#Climate-Controlled | Isolation

[xtruss]

Why Americans Stopped Buying Convertibles

We’ve Traded the Open-air Dream For Climate-Controlled Isolation.

— Mark Dent | May 3, 2023

A year after I graduated college, I decided to buy a car. I’d been driving a hand-me-down Hyundai sedan, but I wanted something more reliable for the miles I racked up driving around sprawling Dallas for my job as a reporter.

At first, I narrowed my search to the Mazda 6 — at least it was more fun than a Corolla. But as I saved a few options online, hoping for something in dark green, I said to hell with all that. I could buy a convertible for roughly the same price.

A couple weeks later, a dealer showed me a 2004 Ford Mustang, white with a cream-colored canvas top. He pressed a switch on the center console, and down went the top for my test drive. I’d never ridden in a convertible before. On back roads twisting through farmland, it felt like the sky had been lowered from the atmosphere, settling just a few feet above me, close enough to touch the clouds.

An early 2000s Mustang. Bill Pugliano/Getty Images

I bought the Mustang and drove it back into the city with the top down. Over the next couple years, I drove it like that as often as I could: on cool nights with the heat turned on and windows rolled up, on a summer road trip nearly all the way through Kansas until the sunburn became unbearable.

I never got sick of the convertible. It turned everyday monotony into an adventure, replaced the rigid confinement of sedans and SUVs with freedom and openness. Who wouldn’t want one?

But the year I bought my Mustang, in 2010, US convertible sales were down to ~140K, less than half of what they’d been just a few years earlier. That was during the Great Recession, near the auto industry’s nadir. Still, the decline has continued.

According to S&P Global Mobility, new retail registrations of convertibles totaled ~70K in the 12 months between March 2023 and February 2024, comprising ~0.6% of all vehicle sales. That’s down from ~2% in the mid-2000s.

2023 sales of the Mustang convertible, which celebrates its 60th anniversary this year, were down ~87% compared to 2001. Its rival, the Chevrolet Camaro, has been discontinued.

Convertibles are an endangered species, along with the American ethos they exemplified. When Carvana polled Americans on their dream cars last year, the most coveted was an SUV. The characteristic they sought most in their dream car wasn’t emotional attachment — it was technology.

We’re losing the messy, hair-flowing-in-the-wind version of the American Dream to something climate-controlled and closed off to the world. And we might never get it back.

The Car That ‘Satisfies A Youthful Ambition’

Growing up in the ’90s, I rode countless, boring miles in the passenger seats of my dad’s Toyota Camry sedan and mom’s Plymouth Voyager minivan.

I pined for a more exotic ride just out of my reach. My next-door neighbor had an old European convertible — a midlife crisis purchase if there ever were one — and I remember the college-aged woman across the street pulling into her family’s driveway (and looking far cooler) in a Mazda Miata.

This yearning went back generations, to the time automakers, after painstakingly working to enclose early model cars with roofs, realized they could spark people’s imaginations (and extract more from their wallets) by offering a topless experience.

From Rhett Butler to beachgoers, everybody loved the convertible. Hulton Archive/H. Armstrong Roberts/Classicstock/Tom Kelley/Gary Leonard/Getty Images

Costing anywhere from $2K to $5K in the 1930s, roughly 2x-4x the average family income at the time, convertibles made by Duesenberg, Rolls-Royce, and Packard became status symbols for the prosperous few who could afford them.

“It is possible to follow the careers of stars through their motor cars,” noted a reporter in 1938. “When he or she first reaches the dizzy heights of movie fame, flash, gaudy cars are in order.”

Clark Gable owned a Packard convertible, and actor Wayne Morris preferred a topless ride in his Lincoln Zephyr “in any type of weather.” Marlene Dietrich was chauffeured in a tan Rolls-Royce convertible.

“No doubt,” wrote the reporter, “the gaudy car… satisfies a youthful ambition — and all of us have had it.”

The less starry got to fulfill their desires when Chevy, Lincoln, and Buick introduced roomy, space-aged convertibles in the ’50s and ’60s. My grandparents bought a 1962 seafoam-green Impala.

In 1964, Ford released the Mustang, the brainchild of famed auto developer and executive Lee Iacocca. Priced at ~$2.3K, or about one-third of the median family income, the Mustang was a magnet for middle-class Americans who wanted to inject adventure into their daily lives. It also helped bring annual convertible sales to ~500K in the mid-’60s, around 5% of total vehicle sales in America.

Safety concerns and a weak economy put a kibosh on convertible dreams in the ’70s. Cadillac claimed its ’76 Eldorado would be the last convertible ever designed, and total convertible sales fell to ~43K in 1982. But Iacocca reignited the flame with the release of the Chrysler LeBaron that year, ushering in the expanding convertible landscape I grew up with.

The Hustle

My dream car back then was a Dodge Viper, but I saw more practical convertibles everywhere in the ’90s, the peak era for manufacturers to turn the simplest of car models into adventure machines, equipped with rollover bars or fortified support pillars for safety.

The Pontiac Sunfire, Toyota Paseo, Chevrolet Cavalier, Mercury Capri, Honda Civic del Sol, Ford Probe, and Geo Metro (which could’ve lost to a riding lawn mower in a drag race) all had convertible versions.

The not-so-fast Geo Metro exemplified the wide variety of convertibles available a generation ago. Cars & Bids

Annual convertible sales Climbed to ~170K in the mid-’90s. They increased to ~315K in 2004, about 2% of the entire vehicle market, as automakers perfected the retractable hard top (and, somehow, convinced Americans to buy PT Cruiser convertibles).

Yet, as I failed to save for a Toyota Celica convertible by my 16th birthday — my realistic vision of a gaudy purchase — a tectonic market shift was underway. You could see it reflected in choices made from the Heartland to Hollywood.

After Good Will Hunting catapulted Matt Damon and Ben Affleck onto the A-list, for instance, they splurged on cars just like Gable, Morris, and other young stars before them.

Except they bought Jeep Grand Cherokees. “The really dope new truck at the time,” Affleck later explained to IMDB.

The SUV Loophole

Back in the late ’70s, the legal distinction that helped precipitate the decline of convertibles (and cars in general) seemed insignificant. A loophole the size of a needle eye.

In response to the oil crisis and a burgeoning environmental movement, federal regulations went into effect in 1978 requiring automakers’ passenger car fleets to meet a fuel standard of 18 miles per gallon. But “passenger cars” meant sedans, station wagons, coupes, and convertibles.

It didn’t apply to “light trucks” such as minivans, pickups, and SUVs, the latter two of which were mostly used by farmers, contractors, and laborers who needed the extra space for hauling material. To avoid placing an economic burden on workers, light-truck fleets were subjected to lower standards. While automakers had to shrink cars to hit the fuel standard, light trucks remained spacious.

So began an emphasis on SUVs and trucks (and minivans, at least until an association with soccer moms doomed them). SUV sales increased from ~112K in 1981 to ~800K in 1987.

Most Americans still didn’t need to haul anything, but they were hooked. In 1987, a J.D. Power and Associates survey even found SUV owners felt a sense of adventure while driving them — similar to a convertible.

For automakers, the economics checked out.

“You can sell a Cadillac for a lot more than a Chevy even though the Cadillac only costs marginally more to produce than a Chevy. The same thing goes for those truck-based SUVs because they’re sold as rugged,” says David Lucsko, an Auburn University professor who researches automotive history. “You can sell them at a premium and rake in the profits.”

The Hustle

Later, brands popularized the crossover utility vehicle, giving consumers the space of an SUV with a smoother ride. Crossovers, despite being built on the same frame as a car, are typically classified as light trucks. The takeover was complete: Light trucks outsold cars for the first time in 2002. Their sales now comprise nearly 80% of the vehicle market.

No Cars Means No Convertibles

That shift has filled the roads with increasingly large vehicles, which is hardly an ideal environment for convertibles. But Drew Dorian, managing editor for Car and Driver, says he’s doubtful safety fears have driven their decline, noting that safety-concerned families would be unlikely to buy convertibles anyway.

The Insurance Institute for Highway Safety has found that, while SUVs have lower driver fatality rates than the average vehicle, convertibles aren’t any less safe than enclosed sedans or coupes.

Speaking of sedans and coupes: Many brands don’t even make them anymore. The only Ford car that hasn’t been discontinued in North America, for instance, is the Mustang. No more Taurus or Focus or Fusion. That’s been really bad for convertibles, which are typically derived from cars.

To develop all those ’90s convertibles, automakers just tweaked the design of popular sedans at a low cost. Now, according to Tom Libby, associate director of industry analysis and loyalty solutions at S&P Global Mobility, cars aren’t popular enough to justify turning into convertibles.

“To propose a convertible now, it’s almost impossible to create a proposal that includes a volume that’s big enough to make money,” he says.

The Hustle

Money is also in short supply. Car companies are investing huge sums in the transition to electric vehicles, Libby says, and sales of EVs slowed last year, complicating the calculus of how to emphasize true EVs vs. hybrids.

Just as the purchase of a convertible requires a feeling of relative financial security and a sense of boldness, so does the act of designing one. And right now most automakers lack both.

Opting For Open Air

As with movies and clothing, trends rarely die in the auto industry. They go into hibernation until one successful experiment draws copycats and the trend becomes inescapable.

Just as the success of Iacocca’s Chrysler LeBaron led other brands to turn popular car models into convertibles in the ’80s and ’90s, Libby can imagine brands developing SUV convertibles as they seek niches for consumers demanding greater variation.

This makes sense: There’s increased time for adventure as millennials delay having kids or don’t have them at all. While summers may be excruciatingly hot, especially in the Sunbelt, the other seasons are warmer than ever. And Gen Zers crave experiences.

“The enjoyment of open air,” Libby says, “I don’t think that’s gone away.”

“But based on what happened to Nissan a few years ago,” he adds, “I don’t think [SUV convertibles are] imminent.”

He’s referring to Nissan’s crossover Murano convertible, which failed to gain traction in the 2010s. Land Rover’s Evoque was also swiftly discontinued. Americans spoke with their wallets: They didn’t want the open air.

The Land Rover Evoque. Andy Green/Land Rover via Getty Images

When I’m driving on temperate days, I rarely even see other drivers with their windows down. That might not be a coincidence. Lucsko, the car historian at Auburn, says automakers now design vehicles for consumers to seal themselves in.

“I think the car has become more and more a cocoon where we go to be isolated from the world,” he says.

Driving a convertible means being exposed to the world. It means embracing the elements and putting yourself out there, an ever-harder proposition in our increasingly curated, digital lives.

