#PETITION ! WE WILL NOT BE-CHIPPED

[emperorsfoot]

Sign the Petition! Tell Trader Joes what we want!

Some anti-Israel "activists" are trying to pressure Trader Joe's to stop carrying Israeli products. As far as I can tell, they don't even carry many products made in Israel, so this seems very performative to me. You can always just not buy Israeli products when you shop, if you object to them, of course.

Historically and currently, this type of performative anti-Israel protest often comes hand-in-hand with hostility toward visible Jews and Israelis. In the past, these protests have frequently been followed by pressure to stop carrying kosher food at all.

Trader Joe's is the only grocery store to carry kosher food in some US communities and the only one to carry kosher meat in even more US cities. We need Trader Joe's all throughout USA to remain safe and welcoming for Jews and Israelis. Please sign the petition to keep the current Israeli products at Trader Joe's, and keep them a safe place for Jews and Israelis.

If these bigoted "activists" succeed, it could open the door for the removal of all kosher foods from Trader Joe's, even ones not made in Israel, and then those communities that rely on Trader Joe's will be left without a place to get kosher foods.

Tagging a few bigger name Jumblr bogs for visibility.

@spacelazarwolf @freegazafromhamas @tikkunolamresistance @spot-the-antisemitism @edenfenixblogs

[savage-rhi]

Magenta 🤬

[angelsheavenus]

PETITION ! WE WILL NOT BE CHIPPED

Dear people, It’s time to advise you of YOUR SITUATION and inform you of YOUR POSITION within PUPPET SYSTEM. It has been enough stupefying people by scientists, clerks and other OUTER structures.

angels-heaven.org

Download Link

Some people have been intensively working on microchip control system of all people on the planet Earth. In case of implementation, this system will imply the total loss of all the remaining liberties people have today. People working on this are living in total ignorance in terms of consequences – spiritual impact, not being aware of how this impacts fundamental human rights. The microchips are parts of computer network via microwaves like cell phones ! The people control system is being created gradually and unobtrusively to avoid any human protest. This happens and takes place now.

Under the pretence of preventive protection from influenza pandemics of various virus strains, the intention, within pandemic plans, is being developed and prepared in USA, Europe (STMicroelectronics company), Russia, China and other countries, to compulsorily chip every human being with infernal microchip, which identifies virus strains and sends results to tracking centers and concentration camps. But not only that ! Next, more essential chip functions, which shall gradually be replaced with more modern ones, include control of human mind by satellites and controllers, who claim for this human world. These intentions are camouflaged with positive camouflage reasons of “protecting people from diseases”. All this has been a number of years helped by media controlled, likewise 95 % majority of population, to 95 % by Saurians from the Dark Worlds. Media control people externally in addition to interior control of both the terrestrial control structure and massive majority of 6.5 billion people on the planet Earth.

you call this democracy – we CONTRADICT your perception of democracy herewith; it is a pseudodemocracy IN FACT. carefully consider your decision !

i am against chipping people.

name and surname:

address:

(street, city, zip code)

signature:

Please write legibly (PRINT-HAND) in order for your vote to be valid.

You may request a petition form with 30 lines for signatures. Petition is valid all the time.

Send this petition also to STATE ADMINISTRATION officers, from the President,

 Parliament, district hetmans, to city mayors, magistrates, TEACHERS and MEDICS.

Pass the petition text on to other people  ! ! !

FURTHER METHODS TO SOLVE THE SITUATION :

WORK ON YOURSELF, ELIMINATION OF NEGATIVE ACTS, OPEN SPIRITUAL HEART,

PETITION AGAINST MICROCHIP TOTALITY, PICTURES 2000, 3000, 3001, 4001, MESSAGE 9000,

SPIRITUAL PATH on: www.angels-light.org www.universe-people.com www.cosmic-people.com

Anti-chip

sources:   www.noverichipinside.com   www.foebud.org   www.spychips.com   www.antichips.com www.nocards.org     www.bigbrotherawards.cz     www.privacyinternational.org     www.genewatch.org

Pic. 4004 EN  Leaflet 313  Message 9900  04/19/2008   www.cosmic-people.com  www.angels-light.org

Download 1

Download 2

Download 3

[cancelforcipe]

SAMS/EALS cast: Soooo, Eclipse is dead. Fanbase: Okay. We are waiting for his return. SAMS/EALS cast: No, he- Fanbase: Lunar was dead. BloodMoon was dead. Earth was killed. They all returned. SAMS/EALS cast: But, it's not- Fanbase: WE ARE WAITING.

They really do be trying to make peeps stop talking about the guy, huh? Well, I can be just as spicy as our dearly departed Doritobot, thanks.

[nihilityuniverse]

𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 | 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐈𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐱 𝐅𝐄𝐌! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ 𝗦𝗲𝗰𝗿𝗲𝘁 𝗖𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗼𝗿 ᴏꜰ ᴛᴇʏᴠᴀᴛ 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗙𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝗕𝗼𝘀𝘀.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Story inspired by Acheron's Lore, Power, and Personality...

ENG is not my First language

I do not own Genshin Impact or any of the pictures used.

Do NOT Repost

Story also available on WattPad: Chapter 0 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Chapter 0 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏

𝐀 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭'𝐬 𝐋𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐨

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Eight members of the Harbingers had gathered in the palace-like church. Inside, the air was so frigid that the nation's flags began to freeze, crackling under the intense cold. No candles lit the space; only the ethereal glow of the polar lights streaming through the stained-glass windows provided illumination.

A petite woman with long hair, her eyes concealed behind a delicate white lace mask, hums a familiar lullaby from her deceased friend as she leans against a casket. Her voice echoes softly in the frozen stillness.

The eight other Harbingers watched her from a distance, each wearing a similar coat of identical design. By order of Her Royal Highness Tsaritsa, all Harbingers were required to attend the funeral, even the elusive 0th Harbinger.

The 0th Harbinger, code name: Innamorati — The Lovers;

A figure shrouded in mystery and danger, Innamorati remained an enigma even to her fellow Harbingers.

Known only by whispers and rumors, she was a being crafted by the Cryo Archon herself, a weapon designed to challenge the Celestial Gods. Hidden away for years, her existence was the subject of much speculation.

Some Harbingers were indifferent, focusing solely on the success of their plans, while others were intensely curious. Pierro, the Director of the Fatui, claimed to know nothing about her, adding to her mystique.

Rumors abounded: some said Innamorati would annihilate anyone who crossed her path; others believed she had perished decades ago, her legend merely a shadow from the past.

What they all knew for certain was that Innamorati had a notorious reputation for forgetting critical missions assigned by Tsaritsa herself. This unreliability made her both feared and ridiculed within their ranks.

"We are gathered here today to remember our dear comrade," an old dwarf with a long nose and mustache solemnly broke the deafening silence. "In honor of her sacrifice, all work shall halt for half a day as the nation mourns her passing."

"Hehe, merely half a day...?" Pantalone laughed coldly, crossing his hands in front of his chest with a mocking smile. "People say the Northland Bank's true currencies are blood and tears... But mayor, even speaking as a banker, that sounds a little unconscionable."

"Rosalyne died in a foreign land," Arlecchino stepped forward, her crimson red X-cross pupils glowing dangerously bright with annoyance. "But you heartless businessmen and dignitaries always find a convenient excuse to remain in the comfort of your homeland..." She frowned. "You couldn't hope to understand, so why don't you keep your mouth shut?! We don't want to make the children cry."

"Hey, c'mon now, even I don't think this is the right time or place for a fight," Childe chipped in, lazily sitting on one of the wooden benches.

"Utterly risible!" Sandrone mocked, and the machine behind her emitted an audible angry sound.

"Though her methods tarnished her honor, Lohefalter's sacrifice is a great pity. Her loss shall not hinder our progress," Capitano's deep voice resonated through the entire palace, catching everyone's attention.

He turned towards the Doctor, his face hidden behind a dark veil. "But Dottore... What of Scaramouche and the Gnosis from Inazuma?"

