Totally Awesome

extremely bemused customer: um…… aren’t you the firelord???

Alternately:

Season 2

Aang: I wish that Iroh guy was the Fire Lord, he seems pretty nice

Sokka: Yeah the Fire Nation would probably be better off with him as Fire Lord, but he’s so old and more of an uncle figure, you know? Not really my type.

Aang: What

Early season 3

Sokka, waking up in cold sweat: Oh no. What if... Azula is the future Fire Lord

Late season 3

Katara: Sokka what should we do? The invasion failed, we’ve been hiding in this temple for weeks and Sozin’s comet is almost here

Sokka, mumbling to himself: I hope Zuko becomes Fire Lord he’s pretty cool

Katara: what?

Zuko: Sorry. But you're not going to be the one marrying Sokka.

And then there’s Al and Mei. Al meets Mei, and she instantly gets these incredibly unrealistic expectations of how manly and gentlemanly and perfect Al is. And, normally, a show would have her learn he’s not all that. But instead FMA has Al proceed to prove every single one of her expectations right and the fantasy is never broken for a second. 

 "If we fight with bo staff, I can defeat them in single combat while still maintaining social distancing,“ says Wayne, apparently not joking.

Toph: I can do it.

Aang:

Toph: I’ve killed like 20 people since we met

Aang:

Sokka:

Aang: what no I haven’t I’ve never killed anyone!

Toph: twinkletoes you pick people up and drop them and blow them into walls. katara hits people with water hard enough to throw them to the ground and encases them in ice. Zuko’s straight-up throwing fire at people. Sokka hits people with a club.

Katara:

Aang:

Sokka:

Toph: when you hit people really hard they often die. I mean, I feel it every time. not counting the head trauma and frostbite that probably means they die later.

Toph: ….did you guys not know you were killing people?

Zuko: I mean I wasn’t going to bring it up but she’s right

Toph: I thought we were all doing it on purpose!

Zuko: it’s all in self-defense, it’s not like we’re going out of our way to kill people, but these things happen. Sometimes people have to die to protect everyone else. I thought you understood that already

Katara:

Sokka:

Aang:

Aang:

[All of them but Kyoshi avoid his eyes]

kiyoshi: sometimes you gotta murder a bitch, kid. don’t know what else to tell you

aang:

a spring wedding

anyways heres some material on it

ibm and the holocaust

hitlers american friends

ap press cooperation with nazis

hitlers american model

general motors and nazi germany

operation paperclip

Wonder sisters!

⭐️ Patreon

So his brother knew he was there, watching.

Drake didn’t say anything once he was situated beside the jumper. He simply sat there, eyes on the ground below, facial expresson calm and body language relaxed.

It confused Damian–that Drake wasn’t doing anything.

But one thing he’d learned, however, was that Drake always had a reason for the things he did. It was like life was a game of chess, and Drake was trying to win as efficiently as possible; every move he made in the field–every last choice–was deliberate and planned. Everything he did had purpose.

And because of it, Damian waited.

“You gonna jump?” Drake spoke up, still looking down at the life below them, voice without judgment and ire, simply calm as if he were addressing a co-worker or an old friend.

Damian continued to pay attention, settling himself comfortably as he watched.

“Maybe,” the man replied hollowly. “I don’t see why not.”

Drake hummed, kicking his feet a little.

It went silent again.

The man sat beside Drake and hung his head.

“What’s stopping you?” Drake asked.

“I… Don’t know,” the man whispered back hoarsely.

Silence again fell over them. This method was exceedingly lengthy, and Damian found himself doubting his brother. Nonetheless, he waited and watched, remaining silent and hidden.

“I’ve been there too.”

The man faces Drake sharply, surprise evident in his body and expression that mirrored Damian’s own shock.

What was he doing? Drake knew he was there–he knew Damian was watching and listening–so why… Why was he speaking of his pain? Of his weakness?

Drake continued to stare downward, expression thoughtful.

“I have,” he said. “I’ve felt weak, lesser than, unloved, unworthy, and broken beyond repair.” Drake blinked, and Damian looked to the sky as it began to drizzle with a scowl. Drake’s uniform offered his head no protection against the rain–he’d get sick.

