Beauty and the Beast •Part 4• (AU Newt Scamander x Reader)
“Are you wearing that to dinner?” A voice asked from the table. You looked over to see the Niffler and Pickett sitting there, watching you with a hint of amusement I’m their eyes.
“Why wouldn’t I?” You questioned as you placed your hands on your hips.
“It’s… nice,” Pickett commented with a wince before continuing. “But don’t you have anything better?”
“Something that shines?” The Niffler added.
“Your master didn’t let me get anything from home before I came here,” you told them sadly.
“Perhaps we can help?” Pickett suggested. “I do believe that there is a dress that someone stole that looks about your size.”
“I did not steal it!” The Niffler protested as it let out a huff. You stifled a giggle at the creatures and waited for them to continue. “It sparkles, and I just borrowed it!”
“It’s from Paris,” Pickett said before hopping off the table and climbing up your body. You watched as Pickett rested on your shoulder and jumped slightly when the Niffler let out a small whistle.
“Aren’t you going to carry me so I can show you where I hid the dress?”
Newt stood in a blocked off part of the case, hidden from the view of the creatures and his newest addition. His stomach was in knots as he walked around the small room, the shining rose in the center illuminating the room. He watched as a petal slowly fell from the rose, and he immediately rushed over to the table.
“I need more time!” He yelled put angrily as he noticed that this was the second petal to fall. If he had just left Leta alone, he would never have been cursed. His creatures would be able live freely and not be bound to the case. He wouldn’t look like a beast.
Newt angrily glared at the rose before storming out of the room. He headed to another shack that was hidden by some trees; this was where dinner would be held. There was a dining room and a kitchen hidden behind a door in the back. His creatures were hard at work, cooking up a storm for the both of you.
“Has the girl arrived yet?” He asked the Demiguise that was sitting at the table.
“No sign of her, Master,” the Demiguise acknowledged him as it looked into the distance. “Shall I look for her?”
“It’s fine,” Newt grumbled as he sat at the head of the table. “I’m sure she’ll be here soon.”
Pickett and the Niffler had their backs turned so they couldn’t see you changing. You slipped the dress on carefully and cleared your throat, signalling that you were done.
“How do I loo?” You smiled, twirling in a circle for the creatures.
The dress went out slightly as you spun, the sparkly beads shining in the light. The long dress was a soft pink that dipped low on your chest. Your arms were open to the warm air since it was sleeveless, and the crystal beads went around the center in a band. You could tell it was expensive, and you felt amazing in it.
There was gasps from all around you, and you blushed as you noticed that other creatures had circled around you. A few flying creatures flew around your head and pulled your hair into a delicate updo.
“I’ve never seen a creature like you before,” one of the mooncalves said in awe as it watched you curiously.
“She’s a human,” Pickett announced to the creatures. They all responded with awes of wonder and continued to stare.
“Oh dear!” The Niffler exclaimed after a moment. It had pulled a watch from it’s pouch and was reading the time. “It appears that we are late for dinner. Let’s go!”
You bid goodbye to the creatures and followed the Niffler and Pickett to a hidden shack. You were out of breath by the time you made it inside, and you noticed Newt sitting there with an irritated look.
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” you apologized shakily as you walked further into the dining room. You placed the Niffler into a chair and Pickett jumped onto the table.
“Don’t let it happen again,” Newt snapped.
You nodded quickly and looked at your feet, completely missing Newt’s eyes widen as he took in your appearance. You looked absolutely stunning, the dress making you look delicate and bringing out your best features. Newt didn’t know how to respond to your beauty, opting to stare as you stood at the opposite end of the table.
“Pull out her chair for her,” Pickett whispered, heading over to Newt.
“To make her fall in love with you,” Pickett told him with an eyeroll. Making Newt fall in love would be no problem, but Pickett knew that it wouldn’t be as easy for you.
Newt stumbled out of his chair, nearly tripping over the leg of the table as he rushed to your side. He gave you a crooked smile as he gripped onto the back of your chair and pulled it out from under the table. You cringed at the sound the legs made as they scraped against the floor, Newt’s smile faltering as Pickett and the Niffler let out disappointed sighs.
