#I'm more hopeful now than I was yesterday

[shoresoftheshadowlands]

This is misinformation please stop spreading it for fucks sake I'm sick of people spreading this goddamn proven false conspiracy theory on my dash there are NOT missing votes. They are being counted. Goddamn it. You're making us all look like Stop The Steal morons. We are better than this. This is also old news I've seen this post for almost a week now. There's also now a fucking Elon 'stole' the election conspiracy going around now too and it is just as false. I'm sick of reblogging it with the accurate info and I'm sure my followers are sick of seeing it too. You all need to STOP. You need to ACCEPT. We lost, Okay? it was NOT a landslide, recent tallies prove that. I'm so tired of repeating myself but I want people to understand they are being made fools of by hopes and denial when we need acceptance and resistance now.

The title on this one and the thumbnail are slightly misleading but Lawrence goes into the numbers on how this wasn't as much of a landslide as it is being portrayed as, current as of yesterday. It's worth the listen, about 15 minutes of your time.

I will post this ONE more time for the people in the back. I am exhausted. This is not being 'defeatist', this is being realistic and accepting. There was no fraud last election and there wasn't major fraud in this one. There were some idiots who burned some ballots, WAY LESS than many reported (None in georgia btw). Most were saved by anti fire mechanisms in the ballot boxes, only some 450 ish were lost and people were contacted to 'cure' those.

The count is STILL ongoing- That's why we don't know yet the entire house and senate.

Please people I am begging you all to use your heads. I know it is tempting to want to believe this couldn't possibly have happened but it did, and we need to move on from here. A lot of places are already vouching to resist Mr.Dump in every way they can, even refusing to mass deport even if ordered. If we're all stuck on the conspiracy theories how are we going to pay attention to what's actually happening right now and resist it?

I haven’t really seen any of the more recent U.S. election news hitting tumblr yet so here’s some updates (now edited with sources added):

There’s evidence of Trump cheating and interfering with the election.

Possible Russian interference.

Mail-in ballots are not being counted or “recognized” in multiple (notably swing) states.

30+ bomb threats were called in and shut down polling stations on Election Day.

20+ million votes are still unaccounted for, and that’s just to have the same voter turnout as 2020.

There was record voter turnout and new/first-time voter registration this year. We definitely should be well over the turnout in 2020.

U.S. citizens are using this site to demand, not only a recount, but a complete investigation into election fraud and interference for the reasons stated above:

Here is what I submitted as an example:

An investigation for election interference and fraud is required. We desperately need a recount or even a revote. The American people deserve the right to a free and fair election. There has been evidence unveiled of Trump cheating and committing election fraud which is illegal. There is some evidence of possible Russian interference. At least 30+ bomb threats were called in to polling places. Multiple, notably swing states, have ballots unaccounted for and voting machines not registering votes. Ballots and ballot boxes were tampered with and burned. Over 20 million votes that we know of are unaccounted for. With record turnout and new voter registration this year, there should be no possibility that there are less votes than even in the 2020 election.

Sources (working on finding more links but if anyone wants to add info, it’s appreciated):

FBI addressing Russian interference and bomb threats:

Emails released by Rachael Bellis (private account, can’t share original tweet) confirming Trump committing election fraud:

Pennsylvania's Centre County officials say they are working with their ballot scanner vendor to figure out why the county's mail-in ballot data is "not being recognized when uploaded to the elections software:”

Wisconsin recount:

[ID:

Multiple screenshots and images.

The first is a screenshot with a link and information for contacting the White House directly regarding election fraud. The instructions include choosing to leave a comment to President Joe Biden directly and to select election security as the reason.

The screenshot then instructs people to include any or all of the following information in a paragraph as a comment to the president:

32 fake bomb threats were called into Democratic leaning poll places, rendering polling places closed for at least an hour.

A lot of people reporting their ballots were not counted for various reasons.

This all occurred in swing states.

This is too coincidental that these things happen and swing in his favor after months of hinting at foul play.

Directly state that an investigation for tampering, interference, fraud is required, not just a recount.

