I Can't Get Over The Thought That In Time (2011) Should Be Called "Socialism For Dummies"

I can't get over the thought that In Time (2011) should be called "Socialism for Dummies"

What a movie lol

Other possible names include:

Socialism 101

Socialism for children

Socialism to you, who can't understand anything if it's not drawn for you

That one film where Cillian Murphy is so hot in leather I almost forget he's a cop

That one film pro-socialism Hollywood actually let someone produce

That one film where Olivia Wilde is somehow Justin Timberlake's mom (which makes no sense but I'm here for it)

Man...

I just watched The Bikeriders and I'll say: I have A LOT to talk about this movie, I might go into one of my rants about it and toxic masculinity and just the overall male need for connection and the struggle against hegemonic culture in capitalism

Plus, there's so much depth in Benny's character and his relationship with Johnny and Kathy, and he barely even appears!!!

And Kathy, I love how unromanticized her story was.

Johnny and his desperation to be what Benny was effortless

The Vietnam War and its impact on a subculture as a demonstration of how deep cultural hegemony and capitalism can affect peoples' lives

It's amazing really

To Decadent Poets - Chapter 4

Summary - find more chapters, read the synopsis, and trigger warnings here!

A friend: a being life can’t explain Who only goes when another is born And the mirror my soul multiplies... — Vinícius de Moraes, Friendship Sonnet

Oliver watched Chris attentively, hesitating, his leg shaking with the anxiety that was running through his blood. The boy seemed like a good company to have and he was really funny with a dry sense of humor. They had spent most of the journey talking and Oliver’s accent had kept other people away, not that Chris seemed to care.

He was surely a singular creature, Oliver thought, analyzing the boy: Chris had auburn hair and his brown eyes carried disdain for everything and everyone, making Oliver remember himself before everything happened.

The Oliver from before had been unruly and sarcastic, so much he could exasperate even his parents, who were the epitome of patience. But everything changed after his mother and Hadrian had been taken from them.

It changed because Oliver knew he shouldn’t give his father more grief than the one he was already in and also because no one liked foreigners, let alone a funny one. So, he’d spent a lot of time learning to bite his tongue to stop his dry comments and ironic observations from slipping out, as Much with his dad as with the rest of the world.

In reality, he had to do so a lot of times still: it was hard to give up that part of him, the only one that connected him to his old life, and Oliver didn’t like to do it. But he didn’t feel safe enough to go back to being himself and, if he faked long enough, maybe he wouldn’t be able to separate the mask from who he really was anymore. From what he’d lived through.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” asked Chris suddenly, his eyes still closed from the nap he’d announced he’d take, scaring Oliver, who felt himself flush for being caught staring.

And maybe it was because of his shock, but he snapped in a petulant tone that he hadn’t dared to use in a long time now:

“You’re not the epitome of sociability, mate,” Oliver was surprised at himself and his eyes widened, regretting his words almost immediately although his pride stopped him from apologizing, so he just swallowed, facing Chris, who just stared at him for a moment silently. Oliver was caught by surprise by the slow smile forming on Chris’s pale face.

“Touché,” he said before straightening on the train stool and changing the subject abruptly: “Where are you going to alone?”

“To my father’s boss’ property. He let me stay there during the war,” answered Oliver with a resigned sigh when he saw the daring Shine of Chris’ eyes, making it impossible not to be honest with the boy “What about you?”

“To my godfather’s property,” said Chris, shrugging even though it was noticeable, at least for Oliver, that was complicated “he also let me stay during the war. What’s the name of the place you’re going to?”

“Taigh Hill” Oliver’s pronunciation slipped a bit in the two words but it seemed that Chris had still understood him because for a moment he looked at Oliver as if assessing him, and then he smiled.

“It seems like Destiny got it right today, don’t you think, Oliver?” he softly asked, making him frown, confused with what Chris meant “I’m also going to Taigh Hill. I’m Elijah Wood’s godson, whom I believe is your father’s boss.”

——— ◘ ———

They talked during the rest of the journey, learning more about each other, or at least as much as they allowed each other to know. It was hard sometimes to talk about some things and they respected this, not pressuring the other into talking about what they didn’t want to and Oliver liked that. He liked that silent complicity that seemed to exist between him and Chris. It was encouraging and trustworthy, and as soon as they began to talk, Oliver realized Chris had a certain gift to encourage the worst parts of him, like his sarcasm and his temper.

