#Our existence is not your political statement

[womanhood2]

Nothing pisses me off more than the fact that a community that was originally built to protect the vulnerable and prosecuted has literally become nothing more than a fashion statement to baby “queers”.

Idk who needs to hear this, but being queer is not about facing oppression or bigotry. Those are not the things that make someone queer.

It's about deviating from social norms of gender, relationships and attraction. It's about the fact that we all have this deviation, this non-normativity in common. And this often results in exclusion, bigotry and oppression, but it doesn't have to and it's not the point. In an ideal world, it won't, and we'll all still be queer.

You know who believes in a shared identity of victimhood? Who leaks this shit all over the place?

Radfems.

Stop spouting fucking radfem ideology for fuck's sake.

[sanyu-thewitch05]

Me watching the LGBT community who almost never rarely gives black women and girls, asexuals, or aromantics genuine respect, pretend we’re all friends and have always treated us right the minute it’s June 1st and want to use black women(mainly darkskinned) and girls as their little poster girl:

[zvaigzdelasas]

New York University led by troubling example when the school shared an updated code of student conduct last week. Ostensibly aimed at curtailing bigotry, the new language instead shuts down dissent by threatening to silence criticism of Zionism on campus. Students who speak out against Zionism — an ethno-nationalist political ideology founded in the late 19th century — will now risk violating the school’s nondiscrimination policies.[...]

Tucked into a document purportedly offering clarification on school policy, the new NYU guidelines introduce an unprecedented expansion of protected classes to include “Zionists” and “Zionism.” Referring to the university’s nondiscrimination and anti-harassment policy, known as NDAH, the updated conduct guide says, “Speech and conduct that would violate the NDAH if targeting Jewish or Israeli people can also violate the NDAH if directed toward Zionists.”[...]

“Using code words, like ‘Zionist,’” the guide says, “does not eliminate the possibility that your speech violates the NDAH policy.”[...]

The entire premise of the guidance — that “Zionist” must be functioning as a “code word — is a flaw egregious enough to reject the entire document outright.

The language here is of utmost importance. The text does not say that “Zionist” can and has been used by antisemites as a code word, which is no doubt true. Instead, it takes it as a given that, when used critically, “Zionist” simply is a code word.[...]

According to NYU’s guidance, then, Zionist and Zionism are either antisemitic dog whistles when invoked critically or a protected category akin to a race, ethnicity, or religious identity. Ethically committed and politically informed anti-Zionism — including the beliefs of many anti-Zionist Jews like myself who reject the conflation of our identity and heritage with an ethnostate project — is foreclosed, and the long history of Jewish anti-Zionism, which has existed as long as Zionism itself, is all but erased.[...]

“For many Jewish people, Zionism is a part of their Jewish identity,” the NYU guidance says. And this is of course true. That does not, however, make Zionism an essential part of Jewish identity.

There are conservative Christians for whom the damnation of homosexuality is a key part of their Christian faith too, but Republican lawfare to see homophobic positions enshrined as protected religious expression have been rightly and consistently condemned by the liberal mainstream.

“The new guidance sets a dangerous precedent by extending Title VI protections to anyone who adheres to Zionism, a nationalist political ideology, and troublingly equates criticism of Zionism with discrimination against Jewish people,” NYU’s Faculty for Justice in Palestine said in a statement in response to the updated conduct guide.[...]

“Furthermore, the new guidance implies that any nationalist political ideology (Hindu nationalism, Christian nationalism, etc.) that is integrated into some members of that group’s understanding of their own racial or ethnic identity should be entitled to civil rights protections.”

27 Aug 24

[communistkenobi]

the thing that is endlessly frustrating when discussing transgender issues in public is that the people arguing against you - and in this case I am specifically referring to ‘progressives’ or otherwise self-identified leftists - are speaking from a place of hegemony, something that they do not acknowledge, and even more fundamentally, they mistake that hegemony for objective truth. to say “sex is biological” is to reflect the beliefs of those in power, to reflect the status of sex assignment in both domestic and international law, in administration, in medicine, in the labour market, in public space, in civil society, in virtually all aspects of social and political life. if you don’t like what a random transsexual is saying about gender on television, on a blog, or in a classroom you can - and I mean this unironically - simply go outside and be reassured your beliefs are correct by every facet of society that exists around you. You are granted the privilege of not requiring evidence for your beliefs; the current configuration of the social world acts as a replacement.

in contrast, the statement “sex is socially constructed” is treated as an immediate disqualifier from all public discourse on gender and sex; to announce such a belief in public as a trans person is to demonstrate your fundamental insanity and sexual perversion. If I want to articulate a theory of my own social position in the world I am called a deranged lunatic. this is not because society is constructed around scientific, objective facts that the transsexual is refusing to accept, but that the very fact of transgenderism as a social position is a challenge to the seemingly objective world that exists around us. My transgenderism is a site of truth that is irreconcilable with the present configuration of a deeply gendered society, and the only two conclusions to this problem are to either change society or to make life impossible for a transgender subject. To continue to argue that “sex is biological,” even from a progressive position, is to argue in service of the latter position, because it is the central organising principle of not just transphobic policy but all policy regarding sex and gender. I have yet to hear or see any sensitivity to this basic political fact whenever this argument goes around. Perhaps the reason transgender people are so emotionally invested in the answer of what sex “really is” is because the answer structures the possibility of our own existence.

But this is still somehow not enough for the progressive! Hegemony is insufficient; they are insecure with even that level of intellectual reaffirmation, and will only be satisfied until the very last insane transgender sjw also agrees with the hegemonic viewpoint. only then will the public square finally be a rational space where ideas can flourish

[theconstitutionisgayculture]

My thoughts about the Trump assassination attempt

After having a few hours to process this whole thing and see reactions from across the political spectrum, I'm having some thoughts and some feelings.

First off, as I said earlier, Trump is a fucking boss. Take anyone who ran for president in the last 20 years, put them in that exact situation, and I don't think a single one responds by raising his fist and snarling in defiance and righteous anger. They run. They cry. They keep their heads down and the first statement you h ear from them is hours later filtered through 20 different speech writers. Today proved to me that, whatever else he may be, Trump is a genuine bad ass. He's exactly the person I want at the end of a sword pointed the United States. Because he's going to have a sword of his own pointed right back, and he's not going to run and hide when it comes time to use it.

Second, the modern left is full of monsters. The amount of people screaming and crying because this assassination attempt failed actually sickens me. It's one thing to have fantasies about easy solutions to the things that scare you. Hell, I'm not innocent. I've thought about how much better things might be if this politician was no longer around or this activist group got axed. But one of the things I did today was think about how I would feel if the assassin succeeded. And then I thought about how I'd feel if someone took a shot at Biden and he didn't survive. Neither thought gave me any good feelings. Obviously I'd be more upset if Trump died, but today showed me that I don't want us to start down the path of shooting political leaders. But too many people on the left, people who should know better, at least enough to hide their true feelings, have no problem publicly wishing Trump was dead right now. That assassinating presidential candidates was a legitimate tactic--but only against the politicians they don't like, of course.

Fuck that.

Fuck them.

America is better than that. Americans are better than that. We're not some third world shithole like Mexico. We're the greatest country in the world. We're the last bastion of representative government. The last place in the world where freedom exists. And it's time we started acting like it.

Third, I ain't got no time for conspiracy theories. Sorry guys, but this wasn't staged and this wasn't a CIA hitman. Unless real, hard evidence comes out otherwise, you won't ever get me to believe any of the nonsense I've seen floated around. Don't be so lost in the true things the media has dismissed as "conspiracy theories" that you immediately jump to the most conspiratorial explanations first for everything that happens. It's lame and cringe and a lot of people I've seen seriously putting these theories forward should know better. I know we're in our emotions right now, but keep your heads.

Fourth, my heart breaks for the families of the people who were hit with the bullets meant for President Trump. But that's the kind of evil we're facing. Whoever did this decided that the idea of a Trump presidency was so awful that they were okay with shooting innocent people just to stop him. And this is after he was already president and none of the things the media is fear mongering about happened during his first term. Those people just wanted to see a man speak. To have some hope for the future. And some piece of shit shot them because he didn't like a presidential candidate. Or worse, because the TV made him scared.

Fifth, fuck the media. You think you hate them enough, but you don't. The media is the driving force behind our enemies, and there's no such thing as a good journopig. They're all lying propagandists. We just like some of them because their propaganda occasionally hits on the truth.

And that's all I got. None of this is organized, none of this is proofread. These are just the thoughts I've been wrestling with for the past few hours. This is the only place I can get them all down without being interrupted or feeling like I need to censor myself. Do with them what you will.

[sadesluvr]

Kiss It Better

Seven minutes in heaven with Ethan Landry turns out to be the therapy you both needed.

(Ethan Landry x Reader)

A/N: My first (overdue) Ethan fic! Pre ejac with Ethan is one of my guiltiest pleasures…Minors/Ageless blogs DNI

Word count: 1.5K

Tags: SMUT / Fem! Reader / Enemies to lovers / Handjobs / Fingering / Premature ejaculation / Virgin! Ethan + Experienced! Reader / Dirty talk / Dom + Sub elements, if you squint

Ethan didn’t know how he’d gotten here; back pressed against the narrow walls of a shoe cupboard whilst he fought the process of perspiration, which seemed damn near impossible given the stuffiness of the frat house. 

His heart pounded in his chest as he squirmed uncomfortably, desperate not to look you in the face. You, the bane of his existence,  had become stuck together, counting the seconds as the time passed for the dreaded seven minutes.

It was a Friday night, and expectedly, Chad had dragged him to another party, filled with cheap alcohol and set to the aura of low, coloured lighting. He hadn’t expected you to show up - people usually only showed up to parties for one thing, and you were already dating Bryce, someone who happened to be his classmate. 

To put it simply, Bryce was an ass. He was a self entitled econ student, with a Fortune 500 father and a future budding stint in jail for fraud - should he ever be caught - though guys like Bryce never did.  

Two things made it worse - One, the fact that he seemed to target Ethan himself, and two, that you, his girlfriend, never seemed to do anything about it…to the point that it was encouraged.

There was never a moment where Bryce hadn’t threatened Ethan for ‘help’ (it was much, much more than that) to the latest assignment, or made a snide comment towards him in the hallways. He hated it, but he’d always been kind of a pushover.

So wasn’t it ironic that you’d ended up rolling him at a game of ‘Spin the Bottle?’

“I’m sorry,” Ethan said, clearing his throat. “I know you probably wanted someone like Chad…”

You snorted.

“He definitely wouldn’t have hurt,” you sighed, staring up at the ceiling, likely begging for someone to rescue you. “But I’ve been there, done that….plus, I’ve already got a man,”

Ethan raised his brows at your flippant admission. Chad hadn’t mentioned that before.

“…Does Bryce know you’re here?” he stammered.

“Yup,” you said nonchalantly, popping your tongue. “He didn’t stop me, so I guess our chapter’s closed,”

“Y-You broke up?” Ethan said, throat dry as he choked on his own words. This probably meant that the bastard would be even more of an ass to him, if that were even possible.

You nodded.

Ethan stared at you with wide eyes, about to speak when you raised a finger.

“I don’t need your pity. It’s just a college fling, I’ll move on to the next.”

He raised his brow and puffed his cheeks at that statement. He’d heard the exact opposite, but who was he to speak about someone else’s relationship?

It was silent for a few moments, with you finding a particular interest in your nails before you looked up at Ethan, studying him intently. He was rather big for a nerd; tall, with surprisingly wide shoulders and arms - a direct contrast to his boyish curly hair. He’d always been nothing but shy and polite - something even Bryce had echoed - but you’d never really taken him seriously. At most, he was just some dude from Econ who happened to room with one of your past flings.

Still, whether it was the liquor induced haze from cheap alcohol or the fact that you were moping over your breakup, the little dork seemed rather appealing. After all, what was a better way to get over a failed relationship?

“Look, I’m sorry for how that came out, okay?” You huffed, making eye contact with him. “I’m a little hurt, and I can be a total ass sometimes…Just like Bryce. I’m sorry for how he treated you. Totally not cool.”

You tried not to giggle at the way the boy's eyes widened.

“Y-You don’t have to apologise, it’s not really your fault!” the boy stammered. “Bryce is — He’s Bryce. And I actually liked doing his assignments, they’re kinda fun when you’re really into the topic…! I-I mean not to—“

His rambling was silenced by your lips on his, taking charge as you smeared the taste of your lipgloss across his lips, consuming every one of his stifled gasps. You pulled away, unable to hide a smirk as he ran a hand through his hair; face flushed and panting. He was so animated in his actions that it was hard to believe he was real.

“Y-You kissed me…”

“Sorry,” you hummed. “I won’t do it again,”

“No! No, I liked it…” Ethan said desperately. “A lot…” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t think you’d be into a guy like me…”

You smirked and shrugged your shoulders.

“You’re pretty cute for a nerd. Besides, it’s pointless to waste our time here, isn’t it?”