The second image is from the FBI Twitter account that reads:

The FBI is aware of bomb threats to polling locations in several states, many of which appear to originate from Russian email domains. None of the threats have been determined to be credible thus far. https://t.co/j3YfajVK1m — FBI (@FBI) November 5, 2024

The next four Gmail screenshots of an email sent to Rachael Bellis from Chris T. Spackman that read together as follows:

Dear BELLIS, RACHAEL E., The Dauphin County Board of Elections received a challenge to your absentee ballot you applied for in the November 5, 2024 General Election. The challenge argues that a provision of the Pennsylvania Election Code takes precedence over the federal Uniformed and Overseas Citizens Absentee Voting Act (UOCAVA), which requires states and counties to permit U.S. citizens who move overseas to vote by absentee ballot for federal offices based on their last U.S. residential address.

The full text of the challenge that was filed appears below this email.

You may respond to the challenge in any of the following ways:

1. Call the Bureau of Registration and Election at (717) 780-6360;

2. Email a statement to the Bureau at Election election@dauphincounty.gov. Any statement you submit regarding the period during which you lived in Dauphin County, any family or connections that you still have here, and why you are now residing abroad would be read into the record.

3. Appear in person at a Board of Elections hearing scheduled for Friday, November 8 at a time to be determined in the Commissioners Public Hearing Room, 4th floor of Dauphin County Administration Building, 2 S 20d St, Harrisburg, PA 17111. The meeting is also likely to be livestreamed on Facebook on the Dauphin County channel.

Sincerely,

Christopher T Spackman

TEXT OF CHALLENGE BEGINS

Dear Dauphin County Board of Elections,

I am submitting this challenge to an absentee ballot application pursuant to 25 Pa. Stat.

3146.8(f).

25 Pa. Stat. 3146.8(f) Any person challenging an application for an absentee ballot, an absentee ballot, an application for a mail-in ballot or a mail-in ballot for any of the reasons provided in this act shall deposit the sum of ten dollars ($10.00) in cash with the county board, which sum shall only be refunded if the challenge is sustained or if the challenge is withdrawn within five (5) days after the primary or election. If the challenge is dismissed by any lawful order then the deposit shall be forfeited. The county board shall deposit all deposit money in the general fund of the…

The rest of the forwarded email is cut off.

The last image is a screenshot of the official statement from the Centre County, Pennsylvania Board of Commissioners released on November 6, 2024 that states:

Centre County Working with Ballot Scanner Vendor to Export Election Results.

(Bellefonte, PA) -Centre County Elections Office is working continuously to provide mail-in ballot data in order to post unofficial results.

To this point, all ballots have been scanned, including all mail-in ballots.

Centre County's Election team and IT team have identified that the data are successfully being exported from the mail-in ballot scanners, but that the data is not being recognized when uploaded to the elections software.

Centre County's Administrator, John Franek, Jr. stated, "We have not stopped working, and we will continue to work until unofficial results are posted and reported to the Pennsylvania Department of State."

As a next step, Centre County has begun working with the equipment vendor to adjust configurations to make the two systems-the mail-in ballot scanner and the elections software where data are uploaded -compatible with one another.

We will provide updates as we make progress.

/end ID]

[foreingersgod]

Kiss Me ? . CC

pairings: caitlin clark x reader

synopsis: caitlin should be focusing on practice, but she finds it incredibly hard to take her focus off of you

“please baby can we just go home?” caitlin groaned from the gymnasium floor, the ball that was once in her hands now bouncing carelessly on the ground.

you rolled your eyes with a brief chuckle, moving your eyes from your phone to look at her pleading expression. you adjusted yourself in your seat as you watched her drag over to your spot on the sidelines.

caitlin had been in and out of the gym, going to practices and running drills nonstop recently, and it was starting to drive her crazy. she loved basketball and she felt more than comfortable when she was playing, but damn did she miss you even more. the longer she spent at the gym was more time spent away from you, and lately it was taking a toll on her. most days she just wanted to stay in bed with you and never leave. and even though you would absolutely love that, you’d feel guilty if you were the reason she wasn’t sticking to her schedule.

you tried to be a supportive and motivating girlfriend by doing everything you could. you'd do homework on the bleachers and come to practice with her to keep her company, packing her a small lunch and making sure her water bottle was filled. and, on days you couldn't attend, you'd write her a small note and put it in her duffle bag for a small pick-me-up.

but unlike you had hoped, your company had only made it more difficult for her to stay focused. caitlin found every excuse in the book to wander over in your direction. sometimes it was to tell you joke, other times she claimed she wanted to help you with homework, and most of the time it was just to touch you in some sort of way. kiss your cheek, rest her head on your shoulder, rub her hand along your thigh...any sort of touch, you name it and she'd abandon her drills just to do it.

