out very often, but it was especially not reserved for those who were asking for trouble. He did his best to not be cruel to strangers who didn't wrong him when he had to decide to starve or kill. The case revealed by Alfred, in particular, was one of revenge and bloodlust. He had to stand his ground when a man like that approached his family with a predatory look. It almost made him giddy to hear that the incident went by nearly unnoticed. He glanced back over to Alfred's face to assess the room. It didn't startle him to find a smug accent to the man's face, he learned early on how to stay inconspicuous in the presence of conjecture. Even seemingly friendly inquiries were something he had to manage with a steady tongue. 

Still not entirely proud of his way of life, he simply listened and checked the time left on his wash. Keeping a straight face didn't last long when he heard the idea of vampires lurking around town. He laughed and drummed his fingers across the metal behind him. The warm welcoming feel crept upon him. He found the unlikely relationship to be beneficial to the blindspot he had when unleashing mayhem in the streets at night. It was clear to him now, Alfred was aware of his identity. He gave a nod, winking Alfred's way as if to seal his secrecy on the subject. The talk of supernatural events was taken a lot more seriously back in his day, he's relieved to see that people have faded away from the topic. Not many vampires are being produced anymore, all the originals who could pass on the serum to transform humans into vampires have gone into hiding. Genetically, vampires can still be birthed into the world and he's met plenty of bonded vampires who have children, but he's not sure if the process is even worth it to curse your own children. "People turning into wolves? I can't believe that either... You seem to encounter plenty of drugged out people, but that's just the gift of the night shift." Hearing a beep and the mechanisms in his washer coming to a halt, he stepped back over and swapped his clothes into the drier. "I'm lucky enough to catch you walking around during the day." Rolling his eyes, he fed the machine some leftover damp socks lingering behind. "I guess I should take advantage of the moment and ask you if you believe in vampires and werewolves... like some deranged person, do you believe?" Smiling away, he lightly slapped at Alfred's calf. "Are you scared of vampires? Do they really frighten you?"

 There was something bold about Ivan. Here he was, instead of showing fear that Alfred knew about his status as a vampire, was smiling and joking with him. Perhaps it was Ivan’s way to save face, and he was hiding all of his anxiety about the situation. But Alfred’s inner wolf could smell fear. Even if a person was trying to hide it, their scent would be real of it. He couldn’t smell it on Ivan, the man was truly brave. Not many vampires could show a type of nonchalant attitude about people knowing who they are. It’s how they get a stake in the chest and burnt. Alfred kept away from the silver bullet by keeping low and not making trouble, but there was something that pulled Alfred closer to the vampire. His guts and playful nature was alluring, even if he’s been warned about it. Vampires were known for their beauty and charm, about to seduce someone into their death of two fangs in their neck. Alfred had been warned about it, but that warning was kept in the back of his mind, as the rest was pulling towards the vampires who were beautiful and playful. Alfred wouldn’t fall, victim, he wasn’t silly, but a part of him let himself go closer and give trust to a man he should have killed a long time ago.

Once his calf was slapped, he gave a toothy grin. “No, I’m not scared of anything. They should be scared of me.” He licked his teeth, going over his sharp canines. Showing off his white, strong teeth was a bit of a symbol to Ivan that he shouldn’t think he’s a harmless, playful puppy. If Ivan ever stepped out of line and was being a danger to his pack or this town, he knew how to rip a vampire into half, burn the body, and make sure that the creature stays dead. But he didn’t like having to do it, he wasn’t a violent man. The transformation did put some aggression on him though, made it easier to get mad and push someone around. Alfred would not be pushed around when it came to Ivan. The vampire would need to know it’s place. Sure, he was cute and charming, but Alfred would never let him endanger the pack of his town. He’d keep up his flirting and fun times with the man as long as he never crossed that line. But the vampire was undoubtedly sexy, he’d have to admit he did a few things to see him in his bed. So he’d play nice, keep his aggression at a low point. Part of him was trying to charm Ivan too, play his game back. It was a game to him, how sweet and kind and flirtatious did he have to be, to get a vampire into his bed. He just had to wait and see.

 Ivan forced back a flinch from twitching through his eyes, still gazes and anxious taps of his fingers sounding off. There have been times where he had to throw everything on the line and rip one of his own to shreds. Beasts, creatures, werewolves, vampires- he's had to claw and bite his way through a few fights even with people he used to call friends. The situation between him and Alfred wasn't to that point, but it still worried him. He didn't trust cops in general; his experiences with guards weren't pleasant, but Alfred was more friend than authority. There was nothing that scared him about the man, he liked him too much. He didn't want to see Alfred hurt, but if it came to it. There was nothing that he couldn't block off in his mind to keep his kin safe. If he had to lose some he wished to be closer to then so be it. He wouldn't show any sign that he was intimidated. The flash of pearly whites only made him roll his eyes. There was a reminder echoing in his head telling him not to do the same for it would be too revealing. "Oh? Is that really so?" He was entertained by the watered-down threat, a smile standing strong into his cheeks. "Well, I'll be sure to ring you up the first time I see a vampire and see how you end up handling it." A lie that he didn't even bother hiding, it was as clear as day while his sight on Alfred faltered.

"Well, I won't lie to you... I would be scared of vampires if I was you. I heard that they like hunting down cute, oblivious, and lively fellows." It wasn't a guarantee or something to put Alfred on his toes, he intended to be just as playfully. He didn't have to be threatening or territorial, he enjoyed the talks with his little neighbor. It still piqued his curiosity to see what kind of blood type the werewolf was even if he wasn't entirely too interested in killing the man off. Alfred, in Ivan's eyes, was a gourmet meal with legs he couldn't touch. Succulent and youthful individuals were a delicacy for him because he found it hardly fair to kill someone so youth. He restrained himself around people who still had time, older folks and jerks were nearly all of his meals. "Speaking of that, maybe you should come by the blood bank some time and donate? I'm sure you have plenty to spare." It was a complete win for him. He'd get to see Alfred and talk to him, figure out his blood type and get a chance to sneak a bag home. If it ended up being O positive, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to keep his teeth sheathed around Alfred. "I'm sure you're too busy to come to visit your neighbor at his job though. I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want to show your face in a place like that- I hardly find it worth my time." Pretending that he was heartbroken already, he took his eyes to his nails as his fingers twiddled around each other.

“Call me. I’ll handle it really well,” he said, still smirking but somewhat threatening. He was also giving Ivan the approval to call him if he needed to handle a vampire that was bugging Ivan. He’d do that in a heartbeat, kill off someone who was bugging the cute man. It was a win-win situation, he’d get to hunt down and kill a vampire, and get brownie points with his crush. The transformation gave Alfred a new love for the hunt. When he was younger, he remembered being scared of hunting, and even throwing fish back into the water once he caught them. He was more delicate, rather not seeing the process of killing his meal. But the transformation had killed that part of him. Now, he lived for the kill. When he was in wolf form, his favorite thing to do was tear apart an unaware deer to pieces. An easy, fun meal for him. He was thankful that his urge to hunt and kill was for only animals and not humans. He did not need to tear down a human, there were plenty of animals and wildlife around here. His bloodthirst spared humans, and he was grateful for it. He couldn’t live with himself if he killed humans for fun. It’s why he’s thankful for being a werewolf instead of a vampire. He couldn’t imagine a life that depended on taking someone else’s. That was Ivan’s sin to bear, not Alfred’s, and he thanked God for it.

