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stonenumberone · 12 days

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youtube

this is the quote they mention:

“There is a vitality, a life force, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and there is only one of you in all time, this expression is unique, and if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium; and be lost. The world will not have it. It is not your business to determine how good it is, not how it compares with other expression. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open. You do not even have to believe in yourself or your work. You have to keep open and aware directly to the urges that motivate you. Keep the channel open. No artist is pleased. There is no satisfaction whatever at any time. There is only a queer, divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others.”

― Martha Graham

#eric kripke #sera gamble #spn #writing #creative process #watched this with my morning coffee #very interesting #really love that martha graham quote #martha graham #queer; divine dissatisfaction #spn revival or whatever with these two would be a dream come true #Youtube

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shsenhaji · 27 days

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📚 March Reading Round-Up 📚

Read some pretty great books in March, and there's a few I'm still reading that I hope to finish in April!

I was able to continue some series that I've been reading, such as The Murderbot Diaries and Kushiel's Legacy. I also finally finished the Imperial Radch trilogy!

- House of Sky and Breath by Sarah J Maas (partial re-read, Partial re-read, very good, kept wanting to read more, didn’t cry but felt the Emotions, friendship! Connected much more to some characters this time around)

- Divinity 36 by Gail Carriger (Good, engrossing, very emotional, lots of heart at its core, enjoyed it more as I continued reading)

- This Is How You Lose the Time War by Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone (thank you Bigolas Dickolas for the push to finally read this book! Loved the audiobook, beautiful, not as confusing as I’d feared, loved how their relationship developed, the prose and metaphors and language…)

- Traveller's Joy by Victoria Goddard (Good, emotional, heartwarming, some sadness and dramatic irony, friendship!)

- Kushiel's Chosen (finally got to the second book, and it didn't disappoint! So good, kept binging it, so emotional and philosophical, heartbreaking at parts, loved it even more than book one)

- Network Effect by Martha Wells (so good and readable, Murderbot my beloved, loved seeing the characters and their relationships and Three, Murderbot being rescued!!!!)

- Ancillary Mercy by Ann Leckie (Read it in one sitting immediately after finishing Network Effect, so very good, loved the themes and characters and how they developed and grew, that ending!)

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300iqprower · 2 years

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Salome is the only Bronze Servant that doesn't appear in a Story Chapter.

Damn, almost like we desperately need a chapter that cares about the biblical servants for more reasons than just Goetia existing.

David was treated as a disposable NPC despite his son being the main villain.

Sheba was treated like an afterthought despite her husband being the now dead main villain, and had no carryover despite being the last major servant to appear before part 2 where said husband returns as a major plotpoint.

Noah is Grand Rider yet doesn't even have his own fucking body, just being shoved into Nemo for literally no good reason.

Between those three things alongside Longinus and Martha's interaction potential, and Salome conspicuously having no role so far she'll probably just be a throwaway in 6.5 i mean they did fuck all with Chen, Roberts and Paris yeah we could definitely fucking use a proper old testament/Canaanite singularity. Not like we're lacking in villains, hell one of my scrapped Record of Ragnarok fan matchups is Jeanne d'Arc vs Baal Zebub

#ya know cause they're both saintly/divine figures who were pretty much slandered - betrayed - and used as martyrs of reclamation #fgo #fgo salome #fgo david #fgo sheba #fgo noah #fgo martha #all of these people still haven't gotten a chance to have a meaningful story role #I havent done salem and I refuse to count it because I already know #that is doesnt truly explore Sheba's connection to Solomon i had that spoiled #and Im not counting Martha being funny in events as getting to have a deep meaningful character #never thought i'd get an ask

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malbecmusings · 2 years

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Stuck on you I've got this feeling down deep in my soul that I just can't lose Guess I'm on my way Needed a friend And the way I feel now I guess I'll be with you 'til the end Guess I'm on my way Mighty glad you stayed

#acwm #til the end #giving spotify whiplash #martha fucking divine #lionel richie #if it speaks to me i'm going to blast it

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goddesscookiefelix · 5 months

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Videos that I made for this month:

1) Past Betrayal~Blessed Virgin Mary

https://youtu.be/cDsOQ29pHss

2) Taylor Swift Bates Motel

https://youtu.be/KE_2uLxQQtc

3) Spotted Tiger and STI Warning

https://youtu.be/CK9YOW_OMTU

4) You were born to create ❤️

https://youtu.be/lwERQbvUlbE

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juliaridulaina · 2 years

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(Part2) d’un plançó entre punxes/(Part2) of a stem between thorns/(Parte2) de un vástago entre espinas

(Part2) d’un plançó entre punxes Inspirat per Marta M.*cal l’empenta del Pare per tirar endavant* «…és sabut que a allò que donem energia, allò creix»I, sí, l’energia és important en la puresa; per això, perquè aquesta llavor de puresa sigui prou forta per seguir endavant i poder desplaçar els arrels dels vicis i poder arramassar-los-hi el sol.., cal que a la llavor li arribi el Gran Sol, doncs…

View On WordPress

#(Part2) d’un plançó entre punxes #(Part2) of a stem between thorns #(Parte2) de un vástago entre espinas #el Gran Sol #Font de l’Energia divina #Fuente de la Energía divina #Inspirado por Marta M.#Inspirat per Marta M.#Inspired by Martha M.#la luz de Dios #Source of divine Energy #the Great Sun

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aletterinthenameofsanity · 2 months

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Does it ever hit you that Martha sat down in New New York and told the Doctor that she needed his honesty more than she needed to go home and that religious music played in the background at that scene and it was almost framed as a confession, in the most religious sense, and go a little bit feral? That as early as her third episode, she was framed as his equal, equally divine, equally a doctor, able to confront him, able to make him honest, able to sympathize with him, able to abide with him? That so few companions have ever spent so much time in one time period with the Doctor (1969/1913, for example), being with him/her, not running, just staying? That for every fucking thing Ten did wrong as John Smith/after coming back to himself in Human Nature/Family of Blood, he trusted her enough to leave himself vulnerable and human in her care, because he trusted her as a Doctor, because she was just as much a Doctor as he was? That Martha was, more than any other companion of the Tenth Doctor's, his equal, that her final speech about not being second was not just talking about her not being second best to Rose but about being second best to him? That she finally understood what had been true from the moment that they met and she closed Stoker's eyes and the Doctor realized that she had not just bravery and cleverness but a kindness that he had forgotten, that Martha Jones, more than anything else, has been and always will be The Doctor?

#meta #martha jones #tenmartha #tenth doctor #tenth doctor x martha jones #ten #put some respect on her name #martha jones deserved better #listen tenmartha were made for each other the same way that ninerose 11amy twelveclara were made for each other #they were made to change each other to depend on each other to have faith in each other to make each other their religion #we're always talking about the religious implications of ninerose 11amy twelveclara on this site as we should but the religion of tenmartha #unparalleled #they get outright religious music #they get hymns to frame their scenes #abide with me #AND SHE GODDAMN ABIDES #listen i'm pissed with what rtd gave martha post-s3 #especially post journey's end #no mention of her in the 60th anniversary specials & throwing her together with mickey in end of time #the last glimpse we have of her has nothing to do with her arc #gridlock #human nature #family of blood #last of the time lords #the doctorification of martha jones

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girlactionfigure · 2 months

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THURSDAY HERO: Princess Alice

Amazing story! Princess Alice was an unconventional royal who prioritized helping others over wealth and privilege. She devoted her life to good deeds and spiritual growth, and was notable among European royalty for taking Jews into her home during the Holocaust.

