Reblogging again now that Russell Brand's ugly mug is back in the news to remind everyone that in the 2023 Times expose on his abusive behaviour, Daniel Sloss was the only male comedian willing to be named and quoted like "yeah that dude's a scumbag and women have been warning each other about him for years."
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It’s a shame that the internet’s takeaway from the Epstein thing is “Pizzagate was right and we should all start thinking like qanoners” instead of “The MeToo movement was right and should have involved more guillotines.”
i love shane’s potty mouth. i bet his first word as a baby was fuck and yuna was impressed he was listening to her so much (let’s be real he got that mouth from his mama) and david is just happy shane is talking he just goes “yes shane! fuck! that’s my boy!”
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Funny bit and all, but I’m seeing a lot of notes saying they don’t or didn’t know what the Dakota Access Pipeline is so I’d like to take the opportunity as a MN/ND resident to ask all of you to educate yourselves so you don’t say something super racist in light of this joke.
Explore this interactive case study on the Dakota Access Pipeline and its violation of the Fort Laramie Treaty. Students will use the images
The DAPL is a treaty violating, culture destroying, dangerously placed oil transport system that if fails, will pollute the only drinking water of one of the most vulnerable groups in America. It’s yet another way colonizers have ignored indigenous voices and violated their land.
Actually, let's go ahead and say this part louder.
Because the DAPL is HORRIFIC, and indigenous people put their bodies on the line to fight it at every step.
This is one of the first things that comes to mind when I hear phrases like "what you let your government do to others (Palestine) they will eventually do to you*" that drive me up a fucking WALL because that sentiment, though meant to be a rallying cry against political paralysis, is so obnoxiously ignorant of the history and ongoing MO of America.
DAPL, Flint, MI's lack of clean water, Hurricane Katrina, martial law in DC, ICE raids in LA to justify NG deployment against civilians, BLM. I mean fuck it, go look up Seneca Village and the creation of Central Park. Look up how freeways in large cities like LA derived their paths.
America currently and has ALWAYS gleefully threatened, endangered, exploited, and violated the lives and lands of BIPOC (and heavy on the indigenous while we're talking about DAPL rn) people whenever convenient, profitable, and destabilizing to those communities.
Anyway, all of that to say:
- the fascism around us isn't new.
- Fuck DAPL.
- listen to vulnerable populations when they tell you the fear you're feeling now has been a regular part of their lives for GENERATIONS and transmute that realization into momentum to join the fight because it's not new - it's been waiting for you and now you're here!
- vote for Vic
* = this "you" is so 'affluent white liberal' coded I want to scream
Trick or Treat! Your mismag drabbles are giving me life!
If you're not too busy, I'd love some EvSam..
I feel like a lot of discussion of their relationship centers around Sam comforting Evan... I'd love to see some Evan comforting/protecting Sam!
Hand shaking, she struggles to not drop the phone.
It rings.
Once.
Twice.
A thi-
“Hello?” his voice is groggy from sleep and she almost sobs in relief at the sound.
“Hi,” she says, trying her best to sound like she hasn’t just been crying. “Hey, Ev’.”
“Sam?” he asks, suddenly sounding infinitely more alert than he was a moment ago. “What’s up? Everything okay?”
“Yeah, it’s- I’m fine,” she reassures him quickly, rubbing at her nose with the back of her hand. It’s wet from snot and she feels gross.
“Where are you?” he asks. She can hear the noise of something in the background, rather like air rapidly decompressing from something.
“Why?” she asks. “You don’t need to- you don’t have to come.”
The sound of a window opening and a deep breath in. “Sam,” he says, his voice dangerously low. “Either tell me exactly what happened or tell me where you are, so I can make sure you’re safe.”
“London,” she says, “Outside a pub. In- the West End? I’m- I’m not sure.”
“Got it,” he says. She can hear the sound of his fingers flying across the screen of his phone. For a guy who only had a flip phone for the longest time, he took to screens really well. “I can be there in five. Is that soon enough?”
A door opens behind her and she holds her breath, taking the phone off speaker and turning the sound down so Evan won’t give her away. “Sam?” a voice calls. “Samantha? I know you’re out here.”
She doesn’t respond.
Faintly, through the phone, she can hear whooshing wind - the sound of him on his broom. Just knowing he’s coming is enough to turn her stomach into knots and make her feel safe at the exact same time. It’s stupid, this is stupid. He’s going to think she’s stupid for calling him crying over something this ridiculous.
“Ugh,” the voice says, the door slamming again as they go back in.
Sam breathes out sharply, peeking out from behind the dumpster to make sure they really left and aren’t just faking it. It’s what Evan would do, if he were here.
They’re gone. She turns the volume back up. “Sorry,” she says. “I -"
“Sam, who was that?” his voice is a little tinny but she can make it out okay.
There’s wine all over the front of her dress and T2’s going to kill her over the dry-cleaning bill. She doesn’t answer. “I’m okay,” she says. “It’s not- I’m not in danger. I promise.”
The sound of rushing wind stops and then his voice comes through clearer. “If it’s safe, can you walk out into the street for me?”
She pushes up from her seat on one of the small crates and brushes off her dress, though it’s a futile effort. Most of her things are still inside, she’d only had her phone on her when she rushed out, and now she’s kicking herself for it. She’s going to have to go back in to get her stuff or give them up and hope someone turns them into the bartender so she can maybe get them back in the morning.