Alfred rolled his eyes, still smirking. “Huh. Maybe I will one day. When I have free time. I’m busy napping and going to the gym, you know?” Alfred wouldn’t in a million years go to Ivan’s blood bank. Let that vampire taste part of his blood?! He wasn’t sure if Ivan was simply humoring him, or he had plans to see what he tasted like. If his blood was good, would he kill him afterward? He wouldn’t take the chance. ‘I’ll keep my blood, no thanks sucker.’ He thought, unsure if he should trust the vampire. Sure, he was cute, thick in the right places, and had clear skin, but who knew what happened behind closed doors. But his inner animal wanted to see what things he could get anyway with the vampire on a personal level. “Maybe I’ll visit you and bring someone else who wants to donate. I’m not a fan of needles.” Alfred lied, not being terrified at all, just wanting an excuse to hint to Ivan ’not in a million years’. The only time Ivan might get blood from him if they got intimate. Maybe he’d let Ivan take a bite, but no, not for free. Ivan would have to try harder to taste his blood type. Which was a delicious O-positive. 

 Ivan wasn't the biggest fan of actual threats, especially from someone opposed to his own species. There wasn't much room for judgment when it came to bloodlust, but having it directed at him raised his defensiveness by tenfold. His feet even pointed and aimlessly propped his body away from Alfred. The werewolf was charming, but not precious enough to let him ignore such words. He stopped smiling beyond that point, his once pacing hand tucked away into his elbow. It wasn't in him to keep the lightheartedness going after something like that, but he tried not to let it get him down even though his crush just openly admitted to some form of eagerness in killing him. He was undoubtedly disturbed and discouraged by it. "Oh. Okay. I'll definitely keep that in mind every time I talk to you." He remained calm, his eyebrows lifting with criticism. The negative responses only continued when his advances were waved off. He respected it, his convincing skills weren't ever to be enough to anyone knowledgeable on the truth. His hypocrisy was recognized by himself as his own invitation to donate could have come off as threatening. For a moment, he pouted and studied the floor tiles before standing up straight to look over at Alfred. "It's fine, I'm only asking because I'm encouraged to at work... I don't know what it is, but I can never seem to get anyone to agree." He caved and slipped back into a playful mood, he didn't have the endurance to stop smiling around Alfred. "I guess everyone is just a big baby like you... scared of a little needle." His lids hooded his eyes as he teased the other with a smirk. If guilt didn't reel Alfred in, he would try challenging him. "Which is okay, of course, I hate dealing with squeamish people when I have to line them up anyway."

Alfred could tell that Ivan was somewhat offended by the comment, but he needed it to be. Alfred wasn’t stupid and needed to let the vampire know that. That he wasn’t going to become an easy meal for the man. While Ivan's intentions could be pure, and he truly wanted him to donate, Alfred saw past that. The man wanted his blood, and if just for a snack, or see if he’s worth a whole meal, that was unknown. And he wasn’t going to figure it out. Ivan charm and good looks wouldn’t fool Alfred, he wouldn’t be his next dinner. Even if he was cute. It was sick to say, but he enjoyed seeing his body language change from comfortable to unsettled. Yes, he had a crush on the man, but they were not close enough for Alfred to truly feel safe around him. He still needed to test the waters, if he wanted to make it further. His inner wolf could smell his emotional change, and he did feel slightly guilty for it. He could tell he might have hurt the feelings of the vampire, but he wasn’t eager to kill him. As long as he wasn’t threatening the town or his pack, he had no lust for tearing him into shreds. Violence would only come if Ivan brought issues into his loved ones, then he would be eager to tear him into pieces. But for now, Ivan was a non-threatening vampire who was quite cute, and he rather kept it that way. He enjoyed having a vampire who instead hated him, sought out his company. “Yeah, keep in mind. If any vampires are trying to hurt or bother you, I’ll handle it. No need to fear, cutie.” His tongue rubbed over his sharp canine, still smirking as he watched Ivan smirk himself “Anyway, these clothes are gonna take probably an hour to wash. I’m rewatching Game Of Thrones because of the series finale. Wanna watch it with me?” He offered, smiling as if he waited to see if Ivan would take the bait.

If Alfred was to deny his invitation then he would decline his too. He planned on having lunch with his sisters anyway so he didn't have the time to watch a whole series. "No, thank you... Maybe some other time." As if he was about to walk into a wolf den and sit down amongst the clinging smell of a werewolf. His sisters would be scolding him about it for the rest of his undying days. If he were to be mauled in the own apartment complex he lived in, it would be embarrassing. Even the investigation unit was something he didn't put his faith in. Corruption in American police forces was something he was warned about before he traveled to the new world, but he didn't expect appealing werewolves to be a part of the problem. "I have company coming over soon, I really should be cleaning up my place." He remained general as he didn't want to give any details and out any other vampires that could fall prey. "I hope that you enjoy yourself though." Still a little shaken up, he eyed Alfred down before taking a seat on one of the working machines himself. 

Being rejected, Alfred simply smiled. Even though Ivan sat down, he took the chance to get off of the washer. “Oh, I see. You got plans, that’s alright. Well, I don’t want to steal your attention if you’re busy and are gonna have company over. Go worry about that, I’ll just be upstairs..” And with that, he left the basket and started to walk off. “But if your plans cancel, you know where to find me. My sofa is very soft, and I always have snacks~~~” He sang, leaving Ivan alone in the laundry room. Usually, Alfred was the type to chase. Go after someone if he liked them. But he couldn’t be his usual self with Ivan. He couldn’t chase after the vampire so soon, he had to let the man come to him. He had too much on the line to make the vampire think that he had the upper hand. Not in a million years, if the little bloodsucker wanted some cozy up time with Alfred, he’d have to make the first step. Yes, once Ivan made some moves, he’d let himself chase the pretty boy, but Ivan wasn’t just any type of cutie. There was a danger to even being his friend, and with his pack, he couldn’t go after one so eager. Play it cool, let him come to you. It was the opposite of what he usually did. But Ivan was like a challenge to him. Landing a vampire would be an ego booster at that. Let his prey come to him, that was Alfred’s plan.

Ivan nearly gagged at the display, the show of continued insinuation wasn't needed. Being patronized by a werewolf wasn't on his list of things to get done today. Just to bite that ego out of Alfred for the moment would be a load off him. He wanted to keep the banter going and nudge at his neighbor when he made a joke, but he didn't allow himself that. The man had put him on edge and he wasn't ready to risk putting his trust in someone who flashes their teeth at him. If he could just get Alfred alone and defenseless then his problems would go away, but he'd hate to do that. He wants to keep getting along with the werewolf. If the threats became more severe he'd have to do something about it. The man made him uncomfortable at the worst of it. He couldn't help but wonder if his sisters were right- maintaining a relationship like that was more trouble than it was worth, but he enjoyed a good chase, just not one that involved malicious intent even from himself. It was a game he was willing to play, one that he needed to win for his own pride. Tame a feisty little wolf into a domesticated dog. If not in a million years, then he decided that he'd just have to wait a million and one years. He had the time and patience, but not the will to stay hooked on a simple werewolf. The time he had wasn't scary, but knowing that he was safe gave him some peace. He's been through the motion of loving someone a thousand times over and it has worn him out. There wasn't any urge for him to play tug-of-war with some flea-bitten flirt, but he found the slow process to be almost fun. For now, he would just have to wait and hold his ground until he could halfway trust Alfred without worrying if he'd end up like the deadweight he tossed into the woods.