And when they discovered their common taste in books, the talk flowed through them like a river’s stream, running between the two with a scary naturality that could make Jane Austen even more certain about her assessment of the human relationships in Sense and Sensibility:

It is not time or opportunity that is to determine intimacy; —it is disposition alone. Seven years would be insufficient to make some people acquainted with each other, and seven days are more than enough for others.

Oliver really liked to get to know someone who wasn’t his father in all of London and wondered for a moment if that friendship would last. Chris seemed nice enough and didn’t care he was German, which was a more than good start.

And while they discussed how much they wished to read A Tale of Two Cities, by Charles Dickens, next, both of them realized they had more in common than the rest of the world could guess they had. At that moment, Chris commented thoughtfully:

“I make a habit of thinking people are idiots. Of course, I always need to remind myself that they also have something good inside of them, even if they are idiots, but most of the time, I feel quite alone because of it. I mean, most people would advise me to not get close to you and I think that’s so dumb because look at us! It’s not like our differences mattered more than our similarities.”

Oliver smiled, really smiled, when he heard that. It was like Chris had just read his mind as if he could understand what Oliver thought. It was impressive considering they Only knew each Other for a couple of hours but some friendships were just like that, weren’t they? Spontaneous and simply inexplicable in the strength of their connections.

After his comment, Chris changed the subject, asking him about what he thought Taigh Hill would be like.

“Much bigger than my house, that’s for sure,” Oliver said with a sarcastic smirk blossoming on his face while he leaned down on the rough tissue of the train’s stool “But you’re the one practically related to them, what do you know about the place?”

“I’ve never been to Taigh Hill and never met my godfather or his family, to be honest,” Chris admitted, resting his feet on the stool after glancing out the door of the cabin they were at. He also had this smirk on his face, the kind of smirk just a young man who was arrogant and completely sure of himself could flash around like a trump card for life. “I think they’re old and deaf but really gentle. Elijah and his brother, I mean, Elliott. My mom said Elliott is married and has two daughters, one of them our age. My father and he were at her christening when I was a baby. What do you think about that?”

“I’m not sure there’s much to think about,” Said Oliver, shrugging and looking out the window. “If they’re not annoying and spoiled, I have nothing to say about any of them.”

“Maybe they’re like ghosts, walking through the mansion with pure, virginal white gowns, ready to give us heart attacks like in Gothic books,” Chris joked, making Oliver laugh out Loud and he didn’t even worry about the people passing through their cabin, who looked through the glassdoor as if they’d heard a specially nasty curse word. “Worse, they could be complaining harpies like old housekeepers who value morals and the old times.

“My God, I really hope not,” Oliver shivered, joking, and added: “I hope, by the way, that none of them are like that. It’d be torture.”

“Can you imagine if Elijah or Elliott want us to wear those old vests and hay hats, or worse, those white pants that get dirty with literally anything?” Chris’ eyes widened as if he couldn’t think about anything scarier thing and Oliver laughed. “I think I could have to run away and live the rest of my life in nowhere of Scotland.”

“Well, those clothes are not so bad,” Oliver said, and Chris looked at him incredulously. “They’re worse.”

They both laughed hard, imagining all kinds of scenarios possible for Taigh Hill and mocking them all. The conversation was comfortable and light like most conversations they’d had ‘til then weren’t. To Oliver because his longest conversations were, with the exception of his father, with the butcher; and to Chris because his friends were always talking about matters that didn’t concern him at all.

Soon the day transformed into twilight and both of them got silent to watch the rose and orange sky, the colors mixing up and changing every minute over the emerald-green lawn of the plains and the mountains that surrounded lakes so still they seemed like portals to the skies. It was in comfortable, soft silence they shared deeply; the kind of silence that could make old friends get emotional but not the two of them.

Because, after all, they had just met, and it’d be weird if it happened. But in that silence, their eyes met, hazel against green, and they laughed together with a complicity neither of them could understand because they had never experienced it before.

But it was one they liked a lot.

——— ◘ ———

When they finally got off the train, Chris was insistent that they stay close, so that it would be easier for Miss Turner, the Wood family’s housekeeper, who would come to get them, according to their parents, to find them. Although the thought was quite practical, Oliver could not help but notice that some of the boys their age were glaring at them when they heard his accent and he was thankful when Chris had nothing to say about the matter.

He didn’t need everyone reminding him of what he was all the time.

They walked through the station, then, trying to get rid of the crowd mounting together because of the small size of the place. They were in a small city near Inverness, as they had been instructed to stop; and decided to wait outside, in the street, something Oliver was grateful for, as those people were starting to make him really uncomfortable.