"cait, we've only been here for like 20 minutes" you chuckled when she sat down in front of you, her head lolling back to rest in your lap "you need to practice"

"but i miss you" she whined with a pout "i'll practice tomorrow"

"yea you said that yesterday. and the day before that...and the day before that..." you teased as your hands instinctively came up to play with her hair, fingers toying with her head band and ponytail. she laughed at that, shaking her head although she knew it was true. you were her weak spot, that was clear "come on babe, just a little while longer and we can go home. what can i do to motivate you?"

"i dunno" she shrugged as she sat up, pulling up her socks and hoisting herself up. she pondered for a moment, eyes traveling across the room in deep thought before her face lit up excitedly "oh, i think i have an idea"

"hm?" you questioned, expecting her to ask you to run drills or pass her the balls to shoot.

"kiss me" she said, hands on her hips proudly, sly smirk tugging at her lips.

"kiss you?" your eyebrow quirked up, letting her know that you were beyond confused "how's that gonna get you to focus on practicing?"

"okay okay hear me out-" she defended, but you were still skeptical. hearing her out probably didn't entail anything good, you thought.

"alright, i'm listening" you egged her on "let's hear this idea of yours"

"so i'm thinking," the smile on her lips now even bigger "that every time i make a shot...you reward me by kissing me! it's a win-win, really, you know cause i get a kiss for doing a good job, and you get to kiss a basketball superstar"

that earned a dramatic eyeroll from you, although you couldn't suppress the lovesick grin that formed as well. she was quite creative, you knew, but you hadn't expected this sort of ploy from her. through an infectious fit of laughter, you saw her waiting for a genuine response with the repetitive tapping of her foot on the varnished floor. as corny as it was, you couldn't help but give into her plan.

"okay fine, you dork" you sighed playfully as you stood up, walking over to her "but only if you make it, no distractions"

"yes ma'am" she saluted, rushing over to her discarded ball to get started as quick as possible.

and so it started, a pattern consisting of deep kisses and effortless three pointers. you'd watch her take her position at the curved line, knees and elbows bending ever so slightly before she shot the ball straight through the net, she was flying through each shot with ease. then, after retrieving the ball, she'd jog over to you giddily, lips puckering as she waited for her promised kiss. and each time you'd smile as your arms looped around her neck and your lips pressed into hers. that feeling would never get old.

time seemed to fly by as you two continued your little routine, 20 minutes soon turned into 40 and then into over an hour. it felt as though you could have done this all day long, missing the feeling of her lips every time she ran back to the three-point line. and maybe you could have, but cailtin began to get tired, her shots getting sloppier with each passing minute. you knew that the both of you were ready to head home and get some much-needed rest.

caitlin slumped down into a seat, wiping her forehead with her exceptionally sweaty gatorade towel before pulling a spare hoodie over her head. meanwhile you helped her collect her things to make it a little easier for her. with a comforting hand on the small of her back, you guided her out of the gymnasium and made your seemingly long trek out to the car.

you got behind the wheel with an exhausted slump, caitlin already buckling herself up in the passenger's seat. you turned on the a.c. to a medium setting, just the way cailtin liked it, and turned the radio to her favorite station. she hummed, heart swelling as the fact that you knew her so well. the cold air emitting from the vents soothed her almost instantly, causing her to flutter eyes shut in content.

"babe?" you called out to an oddly quiet car, normally she was a chatter box after practice, never letting you get a moment of silence. you never complained, you loved everything she had to say "baby?"

still there was no response, only the soft buzz of a taylor swift song in the background. you shifted your eyes off the road for a quick second to look to your right to inspect the situation. you could have sworn your heart exploded in that moment, seeing her sleepy state in her seat. she had sunk deep into the leather fabric, one arm propped on the center console to hold up her head. her lips were parted ever so slightly as soft breathes escaped her, one of her hoodie strings caught between her teeth. she was completely knocked out. if your hands weren't steering, you would have taken a picture. she looked so soft and sweet, the perfect depiction of your girl.

in the public eye, she was most known to be strong and resilient no matter what was thrown at her. and it was more than true, caitlin was the toughest person you knew. but what most people didn't get to see, was this side of her, gentle caitlin who let her guard down. the caitlin who snores and drools when she sleeps, the cailtin that would turn down practice just to be with you.

the cailtin that can't help but smile when you reach over, eyes still closed as you run your thumb across her cheekbone, wanting the feeling of your touch to last forever.