He'd just have to stand by his convictions and watch the near pain of a charmer's head back up the elevator. "Don't wait up." Was the last thing he called out before the steel doors shut. His demeanor instantly changed when he was left to his own devices. He let the nervous lip biting tear off his skin as he watched quietly while his fingers picked at each other. The only thing plaguing his mind was the fresh blood on his hands from a couple of months ago. His tracks weren't covered properly, he was under the influence by the time he finally led his victim out that night. It was troublesome because Alfred most definitely knew and he wasn't sure if that was something he could keep hiding so meticulously under the constant nose of a cop acting as his own K-9 unit. If the man ended up prying even further, he might just have to end him. He didn't want to worry his sisters too much with it, he didn't plan on telling them until he deemed the situation dangerous. Even now, it was nearing that point. He didn't trust Alfred despite how much he enjoyed him and that was a problem. The neighbor was certainly up his alley. A grinning, handsome, little canine. Groaning, he hopped down from his ledge and walked off to the elevator himself. He refused to sit there letting his dick think for him. Once on his floor, he paced off to his door and scrambled in. It wasn't long before he went to cleaning as the frustrating image of Alfred remained in his mind. He liked the werewolf, but he wasn't going to give in to temptation so easily.

[ Link to my Ao3- leaving comments and hits will light up my day. 

 Thank you for reading, chapter 2 comes out in a few days since I have 416 pages :’) have a nice day.

P.S. This is based off an RP me and my friend have been doing about a year, if anyone has confusion on the formatting that is why. She prefers to stay anonymous but I just would like to make that clear <3 ]

#rusame #amerus #aph russia #aph america #what we do in the shadows au #to anyone who gets the title reference: you have culture #chapter 2 comes in a couple days since i have like over #416 pages written #lmao

[buzzdixonwriter]

Tears In The Rain

I've seen things you people wouldn't believe…All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain.”

-- Blade Runner (David Peebles & Rutger Hauer)

The radar screen manufacturers -- RCA, GE, and others -- started jonesin’ for cash when the end of WWII dried up all that sweat & easy military materiel money.

Commercial consumer television existed before WWII in England, the UK, and Germany but it was a super-expensive technology confined to a few very wealthy homes in a few select markets or in Germany’s case, public venues such as beer halls.

Radar screens and TV tubes were basically different applications of the same thing, so the radar tube manufacturers shifted their production to TV sets pitched to post-war consumers as the must-have status symbol.

Problem: Said TV sets needed something to show and while there was live national network and local programing, most early stations filled their air time with old movies / cartoons / serials / comedy shorts.

That was the cultural gestalt I and other boomers grew up in during the 1950s, an era when much of the on air media dated back to the 1930s.

I’ve always been more culturally observant and curious than others in my generational cohort, and while they blandly / blindly watched Bugs Bunny and Popeye and Betty Boop and Our Gang, I was asking my parents and grandmother and aunt about the odd details I saw in old media (it didn’t hurt that we had a beautiful art deco edition of Collier’s Encyclopedia that my grandparents acquired in the 1920s in the house as well).

As a result I knew far more about the Depression and Prohibition and war rationing and other major cultural events and touchstones prior to our generation than did most other boomers.

When our history and social studies textbooks finally introduced these topics in junior high and high school, I was already intimately familiar with them.

As a result, I fell in love with the Marx Brothers and continue to love them to this day.

And while I watched and re-watched The Three Stooges, once I discovered Laurel and Hardy I left Larry, Moe, Curly, Shemp, Joe, and Curly Joe behind.

But the thing is, to fully understand and appreciate and know and love the Marx Brothers, you have to understand the pop culture of their era.

The same applies -- to a lesser degree -- to Laurel and Hardy.

The key difference is that The Three Stooges are pure physical mayhem:  There is nothing to understand.

They are imbeciles who inflict pain on themselves and one another, and while far, far inferior to Groucho / Harpo / Chico or Stan & Ollie, they will outlast them.

Anybody from any era or any culture can access The Three Stooges, but if you don’t understand a “gat” (short for gatling gun) is 1930s slang for an automatic pistol, then Groucho’s line upon seeing a automatic in a drawer with a pair of derringers -- “This gat’s had gittens” -- is absolute gibberish.

Likewise Laurel and hardy require some understanding of how American cultural values functioned in the 1920s and 30s; if you don’t get that, a lot of their humor is lost.

Our Gang / Little Rascals ages better because kids are kids and much of what they do is universal.

But even there much of their references have to do with the Depression or WWII rationing and scrap drives and if you don’t grasp that then those jokes zoom past you.

The situation isn’t confined to pre-WWII media, either.

The Marx Brothers and Laurel & Hardy might possibly be recognized by the current generation as something their parents and grandparents watched, but the Ritz Brothers are forgotten by all except those who specialize in comedy / pop culture history.  Wheeler & Woolsey are even more obscure, and Olsen & Johnson obscurer still, and if you’ve ever heard of Lum & Abner my hat’s off to you.

And holy shamolley, those are just the comedians we’re talking about.  There’s a whole universe of pop culture lost as fans of old B-Westerns die off, not to mention minor pop stars of music and small movies in the 1930s / 40s / 50s.

Silent movies have virtually disappeared from pop culture today; they are things of the past, historical artefacts.

Thanks to the Internet Archive and Project Gutenberg and Comic Book + and Digital Comics Museum and other sites, literally tens of thousands of hours of old radio shows and countless pulp magazines and comic books and other media are available, but who accesses them today except the truly die-hard genre fans or the pop culture historians?

Why morn their passing?

As Theodore Sturgeon famously observed, isn’t 90% of everything crap?

Yes, it is.

But that doesn’t make it any less of the cultural gestalt, the zeitgeist of the era than the few timeless gems that shine through.

. . .

As pop culture historian Jaime Weinman points out, the boomer generation -- the late 1940s to early 1960s -- offered a particularly fallow time for pop culture.

We enjoyed access to previous generations of pop culture, brought to us in curated form.  Even if those curators were costumed local cartoon show and horror movie hosts, we got at least some understanding of what led up to our own generation.

Weinman observes that because of technical broadcast reasons, only a few avenues fell open to new programming -- and that new programming could be rerun again and again to fill in gaps in local stations’ air time.

It created a generation with remarkably deep pop culture roots, even if relative few members of that generation were aware of them.

We were, to some degree or another, aware of a vast library of older pop culture media and icons and idioms.

Ironically, this began changing in the late 1960s, slowly at first, but coming full flower in the mid-1970s as music cassette recordings allowed us to create our own playlists off radio shows and record players, and cable TV stopped being something for the hinterlands and started penetrating urban markets, thus literally uniting the country with first dozens then hundreds and a virtually infinite number of channels and streaming options.

But the real nail in the golden age of pop culture’s coffin was the introduction of home TV recordings and time shifting, meaning we no longer needed to wait for curated programing but could watch what we wanted when we wanted.

Despite a wider range of options, older material became less and less popular, and the lack of curation is a big part of that.

With nobody to supply some sort of context -- even goofy horror host context -- older examples of pop culture became less accessible.

The newer generations look less to the past, more to the future.

. . .

As I’ve written before, endings fascinate me.

Right now I’m seeing a generational shift with the boomer generation’s pop culture rapidly fading to be replaced by Generation Z and the generations to follow them.

I look at the boomer era and wonder how much will survive.

Very little, I’m afraid.

And that includes losing some of the best our era had to offer.

For example, how many people today know of The Firesign Theatre?

In the mid-1960s through the early 1970s, they performed absolutely brilliant satirical comedy on radio and recordings.  Their album Don’t Crush That Dwarf, Hand Me The Pliers received a Hugo nomination for best sci-fi drama presentation of 1970.

I still laugh when I hear their recordings -- but I laugh because I lived in that era.

Their humor relies heavily on topical subjects and the counter culture of the late 1960s-70s.  They were very much a Southern California phenomenon…and thanks to radio and TV and movies of that era, that culture permeated the entire country.

But that era is gone, and now when I listen to them I laugh, but to use a specific example I laugh because I know who Ralph Williams was and what he meant to Southern California pop culture in that time.

You don’t get that, you don’t get the joke, and the brilliance of The Firesign Theatre’s humor is lost.

Like tears in the rain.

. . . 

Cheech y Chong will survive, because like The Three Stooges, their appeal lies in their basic stupidity.