Princess Alice stood out for another reason: she was deaf from birth.

Born in 1885 at Windsor Castle, Alice was the great-granddaughter of Queen Victoria. She learned to lip read at a young age, and could speak several languages. Alice was widely regarded as the most beautiful princess in Europe.

At age 17, Alice fell in love with dashing Prince Andrew of Greece and they were married in 1903. Alice and Andrew had four daughters and a son. Their son Philip would later be married to Queen Elizabeth II. Alice communicated with her children mainly in sign language.

Political turmoil in Greece forced the royal family into exile. They settled in a sleepy suburb of Paris, where Alice threw herself into charitable work helping Greek refugees. Her husband left her for a life of gambling and debauchery in Monte Carlo.

Relying on the charity of wealthy relatives, Alice found strength in her Greek Orthodox faith. She became increasingly religious, and believed that she was receiving divine messages and had healing powers. She yearned to share her faith and mystical experiences with others, but instead was dismissed as mentally unhinged.

Alice had a nervous breakdown in 1930. She was committed against her will to a mental institution in Switzerland, with a dubious diagnosis of schizophrenia. Alice did not even get a chance to say goodbye to her children. Her youngest, 9 year old Philip, returned from a picnic to find his mother gone.

Alice tried desperately to leave the asylum, but was kept prisoner in Switzerland for 2 1/2 years. During that time, her beloved son Philip was sent to live with relatives, and her four daughters married German princes. Alice was not allowed to attend any of their weddings.

Finally, in 1932, Alice was released. She became a wanderer, traveling through Europe by herself, staying with relatives or at bed & breakfast inns. In 1935, Alice returned to Greece, where she lived alone in a modest two bedroom apartment and worked with the poor.

The Germans occupied Athens in April 1941. Alice devoted herself to relieving the tremendous suffering in her country. She worked for the Red Cross, organizing soup kitchens and creating shelters for orphaned children. Alice also started a nursing service to provide health care to the poorest Athenians.

In 1943, the Germans started deporting the Jews of Athens to concentration camps. Alice hid a Jewish widow, Rachel Cohen, and her children in her own apartment for over a year. Rachel’s late husband, Haimaki Cohen, was an advisor to King George I of Greece, and Alice considered it her solemn duty to save the remaining Cohen family.

Alice lived yards from Gestapo headquarters. When the Germans became suspicious of her and started asking questions, she used her deafness as an excuse not to answer them. Alice kept the Cohen family safe until Greece was liberated in 1944.

After the war, Alice founded her own religious order, the Christian Sisterhood of Martha and Mary, and became a nun. She built a convent and orphanage in a poverty-stricken part of Athens. Alice dressed in a nun’s habit consisting of a drab gray robe, white wimple, cord and rosary beads – but still enjoyed smoking and playing cards.

In 1967, after a Greek military coup, Alice finally returned to Great Britain. She lived at Buckingham Palace with her son Philip and daughter-in-law, Queen Elizabeth II.

Alice died in 1969. She owned no possessions, having given everything to the poor. Before she died, Alice expressed a desire to be buried at the Convent of Saint Mary Magdalene on the Mount of Olives in Jerusalem, but instead was laid to rest in the Royal Crypt in Windsor Castle.

In 1988, almost 20 years after she died, Alice’s dying wish was finally granted. Her remains were sent to Jerusalem, where she was buried on the Mount of Olives.

In 1994, Alice was honored by the Holocaust Memorial in Jerusalem (Yad Vashem) as Righteous Among The Nations. Her son Prince Philip said of his mother’s wartime heroism, “I suspect that it never occurred to her that her action was in any way special. She was a person with a deep religious faith, and she would have considered it to be a perfectly natural human reaction to fellow beings in distress.”

Video

#Thursday Hero

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meragoround · 4 months

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friend convinced me to draw refs for dol characters...

so here's my vision of school LIs! (only them cuz it's already too much wtf)

BONUS!

some other dol doodles

LIs stuff:

feat. my pc Ruth

feat. my pc Navy

PCs only:

Ruth the Vixen! (my beloved)

Leonhard the Schemer (through game save)

Ruth and Leo (after getting both animal and divine TFs)

my pc Rudi and my friend's who convinced me to draw the refs for LIs (@deoccchi) pc Martha!

#degrees of lewdity #whitney the bully #dol whitney #robin the orphan #dol robin #kylar the loner #dol kylar #sydney the faithful #sydney the fallen #dol sydney #dol pc

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somesecretpie · 1 month

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Weather Woman (Short Story)

Forty-seven dead. Bodies near unrecognizable. An eyewitness, Ms. Self, said the weather was to blame but Susan knew it was anything but that. This was homicide. Divine intervention.

“My poor poor little pansies,” she said, peering over their wilted corpses. It had officially been a whole year since Susan’s county had any rainfall. Several months ago, the town began issuing fines to anyone who dared to water their lawn. Susan did not find this to be much of an issue—she continued to keep her garden green as suburbia withered and died around her, until she ran into a small problem.

Susan ran out of money.

From all the fines she was paying.

She reentered her home, morning paper in one hand, and her weekly subscription to “Martha Stewart Living” in the other. Her house was a wondrous temple of correct furniture and appropriate color palettes, bowls of plastic fruit at the center of each faux-mahogany table. Photographs of a happy family arranged in a symmetrical pattern (Not her own, though; they were stock images.) She would have absolute perfection, were it not for that scorched eyesore that marked her entryway garden.

Susan poured her morning coffee, popped a bagel in the toaster, and turned on the weather channel for her district. That was the only thing she watched now: The weather. Mr. John Sunday in front of his green screen, with his little yellow bowtie, and his eyes the color of the unchanging sky. He looked quite unremarkable for a man that disseminated such important information to the public, but looks can be deceiving. One does not look at a perfect egg and see themselves contracting salmonella.

“Please, John, some rain for my pansies,” Susan whispered into her morning coffee. She turned up the volume and his pleasant voice filled the living room.

“Good morning, Marin County! It’s gonna be nothing but blue skies this week. Perfect weather for going on a nice long walk. And enjoying all that mother nature has to offer—“

Susan threw her bagel at the television in a fit of anger. Then promptly cleaned it off the floor and swept it into the wastebin.

What did she do to deserve these never-ending blue skies? I’m a nice woman, aren’t I? she lamented. Don’t I deserve purple pansies? Don’t I deserve a little rain?

There was something malicious and secret behind John’s blue eyes. Something he knew that she did not. She could not bear to look at them!

She shut off the TV.

Her heart beat madly in her chest. What ever would Susan do? Refill her bed of flowers with desert cacti and succulents? No, wrong color palette. Take out a loan to continue watering her plants? Now that would be ridiculous…

The weather was to blame—but Susan had a poor understanding of it. What went on up there in the sky? Who, exactly, could she send a strongly worded email to?