“Thank you, Newt,” you murmured as you sat in the large chair. Newt’s heart skipped a beat at your soft voice, his chest swelling with fondness for you.
“I never really understood why the man gets the chair for the woman,” Newt stated as he roughly pushed your chair in. He wasn’t trying to be rude, it was just that he didn’t always know what the right thing to say was. It obviously wasn’t that.
“I never really understood why the man thinks that the woman wants him to get her chair,” you shot back with a tight smile as Newt headed back to his seat. The Niffler choked slightly on a piece of bread it was eating as Pickett’s jaw dropped.
“I-I’m sorry, Y/N,” Newt stammered out as he sat down with an embarrassed face. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“You didn’t,” you reassured him with a smirk. “I just thought I’d comment on something that I don’t understand. I really didn’t mind what you said, Newt.”
The creatures and Newt let out sighs of relief as you took a sip of your water. Everyone was so scared that you would be scared away, and that was something they dreaded. It was a known fact throughout the case that the rose was beginning to shed petals. They didn’t want Newt to be stuck looking like a beast forever, and they all wanted to be free of the case. They needed you to break the curse.
Before either of you could say something, the kitchen door opened and a heavenly aroma filled the room.
I’ve seen a lot of people asking why Hillary Clinton’s suits are referred to as ‘pantsuits’ all the time. Like, why not just ‘suits’? The answer is more infuriating than you may realize.
Until very very recently – more recently than most people my age can probably believe (it was a shock to me) – ‘a women’s suit’ meant a suit jacket and a skirt, full stop. As in, guess when female Senators were last required - REQUIRED - to wear skirts on the Senate floor?
NINETEEN NINETY-THREE. I was six years old and female Senators were still required to wear skirts! And it only stopped when two female Senators showed up in pants to protest it.
1993. Women wearing suits with pants was still controversial 23 years ago. And Hillary Clinton has been a woman in public life for almost 40 years.
And she was a woman who wore pants, who at first didn’t wear makeup and didn’t change her last name, and kept her career after her husband entered politics, and got involved in politics herself, and had strong opinions which she freely expressed.
This made her fucking Satan as far as conservatives were concerned, and she’s been Satan to them ever since.
The use of the word ‘pantsuit’ to refer to Clinton’s suits, which she began wearing long before it was broadly socially acceptable, is a leftover dogwhistle from a less tolerant time. The very phrase ‘pantsuit’ basically means, a suit worn by an uppity woman. A suit worn by the type of woman who doesn’t care that skirts are PROPER professional garments for ladies. A suit for goddamn rabble-rousing hippie bitches.
Can’t wait to see what color pantsuit HRC wears when she’s the goddamn president.
Ok so…I know many people won’t care, but I have to say this:
I’m getting scared. I live in México, and the government has recently increased the prices of oil/gasoline by 20% (which is a big big problem), and because of that, there have been riots, people are looting stores (there are many people who believe, me included, that some of these people are send by the government..I mean, it’s not the first time they would do something like that). There are gas stations that were taken and closed so they can’t sell (some in a non-violent way), there are highways that were closed by protesters (or whatever they’re called) and right now stores are being closed because people are afraid, the grenadiers are fighting people in the streets, there are people being robbed in the streets (more than other times), media is censoring a lot of things happening here…. Right now, where I live, nothing has happened (and I’m grateful for that) but the gas station that is like, 15 minutes away from my house. was closed yesterday by these people protesting. There’s a lot of violence here in Mexico right now, more than before, and we can’t trust anyone (the government, the police) to solve what is happening.
As I write this, the police are telling people not to get out of their houses…this is messed up.