Dottore smiled, twirling a tube filled with blue liquid between his fingers. "Conventional wisdom holds that Divine Knowledge cannot be rationally comprehended. After conquering the Divine Gaze, he will make his next move."

The heavy, frozen church door creaked open, allowing the bitter winter air to sweep inside. Everyone turned their gaze towards it, even Columbina, who had paused her humming. 

A woman, clad in a coat of the same design as theirs, stepped into the church, holding a red paper umbrella. The door closed behind her with a resounding bang. The click of her heels on the marble floor echoed through the hall, a stark contrast to the silence that had filled the room.

Her face remained obscured by shadows, yet every person in the room knew instinctively that she was not someone to be trifled with. 

The sense of her power and presence was palpable, a mutual understanding among them all. To cross her would be to invite disaster.

This was Innamorati, the 0th Harbinger, a figure shrouded in mystery and danger, whose very presence commanded respect and fear.

As she advanced, the air seemed to grow even colder, the weight of her presence adding to the already frigid atmosphere. Each step she took resonated with authority, and the silence in the room deepened, a silent acknowledgment of her status among them.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Finally, you found your way to the place where the funeral was to be held. You hadn't thought you would make it in time, given the ferocity of the snowstorm that had nearly obscured your path and made the journey treacherous.

Your heels clicked sharply with each step as you approached the group of people gathered at the center, where the casket lay. You set your red paper umbrella on one of the wooden benches, the action deliberate and unhurried. 

As the shadow over your face disappeared, the polar light from the stained-glass windows illuminated your features.

With the shadow gone, the collective breath of the eight Harbingers halted involuntarily.

Your beauty was striking: peach-colored, plump lips; long, dark eyelashes framing eyes that seemed to hold the very essence of winter. Your skin was pale and flawless, with a cold radiance that mirrored the icy surroundings. Your presence was both ethereal and commanding, a juxtaposition of delicate grace and chilling power.

You stopped a few steps before the group of Harbingers—your comrades—and looked up at them. 

"0th Harbinger, Innamorati... That is what they call me. You may call me whatever you wish," you introduced yourself, your voice ethereal and soft, yet so cold and lifeless it sent shivers down their spines. "This must be the first time we meet."

"You are quite late, Lord Innamorati," Pulcinella, the old dwarf, addressed you with a mix of respect and caution.

After all, The top-ranked Harbingers, from rank 1 to No. 3, possess powers that can rival the gods. So what about No. 0? Could she surpass the powers of the gods? Or even be greater?

You let out an annoyed sigh. "All the snow-covered streets look the same, and the blizzard did not make navigating to this gathering any easier."

Pantalone chuckled, turning towards you with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"If I had known, I would have taken you with me in my carriage, Lady Innamorati. Alas, I am left to wonder why there were no escorts ready for you. I thought I had ordered the highest-ranked Skirmishers for your protection." His voice was dangerously smooth, laden with speculation, hinting at the rumors of you annihilating anyone who crossed your path.

Before you could respond, Childe interjected from the side. "Huh? The oh-so-feared Innamorati getting lost in a mere snowstorm? This is truly a sight to behold." His tone dripped with mockery. 

"Were you also getting lost on the way to your missions?" His voice carried an angry undertone, bitterness seeping through his words. 

He had often been the one to hurriedly take on your missions at the last minute, running from one nation to another like a lackey. The mission to obtain the Geo Archon's Gnosis had been assigned to you, not him, nor the now-deceased Signora. In the end, he had faced severe repercussions after the Northland Bank had to pay heavy reparations.

If gazes could kill, Childe would have been long dead under Pantalone's icy stare. Though his slight smile remained, his eyes closed behind his glasses, he radiated a murderous aura. He longed to hear your voice again and to capture your attention. Such a rare opportunity shouldn't be wasted.

"Insolent child! How dare you—!" Sandrone hissed at Childe, her anger palpable. She, too, feared inciting your wrath. If Childe weren't a fellow Harbinger, Sandrone would have killed him long ago for destroying her ruin guard factory.

"It's time to end tonight's foolish theatrics." 

A deep, husky voice resonated through the church, cutting through the cold silence like a blade.

The man stepped forward from the shadows, his right side concealed by a dark mask. It was Pierro, the Director of the Fatui, and his presence commanded instant respect.

His voice, cold and demanding, echoed with authority as he advanced towards the casket.

"Right now, you have no captive audience," he said, his gaze sweeping over the assembled Harbingers and guests, silently commanding them to gather and pay heed.

You stood on the opposite side of Pierro, your own presence a stark contrast to his imposing figure.

"Let every worthy sacrifice be carved in ice, and let this nation endure for all time," Pierro intoned, his voice carrying the weight of solemn duty.

The assembly lowered their heads in reverence, eyes closing as he delivered the farewell speech. Your hand drifted absently towards your Divine Key, a subconscious gesture.

"In the name of Her Majesty, the Tsaritsa," Pierro continued, his voice imbued with a steely resolve, "we will seize authority from the gods."

After several minutes of mournful meditation, Pierro broke the silence and left the building, his movements purposeful and commanding.

The others followed in silent procession, a testament to their respect and shared grief. You took your red paper umbrella, closing your eyes briefly before stepping into the freezing, snow-covered landscape.

"Absolute peace."

As you all departed, the church behind you began to freeze over, layers of crystal ice encasing it under the unyielding winter sky, which shimmered with the ethereal glow of the aurora.

"Such is the gift from the Tsaritsa, such is Her Majesty's benevolence," Pierro declared, his voice carrying a chilling reverence as he halted and gazed up at the celestial lights.

"Now you rest in this coffin, encased in layer upon layer of ice. But, Rosalyne, I promise you..."

"Your final resting place will be the entirety of the Old World," Pierro's voice echoed through the night sky, his farewell imbued with a cold resolve that matched the frozen land around you.

As you watched the polar light dancing across the vast darkness of the sky, a thought surfaced in your mind. You had never known this person, but you had made a promise to someone...

You halted in your steps and glanced back at the frozen church.

Some tasks have to be done, even if they seem pointless.

Amidst the snow, you caught a glimpse of shadowy hands emerging from the icy landscape, reaching out towards the sky one by one, as if seeking transcendence. As you blinked, everything returned to normal.

"Another Memory..."

"Lady Innamorati, is something the matter?" Pierro's voice broke through your reverie as he noticed you staring back at the frozen church.

"...meaningless," you whispered to yourself, yet the faint wind carried your words to Pierro. 

"Pardon?" Pierro asked again, this time capturing the attention of some of the other Harbingers, especially Dottore. The Doctor, ever curious, considered whether you might make an intriguing subject for his experiments.

"It's nothing. Continue without me. I wish to be alone," you ordered, your voice light as silk yet cold as ice. Pierro nodded, casting one last glance at you before leaving. 

Dottore lingered a moment longer, watching you with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. As he did, the falling snow seemed to halt and move backward, defying the natural order.

"Existence is fleeting as the dawn's dew," your voice echoed in a dimension separate from the real world, where time had ceased.

Dottore's breath caught as he watched you, disbelief etched across his features. His analytical mind struggled to comprehend the anomaly unfolding before him.

"Yet, I guide the wandering souls on the still waters of oblivion..."

The dimension around you cracked like glass, shattering as you began to walk towards the church.

"...and weep for the departed."

A powerful gust of wind struck Dottore, and in that moment, he perceived everything yet nothing. The world seemed meaningless and empty. He felt his body ascending, his soul slipping away...

"Don't look back..." Your ethereal voice called to him, a beacon of light in the encroaching darkness.

He felt a pull from behind, "Move forward," you whispered. In the next instant, he stood where Pierro had asked if you were alright moments before.

Dottore's breath hitched, his cold heart pounding faster than ever. This was neither a dream nor an illusion. He knew this with certainty. What had just happened? The question echoed in his mind, a mystery as deep as the winter night itself.

One thing was certain: he had unmistakably felt the presence of the Almighty One—the Divine Creator.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Reblog if you like this story

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

All In 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)

based on the winning option for this poll

Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes

Note: told myself to slow down, didn’t.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You finish your cocktail before you go into the concert hall. Roxie grabs a third and you pass, not wanting to run back and forth to the bathroom. Besides, you don’t really like the way the vodka stirs in your stomach and little behind your eyes.