That same morning, Susan Kelvin decided she would take out a loan after all, but not to water her plants. Instead, she would go back to her local community college to study meteorology. She was quite sure that most of her coursework was merely propaganda from Big Weather, but she needed that associate's degree so she could learn that secret that lurked behind the eyes of Mr. John Sunday. So she could join his ranks. So she could become a Weather Woman.

Susan applied to the local television network with high hopes. The fate of her future rested on their acceptance. She snuggled into bed that same night of her application and dreamed of fresh purple pansies dotting the corners of her deep green lawn. But...something was terribly wrong!

Susan gasped for breath and opened her eyes. Strong hands grasped her arms, the fabric of a bag over her face—she was being kidnapped! Oh this is going to work horribly with my schedule! thought Susan. She began to protest but a harsh voice shushed her to silence. She was shoved into a car.

After an hour or so of stumbling around, the bag was lifted, and Susan blinked rapidly. She was in a musty room lit by candles. Deactivated cameras hung on racks against the wall, and a circle of sharply dressed bodies surrounded her, their shadows bending and stretching in the flickering light.

“Welcome,” someone said. “You have been called before our chapter because of your personal obsession with the weather. And from our understanding, your qualifications may permit that obsession to become...something more.”

Susan struggled to get her bearings. In front of her was, if she was not mistaken, sliced tofu arranged into an occult symbol.

“Your name is Susan Kelvin and you have a degree in meteorology from Marin County Community College, is this correct?”

“Yes,” Susan confirmed.

“You live alone, your parents are deceased, and you have no friends or loved ones. Is this also correct?”

“Who are you people?”

Susan then noticed that she recognized the woman sitting on her left—it was Ms. Rivers from channel eight. A proper weatherwoman, straightened and carefully sculpted black hair, with a stormy gray pantsuit that tastefully contrasted against her dark complexion. And to her right was that weatherman from channel seven what’s-his-face (his appearance was not noteworthy). And at the very front, at the head of the body of bodies, the man who had been speaking to her was none other than Mr. John Sunday in his yellow bow tie.

“What interest do you have in becoming a Weather Woman, Ms. Susan Kelvin?”

“I…um…”

They waited patiently for her answer. It suddenly occurred to Susan that this was probably a job interview. She straightened her back and folded her hands in front of her.

“I believe I could bring a lot of value and a unique perspective to the weather conversation,” Susan said. “It has affected me personally…My district hasn’t had any rain in over a month.”

“I’m sorry,” John said. “That must be terrible for you.”

“What are you apologizing for? You can’t control the weather.”

John Sunday leaned forward, and his blue eyes flashed a deep dark red. “Oh but we can.”

“Can what?”

“We control the weather, Susan.”

Susan narrowed her eyes. “That is completely absurd. You’re all a bunch of wierdo people who kidnapped me and I’m...I’m going to tell the authorities!”

“No one will believe you,” whispered Rivers.

Susan glared at everyone, but the weather people held still, not a trace of doubt of their ability. But surely the truth about the weather would not be so…uncomplicated. Surely the unseen forces that murdered her flowers would not have human faces.

“I don’t believe you,” Susan said plainly. “But I do need this job so that I can pay off my student loans–”

“The forecasters bear a burden.” John ignored her question. The speech was likely rehearsed. “To be a forecaster is self-sacrifice! To be a forecaster is to be a champion of the greater good! Does that describe you, Susan Kelvin?”

She hesitated.

Champion is rather vague. It can have multiple meanings.

She thought of her beautifully decorated house.

Oh, but I am certainly good.

She thought of her neighbors and their inferior sense of style.

And I am certainly greater!

Slowly, Susan nodded her head.

The weather people muttered amongst themselves enthusiastically, like children, until silenced by John.

“Excellent,” he said. “Very good. Then, on behalf of the California chapter of forecasters, the masters of the weather, we welcome you. Thank you, Great Mother.”

“Thank you, Great Mother.” the weatherpeople said in tandem.

Someone clapped twice, and the overhead lamps blasted light everywhere.

“You’ll be shadowing Rivers tomorrow at eight. Look sharp,” John said dramatically, but without the candlelight defining his cheekbones, it was quite hard to take him seriously.

The next day, Susan arrived at exactly eight o’ clock, wearing her best suit, and hair pulled back in a tight bun. She found Rivers, on set, eating conservatively from a bag of soynuts.

“Oh hey! It’s you,” the weatherwoman said. “Sorry about all that cult stuff. John can be so dramatic.”

Susan smiled in relief, but quickly hid it away. “That is an understatement,” she muttered. “Will there be any more kidnappings?”

“Only for your monthly status report,” she said, “But give me your number and I can text you before it happens.”

Susan did so hesitantly, and kept staring at her phone after the fact. She had one whole contact now. How quaint.

That day, Susan was supposed to examine the cue cards, inspect the camera crews, and stare intently at the weatherwoman, noting every minute thing she did. Rivers delivered her forecast with a smile. Blue skies again.

“That’s disappointing,” Susan said to her over lunch. “I was hoping for some rain in my district.”

“John already has the weather planned out for the next few weeks,” Rivers said stiffly. “So sorry.”

Susan did not laugh. “This again? Tell me you do not believe this “controlling the weather” nonsense! You are not wizards!”

“Did you not see our occult symbols?”

Susan swatted at the air. “Meaningless shapes.”

“And what about John’s flashing red eyes?”

Susan’s voice lowered to a whisper, “Now, I don’t know about that…But he should see a medical professional.”

Rivers rolled her eyes and left to prepare for her evening forecast. When it was done and there were no more cue cards to read from, she very quickly told the audience, in a joking manner, that there would be isolated showers over their recording studio from exactly five fifty PM to five fifty one PM. She then strut off the stage with a smirk.

“Well, that’s an oddly specific forecast—“

The weather woman grabbed her by the wrist and led her all the way to the back-door exit with the recycling and the parking lot.

“Check your phone,” Rivers said.

Susan did not see why she should, there would be no messages. This was because she only had one contact, you see. But as she held her phone in her hand, a large raindrop splattered on the screen. Then another. And now rain was pouring from the sky, dripping down her hair and suit. Susan’s jaw dropped. She had not felt rain in so long. It was five-fifty. And by five fifty-one, the clouds departed as if swept away by a large broom. The sunlight stung her face.

Rivers smiled at her.

So they really did control the weather.

This revelation posed a great many questions. Like, why did the public not know about this? And why did the weathercasters have these powers? And why had Susan studied for two years to become a meteorologist when she could just pulled forecasts out of her asshole? Susan frowned. Now that she thought about it, it was rather odd that her meterology courses mostly consisted of specifications for ritual sacrifice and obedience lessons. Susan had simply thought it was “one of those things” about academia.

“Well, Rivers…”

“Yes, Susan?”

“I suppose this whole “forecasting” thing is...it’s fun, isn’t it?”

“Fun doesn’t do it justice!” Rivers said, through a handful of soynuts. “Just knowing how much power there is behind your every word. So long the camera is rolling, there is nothing stopping you from doing anything you damn well please!” Rivers laughed heartily, but kept her eyes trained on Susan. “Except your conscience, of course!”

“Oh, yes,” Susan said. “Ha ha!”

Fun doesn’t do it justice…It had been a while since Susan Kelvin had fun. She tried to remember when that was.

Oh, yes, of course!