“I-I think time should be up soon —“ the boy continued to stammer, but you rolled your eyes and placed a finger to his lips, silencing him.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” you whispered, draping your arms around his neck before you began to kiss him again, this time running your fingers through his hair, your graceful fingertips sending chills down his spine. He reciprocated, opting not to go too far and settling with his hands on your waist, tracing the curve of your spine as he relaxed into the motions of your lips against his.

Was he dreaming? 

His somewhat emboldened move made you smirk, and you pressed your body against his, breasts pushing against his chest and thigh rubbing along his crotch, causing him to gasp. 

“Shit…” he mumbled, pulling away as he tried to adjust himself. “I’m sorry, I —“

“Ethan,” you sighed, cupping his cheeks. “You don’t have to be sorry, I like it. And as long as you do too, I’m down. Just relax, okay?”

He nodded, mesmerised as you took his hand, and interlocked your fingers, guiding them from the soft mounds of your breasts to past your thighs, eventually slipping them under your skirt. Ethan’s fingertips had pushed your panties to the side with ease, and the boy almost choked as he enveloped his digits in your folds.

You were warm and wet, and so his movements inside you came easy. If the fact that he was touching you weren’t mesmerising enough, it was your unwavering eye contact that made his heart clench. You were taking control, and yet you were still submissive enough to let him explore you - solidified by the entranced look in your eye. 

He must’ve been doing something right.

“Feel good?” you hummed, not really listening out for an answer. Ethan’s low, ragged breaths told you everything, and you almost took pity on him for what was to come.

Sliding your hands down his torso, you stopped at his jeans, cupping his bulge and giving it a gentle squeeze. He gasped; involuntarily pulling you towards him as his head draped slightly on your shoulder. He was practically keeling over and you’d barely even touched him.

Smirking, you skilfully unzipped his fly and dug around in his briefs, gripping your hands around his cock before pulling it out. His precum dripped tip grazed your thigh, twitching as you began to stroke the vessel, admiring its girth.

Ethan whimpered, shutting his eyes as he parted his lips, lost in the flurry of sensations. He’d just found your clit, and he revelled in the way you’d moaned as he rubbed it, causing your walls to clench on his fingers…and now here you were, jerking him off.

“Is this your first handjob, Eth?” you purred into his ear. He could barely fathom an answer, instead nodding vehemently, tousling his hair in the process.

“Aw,” you giggled, giving his balls a gentle squeeze as you kissed his reddening neck. “I’m so lucky to be your first…I bet you’ve been dreaming of this for a while, hm?”

Ethan squeezed his eyes shut, gasps slowly getting louder as he took deeper breaths. He withdrew his face from your shoulder to look at you, a beautiful devil, eyes clouded with lust as they glimmered in the dim lighting of the house around you. In this moment, nothing mattered, and he took the opportunity to kiss you - to which you eagerly returned.

His movements became more frantic as you squealed at his sudden aggression, your mixture of shock and fear somehow turning him on even more. It reminded him of all the screams of fear when he —

“Fuck, Eth,” you whined further, drawing him from his thoughts. “You’re so big, no wonder why Bryce hated you…” you mused before letting out a chuckle. “…You know, I’ve always secretly had a thing for nerds.”

Whether you were being genuine or not, Ethan immediately spilled his load at the statement, moaning loudly in your shoulder as his body convulsed and fingers twitched. His rich cum coated your fingers, and you laughed as he writhed against you, riding out his high. He’d only lasted three minutes, but they were the best three minutes of his life.

He hid his face shyly as he looked back up at you.

“That quick, hm?” you giggled, licking the excess off of your skin. “You continue to flatter me, Landry,”

“Let me make it up to you,” he said boldly, wholly serious as he stared you in the eye. You cocked a brow, expecting him to be apologetic, but you couldn’t help but admire his newfound confidence.

Fixing your clothes, you nodded and curved your lips into a smile.

“I think I will,” you hummed, taking his hand in yours. “Your place or mine?”

[pencopanko]

Antisemitism and Islamophobia are very similar (if not the same), actually

So I was scrolling down the #palestine tag for any updates and important information, and I came across this:

And I think we need to sit down and talk about this.

I am a Muslim. I live in Indonesia, a country that is predominantly Muslim and a lot of Muslims here also support the Palestinian cause. Hell, even our government supports it by not only allowing Palestinian goods enter the country without fee, but also by taking in Palestinian refugees and even acknowledging the status of Palestine as a state while not having any political ties with Israel. The topic of the Palestinian tragedy has been spoon-fed to us at schools, sermons, media, etc., so your average Indonesian Muslim would at the very least be aware of the conflict while non-Muslims would hear about it from their Muslim friends or through media.

However, there is a glaring problem. One that I keep seeing way too often for my liking.

A lot of them are antisemitic as hell. The sermons I would hear sometimes demonize Jewish people. Antisemitic statements are openly said out loud on social media. Some are even Nazi supporters who would literally go to anime cons and COSPLAY as members of the Nazi party. This is not just an Indonesian Muslim problem, no, but this is a glaring issue within the global Islamic community as a whole. Today, this sense of antisemitism is usually rooted in general hatred towards the Israeli government and its actions against the people of Palestine, but antisemitism amongst Muslims are also rooted in certain interpretations of verses from the Qur'an and Hadith mentioning Jewish people and Judaism (particularly the Bani Israil), but in a way that is more ridiculing instead of life-threatening when compared to how antisemitism looks like in the Western world.

As someone who prefers to become a "bridge" between two sides in most cases, I find this situation to be concerning, to say the least. While, yes, it is important for us Muslims to support Palestine and fight against injustice, we must not forget that not every Jewish people support the Israeli government. A lot of them are even anti-Zionists who actively condemn Israel and even disagree with the existence of Israel as a state as it goes against their teachings. A lot of them are also Holocaust survivors or their descendants, so it is harmful to think for one second that Hitler's actions and policies were justified. It's just like saying that Netanyahu is right for his decision to destroy Palestine and commit war crime after war crime towards the Palestinians.

As Muslims, we also need to remember that Jewish people (the Yahudi) are considered ahli kitab, i.e. People Of The Book along with Christians (the Nasrani). The Islam I have come to know and love has no mentions of Allah allowing us to persecute them or anyone collectively for the actions of a few. While, yes, there are disagreements with our respective teachings I do not see that as an excuse to even use antisemitic slurs against Jewish people during a pro-Palestine rally, let alone support a man who was known for his acts of cruelty toward the Jewish community in WW2. They are still our siblings/cousins in faith, after all. Unless they have done active harm like stealing homes from civilians or celebrating the destruction of Palestine or supporting the Israeli government and the IOF or are members of the IOF, no Jewish people (and Christians, for that matter) must be harmed in our fight against Zionism.

Contemporary antisemitism is similar to (if not straight up being the exact same thing as) contemporary Islamophobia, if you think about it; due to the actions of a select few that has caused severe harm towards innocent people, an entire community has been a target of hate. Even when you have tried to call out the ones supporting such cruelties, you are still getting bombarded by hate speech. It's doubly worse if you're also simultaneously part of a marginalized group like BIPOC, LGBTQ+, etc. as you also get attacked on multiple sides. This is where we all need to self-reflect, practice empathy, and unlearn all of the antisemitism and unjustified hatred that we were exposed to.

So, do call out Zionism and Nazism when you see it. Call out the US government for funding this atrocity and others before it that had ALSO triggered the rise of Islamophobia. Call your reps. Go to the streets. Punch a fascist if you feel so inclined. Support your local businesses instead of pro-Israel companies.

But not at the cost of our Jewish siblings. Not at the cost of innocent Jewish people who may also be your allies. If you do that, you are no different from a MAGA cap-wearing, gun-tooting, slur-yelling Islamophobe.

That is all for now, may your watermelons taste fresh and sweet.

🍉

Salam Semangka, Penco

[thebiggerbear]

"You're safe now. I'm here." - Russell Shaw Prompt Response Part 1

Summary: You've been taken hostage and Russell is part of the unit sent in to retrieve you.

Pairing: Russell Shaw x Female!Reader

A/N: This is a prompt from @sydnee-kom-spacekru that I had to turn into a two-parter because it got way too long for just one posting. I've been working on this since May 19th when I decided to add Russell to the multi-character prompt response project I'm currently working on.

For this story, I chose Colombia as the country featured in here because I remember when we were growing up, we would ask our parents why we couldn't visit our cousins from there, and we were told it was too dangerous. As we grew older, we obviously found out why. That's the only reason I chose it for that part of the story. Obviously, I'm not making any statements, political or otherwise, about Colombia or any past/present situation happening there.

A little bit of a disclaimer: I do not work in the medical field so I apologize for any inconsistencies, exaggerations, or complete fallacies. I did my best to research but ultimately, I'm not trained in that industry. I also am not in the military, political, or governmental fields. I also am not the CEO of a major corporation. I utilized those parts of the story strictly for fictional purposes. So I apologize in advance again if I get anything incorrect for those fields.

All unbeta'd.

Part 2 (coming very soon)

WARNINGS: graphic violence; attempted sexual assault; trauma; graphic blood/injury; gun violence/gunfire; mentions of dead bodies; death; mentions of execution; kidnapping/hostage situation; PTSD; angst

Word Count: 11k+

“You’re safe now, I’m here.”

Soldier Boy version ✨ SDV Leah version

Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187; @rieleatiel

Jensen Taglist: @samanddeaninatrenchcoat; @deansbbyx

You slowly glanced around the room you were being held in. You winced when the pain in your head started up again from the movement. You knew you had some cuts on your face, your lip, and one near your hairline. One of the people who had taken you and your co-workers hostage had shouted at you in Spanish and worked you over a little. You understood most of what he had screamed but you had no answers for him. 

You and your team had come down to visit the Bogota office upon the insistence of your father. The company his grandfather had started decades prior had expanded to become one of the top corporations in the United States, eventually branching out internationally. Growing up, you hadn’t wanted for anything. As you got older and entered high school, your father made it clear to you, being his only child, that he wanted you to follow in his footsteps and take over the family business one day. It wasn’t exactly what you’d dreamed of but it had been made known from the outset that whatever you might want would never matter in the scheme of things. Not when it came to the importance of legacy and carrying on the family name and the company’s brand, all while working closely with the Board. So, you had pursued your business degree in college at an Ivy League school, even going so far as to achieve your MBA and make your father proud.

You were quickly welcomed into the company and you put your nose to the grindstone, worked hard, and began to climb the corporate ladder. A lot of people knew that had to do with your last name but they also saw you working the same long hours as them, working just as much, and sacrificing any semblance of a personal life you could have had. You didn’t even have plants in your lavish city apartment because you were practically never there to water them. Weekends were a concept that ceased to exist the moment you left the university. If your co-workers worked 60-hour work weeks, you worked 80. If they worked through holidays like Memorial Day and July 4th, you worked those days, too, in addition to Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s. So you earned some respect, some envy, and some resentment — a healthy mix of it all as you raced to the top at your father’s constant prodding. 

Only a year ago, you’d moved to Manhattan to run the New York office, a promotion that had your father beaming with pride. It was a bit of a transition, as any transition would be, but ultimately, you got to know your team, your department heads, and you’d settled in as best you could. You never truly relaxed into your role but you let your employees know up front that you were there to make things easier, not more difficult. You were interested in flooding the figurative harbor so everyone’s boats would rise, not just yours or the Board’s. Your father had not appreciated that little introductory speech you had made but you couldn’t find it in yourself to regret it. You had meant every word and you set out every single day to not only prove yourself but to also make that vision come true. 

Which was partially what had brought you to the Bogota office. While you were responsible for New York, your father had made the valid point that you should travel to the international offices of Bogota, London, and Beijing. You should show your face and introduce yourself in person, not just on Zoom. You had been hesitant, not because you didn’t want to visit the sites and meet the crews, but because you still didn’t feel confident that you could afford to be away from your home office for that long (it would be about a two and a half week trip). Not because you didn’t trust your team to run things without you but because you had several projects in the works that required your constant participation, feedback, approval, and sometimes guidance. It felt strange to put it all at risk by choosing the most inopportune moment for you to go shake hands on the international stage and take tours of the other facilities. You didn’t want to leave your team in a lurch at a dire time such as this one. You had tried to explain all of this to your father when he grew irritated at your resistance.

“Stop with the excuses. You’re going and that’s final,” he had snapped at you before leaving your office. And that had been that. 

The next morning, you and a few selected co-workers (handpicked by your father) were on a flight to Bogota, the first stop on your international tour. Thankfully, Colombia was only one hour behind New York so you’d be able to check in with your office as soon as you landed. 

Things were going well with your visit, right up until the moment you and your team were leaving the building to head back to the hotel for a late lunch when you were ambushed. A black hood had been thrown over your head, you’d felt pain as something hit you from the side, and the next thing you knew, you woke up in a vehicle that you could feel and hear but not see. You had no idea what happened until you were instructed in Spanish to shut up, stay quiet and not struggle, and you wouldn’t get hurt. You knew you were in trouble when you came to but now you knew without a doubt as you listened to the conversation between the men surrounding you, you had been taken hostage.