what it’s like to live with seasonal depression
right before your peak month
at 7am last morning my body broke into sobs
because i could taste the toothpaste on the roof of my mouth
and knew in a month i won’t be able to anymore
what it’s like to live with four bodies
one for each season
i am a blind woman given sight each year
in echoing rays of sunshine and beaming laughs
in the ability to breathe and speak and eat
as if my limbs move without protest and my poems —
they exist only etched into the redwoods
as if every life movement contains purpose
what it’s like to believe
you can extend your lifeline from june
so i tell myself
every year you get better
but a diary entry from last march reads
“i am being held captive in eternal february”
fourteen times consecutively
and god only knows what i wrote on the torn-out pages
i burnt into ashes out of shame
what it’s like to count 28 days
while you swallow paper cuts
what it’s like to tell your mother
you need therapy again every year
what it’s like to lose your body
to a page in your calendar
what it’s like:
we eat and we sleep and we try to breathe
we write and we speak and
(we really do try)
and it will swallow me whole
for my birthday i would like operative body parts
i’m tired of these comments about western meddling in syria being used as a retort. so? does that justify the massive civilian casualties the syrian government has been causing for 5 years now? the people being punished ain’t western soldiers. huge parts of the country are in ruins from the bombing of civilian areas conducted by assad, millions are displaced. don’t act as if this is some sort of ‘legitimate’ response to western imperialism, especially when in the first place, a look into the history of syria under the assad family makes it pretty clear why there would be protests (which was how this all began before it became an armed conflict) and grievances under this regime. just look up the Hama massacre in 1982. like i can’t believe the terrible analysis about how all these countries were 100% A-OK until a foreign power decided to destabilise it. i’m not saying there isn’t foreign meddling but honestly, don’t discount the massive responsibility these governments have for breeding resentment and dissent on their own with their numerous human rights abuses under that veneer of ‘stability’. there is a lot to be said about the russian support for assad too- but in the first place, it is very much assad who would rather destroy the entire country than relinquish power.
Mr. Williams looked at me over his reading glasses. He motioned for me to wait until the other students left the classroom and closed the door.
“I’ll make this quick,” He started as he handed some papers to me. “I cannot accept this writing assignment.”
“Why?” I asked. “What’s wrong with it? I worked hard on it!”
Mr. Williams nodded and smiled. “I can see that. It’s actually a pretty solid piece of writing, but I’m afraid it’s inappropriate. I’m giving you an extension until tomorrow to write something else.”
Mr. Williams didn’t give me a chance to protest. Either I write something else or he’ll fail me on this assignment.
That’s 10% of my grade!
I couldn’t believe he was doing this! Mr. Williams was one of my favorite teachers too!
When I showed it to my friends, Jake and Keith, they said it was the best thing they’d ever read - not that either of them is much of a reader - but they loved it. They even said it was inspirational. But sure enough, it’s “inappropriate” for Mr. Williams. What a dick!
I told Mom and Dad about this over dinner. Unfortunately, my parents are those people that ALWAYS take the teacher’s side.
“Just do as he says, son,” Dad advised.
I stormed upstairs to my bedroom and slammed the door. I didn’t know whether to scream or cry. How am I going to produce another writing assignment for tomorrow when it took me weeks to write the last one?
This just wasn’t fair!
I sat there and stared at a blank piece of writing paper. Its pale blue lines offered me no ideas. I started doodling. From my doodles words took shape and before I knew it, an idea hit me. It was actually a pretty good one. My writing took me deep into the night.
I ended up passing out at my desk and slept through the alarm. By the time I awoke, I realized I would be late for first period. I raced through my room to change clothes and bolted out of the house, even though I knew it was futile. Showing up late without a note from my parents was an automatic detention. Plus my writing assignment wasn’t done.
What was I going to do?
My fears quickly gave way to confusion when I saw a mass of police cars surrounding my school. Students were scattered about. Some were crying. Some were bloodied.
I then saw Mr. Williams quickly run to one of the police officers and pointed at me.
The cop unholstered his gun as he approached me.
That’s when the realization hit me. I suddenly knew why Mr. Williams didn’t like my writing assignment. Writing about how some disgruntled teens planned and shot up their school was probably not the best idea I’ve ever had for a story…especially when it inspired the likes of Jake and Keith.
Author’s note: Just a short filler for the ‘I
picked this for you’ series before I work my butt off to get Part 5 outlined
and drafted. Hopefully *fingers crossed* this makes up a little for the
heartache I’ve left today <3
Missed out on some heartache? Previous part is here.
When Bucky awoke, he found himself still by the door and grasping the note you
left and the dog tags you’d abandoned.
He could hear muffled talking, shouting from the kitchen. He put the tags
around his neck and shoved the note into the pocket of his sweatpants.
When he got to the kitchen, Tony, Steve, Sam, Wanda and Natasha were crowded
around the island.