My own convertible era ended years ago. I had to ditch my Mustang for a move to hilly, snowbound central Pennsylvania. But I haven’t ditched my ambition for the open air, and I hope Americans haven’t either. Whether it’s a classic droptop or a futuristic roofless SUV, it will always feel good to say to hell with all that and buy a convertible.

[liberalsarecool]

THE ERA OF VANISHING HAS BEGUN

They are not arresting people. They are vanishing them.

Rumeysa Ozturk wasn’t read her rights. She wasn’t told why she was being detained. She was walking to break her fast in Somerville, Massachusetts when masked men in an unmarked SUV pulled up, took her phone, slapped on handcuffs, and dragged her into a vehicle like she was some kind of national security threat.

She’s a doctoral student. A Fulbright scholar. A trauma researcher. But in Donald Trump’s America, she fit the profile: Muslim, foreign-born, sympathetic to Palestinians.

Now she’s locked in a for-profit detention center in Louisiana, hundreds of miles from her lawyer, after a federal judge specifically said she wasn’t to be moved.

They moved her anyway. Because rules no longer apply to those with badges — real or fake.

A MOVEMENT BUILT ON CHAINS AND COWARDS

Alireza Doroudi is gone too.

He’s a doctoral student at the University of Alabama, born in Iran, studying mechanical engineering. No criminal record. No warning. Just scooped off the grid.

ICE refuses to say where he’s being held. No public charge has been announced. His only crime appears to be existing in the wrong body, from the wrong country, in the wrong era.

Mahmoud Khalil was next — a Columbia student, arrested for leading pro-Palestinian protests. Trump labeled him a “radical foreign Hamas sympathizer” on Truth Social. Days later, he was gone.

Jeanette Vizguerra was taken from her Target shift in Colorado, chained at the waist.

Alfredo “Lelo” Juarez, a farmworker organizer, was dragged from his car at dawn in Washington. His window was smashed by federal agents. His voice silenced.

These aren’t isolated incidents. These are deliberate acts of political intimidation.

They are testing the system — testing us — to see how many people they can disappear before we stop calling it democracy.

WHEN ICE IS A BADGE — AND A COSTUME

While the real ICE disappears scholars, organizers, and mothers, the fakes are circling like vultures.

In South Carolina, Sean-Michael Johnson posed as an ICE officer. He pulled over a van of Latino men, screamed slurs, jiggled their keys, and knocked a phone out of someone’s hand. “You’re going back to Mexico!” he shouted. He wasn’t an agent — but he played one with conviction.

In North Carolina, Carl Thomas Bennett used a fake badge to sexually assault a woman at a motel. He told her if she didn’t comply, he’d have her deported. He held up a counterfeit ID and pretended to be the state.

And in Philadelphia, a Temple University student in an “ICE” shirt tried to storm a dorm building with two accomplices. They were dressed for the part, intoxicated by the illusion of authority, emboldened by the climate.

This is what happens when the state makes cruelty a brand. When a badge becomes a fetish object. When the line between enforcement and cosplay disappears altogether.

THE WHOLE SYSTEM IS THE CRIME

Let’s stop pretending this is a coincidence.

This is a unified strategy. The Trump administration is using ICE like a personal strike force — targeting international students, protest leaders, organizers, and mothers with surgical precision.

They invoke secret designations. They bypass due process. They manufacture pretexts out of thin air and rely on the fog of bureaucracy to hide the blood on the floor.

The point isn’t law enforcement. The point is deterrence. Spectacle. Control.

This is what political cleansing looks like when it’s dressed up in the language of national security.

They’re showing the world that resistance has a cost — and the cost is your freedom, your voice, your visibility, your future.

SILENCE IS CONSENT. AND WE ARE LOUD.

There is no middle ground here. No fence to sit on. No neutral position when people are being kidnapped in the name of the state.

ICE doesn’t need your applause. It needs your silence. Every time a student vanishes and the media shrugs, every time a woman is cuffed and the public looks away, the machine gets stronger.

They are daring us to ignore it. They are counting on our numbness. They are betting that we’ll keep scrolling.

We cannot let them win.

This is not border policy. This is not visa enforcement. This is not safety.This is authoritarianism with a PowerPoint presentation.This is fascism disguised as formality.

This is the state stripping people from the land and pretending it’s order.

Let the record show:

They took people.

And we did not look away.

We saw it.

We named it.

We raised hell.

And we did not stop.

(I didn’t write this. Credit goes to Fear and Loathing: Closer to the Edge)

[yanderes-galore]

Fandom: HOTD

Character: Cregan Stark

Pairing: Romantic

Type of fic: Concept

Extra info: I haven't had the opportunity to watch the finale yet so I hope my man got more screen time other than 3 minutes...

But other than that! Darling could be from wherever you want, you're free to do whatever. I'm just starving for more Cregan content to be honest 🙏🙏

- 🥝 anon

More screen time? That aged well... Anyways! Sure, I'll try my best. Using ASOIAF wiki to help me!

❗️Spoilers For HOTD/Fire and Blood Ahead❗️

Yandere! Cregan Stark Concept

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Possessive/Protective, Manipulation, Controlling behavior, Forced marriage/Courting, Mature themes, Violence, Blood, Isolation, Dubious relationship.

The first idea I thought of for Cregan is him with a Targaryen.

Cregan himself is not very involved in the Dance.

He takes pretty much the entirety of the war to gather forces since the North is so vast.

However, that does not stop him from toppling The Greens in areas other than King's Landing.

This concept is going to be a tweaked version of canon where you're a Targaryen on the side of The Blacks.

Your mother is Rhaenyra and you're helping your brothers gain forces to your side.

Now this could go one of two ways.

You arrive in Winterfell with Jacaerys to speak with Cregan... or you go alone.

Regardless of which occurs, you are tasked to convince Cregan to join The Blacks.

Despite being a skilled dragon rider, the winter chill nips at your skin as you land your dragon.

You had come to negotiate, to give whatever you could to get Cregan to aid your mother.

Although... You end up giving a lot more than you bargained for the longer you stay in Winterfell.

Like most Stark lords, Cregan is an intimidating fellow.

He has had a lover before, in fact he's older than you by at least a few years despite you both being around your twenties.

Yet the difference in age is small and you're able to get along rather well with the lord.

Despite being relatively cold to most, Cregan is ironically rather warm with your presence.

You had learned his past love had died in childbirth, leaving him with a young son.

You even take the time to learn more of Stark traditions.

Winterfell is land much different than your own home.

It's cold compared to Dragonstone, your dragon rather antsy about the change in climate.

You were invited to stay a week or two at Winterfell's castle.

Of course you agree, after all the Stark's support is needed for your mother.

Your time spent in Winterfell is used to get to know lord Cregan Stark.

You drink, hunt, train... Your time there includes a large amount of culture training.

The same thing happens if you went with your brother.

Cregan's form of bonding with you is definitely Stark in nature.

The drinks in Winterfell are much different than home.

They primarily drink ale, yet Cregan was able to get his hands on some Dornish wine if that was better for you.

You just took the ale most of the time, wanting to be on good terms.

Hunting was another activity.

Cregan primarily hunted with Jacaerys if he went with you.

However, there's times you get to hunt with the Stark lord.

Cregan was surprisingly cautious of you while hunting.

For the first few days it was most likely due to him not wanting a Targaryen heir to be injured.

However, over time it seems his intentions towards you changed.

The same thing occurs with training.

Cregan carefully observes what you're capable of before showing you ways to hone your skills.

After all, you're a dragon rider, you're used to the skies.

Yet he teaches you how to properly use a sword.

As your visit progresses, you make some good progress with getting to know the lord.

Cregan himself appears fond of you, often greeting you himself every morning to invite you on yet another expedition or meal together.

Unbeknownst to you, Cregan's intentions for you aren't just to be loyal to your mother.

No, the longer you are in Winterfell, the more Cregan ends up falling for you.

You're a strong and fierce dragon warrior.

Having a Targaryen in his family can be a useful thing, he's reminded of that each time he sees your dragon hidden from the biting cold.

Although, not only are you useful...

But he also finds himself falling for you genuinely.

His obsession develops as the days pass.

By the end of your visit, you and Cregan are close.

He makes sure your hospitality is perfect, that you are respected.

If anyone has problems with you, Cregan will remind himself to have them judged (and possibly executed).

Cregan sees you as his dragon and himself as your wolf.

He's smitten by the time your visit ends, eyes unable to part from you.

Of course Cregan plans to pledge loyalty to your family.

Yet he's not doing it for your brother, your mother, or the throne.

He's doing it for you.

The Pact of Ice and Fire occurs differently in this scenario.

Instead of asking to marry Jace's first born daughter to his son... He asks Jace or you something different.

In return for his loyalty to the throne, he wants to marry you.

The deal comes across as a surprise at first.

Granted, you were not betrothed yet, but even if you were it probably wouldn't stop Cregan.

The wolf has spotted what he wants...

He plans to have you one way or another.

Determined to win the Starks for your mother, you take a deep breath and agree to Cregan's proposal.

In return for Cregan's northern men, you will be his betrothed.

Your compliance brings a smile to Cregan's face, good...

That wasn't so hard, was it?

Cregan, while cold to most, is not cruel to his dragon.

The wedding ceremony hasn't even occurred yet but Cregan already plans on arranging you to stay at Winterfell.

You try to tell him to wait, but your new husband doesn't listen.

He's a stern man, shutting you down when you try to reason.

You tell him you'll get married after the war, that you and your dragon are needed in Dragonstone.

Cregan ignores such a thought.

He tells you it will take around two years to rally the needed men.

Until this... He considers marrying you earlier.

Cregan does not want his dragon to fight in the war.

He may not show it, but he fears losing you.

You try to tell him that your dragon is not used to the colder climate.

In response he tells you to dismiss the large flying lizard, telling you to stay here.

Your dragon will return when it is needed.

You, however, are to stay in Winterfell until you're both married... and afterwards.

Cregan does not listen to anyone on this matter.

While he has men sought out to aid your mother, he sends a raven (or Jace), to tell your mother of your bargain.

Meanwhile, back with you, Cregan kisses your soft skin, telling you he'll be a good man to you.

If anyone tries to tell him your need to go back to Dragonstone, Cregan responds harshly.

He does not hesitate to have someone cut down for not agreeing with him.

You are his betrothed, his beloved dragon.

Disagreements often end with a bloody sword and his grip on you tightening.

Cregan is surprisingly affectionate, kissing your lips and skin.