The band is decent. You don’t know any of the songs and only vaguely heard of the artist they are a tribute to. Still, you enjoy the live show; you focus on their instruments and how they use them. You always wanted to be musical but never had a sense of tone or melody.

By the end of the set, you’re yawning. Your sister is on her fourth drink and you can’t tell if she’s swaying to the music or if it’s more than that. As the rows empty, you shuffle out with the rest of the concert goers. The bright lights of the casino greet your squint and your ears pulse slightly from the noise of the strumming and crashing show.

“Mm, so, what’d’ya say?” Your sister makes almost every word into one, “how do we spend this?”

She fishes out the chip and you give a sheepish frown. You almost forgot about it. You still think you should turn it in. You don’t feel right spending someone else’s money. You do that often enough, much too old to be living off your mom.

“Don’t be boring,” she warns, “jeez. It’s just cards. Odds are, whoever dropped it, would’ve lost it to the house anyway.”

She claps her hand around your shoulder. You pull back the sleeve of your cardigan to check the time. It’s after ten! You haven’t been out that late since... ever.

“I’m not boring,” you cross your arms and shrug her off. “I just... am different than you.”

“Boring,” she repeats. “You can’t spend all day in your room.”

Yes, you can. And you do.

You don’t argue. When she’s like this, it’s only bound to become a scene. There are too many strangers around for that.

“Black jack,” she declares and spins the coin. It slips from her grasp and falls between her feet. She bends over shamelessly in her dress to pluck it up. “Come on, let’s clean up.”

She struts ahead and you shuffle after her, nervously wringing the strap of your purse. Hopefully she loses it quickly and you can just retreat home in defeat. You catch up to her as she reaches the stairs. She giggles as she leans on the railing and you take her other arm, trying to support her wobbly steps.

“Want another drink?” She asks.

“No, think we’re good.”

“We?” She scoffs, “I’m fine.”

“Please, Rox, let’s just find a table,” you peek around as her voice rises a bit louder than you like.

“Pfft, fine, but if I win, I'm getting a drink.”

You nod. Go along to get along. That’s what your mother always told you when it came to your sister. She’s more like your father than she cares to admit.

You get to a table and she sits easily on the high seat of the tall stool. She lays down the single chip and the dealer offers to break it into smaller ones. She nods and shrugs. You envy how smoothly she just breezes through things.

You stand behind her. You don’t want to take up a seat and the stool is too much of a climb for you. You can see it wobbling as you attempt to hitch yourself up with the crossbar. You’re good, you shouldn’t get comfortable.

You listen to the shuffle of cards as your sister murmurs something you can’t make out. You can only hear the low drone of voices as you stand back. You sidle out of the way as a man claims the empty stool beside your sister. He buys in and another hand is dealt. Hasn’t she lost yet?

The man leans into your sister and you grimace. She turns her head to listen to him and she giggles. Your cheeks blaze hotly and you cross your arms and rock. Neither seem to notice you as they get closer and closer.

As the game progresses, you can only really make out what the dealer says; the different numbers that have grumbles coming from other players. You bring your hand up to pick at the button on your cardigan. The man puts his arm around your sister’s back, his hand on her hip as wiggles in her seat coyly. What about Tom?

You peer around awkwardly. Do you stop her? Remind her of the boyfriend that got her the tickets for tonight? You bounce in your flats and pause as you find someone else staring back at you. Or are they? Just as quickly as your eyes meet, the stranger’s eyes flit away and he’s back to chatting with another man. It’s the very same man who gave you the chip. Maybe her forgot you. That’s not a surprise.

You return your attention to your sister. The man has moved his arm between them and your sister squirms. You watch his elbow as he pulls his hand back. He’s touching her leg. She’s wiggling and suddenly, she shoves him away and screeches.

“EH! I got a boyfriend, perv! I said stop.”

Her voice carries along the high ceilings and you cringe. You back up, cowering away as she stands and the stool teeters dangerously. She fists her hand and you think for a moment she might just hit the guy. He scoffs and turns in his seat.

“Babe, just wanted to buy you a drink.”

“Whatever. You fucking creep!” She hollers.

“Ma’am,” the dealer calls from the table, “is there a problem?”

“Y-yeah,” she hiccups, “this dude had his hand up my skirt.”

“She’s drunk,” the man shakes his head, “listen to her.”

“I’m--” your sister’s denial catches in her throat, “doesn’t mean he can just touch me.”

“Ma’am, if you’re drunk, we’re going to have to ask you to leave.”

“I’m fine. I'm not that...” She slides off the stool and stands, grabbing the chips in front of her seat and tossing them across the table. “You’re all a bunch of crooks.”

Her ankles tangle as she spins and she barely gets her balance before she storms away. Her strides are uneven as she bobbles drunkenly. You watch after her with wide eyes before you follow. She leads you into the bathrooms as she growls and grumbles. She slams into a stall and you stand outside.

You wait until she comes out. She’s quieter and her eyes are hazy. She washes her hands and applies a new coat of lip gloss.

“What a bust,” she pouts and rolls her eyes, “one more drink and we’ll go.”

“Maybe we should just leave now.”

“That guy was such a pervert,” she sneers at you, “you saw where his hand was.”

You nod, “yeah, I did...”

“So, you know I wasn’t being dramatic.”

“Yeah, but... everyone heard.”

“Oh fuck off,” she pushes your shoulder and stomps past you.

You feel bad. It’s not that she shouldn’t defend herself. You admire that she can, but she didn’t need to be so obnoxious. You trail after her into the casino. She heads directly for the bar. You hang your head and wait behind her. This time, she doesn’t offer you a drink. She’s mad at you now so it’s the silent treatment.

“Honey,” another man approaches, “how about I get that for you?”

“Huh?” She babbles, “oh, sure, baby, that’s sweet.”

The man offers his card to the bartender and orders a highball. He leans his arm on the tall bar top as he faces your sister. She bats her lashes at him and giggles as she pulls her drink closer.

“What’s your name, gorgeous?” He asks.

You blink. It’s like you’re not even there. You watch awkwardly, wishing the floor would swallow you up. Instead, you find an empty stool one seat away.

“Roxie,” she answers as you struggle up onto the seat. “And you, handsome?”

“Sam,” he returns, “what’re you drinking then?”

You notice him touch her glass along the brim but can’t see much else around your sister. She replies and his own drink is served. You shrink down and sigh. She’ll get her free drink and then you can just leave. You hope. You hold your chin as you dread another scene.

“Can I get ya something?” The bartender approaches.

“Er, water, please,” you choke out. He seems disappointed but gets you a glass.

You try not to overhear your sister and that man. It’s awkward and you hate this. It’s not the first time she’s done it either. The few times she’s brought you along, you’ve somehow become a third wheel. It reminds you of when you were kids and your mom forced her to take you with her somewhere. She doesn’t actually want you around, she’s genetically obligated.

“Woah, baby, you okay?” The man raises his voice and your sister’s body slumps. Shoot. No.

You barely get off the stool as the man clings to her drooping body. She giggles wildly as you tweak your ankle and rush over. That man, Sam he called himself, seems somewhat calm given the situation.

“Slow down, babe,” he chortles, “Jesus.”

She’s drunk. You knew she shouldn’t have had another drink. Your eyes meet Sam’s and he squints.

“You know her?”

“My sister,” you murmur.

“Oh, right, well...” he clears his throat and looks around, “you can take care of her then.”

“Wait--” you barely keep her up as she leans on you as she’s almost sideways on the stool.

He’s just leaving you? What the heck? You guess if he can’t get anything out of her, she isn’t worth the effort.

You sniff and struggle to slide your sister down to her feet. She’s heavier than you expect and her height makes her difficult to balance. You glance over as the bartender nears.

“Everything okay?” He asks sternly.

“We’re leaving,” you assure him, “sorry.”

“Five minutes,” he taps his watch face, “or I call security.”