It had been two weeks ago. Susan had just gotten home from work after a rough day, shoulders drooping, hair ruffled, when she looked down on her front porch and saw a beetle. The bug was turned on its back, legs flailing weakly in the air. There was nothing nearby for grasping, nothing but hot sunburned concrete. This bug had no way of righting itself yet it struggled still. Susan sat down and watched this bug. She watched it until it stopped moving. Until it returned to its natural state. Nonexistence. That had been fun, Susan remembered fondly. I am eager to have fun again.

After two days of shadowing Rivers, Susan was given her own partition of airtime over her district and a weekly forecast by her fellow weatherpeople. She delivered the forecast exactly as instructed. Blue skies.

“Pretty good for a first-time,” Rivers said. “Although, you were a bit stiff. Trying showing more emotion, more body language, you know?” She placed her fingers on her own cheekbones, pressing them upward. “Remember to smile.”

Susan didn’t know why she hadn’t. Perhaps she wasn’t having fun yet. She spent the rest of that evening practicing smiling in the mirror. She read Martha Stewart, baked a five-cheese lasagna exactly per the instructions, and smiled upon removing it from the oven like Martha Stewart did in the picture. She smiled until she did it without thinking, baring her teeth even in bed, as she dreamed of purple pansies.

The next day, she delivered her forecast so well that even John himself gave her a flamboyant “Well done!” And Susan smiled at them as they congratulated her—but still she was not having fun.

All this power and I never get to do anything worthwhile. Susan sighed. I could fix my front lawn if only John would let me.

Later at the meeting, Susan tried to articulate her feelings.

“We could be doing so much more, John. We could be helping the needy, like those poor people of Marin County who’s front lawns have been destroyed by the California heat!”

The weather people muttered undecidedly. Susan recognized her experiences were not universal, and acted accordingly, “Or what about people affected by hurricanes! Or wildfires, droughts, what about them, John! All those poor people we could help with our power—“

“Our power is a gift, you fool!” John snapped.

Susan raised an eyebrow. “A gift?”

“From Zietzebala,” said Rivers. “Our Great Mother Earth. She has gifted us with this forecasting power in exchange for our obedience as well as a few…sacrifices.”

“Ah.” Susan looked down. “And I suppose they have to be virgins too, don’t they. I’m still friends on facebook with a lot of men I went to highschool with who are probably–”

“No! Dammit, no! I meant, like, recycle. Plant a tree!” John looked exasperated. “Sometimes we sacrifice a tofurky, but we’ve never really gone farther than that.”

“Maybe we should,” muttered Rivers.

John turned sharply to look at her. “Don’t think I don’t know about that little stunt you pulled yesterday,” he said with a voice like acid. “Isolated showers? Over our studio? You know how important the schedule is–”

“I’m sorry.” Rivers said. She did not appear sorry. “It will not happen again.”

“It had better not.”

John left the room in a huff.

Once he was safely out of earshot, Susan asked “What did you mean by that?”

Rivers sighed. “I know what you mean about wanting to help. About all the good we could do. Climate change has already killed millions…and the death toll will continue to rise.”

Susan thought of her dead flowers and trembled.

“Don’t feel bad, Rivers,” she said. “It’s not your fault.”

“No but it is literally our fault we control the weather Susan.“

“Oh right.”

Susan had forgotten.

Rivers began crushing the snacks in her hand. “The horrible thing is–I could fix it all. I have an incredibly detailed plan to fix the environment that, when I placed it on the alter to Zietzebala, turned into a swarm of doves! So I know she approves!”

Rivers glared. “But her pact is with John. And John has a bad heart.”

Susan nodded. “Truly a wicked man.”

“No, he literally has a bad heart. Arrhythmia.” Rivers hit twice against her chest. “I’m next in line for leadership if ever something terrible happens to him, just so you know.” She looked askance, placing her hand on Susan’s. “Do with that information what you will, Susan.”

Several things flashed through her mind at once. She saw Rivers dressed in the fanciful robes of climate cult leader. Rivers telling her how beautiful her lawn was. River’s soft, well-manicured hands holding hers, not just now, but over and over again in the future. Rivers could be more than her singular phone contact. Susan’s cheeks grew hot and she withdrew.

“Susan?”

She collected herself, pouring another class of ceremonial non-alcoholic wine. She raised it in a toast. “Here’s to hoping John drops dead!”

Rivers laughed, “Oh Susan, you’re so funny.”

Ms. Susan Kelvin squeezed her incredibly soft hand. “And when you’re head forecaster, you’ll give my district some water, won’t you? Because we are…coworkers?”

Ms. Rivers seemed confused for a half-second, then replied. “Of course! We will help everyone, which includes you!”

“But not me specifically?”

“Not you specifically, no.”

“Oh.”

Susan looked away.

Rivers offered her a soynut, but Susan refused it.

***

Next morning, Susan awoke with a start. She had a good feeling about today, that good feeling had apparently kicked her out of bed at an hour earlier than usual. What to do with the spare time?

She clapped her hands together. I know! I will go out for breakfast!

So Susan drove her little car down to her neighborhood Denny’s, avoiding all the dead beetles in the parking lot with her new high heels. She squeezed herself into a cozy booth. A nice table all to herself.

A waitress approached.

“Brown toast, and two eggs please.”

“Will that be sunny-side up, ma’am?”

“No no,” Susan turned from the window. Blue skies. With a twinge of bitterness she clarified, “I like my eggs over easy.”

“Sure thing!” The waitress jotted it down. “Sorry for assuming, most people like ‘em sunny—.”

“Well I like them over easy,” Susan said with a smile.

Susan tapped her heel as she waited, sipping some lemon water. A tingling feeling ran up her leg, like a bug was crawling. She quickly ran her hand up and down her smooth leg, but it was nothing. Nothing.

Moments later a steaming hot plate arrived. The toast was cut into triangles (the only adequate shape), but the eggs. Oh, the eggs. They were sunny. Side. UP.

Susan stormed out of the establishment without paying, and sped to her job, positively seething.

She did her broadcast as normal, except for one teensy addition as follows:

“Lastly, you’ll be seeing a horrific category five hurricane over in Marin county with wind speeds of about one hundred twenty miles an hour. It will be localized entirely within this area.” Susan pointed with her pointing stick to the map, on which she’d drawn a red circle around that one particular Denny’s.” Susan smiled. “That will be all!”

They cut to commercial break.

No one approached Susan for a full five minutes. Then John appeared, apparently having powerwalked from the adjoining broadcast room.

“Susan, what the hell–”

“It was a joke!”

John looked flabbergasted.

Susan made a silly face.

“A…joke?”

“Yes.”

He shook his head. “Susan…you need to be really fucking careful with “jokes” when you’re on camera…You’re not in training anymore. Everything you say will happen no matter how ridiculous.”

Susan smiled slightly. That was exactly what she hoped.

John put a firm hand on her shoulder. “Look here, when the commercial ends, you are going to tell everyone that was a “joke”. You are going to tell everyone that there will be no category five hurricane at that particular Denny’s. Okay?”

“Okay, John.”

He backed away as the camera man counted down. Susan straightened her collar.

“Good evening, Citizens of Marin county. I have something to tell you all about that Category Five hurricane I mentioned earlier.”