You had no idea where they had brought you but you’d been there for what felt like a month though you couldn’t be sure. You had been held in the same room, only able to use the bathroom which they escorted you to. You were in some compound and any time you’d tried to sneak a peek out of an open window during your bathroom treks, you either got yelled at and hit or you could only make out a thick cover of trees. You and your group had been terrified every single day of your captivity that they would kill you all, or worse. You had three men in your group and four women including you. One of the kidnappers had already tried to take advantage of that fact and had thrown Meredith from Finance onto the floor, unbuckling his pants. You had begged in Spanish for her to be left alone while Pat and Suzanne had cried and screamed. Tim, Jerry, and Rob had all been taken to the bathroom beforehand (something that hadn’t happened before, they usually took the guys one at a time) so it had been just you four in the room. When the man didn’t show any signs of stopping and Meredith tearfully begged him from the floor to let her be, something switched off in your brain and you flew at him. You attempted to hit him anywhere you could but he knocked you down flat in seconds. He backhanded you a couple of times, making the women in the background scream louder, and he then decided you were going to be the one he was going to assault instead. He ripped your shirt and you tried to fight him off but he was too strong. Thankfully, another kidnapper heard all of the commotion and came running, rushing into the room and stopping the man, yelling at him that none of you were to be touched, that was part of the deal. Your would-be assailant yelled back at the man who had saved you and then got to his feet, spitting on you, as he stormed out of the room, followed by your unintentional savior. 

You attempted to cover yourself with the shreds of your shirt but it was useless. You now only had a bra and little bits of cloth left from how violently he had torn the fabric. You were shaking but somehow you were able to crawl your way over to Meredith to check on her. Sobbing, she held onto you and before you knew it, Pat and Suzanne had rushed over, throwing their arms around you both, still crying themselves but also trying to speak reassurances to you both. Your body shook in their embrace as it finally hit you how close you had come to being assaulted. If that other man hadn’t interrupted when he did… You shuddered at the thought. It wasn’t long after that when Tim, Jerry, and Rob were returned to the room, their hoods removed, and one glance in your direction let them know immediately what had happened. Rob had actually removed his shirt and offered it to you, apologizing for the smell. You appreciated his selfless gesture but you were thankful when Tim instead offered up the windbreaker pullover he had been wearing the day you had been taken. You took the latter, thanking them both for their generosity and thoughtfulness. Tim at least still had his t-shirt.

Then, a couple of days later, you had been dragged from the room, thrust into a chair, and tied up. The questioning began, about the money from your company among other things, and you were worked over when they didn’t get the answers they wanted. You hadn’t noticed a man holding a smartphone while sitting in the corner, taking in every second of the torture you endured, until your interrogation ended. You had been afraid but seeing that phone…you were absolutely terrified. Were they going to kill you on video, sending it off to media outlets to share globally for your father to see? Or would they use social media?

They didn’t end up killing you, though. Instead, they brought you to a room with a single bed that you had never seen before. You did not like the fact that you had been separated from your group. You began to hyperventilate at the realization that they were isolating you for a purpose, thinking you would be attacked again, especially when you heard a loud gunshot reverberate from outside followed by yelling that you couldn’t quite make out. But instead of anyone coming to hurt you, they sent in a doctor to tend to your wounds. Once he had, you curled up into a ball and hugged your knees to your chest, waiting for the worst to happen, intent on fighting tooth and nail when the time came. But a few days later or however long it had been, they brought you back into the interrogation room again. 

You expected the blows this time though they still hurt horribly. They began to cut you on your arms, near your neck, your shoulders, your torso…they never cut your face, though. While you were grateful for that small mercy, they still beat the hell out of you, the worst they ever had. While your face may have been spared the cutting, it was not spared the hits. You had even taken a couple of hard blows to the head that left you reeling. You didn’t even remember if you had screamed, cried, or begged for them to stop. Instead, you remembered some random saying in some movie you had seen stating that pain was the way you knew you were still alive. You held onto that as they continued to inflict as much damage as they could without actually killing you or making it impossible for you to speak. They had even unzipped Tim’s pullover at the beginning of the torture, leaving you in your bra, and besides the cuts they had also landed punches to your already severely bruised stomach and sides. They had even stomped on your bare feet, making you cry out as some of your toes broke from the force. They had even taken a bat to your right knee. That time you screamed the loudest you ever had in your life, sobbing so hard you didn’t think you’d ever be able to stop. The pain was immense, something you hadn’t felt before, and tears poured down your face, mixing with the blood dripping from a busted lip and most likely broken nose. When they stopped to take a break, it didn’t surprise you in the least that the same man with the phone from last time was there in the same corner. It did surprise you, though, that they didn’t leave. While you figured they were just ramping up to go for a second round, something told you that you may not come out alive from this particular interrogation. You could only hope the others you had been brought here with somehow did. A small part of you wondered if the reason they were going harder on you this time, possibly about to kill you on video, is because your company didn’t pay the sum demanded in the last one. You knew your father must have done everything he could to secure your release, even if the Board for some reason hadn’t. You hadn’t prayed since you were a girl, right before your mother died, but you sent a silent one up anyway to anyone who might be listening that your father would never see this footage. It would destroy him if he did. You didn’t expect much, though. Your mom had still passed away from a terminal illness, so you were pretty sure your father wouldn’t be spared seeing your last moments like this.

But instead of starting back up again as you anticipated, the men ended up stepping outside of the room though they left the phone behind, on some sort of stand, still pointing in your direction. 

So now here you were, your body exhausted yet radiating nothing but pain. You slowly swung your head around in a daze, blinking against the bright light they had turned on before leaving. You waited for them to come back, to finally do their worst and possibly end your life. You were terrified but you also knew how badly injured you were, that there was nothing you could do. Even if you could somehow get loose, how would you manage to escape? Even if you got outside, this compound was heavily patrolled by armed guards. And even if by some miracle you could get past them without being seen or an alarm being sounded when your absence was discovered, you had no idea where you were. You were in the jungle for Christ’s sake, from the brief glimpses you’d managed to catch on your bathroom runs. You had no idea where to go from here. Still, though, you heard that small voice inside your head, telling you to fight, not to give in or give up. You had to work hard, be the best, and prove yourself. Go, go, go. The voice sounded strangely like your father’s. 

As you waited for your captors to come back, you glanced around the room to see if there was anything that could help you. You attempted to move your arms but gasped in pain when you did. You didn’t even try anything with your right leg. You knew your kneecap was broken; it had to be. You chanced moving your left leg, though, but it didn’t budge. You were stuck to this chair.

Suddenly, you heard the last thing you expected. Gunfire. 

Not that gunfire was all that unusual around here. You had heard some happen during your captivity but it was short and never answered. You and your co-workers had no idea what went on in the rest of the compound but after hearing those rounds being fired every so often, you didn’t really want to know.

But these were extended rapid bursts of gunfire and someone was definitely shooting back. Not to mention all of the furious yelling you could hear down the hall. You idly wondered if one of your people got free and they were making a break for it. If it was, you hoped they got free and were able to go for help. 

You knew you should be scared as the gunshots got closer to you, when you heard more yells and some thuds right outside your door, but you simply resigned yourself to your fate. Especially when one of the kidnappers burst into the room and held a gun to your head, yelling in Spanish at an unseen person to stay back or he would kill you. Your body began to shake uncontrollably once more, thinking this was it. You knew it; you were going to die. 

Two men swept into the room, dressed in tactical-looking gear and donning black face masks with holes only for eyes and mouths, assault rifles pointed in your captor’s direction. The man on your right told him to let you go in Spanish or he would be dead before he could squeeze a round off. 

The man on your left briefly glanced at you, his gaze an assessing one, before focusing back onto his target. Your captor screamed at them and pushed the gun into your temple, making you shake harder and take shallow breaths. 

“You got him?” The man on the left asked, surprising you when you heard him speak English. He sounded…American. 

“I got him,” the man on the right answered. Another American.

The kidnapper must have understood them because he gripped your head and pulled it back, pushing his gun now into the side of your face, making you scream out in pain. You heard a gunshot and suddenly the barrel against your cheek was gone as was the pressure around your head. A loud thud sounded as your captor’s body fell to the ground behind you and you moved your head to a position that didn’t hurt so much.

The two men were suddenly there, the one on the left laying a hand on your shoulder. “Please…don’t hurt me,” you begged in a raspy whisper. You followed it up with the same plea in Spanish, still not sure who you were exactly dealing with as your head swam.

“Hey,” the left soldier spoke softly. “Look at me.”

You did the best you could. It shocked you to see green eyes staring back at you with something that looked like kindness. Kindness…you hadn’t seen that in what felt like forever. Considering you’d only seen hatred and disgust from everyone around you since this whole ordeal started, this was something new and you held onto it with all of your might. 

“We’re here to get you out. Just hold on.” He pulled out a switchblade and you immediately gasped and began to shake again. “It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just cutting the ropes,” he explained gently as he did it. “See?” You carefully moved your head to gaze down, seeing that he was indeed doing as he said. 

Once you were free, you began to slide off of the chair, unable to sit up right due to your head still swimming. The movement caused you to cry out in pain from your injured knee being jostled when he caught you and lifted your arm around his shoulders to gently help you back into your original seated position. Your body still shaking, your brain told you that he was telling you the truth and he had just proved it, but you were still terrified and unsure of what to believe — no matter how kind his eyes were. “Shh, you’re safe now. I’m here and I’m going to get you out. I’m guessing they did a number on your legs?” He frowned down at your bloody feet. 

“My knee,” you quietly sobbed, the pain still radiating throughout your right leg. “They—they broke it.”

“Shit,” he muttered, studying the leg you had glanced at. 

In the background, you noticed the other man grab the smartphone and slip it into his pocket before heading back over in your direction. “What are we doing, man? Grab her and let’s go. Clock’s ticking.”

The man crouched in front of you looked up at the other one. “She can’t walk.” He inclined his head in the direction of your knee. “We’re going to have to carry her out.”

“Fucking hell,” the other one hissed. “Maybe we can get in touch with the chopper and get an evac.”

The man in front of you shook his head. “No, this is supposed to be a quick in and out. We have to get to the extraction point. They’re not coming for us.” So maybe these two were soldiers? They sounded like they might be military. Had your father somehow managed to get the government to send the US military in to rescue you?

“But, there’s no way we can—”

“No time for this, man. We’ve got to move now before reinforcements arrive.” Your rescuer turned back to you. “Alright, listen, I’m not going to lie to you, this is going to hurt like hell. I’m going to try my best to take it easy on you but we have to get you out of here now.”

You shook your head, causing tears to roll down your face. You wouldn’t admit it but you were as scared of the pain as you were to go out into the chaos you still heard happening outside of the room you were in. 

He laid his hand on your shoulder again and locked gazes with you. “We have to do this. I told you before. I’m here to get you out and that means I’m not leaving without you.” He very gently rubbed at your shoulder in reassurance. “So, just try to relax and I’ll—” He carefully tried to slip his free hand underneath your legs and gingerly lift them but the movement caused you to scream in pain. 

“Okay, okay,” your soldier soothed and backed off.

The other soldier was shaking his head. “We are so fucked.”

“Hey, we’re not.” Your guy turned to give him a sharp look. “Just give me a second with her.”

The other one let out an aggravated sigh and impatiently pointed to his watch before holding his rifle up and leaving the room. 

Your soldier glanced back at you. “Okay. Time for some real talk. We’ve got about seventeen minutes to get to the extraction point which is out of this place and up the hill on the north side. Which would be, not exactly a cakewalk because it would still be tough, but if you were able to use your legs and we were running, we’d probably make it there in the next fifteen despite any resistance we might encounter. But, this is—”

“Going to slow you down,” you choked out. “I’m not going to make it.” More tears rolled down your cheeks, stinging when they came into contact with your injuries. If you had to be left behind, you knew you would die. No question about it.

“Hey,” he spoke softer than he had a moment ago. “I told you I’m not leaving here without you and I meant it. So don’t go thinking anything like that.” His eyes narrowed slightly as your head became too heavy to try to hold up. His hand was suddenly behind your neck, helping you, as he visually inspected one of the wounds at your hairline. “Dammit,” you heard him mutter. “Okay, I’m getting you out of here.”

He bent down to scoop you up but you grabbed onto his uniform, gripping a bit of the fabric in your fingers though it hurt to do so. He turned to look at you and you shook your head, whimpering. “Please,” you begged. 

He reached up with a gloved hand and gently wiped under your eyes with his thumb. “I’m sorry but I have to. If I don’t…” He didn’t finish that sentence but he didn’t need to; the concern you saw in his green gaze said more than enough, and confirmed what he had already told you. “I know the pain is going to be a bitch and a half, but you’ve got to push through as best you can. I’ll carry you and get you to that chopper, I promise, but I need you to hold on. If you have to cry, scream, hell, even bite down on me, you do whatever you’ve got to do. But we’re doing this and we’re doing it now. You ready?”