He calls you all sorts of affectionate nicknames, holding you close.

He doesn't share chambers with you until you're officially married.

Once you are.. You learn just how possessive the wolf can be.

You're married a month or two after meeting the Stark.

Your wedding night comes with sharing his bed....

Your mother tells you your dragon is needed.

Yet you respond saying Cregan Stark refuses to let you battle.

You don't properly see your mother again once Cregan takes you as his own.

Even when your mother asks to meet with Cregan, the winter wolf is against it.

Truth is I can see Cregan keeping you at Winterfell until the war ends.

Both Rhaenyra and Aegon II perish, along with your siblings.

You are one of the only remaining Targaryens other than your younger brother Aegon.

It's only then that Cregan allows you to come with him to King's Landing.

You're devastated at the fact you lost your family, survivor's guilt creeping in.

Cregan allows you to reunite with your younger brother and soon even becomes Hand.

During his time in King's Landing, you are allowed to stay beside him.

Yet he tells you once he is no longer needed, you will be coming back to Winterfell.

Part of you does love your husband... He's trying to protect you.

Despite that, you resent him for forcing you to stay back.

But... His winter men did indeed help claim territory for the blacks....

In a way, you guessed this was your purpose.

If you are capable of having children, you most likely have a young babe with him... maybe another on the way....

Regardless, Cregan keeps you close, the wolf watchful of his dragon.

One could argue his possessive behavior saved you...

You still hate it.

It's ironic, dragons are meant to be stronger than wolves.

Yet here you are, leashed to your loyal hound... bare able to mourn your family.

Cregan reassures you this would've happened anyways.

You should be happy he kept you safe....

You may have Targaryen blood... but to him, you're a Stark now.

He's your family now...

Whoever tries to go against this will meet the end of his sword, their blood staining the snow as you're forced to be good for your husband.

[cassimothwin]

Which house will be you be assigned at Brackroot Academy??? Pause or Screenshot the gif at the top to learn your destiny!

Then "Keep reading" to learn more about your house!

Brackroot Academy is part of Tangled Blessings, a magical school horror roleplaying game that uses tarot cards to uncover your fate as a student.

If you like this fun exercise, learn more about the crowdfunding campaign happening now!

Learn more about your house further below! Does it suit you?

House of Celestials 

The skies borrow from the elements to paint a backdrop for life. Featuring iconography of the sun, moon, and constellations, celestials are known for their inner glow. Still, they do not shy away from the dark surrounding them, understanding that all things require balance. Students in this house often carry at least one or more of these marks: discipline, passion, or indifference. This dorm overlooks the lake. 

House of Dahlias 

Dahlias rely on the energy of celestial bodies for growth and endurance. As a vibrant flower, dahlias are a symbol of elegance and devotion. The plant may seem abundant, but it requires careful nurturing in the wet and cold climate of Brackroot. Students in this house often carry at least one or more of these marks: creativity, perfectionism, or obsessiveness. This dorm is connected to the greenhouse. 

House of Panthers 

The panther needs a garden to rest from its daily stroll, and the dahlias always supply. The panther is a symbol of grace, athletics, and agility but still elusive and rare — a fierce creature of the shadows. Students in this house often carry at least one or more of these marks: observation, punctuality, or ruthlessness. This dorm is at the edge of the forest. 

House of Spires 

The spires are only safe in their tower because of the panthers who keep guard. The House of Spires represents the connection blades, pens, and spirituality share. While members of this house may only show interest or aptitude in one of the represented icons, they are a full member of the spire. Students in this house often carry at least one or more of these marks: empathy, isolation, or judgment. This dorm is in the high tower. 

House of Elements  

Elements are the wildest of the quintet, but they maintain control with help from the spires. The elements symbolize excess and power, but together, they represent the strength of unity. Students in this house often carry at least one or more of these marks: cleverness, hunger, or negligence. This dorm is under the school, but furnished with enchanted windows that overlook the neighboring mountains.  

House of None

Accessible by only walking along the edge of a bridge in the right invisible spot, students in the House of None often think of themselves as beyond reality. These thoughts only worsen the more they understand magic on cosmic and atomic scales. Students in this house are often detached, cold, and fiercely intelligent Symbols commonly associated with this house include the number zero, a black hole, a vortex, lanterns, and knots. 

House of Divines

Hidden beneath the campus Chapel and graveyard, this house was annexed centuries ago for blatant misuse of dark magic. Some stories claim this house serves as the birthplace for demons and vampires. Whatever the reason for the House's former eradication, blood stains remain in the foundation. Students in this house are often vengeful, patient, and not above harming others to get what they want. Symbols commonly associated with this house include blood, fruit, teeth, bones, claws, horns.

[queersolaris]

I watched Flow (2024) a few days ago and I have been itching to get my thoughts out in some kind of way!! So don’t mind me gushing/ psychoanalysis this absolutely amazing movie—

This post will probably be all over the place cause I am still processing everything; forgive the jumbling thoughts

I think this movie had so many angles to see it from~ I totally got the found family (MY BRAND) and climate change perspectives buuuut what got me tearing up was interpreting it as parts of a person processing trauma

“oh this feels like it should be a video game” was actually my first thought

From the silence, style, hell even the boat steering felt like a game mechanic-- it kept coming to mind that this was similar to games like Brothers: a tale of two sons or When the past was around (kinda)?

It seemed obvious that there is trauma going on; how could there not be with an event like that? The theme that got me thinking it was more so about parts was 'reflection'

Obviously it starts and ends with a scene of the cat looking at itself in the water; but there was also our lemur friend being obsessed with their reflection in the mirror. From the angle of it being about parts dealing with trauma here is my dump of thoughts— I know its not that deep but I JUST GOTTA GET THIS OUTTA ME

The stags running represents the trauma event itself and the water felt like the overwhelming feelings that come afterwards-- something you can’t control it’s depth and suffocated by as it keeps rising no matter how much you try to escape/ignore it

The cat being in a house that is already run down feels like it’s clinging onto anything that is familiar but the feelings won’t let the cat survive— feelings will create the need for change and that’s is unavoidable (especially with trauma) The run down house could also have represented the way the cat has settled in poor conditions with time, old memories from a simpler time, and that can lead to isolation

Cat = representing resilience/self sustainability through situations which is why it is the main POV; it can lead to overwhelm and helplessness when isolated but it is the adaptability that is needed to progress (throughout the movie or trauma)-- the statues at the house could also be seen as almost versions of that; moments that it was bigger, smaller, more mobile but always is the same form

Dog = it was interesting that this character was introduced at the start but not along the journey the whole time right? I thought they were a representation of surviving through socializing— there is childishness and innocence but it is mainly always seen with others or serving others

Maybe the dog even could represent a child self ; something always willing to trusts others and help selflessly They do jump in to protect but in a way that is not rejecting

Capybara = survival by freezing or floating thru the situation— which is why we get to see them already on the boat, their focus is to nurture itself for the next day… taking it one day at a time and doing what it could but not worrying too much about the things it can’t help

Bird = the opposite of our doggy friend— we meet it as the one of the first to be around others of its kind but there is a self sacrificing nature to it. Giving its food to fighting for the cats safety... it has a protective role; however in a way that reject risks of the groups survival/comfort (with the pack of dogs) yet when that over protectiveness leaves… the situation ends soon after

I wondered before the bird disappeared if it was meant to be a older self— still juxtaposed to the dog— something with more trust issues because of experience, it looks after the other parts, even steers the others in the right direction... the connection to the cat also felt right ya know?? The parts of you that are willing to adapt usually come out the most in adulthood or when you need to be your more 'mature' self

There is also the concept of the flight response it could represent; which is why they did not want to be around the pack of dogs— almost showing it wanting to run/keep away from others

It disappearing felt like maybe there was something else— like this is meant to represent passing on a part or habit that kept healing at bay but was necessary to move through the trauma

Lemur = obsessed with material and it’s own reflection— it seems to be the part that tries to survive with status and the approval of others; of course being self destructive…

Maybe representing rumination, clinging onto things that are apart of the familiarity (which is why the movie kept the ball from the house as a reoccurring object), and even masking since the mirror was something that gave it company later before realizing it wasn’t the kind of company it wanted

The foundations crumble suddenly, the overflow of emotions (water) starts to sink in; leaving things different and the same (it seems like the same forest/area). We see the stags again running like before-- which almost indicates that something similar could happen. Then the cat waits for it all to happen again; the worst. When nothing does it runs after them almost looking for an answer, I think we've all been there; trying to figure out why our responses vary or what is was about us that has changed from before that makes things easier. That's when the cat gets to see our final part:

Whale = this thing made me cry for sure because throughout the story it felt like this represented old coping mechanisms (like from childhood); something that kept you a float or going no matter how dire things became—when rock bottom would hit in the middle of floating/navigating so many feelings-- it ensured survival. Even when the cat finally learned to fish for itself (which now i wonder was meant to be like naming emotions or processing things bit by bit) the whale shows up once more almost to be a reminder that it was still around even when not fully needed. At the end when foundations crumbled, the whale is no longer able to survive… and the cat is able to thank it for its help.

The water was there the whole movie but there was little times when the cat seemed to look at it's reflection. When it did it again at the end of the movie but with whole group being together-- I was obviously crying because dammit undertale you’re right despite everything it is still you

OH about the video game thought— looking at this from the lens of a trauma response; it did make more sense to be told as a movie; I mean with a game I can pause… I can take myself out of their experience and feel in control with a situation that is meant to not let us feel any

So being a movie instead is actually perfect

[kathaelipwse]

Guarded By You - C.Seungcheol

Chapter 2: Echoes of Broken Vows and Crimson Warnings

Warnings: Stalking, childhood trauma, emotional distress, implied violence, NO PROOF READING WAS DONE Author’s Note: This chapter delves into past trauma, childhood neglect, and psychological distress. If any of these themes are triggering for you, please proceed with caution. Your well-being is important, so take care of yourself while reading. <33 Word Count: 2459 words

<<<previous chapter - next chapter>>>

Series Masterlist

The cabin, a rough-hewn sanctuary carved from the heart of the ancient forest, stood as a stark testament to isolation open only to the military staff well former military as well. The air, thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, pressed against your skin, a stark contrast to the sterile, climate-controlled world you knew. The silence, broken only by the crackling fire in the hearth, was a heavy, suffocating presence, a stark reminder of your vulnerability.

Cheol, a figure of stoic strength, had transformed the cabin into a fortress, his movements precise and efficient, a testament to his military training. He’d secured the perimeter, set up surveillance, and established a silent, watchful presence that both reassured and unnerved you, a constant reminder of the unseen danger that lurked in the shadows.