‘I can’t believe she left without saying goodbye though!’ Natasha commented.
‘Best lab technician I had – I don’t know understand why she left in the first
place!’ Tony protested.
‘Should we go after her and bring her home?’ Sam asked.
Steve shook his head ‘I don’t think she wants to be followed; she’ll
come back. I know she will – won’t she Buck?’ Bucky stood next to him, still torn by the note burning in his pocket.
Natasha’s eyes narrowed, as she took in his appearance. His eyes displayed
tiredness, but not his usual nightmare state – it was like he’d be crying. He
looked pale, unwell. But then she caught the jewellery swinging from his neck. ‘Hey,
doesn’t she usually wear those tags?’
All eyes fell on Bucky. He felt the sudden pressure of five pairs of eyes on
He shifted awkwardly ‘um…she shoved them under my door during the night, she
must’ve done it right before she left’
Steve patted him on the back, he knew of his feelings towards you.
You leaving must’ve messed him up.
As Bucky turned to leave, the flimsy bit of paper fell out of his pocket. ‘Don’t!’
He shouted, as Wanda picked it up and read it. She slammed the paper down on
the counter and used her powers to pin him against the wall. ‘It was you!’ She
snarled. Tony grabbed the note and read it. He looked at Bucky, still confined
to the wall and shouted ‘Anyone in this
room could kill you – but I’d drag it out!’
‘I didn’t mean for it to happen! I didn’t want her to go!’ Bucky defended.
Steve calmly said ‘Wanda – let him down’
If looks could kill, Steve would’ve been six feet under with Bucky.
‘Me and you are going to have a talk pal’ Steve told him, as he pulled him down
the corridor by his arm; forcing him back into his room.
‘I knew I should have put him shoved him in the recycling bin the day he moved
in here’ Sam muttered.
As soon as they were in the room, Steve demanded an explanation. He couldn’t
understand how Bucky had gone from being totally in love with you to you
returning the dog tags. The one thing you loved more than coffee and peanut
butter. Bucky explained about the unfortunate Valentine’s Day incident, about
the flower, about the tag and how he choked at telling you the truth and ended
up hurting you instead.
‘I messed up…I know I did. I wish I could take it back. I miss her.’ Bucky
complained. ‘You love her, don’t you?’ Steve sympathized.
Bucky nodded ‘I just want her to come home’
Steve pressed a hand to his forehead, rubbing it slightly. ‘I don’t understand how this much stupid can fit inside one person’
He sighed, looking down at Bucky who was sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hands.
Tony knocked on the door ‘I don’t want
to interrupt your daily mope session, but we have things to do’ Steve opened the door ‘What’s happening?’
Tony replied ‘She did leave a forwarding address, so suit up, we’re going to
Bucky interjected ‘Where is she?’
Without looking back, whilst he walked away, Tony said, voice raised ‘Bucharest,
I wholeheartedly believe that protest can be a devotional act.
Educating yourself on politics? Reading up on your enemies and their philosophy? Figuring out who to avoid and who to ally with in your area? Planning direct action? Old One-Eye loves that shit. He’ll keep a watchful eye on you - on the trans folks, the disabled folks, those who defy binaries and lash out at systematic, crushing oppression.
Standing with your fellow outcasts? Protecting those who have been called monsters by society? Ripping off the veil of misinformation and lies to reveal truth to the world, no matter how painful? Loki stands with you. He’s the mother of monsters, after all. May his silver tongue speak along with yours to inspire your allies and demoralize your enemies.
Fighting tooth and nail for justice? Recognizing when laws can be and need to be subverted in order to do the most good? Fiercely protecting your own? Tyr has your back, and you have his sword. Stand up, be brave, be loud, and remember that fighting oppression does not make you like your oppressors.
Honoring our fallen? Holding vigils and moments of silence for those we have lost? Women of all walks of life, standing in solidarity, holding hands; the femmes and the butches and those who have never fit any prescribed label; women of color and trans women especially - Freyja watches over all of us, all of you, with her fierce and sacred femininity, her warrior’s spirit and cunning crafts, and she stands with the fallen, bathing them in her golden light.
You and one of your closest friends, Eliza, are walking down the busy New York streets, as you basically become her counselor.