You nod and move your arm around your sister’s back, “please, Rox, gotta work with me.”

She laughs again, “hey, where’d that cute guy go?”

“Please,” you beg again, “don’t...”

“Oh, hi,” she touches your faces and squeezes your cheeks, “baby sister.”

You hate when she’s like this. She’s always been a drinker, ever since high school when her friends would sneak out bottle from their parents’ stash. What was once an act of rebellion as a teen is now concerning as an adult.

“Excuse me, everything okay?” The timbre makes your heart drop and you nearly let go of Roxie as she leans in the other direction.

You look up. Oh god. It’s him. That dark-haired man in his expensive suit.

“I’m just... we’re on our way out--”

“She alright?” He points at your sister.

“Tipsy,” you utter.

“I see,” he pushes his hair back as it slips forward, “can I help?”

“Uh, you don’t--”

Before you can answer, he has your sister’s other arm. He almost lifts her entire weight off of you as he supports her against his shoulder. Your entire body is emblazoned in humiliation. You refuse to look above the floor as you’re certain you must have an audience.

You get your sister across the floor and into a hallway. There's an exit sign ahead but you're all turned around. The man stops you and Roxie.

"Where'd you park?" He asks, "this leads to Lot 5."

"Oh, uh..." you blanch. You hadn't thought of any of that. You slouch under Roxie's weight and try to see around her. "I'm not sure but... I don't drive. She was supposed to."

"Ah," he clucks, "and now she can't."

"Right," you agree glumly, "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry? Why?" He asks.

"I didn't think... I let her--"

"Did you let her drink or did she make that choice knowing she was supposed to get behind a wheel?" He challenges.

"I guess... yeah. Sorry."

"Really, doll, no need to keep going on like that," he dismisses, "well, it's late and I can't in good conscience let you wander out with her like this. Especially if you don't have a way home."

"I could..." you begin. A taxi? You'd have to ask your mom to pay the driver when you get home. "Why would you... care?"

"Well, as the owner of this establishment, it won't look good on me if two pretty girls left and went missing," he chuckles then stops himself, "sorry, that's not funny. I just... we overserved your sister obviously so it's on us."

"Owner?" You gulp. You didn't think this could be any more humiliating.

"Bucky," he reaches around you sister.

You hesitate. You can't shake his hand properly as yours is around your sister so you just sorta grab his hand briefly and squeeze two fingers, retracting with another raze of embarrasment. You barely squeak out your name.

He repeats your name before he continues, "I'll get you two a room so she can sober up."

"What? No. That's... too much."

"It's late," he insists, "here," he pulls Roxie away from you as her head lolls and she snorts. He lifts her against his chest, carrying her easily. "I know a back way, just follow my lead, doll."

"Ummmmm," you drone and he waltzes back the way he came, hardly detered by the drunken body in his arms. You can only kick yourself and scramble after him. This night could not have ended any worse. Well, you guess it could if it went the way he suggested.

[breelandwalker]

How do I know if I should give up? My spells never work, I haven't been chosen or approached by any deities, and I just feel like I'm not really a witch. Is this just impossible for some people?

Oh honey....listen, come sit by me for a second.

What you're feeling? This is totally normal. And just about every witch I've ever talked to has felt something similar at some point in their practice, including me. Success in spellwork is not a requirement for being a "real" witch, although it is nice when it happens. Contact with deities isn't a necessity either.

To be a real witch, you just have to decide that you are one and practice some form of witchcraft, whatever that means to you. What's most important is that you feel fulfilled by what you're doing, even if that means taking a break from casting just to rest or reflect or research. Sometimes it's hard to feel that connection and fulfillment, especially if things are frustrating or don't seem like they're working, or if you don't really have a community connection to pull you through, but that does NOT mean you're in any way a failure or not a real witch. It just means you've hit a slump.

Let me offer a little advice that might help.

If you're having trouble with your spells, try new methods. Review what you've done before, mark down what doesn't work, and try it another way. See if you can close some loopholes or approach a problem from a different angle. Don't be afraid to start small! SO much of witchcraft lives in the little things we do, and it's not necessary to put all your proverbial chips into big all-or-nothing spells and rituals. It can be as simple as stirring a blessing into your tea or setting your protections when you lock your door. Record what you do and look back at it later. I think you might be surprised by the results.

As for deities, if there's someone you'd like to venerate or work with, there's nothing stopping you from reaching out first. Make an overture, make a petition, say a prayer, put out a little offering. You can do all of these things without being "chosen" or dedicating yourself to a deity. It's perfectly fine to just offer a little praise and thanks or to ask for help when you need it. You don't need permission to say hello. (And I'll let you in on a secret - most witches who venerate deities or work with them? Aren't "chosen" or approached by anyone. YOU can be the one who chooses.)

If you're feeling like you have no spark or motivation, you might try returning to the things that inspired you to take up witchcraft initially. See if that reignites anything, or maybe inspires you to try something new. If you need somewhere to start, there's a tag marked "Advice for Beginner Witches" on my blog with lots of tips and ideas. Also, talk to other witches! Sometimes an outside perspective might help move a block or provide fresh ideas.

Hope this helps! If you have more questions, please feel free to reach out!

[evilgrrrlofficial]

the part where marx said the petit bourgeoisie will eventually return to being part of the proletariat? that's what we're going to see in rhe next few weeks, months, and years as the economy plummets and only oligarchs can afford to continue to own the means of production. by petit bourgeoisie i mean small business owners, independent lawyers (small firms), restaurant owners, etc..

marx said academics and artisans were outside the divide of proletariat and bourgeoisie because they are not a part of the inherent class struggle between owner and employee. this is where marx is wrong. with a rise of fascist oligarchy we are already seeing a rise in anti-intellectualism. we are seeing artificial intelligence prioritized over an educated populace. we are seeing academia systematically defunded and made unattainable for anyone but those wealthy enough to favor oligarchy anyways. would-be academics become the proletariat when academia is destroyed.

artisans too are hurt by the oligarchy - our current consumerist hellscape demands things quickly and perfectly, without the perfect imperfections of human labor. artisans are replaced by machines that make hundreds of mugs an hour as opposed to perhaps a dozen at most, if they're thrown rather than slip-cast. artisans become the proletariat when art becomes manufactured and sterile.

eventually everything boils down to a binary. it is not proletariat and bourgeoisie in the way marx wrote. it is oligarch and everyone else.

value your art. value your flawed, chipped teacups. value your academia. value your imperfect grammar and ink-stained fingers. if you don't, techno-feudalist oligarchy has already won you.

note: i'm not a total communist. marx had some good theory on labor and the evils of capitalism, however, his social theory requires homogeny and atheism. full homogeny is only possible through genocide/ethnic cleansing and i am not an atheist. additionally, marx's vision of communism would never work on a large scale without authoritarianism 🫶

[crossingthedreams]

you still don't get it — joel miller x f!reader

a/n: is this… an angstober post… on time? yeah, baby, that’s day 07 - you still don't get it on the actual 7th day! omg, i feel so grown up and put together right now. i had a very specific idea for this, and i hope y’all enjoy it. as always, feel free to hit me up on the dm’s! oh, we also have a masterlist know, hehe.

summary: sometimes, you just gotta put the ‘fun’ in ‘funeral’. and sometimes, you just have to put an end to things, even if they are with the one that makes you feel a petite mort over and over.

word count: 1.7k 

warnings: angst. unprotected p in v. pulling out (just don't, use actual contraceptives, please). oral (f receiving). mentions of death. 

Joel Miller found his way between your legs quite often, and thank God for that. Life during a fungus pandemic wasn’t really easy, and everyone had to find some pleasure in order to fight another day. For Joel, that wasn’t always sex — it could be a cigar, maybe an old stereo that played good music. As for you, during most of your life, sex was just a bargaining chip, but that all changed when you realized that, if done correctly, it was immensely fun.

But now, whenever you and Joel would meet, sex was always the number one option. The two of you found solace in each other, and, again, thank God for that. 

You weren’t religious (really, who could be during the apocalypse?), but Joel made you see Heaven. 