"Why here?" you asked, your voice a hushed whisper, the lingering fear from the stalker's message a cold knot in your stomach. "Why so far away? Why this isolation?"

He didn’t turn from the fire, his gaze fixed on the dancing flames, his expression a mask of impenetrable calm. "Isolation. Security. No witnesses. No distractions. This is a controlled environment, where we dictate the terms."

You sighed, rubbing your temples, the tension a physical ache. "You make it sound like we’re in a war zone."

"We are," he said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion, a statement of fact rather than an exaggeration. "A war against someone who knows your every move, every vulnerability. Someone who sees you, even when you think you're unseen."

A shiver ran down your spine, the cold seeping into your bones despite the fire’s warmth. "Can we… can we talk about something else? Anything else? Something… normal?"

He finally turned to you, his eyes dark and unreadable, like obsidian shards reflecting the firelight. "What do you want to talk about? What normalcy do you seek?"

You hesitated, searching for a topic that wouldn’t send you spiraling into panic, a topic that might offer a sliver of understanding. "My life, I guess. The one you’re now in charge of. The one I barely remember. The one that feels like a stranger's story."

He raised an eyebrow, a silent question, a flicker of curiosity in his usually impassive gaze.

"You know," you began, your voice trembling slightly, "it hasn’t always been red carpets and flashing lights. There were… other times. Before all this. Before the fame, the fortune, the fear."

You spoke of your childhood, a fragmented tapestry of foster homes and fleeting connections, the constant search for a place to belong. You spoke of the long hours, the relentless auditions, the sacrifices made for a dream that had turned into a gilded cage. You spoke of the loneliness that clung to you even in the midst of adoring crowds, the feeling of being watched, judged, and ultimately, owned. You spoke of the emptiness that followed you like a shadow.

As you spoke, your voice grew softer, the warmth of the fire and the steady rhythm of your words lulling you into a false sense of security. The rhythmic crackling of the flames, the steady cadence of your own voice, the sheer exhaustion of the night, all conspired to pull you under. Your eyelids grew heavy, your words trailing off into a mumbled silence, your body succumbing to the weariness that had settled deep within your bones.

Cheol watched you, his gaze fixed on your sleeping form. He saw not the famous actress/model, the guarded celebrity, but a ghost from his past. A small, fragile child with wide, trusting eyes and a bright, infectious smile that had been slowly extinguished by the harsh realities of their shared past.

He remembered the Silent House, the orphanage that had been their shared prison. He remembered the cold, echoing halls, the threadbare blankets, the way the silence pressed down on you, heavy and suffocating. It wasn't just the absence of noise; it was the absence of warmth, of comfort, of anything resembling kindness. It was the silence of forgotten children, the silence of broken promises, the silence of a world that had abandoned them. He remembered you, a tiny 4-5 year old figure, a ghost in the vast emptiness, clinging to his side, your small hand reaching for his, a silent plea for protection he initially wanted to ignore.

He had resented you then, a small, fragile thing disrupting the harsh equilibrium he had built for himself. You were a painful reminder of the vulnerability he had learned to bury, a stark contrast to the hardened shells of the other children. They were survivors, like him, forged in the crucible of neglect, and you were a delicate flower in a field of thorns, a constant reminder of what they had lost, of what they had never had.

He remembered the first time he saw them turn on you. A pack mentality, a cruel game of dominance played out on your small, trembling frame. They whispered taunts, their words sharp and cruel, designed to break you, to shatter the fragile innocence that clung to you like a second skin. He watched, his jaw clenched, a strange mix of anger and disgust churning within him. He wanted to look away, to pretend he didn’t see, to preserve the sliver of detachment he had carefully cultivated. But something stopped him.

He saw the way your small shoulders shook, the way your eyes filled with tears, not of anger, but of a deep, soul-crushing despair. It was the despair of a child who had already learned that no one was coming to save them, that the world was a cold and indifferent place. He saw the way you curled into yourself, trying to become invisible, to disappear from their cruel gaze, as if wishing hard enough could make the pain go away. It was then, a flicker of something he couldn't name, a raw, primal protectiveness, that he stepped in.

He remembered the shock on their faces, the sudden silence as he stood between you and them, his small frame a defiant barrier. He remembered the anger that surged through him, a burning rage fueled by the injustice of it all, a desperate attempt to shield you from their cruelty. He remembered the fight, a clumsy brawl fueled by rage and desperation, a desperate attempt to protect a fragile life, a fragile hope.

He didn’t tell you then, but he hated the way you cried at night. Small, muffled sobs that echoed in the darkness, a constant reminder of the pain you endured. 'Mama,' you’d whisper, your voice a broken, desperate plea, a sound that tore at something inside him, a sound that echoed his own unspoken grief, his own longing for a warmth he had never known. He’d sit on the edge of his bed, his gaze fixed on the shadows, his hands clenched into fists, fighting the urge to comfort you, to offer a solace he knew he couldn’t provide, a solace he himself had never received. He knew the emptiness of a world without a mother's embrace, and hearing you cry for that phantom warmth broke him, shattered the carefully constructed walls around his heart.

He’d watch you during the day, your eyes following him, a silent plea for protection, for a connection in a world that offered none. You trusted him, a trust he didn't deserve, a trust that made him uncomfortable, that chipped away at the walls he had built around his heart. He was your shield, your silent guardian, a role he never asked for, but one he couldn’t abandon, a role that slowly became his purpose.

He remembered the pinky promise, your small finger wrapped around his, your voice a solemn vow, a fragile promise in a world of broken oaths. "I’ll never leave you, Cheolie! Never! Pinky promise!" He felt a strange pang in his chest, a flicker of warmth in the cold, empty space where his heart used to be, a fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, someone wouldn’t leave, someone would stay.

But then remembered the day the rich couple came, their eyes drawn to your bright smile, your innocent charm. He saw the way you looked at him, your eyes filled with confusion and fear, as they led you away, a silent question hanging in the air, a question he couldn’t answer, a question that echoed in the emptiness of his own heart. He remembered the empty space you left behind, a void that had never been filled, a wound that had never healed, a silent scream that echoed in the emptiness of the Silent House, a scream that had echoed in his soul ever since.

He remembered the years that followed, the cold indifference of the other children, the emptiness of the orphanage, the way he stopped trusting, stopped hoping. He remembered the vow he made, a silent promise to himself, to never let anyone get close again, to build walls of ice around his heart, walls that, despite his best efforts, were crumbling now, under the weight of a forgotten past, under the weight of a promise he couldn’t break, a promise you didn’t even remember making, a promise that was now his burden, his duty. The day he turned 17 he ran away from that ditch place; with the silent hope of being able to see you….just a glance would have done too but-

His thoughts were cut of by a sudden, sharp noise from outside shattered his reverie, a whisper in the wind that sent a chill down his spine. He moved with a practiced swiftness, his body a coiled spring, his senses on high alert. He climbed the ladder to the cabin’s rooftop, his eyes scanning the surrounding forest, searching for any sign of intrusion, his gaze piercing the darkness like a predator's.

Fifteen minutes later, he descended, his expression grim. The perimeter was secure, but the noise had been unsettling, a phantom echo in the silent night, a reminder that they were not alone. He stepped back into the cabin, his gaze falling on you.

You were frozen, your eyes wide with terror, staring at the mirror above the mantle. He followed your gaze, his own eyes widening in shock.

Scrawled across the mirror, in your own crimson lipstick, was a chilling message: "You look nice while sleeping, sweetheart."

The stalker had been inside. While he was on the rooftop, they had been in the same room, a phantom presence in their supposed sanctuary, a chilling reminder of their vulnerability. The message, written in your own lipstick, was a violation, a twisted intimacy that sent a wave of nausea washing over you.

He scanned the room, his eyes searching for any sign of forced entry, any disturbance. Nothing. The cabin was as secure as he had left it. The stalker had moved like a ghost, a phantom presence, a chilling reminder of their power, their ability to infiltrate their supposed safe haven.

"Calm down," he said, his voice low and steady, a command issued in a war zone, a promise he intended to keep, a promise he had made to himself, to you, long ago in the cold, echoing halls of the Silent House. "I’m not leaving you alone. Not for a second. Not while he’s still out there. Not while he’s this close."

He took off his coat, the tailored black fabric a stark contrast to the rustic setting, and draped it over your shoulders, the warmth a small comfort in the face of the chilling message, a fragile shield against the encroaching fear. The fear in your eyes mirrored his own, a shared understanding of the danger that lurked in the shadows, a shared understanding of the past that haunted them both. The hunt was on, and the hunter was closer than they thought, their presence a chilling whisper in the silent night, a promise of a future that felt increasingly bleak.

The stalker's message was more than a threat; it was a violation, a twisted intimacy that sent shivers down your spine. It was a reminder that you were not safe, not even in the supposed sanctuary of the cabin. The knowledge that he had been in the same room as you, watching you as you slept, sent a wave of nausea washing over you. You felt exposed, vulnerable, like a puppet on strings, dancing to the tune of a madman.

Cheol's presence, usually a source of comfort, now felt like a cage. His constant vigilance, his unwavering gaze, felt suffocating, a constant reminder of your vulnerability. You felt trapped, caught between the predator outside and the protector inside, both of whom seemed to hold your fate in their hands.

The silence in the cabin was heavy, thick with unspoken fears and unspoken memories. The crackling fire, once a source of warmth and comfort, now seemed to mock you, its dancing flames casting grotesque shadows on the walls, shadows that seemed to whisper the stalker's name.

You wanted to scream, to lash out, to break free from the suffocating atmosphere of fear and control. But you were frozen, trapped in a nightmare you couldn't wake from, a nightmare where the past and the present collided, where the ghosts of your childhood mingled with the terrors of the present.

The stalker's message echoed in your mind, a chilling reminder of your vulnerability. "You look nice while sleeping, sweetheart." The words, meant to be intimate, felt like a violation, a twisted declaration of ownership. You wanted to scrub the words off the mirror, to erase them from your memory, but they were etched into your mind, a permanent scar on your psyche.

You looked at Cheol, his face a mask of stoic calm, his eyes dark and unreadable. You wanted to ask him about his past, you wanted to understand why he looked at you with such intensity, with such a mix of protectiveness and pain.

The night stretched on, an eternity of fear and uncertainty. The cabin, once a refuge, now felt like a trap, a place where the hunter and the hunted were locked in a deadly game of cat and mouse. And you, the fragile prey, were caught in the middle, trapped between the ghosts of the past and the terrors of the present.