“But, I love him so much, (Y/N),” she protests.
You roll your eyes. “I know, but he cheated on you for two fucking years. You deserve better than that.”
“No, ‘but’s. You need to drop him from your life. He’s not worth this kind of pain.”
“Maybe you’d understand if you were in love,” she mumbles.
You scoff. “I don’t have time to bother myself with such superficial matters.”
She laughs. “You sound exactly like Thomas Jefferson.”
You gasp and put a hand over your heart in mock offense. “I can’t believe you would compare me to such an arrogant-oof!” You run into what you assume is a wall. That is until it makes a sound. You look up slowly. “Fuck,” you mutter, as you see who you’ve run into.
Thomas just a smile. “You should never be compared to such a person. If you don’t mind my asking, who was Ms.Schuyler comparing you to.”
You pray that you aren’t blushing as much as you feel like you are. “Actually, she was comparing me to you.” Out of all the people you could have run into or all the times you could have run into, it had to be Thomas, it had to be now.
He looks shocked. “I doubt you would have that opinion if you actually knew me, instead of relying on what Hamilton has said.”
You just stare at him, certain that your blush has grown.
“Let me take you to dinner tomorrow, miss…”
“(Y/N),” you offer.
“Well then, Miss (Y/N), would you be willing to let me take you to dinner?”
You just nod. He pulls a pen out of his magenta jacket and asks you write your number down. As soon as he leaves, you turn back to Eliza, who looks incredibly smug.
“What?” you ask cautiously.
“You and Jefferson?” She wiggles her eyebrows.
“Relax, it’s nothing.”
“You, Jefferson, dinner? You know that no woman can resist him.”
“You seem to be doing a good job 'resisting him’.”
“You’ve heard how Alex talks about him.”
“You should still leave him,” you mutter in an attempt to change the subject.
She gives up the topic of your date with Thomas and spends the rest of the walk to your apartment building telling you some bullshit about love. You continue to tell her that he doesn’t love her if he’s willing to cheat.
She walks you to your door before saying, “I’m sure you’ll learn all about love tomorrow night.”
You slam the door and yell, “I don’t have a thing for him! I’m just going for the free food!”
Even if you told Eliza that you didn’t have a thing for Thomas, you couldn’t help but smile when you saw that he had texted you. He told you that he would pick you up and to dress nicely. Since this was coming from a man who cared more about fashion than anyone you had met, you took that to mean a nice dress and heels, considering he was almost a full foot taller than you.
Work the next day really takes its toll on you. You are working as a barista until you can find something to do with your psychology degree. When you get back to your apartment, you only have a few hours to get ready. You sigh and change into a black dress that reaches your mid-thigh with a pair of black heels and a red leather jacket, which is the same color as your lips. You are putting the finishing touches to your eyeshadow when you hear someone knock on the door. You quickly open the door and are greeted with a casually (for him) dressed Thomas. You both just stare at each other. It was strange to see him in jeans, and although you would never tell Eliza, they were doing wonders for him.
He finally composes himself. “Shall we?”
You nod, not trusting your voice. He leads you to his car and opens the door for you before getting into the driver’s side. Throughout the ride to the restaurant the two of you don’t stop talking. He’s much more charming than Alexander described him. You finally get back to your apartment, and he, being a gentleman, walks you to your door. “Did you enjoy yourself?”
You smile. “Very much.”
“Then, would you mind if we did this again next week?”
“I would love that.”
The two of you stare at each other in silence.
He awkwardly scratches the back of his neck. “I should probably get going.”
You nod. “Oh, yeah.”
Neither of you makes any effort to move.
“Before I go, though,” he starts. “May- may I kiss you?”
Instead of verbally answering, you rise up to kiss him. He wraps an arm around your waist, while you wrap yours around his neck, deepening the kiss. When you finally pull away, you stare into each other’s eyes.
The two of you eventually tear away from each other. Once you get into your apartment, you pull out your phone and text Eliza.
I think I’m starting to understand all that love talk
You smile up at Bucky. Dressed in suit pants and a button down white shirt, with the top two buttons undone, he takes your hand to help you out of the Taxi. You grin up at him. “You look good.”