Susan thought about reversing her decision. But why should she? That Denny’s had tried to poison her. She was doing God’s work.

She cleared her throat. “That hurricane is going to have hail. So so much hail.” John was pulling at his hair.

“And that’s not all. Susan looked directly at the camera, “Mr. John Sunday is going to die at exactly six forty-seven PM, and nothing that anyone does, not any doctor, not any ambulance, not any priest will be able to stop it.”

John Sunday ran onto the set, jumping over the rolling chairs and camera crew, reaching for her microphone.

“And the power to this station will go off NOW.”

Darkness fell. Susan tried to run, but John tackled her to the ground. He pulled the microphone from her face and shouted into it, “No! No that will not happen, actually, that will not happen. Susan is wrong!”

But the cameras were not running.

“You’re too late, John.”

John clutched his face.

“What time is it?”

It was six forty-six.

There was terror in his eyes, “That wasn’t even weather related!” he stammered. “You will be fired for this!”

“Who is going to fire me, John?”

John took out his cellphone with a shaking hand and dialed 911. Susan heard it ringing, a steady pulse in his hand. But what John really needed was a steady pulse in his heart. He fell over in agony, and Susan bent over his writhing body. She watched until it stopped. Until it returned to it’s natural state. Nonexistence. Now she was having fun. Susan took his yellow bow tie (it was a clip-on.)

She ran through the crowd of concerned onlookers, off to her car to beat the rush-hour traffic. She heard sirens in the distance, a wailing chorus. Approaching. She clutched the wheel until her knuckles turned white.

Susan saw the siren was that of an ambulance and sighed. Pity that it wouldn’t help anything. What was done was done.

That night, Susan made tea before sleeping, listening to the soft rain against her window as it cooled, with one of Martha Stewart's Living magazines resting on her lap. It was all very calming. She tucked herself into bed at exactly nine-thirty, as she did every night, and slept as she had always slept.

But in her dreams, something was wrong.

Something was terribly wrong.

Susan always dreamed about being in her house, but now she was on a pedestal. On all sides of her, a dark abyss stretched down into infinity.

Instead of her carpet, the ground was teeming with worms.

Instead of the whistling of her teakettle, she heard an ominous wind, delivering muffled shrieks and cries.

Susan tapped her foot on the wormy ground. Well, this is boring! she thought.

But no sooner did her mind form that thought than the wind began to pick up.

Howling now.

And from the sky of inclement weather came a flash of blinding lightning. Susan opened her eyes and who should stand before her but...

“Martha Stewart!” Susan struggled to speak. “I am your biggest fan, I’ve—I’ve read every issue of your magazine, I read your blog—I try so hard to be just like you!”

The woman answered in a booming voice that was far too deep, “But you are not like me, Susan. You are a hollow vessel. You are a parody of human being.”

“You’re not...really Martha Stewart, are you?”

The woman bared her teeth. “I’m afraid not. I am merely taking a form that you can understand.”

Susan had a feeling she knew who it was. “Are you... Great Mother?”

“The one and only!” Zietzebala winked.

Susan looked her up and down. That dress was actually quite unfashionable now that she really looked at it. In hindsight it was obvious this was not Martha Stewart. Susan sighed soberly. Yes, not even a literal goddess can replicate such perfection.

Susan spoke to her in her usual condescending manner. “Why have you come to me like this...in a dream?”

“Isn’t it obvious why I’m here?” Not-Martha-Stewart said softly. “John Sunday is dead.”

Susan began to sweat. She adjusted her bow tie—no that was John’s bow tie, now she had drawn attention to it!

With the intention of discreteness, and complete failure of that which was intended, Susan removed the article and hurled it into the abyss. Not even a full second later, the bow tie had reappeared.

Again, Susan tossed it.

Again, it reappeared.

Again, she tossed it.

Bow tie back again!

Again, she tossed it—

“This is who you are now, Susan!” shouted Zietzebala. Crackling thunder leapt from her perfect face-framing bob-cut of yellow hair. “This is your burden.”

But the yellow of the bow tie didn’t even go with the current color palette of her outfit! Susan stood helplessly, in her persistently unfashionable clothing, staring into the eyes of this unearthly creature. And for the first time in her perfect life, Susan feared for her immortal soul.

“Great Mother, I am so sorry,” she said tearfully, “But you must let me explain myself! He was preventing me from doing my job as a forecaster, so I had to kill him. I had to!”

Not-Martha-Stewart's eyes flashed red. “Don’t take all the credit, my child. I killed him. You merely allowed me to.”

Susan stopped pretending to look upset. “Oh. So we are on the same page?”

“Not exactly.”

The Great Mother began to circle her, her high heels striking the writhing ground. “John is dead because he thought he could worship two gods at once.”

“He cheated on you?”

“With money.” Zietzebala shook her head. “John was too soft, much like the tofu he insists on sending me…He was unwilling to make the sacrifices I demand. But are you?”

The goddess was getting too close for comfort.

“That…depends…what they are?”

“I want blood, Susan.”

She had figured.

“Rivers has a two hundred page plan on how to save the environment. You are instrumental to that plan, Susan Kelvin. Because you are unlike any human I have ever known.” Her eyes glimmered like starlight. “You are…completely empty.”

Susan frowned. She felt strange. She felt used.

“I must go now–”

“Wait,” Susan stopped her. “While you’re here, can I ask you some questions about the nature of the universe? I’ve had a sudden stroke of curiosity.”

Zietzebala sighed. “Ok. I’ll give you three.”

“Objectively speaking, is the “Farmhouse style” or “Riverside cottage” style superior for a home kitchen?”

“That depends on the context, Susan.”

“Why are all the flowers in the magazines prettier than mine?”

“Because of the drought, Susan.”

She paused. Her last question…What shall it be?

After putting some thought into it, Susan decided to ask, “Is there life after death?”

Zietzebala smirked playfully. “Oh, I think you already know the answer.”

“Do I?”

“Haven't you ever thought there was a bug on your leg, and upon looking, found there was no bug?”

Susan squinted. “What of it?”

The Goddess leaned in closely. “Ghost bugs.”

Susan shuddered, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling. Susan grabbed onto the front of the goddess’s coat.

“Wait, I have one more question.”

“I said I’d give you three.”

“Please, just one more!” Susan demanded. “Are there other gods?”

“You already know the answer.”

Susan scoffed. “I’m…not sure that I do!”

Zietzebala turned from her, staring into the abyss. “It is time for you to wake up, Susan. Remember all that I have told you. Collaborate with Rivers. Eliminate everyone she tells you to.”

“What?”

“Be the good that Martha Stewart wants you to be–or there will be consequences!”

With that, she clapped twice and disappeared in a puff of smoke that smelled like cedar and pumpkin-scented candles.

Susan sat up from her bed abruptly and jerked her head to the side. Six o’ clock. I must get ready for work!

Susan hurriedly bread her hands, popped her soap in the toaster, ironed the carpet, and tore down Main Street. In her urgency, she went two miles above the speed limit.

Seeds of doubts sprouted worries in her mind. Do I really have what it takes to be an eco-terrorist? Susan fancied herself the very image of perfection. Was she not? She who kept her lawn so neatly trimmed? Who’s china was so neatly kept? Susan breathed rapidly. She who ravaged a Denny’s…

Destruction.