True, many of their routines make contemporary pop culture references, but material like “Dave’s Not Here” is timeless.

You don’t even have to get the drug references to find it hilarious.

Conversely, the Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers will fade.

As characters, they are of a particular time and place:  Hippie dippie San Francisco.

They can’t survive transplantation, as was demonstrated in their last few stories.

Now there’s an animated series that brings them from the swinging 60s to to Trump 20s and it just doesn’t work.

The creators Don’t Get The Joke.

I don’t blame them for failing to get the joke, but updating the Freak Bros. would be like updating the Marx Brothers.

It can be done, but only badly.

. . .

Music will always have musicians and buffs who will track every obscure item they can find, but a lot of the best and most innovative work will be forgotten by mainstream culture.

This is because in many case, the best musicians are way ahead of the rest of their field, and their innovations are only made palatable by others who take them up and reinterpret them in a way to make them accessible to contemporary audiences.

Frank Zappa, as much as I personally love him as a cultural icon, will fade fast after the last boomer dies.

Basically, he didn’t make singable music.

There are a lot of brilliant innovations in his work, but his lyrics are so idiosyncratic as to be impossible to cover.

That, and a lot of his lyrics and subject matter would not be comfortably acceptable today.

Yeah, when he did it he was trying to make a satirical point, but when modern audiences hear it, they don’t hear the sharp commentary on the culture of his time, they hear songs that seem to glorify sexual violence and racial bigotry.

Most of the people who decry so-called “cancel culture” today are hypocrites trying to justify their own offenses, but there will be creators and components of pop culture who simply aren’t going to make the cut.

I can show you on paper why radio’s Amos And Andy was a brilliantly written show.

You’re not going to get modern audiences to accept white actors doing blackface…or black voice.

Zappa is acceptable today because there are still enough people who get the joke.

When we’re gone, so are most of his songs (his instrumentals hopefully will live on).

. . .

Quentin Tarantino’s star is already starting to set.

His copious dropping of the n-bomb seemed daring and edgy in the early to mid-90s now seems boorish and tiresome.

People don’t want to listen to that, and how can you make them watch what they don’t want to watch?

The Hateful Eight might endure since it gives a sorta context for its racial animosity, ditto Django Unchained, but even they will be problematic due to Tarantino’s Red Apple universe -- a world similar enough to ours to be mistaken for it at first glance but ultimately completely different.

Inglorious Basterds will ultimately fail the history smell test by audiences who will perceive it as wildly inaccurate.

Once Upon A Time In Hollywood probably has the least problematic elements in it, but it too is so firmly set in a specific time and place that only those who lived it can truly appreciate it.

When we’re gone, who can follow the pop culture breadcrumbs that lead us through the movie?

Tarantino is a brilliant writer / director, and film students in the know will study his movies to see how he pulled them off…

…but they’re going to move far past him.

(He may enjoy a revival 50 years from now, the way certain film makers get rediscovered a half century after their deaths.  If so, it will be by people able to see past the pop culture references to the real story beneath.)

. . .

Roger Corman and other exploitation film makers aren’t going to as welcomed once the boomer generation departs.

Boomers see them as transgressive artists, tweaking the nose of so-called respectable society.

New generations will see they as creeps who exploited violence and sexism.

(And we shouldn’t mourn its loss; most of it is soft-core pornography.  But there were a few shining moments that shine only if you know the context, and that is fading fast.)

. . .

Superheroes probably won’t die out just as Westerns never completely died out, but like Westerns their audience is rooted in a very particular time and place.

I mentioned B-Westerns earlier; once upon a time there were literally dozens of B-Western stars, each with their own face base and merchandising and movies…

…and now there are no more B-Westerns.

We remember Roy Rogers because he’s culturally referenced elsewhere (and Gene Autry because he left a great big museum in his name).

B-Westerns’ success was based on fulfilling audience expectations, essentially giving the same thing they’d seen before, only slightly different.

Superheroes have degenerated into that.

In their current form, they’re deconstructions based on what a previous generation’s pop culture produced.

The superhero market has been supersaturated in the past and collapsed before.

This time when it collapses it will take along countless near-identical characters and storylines.

What emerges from it will be as different from the current iteration of superheroes as The Good, The Bad, And The Ugly was from My Pal Trigger.

. . .

Likewise, if James Bond is to survive, there will be a drastic retooling of the property.

It is possible; Sherlock Holmes has been retooled often.

The original Connery Bonds, the ones we consider to be “iconic” will eventually be viewed as an embarrassment.

The world and its attitudes are changing, and while there will always be room for heroes, audiences will be a bit more discerning about which heroes they want.

The attitudes of the original Bonds will not fly with future generations.

. . .

Finally, one prospect that will make it into the future, though not necessarily on its own strengths, no matter how significant they are.

Mystery Science Theater 3000 has skewered pop culture via bad movies since 1988.

Supported by a legion of fans, there are several books and websites that annotate all the references found in the various MST3K series.

Scholars 500 years in the future will thank these fans and researchers for their efforts.

Mystery Science Theater 3000 and its various annotated spinoffs will be the Rosetta stone of 20th century pop culture.

It will provide a context to make the jokes understandable, but more importantly than that, it will open a window into what people were thinking and feeling in the last decade of the 20th century.

It and the films it spoofed will be studied with near Talmudic intensity (you think I jest; I do not).  They’ll provide insight that will help future generations and cultures understand this one.

  © Buzz Dixon 

#Once Upon A Time In Hollywood #Wheeler and Woolsey #Lum And Abner #The Ritz Brothers #The Firesign Theatre #The Marx Brothers #Laurel And Hardy #Frank Zappa #Olsen And Johnson #Our Gang #Little Rascals #The Three Stooges #Groucho Marx #Harpo Marx #Chico Marx #Stan Laurel #Oliver Hardy

[theculturedmarxist]

The fascist insurrection in Washington DC—which resulted in the storming of the US Congress, the panicked dispersal of terrified senators and members of the House, the delay of the official validation of Joseph Biden’s Electoral College majority, and even the occupation of the office of House Speaker Nancy Pelosi—is a turning point in the political history of the United States.

The hoary glorifications of the invincibility and timelessness of American democracy have been totally exposed and discredited as a hollow political myth. The popular phrase “It Can’t Happen Here,” taken from the title of Sinclair Lewis’ justly famous fictional account of the rise of American fascism, has been decisively overtaken by events. Not only can a fascist coup happen here. It has happened here, on the afternoon of January 6, 2021.

Moreover, even if the initial effort has fallen short of its goal, it will happen again.

What occurred yesterday was the outcome of a carefully planned conspiracy. It was instigated by Donald Trump, who has been working with a gang of fascist conspirators strategically positioned within the White House and other powerful institutions, departments and agencies of the state. Wednesday’s operation carries with it the overwhelming stench of the Trump sons, close aides like Stephen Miller, and numerous others working behind the scenes within the military, the National Guard and the police.

The conspiracy utilized the well-known techniques of modern coups. The plotters identified the meeting of the Congress to ratify Biden’s Electoral College majority as the propitious time for action. The assault was prepared by weeks of lying claims by Trump and his minions that the 2020 election had been stolen. Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell rendered critical service by withholding Republican recognition of Biden’s election for weeks, thus providing time and legitimacy to Trump’s efforts to discredit the election with totally fraudulent claims of ballot fraud.

A majority of Republican congressmen and a substantial number of Republican senators orchestrated Wednesday’s political debate at which the legitimacy of the Electoral College vote was challenged, to provide the necessary pretext for the planned right-wing uprising. The final signal for the storming of the Capitol building was given by Trump himself, who delivered an insurrectionary harangue to his supporters, who—one can be certain—were directed by elements with police, military and paramilitary training.