[anxiousapplepie]

Had an idea about the travelers's fears if you are willing to hear me out about.

All "travelers" have the feeling of "it's over when you reach the end" but for different reasons.

For Sif, he has no home or memories to return to. Hence why Mal Du Pays takes the form of Siffrin in the game over screen.

For Bonnie, their relationship with Nille is in the gutter due to their last words and fear of not having her or anything to return to.

For Isabeua, who travels to find his idenity, and distance himself from his past, the party acts as his "rock" with fear of crumbling once it ends.

For Odile, who travels becuse of her mixed heritage, having a "family" she would do anything to keep safe yet never admit it her fears.

For Mirabelle, who struggles with her innability to "change", having stability and life injected thanks to the party yet anxious for it ending as with it over, she'll go back to her own quest to change with little effort. Just stuck in rot.

Anyways. Hope these ideas help! I've read more than a few other AU as well as the script itself, so these ideas are mainly more of a base. Adding new wrinkles or changing issues enough to make sense is fun. And the idea your SwapAUs all coming together for some ungodly reason to partaking in angst and time loop shenanigans is enjoyable to me.

literally rotated every single one of these ideas in my mind all day yesterday and I was trying to think of any cool or interesting insight to add to this, but honestly you've summed up everything I'm trying to go for and I'm raising my non-existent beer glass at you for all of these nicely packaged vibes You seeing this, people? Now you have!!!

[gumnut-logic]

Diary of a Fanboy Engineer

Alexander Sweetapple series on Ao3

What's this? Is this Nuttyfic? Not a nuttyfic reblog? The first in ages?

Why yes, yes, it is.

Consequently, the writing muscles are a bit rusty so don't expect much.

However this was prompted by conspiring Thunderfam on this post.

It is a bit of a 'let's see if this idea works or not', but since most of my fic comes under that category, I'm hoping it works at least a little :D

So we have the beginnings of some possible Sweetapple Diaries :D

Many thanks to the wonderful @onereyofstarlight for proof reading and pointing out the bits that really didn't work :D ::hugs you tight:: And many thanks to the Sweetapple cheering squad - without you, there would be no Sweetapple ::hugs you all to bits::

Warnings for m/m fic and a bucket of fluff.

I hope you enjoy these little scribbles :D

-o-o-o-

14 Jul

We are going to Paris.

Mr Tracy told Virgil in no uncertain terms that he needed time off. I can’t agree more. Hell, all the brothers need time off, but Virgil has been flagging lately. He denies it, of course. Workaholic to the core. I can see where he is coming from, but really, he needs to take better care of himself - they all do.

Paris was an interesting choice. I’ve never been to Europe, but I guess that comes with the billionaire territory.

I am excited, there are so many opportunities in Paris. I’m particularly looking forward to seeing some real Da Vinci. Climbing the Eiffel Tower is also on my list.

But for our next holiday, I think we’ll choose a spot more close to home. I know some quiet seaside towns where we could rent a bach and just lay back and relax.

Maybe France has a few hidden corners we could climb into.

Anyway, it’s something to look forward to. Really, anytime, anywhere, would be fantastic.

-o-o-o-

15 Jul

Today wasn’t a good one. We had multiple failures in the latest prototype.

Erica isn’t happy. She says it isn’t my fault, but honestly, I should have seen at least one of them coming. The effect of vacuum on micro air pockets in a flexible solid is so obvious it was ridiculous. How did I miss it?

Dearest had to cancel out again. Mount Etna tried to take out some tourists.

Virgil isn’t happy. Apparently, he has been warning the Italian authorities about the destabilisation of the volcano’s eastern face, but because their equipment can’t detect what International Rescue’s equipment can, they don’t want to sacrifice the tourism euros to close the tours.

