#Go fucking vote already useless fuck

[areyoudoingthis]

I'm gonna have to get on the evil pills pms is really ruining my life

[vyeoh]

(The Washington Post)

For those who don't know, the US Supreme Court just ruled that states are allowed to enforce trans healthcare for minors. Undoubtedly, this will trigger a wave of other states that either hope to pass or have already passed policies to do the same. This is going to kill children, and harm more in long-lasting ways.

So, how can you help?

FUCKING VOTE. I don't care if you don't like Biden, he's not the only one on the ballot. Vote representatives into your city council who will turn our city into a sanctuary city. Vote for governors and state reps who will, even if they don't pass new protections, oppose bans being pushed through. Chsllenge and kick out conservative incumbents who are banking on their races being obscure enough for people to not vote in.

Anyone telling you voting is useless is either lying to you or grossly uninformed and think saying this is the edgy new take that will make them look hip and informed. Yes, the system is broken. But short of burning the whole thing to the ground (which personally I'm not a fan of as I quite enjoy having like. Roads and the FDA) what we can do is to change it for the better, by starting with the local races and working our way up.

[qqueenofhades]

There is no law that prevents a convicted felon from running for and becoming president, nor a law that bans someone from being president in prison. Also, if Trump gets incapacitated in someway, many ultra right republicans who equally despise trans people and immigrants and Muslims would happily take his place

And I ask, with all due respect, what is your point?

Do you think I don't know that?

Do you think I am somehow convinced that everything is hunky dory now and we don't have any work left to do?

Are you just determined to be the first of the gloom-and-doomers who show up like clockwork in my inbox, every time some consequence happens to Trump, to morosely insist that no consequences will happen to him? First it was "he'll win re-election." Then it was "the coup will succeed." Then it was "he will never be indicted." Then it was "2022 will be a red wave!" Then it was "he will never be tried." Then it was "he will never be convicted." Now we've moved on, within less than 2 hours of the first US President ever to be convicted of ONE felony, let alone THIRTY-FOUR, "he'll never be sentenced or face a real consequence or lose the election." The goalposts keep moving RIGHT along without even a single pause to acknowledge the difficulty and the value of the progress we have made thus far, and it makes me CRAZY.

Do you people realize how fucking rare it is, both in the world today and historically, for a former (and would-be future) head of state to be held to criminal account by a jury of 12 anonymous ordinary citizens? When that one person, Trump, is the center of the malignant fascist cancer that has spread through this country ever since 2016, and plenty of his cultists are still insisting that it's Trump or nobody for them? When we've actually reached the stage of holding him legally accountable for (some of) his crimes for the first time in his miserable misbegotten life? I suspect that most of you are so deep in the "America is totally broken and the system is useless and we can only Revolute!!!1" rabbit hole that you're bound and determined to argue away every step we take, however slow, as Meaning Nothing TM. Voting? Fake. Fighting to make real progress? Also fake. Everything is fake except our belief that everything is broken and we need the Keyboard Warrior Glorious Revolution!!! As long as you can keep inventing ever more contorted twists of logic to ignore everything else that's happened so far, this makes sense... or something. I guess?

Now we're onto "removing Trump won't matter :(" when a whole lot of people have been fighting day and fucking night to get all the privileged-princess Online Leftists to get off their Che Guevara cosplaying asses and cast a single fucking vote to keep us from full-on-sliding into fascism. A slide into fascism that, again, has been spearheaded and centered around Trump's toxic cult of personality and which is still tied to him in almost every way. Apparently holding him to account (again, which has never happened to him in his life) already doesn't matter because wah wah he won't suffer any consequences. If he loses this election he's probably going to jail for the rest of his life! We would have electorally defeated the greatest threat to the American democratic experiment in 250 years, and frankly a huge part of the fascist far-right hydra that is currently attempting a comeback around the world! This is, yet again:

THE FIRST TIME ANY AMERICAN PRESIDENT, EVER, HAS BEEN CONVICTED OF MULTIPLE FELONY CHARGES IN A COURT OF LAW BY A JURY OF HIS PEERS

and yet we're still hearing that nothing matters and no work has been done and removing him will have no effect???

Come on. Come on. I know it's tiring and it's slow and it doesn't go as fast as we want. But every single damn time the process goes another step, here you people are in my inbox insisting that we're still at zero progress and it means nothing, and lemme tell you, I am Tired of it. Come on. You don't have to jump up and down (my own feeling is glee and vindication but still not relaxation, I will not relax until he loses the fucking election and goes to jail), but you also don't need to keep myopically pretending that all the effort thus far by so many people means nothing. Come on.

[heartfullofleeches]

1 horny brave chatter that donated 100 bucks to loser cat reader's stream to make them say "nya" Lol

Kitkatsbiggestfan Donated 100 Dollars: Today's my birthday! Could I pretty please get a birthday nya from my favorite kitty :D?

"Ha! Good one!- Want me to do that you're gonna have to add a few more zeros."

Losers- These pathetic chumps think they can throw their cash and you'll automatically become their "precious little kitten". While that's true to some extent you still have your boundaries. You'll throw on the maid dress and call them master, but you draw the line at meowing, or any other of that cutesy cat shit. It felt dehumanizing as a grown adult with your own free will, not to mention they'd never let you live it down.

You ease back in your chair, thinking it's the end of that saga in your life when it happens. That same donation sends in another donation ten times the first with the cheeky tagline -

"Will that do? ;P"

More donations pour in voting in favor. Soon enough there's enough racked you could probably retire handsomely if you spent your money right, or at least pay for a nice vacation already feeling the headache this all will cause. There's definitely no way they'd let you back out of this now. Your pride was long gone the day you started streaming. Better to go down by the weight of wealth than regret.

Wedging your hands beneath your thighs, you hide your mouth in the collar of your shirt - leaning as far away from your mic as humanly possible. You steel yourself mentally and take a deep breath, but all that comes out is a meek-

"nya....."

Your ears twitch in response to every ping. You close your eyes, thinking of what useless crap you'll buy with your chat's money to distract yourself from their messages. A new chair. Fancy tuna. Restraining orders for all these sick fucks-

"Clip that!"

"Thanks for the new ringtone! ^^"

"Would you make that sound in bed? Asking for a friend-"

Why the fuck did you turn on text to speech?!

"If I see any videos of this online I will piss on your grave!"

"The only threat you're giving us is a good time..."

[proxycrit]

Part 1 / Part 2

Emmet remembers when he and Ingo first brought Elesa to explore Celestial Tower, back when they were fourteen and thought they were immortal.

“Allegedly, the bell chime will bring ghosts home”, ingo had told emmet with the pompous knowing energy of a child who read way too much brochures. “It’s culturally significant! We must ring it.”

“Hmmm,” emmet had responded suspiciously. “Brother. The bell is at the top of the tower.” The implication stands: Ingo, there are thirty flights of stairs between here and the top, and no elevator to speak of.

Don’t be a coward, Litwick had told Emmet with the blaise tone of somebody who’s going to be piggy backing off of somebody else. Go ring the bell. Tynamo, sensing a litten fight, floated towards a loitering blitzle.

Ingo turns his lilipup eyes on Elesa, who’s squinting at the carved stone faces of the front door.

“Elesa? What do you think?”

Elesa thinks. She shrugs. “We already made our way here,” she said in accented galarian. “Might as well make it the rest of the way. Ganbatte!”

Emmet sighs. “This is a mistake,” he tells the two in exhaustive patience, but lets himself be dragged into the building.