“N-No.” Your voice wobbled a little bit but you heard him. You were going to try your best but you were still scared of the impending pain. “I’ll try.”

“Atta girl.” He gently positioned you as close to him as possible, zipping up the pullover that your captors had left open, and then carefully placed his free arm under your legs again. You got ready for the pain and whimpered again when he got ready to lift you. “I promise, after this, we’ll get that knee looked at, and that head injury, as soon as we get you someplace safe. Hey, look at me.” You struggled to meet his eyes but when you did, you saw the kindness from earlier staring back at you. “You’ve got this. You’ve made it this far and you’re going to make it all the way. I’m going to make sure you do.” 

“Okay,” you whispered, afraid to speak any louder when the threat of the impending pain. Almost as if you spoke a half a decibel higher, you might make it hurt worse than it already was going to. It didn’t make sense but you weren’t exactly thinking straight right then. 

You held onto the outer edge of his vest, wincing at the flare up of pain in your hand, as ready as you could possibly be in that moment. 

He gave you another second, a brief respite from what was to come, and then a nod. “Alright, here we go.”

The man slowly lifted you and it hurt, sure, but what really hurt was when gravity did its work when he carefully got to his feet. You couldn’t help but cry out. You immediately stuck your thumb knuckle into your mouth and bit down, hoping this would all be over very soon.

The other soldier appeared in the doorway, having heard your cries. Your soldier took a few steps towards him, forcing you to bite harder into your skin and more tears to roll down your cheeks. “Let’s get moving. Call the bird and let them know we’re on our way.” The man nodded and turned, speaking to someone to let them know you were about to leave the compound and would need backup on the way. 

When he turned around and gave you both a nod, your soldier held you a little closer to him. “You take point and lead us out. We’re good.” He then turned a reassuring smile on you. “Aren’t we?”

You wanted to answer him but you couldn’t. He hadn’t even started really moving yet and already the pain was agonizing. Instead, you carefully laid your head on his shoulder, feeling pure exhaustion wash over you that left an even foggier trace behind in your mind.

“Let’s do this.” Your soldier looked back towards the door and began to follow his fellow soldier out of the room. You gasped from the pain, bit into your flesh harder, and ignored the tears spilling onto your face. You weren’t going to be able to hold back the pained cries for long. You had no idea how you weren’t screaming at this point.

As you all turned down a hallway, you couldn’t help but think of the others and that provided a momentary distraction. “What about—my people?” You asked through gritted teeth.   

“Already extracted,” he whispered. “Now it’s your turn, Y/N.”

You were still fighting your way through a misty fog of pain and sluggishness but that caught your attention. You released your thumb and stuttered out, “You know my name.”

“Of course I know your name. We came here for you.” He shot you a wink and then proceeded to carefully make his way down the stairs after the way forward was cleared. 

You idly wondered about that as you held onto him, noting several dead bodies in your peripherals but refusing to look straight at them. You could hear him huffing and puffing next to you and you felt badly that he had to carry you because you were unable to walk. A couple of times, he had to stop and hunker down with you while the other soldier engaged the remaining kidnappers you came across. The third time, it was a struggle for you but you whispered, “Slowing you down. Not —gonna make it.”

“Shhh, don’t worry about that. I’ve got you,” he murmured back. And sure enough, once it was clear again, you were on the move. Before long, you had met up with more soldiers (the backup that must have been called for) and one of them offered to take you. You involuntarily tightened your grip on your rescuer’s vest and he shook his head. “Thanks, but I’m good.” 

Eventually, you made your way out onto the terrain and you could no longer hold back your pained cries. “Almost there,” he promised. After what felt like prolonged agony, you finally reached an area where a helicopter was indeed waiting. The sight of it made something that felt like relief loosen inside your chest. You were really going to make it out of here alive. Your soldier went to hand you off to another inside when your fingers tightened reflexively around him again. “It’s just for a second to let me get in,” he reassured you. 

You nodded, hoping it wouldn’t hurt as bad as that run had, and let him go. Once you were all boarded onto the helicopter, you were moved around again until you were back in your soldier’s embrace, holding tightly onto him as the aircraft lifted into the air and headed away from the compound where more gunfire erupted. 

You tried to ask him something but he couldn’t hear you so he ducked his head near yours. “Where are my people?” You asked as loudly as you could, taking every little bit of strength you had left. You were still under the fog, but you still noticed your co-workers weren’t in the helicopter with you. 

He turned and placed his lips near your ear. “They’re in another chopper!” You had all made it safely out. Thank God.

You nodded and laid your head against his shoulder, completely spent and feeling the throbbing of pain in your body intensify, making you acutely aware of all the rest of your injuries. The pain radiated from your knee outwardly and now you could feel it in your torso, your arms, your head… Your eyes began to close of their own accord when he shook your shoulder a little. “I’m sure all you want to do right now is sleep but I need you to stay awake. At least until the docs get a good look at you!”

You blinked dazedly up at him. “I don’t think I can,” you mumbled, not even sure he heard you. The tide of pain was washing you under.

He then did the last thing you expected. He lifted his mask and you finally saw the man underneath, the owner of those green eyes that you had been holding onto during this entire ordeal. 

“Man, what the hell are you doing?” You heard yelled nearby, but your soldier kept his eyes on yours.

“I need you to stay awake, Y/N! You think you can do that for me?”

You took in his features, your fingers carefully lifting up to touch the thick beard he sported, noting the dirt and grime smears all over his face, but his eyes were what captivated you. Now without the mask in the way, you were free to get lost in those green orbs as deeply as you dared. Too bad you couldn’t seem to stay conscious. 

He shook you again. “Y/N! Hey! Stay awake!”

“Sorry,” you slurred before everything went black.

The next time you jerked into consciousness, screaming out in pain, the helicopter had just landed and your soldier, once again wearing his face mask, was yelling instructions to the men around him. You couldn’t hear exactly what they were, the pain was that intense. You were lifted out into another soldier’s arms and looking past him, you saw a second helicopter not that far away. You watched as your co-workers were ushered off of it alongside other masked soldiers but something didn’t seem right. You weren’t sure what it was but something was off to you.

You were placed into someone else’s arms and you saw the eyes of your rescuer once again, softening when he saw that you were crying.

“Something’s—wrong.” 

“Stay with me this time, Y/N,” he urged as he hurried you away from the helicopter. “Help is just a few feet away! Only a little bit more to go.”

You tried to stay with him, you really did, but the tide of pain started to blanket you once again. Alongside it, the feeling of something’s wrong surged throughout your body before the darkness overtook you once more. 

The next time you came to, you were on a gurney and bright lights were shining down on you. Doctors and nurses surrounded you, talking quickly in Spanish and calling out a few instructions. Your body began to involuntarily tremble again. Had your rescue been a dream? Had your kidnappers brought you to another part of the compound where they had an assembled medical team waiting to somehow keep you alive after they had unleashed such brutality on you? Or were you just dead?

You felt a warm hand in yours, a thumb stroking the top of yours reassuringly. You gingerly turned your head to find your soldier, still wearing his mask, standing right there, smiling down at you. “There you are. You had me worried for a second.”

Before you could ask him if he was real, if any of it was, a nurse started yelling at him, trying to get him to leave. He replied in perfect Spanish, telling her in a very resolved tone that he wasn’t leaving until he knew you were going to be okay. She let out a frustrated huff and shot him a glare before turning away to speak to the doctors. They insisted he had to go and once again, without your permission, you tightened your grip on him, not wanting him to go anywhere.

“No,” you rasped out. “Please let him stay. Please.” He was the only thing anchoring you in this moment. You got the distinct feeling that if you lost him, you’d be lost entirely, never to resurface. He was safety for you, an end to the horrific ordeal you had been through, and you didn’t want him to leave you.

A doctor leaned over you, speaking kindly in English. “It’s okay,” he spoke with a heavy accent. “We are going to make you better but he can’t be in here.”

You shook your head and grabbed at your soldier’s forearm with your free hand though it hurt like hell. 

“Doc, can you give us a second?”

The doctor gave him a look but did as he asked, moving back over to his team. 

The man next to you pulled a chair from out of nowhere and positioned it next to you. He took a seat and only when he had did you release him, wincing as you dropped your right hand next to you. 

He smiled reassuringly down at you. “You’re going to be okay. They’re going to fix you right up. You’ve been through a lot but you’re going to be alright.”

You knew what he was doing; he was calming you down and saying goodbye. For some reason, that made you tear up. Even though you didn’t know this man, he had been your harbor of safety in a chaotic whirlwind, a beacon of hope to cling to in a truly terrifying situation you had found yourself in. When a tear rolled down your cheek, he wiped it away with his thumb. “Will you be here when I wake up?” You choked out.

“I’ll be here until you fall asleep.”

That set loose more tears and he made sure to catch every single one. In the meantime, the nurse came over and injected something into your IV. When you started feeling drowsy a minute or so later, it wasn’t hard to guess what was happening. “Will I ever see you again?” You frantically intertwined your fingers with his as you struggled to stay awake.

He leaned closer, smiling in the same reassurance his green eyes were trying to convey. “I’ll find you,” he murmured, gently squeezing your hand. That made even more tears fall. It surprised you when he moved in to whisper to you, “Get some rest, sweetheart. You’ve more than earned it.”

You wanted to stay awake; you fought it, not wanting to lose sight of those green eyes fixated on you, knowing they would be gone once you closed yours. But you lost that battle as a sea of sleepiness dragged you down with it. You held onto his words as your eyes finally shut from the weight of the drug and you could no longer see him or feel his hand in yours. “I’ll find you” reverberated through your mind as you sank deeper and deeper into oblivion, falling at a rapid rate from deep green into solid black, until you were completely engulfed by it and you were gone.

You briefly closed your eyes as you felt a cool breeze gently make its way past you. You watched as two orange leaves pirouetted in the air, spinning round and round, until they landed several feet away. Silent ripples danced along the water’s surface in front of you and you could hear the sounds of people milling about near you, talking, surrounded by a symphony of nature sounds mixed in with the faroff noises of city life. You couldn’t help but smile when you heard small children giggling as they played on the grass nearby with their parents watching over them. You watched as a small group of teenage girls walked past you, laughing as they reminisced over something that had happened the past weekend. You saw an old man on another bench further down the path, an open book in his hands. 

These were the small peaceful moments that you had come to appreciate since you rejoined society a couple of months ago. These were the ones you held onto when the memories of the terror and pain all became a bit too much, that reminded you that you were back home, safe. 

You watched as two moms in workout gear jogged by with their strollers. A man and woman coming from the opposite direction made their way around the two women and continued their trek, drinking from to-go cups and dressed in business casual attire. Sure enough, you could hear them discussing work-related topics as they passed you by. You smiled sadly as you watched them get further and further from your sight. 

That had been you not that long ago, where you didn’t have a care in the world other than pushing out new product lines and being in charge of one of the main offices of the family business. The pressure had been near soul-crushing most of the time but you had adapted for the most part and rolled with it. You worked hard, you worked long hours, and you were alright with that. You took the stress of hectic deadlines and constantly putting out fires and you rolled with the punches. It became part of your make-up and it could only help fuel you even faster towards your goal — your father’s goal. Now, after what you’d been through, your outlook on it all had changed. What had felt like life and death matters in the corporate world before no longer felt as dire as it used to. You’d been in a literal life and death situation and lived to tell the tale; whatever came your way business wise you knew you could more than handle. There was something about being tortured and having a gun held to your head, convinced you were about to die, that just put things into perspective for you.

And though you survived, you didn’t actually get to tell your tale. The minute you were reunited with your father, while he had been grateful you were alive and kissed your forehead, it was made clear to you that you and the co-workers who had been in captivity with you were to sign NDA’s. That had completely floored you. That was the Board’s main concern? That the public might find out that some of its employees had been kidnapped, terrorized, and tortured? How were they going to explain your month long absence from the job, from your lives? You knew Meredith had a fiance, Pat was a grandmother, Rob had just gotten married weeks before this happened, and Tim had a wife and kids waiting back at home for him. Suzanne was dating someone in HR and you could have sworn you heard Jerry mention at some point that he had a dog to get back to, hoping his neighbor had either checked in on it or at least notified someone to do so. How in the world did the Board plan to explain away any of it?

Your father had let out an aggravated sigh as you fired question after question at him. Who had taken you? What had they wanted besides money? Why hadn’t the Board met their demands? Why had it taken them so long to get the government involved?

“They weren’t involved.”

Your eyes had widened in shock. “What? How?”

Your father had taken your hand in between his and stared into your eyes with meaning. “I’m only going to mention this once and then we’re never going to speak of it again. We hired someone to send in a team to get you out of there.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “Hired someone? As in mercenaries?”

“Private contractors for security. They handle this type of situation quite frequently but they keep it all very hush hush. So that is why the Board is insisting on NDA’s for all of you. It’s not only to protect the brand but also to protect all of you.”

“Protect this organization they hired, you mean.”

Your father nodded, not looking troubled by your accusation in the least.

“I don’t understand, Dad. You have contacts in Defense. Why wouldn’t you call them?”