Everytime Joel knocked on your door, you knew you were in for a mind-blowing night. Your moans were quiet, as Jackson was a small community and any screams could be heard in the dead of night for miles. But it was hard to keep quiet as his hands and mouth kept pressing and licking you in all the right places. 

“Joel, o-oh, J-Joel”, you moaned, one hand reaching at the headboard above you and the other tugging on his graying hair. 

He had once said the best way to get to know a man, really get to know one, is to find out how he eats his girl’s pussy. According to Joel, there’s nothing worse in God’s green Earth as a man unwilling to put his mouth on what was, also according to Joel, the most perfect part of the human body. He was always so willing to eat you out, you were sure he was the most stand up guy out there. 

“Come on, baby, I know you got in ya”, he murmured, kissing your thigh, putting one of his long fingers inside of you, stretching you out and making that vision of Heaven appear before your eyes once more. His mouth reattached itself to you, going right to the money maker. 

As he licked your clit with just the right amount of pressure and movement, a second finger entered you, curling up with the first one and awakening that spot in you that made you a goner in just a second. This was your third orgasm of the night. It was ridiculous. You were dripping so much you could feel it down your ass and going straight to your freshly washed sheets. 

You were still gripping on the sheets when Joel raised himself, his large body hovering over yours. You didn’t see it, no, you kept your eyes closed. Instead, you let yourself, with those heightened senses, just feel him. His thighs against you, your body falling just a little towards him due to the pressure of his knees on the mattress, his hands on either side of your torso. His smell, mixed with your own. You felt his lips on your neck, then your cheeks, then on your mouth. Your hands instinctively flew to cup his cheeks and make the kiss deeper. 

You really hoped you weren’t falling in love with his man. He had much too much baggage, and he already had enough things to worry about, with his daughter for all effects and purposes, Ellie. He was much older, more complicated than you could ever wish for a man you were involved with. Therefore, no love. No, this couldn’t be love.

But, God, you really did fall in love with his cock.

It wasn’t bigger than you were used to, but certainly girthier. This cock made you wetter than any other, and it belonged to a man decades your senior. 

When you felt it throbbing against your leg, there was nothing to do other than to open yourself up as he slowly, oh so slowly, entered you.

You both moaned in unisson. Joel murmured your name, and you finally opened your eyes to meet his brown ones. “You’re so beautiful, baby”, he said in a low tone and began to move his hips. “So wet”, he thrusted and you moaned his name louder, hands gripping his shoulders with enough force to leave nail marks.

You crossed your legs around his waist, changing the angle to make him go deeper. Joel loved missionary and all its variations. He would never admit it, but he was a boob man through and through. The visual stimulation was really important to him, and that was proven by the fact that his eyes couldn’t leave your tits as he pounded harder and harder into you, making them bounce with every movement. You were sure your nipples were perky, too, as they always did when you felt this aroused. 

Joel was nearly drooling on your chest. 

After a few more thrusts, he grabbed your hips and turned you around, so that your ass was up in the air. You smiled against the pillows and looked over your shoulder just as he entered you again. That smirk turned into a perfect ‘o’. 

Your hips moved against him too. After all, Joel was an old man, and you couldn’t let him do all the work now, could you? 

He was manhandling you with such force you weren’t sure you’d be able to move in a way he didn’t want you to. He pushed your head back against the pillows as his body fell on top of yours, mixing up with the position once more. 

His mouth was close to your ear, and he took full advantage of that to nibble on your ear lobe. “You look so pathetic, all unraveled like this, baby.” he spoke in a whisper, his pace still punishing inside of you. “All mine, huh? All mine to ruin?”.

You shook your head yes as best you with his hand still pressing your skull into the pillows and his full body weight atop of you. 

“Nuh uh, silly girl. Need to hear you say it. Tell me, baby. Tell me who’s the one who makes you come undone, sweetheart”. 

“Y-you, Joel, hmm, it’s all you”, you half-spoke, half-moaned. 

Not to your surprise, all of his weight disappeared as he pulled out, leaving you on the bed as he finished off alone, on the side, not even bothering to cum on your tits, face, or ass like any other guy would’ve. Not even caring to let you see him cum, which sucked. 

He had started up with this new habit of pulling out and leaving right after. But not this time, no. You wouldn’t let him. 

“Come back”, you said almost purring and turned on the bed, stretching in the sexiest way you could. 

His eyes analyzed you for a long time before he approached the bed again. He didn’t sit down, instead he stood, fully naked, looking down on you at the end of your bed. He looked glorious, like a Greek deity or a model from the days before the outbreak. Did you love him? Probably not yet, but you would someday if he let you. 

You sat up on the bed, naked. Did he like your figure as much as you liked his? You were much younger than any other woman old enough for him. Some would say you were inappropriately young, but you knew they didn’t care for you or Joel beyond the gossip and the fun remarks. 

“You don’t come in me anymore”, you said, trying to look innocent and confident at the same time. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No”, he simply said, collecting his clothes. You waited for him to continue, and when you realized he wouldn’t, you kept on talking.

“You used to at least cum close to me”, you tried to crack a smile and lighten the mood, as verborragic and honest as you always were. You and Joel hardly talked about your situationship or whatever this was. “Maybe we could try something like that again, because, y’know, breeding is not just a kink and someday I really want kids and…”

“You still don’t get it, do you?”, he interrupted you, and you realized he sounded defeated more than anything else. He sighed, and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. “There’s no we, and there’s no future”. 

You weren’t gonna be the one to break the silence. Not this time. With him, the silence was always loud, and you felt as if it was a physical entity that put itself in-between the two of you. 

He put his head in his hands, still emanating exhaustion in every possible way. 

“I won’t have anymore kids”, his tone was harsher than ever. 

“Joel…”

“This ain’t about age, even though that sure is a problem. This isn’t about this batshit post-outbreak world, either”. 

The words unspoken were louder than anything he could have ever said. 

Sarah. 

You closed your eyes. All the future he could have had flashed before your eyes. How old would she be now? Perhaps she’d even be older than you. 

He hardly talked about her, but you picked up on a thing or too. Especially last year, on his birthday. What a horrible day that was. You now realized that Joel’s future died the day of the outbreak, at the same moment his daughter did. 

Even though it ached, the truth was clear and simple: you couldn’t sacrifice the future you could still have for Joel’s eternal mourning. You wanted more than to survive. You wanted to live. And here, in Jackson, you could actually do that. 

Your eyes were watery, but you refused to cry. In the quiet, you knew you didn't have to say it. The silence was loud, and it said enough. 

Joel stood up and looked around the room. He seemed to avoid looking at you, knowing what would happen once he did. He liked and cared for you, even if he didn’t want to. The wonderful sex was part of it, not the whole thing. His eyes finally met yours, and without saying a word, you knew what he meant. This is over, isn’t it?

Your gaze was locked with his, and your mouth was drying. Yet, you replied, without a word. Yeah, baby, yeah, it is. 

He left, and you stayed. And that was that.

[fratttymatty]

Stereotyped

(All characters are 18+)

Jared had always been the quiet, shy type — a gay, nerdy, liberal kid who loved comic books, math puzzles, and deep debates on social justice. He was best friends with Mia, an equally nerdy, shy, more masculine lesbian who shared his love of obscure indie music and late-night philosophy chats. Both 18, both proud of who they were.

But today was different.

They had received mysterious packages from some unknown prankster or worse, a weird social experiment. Jared tore open his box — but Mia’s box was something else entirely.

Mia’s fingers trembled as she lifted out a sleek makeup palette, a bright cheerleader outfit emblazoned with the letter "C," a brand-new iPhone 16 still shining in its box, and a glossy, black credit card embossed with a name she didn’t recognize: Cassie Alvarez.

Before Mia could even speak, the items started to glow softly, pulsing with an otherworldly energy. Jared watched, stunned, as a pink light enveloped her.

Her posture shifted first — from reserved and slightly hunched to confident, hips swaying with a newfound swagger. Her once-shaggy, short black hair grew rapidly, darkening into glossy brunette waves that framed a radiant, perfectly made-up face. Her sharp glasses vanished, replaced by long lashes and sparkling brown eyes that seemed to sparkle like gems.