Last time the twins were here, Ingo caught litwick— but not before she managed to nab a good chunk of Emmet’s soul. It’s not terrible; he felt fatigued for a week and bounced back pretty quickly, but it was the principle of the whole situation— celestial tower’s a pain in the ass and Emmet will stand by that until the day he dies.

Like right now.

The map isn’t working. Emmet checked it once. He’s checked it twice. He’s taken out his pen and written on it, which he would usually never do but desperate times call for desperate measures. The compass he brought spins useless circles. It’s like chargestone cave up here, but worse because instead if electric pokemon it’s all ghosts.

“We’re lost, yyup yup!” He announced to the crew. “I vote we eat Ingo first.”

“I love you too,” Ingo told Emmet placidly. “But we all know between the two of us, you’re the tastier one.” Litwick gives Emmet a thumbs up. Emmet gasps in mock affront.

“Elesa, help!”

Elesa gives the two of them a wary look. It took two floors for her to realize this is not just a weird temple with strange rocks, but a full out graveyard. She’s not very happy about that development.

“Don’t drag me into this,” she tells them. “Teme wa urusaii.”

“I will take that as a compliment,” Ingo reports back.

Emmet, who’s cheerfully struggles with Galarian on a good day, simply gives her a thumbs up.

The three painstakingly crawl their way up. And up. If all else fails, Emmet told himself, at least they can orient themselves towards high ground.

“We’re like pidoves,” Ingo gasps. He has fallen behind them on the stairs, with Emmet taking the lead through sheer spite despite his legs going numb on floor twenty two. “We, hah, we are attracted by the magnet of the bell, like, like probopass-“

“I am emmet! You are not making, sense!” Emmet called back. Elesa, who’s stuck between them and looking two steps from perpetual collapse, giggles.

“No, no hear me out, Ingo wheezes. “What if the bell’s a magnetic pole? And that’s why your compass doesn’t wo, woo, hahh, work.”

Emmet stops to rest, just because Ingo is using precious breathing air to infodump. Elesa gratefully slumps against the railing. Tynamo and litwick, lazy in their still small size, have settled on a weary blitzle and look very smug doing so. (Emmet is not jealous, he tells himself. Emmet is also lying.)

“The bell’s important,” Ingo had repeated.

“Okay,” Elesa responds. “If it’s important to you, then it’s important to us.”

And Emmet finds that he agrees with Elesa. Partially because they crawled up twenty fucking three flights of stairs, but also because Ingo thinks this is important, so it is.

And here’s the thing—

— emmet doesn’t remember much after that.

The rest of that trip was a blur of exhausted groaning and burning legs, and by the time the trio managed to breach floor thirty, people’s brains have all but dribbled out their ears. Emmet remembers being disgustingly sweaty. He remembers blitzle almost tripping to death and litwick’s swearing. He remembers tynamo sticking to his neck like a damp towel. He remembers Ingo’s excited sneasel smile, and the way the sunset bounced off of Elesa’s hair.

He remembers the brassy ring of the Celestial bell. It sounded like victory.

But it was Elesa’s cackle turned scream as Ingo swiped cold hands down her neck that sounded like home.

—-

So when the conductor at thirty one, lost and disoriented in the Impossible Place, heard the sound of a familiar bell, ringing over and over and over-

-the sound of laughter-

-EMMET! Elesa cried-

-like a homing pidove, the conductor, thinks nonsensically as something in him perks up.

(Emmet had always liked winning, more than anything else, and the sound of victory calls him home.)

—

Elesa catches lightning in a bottle. Elesa, arms outstretched, finds purchase in her brother, and does not let go.

Emmet is so, so cold, Elesa thinks as the wind steals air from her lungs. (That’s okay. She’s already breathless from a terrible business called hope.)

Emmet stares back. His hands flap against Elesa’s jacket. Elesa desperately drinks in his wan face and too wide eyes and his frost bitten lips. In a tiny, meek voice, almost lost to the wind, he asks:

“Are you real?”

Elesa lets out an ugly sob. Her tears whip away in the wind as they fall. Emmet’s frightened countenance turns immediately to alarm. His shaky grasp becomes a solid grip as they spin through the air, cushioned by chandelure’s psychic.

“I think so??” Elesa warbles. She sees Emmet’s eyes dart to her mouth. He’s reading mirroring her, she realizes with giddy delight— it’s such an Emmet thing to do, to read lips, and-

“I am Emmet,” Emmet breathes. His eyes have started to water. “Yyou are Elesa- Oh dragons, Elesa!?“

Elesa reaches. Hesitates.

Emmet grabs elesa by the lapels and crushes her tight against him. Elesa holds on, and the grief and relief in her accumulates into a wet sopping mess. She’s ruining his jacket, she mourns, but its okay because he’s dripping all over hers.

She can’t hear what he’s saying into her shoulder, can’t read what he says, but everything’s okay because every part of her is chiming

You came back

You’re here

I’m not alone anymore.

Around them, the air distorts as Chandelure’s psychic wavers, flutters, and solidifies. Gravity reverses its call as they settle gently on the ground, dust billowing in all directions.

The ghost pokemon drops next to them, shaking so hard the musical clang of glass makes Elesa flinch.

You fucks, Chandelure gasps. DON’T GO LEAPING OFF BUILDINGS, I AM NOT YOUR EMERGENCY PARACHUTE.

“I’m sorry,” Elesa gasps, still giddy from the adrenaline.

AND YOU! Chandelure howls, whirling on Emmet, who’s still staring at the ghost with huge eyes. He’s gripping on to solid ground with the energy of a man who realized he could have been a splat on the ground.

YOU LEFT!

Emmet winces.

You- You left us, you left me-

Ah, ah no, Elesa thinks as golden globules of light shed from Chandelure. This is what a ghost looks like crying.

Emmet holds out his arms. Chandelure drifts into his embrace, and shakes, and shakes, and shakes.

You left me, the ghost pokemon whispers. How dare you. How could you.

“I didn’t mean to,” Emmet whispers. “I’m sorry.”

Stop doing this to me, Chandelure demands. Golden brine joins human tears, like drops of sun trapped in wet glass. Stop going where I can not follow.

And Emmet holds his tongue, because he knows he can not promise staying. Not while Ingo and Eelektross are still in Hisui.

(In the back of Emmet’s hurt and shattered mind is a spark. Synapses connect. The cold breach of the Distortion does nothing to drown out the sudden flare of hope in Emmet’s chest, so great he can not breathe, so strong he can not feel, because there’s a path. A difficult, painful path through the Space that Can Not Be, but a path all the same.)

“Elesa, Chandelure-“ Emmet’s voice breaks. He wants to tell them about Eelektross. He wants to tell them about the terrible past that is Hisui. He wants to explain how the last five months were filled with horror and wonder and fear and hope.

Hope, he thinks. So he says this:

“I know how to get Ingo home.”

NOTES:

AAAAAND THAT’S ALL FOR THIS DRABBLE. ITS OUT NOW. I CAN FINALLY GO BACK TO POSTING HAPPY SHENANIGANS! (Now you know the shape of their story.)

Thanks for reading this monster of a post!

[toaarcan]

I need the anti-voting crowd to understand that not voting isn't going to cause the Democrats to take a long, hard, look in the mirror and suddenly decide that they need to swing left to appeal to more leftists.

When these centre-left parties lose, they get more centrist. They try to broaden their appeal and make themselves as appealing to as many people as possible.

The example I'll point to is my local centre-left party, Labour, who are currently poised on the brink of one of the largest victories they've ever had. By the time you read this, it may have already happened, election day is today.