It has already been widely noted that the fascist gangs encountered virtually no resistance as they stormed the Capitol. In the most critical and vulnerable areas of the Capitol building, the police were hardly to be seen. To politically evaluate the police response on Wednesday, one has only to recall the violence deployed last June against a peaceful anti-police brutality demonstration in Lafayette Park.

Had a left-wing protest been called in Washington to protest Trump’s efforts to overthrow the results of the election, the demonstrators—as everyone knows—would have been met with a massive show of force by the police and National Guard. There would have been police sharpshooters placed strategically on every building in the vicinity of the protesters. Military helicopters and drones would have been circling overhead. The slightest unauthorized movement by the crowd, however peaceful, would have been met with demands for its immediate dispersal, followed within minutes by the launching of barrages of tear gas cannisters. Hundreds, if not thousands, would have been kettled and arrested.

The response of the Democratic Party to the coup has been a pathetic display of political spinelessness. The first hours of the insurrection passed without a single prominent Democratic leader issuing a clear denunciation of the conspiracy, nor did any prominent Democrats call for popular resistance to the coup. Former President Obama and the Clintons, who are followed by millions on Twitter, remained silent throughout the day.

As for the president-elect, Biden waited hours before finally appearing before the public. After describing the attack on the Capitol as sedition, Biden made this extraordinary appeal to the leader of the conspiracy: “I call on President Trump to go on national television now, to fulfill his oath and defend the Constitution and demand an end to this siege.”

Normally, when confronted with an attempt to overthrow the constitutional regime, the political leader threatened by the conspiracy must immediately seek to deprive the traitors of all access to the mass media and a nationwide audience. But Biden, instead, called on Trump to appear on national television—to call off the insurrection he himself had organized!

Biden concluded his remarks with the following clarion call. “So, President Trump, step up.” This bankrupt appeal to the would-be fascist dictator will go down in history as Biden’s “Hitler, do the right thing” speech.

The Democrats, let alone the media, have no intention of exposing the full depth of the conspiracy and holding its plotters and organizers responsible. The effort to cover up the crime has already begun, with the media bloviating on the need for Democrats and Republicans “to come together in bipartisan unity.”

The decision of the House and the Senate, in the evening hours, to uphold Biden’s election is not the end of the crisis.

Appeals for “unity” with the conspirators clear the path for the next effort to carry out a fascist coup d’état. This is the lesson of the invasion of the state Capitol last April by armed fascist thugs in Lansing, Michigan and the subsequent conspiracy in the autumn of 2020 to kidnap and assassinate the Democratic governor of the state, Gretchen Whitmer. The Democratic Party and media quickly suppressed coverage of these crimes and hardly defended Whitmer against the attack. The plotters, thus far, have received little more than a slap on the wrist.

The Democrats’ response to the fascist conspiracy is not dictated merely by cowardice or stupidity. Rather, as representatives of the financial-corporate oligarchy, they are frightened that the exposure of the criminal conspiracy and its political aims would ignite a mass response within the working class that would spiral into a movement against the capitalist state and the interests it serves.

The effort to conceal the conspiracy must be opposed. Workers must take up the demand for the immediate removal and arrest of Trump. He cannot be allowed to remain in office, utilizing the immense power of the presidency to continue his plotting. His retention of the White House represents a massive threat to the people of the United States and the world. Trump still has the power to declare a national emergency and even launch a war. His finger remains on the nuclear trigger.

Nor should his co-conspirators be left in office. The Republican senators and congressmen involved in the conspiracy must be likewise removed from the Senate and Congress, arrested, placed on trial and sent to prison.

The continuing reference by the Democrats to their “Republican colleagues” is itself a mockery of democracy.

The demand must be raised for a public investigation with open hearings, aimed at identifying all those involved in the conspiracy, leading to their arrest and imprisonment.

Absolutely no confidence should be placed in the in-coming Biden administration—assuming that his inauguration is not blocked by a further uprising—to hold the conspirators to account and defend democracy.

It must never be forgotten that Biden and the Democrats represent nothing more than another political faction of the same ruling class. As Obama declared immediately after Trump’s election, the conflict between the Democrats and Republicans is nothing more than an “intramural scrimmage,” i.e., a friendly fight between members of the same team. In a statement issued Wednesday evening, Obama singled out Republicans for praise, writing obsequiously: “I’ve been heartened to see many members of the president’s party speak up forcefully today.” The only purpose of such a statement is to conceal the truth about the extent of the fascist coup.

The events of January 6, 2021 must be taken as a warning. The working class must elaborate a political strategy and plan of action to defeat future efforts to impose a dictatorship.

The political and economic dynamic of capitalist reaction and counterrevolution will continue, even with Trump out of office. This dynamic will not abate after January 20. The Democratic Party, whose congressional and senatorial delegation is stacked with millionaires and people with the closest ties to the CIA and the military, are no less capable than the Republicans of organizing a conspiracy to suppress democratic rights.

In any event, the policies of the Biden administration, which will pursue policies set by Wall Street and the military, will perpetuate and escalate the anger and frustration exploited by the fascists.

Throughout the past year, as it has conducted an unrelenting struggle against the ruling class policy of herd immunity, the Socialist Equality Party has shown in detail the connection between the ruling class’s inhuman response to the pandemic and the Trump administration’s assault on democratic rights.

The danger has not passed.

It is essential to build a network of rank-and-file committees in factories and workplaces capable of organizing broad-based popular resistance through the mobilization of all sections of the working class.

Above all, workers must understand that the disintegration of American democracy is rooted in the crisis of capitalism. In a society riven by staggering levels of social inequality, it is impossible to preserve democracy.

Draw the lessons of January 6!

Take up the fight for socialism and the defense of democratic rights by joining the Socialist Equality Party.

#coup #january 6 #capital hill #socialism #fascism #biden #democrats #republicans

[newstfionline]

Tuesday, August 31, 2021

Hostile school board meetings have members calling it quits (AP) A Nevada school board member said he had thoughts of suicide before stepping down amid threats and harassment. In Virginia, a board member resigned over what she saw as politics driving decisions on masks. The vitriol at board meetings in Wisconsin had one member fearing he would find his tires slashed. School board members are largely unpaid volunteers, traditionally former educators and parents who step forward to shape school policy, choose a superintendent and review the budget. But a growing number are resigning or questioning their willingness to serve as meetings have devolved into shouting contests between deeply political constituencies over how racial issues are taught, masks in schools, and COVID-19 vaccines and testing requirements. In his letter of resignation from Wisconsin’s Oconomowoc Area School Board, Rick Grothaus said its work had become “toxic and impossible to do.” “When I got on, I knew it would be difficult,” Grothaus, a retired educator, said by phone. “But I wasn’t ready or prepared for the vitriolic response that would occur, especially now that the pandemic seemed to just bring everything out in a very, very harsh way. It made it impossible to really do any kind of meaningful work.”

California fire approaches Lake Tahoe after mass evacuation (AP) A ferocious wildfire swept toward Lake Tahoe on Tuesday just hours after roads were clogged with fleeing cars when the entire California resort city of South Lake Tahoe was ordered to evacuate and communities just across the state line in Nevada were warned to get ready to leave. The popular vacation haven normally filled with tens of thousands of summer tourists emptied out Monday as the massive Caldor Fire rapidly expanded. Vehicles loaded with bikes and camping gear and hauling boats were in gridlock traffic, stalled in hazy, brown air that smelled like a campfire. Police and other emergency vehicles whizzed by. “It’s more out of control than I thought,” evacuee Glen Naasz said of the fire that by late Monday had been pushed by strong winds across California highways 50 and 89, burning mountain cabins as it swept down slopes into the Tahoe Basin.