Stepping out under the streetlights, Sam gives the street a quick look around. “Okay,” she says, “I’m on the street.”
“Thank you,” he says politely. “I want you to pick something and think about it as hard as you can. Focus everything you have on thinking about it.”
A little confused, Sam closes her eyes, and thinks about Evan.
After about fifteen seconds, she hears, “I see you.”
When she opens her eyes, he’s walking up to her, his broom already stashed away in his backpack. The final few paces, he jogs to her, reaching out in concern at the stain on her dress. “Is that -"
“Wine,” she says quickly, not sure what to do with her phone now. Not waiting for him to open his arms, she throws hers around him, latching onto him. Her face buried in his neck, she breathes the smell of Evan. Warm, a little like the forest after a spring rain, and perfectly him.
His hand comes up to cup the back of her head, his other hand not so subtly checking her for injuries.
“What happened?” he asks. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” she says, pulling away to sniffle. “I’m sorry- you shouldn’t have- I shouldn’t have called. It’s just -" she stuffs her phone in between her boobs for lack of a better place to put it. “Did I ever tell you about my dad?”
-
With Evan’s coat wrapped around her to cover up the stain on her dress, Sam feels like she’s been wrapped in a spell of protectiveness. They walk back into the pub, him just a few steps ahead of her. “Which one?” he asks, his voice low.
Sam points.
“Wait here,” he instructs, passing over his backpack for her to hold.
She waits.
He strides up to her father, clasping him on the shoulder to get his attention. She’s too far away to hear what’s being said but it’s less than a minute before Evan’s widening his stance and she knows exactly what he’s going to do. Too bad that no one else does.
Her father hits the floor like he’s been slammed into by a cannonball, sliding backwards several feet. He looks up at Evan in a daze.
The rest of the pub falls completely silent, no one daring to move or even thinking to intervene.
Evan steps up over her father, his foot coming down to the man’s wrist to hold it in place. Crouching down, he removes her purse from his grasp.
He opens it, checking to make sure everything she carries is in there, and then digs his heel in for good measure. “Stay the fuck away from Sam,” she hears Evan say, his voice dangerously serious.
“C’mon,” he says, pulling Sam in close with one arm hooked around her shoulder. He kisses the side of her head. “Let’s get you home.”
Sam cries a little again, but for a whole different reason this time.
I love watching big dogs teach little dogs the rules. They always have such big "old timer employee giving the intern orientation" energy. They're so businesslike about it. This is their valued junior colleague, they are showing them the break room and the photocopier trick.
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Welp fellow shippers and true believers, the Sam x Evan supercut is done!
Maybe I did too much (idk I've never made an edit like this before????) but tbh I haven't had as much fun editing anything as much as I did this supercut
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Obsessed with the idea of an EvSam fic where Sam gets kidnapped because someone is trying to get to Evan now that he’s on some wizard vigilante shit. He’s committing mass murder and doing war crimes just to get to Sam, but as soon as he gets there he finds that Sam has successfully charmed her captors and is rehabilitating them/convinced them to give up their bosses.
It’s the idea of a blood soaked man with nothing but rage in his heart walking into a room ready for the fight of his life only to get the wind knocked out of his sails because his very powerful wizard girlfriend-wife already handled it.
So now Evan’s like, “Why didn’t you come home?”
And Sam goes, “I didn’t want to leave and end up missing you since I knew you were already on the way.”
Evan’s nodding, like, “Yeah, you’re right… ships in the night.”
“Plus I tried to send a paper bird message,” Sam says, “but I guess you were moving too fast or something because it came back and like, shrugged at me.”
And Evan just kind of sighs because he can’t be mad at Sam. He’s mostly just relieved that she’s okay, but he still has a lot of pent up energy that he fully intended to use on the people in this room only he can’t now because they’re Sam’s turncoat thralls. So he’s like covered in viscera, still in a blood rage, has black eyes and a demon voice but is also trying not to cry because he missed his wifey and doesn’t sleep well without her. (And also didn’t sleep for two days straight while he was on his warpath to her. Like there is the biggest wake of murder and mayhem behind him.)
But then Sam grabs a little napkin and cleans some blood off his face so she can kiss him on the cheek and all of the demon energy melts off of his body and he’s semi-normal again. So Sam turns to her new homies and is like, “Bye guys. It was nice meeting you. I’m gonna go home now, but we should like — stay in touch.”
Which Evan is bugging about because he still wants to tear these people limb from limb, but he lets it go. Mostly. “Are they like… good now? Or are they gonna turn back as soon as we leave? Should I kill them?”
“Oh, no, no, no. We’re cool now. Most of them were only doing this because they couldn’t find jobs anywhere else because they’ve got records, and they hate their bosses. So I just offered them jobs and then they like, gave me the names of all the guys that were after you and where to find them.”
Evan’s like a dog that hears a treat bag shaking because, “Most of them?” baby wants to kill.
But then Sam says, “Oh, they already took care of the loyalists.”
And Evan’s both disappointed and feeling territorial because he’s supposed to be her attack dog, but Sam smiles at him and he’s a sucker so he just says, “You’re amazing.”
not sure if it’s just because i’ve been thinking about sam and evan nonstop since wednesday but this song is SO “tender sentiments whispered between two people sharing an air mattress” to me