He blinked, realizing that Drake was still talking.

“I’ve held a knife to my skin, and I’ve thought about jumping without a line to catch me.”

“You can’t do that though,” the man answered, putting a hand on Drake’s shoulder. “You can’t.”

Drake slowly lifted his face to meet the man’s gaze.

“Why not?”

The man paused, hesitating, and Damian waited for the response, curious as to what he’d say.

“Because… You’re a hero. If you don’t save the people Batman and the others can’t, who will?”

Drake smiled softly, patting the hand on his shoulder before shifting it off and returning his gaze to the city.

“I know,” he says. “But that’s not why I haven’t kicked the bucket yet.”

The man seemed confused, and Damian tilted his head a little as well.

“Then… Why?”

Drake’s response was a simple one.

“My family. My brothers and my sister. My dad and my grandpa. My best friends and my friends. The people I haven’t met. The people I meet every day.” Drake nodded once. “They’re the reason I’m here to talk to you, even if they’re also the reason I felt so broken in the first place.”

Frowning a little, the man turned to look out at the horizion too.

“And what if you don’t have anyone?” he whispered.

“Everyone has someone.”

“No,” the man said, shaking his head. “I don’t. You don’t understand.”

“I understand better than you think I do, actually,” Drake replied with a hum. “My dad… Something happened and he was gone; nobody knew where he was and we thought he was dead. My oldest brother took my job from me and gave it to my little brother, and my best friends had just died.” Damian winced a little, remembering how he’d been towards Drake in the beginning.

Drake continued.

“I had to leave, because I was the only one looking for our dad. Eventually I found him and we brought him home, but…” He trailed off, sighing. “Things weren’t magically okay. My oldest brother and I were distant, and my little brother hated me.

“But I met some people who helped me get through it.” Drake smiled a little there, likely thinking about whoever he was speaking of.

Damian made a note to find those people and repay them for keeping his brother alive.

“I know what it’s like to feel like you don’t have anybody,” Drake finished. “I was there.”

He glanced at the other man when he asked, “Don’t you hate your brothers for what they did?”

Drake turned to where Damian was hiding, a soft expression on his face.

“No,” he said, simply. “No, I don’t. We’ve got each other now.” He turned to face the other man, saying, “If you really want to do it, I won’t stop you. But I’ll say this: Maybe try hanging in there a little longer, yeah? Time does a lot of things. Healing is one of them.”

The man sighed. “I’ve tried waiting,” he muttered. “Time just drags on.”

“Then take life one second at a time. Don’t focus on tomorrow or next year–focus on the next second, your next breath. It feels hopeless in this second, but it’s got more hope than it did when you walked out here, doesn’t it?”

Silence again befell them, and Damian sat, staring at his brother.

Drake didn’t hate him.

For the longest time Damian had assumed…

He shook his head, biting at his bottom lip. What he felt didn’t matter. Drake had considered suicide before, seriously, actually considered it.

And none of them had known.

The man sighed.

“I’m just tired,” he whispered.

Drake’s grin was bittersweet as he gazed down at the ground.

“We all are.”

A few minutes and words later, the man was walking back to the center of the roof for the stairs, shoulders hunched.

When he was gone, Damian walked out from his hiding spot and took a seat beside his brother, the rain continuing to fall around them, cars below honking and laughter drifting up.

“I don’t hate you,” Drake said, looking at Damian sideways, the bittersweet smile still on his face. “Maybe I was pretty mad at you for a few seconds, but I don’t hate you. I don’t think I ever really did.”

Damian tightened his lips, watching a black car below.

“I cannot say the same,” he finally replied. “I hated you. For a rather extended amount of time.”

“And now?”

“I do not hate you, brother.”

“Cool.”

Silence lapsed, but it was a comfortable one. It hung around until Damian said, “You wouldn’t have… Killed yourself, would you? You won’t?”

The response was delayed so Damian turned his head to look into Drake’s domino.

His brother gazed back and tilted his head, humming a little in consideration.

“I might have,” he finally said. “Back then. I don’t think you understand just how bad everything was for me.”

Damian swallowed, pressing, “And now? Would you?”

Timothy shook his head, returning his gaze to Gotham’s skyline.