… To be continued

[justinspoliticalcorner]

It is hard to imagine a worse candidate for the American presidency in 2024 than Donald J Trump. His history of dishonesty, hypocrisy and greed makes him wholly unfit for the office. A second Trump term would erode the rule of law, diminish America’s global standing and deepen racial and cultural divides. Even if he loses, Mr Trump has shown that he will undermine the election process, with allies spreading unfounded conspiracy theories to delegitimise the results. There are prominent Republicans – such as the former vice-president Dick Cheney – who refused to support Mr Trump owing to the threat he poses. Gen Mark Milley, the chairman of the joint chiefs of staff under Mr Trump, calls his former boss a “fascist”. America was founded in opposition to absolute monarchy. The Republican nominee models himself after the leader he most admires: Russia’s autocratic president, Vladimir Putin. Mr Trump’s authoritarianism may finish US democracy. He has praised and promised to pardon those convicted in the January 6 insurrection. He has suggested bypassing legal norms to use potentially violent methods of repression, blurring the lines between vigilantism, law enforcement and military action, against groups – be they Democrats or undocumented immigrants – he views as enemies. His team has tried to distance itself from the Heritage Foundation’s Project 2025 and its extreme proposals – such as mass firings of civil servants and erasing women’s rights – that poll poorly. But it is likely that, in office, Mr Trump would adopt many of these intolerant, patriarchal and discriminatory plans. He aims to dismantle the government to enrich himself and evade the law. If Republicans gain control of the Senate, House and White House, he would interpret it as a mandate to silence his critics and entrench his power. Mr Trump is a transactional and corrupting politician. His supporters see this as an advantage. Christian nationalists want an authoritarian regime to enforce religious edicts on Americans. Elon Musk wants to shape the future without regulatory oversight. Both put self-interest ahead of the American people. Democracy erodes slowly at first, then all at once. In office, Mr Trump appointed three supreme court justices, who this summer blocked efforts to hold him accountable for trying to overturn the 2020 election: their immunity ruling renders the president “a king above the law”, in the words of the liberal justice Sonia Sotomayor. Since Kamala Harris stepped into the spotlight following Joe Biden’s exit, her campaign has been a masterclass in political jujitsu, deftly flipping Mr Trump’s perceived strengths into glaring weaknesses. With a focus on joy, the vice-president sharply contrasted with Mr Trump’s grim narrative of US decline. In their sole televised debate, Ms Harris skillfully outmaneuvered Mr Trump, who fell into her traps, appearing angry and incoherent. She is confident and composed. He sounds unhinged. [...] Political hope fades when we settle for what is, instead of fighting for what could be. Ms Harris embodies the conviction that it’s better to believe in democracy’s potential than to surrender to its imperfections. The Republican agenda is clear: voter suppression, book bans and tax cuts for billionaires. Democrats seek global engagement; the GOP favours isolation. The Biden-Harris administration laid the groundwork for a net zero America. A Trumpian comeback would undo it. A Harris win, with a Democratic Congress, means a chance to restore good governance, create good jobs and lead the entire planet’s climate efforts. Defeating Mr Trump protects democracy from oligarchy and dictatorship. There is too much at stake not to back Ms Harris for president.

The Guardian Editorial Board's endorsement of Kamala Harris for the 2024 US Presidential Election (10.23.2024).

The Guardian’s editorial board gave a powerful endorsement for Kamala Harris, as our democracy’s survival depends on her winning.

[clu-ven]

Better than Meditation

soooo I haven't posted in a very long time but I'm trying to get back into writing!!! (so pls bear with me xoxoxoxoxo)

Summary: you come up with an alternative (smutty) way for Crosshair to gain some control over his hand - based off S3 E08

Tags: SMUT, vaginal fingering, semi public fingering?? (technically it’s done in an isolated but public place), lil bit of plot + smut, smut, smut

Word Count: 2.8k

“He’s still down there, y’know” Omega’s voice brings you out of your thoughts as she slumps down beside you.

You keep your eyes closed, letting the rays of the afternoon sun wash over you. Pabu’s climate is one you could most definitely get used to. It’s inviting and comforting atmosphere makes you feel at ease, a sensation that has become rare since the rise of the Empire.

“Well, you know how stubborn he is,” you reply casually. 

While Hunter and Wrecker are gone to meet some bounty hunter they know, Crosshair has spent most of his time on a secluded part of the beach, focused on correcting his aim.  Everyone has tried to talk to him about it but unfortunately, that only made things worse.

Now Crosshair is more defensive than ever, determined to prove that he is perfectly capable of correcting his shaky hand by himself. 

“Yeah but AZI said it might be some kind of mental block,” Omega sighs, subtly copying you as she closes her eyes too “if he doesn’t open up and let us help him, then how is he supposed to get better?”.

Her concern for Crosshair makes you smile, impressed by how she’s able to delicately balance trying to help her brother without being too overbearing.

The question lingers for a few moments before you open your eyes and glance down at her “And he’s already shot down your meditation idea?”.

Omega briefly mentioned the idea to you that morning and although you were sceptical, you encouraged her determination to help anyway. 

“Of course he did,” she lets out a heavy sigh “saying he didn’t like it is an understatement”. 

A comfortable silence grows between you both as you consider the situation. But before you can speak, Omega quickly becomes restless and blurts out “Can’t you try speaking with him? He’ll listen to you, I just know it!”. 

It’s no secret that you and Crosshair were once close and you can only presume Omega has heard about this from the likes of Wrecker, who wouldn’t give a second thought about mentioning it.

"I can try but..." you trail off, hesitating to make a decision. Doubt clouds your judgement, stopping you from promising anything. After all, you know how stubborn and closed-minded Crosshair can be at times, especially when it comes to being vulnerable.

Omega's face lights up at your hesitant help. "Great! Sometimes trying is all it takes". She seems upbeat and enthusiastic as she stands “I was gonna go introduce Batcher to Mox, Stak and Deek anyways so it’s good to know Crosshair won’t be alone”.

Giving the girl a tight-lipped smile in response, Omega whistles for Batcher. With one last goodbye, she hurries off happily.

You wait until she’s gone before you sigh and slump down again. Although Crosshair has been back for a while now, the two of you have yet to have a proper reunion, leaving you both unsure of how to approach the situation. 

Knowing you can’t put this off for forever, you begrudgingly get up and start the long descent down to the secluded beach. 

The subtle change in weather appears to align with your mood, as the sun dips behind the clouds and a warm breeze begins to pick up. It causes the light fabric of your skirt to dance in the wind as if it has a mind of its own. But it’s only a momentary distraction as your thoughts swiftly return to Crosshair, focusing fully on him and the impending catch-up. 

You and Crosshair were always close during the Clone Wars, constantly laughing at each other’s snide remarks, bickering simply for the sake of it and always trying to get a rise out of the other. Even back then, you knew where the constant teasing would eventually lead to… but then it didn’t. 

Instead, the war came to an end and before you even got the opportunity to speak with Crosshair, the rest of the Batch had turned up at your door and told you that he had already picked his side.

Since then, you have been travelling with the batch. It took a long time to accept that whatever was between you and Crosshair was gone, whether that be a friendship or something more. That died the day the Republic did. 

But in a strange twist of faith, Crosshair is back and so are your lingering feelings. Although, if it was difficult to confront this emotion before everything happened, it’s become utterly impossible now. Neither of you have mentioned it and yet you still catch his longing gaze whenever he thinks you’re not paying attention.

When you reach the beach, it’s exactly how you pictured; Crosshair is alone, his sniper positioned steadily on a rock as he tries to shoot the far off target. A blaster bolt sprints across the water as he fires, missing his target by a few inches. You hear him mutter something under his breath as he tries again.

Flicking his chewed up toothpick to the ground, Crosshair notices you. “Yes?” He asks impatiently, lining up another shot.

“You’ve been out here all day,” you state the obvious “Omega’s worried about you”.

Crosshair doesn’t reply immediately, first firing (and missing) again before he turns around just to make sure you see his eye roll. “Oh, is she?” His tone is underlined with sarcasm. 

A huff falls from your lips and suddenly you know all too well why Omega was so irked after trying to help the man in front of you. Despite the scowl on your face, you refuse to fall into the usual bickering you once had with him. 

“You know she is,” you sigh “maybe you should take a break, come have some lunch and forget about target practice for a while”.

He watches you for a moment, studying you the same way you’ve seen from the corner of your eye “And when did you become mother hen?”.

Scoffing, you walk closer, hugging yourself with your arms “Don’t act like that, you know you’re overworking yourself… Crosshair, please, you need to take care of yourself”. 

The concern in your voice takes him by surprise but Crosshair quickly recovers as he mutters “Oh, so you’re worried about me now?”.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You bat back at him.

“You’ve hardly looked at me, nevermind speak to me since I’ve gotten back” he practically spits the words out. 

You no longer hold back your glare “Like you’ve made any effort to talk to me!”.

“How can I when you don’t even look at me?” Crosshair challenges, his gaze unyielding as your annoyance fades as quick as it came. 

Coming up to the rock he’s based at, you slide down against it to shield yourself from the wind. Crosshair follows suit and kneels beside you, waiting cautiously for your response. 

Your tone holds a sense of sincerity as you speak, your words now free of any reservations. "I do look at you… of course I do," you confess with genuine intent, all annoyance and restraint vanishing within you. 

“Then you must see me staring,” he almost whispers the words, watching you carefully “I thought you would have gotten the hint by now that I’m still interested”.

A soft smile graces your lips and as if taming a wild animal, you slowly reach out for his hand. Crosshair makes no attempt to stop you and you gently slip your hand into his before you tug him closer. 

Settling his hand on to your lap, you begin to trace your finger up and down his palm until finally resting your hand delicately on his wrist. “Let me help,” you offer “seriously, Crosshair”.

“And how would you help?” Though the question almost seems backhanded, you know that’s just Crosshair being Crosshair.

The mischievous glint in your eye paired with the suggestive smirk plastered across your face doesn’t go unnoticed by him. 

“How do you think?” you question. 

He holds your gaze as if to challenge you to make the first move but you hold strong. This is your moment and you both know it.

A secluded beach? A chance for you both to finally reunite in a way you could only imagine? Both of your minds go to the same place.

You give his wrist a small yet reassuring squeeze and before you can make another comment, his lips are on yours. 

With an intensity fuelled by pure need, he slams his lips against yours in a heated display of passion. This isn’t just a build up of years worth of longing for Crosshair. No, it’s much more than that. It’s an act of rebellion against the time he lost with you because of the Empire, both in spite of his own misplaced loyalty to them as well as his time on Tantiss. 