“We did. They recommended these people and said they were our best option. If we hired them, they could get in quickly and get you out. If we didn’t and chose to go through more official channels, it might prolong the process and that might be time that you didn’t have.”

You could see the wisdom in that advice he’d been given. They had been right; had they gotten there even just an hour later than they did, you might not be alive right now. “But a month, Dad? Why did they wait so long?”

Your father tightened his grip on your hand and you knew you weren’t going to like what he had to say next. “At first, we didn’t know who had taken you. When they made contact…the Board wanted to try negotiating with them first.”

You huffed out a breath in disbelief. Those sons of bitches…

“I pushed for them to do something more drastic but they fought me every step of the way. It wasn’t until they received that first video message that they finally agreed that I should make the call.” 

So your father had fought for you, but to a point. That fact rolled around in your brain for a moment. Had your roles been reversed, you would have told the Board to go screw themselves and immediately contacted whoever could rescue your father as soon as possible. No amount of money, litigation threats, or risk to the business would have stopped you. You, his only child, his only surviving family member, had been in mortal danger, and he hadn’t done everything he could to secure your safe return home as soon as possible? It was hard to wrap your mind around that. Then his last words finally registered. “Wait, what video message?”

His blue eyes softened with sympathy then and you could swear you could see a little bit of pain beginning to cloud them. “Where you were tortured.”

You should have known. Why else would your kidnappers have filmed it? Truthfully, you had known it back when they were hurting you. You shouldn’t be surprised, but you also didn’t want to talk about it. “You mean the pictures weren’t enough to convince them?” Before that first night, your kidnappers had forced you and your co-workers to look up at them as they snapped photos of you on their phones. You knew then that they were either using it as a scare tactic for your father and the Board or they were providing proof of life. Either way, it hadn’t mattered in the end since obviously the kidnappers had kicked it up a notch after that. 

A haunted look fleeted across your father’s tired face. While you may still be struggling with the idea that he hadn’t done everything you would have done in his place, you knew this had taken a toll on him. He had been genuinely concerned for you and the relief you’d seen on his expression when he saw you for the first time since you’d been separated was palpable. “When they saw the video, they could no longer pretend that this was something they could simply deal their way out of.”

Your brows drew together as you studied him. You were sure it had been hard for them to see what had happened to you, to hear your cries, your screams, your pained whimpers. You knew it must have been even more difficult for your father to see. But somehow you got the distinct impression that’s not what he was referring to. “Dad.” He glanced up at you and sure enough, you could tell he was keeping something from you. “Tell me.”

He grasped your hand tightly once more. This was definitely not going to be good. “It was bad enough to see what they did to you…but the end of the video was what convinced them.” At your knitted brow, he elaborated, “They pulled Tim out of the room they were keeping you all in, brought him somewhere, and then killed him.”

Your eyes widened and your heart stopped. What?

“And they said if they didn’t get what they wanted in three days, you were next.” 

Your heart started up again and began to pound in your chest. You felt like you were falling with no end in sight. Tim was…dead? Your breathing sped up into short pants and you could hear beeping from a machine you were connected to but it sounded so far away.

You had blocked out some of that experience, your brain subconsciously trying to protect you perhaps, you weren’t sure. And whatever memories stayed, each time they started to flash in your mind, you would close your eyes and grab hold of your safe harbor in those turbulent waves of trauma that tried to overtake you. You would think of green and while the images didn’t exactly disappear, it kept them at a safe distance. Well, while you were awake at least. The nightmares you experienced were something else entirely.

But this…nothing could protect you from this. You suddenly remembered being locked in that bedroom, hearing the yelling, the gunshot—oh God, the gunshot. You had heard the moment they— Your father urged you to calm down, rubbing your hand comfortingly, but you couldn’t hear him or even when a nurse rushed into the room to ask what was going on. Because at that precise moment, a memory came back to you, ripping your tight grip on your green harbor and tossing you back into the dark ocean of trauma and pain to drown in. 

It had been right before you’d passed out the second time. While your soldier had gotten out of the helicopter, you had glanced over to see the other helicopter that your people were disembarking from. At the time, you had been so out of it due to the pain and disorientation you had been feeling that you didn’t realize the number of people you should have been seeing was one short. You didn’t even seem to process the black bag two soldiers removed from the aircraft and carried off the tarmac together. You just knew something was wrong, something you had tried to tell your soldier before you passed out again. But now you knew exactly what you had seen.

Tim. Tim had been with you since you started in the New York office; he preceded you actually. Even though your father had chosen him to accompany you and the others, all you could remember was the nice man who had smiled and said hello as he walked into the office; the man who was quiet and reserved but also a hard worker; who had offered you his jacket to cover up with; the man who had begged the kidnappers for the photos of his kids from his wallet that they had taken and then denied him; the man who talked about his family and proudly told you all about his children. His daughter, Riley, was eight and she had recently taken up soccer. Before you’d left for Bogota, she had told him that her coach wanted her to try the goalie position but she was scared; she didn’t want balls flying at her head. You couldn’t blame her on that one and had said as much. You remembered all too well the sports you had been made to join growing up and it had never really been your thing, but it made your father happy so you did it each time he urged you to sign up or try out. Tim’s son, David, was nearly six and he had just graduated kindergarten. And the baby, Olivia, could be quite the handful since she was a very rambunctious toddler who never seemed to run out of energy, but his wife, Angela, lived up to her name and couldn’t be happier with their current family setup. And now… Now, he would never get to see any of them ever again.

The pained wail that met your ears caught you off guard until you realized it was coming from you. Tim was a good man and he had managed to make a life outside of work. He had something you had never let yourself dream about having since it would inevitably get in the way of your successful climbing of the corporate ladder. Now, he would never get to see his kids grow up, go to any more of Riley’s soccer games to encourage her, go on any more date nights with his wife — none of it. You had the horrible thought for a moment that it should have been you in that bag instead. It nearly had been you.

Your father held onto you as you wept, as the nurse rubbed your back from the opposite side of the bed, crooning soft reassurances to you and urging you to try to calm down. But nothing could reassure you; you were here and Tim was not. A cold hard fact that you could do nothing to change. Even worse, you had missed his funeral since you were stuck in the hospital you had been transferred to once you were flown from the one you had briefly ended up in down in Colombia. You hadn’t even known about his death until this moment, your suddenly resurfaced traumatic memories aside. 

Since that day, the memory of that single gunshot had tormented you. Had Tim known it was coming? Did he think about Angela and the kids right then? Had he prayed they would be okay without him? How terrified must he have been? You knew how scared you were in that bedroom, how fearful you had been during your second round of torture, sensing that this wasn’t going to end with the doctor treating you as it had the last time (which had now been confirmed that your instinct had been spot on). You could only imagine how he must have felt in that final moment.

The nightmares proceeded to get even worse and you were afraid to be left alone in your hospital room. Though your father and the medical staff had assured you that you were safe, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you weren’t, no matter how irrational you knew you were being. Eventually, your assistant Luna started working remotely from your room to keep you company and your father had hired two full-time bodyguards to watch over you: Owen during the day and Simon at night. When the nightmares became practically unbearable, that rotation switched. For some reason, you felt safer with Owen there. Perhaps it had to do with his look, specifically his salt and pepper beard…you briefly remembered the feeling of a beard underneath your bloody fingertips though you couldn’t place the face it belonged to. You had a feeling it was connected to the green you remembered, that you clung to in the tumultuous sea of mayhem that was the night you were marked to die — the green that you associated with your rescuer. Why you couldn’t recall his face, you had no idea, but you chalked it up to your brain once again trying to make sense of the chaos that reigned inside your head. 

Green continued to symbolize safety and reassurance for you. So much so that when Luna brought a bag of clothes for you to change into for your beginning rehab sessions, you immediately picked out an olive green hoodie she had selected from your closet and set it aside. You took to holding it close as you slept, letting the scent of home attached to it wash over you as you closed your eyes. When you would wake from your nightmares, sometimes gasping for air that wouldn’t come, sometimes crying, or sometimes screaming, you would see the hoodie next to you and grab it, holding it close until you could either breathe again or calm back down. It became a source of comfort for you and long remained that even after you were discharged. 

Your doctor had recommended therapy in addition to the outpatient rehab you would be continuing but truth be told, you weren’t in a rush to relive anything or even unearth something that might somehow be worse than what you already remembered. Your father had also dismissed the idea of therapy, saying that focusing on regaining your ability to walk without the assistance of crutches would help, as well as getting back to concentrating on work. You didn’t agree, you knew better, but you also allowed his view to become your excuse, solidifying your refusal to deal with the trauma you had suffered. After all, you were still here, still breathing — as long as you kept reminding yourself of that, you would be fine. 

So you did as your father insisted: you focused on your physical therapy and you slowly found your way back to working full-time. You had graduated from crutches to a cane. Your doctor said your knee was healing nicely and right on schedule, which made you glad that you had listened to him and not your father’s initial suggestion of a knee replacement. You still felt a twinge of discomfort and a whispery echo of pain when walking so you relied more heavily on the cane than your doctor or physical therapist might have liked. You may not have remembered everything from your ordeal, but the pain of the initial impact of the bat and afterwards as you were carried to a waiting helicopter to take you to safety was still a very recent and clear memory for you. You doubted you would ever forget it as long as you lived. 

Eventually, you returned to your office and you accepted the well wishes all around. You had no idea what they had been told about your obvious injury or what had caused it but thankfully, no one questioned you. You had been in brief touch with Meredith and the others in the days after your initial surgery back in Colombia but not since then. You had been so focused on your recovery and processing the news of Tim’s death that, truthfully, you hadn’t thought of much else. Even though Luna had been working from your hospital room for a time and she kept you apprised on all developments as well as anything that required your attention, you knew your father had instructed her to keep it all to a strictly need-to-know basis until you were finally ready to fully take up the mantle again. And because you were already dealing with more than enough, you allowed it and didn’t push for more than she told you. So the guilt consumed you when you were informed that Suzanne had resigned and Pat had taken an early retirement to be able to spend more time with her kids and grandkids. Rob had taken a position at another company, though Jerry and Meredith were still there. However, Meredith worked remotely most days, something she had worked out with your father while you had been out. You wondered if it might have been a result of Meredith initially refusing to sign the NDA, a sort of compromise to get her to agree to keeping your ordeal under wraps. You made a mental note to reach out to all of them so you could at least check in to see how they were doing. Jerry was in Research; you’d stop by there later.

As tough as all of that had been to learn and stepping back into the swing of things proved to be a little more complicated than you thought it would be, the most difficult moment had been when you went up to Design. Seeing Tim’s office not being Tim’s anymore had left you reeling. Your father moved fast and had hired his replacement within days. From a professional perspective, you more than understood; the business still had to run after all and Design was one of your most crucial departments. But knowing it and seeing it were two different things. The nightmares were particularly brutal that night. You kept hearing the gunshot, kept seeing one of the kidnappers with their cell phone look over at you afterwards and give you the most terrifying smile. Even the hoodie hadn’t helped. When you looked at it, you didn’t see green anymore but red. A very bold and wet shade of dark red. You tossed it away from you and screamed, bursting into sobs as you rocked yourself back and forth in a soothing motion. 

You had immediately called out sick the next morning and spent the rest of the day in bed, alternating between crying and staring blankly at the TV on the wall. Later on, when you could think clearly again, you gave yourself a stern talking to. You were here, alive, and you had hundreds of people looking to you to lead them. You refused to dishonor Tim’s memory by hiding away in your apartment for the rest of your life, no matter how appealing the option might feel. You could hear your father’s voice in your head again, pushing you, telling you to get back up and go to work, to be the best you could be.

And sure enough, you heard his voice for real the next day when he walked into your office. “What is he doing here?”

You glanced up and looked over where he was pointing to see Owen sitting in one of the chairs off to the side, watching you both. You pressed your lips together and shut the portfolio in front of you. “His name’s Owen, Dad. You know that. And he’s here because I asked him to be.”

Your father looked quite displeased with that. “I dismissed him and the other one last week. We talked about this.”

You let out a quiet sigh and sat back in your chair. “I know but—”

“It’s not a good look and it certainly isn’t good for morale. The cane you still insist on unnecessarily using is bad enough. Do you think people around here aren’t asking themselves or each other why you have this man sitting in your office, watching your every move?” 

You leaned forward and lowered your voice. “Dad, I get that. I do, but I need—”

“Is this why you called out sick yesterday?” You briefly dropped your gaze to your desk. You didn’t really want to talk about that or how despondent you’d been in your bed for hours until your alarm went off, jolting you into grabbing your phone and making the call. Your father’s eyes softened though his tone didn’t. “Honey, what you need is to dismiss him, permanently, and get back to your life, to your work. Don’t forget, you’re at the helm of this ship and everyone’s looking to you to navigate it seamlessly through the waters.”

Your jaw clenched and for the first time in your life, you were about to draw a line in the sand between what he was telling you to do and what you knew you needed to do. “I’m aware of that and I can’t steer the ship unless I feel safe. Owen here,” you nodded in the man’s direction. “Makes me feel safe. With him present, I can focus and get the job done. So, Owen is staying until I say otherwise.”