Labour have been drifting rightwards on several fronts for a while now. One of the biggest examples of this was the 1997 elections. After repeatedly failing to defeat Margaret Thatcher and then subsequently losing once to John Major, Tony Blair became the new leader of the party, and reinvented it as New Labour, adopting a much more neoliberal economic approach and promptly got a historic victory.

Now there are a lot of reasons why Blair won as hard as he did, and I don't have time to break them all down, but at the end of the day, their adoption of neoliberal economic policies worked out enormously for them. Not only did Blair romp to victory, he maintained most of his popularity afterwards, reigning for an entire decade before finally stepping down in 2007.

Labour is also a handy demonstrator of why they don't lean leftwards after a defeat, because they actually did try that and it failed spectacularly.

After Ed "Wrong Milliband, wrong Ed" Milliband's dismal performance in the 2015 election, Labour actually decided to try and lean leftwards again, and selected Jeremy Corbyn as their leader.

Unfortunately, Corbyn was useless. Many a Brit will accuse him of not even actually wanting to be Prime Minister, instead just wanting to sit opposite an actual PM and oppose them. They're probably right.

The 2017 snap election, called by Theresa May, should've been an open goal. May was embattled largely by her own party, many of whom were strongly opposed to her attempt at a moderate Brexit deal. She was an unelected PM, chosen by internal party mechanisms after David "Bae of Pigs" Cameron fucked off post-Brexit disaster. The massive, and ever-growing pro-EU voting block were entirely unrepresented. The Liberal Democrats, normally a bit of a thorn in Labour's side in terms of hoovering up more left-wing votes, were still trying to recover from the massive hit in popularity they took after the disasterous Tory-Lib Dem coalition. Blood in the water for any left-wing party worth its salt.

Yeah so Corbyn fucked it up and lost. While May only ended up weakening her position, losing 13 seats and dropping below a majority, the Tories still got their largest vote share since the 80s and held onto power for grim death.

Corbyn stuck around, still didn't get any better, and promptly lost the 2019 election in a landslide. To this guy.

People didn't vote for Corbyn. In the media, he was pilloried as a communist and an antisemite (and he did such a terrible job of fighting that second one that to this day I still have no idea whether it was true or just a smear campaign), and his determination to take the high road only made him look weak and avoidant to the public. His policies got little attention and his campaigning was likely deliberately weak, shooting for the role of opposition rather than government.

It also didn't help that the people for whom Labour wasn't Left Wing Enough still didn't turn out. They still voted Green or didn't vote at all.

To the party itself, though, the message was clear. They'd gone leftward, and it had backfired spectacularly.

Corbyn promptly fucked off at long last and was replaced by Starmer, who is, as expected, another milquetoast neoliberal in most regards. And now, with the polls open for the 2024 election, and Starmer projected to win by such a massive margin that the term "Supermajority" has been thrown around like it's an inevitability, Labour has been engaging in what's been called a "purge" of its leftmost members, with most of Corbyn's base, including Corbyn himself, being barred from running as Labour candidates and instead having to run as independents.

Now, that might horrify you as a leftist, but to them, it's a course-correction. Corbyn and co. represent an era of failure for the party, where a leftward lean cost them two elections.

To swing back around to American politics, if the Democrats lose because of voter apathy, they aren't going to take it as a sign that they need to appeal to the left. They're going to take it as a sign that their appeal wasn't broad enough and they need more outreach to right-wingers.

They already lost in part due to voter apathy in 2016, they didn't move left to compensate. They found the Most Neoliberal Average Establishment Guy they could, rallied behind him, and it partially paid off for them. They at least won.

You want a more leftist Democrat party? Not voting isn't going to get you that. In fact, it will most likely have the exact opposite effect.

[theclearblue]

Not my usual type of post but it's impressive every time how fucking shit liberals are at politics it's crazy. Liberals today have been dog piling on Chappell Roan for this statement. But what does blindly endorsing the Harris campaign do? Absolutely nothing, her audience is majority queer and already know about the GOP's platform to take away their rights, they aren't going to be voting for Trump. But if liberals keep on with "vote blue no matter who" and can't even bluff that your vote is up in the air around key issues, never willing to pressure politicians, we will never see liberals actually do anything meaningful in office.

An endorsement from Chappell Roan for Kamala Harris is useless, but saying "These are the issues I want the democratic party to address before endorsing them" brings more attention to those issue and actually builds pressure for them to actually listen to the people in their party.

Roe v. Wade should have been codified. LGBTQ+ protections should have been much more extensive. Liberals putzing around and arguing "both sides" as a genocide has been going on for a year now is disgusting and vile. These are all failures of the democratic party (and there are countless more). No wonder Chappell Roan doesn't want to endorse them! Liberals don't make the steps to actually put in place protections for vulnerable groups, and then act shocked every time Republicans easily roll those rights and policies back.

A vote is more powerful than I think a lot of people give credit to, but I think a lot of people don't know how to leverage that power effectively. An undecided voter (even posing as one) will get you heard out on the issues you care about a lot more than someone who votes blue no matter who. I do believe Kamala Harris will win this election in November. But to apply no pressure to her campaign as liberals point at Trump and say "he's way worse!" Yeah, obviously. Everyone even slightly left leaning knows that already. But the democratic party is never going to move forward if the only time they act is when their backs are up against the wall with fascist opposition. Let it be known what issues affect your vote, where the democratic party is failing, speak out on what matters to you. Do not be afraid to pressure your politicians just because the other guy is worse.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest.

Headlines

Day #16 - Struggling | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: M | CW: Substance Abuse, Addiction, Minor Mention of Pregnancy | POV: Gareth | Pairing: Gareth/Di (OC, Off-Screen), Minor Steddie | Tags: Clawing Your Way Out Of Rock Bottom, Tough Love, But Love

The headlines never stop coming, never relent, and if he dares to step foot out of his house there's a camera shoved in his face. Struggling, apparently, isn't allowed. The fall from grace must always be captured for the masses to gossip about.

His phone rings again, and again, and he lets it. He's not about to answer the phone and listen to anyone that's on the other end. He's heard it all before, and he doesn't have the energy for more of it. Not for Eddie's nagging or Steve's next plan of action. 

He's tried. They've all tried. It's useless.

He's useless.

Now, there's annoying banging on the door. He ignores that, too. 

"Hey, asshole, I know you're in there!" Goodie hollers through the door, and he's sure the next headline will read:

Former Drummer Evicted, Noise Complaints

Goodie can't actually get into the shitty apartment Gareth's been renting, so Gareth just props his feet up on the couch and ignores him. If he wants to yell through the door like an asshole, Gareth will let him. Gareth puts his headphones on, and blocks out the world. 

He's been good at that recently. Has had to be, if he hopes to survive this.

He closes his eyes and leans back.

Goodie lost the right to talk to him when he voted him out. All three of them, turning on him. Steve too, and Di. His own fucking wife. Giving him ultimatums that they all damn well knew he'd never be able to make good on.

Interventions that would never work, that he never wanted to work. He was fine. He was still showing up, drumming, and they thought they deserved more from him than his work. 

He can drum.

He can't stay sober. 

He jumps when the earphones are being plucked off of his head. 

"Jesus Christ, Goodie," Gareth snaps, but it isn't Goodie. At least, not just Goodie. 

It's Eddie, of course it is, who else could have picked the fucking locks? And of course, that means Steve, too, who is already gathering up the mess, shoving it into a trash bag by the handful.

Jeff standing there, holding it open for him.