Fortunately, it was only a partial collapse and IR was able to save those caught in the landslide. I have to say though, Commander Tracy was furious in the holoclip shown on the news. I wouldn’t want to be person responsible right now. Scott can get scary.

I did get to see some cool shots of Virgil in action though. That, I could never get tired of. He and Gordon manoeuvred Two and rappelled down to pull people out of the dirt and ash.

They are such heroes.

I do miss him, of course, but those poor people needed him more than I did.

Maybe we can holochat later…oh god, it’s 3am already!

-o-o-o-

16 Jul

Erica woke me up this morning. Really, I love her, she is so good to me, but bloody hell, can’t she knock?

Okay, it was nearly eleven and I had my phone on silent and I didn’t answer the door and…

At least I had my pyjama pants on, I guess.

What if Virgil had been here?

She said that was the reason she barged in, Virgil wasn’t here - no great green ‘bird and Tracy Two wasn’t logged at the airfield, and I was late for work. I might have been dead or something.

She cares and I appreciate that.

She could have held off the laughter, though.

Besides, I wasn’t late for work. Work is on flexi-time and considering I was up until 1am last night analysing yesterday’s screw ups, my sleep-in was natural and totally allowed.

Virgil left me a message with a ‘maybe tonight’. I’m hoping, but if there is one thing I’ve learnt it is that whatever happens, happens. No hoping too hard.

So here I am writing this entry a little earlier to kill some of that hoping time.

We solved two out of the three problems we had yesterday. The third is being a pain in the ass. Erica says I should speak to John as this lies in his speciality. I said, not until we’ve exhausted all our resources because John is a busy man.

We’re all busy, she said, and he offered to help. Gordon helped with the water issues. I could even ask Alan.

Really? It’s not at the point where I have to go to the top to help solve the problem. We’ll give it a few more days. It’s urgent, but not life threatening like the Tracy brothers need to attend to. They’ve got enough on their plate.

But John has such a lovely voice, she said.

I swear she does this just to rile me up.

That or she does have a thing for John. You would think she would have a thing for Mr Tracy, he was the one who saved her from the earthquake. Hell, she and Fireman Fred still have a mutual flirting thing going on.

—!

Virgil is here!

-o-o-o-

17 Jul

The sun rose early this morning. Somewhere in our haste we forgot to close the blinds and the first rays of dawn woke me.

I’m not a morning person, I’m the first to admit that. But this morning…

You’re lying on your belly and the covers have slipped down to your waist. The sun is painting your skin in shades of gold and your hair is glowing.

You are beautiful.

…

PS: I haven’t read anything, I promise. I just needed to write the image down and this book was the closest at hand. Can I paint you some time?

…

He read the above to me when I woke.

Let’s just say I was late to work again.

-o-o-o-

17 Jul (cont.)

Virgil stayed at Māhia today. He helped with the issue we were having with the prototype, though we did end up calling John.

John was happy to help - man, he thinks fast. Don’t get me wrong, I love my math and my physics, but John seems to be able to bend both to his will. It took him a total of five minutes. Five minutes! To design a solution to our problem - in between rescue calls.

It was one of those daunting moments where I could see exactly why they work so well together.

Of course, I am working with V.T. Green. Just let me name drop that right here. And the Voice Who Answers…is my life real? How the hell did I end up here?

Frickin’ bloody amazing.

-o-o-o-

[misc-obeyme]

not me fully day dreaming abt getting isekai'd to devildom or literally anywhere else after yesterday 😭

I'm afraid quite a lot of us are wishing to be isekai'd right now. Not just us USAmericans, too.

It sucks and it's scary. But we will persevere. We have to, there really isn't a choice. It's hard to tell when we're all on the internet all the time, but it's community that will keep us safe. We're even a little community here on the internet. I know I've never felt more accepted anywhere else. But find those friends and allies you can count on irl, too. There may not be many of them, but they are there. Stick together. Don't let them break you. We'll get through this.

[mattodore]

birthday boy 🎂

[flowercrowngods]

part 1 | ao3

shattered on the cliff’s edge, trapped by the tides

— a steddie ghost story —

part 2 / 7

Soaked through by the icy water and the howling winds, and weighted down by shock and fright, Steve’s legs may as well have been made of lead as he, slowly, with a racing heart, accepts his fate and enters the lighthouse. 