Your father’s own jaw tightened. “I’m not paying for more—”

“You’re not. I am. And believe it or not, while I’m doing what’s right for me, I’m also doing what’s right for this office, to ensure our complete success. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some reports from Research to review.” You slipped your eyeglasses back on and reopened the portfolio in front of you, scanning the contents.

You glanced up when your father stepped closer to your desk, his voice lower than before though his now angry gaze burned into you. You should have known by dismissing him in that manner after standing your ground, what it would do. “I’m going to strongly suggest that you finish up with Research and take your lunch out of the office. Perhaps outside. It’s a beautiful day and a dose of fresh air might just be what you need.” He gave you a curt nod and then swiftly left the room. Once he was gone, your shoulders deflated and you slumped back into your chair. You knew your father loved you and he only wanted the best for you, for you to succeed, but sometimes you couldn’t help but wonder if it ever came down to the choice of you or the business, who would he choose? He already chose. You blinked the rapidly forming tears in your eyes away at the thought that had popped into your head out of nowhere and carefully got to your feet, reaching for your cane. 

“Owen,” Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him immediately stand at attention. “I think we’re going to take my father’s advice. He’s right. It is a beautiful day and I would like to take full advantage of it.” He moved towards you, watching as you moved to the corner and slipped on your light coat. “I’d prefer to be anywhere that isn’t here,” you mumbled, grabbing your handbag. 

You carefully made your way across your office with Owen following right behind you, ready to assist if need be while also keeping an eye out. You called out to your assistant as you passed her by, “Luna, I’m going out for lunch today. Please hold all calls until I return.”

“Of course, Ms. Y/L/N. If Research calls while you’re out, is there anything you would like me to tell them?”

You thought it over for a moment before turning towards the elevators. “Tell them I’m still working on it. Thank you.” And for the first time since you’d started in this company, you left without getting the job done. The thought didn’t sit well with you, you had always been conditioned to complete all of the tasks set out before you, no matter how late you might have to stay to complete them. But at the same time, it oddly made you smile a little.

So here you were, in Central Park on a gorgeous fall day, having taken your father’s advice to heart. You took every single one of your lunches outdoors now unless it was raining or too cold to sit outside for long. You always marveled at the fact that you had lived in New York City for close to two years and you had never once taken the time to stop and notice what surrounded you on a daily basis. You had never taken in the present moment, never taken an opportunity just to be, to sit quietly and listen. The bench you were on by the lake had quickly become one of your favorite spots. You could relax and indulge in the art of people watching, take in all of the sounds, sights, and smells around you. Truth be told, it was the best part of your day. 

Owen stood sentry not too far from you, giving you enough space but also ready to intervene at any moment should he be needed. Despite sitting in a park in the middle of one of the most crime-ridden cities in the country, you felt beyond safe. Owen would never let anything happen to you and being in public, around people living their everyday lives…you felt the safest you had in a long time. A feeling you ended up trying to replicate by looking up Central Park ambience videos on YouTube and playing them while you fell asleep though it didn’t always manage to keep the nightmares away. But you expected that; trauma could be a real stubborn pain in the ass.

But right now, sitting here like this, you were okay. That is, until someone decided to sit down on the opposite side of the bench you were on. All of the times you had sat in this spot, you had been left alone, free to claim this bench as your own for the hour or so you’d spend here. Now, someone appeared not to have gotten the unofficial memo. Out of your peripherals, you saw Owen quickly approaching, most likely intending to tell the stranger to move to another bench, when the person glanced back at him, holding a hand up.

“Relax, man. I appreciate you looking out but I’m not here to hurt her, alright? I’m just here to talk.” The second you heard the voice, your gaze snapped over to the man across from you. You immediately recognized it; it was one you’d heard in your nightmares over and over, telling you to stay with him as you desperately clung to his hand until the kidnappers snatched you away. Was it even possible or were you just imagining this man had spoken to Owen with that voice?

When the man turned back to look at you, you recognized the green eyes immediately and a small lump began to form in your throat. Sure enough, he had a beard, one that looked startlingly familiar when you warily prodded at the memory, trying to recall it. A flash of his face, dirtier than it appeared now, popped into your mind. As if it had been patiently waiting all of this time for you to simply reach out and grab a hold of it. Tears began to burn in the corner of your eyes; it was him.

“It’s you,” you choked out in a whisper without really meaning to. 

The smile you faintly remembered graced his face. “It’s me,” he confirmed.

You stared at him, truly dumbfounded. “How?”  

“I told you I’d find you.” 

You nearly started crying when the familiar words floated up from your subconscious, the phrase you had somehow forgotten in the midst of everything. But you remembered it now, as clearly and vividly as the man sitting before you who had said it. You had been about to pass out in the makeshift surgical room, crying and holding onto him tightly, afraid to let him go. “Will I ever see you again?” “I’ll find you.” 

“I made you a promise and I intended on keeping it.” His green eyes softened slightly, much as they had all of those months ago as he caught every single tear that rolled down your cheeks as you succumbed to the drug beginning to course through your system. “I’ll find you.”

And find you he did.

A little preview of the next installment:

Still sensing your discomfort, Russell immediately lifted up and peeled his shirt off, revealing his bare skin to you for the first time. Immediately, you noticed a small bandage wrapped around his left arm.  “What happened?” You gasped, sitting up and gingerly running your fingers below the bandage line.  He shrugged and looked down at it. “Got shot on a job.” Your jaw dropped and when he glanced back up at you, he must have seen the worry that was consuming you because he immediately chuckled and affectionately cupped your chin. “I’m okay. Besides, that’s not what I wanted to show you.” He took your hand in his and moved it to his other shoulder, guiding your fingertips over skin that was jagged, puckered slightly, and silver-looking. “Shot.” He then moved your hands down his side until it reached a decent sized line that was anything but smooth. “Stabbed.” Your hands moved again to right above his abdomen. “Cut.” They moved once more and ended up on his clavicle. “Cut from an attempted stab.” You winced as he mentioned each injury he had received; they had all been the result of violent means. He moved your hands up to the upper tip of his right ear. “Bullet graze.” There was no scar there to speak of but you could see the tiniest bit of difference between his ears in that area when you looked closely.  He finally brought your hand to rest over his heart, holding it there. “Sofia.” Your brows furrowed in confusion and he smirked over at you. “Cute little waitress in Costa Rica. Gave me one hell of a weekend and then left me high and dry for some young British guy who showed up at the beach and hadn’t yet run out of money.” You scoffed and yanked your hand from underneath his, making him laugh, as you crossed your arms. He moved closer to you, cupping your cheeks and staring into your eyes. “I’m kidding about that last part. The rest, I’m not. I’ve got plenty more on my back and even a few on my legs. A couple more on my arms. We all have scars. They’re just reminders of battles we’ve fought and survived. Don’t be ashamed of yours.” A tear escaped and rolled down your cheek but his thumb caught it. He pressed his forehead against yours and murmured, “You’re beautiful.”    When he looked at you like this, spoke softly to you like this, you genuinely believed him.

A/N: Coming very soon. Please let me know if you would like to be tagged for Part 2.

dividers by @firefly-graphics

[nekropsii]

Hello, pardon and I don’t want to be a bother but I would like to ask for your take on something. And if you’re not down to answer this question, that’s completely fine, you seem to make large opinion posts on a noteworthy basis so I understand if you don’t have the energy or motivation to give an opinion right now.

But I wanted to ask for your take on the ethics of enjoying Homestuck in the modern day. Many people such as myself and seemingly you as well enjoy Homestuck but are painfully aware of all the gross stuff in it. And as I see the comic pop up in more and more dni lists, with people claiming that enjoyers of Homestuck are supporting these things inherently, no matter the fact that most of us stand against Hussie and attempt to reclaim Homestuck as something to express joy and our identities in, it makes me wonder more and more the ethics of enjoying Homestuck. Since you seem to have thoughts on the matter, I was wondering if you’d like to share your take.

I once again want to stress though, absolutely no pressure to answer. I am not entitled to your time or hearing your opinion. You don’t know me, I don’t know you. I was just asking in case you wanted to speak about it.

Hi, Anon! This is a very interesting question, and you were right to assume I have thoughts on it. They might not be as long and complicated as some of my other essays, but they still exist, and I would quite like to share them. Thank you for the opportunity.

My opinion on The Ethics of Enjoying Homestuck is that I believe it's perfectly fine to do so. I also think it's perfectly fine to dislike, or hate, or not want to associate with it or any fans of it. This is a personal boundary set by and for the individual, and it's not my business to question, nor my place to cross it. However, I don't really agree with the way some people go about communicating or enforcing this boundary. I've seen some people put Homestuck and Harry Potter on the same level before. I've seen some say that enjoyment of either piece of fiction is, at least in part, comparable. I heavily disagree with this- and the fact that this is a point that comes up shows to me that there's quite a few people who don't actually fully understand why so many people are saying to stop supporting Harry Potter.

The conflation of the two things reads to me as if some believe that Harry Potter has been "cancelled for having a problematic creator"- and that's not wholly true. Yes, J.K. Rowling is, by definition, problematic, and she is the creator of the Harry Potter franchise, but people have drawn such a hard line against supporting the series not just because J.K. Rowling is Transphobic, but because she has honest to god legislative power. She is, as it stands, currently the backbone of the TERF movement, and is spending a lot of time and money to ensure that Transphobes dominate the government. Monetary support of Harry Potter pools into her funds, which adds to her ability to further Trans Genocide. Communal/Fandom support of Harry Potter increases her visibility as a public figure, which adds to her ability to further Trans Genocide. J.K. Rowling has made very clear statements saying that she takes any support of the Harry Potter franchise- any at all, including Queer/LGBT+ Friendly fan content- as support of her beliefs. Support of Harry Potter is a method of legitimizing and validating Transphobia, and is being used as a way to further Trans Genocide.

If J.K. Rowling was just an average Transphobe, the outcry would not be nearly as severe, and the line wouldn't be nearly as clear cut. It would just be disappointing, bring to mind the phrase "same shit as always", and many would make the personal choice to distance themselves from it. But that's not the reality we live in. We live in the reality where J.K. Rowling has sway on the government, and is getting real people hurt and killed.

Andrew Hussie, creator of Homestuck, however, is just some random asshole with no political power outside of his own vote. Yes, Homestuck is filled with plenty of unsavory elements- random out-of-place interjections of Hussie's own past bigotry included- but at the end of the day, Homestuck has no influence over government action. Hussie has no tangible political influence, and does not want to have tangible political influence. We don't even have evidence that Hussie still holds the same beliefs as he did during and prior to the creation of Homestuck. This is just some random indie comic, made by some random guy in 2009. J.K. Rowling is dangerously close to billionaire status, and using that power for evil.

It's fine to like something that's not very morally clean- or something made by a not very morally clean artist, during a not very morally clean point in time in a not very morally clean place in this world. It's okay. The fixation some have on this is OCD-inducing. The best that can be asked is that one recognizes the bigotry, and doesn't perpetuate them. That's all. You can read, watch, play, and enjoy just about anything, as long as you don't make the more unsavory elements out to be a good thing. Don't start acting like Racism is awesome, or Antisemitism is cool, or Transphobia is based, et cetera, and you'll be totally fine.

The ability to find value in something impure or unsavory is a valuable one. Some may not want to associate with that, or find the particular flaw in the work in question to be too uncomfortable to stomach, and that's fine, too. Not everyone can just sit through Era-Appropriate Casual Homophobia or Racism and come out feeling fine enough to keep going. I'd argue- hope, even- that most feel at least a bit bothered by such things. It's all about personal tolerance levels. No one's committing a moral crime by either enjoying it or not wanting to even look at it.

[historicity-was-already-taken]

And since I'm bringing up Judaism, rules lawyering, and the Talmud(s), I'll also provide some context though, be warned, Jewish theology and intellectual history is very much not my field of specialization.

The Torah--Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy--is part narrative cosmology, and part law code for the Israelites, as they existed as semi-nomadic agriculturalists in the Southern Levant between about 1200 BCE and 500 BCE.*

The Diaspora of the Israelites/Hebrew/Jewish people from the Southern Levant started very early in our history (586 BCE), so we had to immediately determine how to obey the laws of the Torah, without having access to the land those laws are centered on.

Like, if you're a Jew in Persia, than how are you supposed to bring 1/10 of your harvest to the Temple in Jerusalem? Also, what happened if you're not an agriculturalist and the Babylonians and then the Romans destroyed the temple and also there is no High Priest? What if it's Shabbos but you're an ER doctor and you're on call?

How do you do Judaism without the Things the Torah assumes access to?

That's the question/guidance the Talmud and further commentaries--up to and including contemporary responsa--seek to answer/provide. And that is why Jews don't get literal about Leviticus.

And of course, this is all overly simplistic and deeply 101.