They all wrote him off, months ago, and now here they are, harassing him further. It's bullshit. They wanted him gone? Great. Then they need to leave him alone, now. 

"Enough," Eddie says, "bender's over."

"Fuck you," Gareth snaps. He'll be done when he's good and ready, and he doesn't see that day coming anytime soon.

"Get up, let's go," Eddie says, and he pulls on Gareth's arms until he's standing, and then he's dragging him to the bathroom, Goodie kicking him on the ass the whole way, shoving him along.

"Stop it!" Gareth snaps, wheeling around on Goodie, only stopping because Eddie's restraining him.

"Goodie," Eddie warns, shutting the bathroom door, locking Goodie out, shaking his head in disapproval.

"Kid," Eddie says, meeting Gareth's eyes in the mirror. 

Gareth hasn't looked in a mirror in, well, a while. It isn't good. His eyes are dark, and purple underneath. This isn't what he should look like, and he knows it.

He's fucked it all up. His job, his band, his friendships, his goddamn marriage. 

His chance to be a dad in anything other than name.

"She had that baby?" Gareth asks, looking down at the floor.

"Not yet," Eddie answers, opening the shower door, "Here, get in."

And Gareth doesn't want to fight with him, so he does. Undresses and showers, and he feels a little better. Still awful. But a degree less, maybe.

"You can still turn this around," Eddie says from outside the shower door, "it's not too late. I'll help you."

It is too late. Di won't take him back. The band won't take him back. It is too late. Has been for a while.

"I can't fix this, I'm too far gone," Gareth mutters back.

"You're fucking not, shut up," Eddie snaps.

His own band kicked him out, replaced him. His wife left him, is having a baby that's he's not sure he'll have any parental rights to, or ability to see, and for good reason. He's a fuck-up. Unreliable. 

"Let me help you. We have all summer off."

Gareth looks at him, "You took the summer off? Why?"

Corroded Coffin never takes the summer off. They go, go, go during the summer. Five shows a week, at a flat run. That's what they're good at. Covering ground, entertaining crowds. 

"Because you're more important. I'm so sorry that we haven't gone about this right."

It's not Eddie's fault. Gareth knows that. Knows he only has himself to blame, even if most of the time he likes to lash out, and pretend otherwise. 

Down deep, he knows.

Down deep, he'd like to crawl out of this hole, but he can't really see daylight.

He's been digging too long.

"I don't think I can," Gareth whispers.

Eddie pulls him to his chest, hugging him tight, and it's been too long, and Gareth hugs back, "That's okay. I know you can."

And Gareth wants that to be true. Wants the trajectory to change. Wants his life back. All of it. Di, Eddie, the band. 

If he's making wishes, he's gonna wish big. 

"What do I do?" Gareth asks, face pressed into Eddie's neck. 

"Want it back," Eddie says, rubbing his back, "Take it back. Work for it."

Gareth lets Eddie hold him, then finally asks, "Have you talked to Di?"

"All the time," Eddie whispers, "she's wants it, too."

And that's when Gareth breaks, "She'll take me back?"

"Yeah, kid, I think she will if you can show her you're serious about turning this shitshow around."

"She's having a baby," Gareth says.

"You both are," Eddie says, "and wouldn't it be nice to be involved in that?"

It would, it really would.

"And Corroded Coffin?"

"Waiting. Always," Eddie says, and Gareth squeezes him, tight. "What do you say, kid? You in?"

Yeah. Gareth's in.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

[c-rowlesdraws]

browsing twitter for longer than a few minutes gives me radiation poisoning these days, and it’s worse in the evening, in the hours when the dark feelings creep in anyway. So even though I’m really apprehensive to talk politics on my art blog (I mean, if the backlash to a hyperbolic post I made about a famous youtuber is this bad, posting about politics would turn my activity page into a window to hell), I have to vent some of my feelings or that radiation damage will just keep getting quietly worse. And a fair number of people read this blog, and seem to like things that I create and say, so for what it’s worth, I want to say some things I hope people will think about.

Someone I really admire tweeted recently about how hopeless they feel. They said that after many years of fighting for social change, they had no fight left. They said they were too exhausted to vote in the upcoming US presidential election. And I tried to understand where they were coming from, because this is someone I look up to. But I can’t. I understand feeling burnt out. I feel nauseous and heartbroken and scared, thinking about the situation in Palestine and the situation in my country. I understand that it seems like there is no good leader to rally behind.

But I can’t tap out. I can’t give in to hopelessness and say, “I can’t choose. I’m tired and I’m done��. When a choice is between maintenance of an imperfect society with incremental steps towards better things, and cranking human misery and suffering enthusiastically up to 11, I’m going with the former. We are all tired every day. But voting is not physically difficult. Even if you are tired, you can do it. There is a day where you go to a building, and you fill in a bubble next to a name, and you go home. They even give you a sticker. I said voting isn’t hard, but actually, it’s very important to say that for a lot of people in the US, voting is hard to access, and for some groups, impossible. It is made difficult on purpose, by people—Republicans, it’s fucking always them, I don’t know why I’m using vague language—who want to disenfranchise as many people as they can. If voting was really a useless gesture, if it really meant nothing— they wouldn’t be working so damn hard to stop poor people and immigrants and prisoners and folks in general from being able to do it.

If you hate Biden, god, fine, whatever. But he is going to be the nominee of the political party made up of judges and politicians that, for the most part, believe that climate change is real and ought to be mitigated, that the US should not be turned into an evangelical christian theocracy, that firearms should be regulated, that businesses should be regulated, that healthcare should be more affordable and accessible, that people should be able to get safe abortions, that trans and all lgbt people deserve to live their lives, and that asylum-seekers shouldn’t be shredded by concertina wire trying to cross the border. The wheel of social change is huge and fucking heavy and sometimes it looks like it isn’t moving at all. But we can feel it move if we all push together.

I caught a Trump ad on the radio the other day and it was some of the scariest shit. “Trump will bring order to chaos,” it said. “He will ban travel from terrorist countries, and end the disastrous open-border policies allowing illegal migrants and deadly drugs like fentanyl to flood into our country.” The fucking anti-muslim travel ban. It’s back, baby. That was the exact phrasing: terrorist countries. If Biden’s foreign policy with regards to the Middle East is frustrating and despair-inducing already, Trump’s would be a catastrophe. The Republicans think Democrats are soft on terrorism. As much as anyone with a conscience is horrified by the US’s continued passivity with regards to Palestine, this motherfucker getting back in office would bring greater horror. I’m really sure about it. I don’t know what that part of the world will look like next fall, but I’m confident that if this dumb bloodthirsty motherfucker regains office, there would be absolutely no hope of public pressure swaying US foreign policy towards “less murder”. Protesting against war and genocide or for any progressive or civil rights cause would become even more dangerous. I still think about the woman who was run over by a car at the protest in 2017

…I’m rambling. I can’t help it. But I don’t want to just ramble unproductively. I should end this with something I hope makes sense to people snd can’t be easily dismissed, even if you already disagree with something I’ve said. I want to say how I genuinely feel.

I believe that imperfect activism is valuable, because it is better to show up and stand in solidarity with other people fighting for a more just world than to not show up at all. I believe all activism is in some way imperfect, because activists are people, and people are imperfect. That is to say, one middle-aged woman who showed up to a DC protest wearing a hand-crocheted pink pussy hat, who maybe hadn’t been to many (or any) protests before but who felt fired up about this one, was worth ten of the smug “real leftists” sneering about her on twitter. Maybe more than ten. Your own activism will be imperfect. But keep an open mind— to your own learning and to others’. Doing “the bare minimum” (and, ugh, what a discouraging phrase) is still doing. We have to encourage everyone who feels drawn to fighting for social good. We have to link arms with one another and be strong. Even if you think the person next to you is a lame-o liberal, if they believe that (for example) trans people deserve access to gender-affirming care and should not be smashed flat into fruit-by-the-foot and sent straight to hell, they are your comrade.