“No, Damian. I won’t.”

Sighing in relief, Damian nodded. If he were being honest, Damian wanted a hug, but he could barely voice as much. He wanted to make sure his brother knew he cared. Initiating hugs was still difficult, but maybe…

Damian faced the rest of Gotham too, biting his lip.

“I would like a hug,” he whispered, hoping that Timothy had heard him as much as he hoped he hadn’t.

His brother was mercifully silent as he wrapped an arm over Damian’s shoulders and hugged him close. Damian would deny he was quick to return the embrace, but he snaked both arms around Timothy’s waist as soon as he could, relaxing into the embrace.

“We’re gonna get sick,” Timothy mused.

“Tt. You might. I have a hoodie.”

“You’re not even supposed to be here.”

“Are you going to say anything?”

“Nah.”

“Then I don’t see your point.”

Timothy laughed and Damian smiled a little.

“Right, kid.” Timothy ruffled his hair and Damian allowed it, a mild pout rising at the action.

The quiet that had formed after Timothy’s words were broken, again by the teen.

“I love you, Dami.”

Forcing the words out, Damian said, “And I you, brother.”

13&14/30

Aand here’s my artwork for postcard for crossroads zine ♥

The mediaeval universe of devastating plagues has burst into our clean, modern world of nuclear power, laser surgery and virtual technology. Even in wartime, movie theatres and underground bars continued to exist; yet we are now seeing Europe’s most bustling capitals become sinister ghost towns, with locals forced to hole up in their homes. As Albert Camus wrote in The Plague, “All these changes were, in a way, so extraordinary, and took place so rapidly, that it wasn’t easy to envision them as normal and lasting.”

From air travel to museums, the beating heart of our civilisation suddenly had to stop. […] Overnight, the world has become unheimlich, eerily strange, devoid of familiarity. All comforting actions—holding hands, kissing, hugging, getting together for a meal—have become a source of danger and anxiety. In a matter of days, new concepts have mushroomed to make sense of a new reality: we all became experts in the various existing masks and their filtering efficiency (N95, FFP2, FFP3, etc.); we now know how much hydroalcoholic lotion is necessary to clean our hands properly; we know the difference between “suppression” and “mitigation”, and of course we have become familiar with the strange rules and rituals of social distancing. In a few days, a new normal was introduced, with new objects, new concepts, and new rules. […]

The modern social contract is implicitly based on governments’ capacity to ensure the health and safety of their citizens. The current crisis sheds lights on two facts: one, that this contract, in many parts of the world, has been gradually broken by governments who switched ambitions by becoming economic actors entirely focused on reducing labour costs, deregulating the financial sector, and meeting the needs of big corporations. The result has been a tremendous erosion of public service. The second fact, now obvious to us all, is that only the state can manage and help us survive so great a crisis. […] The neoliberalist imposture has been exposed, and must be loudly denounced.

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In the past few decades, politicians, financial markets, and corporations have banded together to promote policies that drastically reduced all public budgets, from education to health care, thus strangely ignoring how much the same corporations benefit, without spending a penny, from these public services. All these resources are allocated by governments and are the sine qua non conditions for any economic activity to take place. Yet, in France, 100,000 hospital beds were eliminated in the past twenty years. In June 2019, ICU doctors and nurses protested against budget cuts that were pushing the French welfare system—formerly, a global reference—to the brink of collapse. […]

Capitalism as we knew it must change. This pandemic will cause immeasurable economic damages, mass unemployment, negative growth—and it will affect the entire world […]. Banks, corporations, and financial firms will need to help the world’s governments carry the load […]. They will need to help shoulder the burden of economic reconstruction even if they stand to make little profit from it. Capitalists have taken from granted the resources provided by the state—education, health, infrastructures—without realising that draining each of these resources would eventually deprive them of the kind of society that makes economy possible. This needs to stop. Economy needs society to exist. This society must be built collectively, thanks to the contribution of the private sector to the public good. Only the state can manage so great a crisis, but it will not be strong enough, on its own, to get us through it: corporations must contribute to the preservation of the public services from which they profited for so long, […] if they want the economy to remain a conceivable framework for human activities. »