“You look beautiful.” He murmurs sincerely, glancing back at the Taxi Driver, who is waiting expectantly. Bucky pays him the money for your fare, and you open your mouth to protest, but he cuts you off.
“No, I’m the one who asked you to come here because I didn’t want to have to do one of Stark’s parties alone. I should pay.”
You aren’t totally sure that’s true, but you know that protesting will just annoy him, so you go along with it, and take his hand as he guides you to the doors of the Stark tower. You still can’t believe you’re here, celebrating Thanksgiving with your boyfriend and the Avengers. He’d invited you to Tony’s thanksgiving party because no matter how many of them he went to, he still didn’t like being alone at them. Steve had reliably informed you after the first party you’d been to with them that he hadn’t seen Bucky so relaxed since the forties.
As you step into the elevator and the doors close behind you, Bucky leans down to kiss you, but you stop him by putting two fingers to his lips. He pulls back, looking at you reproachfully.
"If you get lipstick on your lips then don’t blame me.” You warn him with a laugh, and his face relaxes. He dips his head down and kisses you delicately, and then more hungrily, pulling you closer. Around you, you feel the elevator stop, and Bucky pulls away, slipping one arm around your waist as the doors open.
The two of you step out, and Bucky smiles in greeting to Tony Stark, who is dressed, unusually, in a suit and tie. He wanders over and greets you.
“Bucky, you’ve been holding out on us.” He says appreciatively, taking in your body and face. He kisses your hand, and beside you, you feel the muscles of Bucky’s right arm tighten around your waist, making you smile.
Tony looks up at Bucky, and a coy smile glows on his face. “I really didn’t know that was your shade of lipstick. I’d have taken you for a burgundy man, but I guess you just wanted to match your girlfriend.” Tony shrugs, faking nonchalance and wandering back over to Pepper, who has one hand covering her laugh. Bucky glances down at you uncertainly, and you can see that Tony was just screwing around with him; no lipstick.
You grin and whisper this in his ear, and he relaxes, laughing with you, just as the other Avengers wander into the room. Clint and Natasha are stood together, and Bruce is standing a little apart from them. He looks kind of lonely, and like he knows he doesn’t fit in. Your heart goes out to him, and when you catch his eye you shoot him a warm smile, which he shakily returns. From the other side of the room Steve and Sam shoot you grins, and wave at you.
“Well now, what am I forgetting… Avengers, drink, Pepper, Bucky’s girlfriend…” Tony frowned, winding an arm around Pepper’s waist. “Ah! Fireworks!”
You look at Bucky, who shrugs back, and the two of you follow the other Avengers onto the balcony, where Tony begins a long speech about how technologically advanced his special Fireworks are. Bucky wraps his arms around your waist from behind you, and the two of you shuffle along to the right of the balcony, away from everyone else. Bucky puts his head on your shoulder and pulls you in closer, so you can feel his heartbeat on your back.
“You look beautiful tonight.” He whispers.
You blush at the compliment and lean back against him looking up at the night sky expectantly. “I think the fireworks are about to start, Bucky.”
He buries his head in your neck, nuzzling it and mumbling gently, “I don’t care.”
You laugh, and the first Firework explodes overhead, in brilliant flashes of red and gold. You smile as the next one takes on the shape of the Iron Man mask, and Bucky chuckles from behind you.
“Trust Tony.” he mumbles, before going back to nuzzling you.
More fireworks explode overhead, and after a few of them you realize what they are.
“Bucky,” You whisper, and he continues to nuzzle you. The next firework explodes overhead in brilliant green, and you elbow him gently.
“Bucky, look up.” You say as the next one explodes in red white and blue splendour. Bucky laughs openly, hugging you more tightly. Another eight fireworks explode in quick succession, spelling out the letters ‘Avengers’ in bright multicolored sparkles.
“Wow.” You breathe, watching your breath cloud in front of your face.
“Incredible.” Bucky mutters, burying his nose back into your neck again, making you laugh.
“Something tells me you aren’t actually that interested in the display, Soldier,” you tease, settling back against them. There is a pause, and he finally plants a kiss on your right temple, whispering words that send shivers up and down your spine.
“I love you.”
Another firework blasts overhead, but you never get to see what color it is. The only thing you’re interested in is Bucky.