He flinches, hard, when the door falls shut behind him, as if pushed by an invisible force, and he flinches again when a wave crashes violently. It’s almost as if the lighthouse is shaking with the impact, but maybe that’s just him. 

“Okay,” he breathes, whispering because he doesn’t dare to speak any louder, lest the unending darkness might be disturbed — and something tells him that it wouldn’t take all that kindly to that. “Okay.” Once more, with feeling. 

Before he can move and find an oil lamp or even just a candle to bring some light into this place, something thumps from somewhere up the stairs he cannot see. 

He knows that, just like ancient manors, lighthouses have a life of their own, knows they’re prone to moving and moaning along with the tides, with the wind and the water — but that was not the settling of wood or metal. That was something else.

“Hello?” he calls with a trembling voice, closing his eyes at the echoes of his own voice travelling up and down the tower he is being made to call home for the foreseeable future. “Is— Is anyone there? I’m… Well, I’m Steve.” 

Images fill the space behind his eyes, horrible visions of the old keepers luring him here to murder him, out of sea madness or cannibalistic urges, or just to have a bit of entertainment out here, just for a while. Other images, then, of ghosts coming to haunt him, to drive him to the brink of madness, to the railing all the way up on the tower, and watch his descent into— 

Another thump. The sound of a door opening, the wood groaning, the hinges creaking, everything insists the lighthouse protesting its new inhabitant. 

And then, through the pitch black darkness, a whisper. Travelling down towards him, growing louder as it comes closer and closer and— 

Steve takes a step back, his breath coming in shallow rapidity as he reaches for the handle and finding it unmoving.

Run, the whisper says, sounding more like an inhale than anything else — and is the air getting thinner? Run. 

Another wave crashes into the lighthouse. 

Run. 

The whispering voice is in his head now, loud for all of its tonelessness. 

Run!

Steve stumbles backwards, his body too frozen with cold and fear to catch his fall. His body collides with the wall and he slides down, covering his ears with his hands to keep out the noise, to keep out the world as he tries in vain for the fear to subside. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, hiding behind his knees like a little boy, scared of his father’s raised hands and his brothers' gloating. “I’m sorry, I mean no harm, I’m just— I’m here to fix the light. I’m here to make sure it’s— everything’s, everything’s fine. I don’t mean to disturb, I’m sorry. I’m Steve. I’m sorry.” 

Everything stills then — or maybe it’s the cotton in his ears and the staccato of his heart that drown out everything else and remind him that he’s painfully, desperately alive. And mortal. 

But the whispering stops, and so does the groaning up ahead, and silence falls. An unnatural silence, not even broken by the ocean waves outside. 

It’s like the lighthouse has stilled to listen to him. 

It’s something Robin told him once (or rather, debated at him while he was letting her rant wash over him in a whiff of fondness for his best friend in the whole wide world): 

“Ghosts don’t know your intentions, right? So it’s only fair to communicate with them. It’s you breaking into their house, after all. Well, unless they’re haunting your house, but even then it’s fair to assume they have been there all along and you either deserve the haunting and had it coming, or you’re just the poor lad caught in the crossfires. Either way, worth a try, right? If even those still alive assume the worst, I would think an eternity spent in the aether is unlikely to be beneficial to your judgement of character.”

Steve had waved it off then — or, in his case, smile patiently and waited for her to answer his initial question from half an hour ago before she went on a tangent on aether and ghosts and the supernatural; she’d been spending too much time in the library. 

“You learn a thing or two about haunted houses, growing up in a family such as mine,” he’d said, and then, “Dinner?” 

A pang splits him down the middle, regret and uncertainty tearing at him concerning Robin’s wheareabouts and her safety. She must be safe. She must be! 

“They say you don’t like— you, uh, strangers. The locals said you don’t like when people come here, so I’m sorry, but… I’m sorry. I have to fix the light. I’m Steve.” 

It’s madness, it must be. Early onset, although his father would have a thing or two to say about that, would claim it had always lived in him, would claim the way he looks at men is proof of that and reason enough to have him hanging in the streets. 

It wasn’t madness back then, Steve knows, vehemently, desperately knows. But this? Talking to a lighthouse, speaking into the darkness like it’s sentient even just a minute after he first set foot into it? It must be. He’s never been superstitious, has never been prone to ghost stories or supernatural appearances like Robin. 