Peace.

Order.

Susan whirled into the parking lot of the recording studio, blew past everyone without a word, avoiding inquisitive eyes, avoiding accusatory fingers, planting her ass firmly in her little red rolling chair. She took a deep breath. Be the good…that Martha Stewart wants you to be.

Rivers ran up on stage, grabbed Susan’s face and kissed her passionately. Susan stumbled backwards, bracing herself against the desk. This was NOT an appropriate workplace activity. But Susan could not help herself. She returned the expression, kissing Rivers hungrily, barely noticing the notecards that had been pressed into her hand.

“We’re on in five!”

Rivers pulled away and Susan gasped for breath. “Read these exactly as they are written Susan,” Rivers said.

Susan dared not look down at the paper in her hand. What horrible dreadful things would be written on them?

Television static buzzed in her head. Someone was counting down.

The cameras trained on her.

“Now we will go live to Susan Kelvin with the weather!” The news reporter eyed Susan from her screen. “And I see you are wearing John Sunday’s signature yellow bow tie.”

Susan leaned forward slowly.

“That I am, Fiona. I have worn it to pay my respects—God rest his soul.”

“It’s kind of weird that you were able to forecast his death in such perfect detail.”

Susan paused.

“Yes well…he had a heart condition. So it was only a matter of time really.

“Of course.”

Susan exhaled deeply, and looked down.

Written on the notecards were not the names of oil barons to kill. Not golf courses to destroy. Not death, not destruction. Written on the card was simply the words “rain for everyone”

The television static grew purple.

Rain for everyone.

It was insulting.

“...Susan?”

Her eyes met Rivers. She was grinning ear to ear.

Rain for everyone.

Susan’s whole body shook as she began to deliver her forecast, “A cloud… will appear.”

The room melted away, only Rivers remained.

“Right over my house. A cloud will appear and it will rain. And it will never stop raining.”

Rivers smile twisted into a look of abject horror.

“And my pansies will respond to the rain. They will be the brightest purple. They will be the envy of all you disgusting animals.” Susan hadn’t noticed but she was screaming every word.

The ground beneath the recording studio quaked from thunder. The contract had been broken, wrath was eminent.

“I AM NOT EMPTY! I AM FULL OF PANSIES! I AM FULL OF RAIN.”

Flowers began sprouting from Susan’s ears, nose and eyes. Water poured from her mouth onto the floor. Choking on rain, Susan finished her forecast.

“And that…just about…wraps it up. Ba–ck…to you!”

A bolt of lightning shot down from the heavens, miraculously cutting through the walls of the recording studio, striking Susan. She fell from the stage. Shortly after, more bolts came and the recording studio violently burst into flames.

Forty-seven dead. Bodies near unrecognizable. Eyewitnesses said that the weather was to blame but Ms. Rivers knew that it was anything but that. Homicide. Divine intervention.

Rivers stood alone in the parking lot, charred bow tie in one hand, and in the other, a flash drive full of files full of lies for the goddess of earth. The only god. “Damn you.” Her fingers closed around the yellow cloth.

Rain fell in sheets from the sky above Susan Kelvin's house, with no sign of stopping. Her pansy grew taller than cornstalks, stretching upwards, garishly purple. But Susan would never see them. Susan Kelvin was gone.

Though, some say that on hot summer days when the sky is endless blue, at the back of your neighborhood Denny’s, you can feel her.

Crawling on your leg.

#This is my first short story I've posted to Tumblr!#It's like that one episode of the Fairly Oddparents but if it was more gay and political #It has lesbians and Denny's in it but I swear that was an accident I am not pandering #hope you like it #short story #short fiction #writers on tumblr #writeblr #writing #weather woman

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gallifreyanhotfive · 16 days

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Random Doctor Who Facts You Might Not Know, Part 45

The Doctor owes Casanova a chicken because he helped save the world by making out with one of the most decorated Sontaran generals (thus giving the Doctor time to blow stuff up). (Audio: The House of Masks)

Braxiatel will one day have his own K9. It will be given to him by a friend he hasn't met yet. (Audio: Weapon of Choice)

Braxiatel owns a bar in the 27th century called the White Rabbit. (Audio: Everyone Loves Irving)

Fitz Kreiner once described the TARDIS kitchen as being a cross between a medieval kitchen and Frankenstein's laboratory. (Novel: Autumn Mist)

By some accounts, Morgaine is an alternate universe version of the Master where there were Magic Lords instead of Time Lords. (Novel: The Monster Vault)

The Forge is an English intelligence organization that often experiments with nonhuman lifeforms for their own purposes. Their Project Lazarus was the Doctor; they wanted to find a way to replicate regeneration. (Audio: Project: Lazarus)

Mickey and Martha encountered the Ninth Doctor, Rose, and Jack after they got married. Mickey had sent the Doctor a message to get some help because Martha was transforming into a Gargoyle. Both of them were quite annoyed that Mickey had managed to get the "wrong" Doctor. (Comic: The Transformed)

The Doctor speaks cow (telepathically, of course, because doing so verbally would be silly). (Audio: The End)

Quiquaequod is an alternate version of the Eighth Doctor who was a wizard. He summoned fire to defeat Darcoul, but he accidentally caught his apprentice's cape on fire. His apprentice then burned to death in front of him. (Comic: The Glorious Dead)

An alternate version of the Master that traveled with the Doctor was an android (that the Doctor had built to save him). His face kept on falling off. (TV/Novel: Scream of the Shalka)

There are legends that the Web of Time was woven by time spiders, but they were killed when the Time Lords started exploring the vortex. Occasionally, they had to do pest control as one would pop up every now and then. (Audio: The End)

The Master had a sword fight with the Eighth Doctor and ended up stabbing him in the chest. (Comic: The Glorious Dead)

Addison Delamar once tried to auction off the Ninth Doctor's memories, so he instead broadcasted them to everyone. They were all so overwhelmed by his grief that they ran away. (Comic: The Bidding War)

Attending this auction was the Church of the Evergreen Man, who consider the Doctor to be a Messiah. They called him "the Prophet, blessed be his divine countenance." (Comic: The Bidding War)

The Church of the Evergreen Man also maintained the Oakdown Gallery, where the only confirmed painting of the Master is. (Short story: Dalek: The Astounding Untold History of the Greatest Enemies of the Universe)

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tricoufamily · 6 months

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tried to make my middle school ocs as sims to heal my inner child and completely overhauled them. so here they are, before and after The Events

lore time! trigger warning for like. everything like just go ahead and block their name tags if you have basically any triggers at all sorry

facts about hinnry (right)!

born into an incredibly isolated cult that's existed on a commune completely detached from the world since the 1890s. no one knows they exist, and it would be incredibly difficult to even find the commune.

that's why his name is spelled that way. they've been isolated for so long that their spelling and dialect have almost developed into their own language. like hinnry morphed from henry, jime morphed from james, merthy morphed from martha, etc.

everyone on the commune has the last name skrinniwk. none of the historians who studied the remains of the commune could determine what this used to mean.