Hurricane Ida traps Louisianans, shatters the power grid (AP) Rescuers set out in hundreds of boats and helicopters to reach people trapped by floodwaters Monday, and utility repair crews rushed in, after a furious Hurricane Ida swamped the Louisiana coast and ravaged the electrical grid in the sticky, late-summer heat. People living amid the maze of rivers and bayous along the state’s Gulf Coast retreated desperately to their attics or roofs and posted their addresses on social media with instructions for search-and-rescue teams on where to find them. More than 1 million customers in Louisiana and Mississippi—including all of New Orleans—were left without power as Ida, one of the most powerful hurricanes ever to hit the U.S. mainland, pushed through on Sunday and early Monday before weakening into a tropical storm. As it continued to make its way inland with torrential rain and shrieking winds, it was blamed for at least two deaths. But with many roads impassable and cellphone service knocked out in places, the full extent of its fury was still coming into focus. The governor’s office said damage to the power grid appeared “catastrophic.” And local officials warned it could be weeks before power is fully restored, leaving multitudes without refrigeration or air conditioning during the dog days of summer, with highs forecast in the mid-80s to close to 90 by midweek.

Heavily armed criminal group ties hostages to getaway cars after storming Brazilian city (Washington Post) A heavily armed group of bank robbers wreaked havoc across a southeastern Brazilian city early Monday, striking several banks, setting fire to vehicles and tying hostages to their getaway cars, in an assault that left at least three people dead, officials say. Even in a country long accustomed to random spasms of violence, Brazilians reacted with shock and fear. The group stormed Araçatuba, a city of 200,000 in São Paulo state, around midnight to strike several city banking agencies. Gunshots punctured the early-morning quiet. Authorities asked residents to stay inside. Images on social media and local news reports showed at least 10 people clinging to getaway cars, apparently strapped there to deter fire from police. The hostages were reportedly released after the group escaped. The raid bore the characteristics of what criminologists have called a growing pattern: nighttime assaults on midsize Brazilian cities—often elaborate bank heists, intricately planned, well choreographed and executed by well-financed criminal groups equipped with the weaponry and gadgetry of war. The group flew a drone over Araçatuba during the raid, according to local reports, to track movements throughout the city.

EU travel restrictions (AP) The European Union recommended Monday that its 27 nations reinstate restrictions on tourists from the U.S. because of rising coronavirus infections there, but member countries will keep the option of allowing fully vaccinated U.S. travelers in. The EU’s decision reflects growing anxiety that the rampant spread of the virus in the U.S. could jump to Europe at a time when Americans are allowed to travel to the continent. Both the EU and the U.S. have faced rising infections this summer, driven by the more contagious delta variant. The guidance issued Monday is nonbinding, however. American tourists should expect a mishmash of travel rules across the continent since the EU has no unified COVID-19 tourism policy and national EU governments have the authority to decide whether or how they keep their borders open during the pandemic.

Italy’s record droughts (La Stampa) The earth is cracking in Italy’s northwest region of Piedmont: the crops and the animals suffer. Italy has been ravaged by fires and storms, like Greece, Turkey and much of Southern Europe. Italy has recorded 1,200 “extreme” meteorological events—a 56% increase from last year. Wildfires ravaged the southern regions of Sardinia, Calabria and Sicily. The town of Florida, in Sicily, is thought to have recorded the hottest temperature ever recorded in Europe: 48.8 °C. Meanwhile, heavy rainfall devastated other parts of the country. Coldiretti, Italy’s largest agricultural association, has just summed up the bill for this Italian summer: The damages to agriculture, it says, amount to €1 billion. Wheat yields have fallen 10%; cherries 30%, nectarines 40%. Tomato and corn crops have also suffered heavy losses. Giovanni Bedino, a 59-year-old Italian farmer, has been working the land since he was 15. “I love this job, but a year like this takes away your love,” he told Turin daily La Stampa. “We couldn’t water the fields and nothing came down from the sky. I remember, the summer of 2003 was a very difficult one—but it wasn’t even close to this year. I have never seen such a drought.”

In India, a debate over population control turns explosive (Washington Post) Yogi Adityanath, a star of India’s political right wing, stood before television cameras in his trademark saffron tunic and dramatically introduced a bill pushing for smaller families—two children at most. In previous decades, this measure by the leader of the country’s most populous state might have been uncontroversial. Over the past month, it’s been explosive. Critics saw a veiled attempt to mobilize Hindu voters by tapping into an age-old trope about India’s Muslim population ballooning out of control. As India barrels toward a pivotal election in Uttar Pradesh early next year, population bills introduced by the ruling Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) have become a new flash point in the national debate, vividly illustrating how the issues of religion and identity, spoken or implied, form the most powerful undercurrent in the country’s politics. Since 2011, when official census figures emerged showing Hindus dipping to 80 percent of India’s population compared to 84 percent in 1951—Muslims increased from 10 percent to 14.2 percent during that same period—the question of how to maintain “demographic balance” has gained urgency for the Hindu movement’s leaders. A 2016 national survey finding that Indian Muslim women had, on average, 2.6 children compared to 2.1 for Hindus provoked more concern.

North Korea appears to have restarted Yongbyon nuclear reactor, U.N. body says (Washington Post) North Korea appears to have restarted its main nuclear reactor at Yongbyon in July, a “deeply troubling” sign that the country may be on track to expand its nuclear program, according to a new report by the United Nations’ atomic agency. The finding adds another challenge to the Biden administration’s goal of denuclearizing North Korea. Although Yongbyon is not the only site where North Korea has produced highly enriched uranium, its role at the heart of Pyongyang’s nuclear ambitions made the facility a bargaining chip in previous negotiations. In 2008, North Korea ceremoniously blew up the reactor’s cooling tower in a largely made-for-TV event amid nuclear talks between the United States and former leader Kim Jong Il. (A new cooling tower was built after the negotiations fell through.)

Last troops exit Afghanistan, ending America’s longest war (AP) The United States completed its withdrawal from Afghanistan late Monday, ending America’s longest war and closing a chapter in military history likely to be remembered for colossal failures, unfulfilled promises and a frantic final exit that cost the lives of more than 180 Afghans and 13 U.S. service members, some barely older than the war. Hours ahead of President Joe Biden’s Tuesday deadline for shutting down a final airlift, and thus ending the U.S. war, Air Force transport planes carried a remaining contingent of troops from Kabul airport. Thousands of troops had spent a harrowing two weeks protecting a hurried and risky airlift of tens of thousands of Afghans, Americans and others seeking to escape a country once again ruled by Taliban militants. In announcing the completion of the evacuation and war effort. Gen. Frank McKenzie, head of U.S. Central Command, said the last planes took off from Kabul airport at 3:29 p.m. Washington time, or one minute before midnight in Kabul. He said a number of American citizens, likely numbering in “the very low hundreds,” were left behind, and that he believes they will still be able to leave the country. The final pullout fulfilled Biden’s pledge to end what he called a “forever war” that began in response to the attacks of Sept. 11, 2001, that killed nearly 3,000 people in New York, Washington and rural Pennsylvania.

Afghanistan’s ‘Gen Z’ fears for future and hard-won freedoms (Reuters) Almost two third of Afghans are under the age of 25, and an entire generation cannot even remember the Taliban, who ruled Afghanistan from 1996 until it was toppled by Western-backed militia in 2001. During that time they enforced a strict interpretation of Islamic law, banning girls from school, women from work and carrying out public executions. Since 2001, the militants fought an insurgency in which thousands of Afghans died. Since re-taking power, the group has been quick to reassure students that their education would not be disrupted, also saying it would respect the rights of women and urging talented professionals not to leave the country. But used to a life with cellphones, pop music and mixing of genders, Afghanistan’s “Generation Z”—born roughly in the decade around the turn of the millennium—now fears some freedoms will be taken away, according to interviews with half a dozen Afghan students and young professionals. “I made such big plans, I had all these high reaching goals for myself that stretched to the next 10 years,” said Sosan Nabi, a 21-year-old graduate. “We had a hope for life, a hope for change. But in just one week, they took over the country and in 24 hours they took all our hopes, dreams snatched from in front of our eyes. It was all for nothing.”