Mia’s skin deepened into a warm, glowing Latina tone. She shrank slightly in height, going from 5’8” to a petite 5’3”, giving her a youthful, bubbly presence. She slipped into the cheerleading outfit as if it was made just for her — and it was.

Her voice shifted too, softening and thickening with a Midwestern valley girl accent that was almost comically cheerful. “Oh my gosh, like, this is totes amazeballs!” she giggled, tossing her hair and flashing a perfect smile.

“Like, I’m Cassie now, okay? And I totally love makeup and my iPhone — and my daddy’s card? Like, slayyyy!” She twirled, the credit card flashing between manicured fingers.

Jared’s heart sank. This wasn’t his Mia anymore. The shy, intelligent girl he’d known was replaced by a 10/10 social butterfly who loved fashion, shopping, and cheerleading. Her friends? Gone. In their place, a clique of popular, flawless cheerleaders who greeted her with bubbly enthusiasm.

“Cassie!” one called out, “We need you at practice, girl! You’re, like, the best new addition ever.”

Jared stood frozen, feeling helpless. The Mia he’d loved was gone, and in her place was a girl who fit every cliché of a cheerleader stereotype — bubbly, shallow, and totally obsessed with her appearance and social status.

And worst of all? The new Cassie was totally oblivious to Jared, ignoring his worried looks and trying to recruit him to her world.

Cassie was gone. Jared kept telling himself that. Mia, his best friend, had vanished beneath layers of glitter, lip gloss, and cheer routines. What stood in her place — Cassie Alvarez, Valley Girl Extraordinaire — wasn’t just different, she was someone else entirely.

And now it was his turn.

He had barely processed her transformation when he noticed his own package — still unopened, still innocent-looking on the surface. But something about it called to him, like it was waiting. A sense of dread twisted in his gut as he peeled the tape back.

Inside, the items practically glared at him with menace:

A plain black hoodie, thick and heavy.

A crisp, pristine MAGA hat, its red fabric practically glowing with bold arrogance.

A scuffed-up football, laced and worn like it had seen years of Friday night games.

A full gaming setup, already humming despite not being plugged in.

And a box set of Marvel DVDs, all the loud, testosterone-fueled blockbusters Jared had always rolled his eyes at.

As soon as he touched the hat, everything changed.

It started in his head — a dull throb, like someone had taken a hammer to his IQ and was gently chipping it away. The theories, the debates, the careful thoughts — gone, as if they'd been wiped clean. All that was left was a buzzing confusion and an overwhelming love for “dude stuff.”

His voice deepened and flattened, losing its shy warmth, replaced with a broad Midwestern drawl and a touch of cocky sloppiness. “Yo, bro,” he muttered, then chuckled. “What the hell was I even sayin’? Whatever, man.”

His body bulked out instantly. Gone was his lean frame, replaced with jock muscle — biceps stretching out his hoodie, pecs firm under his t-shirt, legs thick like he’d been squatting every day since middle school. He shot up several inches, now a towering 6’2” of football-playing swagger.

His soft, nerdy features sharpened into a classically handsome jawline. His dark hair lightened just slightly into a messy brown middle part, the kind that looked like it hadn’t been washed but still somehow worked. The hoodie clung to him like a uniform, and the hat snapped itself onto his head like it belonged there.

And just like that, Jared was Matty now.

“Yo, where’s the gym, bro?” he asked aloud, scratching at his abs. “I need a sick pump before the big game.”

He wasn’t shy anymore. He was loud, confident, dumb as hell, and weirdly aggressive. Politics? “Nah, dude, I don’t get into that liberal crap.” Books? “Only readin’ I do’s protein labels and fantasy football stats.” Feminism? “Bro, relax. Girls just need a strong man, y’know?”

Cassie squealed when she saw him. “Oh-em-gee, Matty! You look, like, sooo hot right now, ew! But also… slay.” She bounced up to him and kissed his cheek, and Matty laughed like it was totally normal.

He didn’t even remember Jared. The idea of being gay, nerdy, or even remotely shy was completely foreign now. Matty wasn’t that guy. He was a football-loving, protein-shake-drinking, “alpha male” who’d totally call you a slur if you wore nail polish and didn’t bench 200.

And his new friends? The other dudes on the team. All gym rats, all equally dumb, conservative, and loud. They slapped him on the back, called him “bro,” and welcomed him like he’d been there forever.

As the sun set, Cassie leaned on Matty’s arm, both of them laughing at something dumb, unaware or uncaring of the people they used to be. Two completely new people, designed to fit in — and to never think again.

A week had passed since the transformation.

The halls of the school were different now — louder, crueler, more plastic. And at the center of it all were two people who used to be thoughtful, quiet, and proud of their identities.

Matty and Cassie were now the power couple of the senior class. He was a brawny, arrogant jock who lived in the gym, talked about his “gains” more than his grades, and made homophobic jokes with zero hesitation. She was a hot, hyperfeminine cheerleader who practically walked on clouds of designer perfume and judgmental giggles.

“Ugh, look at them,” Cassie whispered loudly one morning, her voice cutting through the hallway like a hot pink knife. She gestured at a pair of quiet girls holding hands — clearly queer, clearly nervous. “Is it, like, Pride Week or something? Ew.”

Matty laughed, loud and without shame. “Yo, someone get these chicks a football game and a boyfriend, am I right?”

The laughter that followed wasn't from their old friends. It was from the new ones — jocks in snapbacks, cheerleaders in crop tops, all of them shallow, vapid, and cruel. Just the way Matty and Cassie liked it.

They didn’t remember who they were before. Not really. Every once in a while, something would flicker — Jared’s quiet love of graphic novels, Mia’s gentle sarcasm — but it was gone as fast as it came. Drowned out in fake tan, dumb protein shakes, and iPhone filters.

Matty had a locker full of Marvel merch now, not because he understood the characters, but because he thought Iron Man was “a total alpha.” His grades had plummeted, but he didn’t care — the football coach was grooming him for state championships. And honestly? That was all that mattered.

Cassie’s schedule revolved around shopping, cheer practice, and getting attention. She lived on Instagram, spoke almost entirely in "likes" and "literallys," and treated the entire world like her personal reality show. “I’m, like, so over nerds and weirdos,” she’d sneer, filing her nails in class. “Can they, like, not exist around me?”

The worst part?

They weren’t pretending.

This was who they were now. Cassie loved being the queen bee — being cruel, being desired, being rich. She wore her cheerleader outfit like a throne and used her credit card like a sword.

And Matty? He’d never admit it, but bullying kids like Jared used to be? It gave him a high. “Dude, stop bein’ so gay,” he said to a boy nervously defending his anime art on a notebook. “It’s, like, embarrassing.”

They walked the halls like gods, leaving behind the people they once were. No one questioned it anymore. It was like Jared and Mia had never existed.

Just Matty and Cassie — the king and queen of dumb, hot, straight high school perfection. And if anyone missed the old versions of them?

They didn't care.

In fact, they’d laugh in their face.

"Slay, bitch," Cassie would say with a cruel smile. "Go cry about it, nerd," Matty would grunt, flexing his arms.

And just like that, the story of Jared and Mia came to a total, irreversible end.

[oogaboogasphincter]

Cheeky Minx (Joel Miller x reader)

a/n: listen, i’m on my period and craving two things: snacks and joel miller. so apparently all you’re getting is joel fics centered around a snack of my choosing (re: peace offering).

warnings: mild swearing, joel being extra flirty (and a little corny lol), reader is referred to with she/her pronouns once but has no other description besides there’s a big (legal ofc!) age gap between them and joel | 561 words

You're on a road trip with Joel, climbing over the dusty hills of Texas. Some of Joel's favorite songs play softly on the radio, muffled by the old speakers of his well-loved truck. Right now, you're on a back road so Joel has rolled the windows down as you drive along at a cruising pace. The breeze is a nice reprieve from the bright sun that has been glaring through the windscreen all afternoon.