Be wary of people who self-identify as Cassandras and unheeded prophets, especially if their messages consistently emphasize how everything is garbage and the world can’t be saved. If someone is telling you that only they understand how uniquely horrible things are, that no progressive or leftist political philosophy is viable except for the specific one they adhere to, that no news or media sources are worthwhile or even trustworthy except for the small handful of ones they endorse… I won’t say to stop listening to them or following them, but I’d recommend listening to other people, too.

Do your own reading about issues that are important to you. Read many people’s words, watch videos, think about what you believe, and how those beliefs have changed over time, and stay open to being further changed. We are all constantly learning and shaping ourselves, and teaching, and being shaped by others. All of us are tired. But we can hold each other up.

I don’t have a rousing call to action. Just the same things many people are already saying that I’ve felt encouraged by, in a grim sort of way: protest and donate when and where you can, support political candidates on the local and national stage who do support policies you agree with, who could do real good. It feels very hard right now to be hopeful. But we all have to live in whatever future comes eventually— so I think we have to still participate, and that means things like voting. We are all tired. But we have to keep going. There is, ultimately, no sitting out. People who opt out of voting still must live under the social climate and policies imposed by the person who gets elected, and who they endorse and empower and appoint, and who those people empower and appoint, and so on.

This post doesn’t have a good conclusion. I didn’t write it thinking about what would make for a satisfying structure in general. But if you read it, then thank you for reading.

[3liza]

i do actually think adding a Tumblr content label for AI generated images would be useful for everyone, wouldn't fuck up anyone's day that actually wanted to post or look at ai pics, and I doubt the corpos that are paying tumblr for ai dataset feeding would care either. maybe it's just the verification process putting more stress on the already-failing content checking infrastructure that's the holdup. it's not like labeling something "mature" or "drugs" or something you can just look at and see whether it is or not, unless they made it a fully community-based vote they would be showing increasingly-realistic AI slop to moderators and asking them to determine whether they were AI or not to trigger the label and I don't think it's possible. we're already at a point where the average gen alpha doesn't know the difference between "Photoshop" and "AI" and uses the terms interchangeably. edit: and, I forgot to add but meant to, we are already at a point where grizzled old fake picture-spotters like myself cannot always 100% accurately determine if something is AI. the realism gap is going to close almost completely within a year for anyone using generative software that has current updates and a prompter that is careful about picking which output to post. the realism gap is already closed for careful prompters, anyone who gets lucky and doesn't get weird hands or text, and any image which is of subject matter niche enough to fly under most people's radars.

the label could be phrased to accommodate this, as in, "XXXX out of XXXX users (let's say enough reports trigger a voting mechanism, idk) believe this media is AI-generated, photoshopped, or otherwise tampered with" but who knows how helpful it would actually be.

they did some research a while back on the effect of knowing photos of women had been retouched in Photoshop on the audience's self-image. they found that contrary to expectations, Photoshop labels made the test subjects feel worse about their own self image than they did when shown Photoshopped images of models that did not have a disclaimer on them. I've been mulling that one over for a while now. and since this is the dipshit idiot moron website no this last anecdote is not me saying "labeling fake media is useless", I still think fake media should be labeled. it just raises questions about the assumed benefits of the labeling. "knowing a picture is fake" is not a benefit that needs to be tested in the case of, for example, fake historical photographs.

[lovecla]

OCEAN EYES | connor bedard

chapter two.

➴ warnings: swearing, underage drinking.

➴ word count: 2.8k

➴ author’s note: thank u to everyone who read the first chapter. it's insane for me. thank u thank u thank u. hope u like this one too :))

CONNOR didn’t speak to you for the rest of the night.

You knew he still was at your house but no matter how many laps you and Chloe walked, you couldn’t find him for the love of God.

And honestly, it made you feel sick to your stomach. Lying to him was just the worst and all you wanted to do was call him and apologize.

But you couldn’t do that with Chloe, could you? You already felt like the worst friend of all time because the truth was: you didn’t want them to date. You didn’t know the exact reason for that but you still felt that way.

You decided to call it a night and go back to your room, saying goodbye to Chloe— she said no when you asked her to sleep over— and going upstairs. You removed all of your makeup and clothes, putting on your favorite pajamas, trying to find some comfort in them.

Trying to sleep was useless, the downstairs noise not helping at all. So you just grabbed your TV remote and accessed your Disney+ account, pressing play on the first Marvel movie you saw.

It was going to be a long night.

—

“YOU look like you had a long night. Too much partying?”

Alex’s voice sounded too loud and too annoying for your taste, but it was probably due to the fact that you only managed to sleep two hours last night.

“I fucking swear to God, I’m gonna punch you in the face right now,” you mumbled, grabbing the cereal from the counter and pouring a large amount into your mouth.

“No, I’m serious! And you look crazy as hell with the Spider-Man hoodie and the sunglasses. Did you join a crackhead community in which you have to dress like that to be a member?”

“Alex! Fuck!” You yelled, annoyed as hell. “Go play some Hockey! Do some research on fucking cancer! I don’t know, just leave me alone.”

You knew you were being difficult for no reason. It wasn’t Alex’s fault you hadn’t slept well— or that Chloe was trying to make Connor her newest prized possession. But somehow your stupid, sleep deprived brain thought otherwise.

“Boo, you’re no fun today. Hit me up when you leave The Crackheads.” Alex smiled, leaving the kitchen after grabbing his gym bag.

Gym. Hah. He’s probably going to work out with Connor.

The thought made you want to crawl out of your skin. You actually missed Connor a lot. It was almost the end of the season and they travel a lot for the games, so you didn’t get to see him or Alex for a long time. And now that he is back, what did you do? Kind of forced him to go on a date with your friend and lied to him? Yeah. Can someone give me the award for being the worst person ever? Thank you.

You laid on the couch, thinking about your situation. Sure, maybe it wasn’t that bad. Maybe Connor would hate Chloe or maybe Chloe would hate Connor.

But what’s there to hate? Sure, he can come off as a cold, awkward king to everyone and his smiles almost always look forced (even if they aren’t) but Connor has so much to offer.

In these two years you’ve been friends, he never let you down, not once. Whenever you had movie nights with some of Alex and Connor’s teammates, he would always sit beside you and vote for the movie you wanted the most. He’d always let you rest your head on his shoulder, and even sit on his lap if you wanted to take a nap.

He buys you gifts and takes you to the movies at every chance he has, besides buying you tons of Marvel merch and different candies from the states he visits. Sometimes he sends chaotic photos to you, looking like a mess after a game or practice.

Besides checking on you at every chance he got, whenever he was away.

He was everything you could ask for and then some more.

Truthfully, it had been a long time since you had someone who cared as much as he did. Yeah, you have Alex and your parents, but besides them? You only had Chloe. And also Madi, but you weren’t sure if she considered you as a friend like you did her.

So Connor liking you was unexpected but so welcome. Maybe that’s why you were feeling so down about this whole situation.

You don't want to lose him.

“Fuck,” you whispered, still laying on the couch like a starfish. “I need to get a fucking grip.”