But something about this place, something about the way it has been haunting his dreams, something about Old John capsizing is enough to make even the calmest man lose his wits. 

Something tells Steve that talking with the darkness is the right thing to do, if only for his own comfort. 

He looks up, his head thumping against the brick wall behind him, as steps approach. They still, right in front of him, and he’s staring into nothingness, almost expecting to make out a shape. Expecting for the next breath to be his last. 

Expecting… something. 

But nothing happens, and the sound of the ocean returns. The darkness seems less impenetrable as a sliver of light falls in through a side light up above. 

“Thank you,” he says, as stupidly as it is soundless, his voice buried beneath fear and dread. 

Miraculously, the darkness seems to fade a little more. 

Enough, eventually, for Steve to get up and dust off his trousers in an attempt to look presentable, or to shake off the residue of his fright — if only it was merely residue. 

Now that the darkness has lightened, he keeps his eyes fixed to the spot where he feels like he can make out a shape in the dust. Maybe it’s just his mind playing tricks on him, though, maybe it’s just the expectation of finding a spectre that makes one appear. 

Madness, he reiterates. But something about it doesn’t feel right. He doesn’t feel mad. And the steps never receded. If they were not an illusion, something created to steal the grounds from beneath his feet, playing with his senses to warp his perception of reality and the truth, then something — someone, quite possibly — is still standing right in front of him. 

He looks on even long past the point of impolite staring, searching the dust for a shape that only appears in his periphery when he moves his eyes. 

It feels rather undeniable, though, that someone is watching him. 

“Hello,” he says at last, having regained some of his voice and footing. His hands clench by his sides, though, his body revolting against speaking with an apparent ghost. 

The darkness doesn’t answer, and neither does the dust. But with the memory of urgent whispers still on the forefront of his mind, Steve is almost grateful for it as he carefully reaches for his bags and stars to move so slowly that it might almost be a mockery of the situation if his legs weren’t so shaky. 

The weight of an invisible gaze rests on his shoulders and settles in the bones of his neck. It takes everything in him not to rub at it — he has no idea what the darkness would take offence to, and he already feels incredibly lucky to have made it this far with his life still intact and only his sanity and his pride having taken a crack along the way. 

He thinks of Old John again, thinks of Good luck, kid. He almost asks the darkness about him, but he bites his tongue just in time. The stairs are steep and if he fell, given an invisible push, chances are he wouldn’t remain as alive as he is right now. 

So he swallows and feels his way along the wall up the stairs. When he finds an oil lamp, he reaches for the matches in his bags — blessedly dry — and lights it.

It’s almost blinding, the shine of the flame that sets to illuminate the way, but Steve feels his gaze drawn to the foot of the stairs where the spectre is still framed by the door. Still appearing to look at Steve. 

Stalemate is one thing to call it, maybe, this tension in the air, the weight of their gazes accompanied by the stumbling of Steve’s heart and the trembling of his hands. 

Steve swallows and continues with his ascent of the winding stairs, never once losing the feeling in his neck. He finds more lamps along the wall and lights them until they lead him to a set of chambers that in any other lighthouse would have been down at the bottom or even in another building altogether, leaving room in a large house or a tiny hut for the keepers to reside in. But none of that is possible out here, in the middle of the sea, towering on top of cliffs that already make it nary impossible to get here. 

The lighthouse is prone to flooding if the wind shifts or the ocean remains ruthless in a storm, so everything needs to be located above the threat of sea level. 

He finds two bedchambers, the beds unmade, a richly stocked pantry that will last him several months if he keeps it locked away from wet air, and an almost inviting kitchen. A burnt smell wafts from the oven, grown stale over time but a certain bite has never quite managed to air out, and when he takes a look, he finds what was supposed to be bread still in there. A coat hangs on a rack, another is hung over the back of the chair, and another stool has been thrown over. 

It looks for all intents and purposes like someone was just here. Like someone is still here. 

What happened to the old keepers? — That does not concern you. 

A shiver runs through him and he tries not to succumb to the terror that seems to lurk inside these walls as he starts a fire in the hearth. He is exhausted, adrenaline rushing from his body and leaving behind only apathetic tiredness and a longing for rest. He doesn’t even remember the light, his head filled with fog and exhaustion.