The fiery kiss goes on for what feels like an eternity and yet the time seems far too brief when it finally comes to an end. The passion flaring between the two of you is intoxicating, causing you to crave more.

His fingers twitch on your lap, eager to do more for you. As if on cue, you both look down at his hand, your soft grasp still around his wrist.

“You have to be calm, be able to stay consistent with your shots if you want to hit the target, right?” you ask, trying not to smirk when you see his sudden confusion. 

In a moment like this, you seriously decide to give him some advice on shooting? Crosshair nods, silently waiting to see where this is going.

“Maybe you’re approaching this from the wrong perspective,” you suggest, noticing how his attention shifts to your lips “you’re focusing on your sniper abilities, looking to re-learn your techniques… but you need to re-learn how to use your fingers in order to effectively use your sniper”.

“And how do you propose I do that?” his voice is low, causing the skin on your arms to prickle with goosebumps. You can feel the effect of his voice in your panties.

With your free hand, you begin to bunch up your skirt, first revealing your thighs and then a glimpse of your underwear. Crosshair can’t help it as a groan escapes from his throat.

You guide his hand closer to your clothed core before Crosshair takes initiative and brushes his fingers teasingly against you. 

He can feel the warmth beneath your underwear, feeling more assured in his movements when he hears you take in a sharp breath. But even with the small boost in confidence, Crosshair can’t help it as a small tremor courses through his hand. 

“Take your time,” your voice is soft but firm in your reassurance “and if this is too much then we can stop”. Fearful that you’ve pushed him too far, you slowly begin to close your legs as you nervously fiddle with your skirt “I didn’t mean to push you so-”.

You stop your apologetic remark when his firm grip stops your legs from meeting. A brief look of disbelief flicks across your face as he spreads your legs to his liking.

“No,” there is no hesitancy in Crosshair’s voice as he takes control of the situation “you started this, don’t go shy on me now”. This time it’s your turn to nod silently.

His fingers glide down to caress you again, this time feeling the dampness from beneath your underwear. Each reaction you give, whether a sharp intake of breath or a slight quiver up your spine, only serves to fuel Crosshair’s determination. He savors these small responses, revelling in how you leave each reaction so bare for him to see.

Crosshair smirks “If this is how you react to such simple touches, do you think you could handle me touching you without anything between us?”. 

“You’d be surprised with how much I can handle” you taunt.

Oh how he has missed how you challenge him. Your snarky response is rewarded with a kiss but before you can melt into it, Crosshair brings both of his hands to your hips and swiftly pulls your panties down. 

The eager sight that greets him brings a smile to his face. Crosshair can feel his excitement growing but before he can get ahead of himself, he’s committed to take care of you first. 

Crosshair teasingly brings just one finger down to your core. A slight tremor causes his finger to waver but after a second, it stops as desire overtakes him. His finger teases you, feeling just how much you want him. Before he can make another teasing comment, you pull him in for another kiss, unable to help yourself.

Crosshair is quick to take control of the kiss, simultaneously pushing his tongue into your mouth as he sinks his long finger into you. You welcome all of him, moaning into his mouth. Taking your sounds as encouragement, Crosshair adds a second digit to your core. 

He pushes in until he’s knuckle deep, successfully finding that spot within you. Crosshair takes your advice to heart. He keeps a consistent rhythm, thrusting his fingers inside of you. He listens to each involuntary squeak and moan, adjusting his speed and pressure of each pump of his fingers to whichever makes you react the most. 

There’s not a slight tremble in his entire hand, his attention solely on you. There is no room for nerves or doubt to creep in and cause his hand to shake. That seems almost impossible now, especially with you like this in front of him.

There is nothing but you and him in this moment, the rhythmic movement of his fingers serving as proof that he has full control.

He buries his fingers into you, pressing the palm of his hand against your clit and delivering powerful jolts of pleasure into your body.

“That’s it,” he coos at your moans “you’re nearly there, aren’t you?”.

A flutter fills your chest as your breathing becomes more rapid. "Y-yes,” you manage with a strained voice, your mind becoming overwhelmed with arousal “keep doing that”. 

You squeeze around his fingers, feeling the tight coil in your lower stomach getting closer and closer to finally snapping.

Your body responds to his touch in the most natural of ways, your back arching and head bowing in a display of utter pleasure. Your hand instinctively searches for contact, grabbing hold of his knee as the overwhelming sensation begins to consume you.

Your legs twitch, eyes rolling back in your head and a rather loud moan escapes your lips as the satisfaction you feel begins to peak. 

Bliss floods your entire being and the mixture of your moans and whimpers blend together in a melodic harmony. Every movement of his hand guides you through the waves of ecstasy, sending shivers through your body. 

Crosshair hums approvingly as you come down from your sigh. Almost reluctantly, he takes his hand away from you and examines his sticky but steady fingers. “My hand hasn’t been able to do so much and remain so still since… well, ever since Tantiss” he comments.

Trying to give your shaky legs more time to recover, you fix your panties before you reposition your skirt. Stealing a glance at Crosshair, you’re glad to see you’re not the only one with flushed cheeks. You smile almost bashfully as you lean on the rock to stand. 

Crosshair is there to help, gently holding your upper arm as you steady yourself. Despite the sass you gave him earlier and the bliss he just brought you now, you find it hard to maintain eye contact. 

Clearing your throat, you try to regain some of that boldness from before “Well then… good luck with your target practice, I’ll go see if the others have made contact yet”.

“What?!” the sound is almost foreign to you; the sound of an utterly bamboozled Crosshair. 

Pushing yourself off the rock, you feel his grasp slip away from your arm. You continue to walk as you turn around to savor his shocked expression.

“What about me?” he asks, trying to be inconspicuous as he gestures to the tent in his pants “I thought this was about helping me?”.

“Yeah, I know,” you reply with a smirk “you’ll get your reward when you hit the target”. With a wink, you turn your back to him and begin the ascent back. 

Crosshair’s jaw hangs open as he watches you go, and he can’t help but laugh at your audacity.

[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from this Chicago Tribune story:

Thirty million acres of unprotected wetlands across the Upper Midwest, including 1 million acres in Illinois, are at risk of being destroyed largely by industrial agriculture — wetlands that provide nearly $23 billion in annual flood mitigation benefits, according to new research. In the long term, these wetlands could prevent hundreds of billions of dollars of flood damage in the region.

“Wetlands can help mitigate flooding and save our homes. They can help clean our water. They can capture and store carbon. They support hunting and recreation, and they support the commercial fishing industry by providing habitats for the majority of commercially harvested fish and shellfish,” said study author Stacy Woods, research director for the Food and Environment program at the Union of Concerned Scientists, a nationwide nonprofit science advocacy organization.

Last year, the U.S. Supreme Court stripped protections from freshwater and inland wetlands in its Sackett v. EPA ruling, allowing private property development in wetland areas that don’t have a “continuous surface connection” to permanent bodies of water.

But environmentalists say wetlands are rarely truly “isolated” from a watershed, no matter how inland they may be. Some experts worry that after President-elect Donald Trump takes office, he might roll back President Joe Biden’s effort to counter the Supreme Court ruling by expanding federal regulations of small bodies of water and wetlands under the Clean Water Act. Undoing those protections would leave control of wetlands up to the states, some of which — like Illinois — have no strong safeguards in place.

Half of the nation’s wetlands have disappeared since the 1780s, and urban development and agriculture in Illinois have destroyed as much as 90% of its original marshy, swampy land. Nowadays, its wetlands are vastly outnumbered by the 26.3 million acres of farmland that cover almost three-fourths of the state.

While urban and rural development and climate change disturbances contribute to the problem, the expansion of large-scale agriculture poses the biggest threat to wetlands, according to the study. Advocates see an opportunity in the next farm bill in Congress to support and encourage farmers to protect wetlands on their property.

A wetland is a natural sponge, said Paul Botts, president and executive director of The Wetlands Initiative, a Chicago-based nonprofit that designs, restores and creates wetlands.

By absorbing water from storms and flooding, wetlands can effectively reduce the risks and destructive effects of these disasters, which are intensifying and becoming more frequent because of a changing climate. Previous research estimated that 1 acre of lost wetland can cost $745 in annual flood damage to residential properties, an amount that taxpayers fund through local, state or federal assistance programs.

[ladybugmania]

The Evolution of Authoritarianism: Why the Old Labels No Longer Apply.

It doesn't matter if you're Left or Right.

In political discourse, it's common to reference historical ideologies, fascism, Nazism, communism, when analyzing current events. These terms are deeply rooted in 20th-century history and carry enormous weight. But while their historical distinctions are accurate in context, clinging to them without recognizing the ideological shifts of our time is not only outdated, it's dangerous.

Yes, Fascism and Nazism were both authoritarian systems. Fascism centered on extreme nationalism and the glorification of the state, while Nazism added a distinct, vicious layer of racial ideology, culminating in genocide and world war. That distinction is meaningful but it belongs to history books, not to the urgent analysis of today’s political climate.

Truth is: Ideological playing field have shifted.

The traditional left-right political spectrum is no longer sufficient to explain what’s unfolding in America and elsewhere. Today, the more critical axis is authoritarianism versus democracy, truth versus manufactured reality, freedom versus submission to a political cult.

This is where Donald Trump, and the movement surrounding him, enters the conversation. What we're seeing is not simply "right-wing conservatism" as many would defend. It is a rebranding of authoritarianism. Trump’s rhetoric and behavior reflect the classic warning signs of fascist governance, even if they aren’t couched in swastikas or brownshirts.

Let’s be clear:

Demonizing minorities and immigrants.

Peddling a mythologized national past (“Make America Great Again”). Really!

Discrediting the media as the “enemy of the people.”

Undermining election results and democratic norms.

Creating a cult of personality immune to criticism or accountability.

These are not isolated incidents of populism or political flavor. These are core tactics of authoritarian regimes. They are designed to erode democratic foundations slowly, while keeping supporters convinced they are defending freedom, even as that very freedom slips away.

And yet, there are people, especially among the Republican base, who still frame Trumpism as just another iteration of traditional conservatism. That is intellectually dishonest and politically irresponsible. If you cannot see the chilling parallels between this movement and historical fascist regimes, then you are not engaging with reality. You are indulging in a dangerous delusion.