A second after you finished your sentence, your phone rang in your hand.

You smiled for the first time that day. Frank was just another one of Alex’s teammates and he was funny as hell. Usually he just wanted to see you whenever he fought with his girlfriend and needed someone to comfort him.

You groaned. Men are so weird.

You got dressed anyway and exactly an hour and a half later, Frank was at your front door, waiting inside his expensive ass car.

“I’ll start charging you since I’m basically your therapist,” you said, as soon as you got inside his car. “How is Josie still dating you, that’s the million dollar question.”

He smirked. “I can name a few reasons.”

“You’re gross. Where are we going?”

“That one Irish pub everyone loves. Hopefully no one will be able to recognise us and I’ll be able to drink my ass off.”

“Not happening, big guy. I can’t carry you while sober, much less while drunk. You’re like twice my weight.” You smiled, feeling a little bit better.

“Stop fat shaming me and be quiet.”

The rest of the drive was cool, Frank talking your ears off about Josie and how in love with her he was.

It was fun to see such a young guy talking about a girl like Frank talked about Josie. He wanted to marry her and be the father of her children, completely ignoring the fact that he’s only twenty-one years old and she’s still in college.

The pub was half full when they arrived but thankfully no one recognised them— or if anyone did, they didn’t say anything.

“I’ll get myself a beer. For you, a Diet Coke, right?”

Usually, you’d just nod and say yes. But you were feeling really shitty. And even though you absolutely hated the taste of alcohol, you wanted your mind to shut the hell up about Connor and Chloe, who were probably having the time of their lives on their little date.

And yeah, what would a little bit of beer even do? It’s not like you’ll get drunk with just one beer. Nah.

“Actually, I’d like the same thing as you.”

Frank smiled. “Ooh, feeling brave today? I see you, girl. Don’t let Alex know that I gave you beer though. He’ll beat my ass.”

“Aye, aye captain.”

—

TURNS out that one beer can get you drunk.

You don’t remember how it happened. If it had been the beer you drank or the several vodka shots you took afterwards.

The only thing you knew was that Backstreet Boys were really good and you totally had to get on the table to dance.

Only if Frank hadn’t stopped you.

“Frank, come ooon,” you said, not really sure if your words were coming out the proper way. “Let’s sing everybody: I want it that way!”

“Tell me why!” Some people answered, or at least you think they did. You’ll never know.

“No more singing, dancing or drinking for you,” you heard his voice from afar, which was really weird since you were sure he was holding you. “Gosh, I didn’t know you couldn’t handle your alcohol. I need to call someone. Wait here.”

He left—probably— and you stayed there, singing Backstreet Boys with your new friends. You were having the time of your life, really, and turns out that drinking is super cool and you probably should do it more.

“I want it that way��” you mumbled, feeling sleepy.

Some time passed before Frank returned, saying something about someone sober picking someone up. You started to wonder who it could be, and came to the conclusion that it was probably Alex since Connor was busy.

Busy with your best friend who’s probably on her way to fuck him like she did with half of their school.

No. That’s just… mean. You shouldn’t think that of Chloe even if it is true. She’s your friend. Just because she and Connor were probably on each other’s throats it didn’t mean she wasn’t your best friend anymore.

“I really like him,” you whispered, or at least you think you did. Your lips felt like moving but no words reached your ears.

After snoozing for half an hour, you felt a hand on your hair, caressing it gently. It felt so, so nice. It reminded you of Connor, because he usually did the same thing to you before you fell asleep on him. And maybe this beer was Bedard induced because you were actually smelling his perfume too.

And… hearing his voice?

“Why did you give her beer? You know she doesn’t drink, asshole.”

“She asked for it! What the hell was I supposed to do?” Frank sounded funny. Like Rugby in Regular Show. Or was it Rigby? Maybe Ragby.

“I’m taking her home. How are you getting home?”

Frank answered something but you couldn’t hear it, since you were really busy trying to get your head up. Why does it weigh so much? Actually, since when does it weigh so much?

You felt two cold hands on your hips, making you shiver. They felt too familiar.

“Come on, El. Let’s go home.”

You finally managed to open your eyes and stare at the man holding you.

Connor.

"Con," you heard yourself saying, not trusting yourself to say something as complicated as Bedsy in that moment. "Hi." You whispered.

His eyes softened and he smiled a little at you. "Hi, El. Why did you drink so much?"

"Dunno," mumbling, you leaned forward, resting your face on the crook of his neck. "Wanted to forget."

"Forget, huh? We'll talk about that later." He said, starting to move your body around until you were out of the pub.

Frank forgotten somewhere else. You didn't really care.

Connor smelled too good for you to think of anything else.

—

SOMEHOW, you ended up at Connor's place. You knew it was his place because 1) he had a 98 Bedard jersey plastered on the wall and 2) he was the only one to buy an apartment instead of a house.

It was nice and cosy and you actually loved coming here, but you limited yourself to only visiting when Madi visited him too. You didn't want to seem needy or anything like that.

Even though his place was a lot nicer than Alex's.

"I'm gonna give you one of my hoodies and sweatpants so you can change. I'm not sure if you can wash yourself so you'll have to sleep without showering. I hope you don't kill me in the morning."

Something inside you wanted to talk back and tell him that he could wash you if he wanted to, but you had a feeling future you would absolutely die at that so you just nodded once, regretting it immediately because it made your world start spinning fast.

"I wish the world would stop spinning," you confessed.

Maybe drinking isn't that cool.

"It will soon. You just need to change, eat and sleep." True to his words, Bedard did give you a change of clothes-his clothes- and food; plain black coffee and plain toast, but, yeah! Food.

You were still feeling like you had done a hundred cartwheels in a row but now you were only seeing one Connor and you could talk without sounding like a three year old.

"Thanks for picking me up." You say, after eating the last bite of toast.

"It's fine. Why did you drink?"

You shrugged.

"El," he got closer, frowning. "I know you. You hate drinking."

He was right. You did. And usually, you'd be happy with your diet soda. But forgetting about Connor's date with Chloe seemed like a good reason.

Oh my god. Connor's date.

"Connor," you started, voice quiet. "What about your date with Chloe?"

"I left."

Your eyes doubled in size but you couldn't help but feel a bit... happy.

"But... what do you mean?"

"Ellie, I only went to that thing because you wanted me to."

Oh.

Oh.

"Because apparently, you had a super important date with a guy— Frank— and couldn't make it tonight." He sounded hurt. Maybe you were just too drunk.

"I didn't have a date with Frank. It was a lie," you whispered, eyes starting to feel wet. You took a deep breath. You weren't going to cry over this. "M sorry I lied to you, Con. It's just that—"

"We can talk tomorrow, El. Let's get you to bed." He got up and started pushing you towards his bedroom.

But your heart still felt heavy on your chest. And your eyes were still wet.

"No, Con, I need to tell you—” you stopped him, both of your hands on his chest, your eyes focused on his. "I didn't want to lie to you. I swear— I would never lie to you willingly because I lo—” you stopped yourself and swallowed down your words. Is it okay for you to say you love your friends? Yeah it probably was. Fuck that. "I love you, Con, and I would never hurt you on purpose. It was just that—"

"El, you're drunk and you're going to regret all of this tomorrow." He tried to stop you once more, his hands on your waist as he forced you to start walking again.

You snapped. "No, Con, please, fuck," Great. Now you're crying. "Just listen to me, please."

"Come to bed and I will."