you can spell it henry or hinnry. ilya (left) spells it henry. whatever

he has like 17 siblings (his father has multiple wives)

his father is the leader of the cult. they believe that their leader has been the same person since the 1890s, and he transfers his soul to one of his children when his physical body dies

on the commune there are bunkhouses for sleeping, a chapel for worship and school ('school') for the kids, a mess hall/kitchen kinda thing where they all eat, and then all their farming and livestock stuff

hinnry's job is slaughtering the animals

he's 18, almost 19, and has no wives or children yet. the men basically conceive children until they can't anymore (his father is an old man), but it's still strange that he hasn't done it yet at his age.

none of them besides his father and his father's brother have ever left the commune (he has a secret car. the rest of them don't even know what a car is, they think he has divine abilities and that's where they get things from)

a plague has been killing them like crazy. they've been locking bodies in the barn and burning them at night. this is not a good sign for their religion.

they believe all the death means it's time to leave their physical bodies. a mass suicide is coming. this isn't why hinnry runs away though. he would have had no hesitations about it.

facts about ilya (left)!

r̵e̷d̵a̷c̴t̴e̴d̶

r̵̅͜é̶͉ḍ̷̉a̵̲͝c̴͎͊t̵͓́e̵̤͆d̸̰̚

r̶̛̟̞͉̝̪͇͇̳͇̫̖͓̥͍̼̬̪̠̻̝̜͎̙̙̫͉̩͕͇̦͑͑̊̇̓̆̅̽̀̌̈̑͋̊̈́̌̈́͗̆͛̐̀̄̏̂̌̇̊̕͜ë̶͚̲͈͚͉̘̞̉̀̈́́̓́͗͐͌̃̌̌̂̈̄ḑ̵̨̟͓̣̲͎̤͔̑̑́̊̎́̉̉͌̋̓͒̅̀͂́̐̃͛̉̂̊̉̃̈́̋̑̀̈̕͝͝ã̸̧̛̪̼̩̦̜̙̳̦͊͛̄̓̔̈́̃̏̅̊̅́̾̔̆͗̈́̇̾̆͊̎͆̍̓͂̕̕̕͝͝ͅc̵̛̛̰͈̩̥̩̭̹̤̙̟͔̬͖͔̗̰̙̹̎̿̑̀̏͋͆̒̔̎̄̐͛͘̕͜t̸̡̰̖̥̱͈͎͍̙͙̤͍̟͈̦͈̻̺̮̳̗̱̫͋̑̏ė̴̢̡̛̥̱͔͉̩̱̬͇͇̪̖̰̻͉̞͈̩̭̪͚̮̞̠̰̩̦̝̽͆̆̔̄̊̑̑͆̎͌̍̀̈́̔̈́̌͘̚͠ḑ̴̨̪̖̞̙̭̖͔̠̯͙̭̺͔͖̖͙̪̐͛̄̉͛͜͝͝

ṛ̸̑̚͝e̸͉͒d̴̮͚̗͑́a̴͖͎̥̾ć̶̦͈t̶̰͇͚̾̉̕e̷͈̰̾͗̎d̵̾͜

r̷̡̛̻̹͙͈̖̺͛̾̇̋͂̊̑͂̈́̓̎̄̍̆͐̕e̴̡̨̝̜̻̞͍͔͍̲̯͕̹̭̱̩̘̝̳̅̉̈́̇̉͋̑̅͂̋̅̆̿̀̄̉̌̂͑̕͜͝͝ͅͅd̴̥̖̖̗̮̯̦̖͖̄͆̍̊̂̔͆͌̒͘á̸̡̨̠̺͓̠̯̼͚̬̘̪̻̜̠͍̱̿͒̃̌̆̅͊̃̈́͑͑͑̽̈͒̂̓̍͌̿̀͊̃͘͠č̴̺͇̒͑̑̈́̉t̴̨̧̨̡̖̩͕̙̪̰̠̳̬͔͈̬̞̝͈̠̮̭̍̏͛͋͊̊̑è̸̡̧̡̨̛̫̪͔̘̞̜͙̥̝̙͎͙̺͉̭̭̱͍̺̓ͅd̶͖̄̂̈

ṟ̴̟̫͊ë̴̠͇̟́̅͠d̸̼̬̘̕͘ą̴̱̜̈́͒͝c̸̺̫̑̓̕ţ̶̣̅̋̈́é̵̛͍͍͝d̸͖̥̬͗̓

oh yeah he'll have all the hair colors in the poll at some point he dyes it a lot

r̸̢̨̢̛̤̘̪͉̘̥̦͍̙̫̖̣̼̟͖̦̪̯̼͓̙̮̬̞̳̞̺̭͈̥̮̪̝͎̻̩̩̣̬̿̍͐̐̓̔̊̂͂̐́̎̊̍́͑̾̓́̊̒͋̇̐͑̈́͒͐̕͝͝ͅͅe̶̡̧̢̡̥͍̭̪͖̟̘̮̬̤͚͚̤̗̯͚̱̻̜͔͈̞̻̫̙̪̜̬̘̼̦̣͖͔̪̝̣͖͕͚͐̽̍͜͜ͅͅd̵̢̧̨̟̝̦̜̹͎̜̻̬̤̝̣̣̭̤̣̪͙̖͉̼̼̜̻̮̬͕͕̤͓̭͍̹̥͉͚̥͆͋̆͗̆̂̑̍̑̒͗̾͂͗̆͗̒̐̈̈̃́̔͊́́̿́̎̿̕͘̚͘͠͝͝ͅͅa̸̢̨̛͔̰̺̙̖̪̟͎͎̬̹̪̭͙̗͕̬̞͍͍̠͚̩̺͓͍͙̋̍̒̑̊͐̍̈̆̊͊̂̂̋̎̈́͗͆͋́͌̏ͅc̵̖̟̦̺̼͈̀̐̓̒̃͆̌̑̽̈́̃̓̎͛̎̅̏̈́̿̃̔͋̓͝͠͝͝͝͝͝t̵̨̢̼̹̜̹͚͖̫̤̫̺̳̞̣̗͚̫̬͉̤̠̫̫̘͔̫͓̠̙͉̲̠͙͈̭̗̻̎͛̑̊͊͒̎͋͗͜ͅę̴͈̟̖̜̄̇̃͌̉̈̆̍͗͒̿̆̀́͑́͋͌̃̈́́d̵̡̧̢̛͙̝̲̗̼͕̟̱̼͍̦̤̙̹̼̯̹͍̭̟̖̠̣̝̝̳̣̣̥̫̰̖̎̓͛̂́̓͋͗͋̾̎́̎̓̿̿̌̓͛́̓̈́̓̚̕̚͘͜͜͠

#they're overtaking my brain like oh man this is bad #i love them sm but i genuinely find hinnry's face unsettling to look at jdksjjfjds he is a bit creepy!!!#um. considering this is a highly isolated cult. do not think about why he might look a bit strange.#and if you do. to answer your question uhh. yes. somewhere in there certainly. but not as much as some of the others....?#some of the elders have extreme methemoglobinemia they're literally 100% blue skinned ok. that was like in the 60s in think?#and hinnry's grandfather said this is getting bad we need to bring some new recruits in for the first time. they've done that a few times #hinnry's mom was a new recruit. so. you know. it's pretty far back in his line #anyway!!!!!!!!!!!#they're the most fucked up characters i've ever made i think i'm like. can simblr handle this....idk #ts4 #ts4 cas #the sims 4 #ilya #hinnry #two-headed lamb

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violent138 · 2 months

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"#hey I have a serious headcanon that multiple of Gotham's elite were worried about or invested in Bruce's future#not even for court of owl reasons#but because he had the power and wealth to the alter the city the same way his parents did#falcone even tried killing him a bunch"

PLEASE talk more about this i'm begging. I want to hear all about this!!! Go into as much detail as you want but i'd absolutely read a 5k essay on this if you feel up to it

Though this isn't quite a 5K essay, you may come to regret asking lol. But I'm delighted to answer the question (thanks for asking):

Firstly, I guess to set up some Gotham lore, Gotham's a city of seemingly endless opportunity and is subject to constant power grabs. I think Black Mask once listed all the different factions that squabble over Gotham (street gangs, crime families et cetera). One of these groups is the Court of Owls (the society that secretly controls Gotham), made up of Gotham's oldest and wealthiest families.

