#I haven't abandoned this! I'm just working out of town and I can't use internet ;w;
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quimera-cami · 8 months ago
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Cod ilustrated headcanons masterlist
(Request status: CLOSED)
Nikto
Domestic Nikto
Movie night with Nikto
Parent Nikto Part 1 | Extra
Rodion
Maxim
Dmitry
grocery shopping
König (coming soon)
Cleo (coming soon)
Valeria (coming soon)
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Work in progress:
Cuddles with Rodion.
Jealous Nikto.
Nikto meeting his s/o for the first time .
s/o cuddling Nikto's face.
Nikto with a tall/strong s/o.
Nikto taking a bath.
Domestic headcannons with Maxim Bale.
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thetwominuteshate-blog · 6 years ago
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Hello, cruel world.
I am exhausted with living on this earth.
I could throw literary quotes at you. I could tell you that society at large has become what the dystopian science fiction authors of yesteryear predicted it would. I could start this blog with a call to arms, urging you to riot in the streets and tear down the prison we've built for ourselves.
But the truth is I'm just tired. I'm tired of constantly living in fear. I'm tired of feeling no connection with the world around me. I'm tired of seeing so much suffering that spans continents, in "the greatest nation in the world", while criminals look down on us with derision from their ivory towers. I am tired of feeling as though, no matter what I do, my decisions are of no consequence. I'm tired of the world slowly eroding me until there is nothing good left in me. I'm tired of feeling alone, and I am so, so tired of seeing the world as it could be--as it SHOULD be--and always coming up so short I can't even see the finish line.
I've been rejecting the reality I've found myself in for far too long, escaping into worlds of my own making or the worlds others have created for the sake of escaping my own despair. But it doesn't have to be this way. I still reject this reality, the efficient brutality of a race that has been born into an environment so unforgiving that we fail to put our own violent natures behind us. I reject the notion that the world cannot improve. I have had enough.
Those of you who have read George Orwell's 1984 might remember the Two Minutes Hate. For those of you who haven't or have forgotten, the Two Minutes' Hate is a daily ritual put in place by a maddeningly restrictive government with the intention of directing the fear and anger of common individuals living in such a repressive society by placing them in front of a television screen that projects images of whomever the Party deems is an enemy. The Other. When I first read it, this excerpt in particular stood out to me:
"The horrible thing about the Two Minutes Hate was not that one was obliged to act a part, but that it was impossible to avoid joining in. Within thirty seconds any pretence was always unnecessary. A hideous ecstasy of fear and vindictiveness, a desire to kill, to torture, to smash faces in with a sledge hammer, seemed to flow through the whole group of people like an electric current, turning one even against one's will into a grimacing, screaming lunatic. And yet the rage that one felt was an abstract, undirected emotion which could be switched from one object to another like the flame of a blowlamp."
These days, most of what I see in the media is the Two Minutes Hate. Talking heads on two dimensional screens telling us who we should hate. Vicious propaganda that those who lack the will to fight the ones keeping them locked in misery buy into wholeheartedly. Instead of directing their rage at the ones responsible, people punch down, ostracizing people less fortunate than them.
But this isn't the reason why I chose to name this blog after the Two Minutes Hate. Because hate is a funny thing--when we don't let it eat away at us, it gives us the strength to fight without abandon. It causes us to reduce things to rubble and burn the remains so there is no trace of its existence. It can be a powerful tool. But it is fire, and most of us, if not all, aren't well enough equipped with the knowledge to know which things are worth burning.
I've been filled with hate nearly for as long as I can remember. Full disclosure: I'm a 27-year-old white, bisexual cis male. For most of my life I lived in a small town and have largely kept myself in seclusion due to bullying throughout my childhood into my teen years. I only recently became aware of the deepening aspects of my sexuality, but over the years I've faced baseless accusations of homosexuality to the point that a cowardly bully had his friend fight me. As a result, I faced suspension. My school district, like most, put on a public face that disavowed bullying, but enabled it when it occurred. The culture I was surrounded by swam in toxic masculinity, boys that pretended to be men through the ownership of trucks flying the Confederate flag and other meaningless, superficial displays of their own insecurities. My "community", which is so very important to conservative culture, treated me like a stubborn weed long before I could even grasp cruelty. I felt suffocated, unable to flourish because there was always someone watching my every move. As a result, I've come to loathe authority in all its forms.
That's just backstory, though. Over the years I've come to realize that my circumstances were relatively fortunate. I'm privileged; people have been murdered over the merest suspicion that they might be gay. There are people who face severe bullying on a near-daily basis, and that's in this country alone. The atrocities committed in our world's history dwarf mine to a subatomic level. I've had friends who have been raped, faced child and domestic abuse, and even now are in circumstances far more dire than my own. It's no longer for my own sake that I hate, it's for those who are beaten down and cannot fight back, whether on an individual or cultural basis.
I'm not here to play white, straight(ish) savior. In fact, I wouldn't even consider myself to be an ordinary person. I am on the verge of mental instability--for years I've felt the effects of severe depression, which is finally in check. For a time I was so suicidal that I abused substances on a daily basis because the only calming thoughts I had in sobriety were of my own death. I have a deep desire to hurt and destroy, to get back at the world that I feel cut me open and left me to bleed out. I'm a sadist and a masochist in the BDSM scene. I have twisted fantasies that run so deeply to my core and no outlet for them outside of the scene. I want to make others suffer for the injustices they inflict upon those who are undeserving of pain. Because whoever came up with the idiom, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger" should have been tortured without cause, broken by suffering that held no ultimate meaning. Then he'd have a greater grasp on the state of the reality as it is.