*This is not a political statement and if you treat it like one I will block your ass faster than you can say "Gemara"

[ileaveclawmarks]

An interview with Leslie Feinberg appearing in the Oct/Nov 1998 issue of On Our Backs.

Please click on image to read or find the transcript below:

Feinberg and hir activist peers have transformed the landscape of current queer politics: they have introduced "trans" (even into the mission statement of the National Organization for Women) as an umbrella term for transgender and transsexual persons. "Transgender" refers to any person whose gender expression appears at odds with his or ber biological sex, including transvestites, drag queens and kings, intersexed persons, "passing" men and women, feminine men, and masculine women. "Transsexual" refers to men and women who challenge the sex they were assigned at birth, whether they choose sex-reassignment surgery or not. Feminism popularized the distinction between "sex" (as biological sex) and "gender" (as the social expression of masculinity, androgyny, and femininity); the trans movement took this distinction to the streets.

Feinberg and hir activist peers have transformed the landscape of current queer politics: they have introduced "trans" (even into the mission statement of the National Organization for Women) as an umbrella term for transgender and transsexual persons. "Transgender" refers to any person whose gender expression appears at odds with his or ber biological sex, including transvestites, drag queens and kings, intersexed persons, "passing" men and women, feminine men, and masculine women. "Transsexual" refers to men and women who challenge the sex they were assigned at birth, whether they choose sex-reassignment surgery or not. Feminism popularized the distinction between "sex" (as biological sex) and "gender" (as the social expression of masculinity, androgyny, and femininity); the trans movement took this distinction to the streets.

Feinberg discusses her struggle with the health care system in hir new book, Trans Liberation: Beyond Pink or Blue. Released in October, Trans Liberation chronicles Feinberg's career as a public speaker and collects the addresses s/he delivered to a variety of groups, from Gay Pride organizers to straight male transvestites. We spoke with Feinberg about why sexual freedom is impossible without freedom of gender expression.

On Our Backs: Trans Liberation was released this fall. Can you tell us about what you're working on now?

Feinberg: I'm deep into a novel titled Drag King Dreams. It's about a working-class, Jewish trans person who has a foot in both the diverse trans communities and also the lesbian, gay, and bi communities. It's a book about figuring out what "home" means and who your people are. I'm also trying to write a fable titled "Tale of Two Hearts." it's really a love song to Minnie Bruce Pratt-my wife, my lover, and my friend. It's just one chorus of the love song I write to Minnie Bruce every day of my life.

On Our Backs: Your relationship with poet Minnie Bruce Pratt, thanks in part to her book S/he, is well known. What is your advice to those of us seeking a long term relationship as loving as yours?

Feinberg: I just know that for me, this is a relationship unlike any other I've ever had. I wasn't looking for a lifetime commitment when I met Minnie Bruce. I°d been dating nonmonogamously for quite a while, nothing serious. Minnie Bruce and I both did a lot of work individually to grow up, get sober and work hard at developing our political consciousness and activism. We were ready for each other. Ready to be loving, to communicate, and to listen.

On Our Backs: Pat Califia once wrote that she wishes there would come a time when we don't pick a sexual partner by his or her gender, but by other criteria, such as whether the person is a top or a bottom. In your ideal world, what would attract people to one another?

Feinberg: It's hard for me to hypothesize. In the world we live in, individuals do organize their preferences around gender expression. But a spectrum of sexuality existed in ancient societies that predated state. sponsored repression of human love. That leads me to think that these preferences might continue to exist in future societies in which no form of sex or gender is outlawed or demeaned. I don't think the problem today is preferences so much as prejudices. For example, I read personal ads in which people say "no druggies or butches need apply." Wow! That's preiudice. If you say in an ad that you're looking for someone feminine or androgynous or some other form of preference. that's very different from saving "no butches." As more and more prejudices are defeated, and in a world freed from divide-and-rule bigotry, people will be freer to explore their preferences about gender and about individuals.

On Our Backs: Do transgendered persons have sexual representation-pornography, erotic fiction, videos made for and by themselves?

Feinberg: Right now, there are many people trying to write erotica that bends gender. And I think it's very important. For many of us, it's very hard, never being able to identify with the sexuality we see everywhere in the dominant culture. [So] it was very important for me to write about sexuality in Stone Butch Blues. In the novel I'm working on now, I've been thinking a lot about how to write about sexuality that's not necessarily masculine or feminine, or gay or straight.

On Our Backs: What do you mean by "sexuality that's not necessarily masculine or feminine"?

Feinberg: I see masculinity and femininity as forms of gender expression. But a person's gender expression doesn't necessarily determine their sexuality. It doesn't determine whether you'll be attracted to someone of a similar gender expression or a dissimilar one. It doesn't mean you'll be sexually aggressive or submissive or both. That's what makes me so angry when I hear people derisively refer to someone as "thinks she's so butch but she rolls over in bed." It's an assumption that masculinity translates into being a top sexually. It limits the range of sexual expression of masculine females. And it's a sexual attack on someone who is, by virtue of their social oppression, already sexually wounded.

On Our Backs: Both sex scenes from Stone Butch Blues were excerpted for collections of lesbian erotica. Did you intend the scenes to be sexually arousing for readers - to be erotica - when you wrote them?

Feinberg: That's such an interesting question. I have to say that when I set out to write the sex scenes, I began to be aware of internalized censorship: "Can I or should I write about this or that?" So I consciously blocked out any thought of readers with this odd mental trick: I told myself that whatever I wrote, I didn't have to publish it. First write it, then decide. By doing that, I discovered that I could write about the kind of sex that i thought was true to the emotional makeup of the characters. If it was erotic for readers, I think it was because I was true to the characters themselves, so the sex was "real," if you know what I mean.

On Our Backs: Can sexuality exist without gender? Or is gender an essential component of sexuality?

Feinberg: Certainly everyone is gendered - quite complexly. And we infuse much of who we are, as gendered people, into our sexuality. But sexuality is so complicated by oppression right now that it's really hard to study it removed from its social soil. Jesse Helms defeated funding for a study that would have backed up much of what Kinsey revealed decades ago: that human sexuality is not two opposite poles- one normal, one not. Sexuality is on a spectrum, and many individuals move along that continuum during their lives. But lesbian, gay, and bisexual love is outlawed in the majority of states in the United States. So how can a truly objective, intensive study of sexuality even be conducted? It's like doing a study on religious beliefs and affiliations during the Nazi regime in Germany. So much of what we will learn about the relationship of gender and desire, as well as unraveling other questions about the matrix of sexuality, will be tied to the victories of our liberation of humanity from oppression altogether.

On Our Backs: In Trans Liberation you wrote about how frustrating it is voting for a two-party system when both parties are backed by big business. Do you vote? Should poor, queer, and trans people even bother voting?

Feinberg: Well, politics is about more than voting. It's also about finding ways to move people to action. In a particular situation, voting on an issue in an election or a candidate could help advance the movement. In general, though, I don't think voting for Republicans or Democrats - both supported by wings of corporate America, as are their parties - advances our struggle. I believe we need to build an independent liberation movement that's not tied down by waiting to see what happens in the next election. Everything our movement has ever won, including progressive legislation, has been won based on the strength of our struggle.

On Our Backs: Lesbians who accept transgender liberation in theory often balk at making alliances with transsexuals. Why is this so?

Feinberg: First and foremost, transsexual men and women helped build the modern lesbian, gay, and bisexual communities and movement. I know of at least one transsexual sister who fought the cops at Stonewall. They haven't always been recognized for their valuable contributions. But I believe strongly that those in the lesbian communities who are opposed to building coalitions with the diverse trans communities are just one current, and very often a minority current. The question is: Which current of any movement will lead? Those who seek to narrow the movement, or those who seek to broaden and strengthen its collective power?

*In this interview, On Our Backs refers to Feinberg with the pronouns "hir" (pronounced "here") and "s/he." We choose to do so because Feinberg has stressed that if society is to accept transgendered people, our language must expand as well. S/he gives as an example Ms., a common term now, but unacceptable before the women's movement.

Source.

[sosuigeneris]

Socialite series: mentality

Here is a list of tips I keep pinned on my notes app.

You have to be competent in order for people to be jealous of you.  No one is going to be jealous of a lazy bum. Making people jealous isn’t the purpose of your life but it does indicate whether you’re successful or not. The better you are, the more haters you will have. Develop a strong sense of self esteem and get rid of your mediocrity.

If you weren’t invited, not informed or given a late invite - do not go. 

Nothing more embarrassing than showing up to an event where you weren’t invited. Now, if you were given a “pity invitation” don’t be rude in declining it. Be polite, cordial and respectfully turn it down.

Learn to be assertive without being aggressive and triggered. Keep a strong hold on your facial expressions and tongue. Raising your voice, rolling your voice, throwing insults only reflects badly on you. Learn to stay calm, cordial, facially inexpressive and poised during uncomfortable situations. You will be seen as someone with an upper hand because you’re clearly not falling for stupid shit and it’s very obviously beneath you.

Every group has the most influential leader. Figure that person out. See who people seek the most validation from, who makes the group decisions, who starts the gossiping - you found em. If you still can’t tell, there’s one more way - the most influential person is the richest or the prettiest in that circle. It’s normally one or the other. Even among rich circles, one person will stand out and people will lick her butthole if they could. I can give a solid example for this. A billionaire got married to his girlfriend, and she’s a part of my private business organisation. The rest of the members in our cohort are rude, indifferent, cliquey and snarky. However, when she enters the room, there is an instant reaction towards her - they all want to be friends with her, they’re nice to her, etc etc. She’s a lovely, sweet and pretty girl (thank God) but it just proves that even among the rich - the person with the most desired value (rich or pretty) stands out. The point being is this - if the most influential person tries you, nip that disrespect in the bud. Do not take shit from this person because the rest of the clique will follow suit. And keep the assertive point in mind.

Be open to different thoughts. But hold your ground and exude confidence. It’s okay if you don’t have an opinion on something. But if you do - don’t feel insecure in expressing it. I have a friend who’s really insecure. She often expresses her mind in a “questioning” way. for instance: a waiter was rude to her. She told us that story. But she seemed so hesitant: “I guess… he was rude??? I thinkkkkk he was rudeeee?” ‘I guess’ ‘I just’ ‘I think’ are what I call insecure statements. They make you look insecure and weak. A lot of insecure people tend to end their sentences in a questioning tone (pitch goes up instead of down). When you end your sentence with your pitch going down, you come across as confident.

When you are a beautiful, smart, well rounded woman, people crave for your validation. People want to be associated with you because it reflects well on them. Do not give your time or energy to bloodsuckers.

Be polite, NOT friendly. Don’t overextend friendship. You’re not their mommy. You don’t have to look out for people. 

Pretty privilege exists. Being skinny and pretty 100% changes the way people look at you. They will treat you with respect and kindness. 

[shiverandqueeef]

the thing about canadian nationalism is that it exists in a perpetual state of relativity to our perception of american jingoism. their patriotism is loud, aggressive, vulgar. our patriotism is quiet and polite. which of course provides the exact conditions needed for our own brand of chauvinism to fester under the glossy, collective self-delusion so many canadians whole-heartedly and uncritically embrace; that we are the "good ones"

so we mock patriotic americans for their devotion to/celebration of the great myth of the american dream, and all the while we fail to address the lies we tell ourselves about who we are as a country. we have medical care! marriage equality, abortion rights, social support networks, our police don't shoot unarmed people of colour in the streets. a socialist utopia. no don't think about it too hard. don't look into any of the above statements or address any of the structural inequalities we refuse to admit exist. residential schools? a tragedy, of course, but an anomaly. disabled people lose all financial support if they get married? well surely that's for their own good. we once denied entry to autistic immigrants? well that's all in the past, we take them now! and look at all the ukranians we welcomed so lovingly! the syrians? oh well that was a different situation you know, not so cut and dry you see. turn your attention (again. and again) to the amazing work we did in rwanda. I'm so sorry, what's that you're saying? somalia? never heard of it!

it's okay. it's all okay. we're still not as bad as america

[a-d-nox]

pluto in aquarius: a prediction of what's to come

this is a huge astrological event, pluto is moving into aquarius for the first time since the late 1700s. last time pluto was in aquarius america fought for independence from britain, uranus was discovered, the french revolution began, the bill of rights was ratified, etc.

so for day one, i want to create predictions of what is to come!

some house matters!!!