You unbuckle for a moment to root around in the backseat, earning a soft squeeze to your ass from Joel as he grumbles, "You're takin' too long, get back up here and put your seatbelt on before we get pulled over."

You just ignore him with a shake of your head and a soft chuff.

He teases, "You wanna add an indecent exposure charge to that ticket, ma'am?" He tugs at the waist of your shorts and you reach back to swat him away, eliciting a satisfied chuckle from your man.

After a little more searching, you find what you were looking for: a snack. You sit down and buckle back up, opening the crinkly bag and scooping a handful into your mouth. In the comfortably quiet cabin of the truck, you busy yourself with reading the labels on the bag as you eat.

"When did they add bagel chips to Chex Mix?" you wonder aloud.

"Huh?" Joel says.

"These little bagel chips, I don't remember them." You take one out of the bag, twirling the pale chip in your fingers before giving it a taste.

Joel shoots you a bemoaned look, his tone grumbling, "God... Sweetheart, please don't make me feel any older than I already do."

"What?" you ask, concern furrowing your brow.

He explains, "There was a whole deal about the makers pulling the bagel chips out of the mix around... I wanna say, 2010? People went crazy, signing petitions and picketing, didn't you watch the ne—?"

Joel cuts himself off as he looks over at you and your meager attempt to hide a knowing smirk. The realization dawns on him and he looks back at the road with a heavy sigh.

You begin, "I was—"

Joel holds up his hand and says, "Don't rub it in, sweetheart. You've already chastised me enough today about my music choice alone."

You chide teasingly, "You didn't let me finish my sentence."

He glances over wary, anticipatory.

"I was going to say I was too busy learning cursive to watch the news."

Joel grabs the bag with his free hand and gives it a playful tug, muttering through his teeth with faux malice, "Gimme this—"

You yell playfully, giggling, "No!"

He lets you win the fight easily. After a few moments of silence, he holds out his open palm and curls his fingers twice, "Lemme get one of those bagel chips." He has the gall to maintain that he doesn't act like a dad and yet he just pulled possibly the most dad-coded move of all time.

You bypass his hand and put one in his mouth, listening to him crunch through the starch. He reaches over to give your thigh a thankful squeeze before returning his hand to the wheel. Then... his face sours and he shoots a glare at the bag in your lap, mumbling over the dry crumbs, "Who the fuck wanted these back?"

main masterlist 🥯 join my taglist!

taglist: @pascalpanic @maievdenoir @pedrostories @uncassettodiricordi @harriedandharassed @scentedcandletidalwave @joelsflannel @oscar-wilde-thing

[robertreich]

The Silent Revolution in American Economics

I don't think you're expecting what I'm about to say, because I have never seen anything like this in fifty years in politics.

For decades I've been sounding an alarm about how our economy has become increasingly rigged for the rich. I've watched it get worse under both Republicans and Democrats, but what President Biden has done in his first term gives me hope I haven't felt in years. It’s a complete sea change.

Here are three key areas where Biden is fundamentally reshaping our economy to make it better for working people.

#1 Trade and industrial policy

Biden is breaking with decades of reliance on free-trade deals and free-market philosophies. He’s instead focusing on domestic policies designed to revive American manufacturing and fortify our own supply chains.

Take three of his signature pieces of legislation so far — the Inflation Reduction Act, the CHIPS Act, and his infrastructure package. This flood of government investment has brought about a new wave in American manufacturing.

Unlike Trump, who just levied tariffs on Chinese imports and used it as a campaign slogan, Biden is actually investing in America’s manufacturing capacity so we don’t have to rely on China in the first place.

He’s turning the tide against deals made by previous administrations, both Democratic and Republican, that helped Wall Street but ended up costing American jobs and lowering American wages.

#2 Monopoly power

Biden is the first president in living memory to take on big monopolies.

Giant firms have come to dominate almost every industry. Four beef packers now control over 80 percent of the market, domestic air travel is dominated by four airlines, and most Americans have no real choice of internet providers.

In a monopolized economy, corporate profits rise, consumers pay higher prices, and workers’ wages shrink.

But under the Biden, the Federal Trade Commission and the Antitrust Division of the Justice Department have become the most aggressive monopoly fighters in more than a half century. They’re going after Amazon and Google, Ticketmaster and Live Nation, JetBlue and Spirit, and a wide range of other giant corporations.  

#3 Labor

Biden is also the most pro-union president I’ve ever seen.

A big reason for the surge in workers organizing and striking for higher wages is the pro-labor course Biden is charting.

The Reagan years blew in a typhoon of union busting across America. Corporations routinely sunk unions and fired workers who attempted to form them. They offshored production or moved to so-called “right-to-work” states that enacted laws making it hard to form unions.

Even though Democratic presidents promised labor law reforms that would strengthen unions, they didn’t follow through. But under Joe Biden, organized labor has received a vital lifeboat. Unionizing has been protected and encouraged. Biden is even the first sitting president to walk a picket line.

Biden’s National Labor Relations Board is stemming the tide of unfair labor practices, requiring companies to bargain with their employees, speeding the period between union petitions and elections, and making it harder to fire workers for organizing.

Americans have every reason to be outraged at how decades of policies that prioritized corporations over people have thrown our economy off-keel.

But these three waves of change — a worker-centered trade and industrial policy, strong anti-monopoly enforcement, and moves to strengthen labor unions — are navigating towards a more equitable economy.

It’s a sea change that’s long overdue.

[marchsfreakshow]

Watermelon Ice Cream [Jimmy Darling]

Smut.

Some of the people from the Freakshow had decided to visit the beach on the hottest day of the year. Jimmy noticed you sitting there all alone, and decided to strike up a conversation.

Warnings: too much plot for a smut fic, dub-con, oral, face riding, praise, almost public sex in some way. One use of y/n.

First Jimmy smut please be nice to me I am so nervous. I'm also admitting that I literally got this idea from the watermelon icecream pops I have in my freezer at home.

18+! MINORS DNI!

No one's perspective

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

Desiree and Dell decided to take Pepper, Salty and Ma Petite to the beach. A stroke of confidence hit them and the sun just kept getting hotter and hotter. Those who were less secure stayed back to look after the Freakshow. Jimmy decided to come along despite refusing to take his gloves off. He was sweating his hands off but was very stubborn about it.

Where did you fit in this? Sitting in the middle of your family's items. Watching your family and friends sit by the water or swim out by the shore. Not that you didn't want to go for a swim, you just figured that someone should stay behind and watch everyone's stuff. Sitting lonely was fine for you, people playing by the water made you happy no matter what. It was only when your little cousin almost screamed that you noticed Jimmy. Your cousin was playing around with Pepper. And was a bit overwhelming for them. "Rebecca! Come on, come have some ice cream!" You said over to her. Jimmy looked over to you again as your cousin ran into your arms.

"We have actual ice pops or watermelon Ice cream pops." You mentioned quietly. Jimmy smiled as he watched how motherly you were with the little one. He couldn't take his eyes off of you. As your cousin picked up the watermelon box, you glanced over to the man. You gave him a little smile as the eye contact you met him with was warm and sweet. But it was broken when your cousin threw the box back in the icer. "Rebecca don't throw them! C'mon, you know better than that." She giggled and handed you one of the ice cream pops. Both of you opened it and Rebecca giggled at the sight of them being watermelon-shaped.

"What are those?" She asked, pointing to the little black seeds engrossed in the pop.

"Chocolate chips. Try it." You chuckled, starting to suck on the top of the ice cream. Your gaze landed back on Jimmy. He couldn't tear his eyes away from your mouth and tongue that was going around the sweet and cold pop. As you licked and sucked innocently, your eyes met his gloves. Gloves? In this weather? In this hot, blazing weather?

Your cousin had run off to sit by her mother, so you were alone again. Jimmy took this opportunity to sit by you and talk to you. You watched him get up and take a few steps towards you, before sitting by some of the bags. "That your little one?" He started, smiling and pointing to Rebecca.