They made it out of Afghanistan. But their path ahead is uncertain. (Washington Post) As the United States winds down its evacuation operation in Afghanistan, the Biden administration is accelerating efforts to resettle Afghans on U.S. soil, where they will be expected to apply for visas or humanitarian protection that could put them on a path to legal residency and citizenship. But the chaotic nature of the enormous airlift means that much is unknown: Officials have not said precisely how many Afghan evacuees have made it into the United States or whether all will be allowed to stay. More than 117,000 people had been evacuated from Afghanistan on U.S. and other flights as of Saturday, and Pentagon officials said the vast majority are Afghan citizens. Thousands have arrived in the United States, while thousands more are waiting in “transit hubs” in Europe and the Middle East. They are a mix of brand-new refugees and families with existing immigration applications that have been pending for months or years. Where the evacuees will end up is “a hard question to answer,” said Mark Hetfield, president and CEO of HIAS, one of the refugee resettlement agencies operating in the United States. “I don’t really know where they stand,” Hetfield said in an interview. “It’s chaos.”

#headlines #news

[magaden]

Why Are Progressives So Illiberal?

By Victor Davis Hanson January 31, 2021

Progressives adopted identity politics and rejected class considerations because solidarity with elite minorities excuses them from concern for, or experience with, the middle classes of all races.

One common theme in the abject madness and tragedies of the past 12 months is that progressive ideology now permeates almost all of our major institutions—even as the majority of Americans resist the leftist agenda. Its reach resembles the manner in which the pre-Renaissance church had absorbed the economic, cultural, social, artistic, and political life of Europe, or perhaps how Islamic doctrine was the foundation for all public and private life under the Ottoman Sultanate—or even how all Russian institutions of the 1930s exuded tenets of Soviet Marxism. 

Pan-progressivism

To be a Silicon Valley executive, a prominent Wall Street player, the head of a prestigious publishing house, a university president, a network or PBS anchor, a major Hollywood actress, a retired general or admiral on a corporate board, or a NBA superstar requires either progressive fides or careful suppression of all political affinities.

According to the Center for Responsive Politics, 98 percent of Big Tech political donations went to Democrats in 2020. Censorship and deplatforming on Twitter, Facebook, and other social media companies is decidedly one-way. When Mark Zuckerberg and others in Silicon Valley donate $500 million to help officials “get out the vote” in particular precincts, it is not to help candidates of both parties.

Google calibrates the order of its search results with a progressive, not a conservative, bent. Grandees from the Clinton or Obama Administration find sinecures in Silicon Valley, not Republicans or conservatives.

The $4-5 trillion market-capitalized Big Tech cartels, run by self-described progressives, aimed to extinguish conservative brands like Parler. Ironically, they now apply ideological force multipliers to the very strategies and tactics of 19th-century robber-baron trusts and monopolies. Poor Jack Dorsey has never been able to explain why Twitter deplatforms and cancels conservatives for the same supposed uncouthness that leftists routinely employ.

Silicon Valley apparently does not believe in either the letter or the spirit of the First Amendment. It exercises a monopoly over the public airwaves, and resists regulations and antitrust legislation of the sort that liberals once championed to break up trusts in the late 19th and early 20th century. As payback, it assumes that Democrats don’t see Big Tech in the same manner that they claim to see Big Pharma in their rants against it.

Wall Street donated markedly in favor of Barack Obama, Hillary Clinton, and Joe Biden in their respective presidential races. Whereas conservative administrations and congressional majorities are seen as natural supporters of free-market capitalism, their Democratic opponents, not long ago, were not—and thus drew special investor attention and support from Wall Street realists.

The insurrectionist GameStop stock debacle revealed how “liberals” on Wall Street reacted when a less connected group of investors sought to do what Wall Street grandees routinely do to others: ambush and swarm a vulnerable company’s stock in unison either to buy or sell it en masse and thus to profit from predictable, artificially huge fluctuations in the price.

When small investors at Reddit drove the pedestrian GameStop price up to well over a hundred times its worth, forcing big Wall Street investment companies to lose billions of dollars, progressives on Wall Street and the business media cried foul. They compared the Reddit buyers to the mob that stormed the Capitol on January 6.

One subtext was: Why would nobodies dare question the mega-profit making monopolies of the Wall Street establishments? The point that neither the Reddit day-traders nor the hedge-fund connivers were necessarily healthy for investment was completely lost.

Surveys of “diverse” university faculty show overwhelming left-wing support, reified by asymmetrical contributions of 95-1 to Democratic candidates. The dream of Martin Luther King, Jr. to make race incidental to our characters no longer exists on campuses. Appearance is now essential. More ironic, class considerations are mostly ignored in favor of identity politics. “Equity” applies to race not class. The general education curricula is one-sided and mostly focused on deductive -studies courses, and in particular race/class/gender zealotry that is anti-Enlightenment in the sense that predetermined conclusions are established and selected evidence is assembled to prove them.

We are also currently witnessing the greatest assault on free speech and expression, and due process, in the last 70 years. And the challenges to the First and Fifth Amendments are centered on college campuses, where non-progressive speakers are disinvited, shouted down, and occasionally roughed up for their supposedly reactionary views—and by those who have little fear of punishment.

Students charged with “sexual harassment” or “assault” are routinely denied the right to face their accusers, cross examine witnesses, or bring in counterevidence. They usually find redress for their suspensions or expulsions only in the courts. What was thematic in the Duke Lacrosse fiasco and the University of Virginia sorority rape hoax was the absence of any real individual punishment for those who promulgated the myths.

Indeed in these cases many argued that false allegations in effect were not so important in comparison to bringing attention to supposedly systemic racism and sexism. In Jussie Smollett fashion, what did not happen at least drew attention to what could have happened and thus was valuable. It was as if those who did not commit any actual crime had still committed a thought crime.

Almost all media surveys of the last four years reflect a clear journalistic bias against conservatives in general. Harvard’s liberal Shorenstein Center on Media, Politics and Public Policy famously reported slanted coverage against Trump and his supporters among major television and news outlets at near astronomical rates, in some cases exhibiting over 90 percent negative bias during Trump’s first few months in office. Liberal editors can now be routinely fired or forced to retire from major progressives newspapers if they are not seen as sufficiently woke.

No major journalist or reporter has been reprimanded for promoting the fictional “Russian collusion” hoax—and certainly not in the manner the media has called for punishment, backlisting, and deplatforming for any who championed “stop the steal” protests over the November 2020 elections. The CNN Newsroom put their hands up and chanted “hands up, don’t shoot”—a myth surrounding the Michael Brown Ferguson shooting that was thoroughly refuted. Infamous now is the CNN reporter’s characterization of arsonist flames shooting up in the background of a BLM/Antifa riot as a “largely peaceful” demonstration. BLM, of course, has been nominated for a Nobel “Peace” Prize. After the summer rioting, one could better cite Tacitus’s Calgacus, “Where they make a desert, they call it peace”.

A George W. Bush or Donald Trump press conference was often a free-for-all, blood-in-the-water feeding frenzy. A Barack Obama or Joe Biden version devolves into banalities about pets, fashion, and food. The fusion media credo is why embarrass a progressive government and thus put millions and the planet itself at risk?