It didn’t take long for a lady with a prudish dress that seemed to belong to the last decade to pass by them with a car that seemed old. She looked at them both with a semblance that varied between doubt and a welcome. There was also a girl with red hair like crackling fire, who looked at them both curiously.

“What are your names, boys?” The Woman asked, and her voice was firm without being harsh, her hands were trembling and her black hair, which had begun to become gray, was the only thing that denounced her older age.

A rosary hung from her neck in a delicate silver chain and the darkness of the metal left it clear she had the habit of rubbing it.

“I’m Oliver Krause, ma’am,” the blond boy introduced himself in a meek tone of voice, very different from how he presented himself with Chris during their journey.

The other boy, with a quick glance at Oliver, also introduced himself with a charming smile, much more open than the first:

“I’m Christian Evans, at your pleasure, ma’am.”

The housekeeper, who frowned slightly at hearing Oliver, smiled a bit at Chris, commenting:

“A good christian name, just like the rest of your family, Mister Evans,” she paused, then added: “Get on, I’m Marjorie Turner, your new housekeeper, and this is Mister Elliott Wood’s youngest daughter, Annie.

They smiled at the red-haired girl and she smiled back at them, still cautious and timid like a little mouse. Oliver and Chris hurried to put their bags in the trunk of the car, which Miss Turner indicated while she seemed nervous, looking to the train station with a bit of anxiety clear on her face.

But as soon as it came, it went away when a boy their age left the station and looked around, seemingly lost. He had dark brown hair and eyes, and his skin was almost as pale as paper. As she saw him, Miss Turner made her way to him and spoke to the boy, bringing him along after a few seconds.

“Boys, this is Noah Kurtz. He’ll also live with us in Taigh Hill,” said the housekeeper while she climbed back into the car, which seemed to be even more filled with people.

Seeing that the only seats available were either at Annie’s side or Oliver’s side, the woman took the place beside Oliver, a very conscious choice the attentive young people noticed but didn’t comment about it. Oliver was tense since he heard the boy’s last name, knowing he was his dad’s boss’ son and worse, Jew.

His own ascendence from Liora made Oliver a Jew for all effects, both culturally and ethnically, although he never thought much about it — it wouldn’t help Oliver because when people looked at him, none of them saw a Jew and that’s what was important to the world.

Noah didn’t say anything more than a murmured and general greeting as he climbed into the vehicle, avoiding everyone’s eyes. This intrigued Chris, who tried, as the car started to make its way, shaking beyond what he thought was possible on the dirt road, making some kind of conversation with Noah, only to receive back monosyllabic answers that discouraged him. Finally, he turned his attention back to Oliver, talking to him in low voices.

The girl, who regarded the three boys with a curious look, soon lost her interest and directed her attention to the window, feeling ignored, which made Oliver feel bad for her — he knew what it was like to be ignored and left out for reasons outside his control. The housekeeper also kept quiet; her eyes lost to something none but her could see as she rubbed her rosary distractedly.

In general, it was a trembling, tedious path filled with silences far from comfortable like the ones Oliver and Chris shared on the train. The newest friends looked at each other, predicting a boring stay from that experience alone, not even dreaming of what they’d soon find in Taigh Hill.

Go to Chapter 5

Fun fact: I never really watched ATLA or Korra but I don't think anyone should be a cop and I like Toph from the little content I do see about her, soooooooo

Reblog if you also think Toph shouldn’t have been a cop.

I want to see how “unpopular” this opinion really is outside cop-worshipping Reddit.

Prologue - A Broken Heart, Like a Clock

Summary - find more chapters, read the synopsis, and trigger warnings here!

Part 1 – Shall be Lifted… Nevermore “And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted… Nevermore.” The Raven, Edgar Allan Poe

To make it right, Cinara needed to break two hearts that afternoon and conquer another one by night time.

If she couldn’t, lives would be ruined, all because of a failed-before-it-even-began engagement. At that moment, Cinara would pay to have her own head struck by something heavy, anything to get the hell away from that familiar campsite, full of motorcycles and motorhomes.

Full of freedom.

How the hell, Cinara asked herself, could she have the courage to break her own heart?

Go to Chapter 1

I just realized how this "the villain is just misunderstood" thing we have going on is heading dangerously to "I condone fascists because they have a tragic backstory and are hot" and I'm getting more and more turned off every time I think about it