You frowned but nodded. Despite all of your visits to his apartment, it was your first time in his bedroom. It was all Connor-like, neat, clean and tidy. Some pictures of his family and some trophies adorned the walls and shelves. You caught yourself smiling. One of the pictures was of the day their team won some championship, in which you somehow ended up in the Bedard family picture beside Madi.

He made you lay down on his extra large bed— why would he need a bed this big?— and put the duvet on top of you. It was a chill night and the warm it provided made you sigh happily.

"Are you going to sleep with me?"

Connor stared at you for what felt like a year. Those blue eyes awkwardly staring at you and you felt yourself cringe, just now realising how you worded the phrase.

You both had already slept together, but on the couch and in front of everyone. Never alone and on a bed. But you didn't want to sleep alone, not really.

"Well," he finally said, taking his shirt off and laying down right beside you. It wasn't long until you moved, so that your head was on top of his chest and his arm around you, holding you close to his body.

"Chloe likes you," you mumbled, looking at his chest going up and down, calmly. "At least she thinks she does. I don't think she really likes you. Not like I do, anyway."

He chuckled. "Like you do?"

"Yeah," whispering, you started to draw little patterns on his left peck. "She asked me to introduce you both and I told her that it wasn't a good idea, because you're you and... well. You're not much of a people person."

You heard his soft laugh.

"That I am not."

"She didn't care. She wanted it either way. I didn't know she was going to put you right on the spot like she did. I swear."

"I believe you. And it's fine."

"It's not," you sniffed and stopped moving your hand, trying to wipe your own wet face. When did you start crying anyway? Being drunk is weird. "I shouldn't have lied to you, even if it wasn't on purpose. I didn't have a date and there isn't a guy. I just wanted Chloe to be happy. And even if I don't want to admit it..." you bit your lips. "You guys would look awesome together."

You felt his body stiff underneath you. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Well. She is your perfect girlfriend. She's blonde, gorgeous, rich and looks good as hell on cameras. It'd be good for your image." Your own mouth felt bitter after saying those words, but sometimes the truth felt like that.

He took a while to answer, and just when you could feel your whole body falling asleep, you heard his voice saying, softly:

"Yet she's not the one laying on my chest right now."

[flower1622]

ANTI PERCABETH CONTENT!

Annabeth stares at the boy sleeping in the dark.

Annabeth: You drool when you sleep.

Annabeth: So, Percy may be the son of Poseidon? Interesting...

Annabeth takes the cap off her head and pushes Percy into the water.

Annabeth: I hate that new guy, Percy Jackson.

Hours later:

Annabeth stalks Percy.

Clarisse bullies Percy.

Annabeth keeps watching hidden.

Percy: Can i make a stupid question?

Annabeth: You already made one.

Percy: I really don't like when other people make fun of me. I feel very insecure and depressed. All my life i was abused by my ex-stepfather.

Annabeth laughs.

Percy fighting for his life against a god.

Annabeth hits her foot on the ground, pointing her fingers to her watch impatient.

Annabeth: What is happening to Percy down there? He is being so seaweed brain today.

Percy is hurt from another fight against their enemies and falls with his face to the ground.

Annabeth laughs.

Annabeth: He's such a seaweed brain.

Percy gets better grades than Annabeth at College.

Annabeth gets desperate.

Annabeth: I don't want to become a seaweed brain!

Percy runs to hug Annabeth because he missed her and she judo flips him.

Annabeth: If you ever leave me again, i'll fucking hurt you, seaweed brain.

Annabeth meets Rachel, who smiles at her and tries to shake her hand. Annabeth only looks at Percy.

Annabeth: Who is this stupid girl?

Percy says something good about Rachel.

Annabeth snorts.

Annabeth: She's just a useless human.

Reyna says something good about Percy.

Annabeth only laughs.

Annabeth: Seaweed Brain only followed my orders.

Jason and Percy fight for a chair.

Annabeth rolls her eyes.

Annabeth: Two idiots. I'll be the leader.

Percy complains about his problems and Tartarus.

Annabeth laughs and crosses her arms.

Annabeth: Who cares?

Percy wants to work and study near his mother's house.

Annabeth crosses her arms.

Annabeth: No. You'll go with me to New Rome College.

Percy cries over Annabeth's wounded body.

Percy: You saved me!

Annabeth: Of course! I needed to get your trust completely. I couldn't lose a powerful ally like you.

Percy only cries more and hides his face on her chest.

Annabeth rolls her eyes.

Annabeth: Idiot.

Annabeth and Percy are trying to decide with other campers what to do.

Annabeth: We'll go with my plan.

Percy: What about democracy? Shouldn't we vote?

Annabeth: I am the one who is daughter of the goddess of wisdom. So, shut up and follow what i say, alright seaweed brain?

Percy: I don't like this nickname.

Annabeth: I don't care.

Annabeth and Aphrodite watch Percy and Rachel having fun in the beach.

Aphrodite: If you convince Ares to be more romantic to me, i can take away Percy's memories and feelings for that girl.

Annabeth: Deal.

Percy and Annabeth are in Olympus. Zeus gets angry at Percy and sends a thunder in his direction, making Percy fly to the ground. Percy falls and winces from pain on the floor.

Poseidon: Zeus!

Annabeth: Does this mean you don't need my services anymore?

[bonefall]

Since the ask box commands to vote Bumble in that tourament (which I did, cuz she was SCREWED over to the extreme) could you talk a whole lot about BB!Bumble's dyspraxia? Since we are talking about the *everything in canon* she got for the High Crime of being a fat foreigner woman and abuse victm in warrior cats, let's talk about the universe where we add disabled to her list of High Crimes but she isnt done dirty as balls(sorry if all this is worded weird)

Plus, I'm personally having issues writing a dyspraxic character (mostly because i kinda suck at absorbing information about things like disability when not using characters as exemples) and you've really helped me in the past with making characters with BPD, so it would be personally useful in character making

(Sorry if I'm rude, I deeply respect your work and it greatly inspires me, especially Clanmew)

All righty! BB!Bumble's dyspraxia!

First off, for newcomers;

WHY I ADDED DYSPRAXIA TO BUMBLE

In canon, Bumble is called a fat, useless kittypet, before being dragged back to her domestic abuser. She then dies while trying to survive on her own, starved to the point of emaciation before Clear Sky murders her.

A very common fandom response to this is essentially, "shes NOT useless! She could hunt/fight if you taught her!" And a lot of AUs will have her survive, learning how to be Truly Useful with all the same skills as everyone else.

I won't lie; I think that's very disappointing.

You're not refuting the rotten heart of this ideology, you're just doing what DOTC already does with Jagged Peak. You're AGREEING. You're saying she WOULD be useless if she couldn't hunt or fight like a wild cat, giving her Coolgirl Badass moments to haha embarass her bigots, and Actually the only problem here is that they didn't give her a chance.

What if they GAVE her that chance, and she COULDN'T hunt or fight like them? Would it be okay to send the battered housewife back to her domestic abuser? Hopefully fucking not!

Let's be frank; None of the groups in DOTC are starving. Not even after the prey sickness pandemic.

"Starvation Rhetoric" is an excuse, only ever rolled out by monsters like Clear Sky as justification for stealing land, murder, and throwing out cats the groups deem unworthy of life.

Yet, this gets rolled out for Bumble specifically, by the MOOR CATS, who are supposed to be opposing his ideology.

And that's where I'm starting from.

Okay. What if she couldn't perform physically like other cats?

What if she was part of a group that DID have real concerns about not having enough food?

How does Bumble herself cope with her feelings, and her desire to help her friends and contribute to a group that loves her?