Andrew Cuomo’s policies of sending COVID-19 patients into rest homes led to thousands of unnecessary deaths. Still, the media gave him an Emmy award for his self-inflated and bombastic press conferences, many of which were little more than unhinged rants against the Trump Administration. Anthony Fauci’s initial pronouncements about the origins of the COVID-19 virus, its risks and severity, travel bans, masks, herd immunity, vaccination rollout dates—and almost everything about the pandemic—were wildly off. Yet he was canonized by the media due to his wink-and-nod assurances that he was the medical adult in the Trump Administration room.

It would be difficult for a prominently conservative actor or actress to win an Oscar these days, or to produce a major conservative-themed film. Bankable actors/directors/producers like Clint Eastwood or Mel Gibson operate as mavericks, whose films’ huge profits win them some exemption. But they came into prominence and power 30 years ago during a different age. And they will likely have no immediate successors.

Ars gratis doctrinae is the new Hollywood and it will continue until it bottoms out in financial nihilism. When such ideological spasms contort a society, the second-rate emerge most prominently as the loudest accusers of the Salem Witches—as if correct zeal can reboot careers stalled in mediocrity. Hollywood’s mediocre celebrities from Alec Baldwin to Noah Cyrus have sought attention for their careers by voicing sensational racist, homophobic, and misogynist slurs—on the correct assumption their attention-grabbing left-wing fides prevents career cancellation.

Hollywood, we learn, has been selecting some actors on the basis of lighter skin color to accommodate racist Beijing’s demands to distribute widely their films in the enormous Chinese market. Yet note well that Hollywood has recently created racial quotas for particular Oscar categories, even as it reverses its racial obsessions to punish rather than empower people of color on the prompt of Chinese paymasters.

Ditto the political warping in professional sports. Endorsements, media face time, and cultural resonance often hinge on athletes either being woke—or entirely politically somnolent. A few stars may exist as known conservatives, but again they are the rare exceptions. For most athletes, it is wisest to keep mum and either support, condone, or ignore the Black Lives Matter rituals of taking a knee, not standing for the flag, or ritually denouncing conservative politicians. Those who are offended and turn the channel can be replaced by far more new viewers in China, who appreciate such criticism directed at the proper target.

Again, what is common to all the tentacles of this progressive octopus is illiberalism. Of course, progressivism, dating back to late 19th-century advocacy for “updating” the Constitution, always smiled upon authoritarianism. It promoted the “science” of eugenics and forced race-based sterilization, and the messianic idea that enlightened elites can use the increased powers of government to manage better the personal lives of its subjects (enslaved to religious dogma or mired in ignorance), according to supposed pure reason and humanistic intent.

Many progressives professed early admiration for the supposed efficiency of Benito Mussolini’s public works programs spurred on by his Depression-era fascism, and his enlistment of a self-described expert class to implement by fiat what was necessary for “progress.”

Even contemporary progressives have voiced admiration for the communist Chinese ability to override “obstructionists” to create mass transit, high-density urban living, and solar power. Early on in the pandemic Bill Gates defended China’s conduct surrounding the COVID-19 disaster. Suggesting the virus did not originate in a “wet” market was “conspiratorial”; travel bans were “racist” and “xenophobic.” In contrast, had SARS-CoV-2 possibly escaped by accident from a Russian lab, in our hysterias we might have been on the brink of war.

So it is understandable that progressivism can end up as an enemy of the First Amendment and intellectual diversity to bulldoze impediments to needed progress. To save us, sometimes leftists must become advocates of monopolies and cartels, of censorship, or of the militarization of our capital.

The new Left sorts, rewards, and punishes people by their race. And some progressives are the most likely appeasers of a racist and authoritarian Chinese government and advocates of Trotskyizing our past through iconoclasm, erasing, renaming, and cancelling out. San Francisco’s school board recently voted to rename over 40 schools, largely due to the pressure of a few poorly educated teachers who claimed on the basis of half-baked Wikipedia research that icons such as Lincoln, Roosevelt, and Washington were unfit for such recognition.

Absolute Power for Absolute Good

There are various explanations for unprogressive progressivism. None are necessarily mutually exclusive. Much of the latest totalitarianism is simple hula-hoop groupthink, a fad, or even a wise career move. Loud progressivism has become for some professionals, an insurance policy—or perhaps a deterrent high wall to ensure the mob bypasses one for easier prey elsewhere. Were Hunter Biden and his family grifting cartel not loud liberals and connected to Joe Biden, they all might have ended up like Jack Abramoff.

More commonly, progressivism offers the elite, the rich, and the well-connected Medieval penance, a vicarious way to alleviate their transitory guilt over privilege such as a $20,000 ice cream freezer or a carbon-spewing Gulfstream by abstract self-indictment of the very system that they have mastered so well.

Progressives also believe in natural hierarchies. They see themselves as an elite certified by their degrees, their resumes, and their correct ideologies, our version of Platonic Guardians, practitioners of the “noble lie” to do us good. In its condescending modern form, the creed is devoted to expanding the administrative state, and the expert class that runs it, and revolves in and out from its government hierarchies to privileged counterparts in the corporate and academic world.

Progressivism patronizes the poor and champions them at a distance, but despises the middle class, the traditionally hated bourgeoise without the romance of the distant impoverished or the taste and culture of the rich. The venom explains the wide array of epithets that Obama, Clinton, and Biden have so casually employed—clingers, deplorables, irredeemables, dregs, ugly folk, chumps, and so on. “Occupy Wall Street” was prepped by the media as a romance. The Tea Party was derided as Klan-like. The rioters who stormed the Capitol were rightly dubbed lawbreakers; those who besieged and torched a Minneapolis federal courthouse were romanticized or contextualized.

Abstract humanitarian progressives assume that their superior intelligence and training properly should exempt them from the bothersome ramifications of their own ideologies. They promote high taxes and mock material indulgences. But some have made a science out of tax evasion and embrace the tasteful good life and its material attractions. They prefer private schooling and Ivy League education for their offspring, while opposing charter schools for others.

There is no dichotomy in insisting on more race-based admissions and yet calling a dean or provost to help leverage a now tougher admission for one’s gifted daughter. Sometimes the liberal Hollywood celebrity effort to get offspring stamped with the proper university credentials becomes felonious. Walls are retrograde but can be tastefully integrated into a gated estate. They like static class differences and likely resent the middle class for its supposedly grasping effort to become rich—like themselves.

The working classes can always make solar panels, the billionaire John Kerry tells those thousands whom his boss had just thrown out of work by the cancellation of the Keystone XL Pipeline. It is as if the Yale man was back to the old days when the multimillionaire and promoter of higher taxes moved his yacht to avoid sales and excise taxes and lectured JC students, “You study hard, you do your homework and you make an effort to be smart, you can do well. If you don’t, you get stuck in Iraq.”

There is no such thing as “dark” money or the pernicious role of cash in warping politics when Michael Bloomberg, George Soros, and Mark Zuckerberg, both through direct donations and through various PACs and foundations—channeled nearly $1 billion to left-wing candidates, activists, and political groups throughout the 2020 campaign year.

In sum, the new tribal progressivism is the career ideology foremost of the wealthy and elite—a truth that many skeptical poor and middle-class minorities are now so often pilloried for pointing out. Progressives have adopted identity politics and rejected class considerations, largely because solidarity with elite minorities of similar tastes and politics excuses them from any concrete concern for, or experience with, the middle classes of all races. The Left finally proved right in its boilerplate warning that the “plutocracy” and the “special interests” run America: “If you can’t beat them, outdo them.”

Self-righteous progressives believe they put up with and suffer on behalf of us—and thus their irrational fury and hate for the irredeemables and conservative minorities springs from being utterly unappreciated by clueless serfs who should properly worship their betters.

https://amgreatness.com/2021/01/31/why-are-progressives-so-illiberal/

#progressives #liberals #biden #trump #politics