TWO PLUTO RETROGRADES WILL OCCUR - june 11th - jan 20th, 2024 is the first so we won't see too much wildness just yet as pluto will return into capricorn during this time and THE FINAL RETROGRADE BACK INTO CAPRICORN will be september 1st, 2024 - november 19th, 2024. then we are full steam ahead with pluto in aquarius until march 9th, 2043.

i personally am NOT a witch or anything wild, everything i am saying is purely theoretical - it is not fated to happen just because i am saying it. i am simply socially aware. i know what's up generally in the world today and what was up in world in the 1700s - "history typically repeats itself."

i live in the usa so my post likely will be slightly more focused there examples wise so i apologize in advance! feel free to comment, dm, or reblog with other examples from your country based on my prediction key phrases.

i am going to start light and get darker so mentally prepare yourself for that (tw: STI/STD outbreaks, war, 9/11, COVID-19, and other abrasive topics that may make people uncomfortable depending on where they are currently reading from) - but we are talking about pluto so... expect the unexpected?!

let's do this.

renewable energy sources

aquarius is electricity, light, inventions, electronics, telephones, televisions, etc while pluto can be change! i recently bought a new tv and the back of the remote has a solar panel instead of a battery pack. i do believe we will see more evolution with technology; perhaps we will see solar changed phones! otherwise pluto is also pollution and natural disasters - the climate is in crisis mode perhaps we will see more responsibility and thus changes in our sourcing of energy! example: recently i read that japan has a great source of geothermal energy. currently the conversion to using this source (instead of coal, gas, and nuclear energy) is being held up by a higher up in the hot spring business who claims switching to a new energy system "threatens centuries-old traditions" (bang - a capricorn term - tradition - so perhaps after the retrogrades are through we will see a major shift in energy sourcing).

general technological advancements/inventions

last time pluto was in aquarius the cotton gin was invented; which aided in quicker production of goods and higher demand for american cotton. i strongly believe this is a general indicator that AI is going to become an even bigger part of day to day life. i have seen AI already replace those who take orders in the panera drive thru, there is a higher demand for philosophy/english grads to help teach AI, etc. aquarius is also new teachers/occupations so AI could become the new teachers OR new careers could be coming in the area of interacting with AI generally so it gains more consciousness. so it could be AI or it could be something else that is only just a dream in the back of someone's mind at this moment in time.

altruistic extremists

we may see utopian dreamers rise up! they are likely to advocate for the deconstruction of pre-existing political institutions in favor of either self governance or egalitarian policies. they will likely do whatever it takes to make this statement; we may see more protests / political statements similar to wynn bruce's.

fanatical/extremist announcers radio/tv

we already have biased stations and channels (fox, abc, cnn, nbc, etc). we are likely to see a further rise in politically biased newscasters and announcers.

demonization of astrology

astrology is aquarian in nature but pluto is fanatics, evil, demonics, etc. the community has been saying about the next world war for a while now. we are moving out of conservative pluto in capricorn, so we may find that those of deep belief systems accusing us [astrologers] of conspiring with the devil if/when something militant arises (similar to how the tarot community gets told constantly by christians that they must be satanists).

something with birds

i don't have this nailed down yet specifically, but both aquarius and pluto are rulers of birds. aquarius is large birds while pluto is wading/swamp birds and/or flesh eating birds. no one freak out and start thinking that i am indicating something like the 1963 horror film the birds. if anything i can see more bird-spread illness and/or parasites. OR pluto can be archaeology! there may be a bird related discovery or something to do with the distant relative of the bird - aka the raptor (dinosaur related).

a new STI/STD discovery/outbreak

aquarius represents the distribution of bodily fluids while pluto is often representative of sexual activity. this could either be an outbreak because pluto can be death, extremes, catastrophes, and/or casualties OR pluto can be ph balance in the body (possible new discoveries for feminine sexual health), kidneys (perhaps a discovery will be linked to the diminished functionality associated with syphilis, hiv, etc and how to combat more symptomatic issues), and even purification (aka a cure perhaps to help viral carriers to no longer pass the sti/std to sexual partners).

collapse of congress / house of commons/representatives

i mean it only stands to reason that the bill of rights was created/approved last time pluto was in aquarius that either those rights will disappear (pluto also represents dictators) OR simply the people rise up and demolish the institution as it stands: "...whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government..."

airplane catastrophes

aquarius rules over planes and pluto can represent accomplices, catastrophes, casualties, b0mbs, and t3rr0r!sm. we may experience another event similar to 9/11 OR we may see air strikes in a potential world war 3 scenario.

societal change: crime, war, leadership, and more

world war 3 is on the horizon so say pluto in aquarius (probably in the wake of election year in the US - when the final retrograde into capricorn concludes). but this could also just be governmental restructuring - this could be seen as rebellions (similar to the French Revolution), the rise of organized crime if good become more scarce, religious shifts (pluto is the antichrist, aquarius is freewill (first amendment), and capricorn is the old church (christian schools of thought)), etc.

aquarian terms i can't think of change in but seem important to note / keep in mind: freethinkers, hamburg germany, heart weakness (biden - perhaps the early death of a president in office?), motion picture (already changing as more theaters close), photography, psychology (we are already starting to care more about everyone's mental health), science (general scientific discoveries?), social affairs (there is always something going on - the question is how big will this be?), society, sweden, syria, and xray.

plutonian terms i can't think of change in but seem important to note / keep in mind: abductions (aliens - ufo sights?), aliases, alibis (governmental riffing similar to how no plan was in place when for COVID-19), assass!nat!0n (hopefully not), betrayal, bootlegging (bootleg tiktok if america bans it?), cemeteries (removal of that method if too many are dying at any giving time - mass graves?), convicts (prison release due to overcrowding? the mega-prison of el salvador?), corruption (governmental likely?), demolitions, earthquakes (more environmental issues?), electrocution, executions (war?), fanatic, extremes, floods (environmental? emigration - society is aquarius after all?), liars, massacres (the rise of crime?), murder, nihilism (the rise of philosophy at the time of war?), ransom (war?), satire (rise of political satire?), stolen goods, and taxes (trump-esque no?).

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[stylespresleyhearted]

CCG - LUCI’S 3RD BIRTHDAY

In honor of the great @blainesebastian ‘s birthday here’s a little instagram compilation I’ve conjured up for our adored CCG nation <3 Austin, CCG, and Luci we miss and love ya’ll forever and Mccall you are a brilliant mind whom I will adore until the end of time! Have the bestest birthday ever, you deserve nothing less!

—————-

liked by coffee.girl, salmahayek, and 20,342 others

enews And the Best Dad Award goes to ….! In honor Austin Butler and Y/N’s little girl turning three today let’s take a look back at our favorite moments of Austin Butler being the best dad ❤️ link in bio for full video of second slide.

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austinfan18 video of luci running into austin’s arm after two weeks apart you will always be famous!

butlerishh him throwing her in the air LMAO LUCI WAS NOT HAVING FUN

ccgfan HA fr luci was looking at her mom to save her

iloveaustin Can we talk about how proud his mom would be about what a great parent he is?

sharonbleu Austin even has Salma Hayek up in the likes 😉

liked by austinbutler, priscillapresley, and 872, 196 others

coffee.girl Celebrating Luci day should be every day tbh. 🦖💕👁️🐠🪷🌸☃️🥞 @austinbutler and I can’t believe we created this wonderful being, she had to have come from a lab of perfection.

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ashleytisdale Luci told me she’s from Pluto and I believe her. It’s the only logical explanation.

austinbutler Nice use of all of Luci’s favorite emoji’s, she’s going to be so proud. ❤️

jillian.mua The best thing you and Austin ever did and will ever do is have sex three years ago to give the world the best human to walk the Earth

coffee.girl JILLIAN!

ashleybee I’m disgusted but I get what she means

austinbutler Babe close your comment section please

chrisevans Happy bday to the one who is gonna prove aliens exist!

liked by austinbutler, bazluhrmann, and 20,807 others

people Luci Butler turns three today so we must not forget to credit her mother (and best friend) in a world where it seems moms get no recognition for being superhuman.

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user12 imagine using a 3 year olds bday to make some political womens movement statement. mom’s get plenty of recognition.

butlerfamupdates I actually applaud People Magazine for this. All day magazine’s have posted Austin’s cutest moments with Luci and talked about what a wonderful Dad he is - which no one would ever doubt to think he is - but Luci’s mom is very much present as well and deserves love too. Luci loves both her parents. It’s normal for a kid to have favorites, it doesn’t make the other parent ‘bad.’

ccgfan Y/N and Luci sharing their love for open water together and creating sea shell necklaces i cry

ccgfan1 You just know she’s the most supportive and loving mother! Austin and Luci are so lucky to have her!

liked by coffee.girl, austinbutler, and 341, 289 others

ashleytisdale happy birthday to Jupiter’s bestest friend in the whole wide world! We are so lucky to have you in our life Luci ❤️🦖✨

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coffee.girl the cutest besties 👯 🤣

fan23 ashley and aus are bffs now their daughters are too 😭

austinluv STOP my heart can’t take it

liked by ashleybee, ccgfan, and 34, 567 others

butlerfamupdates a cute little insight into Luci’s “THREE-REX” bday party! Posts and reposts from @austinbutler and @coffee.girl IG stories

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sugartreats Thank you for choosing us for her cakes and treats! The sweetest, most beautiful family 🙌🏼 #happybirthdayluci

fan34 so luc is like obsessed w dinos huh 🤔

fan33 austin literally calls her lil dino

fan45 u just know it was luci’s idea to put a tutu on the scary t rex LMAO

sugarcakes Oh it was! Her parents brought her in and Miss Luci was very specific with what she wanted haha

liked by ashleytisdale, oliviadejonge, and others

jillian.mua Happy birthday cool girl 🥳 I love you

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austinbutler vibin’

ashleybee oh gosh i wanna kiss those cheeks

oliviadejonge i wanna be her when i grow up ✨🥳

coffee.girl @austinbutler trendsetter 😂❤️

liked by austin12 and others

austinbnews via Austin’s IG story for Luci’s birthday! Happy birthday sweet Luci 🎂 ♥️

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austinfan23 she’s taking after her parents with her love of books 🥹

ccgfan yes Y/N and Austin built Luci her personal little library 😭

butlerupdates Austin taking a picture of Luci taking a picture of Y/N — ICONIC

liked by ashleebee, coffee.girl, and 1,235,096 others

austinbutler happy birthday lil dino ♥️

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coffee.girl … and she’s out for the count

jillian.mua @coffee.girl she had a busy day bossing everyone around

ashleytisdale @austinbutler please tell me you at least wiped the cake frosting off her face

austinbutler @ashleytisdale I’m not dealing with that tantrum when she wakes up

coffee.girl @austinbutler neither am I smart move

ashleybee I LOVE HERRRR

LMAOOOO MCCALL WHAT WOULD YOU DO IF I TOLD YOU I WAS ALREADY WORKING ON THIS BEFORE YOU TEXTED ME TODAY ASKING ABOUT LUCI ?!???? OUR BRAINSSS INTERCONNECTED 🙌🏼❤️❤️❤️❤️ happy birthday mccall love you and your little universe and luci and ccg so much you’re awesome

[sgiandubh]

Considering it wasn't a Covid bubble where people come and go and her blossoming relationship with Tony pre-airing of the show was not soiled by intrusive fans. Considering she already knew Tony and he and his family are Scottish live in the area. Thank you for making another connection between Caitriona and Tony early on, which led them living together in Scotland by 2015.

Dear Considering Anon,

I, too, am considering your very serious problems in reading comprehension and logic, darling. A COVID bubble is, actually, the opposite of people 'coming and going' and I think, in this regard, you lived that period of our lives under a rock, or you are just lamely trying to lie to yourself (and nobody else). I would, therefore, kindly ask you to stop insulting our shipper collective intelligence, or use a better online translator to English than good, old Google.

In the same vein, you just know who the most prominent intrusive fan was, very early on OL's timeline, as you also know perfectly well that she was not a shipper. Again, you must take me for an amnesic fool, who somehow forgot who was frantically phoning the resorts where S was supposedly spending time with non existent paramours? Or who somehow forgot the trolls on your side who systematically go ask anyone (loosely) connected to SC (and even innocent casuals who happened to spot S or C), all sorts of frankly embarrassing questions? But hey, you people have no shame, never did.

You might want to put a brake on waxing lyrically about that 'blossoming romance', considering C denied in the Irish press even by 2015 or 2016 being involved with anyone, which totally excludes McGill from the equation (why hide it, since you just wrote with great confidence there were 'no intrusive fans', at that moment?). And also considering you are perfectly unable to substantiate McGill being remotely present near her, anytime before the EIFF opening night gala in 2015 (you know, the one with that penguin pic that gives you the shingles...). [Later edit: that is right, I forgot about that flute pic and the other guy who called her 'McGill's girl' on Twitter - is that formal proof of a relationship ?].

By the way - evidence of EIFF staff unnecessarily adding a pic of both C and S (and unnecessarily mentioning her, in the process) years after the event, here:

Considering you cannot prove she already knew McGill before landing in Scotland, in September 2013, and you only rely on meager speculation about her contradictory press statements over time on the topic, I would be more prudent, if I were you. I know they are Scottish and I also know where his family lived and still does, in Glasgow - none of your business and I couldn't care less.

Thank you for understanding that if you want to be treated with basic politeness on this page, you should perhaps think twice before sending this #silly garbage, and also stop calling people you do not know things like 'Dearly Demented', 'stupid' or 'mental ward', as you like to do across the street. In many tones, from the brutal and cheap to the condescending ('giving lessons to someone', when you fail to make the very basic distinction between a budget project and its final implementation - just a not so random example).

Until then, kindly fuck off!