Hate is addictive. Orwell was right; it spreads like a wildfire, and it's impossible not to be caught in the blaze yourself unless you sequester yourself with comfort and ignorance. And turning a blind eye to the problems others face, whether it's next door or on the other side of the globe, is possibly worse. Until now, I've feared the repercussions of acting against authority, the odds of my successful retribution stacked heavily against me. Even now, I fear the things I will express will draw fire from all sides, so I'm shielding myself through an anonymity browser in order to ward off potential enemies, whether they are a collective agency like the NSA or some alt-right IT cunt with internet access. Those of us in the United States have been officially granted a right to free speech, but we live in an era in which seizing that right can go so far as to get you killed, especially if you call for progress and your voice is heard by millions.
But my end goal is not society's complete collapse. There are pieces of this world worth preserving. I may only be useful for tearing things down, but someday I hope someone will build them back up into something better that works for all people. I long to help individuals understand that all people are just that--people. Not secondary or tertiary characters in your life, good-or-evil projections onto a screen for you to scream at. It's this mentality that causes entire populations to suffer, and I know my work will never be done until the most marginalized find a place in society.
But this is not a call to empathy. Part of recognizing each other's humanity is holding each other accountable for their actions. I believe no person can be perfectly good--we all do terrible things, myself thoroughly included--but there are those of us who are so mindlessly destructive in their actions that I honestly believe the world would be better off without them. This quality of malignance does not discriminate between race, gender, or age. We are among self-made monsters on a daily basis, and they deserve as much sympathy as they dole out.
Words without action are meaningless. I don't intend to sit here and tell y'all to start a French-style bloodletting while I sit comfortably in a downtown loft. This is a time for action. This is a time for violence. This is a time to stand up against the birth of fascism in the so-called "Land of the Free". This is a time for hate.
I am Winston Smith, and this is my Two Minutes Hate. This is my war. Will you join me?
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sally-annesstories · 6 years ago
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Day 25 - Playa del Carmen to Bacalar, Mexico
(Photos to come because my phone broke this day and I can't get access to my iCloud at the moment)
My last full day in Mexico!
1. Alarm went off at 7.30am as I had my bus ride to Bacalar. Everyone else was sleeping and planned to go to the Tulum ruins which I’ve already done. Quickly got everything together and wandered to the bus station and hopped on! The bus ride was about 4 hours long. The first hour I had two seats to myself which was great though sadly not the whole way! Spent the ride doing this and watched a bit of suits as well (should’ve done my Spanish but sue me). Made it to accomodation in Bacalar at 12.45pm. For anyone that’s been hearing from Sarah lately my bussing experience has been a hell of a lot smoother than hers with two/three days in a row of trying to do a 15 hour journey and making it only half way each time. Trying to get her on board to also keep track of her time too...(for when she reads this and maybe starts one!).
2. The ADO in Bacalar is not the traditional ADO station (I.e. a full on bus station) instead it’s the side of a main drag. I hopped off the bus (luckily) with google maps offline previously downloaded. Most people were hopping in taxis but on my own it can be more trouble than it’s worth. Google said it was a 5 minute drive so I estimated a 15-20minute walk. I was pretty bang on. Luckily the heat dryer here than in the Yucatan so despite being 33 degrees the walk wasn’t so bad with my 17kg weights all attached. Walking towards the lake a few km later made it all worth it! And The Yak (where I’m staying) is right on the lagoon. Shit this place is pretty.
3. After checking in I went for a wander for lunch to a yum vegan place for tacos and a mango drink. The view of Bacalar was surreal. After eating I then wandered down the lake. Most of the lake front is private property but I found a few spots that were public parks and here it was ok to go out on the piers and jump in the water. At one pier there was a local family hanging out but they were so kind and let me join and sit there for a while. Lots of wading as my ear prevented me really getting a good swim!
4. I went back to the hostel and signed up to go on the sunset kayak tour. As I waited around a girl asked me if I was doing it (yes) and we started chatting. She was from the UK and travelling with two others. Turns out the kayak tour was two to a kayak so I then paired up with her. We kayaked across Lake Bacalar. Honestly it is so beautiful. So many shades of blue its magic. Bacalar is actually one of the magical towns of Mexico as declared by the government. Once we got to the other side of the lake we just tied up our kayaks where it was shallow (no actual beach here - much like the main side where there are all the jettys). About 20 years ago someone tried to build a restaurant but never got consent. Once they were 3/4s of the way through building this it was abandoned. We chilled st that point where people were jumping off the remains of the old building that is sinking. I couldn't jump in so I waded in the shallows around the lake. No complaints though it was a perfect temperature and so nice to be in. After sunset (7.30pm) it was time to kayak back to the main side. I'm not going to lie, all the kayaking was a wee bit tough on the old arms. Right now I feel like I'm fit for walking or a wee jog and while I can carry my pack, my arm muscles haven't really been engaged since leaving. Being a wee while since I'd last kayaked I was definitely feeling it! Such an amazing journey on a beautiful lake.
5. Back at the Yak I had intended to go for a walk into town to see Bacalar at night plus grab a bite to eat. My phone unfortunately had other ideas and started fritting out / no longer working. This was not the evening I had planned. While it was cool I had left the tour, I was meant to be meeting Salvador and co at a random gas station at a time still to be communicated to me. My first idea was to use the hostel internet/computer but of course they don't have one. The only person I knew the name of from the tour fully was Salvador but given his number was on my not-working phone this was not much use. The hostel lady was kind and let me her phone as did one of the UK girls from the kayak trip. I ended up using the UK girls phone to DM Kristin on Instagram (Kristin being in the USA) to WhatsApp Salvador to find out what I was meant to be doing. All a bit of a kafuffle but luckily Kristin was awake and I had a time for the next morning. So grateful everyone was so helpful!!
My Bacalar Instagram shots
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