Authoritarianism today does not always look like Hitler or Mussolini. It wears suits. It speaks in slogans. It thrives in media echo chambers. It rallies around nationalism while eroding the very institutions that preserve liberty. It weaponizes grievance and division. It is not about right or left anymore. It’s about power. Control. Propaganda. And the slow, strategic dismantling of democracy.

and again.

This is not about left or right anymore. It’s about power, control, and the subtle re-emergence of authoritarian ideology under a different mask. And if you can’t see that Trump’s rhetoric fits that mold with alarming precision, you’re either willfully blind or tragically misled.

If you're still arguing over left versus right, you're fighting yesterday's war while today's battlefield is burning behind you.

It is time to wake up. Especially to those Republicans who are sleeping with their eyes open. And there's many of them.

History is not just repeating, it’s evolving. And if we don’t evolve with it, we risk becoming the very thing we once vowed never to become again.

[kinda-indecisive]

Am I the only one who imagines Zayne’s childhood in a very Studio Ghibli sort of way? Like he was an isolated kinda kid and, in some ways, basically an adult already since his parents weren’t ever around long enough for him to be a kid. And then he’s surprised to learn he’s going to be taking an extended vacation for a little while.

During this time he meets spunky little MC, confident young Caleb, and a seemingly all-knowing Grandma Josephine with her secrets that Zayne can’t quite figure out. And he’s a bit reserved at first, but something keeps drawing him back to this family who eventually kinda takes him in as one of their own.

The emotional climatic scene is obvious, no? I’ll take creative liberty here since we don’t know the details yet. But eventually something happens and young Zayne is in pain as he’s grasping for control of his Evol. There is ice growing around him and enveloping him, seemingly trying to swallow him whole as he cries out. And little MC is so worried about him that she runs to him despite Caleb calling to her and telling her to stay away or she’ll get hurt, too.

And Caleb was right.

And Zayne can only watch hopelessly, about to pass out from exhaustion as his Evol slowly loosens its grasp on him. But it’s already too late. And the last thing he sees before he lands with a thud in the grass is Josephine trailing behind Caleb as he leads her to them, pointing and shouting.

We know that Zayne doesn’t move away immediately after this incident, though. Because his last interaction with MC is after a trip to see the seals with her. She’s recovered and she has her spunk back, but Zayne has still kept himself at a distance. He doesn’t tell anyone that it’s his last day there. And although he tries his hardest to keep to himself, he can’t help it as he watches with surprised amusement as MC picks a fight with one of the seals, the two cubs enthusiastically tossing snow at each other.

He returns to his packed up home that evening, helping to tidy everything up so they can take off first thing in the morning. But that night he has an idea. He focuses on his Evol, trying to bend it to his own will but still pretty new to using it in this way. And after much strain he finally finishes, wiping away the sweat from his brow with an accomplished look and setting the rough little snow seal sculpture one of the smaller moving boxes. With plans to drop it off outside MC’s house in the morning, he falls asleep still anxious about the move, but happier now that he has a goodbye gift for her—the brave little girl who tried to save him.

[reality-detective]

Millions now know the truth about Covid. And….nothing.

People are dying because of the vaccines and….nothing.

The nation knows Russia-collusion was a seditious conspiracy to undermine a legally elected President.

And…nothing.

It’s now obvious “climate change” & the green movement is a total scam to manipulate & control, isolate us geographically, destroy the natural food supply & starve populations across the globe. And….nothing.

Big Tech is working with big govt to undermine every constitutional right we have and….nothing.

American citizens have been denied their right to a free trial & have been sitting behind bars for years because those in power are abusing the law and…. Nothing.

Really makes you wonder what it will take. Is this how good people lose everything and nations slide into catastrophe and people wonder afterwards, “how did they let this happen?”

- Lara Logan

[empressgeekt]

Transformers ONE/Frozen Crossover - Au summery - The Energon King Au

Okay, so this is a total impulse post. based of this post i found while browsing. Thank you so much @karioke13 for this idea. Now let's get on with the summery!

We start with a young Orion and Dion (D16), or as he preferred to be called, Dee, they were the Princes of Iacon, a small kingdom in the north of cybertron. Dee the eldest was born with the surprising ability to generate energon crystals on his own. A royal gift that hadn't been seen in so long it was thought to be myth. Energon crystals themselves form in the winter when the natural pools and rivers freeze over, but to make it out of nothing was something so powerful and rare, that even the king and queen, Megatronus and Solus were out of their league when it comes to understanding. Of course they didn't worry about it at first, Dee seemingly had good control over his abilities.

Until one night, where the brothers snuck out of their berths to play in the throne room. It was a simple night of fun, making Energon ball fights, building energon snow forts, and of course building an energonmech by the name of Bee. That innocent night however ended when Dee slipped and accidentally struck Orion with his abilities, causing part of the younger prince's helm to turn teal. In a panic to save their son, Megatronus and Solus rush both boys to the mountains, to meet with tribe of minicons, lead by Micronus, who cures Orion, but at the cost of the young mech's memories of magic. The elderly minicon warns Dee about how his abilities will only grow and that fear will be come his enemy if he doesn't learn to control them. Megatronus and Solus close the gates to the Iacon palace, and keep Orion away from his brother, until Dee learns to control it. Of course separating the brothers, does nothing for them in the long run.

Meanwhile, Little Elita and Jazz, two orphans of the energon harvesters in the mountains get separated from the rest of there group and lost in the woods. They see Dee's energon trail and follow it to the minicon tribe, where they are promptly adopted by a cat minicon named Ravage.

Back with the royal family. Orion's rendition of "Do You Want to Build an Energon Man?" happens, the boys grow up separate, Orion becoming book dependent and Dee becoming a glove addict, and the king and queen die under mysterious circumstances. Everything remains at a standstill, until Dee comes of age and his coronation rolls around. He's dreading a day out in public, while Orion is relishing it. Of course the young prince wakes up late, with drool all over his pillow, but he's out of the castle first chance he gets, and bumps into a princess from Eukaris, Airachnid. The two seem to hit it off, however, what Orion doesn't know is that Airachnid has a deal with Sentinel, the duke of rustytown ("It's RustleTin!"), for her to swoon one of Iacon's princes, in order to get better trading deals for both their kingdoms. Their plan actually seemed to be going perfectly, Airachnid getting Orion to agree to a proposal that very night.

Orion is so happy with how much of a fairytale the day had turned out to be, finding the love of his life and finally being allow outside of the palace walls. It's the first time in forever that he's actually had time with his brother and people, and when Dee doesn't share his excitement over his engagement it's crushing. He's had enough of his brother shutting him out and corners Dee, making the elder brother accidentally reveal his powers, and sentinel slips on the energon crystals, while the newly crowned king makes a run for it. Dee doesn't realize it, but he crystalizes the entire ford and it drastically alters Iacon's climate, the temperature dropping dramatically. Orion feels guilty and goes after his brother, leaving Airachnid in charge of Iacon.

Dee runs off to the northern mountains, which are always frozen, and in this isolation he finally finds some semblance of peace. He misses his brother, but experimenting with his powers really taking it to the next level is so much fun that he forgets his pain. However the first thing he makes is a energon man resembling the one he and orion made as sparklings. He creates a large energon palace for himself, rips of his coronation cape and crown, creating new ones from his powers. He doesn't see the energonmech walk off by itself.

Orion struggles through out his journey, the sudden winter makes crazy weather happen, and after falling into a river his own coronation cape freezes. By some miracle he stumbles on to the a trading post, "Maccadam's Wandering Trading Post and Sauna". Inside he buys better insulators for himself, and Meets Elita. Now grown up, she and Jazz work as independent Energon crystal harvesters, a business that is not all that successful. Orion asks her about the northern mountains, and she grumply explains to him about how they "seemed like magic" while arguing over the price of some rust-sticks for jazz and climbing equiment, not being a people person she gets thrown out, much to her foster brother's disappointment.

Jazz: Should've let me handle it, Eli

Elita: Oh shut up, you can go with out you're treats for a few days, besides I just found us a free place to sleep tonight.

Orion buys their supplies, and after listening to Jazz singing, makes a deal with Elita to take him to the northern mountains. They leave that night in Jazz and Elita's old hover sled. Jazz is driving, while Elita and Orion get into an argument about his recent engagement in the back.

Elita: I'm sorry you just met her?! You can't marry someone you just met!

Orion: You can if it's true love!

Elita: It doesn't sound like true love.

Orion: How would know? You some kind of love expert?

Jazz: Eli? Nah, our mother? oh yeah.

Elita: And she would agree with me.

The sled gets attack by rabid turbofoxs, and ends up in the bottom of a gorge...Orion offers to pay for it, and Jazz convinces Elita to follow him to make sure he doesn't die so they can get that new sled. The mountain is oddly beautiful in its frozen state, and while walking through a very pretty grove, they come across a very young voice, a little mech made of frozen energon crystals.

Bee: yea it really is really beautiful isn't it? but its so blue, maybe a little color? Like red, or pink? How about purple? Oh wait no...Purple Energon, blrg!

Orion kicks Bee's head off and he and Elita play hot potato with it for a moment, with Jazz screaming in the background. Eventually however, after introducing himself as Bee, Orion recongizes the energonmech as the one he and Dee made as sparklings. Orion introduces himself and accidentally tells Bee that Elita and Jazz are both named Jazz. To their horror Bee goes one to tell them how he dreams of heat and summer. Elita thinks they have to tell him since this is like a witnessing a deathwish, but Orion and Jazz stop her.

Tensions mean while rise in Iacon, since Airachnid has to give away goods to make sure she plays her role, but it gets on Sentinel's nerves, after all they are both here for a profit and you won't make that when you give everything away. However before things could escalate, a patrol comes back with a ripped piece of Orion's coronation cape, and a search party is sent out.

Orion, Elita, Jazz and Bee finally make it to Dee's energon palace. Elita and Jazz upset about not being able to go inside at first because, "energon is our lives!" Dee is surprised to see Orion, happy, but still wants to keep his distance especially after learning he brought Bee to life. Orion doesn't stop pushing when Dee tries to shove him away to protect him, and it gets worse after the elder brother learns about what he did to Iacon. Dee has an outburst and hits Orion in the spark. Elita and Jazz run in at that point and Dee summons a giant seeker made of energon crystals to shove them out, to which Orion flips off, triggering a chase that leads to Elita, Orion and Jazz falling off a cliff. (yess I made Darkwing Marshmallow and I have no regrets).