Let's go through all that, and attack the heart of the idea. In fact, we're going to be doing a lot of it, with a significant portion of early ThunderClan being disabled cats.

(Thunder Storm has three legs. Bright Storm has asthma. Sunlit Frost loses the use of both front paws and ends up with chronic pain.)

Bumble's Dyspraxia

The first thing to know about dyspraxia (or DCD, Developmental Coordination Disorder) is that it comes in a LOT of different forms. The next thing to know is that it's RIDICULOUSLY common. Some estimates say 5% of the population has it-- 1 in 20 people.

It's heavily associated with autism and ADHD. The "classic" symptoms are general clumsiness and motor control issues, like having a hard time tying shoes. But these are also symptoms of dyspraxia;

Short-term memory issues, but not long-term

Being constantly covered in bumps and bruises

Having a hard time telling lefts and rights

Difficulties holding pencils or writing in general

"Wobbliness" including tripping mid-step or tripping over your own feet

Issues in the acquisition of "muscle memories," being slow to acquire physical skills.

Stuttering and taking long pauses before responding to someone else speaking

Most dyspraxics won't have all of these, these are symptoms. Not a checklist.

My partner describes theirs as like "constantly working with cold hands through a layer of gloves." The stiffness of being in a freezer, paired with the general delay of having a cover over your skin.

Mine is more focused on the mental side, acquiring new skills is unnaturally difficult, my reaction time is delayed, and I stumble into things.

Every person with dyspraxia is different, but what links us is that we're uncoordinated. We can't help it, telling us to try harder or pay more attention doesn't work. We aren't being careless-- our brains don't send signals to our bodies properly.

I'm basing Bumble's off my own. Her mate, Turtle Heart, shows her over and over how to hunt. It never sticks. She tries to pick up battle moves from Thunder Storm to help defend herself from Clear Sky's goons. It doesn't work.

She's really trying, she really is. The Moor group quickly loses patience with her, and Bumble is well aware that she's only tolerated on Turtle Heart's vouch. Her worst fears come true when Tom steals their children, and her mate is killed trying to retreive them.

That messes with her, and makes her believe that she really is worthless and a burden.

ThunderClan was FOUNDED on Thunder Storm's fury, breaking off his supporters to retreive her from exile, and Bumble's struggle with self-worth begins in earnest.

There's one thing she's confident about, and really loves. Bumble is trilingual, outgoing, and confident in her ability to talk to others. That's what she can add, and what she wants to do.

ThunderClan is different. It works with every strength and weakness of its members, and values diplomacy to keep it afloat against the odds. Bumble really is needed, but eventually even her translation work becomes less special as more kits grow up bilingual. Eventually, this too feels taken from her.

And then it's back to square one. Her mate is gone, one of her kits betrayed her, Owl Eyes is a big strong man who doesn't need his mum anymore. She's left with her fumbling paws, taking more from the pile than she puts in.

One can only hope she realizes that ThunderClan was born out of love for her. That it was never about what she could add. She didn't have to confront it in the main story because so much was happening, but as peace settles over the forest, it's time for her to start to unpack that idea.

[qqueenofhades]

One of my biggest annoyances is leftists and communists beinging up Biden’s tweets during the 2020 campaign of things he said he would do, and being like “see?? he didn’t deliver on anything and this is why you shouldn’t vote for the Dems again” Like, for all the understanding they seem to have of communist or marxist or whatever theory, the idea that the President is not a king and can’t do whatever he wants without Congress’s approval is lost on them?? He still believes in those things but if Congress won’t pass the legislation what is he supposed to do? EOs won’t solve all our problems.

Yeah. Not even to mention, the claim that "Biden hasn't done/delivered anything!!!" is a big fat lie, as people keep pointing out the things he has done, with a razor-thin House majority (until 2022) and two "Democratic" senators who torpedoed everything and one of whom has now literally left the party (Manchin and Sinema). So while Online Leftists obviously don't understand the difference between "achieving all of his campaign goals" and "achieving some," for the last frikkin time, Biden has done a lot of good things in very bad circumstances!!!!!! Using "he didn't do everything!!!!" as an excuse to not vote and so enable the open and unrepentant fascists is the stupidest fucking thing I have ever heard!!!!

Like. Take the debt deal. As in other things, Biden clearly learned from Obama's mistake (which was believing that the Republicans would ever negotiate in good faith about anything, and/or would reciprocate in kind if Biden made concessions). McCarthy whined for WEEKS that Biden wasn't listening and wasn't talking to him and wasn't entertaining his ridiculous proposals (22% cuts in ALL discretionary/non-military spending, including Social Security, Medicare, etc etc, while preserving the giant Trump tax cuts for the rich.) No matter that a full one-quarter of the national debt ($7.8 trillion of $31 trillion) was racked up under Trump and the debt ceiling involves paying bills that have already been spent. No sir, those Damn Free-Spending Democrats wanted to use your money on icky things like ~social welfare!! It was mean and it was hypocritical and it was blindingly obvious, and Biden just completely ignored it. He didn't try to negotiate in good faith with that, because there was no way it would work. He just let them whine.

Then, when it came down to it, Biden went in and got a deal that preserves pretty much all of the Democrats' major legislative priorities and expansions from the last two years. The only real change is raising the work requirement age for childless adults on SNAP food assistance from 49 to 54, but this has also been accompanied by a corresponding expansion of the definition "homeless" to make more people eligible, some for the first time ever. There's not going to be any major new spending for the next two years, but that wasn't happening anyway since the GOP controls the House and wouldn't agree to anything Biden put in the budget (and plus, none of the money that has already been allocated through the American Rescue Plan and other federal assistance is getting taken away). But more importantly, it raises the debt ceiling for the next TWO years and it won't come up again until after 2024. That is HUGE: the GOP really, REALLY wanted to hold the economy hostage again prior to the next presidential election. But Biden basically went in and told McCarthy to stfu and got what he wanted. Qevin was even forced, after months of "Sleepy Joe" GOP propaganda, to call Biden "very smart and very tough" in the negotiations. Soooo.

Anyway, this is what I mean: this isn't as sexy and/or as utterly fucking useless as spouting lukewarm rebaked "Marxist" propaganda on the Twittermachine about how Biden hasn't done anything, but it's the actual nitty-gritty work of government and flat-out beating the Republicans. They got absolutely shit-all that they wanted, because Biden didn't fall for their same old, same old dirty tricks and disingenuous squealing. He went in, got the job done, and will get way less credit for it than he deserves, from anyone. Dunno about you, but I like that guy. I plan to vote for him again.

[witchy-v1xen]

None of your excuses matter, voting is a civic duty and you fucking failed

'muh religion. Your morals are so weak. You let the dictator in so don't worry, you won't need to waste your useless life on voting again

I fucking failed? I failed? so, basically I don't have a right to my own opinion? Talk about fucking oppression. Your bitch ass wouldn't have went anonymous if you truly had the guts to say what you wanted to say. Fucking coward, hide behind you screen you cunt because, unlike you at least I'm straight forward with my fucking words and I'm not afraid to say what I've got to say. My excuses do matter as much as your fucking dumbass going anonymous for whatever reason you did. Grow the fuck up because, apparently your parents failed you by not teaching you how to healthily cope when it comes to respecting people's opinions. I've seen too many temper tantrums on the internet enough already and if this is how people are going to handle situations as of currently like big ass babies. I can only fear how you and other people will handle much bigger issues. PLEASE... get some fucking help and fuck off my page. Your ego was must be so fragile if you have to go anonymous to protect it.