Once the fire is going and he is sure there is enough coal for it to last all night and keep him from freezing to an early death, Steve falls into bed without dinner. He only has enough strength not to retreat into a dead man’s unmade bed, instead finding new bedding and linen to make it his own. 

He doesn’t sleep on that first night, but he falls into a haze thick enough to be unable to move as the whispers return, knocking and hammering along the walls almost rhythmically, as if waiting for a signal. 

There is no time, they say, though he cannot be sure the next morning if he dreamed that or if he really heard it echoing along the walls. 

Run. Leave. There is no time. 

Tick. 

Tick. 

Tick.

And the night remains dark.

tagging: @klausinamarink @steviesummer @auroraplume @dragonmama76

[wellthatschaotic]

neurotypicals are so frustrating,, i keep forgetting that "can you do x" means "go do x"

[deeisace]

..

[violetsareblue-selfships]

good morning!! <33

[considerad]

💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗 you know that post about creating community if that's what you crave?

I made an enormous pile of choc chip cookies and I batched it out for our upstairs and downstairs neighbours, my ma and my great-uncle across town, and my granddad's old pal and his family, and I just got done delivering them and I feel like 🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽

so alight and alive with it all!!!! I love people! I love them!!! I am so full of fruit and phone numbers I probably won't ever call!

Life can be so unbearably sweet ❤️

[voskhozhdeniye]

The entire western liberal worldview is currently balanced on the ability to psychologically compartmentalize away from the mass atrocities in Gaza and what western governments are doing to perpetuate them.

Everything that mainstream liberals claim to oppose is on full display in Israel’s actions in Gaza. Racism. Fascism. Tyranny. Injustice. Genocide. Yet they must necessarily avoid throwing themselves into opposing these things there at all cost, because it would mean acknowledging that their own political allegiances are inseparably interwoven with them.

It would mean turning against Biden during an election year. It would mean admitting that their entire political posture against Trump all these years has been a phony performance, because they’re tacitly endorsing all the things they claimed to hate about him. It would mean admitting their entire worldview is a lie, and that all their critics to their left have been correct.

The western liberal is therefore in the year 2024 engaged in an exhausting regimen of nonstop mental gymnastics to avoid having an authentic relationship with the reality of what’s happening Gaza. They squirm this way and that, twisting their gaze toward empty nonsense like Barbie movie Oscar snubs and Trump’s latest instance of verbal diarrhea to avoid looking at what’s happening. On those odd occasions when they are forced to confront the reality of Gaza they start spouting gibberish about how “complicated” and “heartbreaking” it is and how they hope there can be peace as soon as possible, while frenetically avoiding saying precisely how that “peace” should be brought about.

Gaza exposes the mainstream western liberal ideology for the kayfabe performance it always has been. The job of the so-called liberal “moderate” has never been to oppose racism, fascism, tyranny, injustice or genocide, their job is to perpetually give the thumbs-up to one head of the two-headed monster that is the murderous western empire. Their job is to help put a positive spin on a globe-spanning power structure that is fueled by human blood. To help elect Bidens and Starmers and Trudeaus and Albaneses who will ensure that the gears of the empire keep on turning completely unhindered while paying lip service to human rights and social justice.

The one faint glimmer of brightness in this profoundly dark chapter in human history is that it might start opening some eyes to the fraudulence of the mainstream fake-left political faction that has been marketed to the western public as an alternative to far right depravity. That westerners might start awakening to the reality that everything they’ve been trained to believe about politics, their government and their world is a lie. Such an awakening would be the first step toward a mass-scale movement into health.

[stillfruit]

i love not knowing if i'll ever be healthy again i love all of the time i've used to move my body become nothing i love spending my adulthood wasting away year after year for various reasons baby!

[apocalypticdemon]

me, last week: so, my goal is to write 1k a day until i finish this fic, and then i can edit it all in short order!

me, now: so. i've written barely 200 words for the last 4 days in a row. the pace may not be what i had hoped

[tardis--dreams]

What is it that makes period pain so debilitating. In terms of pain i would probably rate the pepper grinder falling from the top shelf right on my foot the same as the pain rn, but i only ever get knocked out from this particular pain