After the fall Orion begins to panic about how he has no plan since Dee threw him out. Elita calms him down, and Jazz sees some sparks between the two, only for any teasing to get snuffed out when Orion's platting started to shift in color, going from red and blue to a teal like color in patches. Elita and Jazz decide to take the prince to Micronus since they think he can help. Orion and Bee think the siblings are crazy for a minute since the minicons were all hiding when they arrived so it looked like they were talking to nothing. All of the Minicons get really excited when they see Orion, thinking he's with Elita (Jazz has a boy friend who lives down south). Que a "Fixer Upper", and while Jazz does think the wedding is a bit much, he's glad that his family sees the potential couple like he does. Thankfully, Orion faints mid wedding ceremony, to which Micronus finally makes and appearance, and explains that Dee froze his spark, and he needs an act of true love to save him. With the suggestion of a true love's kiss placed in their minds, Jazz and Elita rush the ill prince back to Iacon to get a kiss from his fiancé.

Dee's energon palace is attacked and to his surprise his curse protected him, however he is still captured and wakes up in a cell with is servos encased in shackles. Airachnid begs him to stop the winter, but Dee says he can't. And in his panic he freezes his cell and makes a storm began to blow outside.

Elita and Jazz get Orion back to the Iacon palace, and neither of them feel right about leaving him there. Orion tries to get Airachnid to kiss him, his platting nearly completely teal and frosting over, but she betrays him claiming that she was only going to marry him for the throne, and was always planning to take out Dee. Airachnid douses the fire and leave Orion to die, both her and sentinel manipulating the other leaders to kill Dee. Bee finds him and relight the fire, helping Orion figure out his love for Elita. At the same time Jazz talks some sense into Elita and both siblings start running back to Iacon upon seeing the blizzard brewing. Both lovers start running towards each other through the storm in a desperate attempt to save orion's life.

Dee however is running blindly in a panic, he's never wanted this. he's never wanted to doom his people. Airachnid comes out of the wind, and tells him his worst fear come true. His brother is dead, slain by his servo. Grief is different then panic and fear, so the young king collapses to the ground and the storm comes to a stand still. With the air now clear, Orion is faced with a choice save him and run to Elita or save his brother. He runs to Dee, stopping Airachnids stabbing limb as his body fully crystalized. Airachnid is thrown back by the impact and Dee looks up to see his brother in Energon crystal. He clings to the statue sobbing. Bee calls for Orion, and Jazz supports his sister as they stare on in grief. By some miracle Orion reverts to metal, his sacrifice for his brother out of love being enough to save him. It's through this that Dee learns how to thaw the rest of Iacon, also how to keep poor Bee from melting.

Peace is restored to Iacon, Airachnid and Sentinel's ploy was found out and they were both sent away with Iacon respectfully cutting contact with their kingdoms. Elita and Orion get together, and Dee's powers are now an open secret and the gates forever remain open.

---

Once more, questions are welcome on this au, and if anyone wants to write it out you are welcome as long as credit is given. thanks again to @karioke13 and everyone involved in that post's thread.

[agalychnisspranneusroseus]

Amazing analysis! Thank you for pointing out the train does indeed reach Wartwood! Also, the ticket price being too high does explain Wally reaching Ribbitvale faster, but it's kinda insane to think buying a whole family wagon was cheaper and easier for Hop Pop than buying 8 train tickets for the whole family (4 to and 4 back from Newtopia) AND making Anne wait 3 months to leave the valley, though they did say the previous owners of the wagon had died inside...

I wondered real quick if the train could be restricted to institutional use only and not available to passengers, though then we couldn't explain Wally's quick arrival to Ribbitvale, unless we assume it's just regular Wally weirdness. Who even is taking that train, anyway? I can only imagine Mayor Toadstool, Toadie and apparently Wally being able to afford it, unless other towns are wealthier?

Someone should make an analysis of Amphibia's geography for fanfic writing purposes and by someone I mean Oh god please let there be something out there so I won't be tempted to procastinate on studying for my finals working on a detailed world map for a fantasy Disney show about talking frogs and polyamorous lesbian divorce when the writers themselves probably didn't think much about it beyond what would be funny in each individual episode

[doberbutts]

hey jaz i just want to express a little bit of despair about the state of trans discourse. it seems pretty clear to me that there is a loose clique of very online women whose main goal is to bully people for being trans 'incorrectly,' and they self identify with the baeddel label, but when people say they don't like baeddels they insist that nobody calls themselves that and people really mean all trans women. i guess just, what do we do about this? i want the harassment and transmedicalist stuff to stop but i'm seeing people i know get sucked into it and radicalized against trans men and straight trans women and even just women who are too clocky for their liking :(

Honestly I mostly disagree with you-

From the beginning, I have started talking about this nonsense on this blog in response to cis people and other trans men. In fact, it was a cis woman complaining about how she felt cursed by her attraction to men and how she hated even that she had to share space in a queer group with trans men and mlm that made me start talking about how trans guys are stuck in an impossible situation 2 years ago. A trans man was running it and kicked the trans guys who responded negatively, but kept the cis woman within the group. I left in disgust as did many of the remaining trans men, shown very clearly that "queer friendly" and "queer-focused" and even "trans leadership" does not equate to "trans friendly".

The elephant in the room is that there are certainly a small group of trans women who are engaging in the same behaviors. An even smaller percentage call themselves baeddels, referencing a group with similar politics from approximately a decade ago. And some of those will then complain that people are calling them what is an intersexist and transmisogynistic slur in response. I've commented on that before because I think it's silly- if you look like a duck, quack like a duck, waddle like a duck, and call yourself a duck... well don't be surprised if people aren't calling you a pelican.

But also- that is kind of how slur reclamation works. The in-group can call themselves that, but the out-group cannot call members of the in-group the same. After all, as much as black people may call each other "nigga", white people love to complain that they get in trouble for calling a black person a nigger. "That's MISTER Faggot to you" is all well and good but the same man probably does not appreciate straight people calling him a faggot.

You will notice that outside of pointing out usernames and behavior, I do not use the term on my blog nor do I call any trans woman that. You will also notice that I do not use the word "nigga" or "nigger" outside of examples such as the above, and never to refer to another black person. I don't like slurs. I don't want to be called them. I don't want to use them towards other people.

As far as what you can do it? This is going to sound very dismissive but- block them. Log off. Do something that isn't tumblr. Follow different people. Blacklist triggering content.

I'm being serious. If it is affecting your mental health, don't engage with it. Giving in to despair is tempting, what with the global political climate and also the actual climate, and to see the ripple effects in a space that's supposed to make you happy like tumblr really sucks. So go do something else that makes you happy.

I'm sorry that you're seeing this in your friend group. Personally, I think you need better friends. You cannot control the behavior of other people. But you can control what you do about it, how much of it you tolerate, and whether or not that person will remain a part of your life.

It is easy to feel isolated and alone as a transgender person. You have never been so surrounded by mutual love as you are today, if only you knew where to find it. The broader trans community celebrates each other. It truly is a loud minority causing a problem, not the majority.

[sskybooks]

A world-building list. Enjoy! :)

1. Geography & Environment

What is the physical geography of the world: (continents, oceans, mountains)?

Are there any unusual natural phenomena or landmarks (e.g., floating islands, glowing forests)?

What is the climate like, and does it vary across regions?

How does the environment affect the lives and behaviors of the inhabitants?

Are there specific resources the world is known for?

What's the weather like?

2. Culture & Society

What are the main cultures or civilizations in the world?

How do people express their cultural identity (e.g., clothing, festivals, music)?

What are the major languages or dialects, and how do they influence communication?

What are the social hierarchies or class systems?

What role do gender roles, traditions, or taboos play?

3. Politics & Government

What are the dominant forms of governance (monarchies, democracies, councils)?

Who holds power, and how do they maintain it?

How are laws created and enforced?

Are there any significant political conflicts or alliances?

What role do religion or philosophy play in politics?

4. Religion & Beliefs

What are the dominant religions or belief systems?

How do they explain the creation of the world or existence?

Are there gods, spirits, or other supernatural entities worshipped?

What religious practices or rituals are common?

How do belief systems shape daily life, morality, and culture?

5. Economy & Trade

What is the primary currency or barter system?

What industries or trades dominate the economy?

How do people make a living?

What goods are exported or imported between regions?

Are there economic disparities or poverty?

6. Technology & Innovation

What level of technology does the world possess (medieval, steampunk, futuristic)?

Are there any unique inventions or discoveries?

How has technology shaped warfare, communication, or travel?

Is there a reliance on magic, science, or a mix of both?

Are there limitations or dangers associated with technology?

7. Magic & Mysticism

Does magic exist, and how is it accessed or controlled?

What are the rules or limitations of magic?

Are there magical creatures, artifacts, or phenomena?

Who can use magic, and is it regulated or feared?

How does magic influence politics, economy, or daily life?

8. History & Mythology

What are the major historical events or turning points?

Are there legendary heroes, villains, or mythical stories passed down?

How do different cultures interpret history or myth?

Are there ruins or relics of past civilizations?

What lessons or warnings do people derive from their history?

9. Inhabitants

What species or races inhabit the world?

How do different groups interact or coexist?

Are there unique traits, abilities, or traditions among species?

What challenges do they face in their environment?

How do they adapt or evolve over time?

10. Conflict & Change

What are the major sources of conflict (political, religious, resource-based)?

Are there ongoing wars or rebellions?

How do natural disasters, diseases, or other calamities shape the world?

What changes or innovations threaten the status quo?

How do ordinary people perceive these conflicts?

11. Transportation & Communication

How do people travel (roads, ships, airships, portals)?

What is the fastest or most efficient way to get around?

How is information shared across regions?

Are there any special navigational challenges (storms, voids, magical barriers)?

Do certain regions remain isolated due to transportation limitations?

12. Food & Daily Life

What is the staple diet of various regions?

How do people prepare and share food?

What is a typical day like for different social classes or species?

What sports, games, or hobbies are popular?

How is leisure time spent, if at all?

13. Art & Literature

What forms of art are celebrated (painting, music, dance, poetry)?

Are there famous artists, authors, or performers in history?

How do different cultures view or value art?

Are there shared myths, epics, or tales that unite people?

How is history or knowledge recorded (books, oral tradition, carvings)?

14. Science & Medicine

What is the state of medical knowledge or healthcare?

Are there known cures for diseases, or do plagues persist?

How do people approach science—curiosity, fear, or reverence?

Are there ethical debates surrounding scientific progress?

How do medicine and science interact with magic, if at all?

15. Relationships & Identity

How do people define family or community?

Are marriages, partnerships, or unions celebrated?

How is identity expressed (names, clothing, tattoos)?

Are there rites of passage marking maturity or status?

How do people honor their dead or remember ancestors?