I’ve honestly been feeling really off lately and now hearing that the boys got arrested for spectating a peaceful protest yesterday just infuriates me even more. I’ve been through a recent experience with US police and they made us feel like criminals and that was for border patrol, so I can’t imagine what kind of intimidation they went through. I honestly can’t believe that happened and I am livid in how this stupid election is affecting me and I don’t even live in america. Then again we have bullshit starting to spread to our government because of the election so thats pretty fun.
I still can’t process that this shit is happening. The fact that I’m going to even be able to say, I was there when Trump was president, is scary and surreal.
I hope you guys stay safe and learn to love and not hate in these times. Hate is going to push us farther apart and thats the last thing we need.
This made me feel better, so I’m sharing in hopes that it will help others as well.
I wonder if perhaps Trump being elected now isn’t the better outcome in the long run. Not because he’s qualified, or likely to do anything but harm to this country and the world at large, but because the people that brought him to power - the true believers, the xenophobes, the racists, the disenfranchised white people - were hitting the point of explosion.
They were planning riots if Hillary won, they can complain about our protests all they want, but they would have gone on a far more violent rampage if things hadn’t gone their way. Just look at Reddit and Twitter if you don’t believe me.
Additionally, Trump was planning Trump TV, something that likely would have stoked the alt-right to even more anger and violence.
At the same time, Hillary would have been saddled with a Republican congress that would have undermined her at every step, just like they did Obama. But Hillary, for all of her strengths, does not have the personal charisma that Obama did to get elected to a second term if her administration wasn’t wildly successful during the first.
So she could have been a one-term president, and the alt-right would have four more years to build up steam and find another, possibly worse, xenophobic demigogue to bring into office. And the next one might have been much smoother with a softer dog whistle.
As it stands now, the left, the intellectuals, the academics are the ones left to fume and build up steam. But our steam doesn’t usually become violence in action, it becomes social action. We now have two years to find excellent democratic candidates to take over the House and Senate and to find someone to put in front of the public for a presidential run in 2020.
Someone that is inspiring and charming. Someone who is intellectually superior, but still a woman (or man) of the people. Someone with the best qualities of Clinton, Obama, and Sanders with none of their baggage.
These people exist in the here and now, Elizabeth Warren and Tammy Duckworth are two, but if they choose not to run, there are many more qualified women and men that can. We just have to get started NOW and give Trump as little time as possible to do his damage.
I think it could be much worse. And sadly, it will be before it’s over, but if we start now, I think we can avoid the worst possible scenario.
Tonight I somehow ended up leading the march of 1,000 people down the streets of Portland for some time. I was in on the front line, helping to navigate and lead our chants. A man I met after breaking up a fight wrapped his bandana around my face to protect me from mace and flashbang grenades. Tonight was surreal. Police in riot gears, press in my face, people asking me for direction. I can’t believe I’ve become so deeply involved, but I’m proud. And I’m proud that no matter what, I haven’t given into the violence or hate that is thriving right now. This is my country, and these are our streets. This is more than just politics.
I said tonight on stage and I feel the need to express it to the public.
I did not vote. My state(California) always goes blue there for I knew my vote wouldn’t necessarily matter. I despise both the candidates we were given but after protesting in Washington I now care. I would have protested with either candidate because I believe our system is completely broken and the American political system has yet to give us a candidate that represents me or my generation/future generations. What I saw in Washington brought me to tears..
We have elected a man that has gotten away with sexual assault and god knows how many hateful comments. Women are scared to leave their houses because if the president of the free world can get away with assault who are we to say the civilian of that country can’t as well? I sit here as a brother to my sister who is scared, to a girl i care about back home who is scared, and as a friend to the girls who hugged me crying in Washington. This isn’t about my opinion at this point. It is about the LGBT community(tonight’s set was dedicated to the LGBTQ community that have taken their lives since Tuesday), it’s about the women in this country, it’s about the black Americans, Mexican Americans, and anyone else who has been persecuted against.
I am a white male, I’ll see the least of the persecution but I can’t sit here and let my fellow humans, brothers and sisters face this sort of hate. The rest of my musical career is dedicated to those who are constantly persecuted against. I will be your voice when no one else will be.