And Batman comics make a point of repeatedly drawing attention to its key families, Kanes, Waynes, Elliots, Cobblepots (and the Arkhams too should you like to include them). There's an undue influence and importance they wield over the city.

But despite all the different forces that are competing to reshape Gotham in their image, it's the spectre of the Waynes that looms over it all.

This actually makes a lot of sense, since as some of the founders of the city, they were literally involved in creating the city's skyline and appearance. And then past that, there are so many instances and references to how Thomas and Martha (Kane or Arkham) were set on changing the city entirely (possibly a deviation from their more traditional ancestors).

This is the beginning of the loss of control for many others over the city (such as Gotham's wealthy and elite). Even smaller decisions, like Thomas' choice to save Carmine Falcone's life have major repercussions for the city.

The Waynes had a ton of power, buildings and institutions around Gotham hold their name. They were untouched by their potential criminal ties as they reconstructed the city, but it was clear that they were earning the hatred of a lot of powerful players. This includes the Court of Owls (historians still argue)/others, and if you're a fan of the TellTale game, it's clear that Bruce's family may have actually destroyed and usurped power from some of these other powerful families.

Regardless, Thomas and Martha's shocking deaths created a massive power vacuum that everyone would have jumped to take advantage of. And aside from gaining control over the city, all the old-money families would have wanted control over Bruce Wayne.

Because of the deaths of his parents, Bruce becomes a wildcard; he's the sole inheritor of Wayne Enterprises, all the money, power, and prestige his parents wielded. And in a way, it's almost like all the Waynes have some divine right/eldtrichy power over Gotham, by virtue of their fascinating blood line (or just their money).

So everyone would have been trying to control him/adopt him/use his access in the wake of trauma and exploit his age. When it didn't work, they likely all just settled into a stalemate of waiting for him to make moves so they could decide how much of a threat/ally he was.

In a comic I read (I'm sure there are other examples too, can't recall as I answer this), Carmine Falcone tries to kill Bruce Wayne via hired assassin, well after it's been established that nobody's even seen Bruce for a while. Carmine hears that Bruce could be at a party and sends an assassin with both a potent neurotoxin and a sword to ensure the job is done. So long after the deaths of his parents, these concerns of Gotham's warring factions continue.

And once Bruce starts acting on his vision for the city, one that aligns so well with Martha and Thomas' plans for Gotham, he likely cements himself as a threat yet again, and one that hasn't been schooled by his old-money parents in the games and underlying politics of Gotham.

So to continue on the line of thought that the tags came from: Regardless of what choices Bruce eventually makes -> I doubt that the Gotham elite wanted him making them without their influence

As a side note, because I'm kind of obsessed with the lineages that rule Gotham, if you look at Oswald Cobblepot, even as a crime lord descended from the Cobblepots, he's not just a street-level crook, but he also shapes the city.

#I hope this 500 word (or more) thing was what you wanted anon #sorry if this sucks I typed it up between classes as one stream of barely consciousness word vomit #I'm actually quite curious to hear what you make of this #or anyone else for that matter #sorry if I got stuff wrong lol #bruce wayne #batman #gotham #gotham city #dc comics #anon asks #asks answered #the waynes #thomas wayne #martha wayne #gotham's founding families

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broadwaydivastournament · 1 month

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Broadway Divas Tournament: Round 1C

Two-time Tony-winning dancer-extraordinaire Bebe Neuwirth (1958) is best known for her winning role as Velma Kelly in Chicago (1996) alongside her beloved Annie Reinking. After playing Velma off-and-on for some years, she then took on Roxie, and later Matron "Mama" Morton. Bebe has also won for Sweet Charity (1986), and is a two-time Emmy winner for, of course, Lilith in Cheers. Other credits include Here Lies Jenny (2004), Fosse (2001), and Cabaret (2024), opening next month. In addition to her beloved stage, Bebe is a devoted cat-lover, and activist. She founded the Dancers' Resource program to provide support for injured and/or aging dancers.

Stalwart theatre veteran Laurie Metcalf (1955) is also a two-time Tony winner and four-time Emmy winner. Her consecutive Tony wins for A Doll's House, Part 2 (2017) and Three Tall Women (2018) places her on an elite list of just six other performers (including fellow Diva Judith Light). She has also appeared in Misery (2015), Hillary and Clinton (2019), and Grey House (2023), an experimental horror play that ultimately flopped. (And I have opinions on that.)

PROPAGANDA AND MEDIA UNDER CUT: ALL POLLS HERE

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"Let me be abundantly clear. Bebe Neuwirth is my ultimate Diva. It may be stiff competition, but she wins the bracket of my heart every time. I would follow this woman to the end of the earth and back. I love everything about her from her cats, to her giggle, to her exquisite grey hair. I so admire any woman who chooses to age gracefully and without resentment, and Bebe's really settled into this adorable cozy old cat lady life. Back in the day, it was all stiletto heels and tight little black dresses and yes, that was very sexy. But now she's enjoying the comforts of flat sturdy boots, massive sweaters with cute little cats on them, glasses on chains, and divine grey hair. Gorgeous, yes. Talented, fuck yes. This woman has music in her bones and not even three hip surgeries can steal it away. I love her."

"Oh, Bebe Neuwirth? Love of my life, champion of my soul? Her legs are simply to die for. Not convinced? Search up When Velma Takes the Stand on YouTube and feast your eyes. You’ll be watching clips of her entire Broadway career next, trust me. She is truly a powerhouse of a woman, and one of Bob Fosse’s greatest interpreters." Propaganda submitted by anon "V"

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"The pandemic robbed us of many things, but for our purposes here, the greatest loss to theatre was the revival of Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf starring Laurie Metcalf. During the dinner scene, so I'm told by the gays on twitter, she came out in a sheer white blouse and black bra, and I am devastated we didn't get her unhinged Martha. She would have done Uta Hagen and Elaine Stritch proud."

Bonus poll in the tags/comments: Tell me who you think wins in a fight? Lilith from Cheers/Frasier, or Jackie from Rosanne. If you're too young to know what I'm talking about, what are you doing here?

#broadwaydivastournament #broadway divas #broadway #theatre #tournament poll #bebe neuwirth #laurie metcalf #round 1c #this poll is designed to hurt everyone old enough to have watched 80s/90s sitcoms #funnily enough both characters were heavily queercoded so i think they should just date each other wouldn't that be fun? (or disastrous)

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