You pulled the ice cream out of your mouth with a little pop, licking your lips of the flavours. Oh you were just giving it away to him, weren't you? "Hm? No, she's my cousin. She does sort of stick to me like glue though, very sweet girl." It made a little giggle escape you, and you glanced over to him, unaware of the ice cream melting down on your hands. The blush on Jimmy's face was obvious as you watched your oblivious smile at him. You dumbed his blush down to his gloves being too hot. "oh. Oh shi.." You muttered, picking up a little paper towel and putting it around the stick, immediately letting the melting pop drip into your mouth. Just to make it worse for Jimmy, you sucked it until the melting cream was all done.

"You...you okay?" He asked, glancing at the sticky cream dribbling down your hand and your arm. Oh if only he could lick it off your arm, taste the sweet watermelon flavour that was sticking to your arm. You nodded, putting the towel and wooden stick in the small bag for the trash. Jimmy felt so confident yet insecure, wanting to ask you if he could.. 'clean' your arm, for you. Since you were as sweet as sugar, and such a darling.

"I'm doing alright. Just forgot how hot this sun is, I'm a quick eater though." You chuckled, resting your hands behind you. Jimmy wanted to look at you in your eyes properly, but those glasses hid you. He wanted to...so many words and thoughts. Secret eye contact was made not so secret as you took your sunglasses off and met your eyes. Let's not get lost in those eyes, Darling...You cleared your throat and pointed over to where he came from and he looked over to Ma Petite and Desirée in the water together. "Are you the carny folk who set up shop around here?" You asked, interested in the potential answer.

"Yeah, the Freakshow," Jimmy admitted almost nervously, such a sweet one in front of him, and he didn't want to freak you out with his hands. "Not all of us though, most of em stayed behind."

It clicked in your head why he wore those damned leather gloves now. "Oh! Oh, you're Jimmy Darling, right? Your mother is Ethel?" A proud smile appeared on your shaded face, and he nodded, almost confused since most knew them as Lobster Boy and the bearded lady. "I overheard my mother talking to Desirée over there a while ago when we went in for a visit."

Ah, so you'd visited them before? Interesting. "You've come to show before? Sad I didn't see you." Jimmy chuckled. The watermelon flavour had dried itself as a light red on your fingers and about 2 little red streaks down to your elbow. He bet it would've tasted as good with your sweat. Oh, Ew. Jimmy, really? Gross! He cursed himself for even thinking something so filthy. You were such a darling thing, that couldn't've been something you liked. He'd just let you know, and you could clean yourself up, instead of... feeling Jimmy's tongue run up and down your fingers as he tasted the treat. So, Jimmy cleared his throat before you answered and mentioned; "oh, uh, thought I'd mention-"

You had run your tongue over your arm, keeping a paper towel in your other hand, ready to pat the saliva off. Well if he wasn't hard before, he certainly was now. Seeing the way you sucked the tips of your fingers quickly sent him spiralling. Desperately wanting to have that same feeling. "Hm?" You fluttered your eyelashes as you glanced over, immediately stopping yourself. "Oh! My, sorry about that, I didn't even realise."

No that was perfectly okay with Jimmy. He could've watched you all day. Creepy. "Ha- no matter. I was about to mention that dried ice cream."

"well thank you for attempting to mention it, sir!"

"Course." One little nod.

Minutes passed. Quick glances at each other. Oh, something was happening, there really was. Not one person around you two was aware of those little tension-filled feelings bubbling in his throat. Those words he ached to say and desperately needed to let go of. Small looks, and tiny smiles as you avoided his gaze.

As soon as Jimmy built up that insecure courage to work his charm, you were gone. Where on earth..? Where you were sat was replaced with an older gentleman, presumably a grandfather or your father. But, he was determined now. He had to ask. Nonchalantly, Jimmy stood up and walked up the beach to the small road. There was only so much of you to remember. A cute white romper, mainly. It complimented you perfectly, and his desires ran with that thought. Maybe if he heard that smooth voice of yours.

He carried his little stroll down the top of the beach and came across a little tent. Bright and red. Couldn't hurt to peek in and see if it's empty. "Hello again! Very sorry for disappearing on you like that, I just wanted to go for a small stroll." Ah, your voice. Jimmy could've listened to you all day. But he stepped in and cleared his throat.

"i-its no worries! I uh, was also headin' for a stroll, it's a nice beach." His awkwardness and insecurity got the best of him, and it was obvious through his small stutters. Your eyes met again, this time; desire and want more obvious in the burning red tent than in the blazing sun shining upon the both of you. Eye contact is silent and filled with unspoken likes.

Sudden hot leather on your back. Almost burning you between your shoulder blades. And a groan desperately escaping your lips due to the fabric sticking to you. Oh if only there was a hard surface in this burning area. The lava-like sand would have to do. Jimmy let himself hit the sand and brought you down with him. Wanting to give in and help you with your undressing, but his mind couldn't stop yelling the insecurities at him. Wait, what you were doing? He looked up at you as you smiled innocently, undoing his gloves, and taking them off sickenly slowly. You were too pure for him, he could tell now. But his want to taste you were bigger, and let you know that you were probably going to be the sweetest-tasting lady he'd ever come across.

"c'mere sweetheart..." Jimmy soothed, your clothes bunching around your ankles. He pulled it off one of your legs, so it swung around your other ankle. And his hands just didn't stop at caressing your legs, no. He brought you right up close to his lips and his warm breath. Feeling him breath purposely on you, just sent a cooling shiver up your back. And then sent a rush of arousal down to create a little spot on your underwear. Embarrassing, but you knew this probably wasn't the time to feel embarrassed about being so wet so easily. If anything, it made Jimmy just want you more and more.

Holding onto your hips and grazing his nails over your skin, he watched you pull your underwear to the side with hesitance. Such a darling thing. Seeing just how much slick created a small thread between you and your underwear. Every little breath he took inched closer and closer till his lips met your clit. Running his tongue over and over as your quiet noises got louder and louder. Jimmy could barely keep his lips and tongue on one part of you, you were so wet. The vibrations from his small groan caused a little jerk of your hips and urged yourself closer to him.

Eyes lost to the back of your head. The sound of his tongue practically working magic on you and hearing him slurp everything in his mouth. Every noise and feeling making your moans, whimpers and whines louder. You couldn't help but let your hand cover your own mouth, just in case anyone was standing outside, waiting for the tent to not be occupied anymore. Jimmy whispered against you smoothly, "Good girl, you're doing so well sweetheart." But he couldn't help himself but go straight back to his work, practically overstimulating you with only his tongue and his thumb. If he let himself taste your sensitive clit again, his thumb would be teasing your dripping entrance.

"oh my...my god-!" Were the words you screamed as everything washed over you after a short while. Your hips bucked once again and Jimmy let you ride out your sweet orgasm against his slick lips. He let out another little groan as he licked you more, taking in as much as your come as possible. He knew you would taste as sweet as those watermelon Ice cream pops you had earlier.

Eventually, you came down from that quick high and used whatever you could to clean yourself up. Shivering a bit, you slipped your underwear back to its original position, and your romper went back on you.

Jimmy and you smiled softly at each other. He held his gloves in one hand, the hot, black leather sticking to his hand instantly. The other hand held yours. You just kept a smile on your face as he walked you out of the tent, loving the fact you didn't care much for his claws. And the walk was a comfortable, hot and sweaty silence. Despite everything, Jimmy's cock still throbbed in his trousers, and his urge to have you again, properly, was big. But the both of you sat down again by your respective belongings, letting a little bit of space happen.

"..Jimmy." he chuckled after a bit of silence, holding his hand out like you hadn't ridden his face a couple minutes earlier.

You took his hand and giggled quietly. "I know..." You started as the sweltering sun burned brighter. "Y/N."

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

Tag: @briaroftheroses @taintandviolent @babygorewhore // @oceanblvd111 @nahoyasboyfriend @am3ricanh0rrorwh0re // @feefymo @slutforgarlogan

[daresplaining]

do you think matt murdock finds catharsis in violence? in the context of comics btwi'm of the opinion that he isnt a sadist and doesnt necessarily enjoy violence but i also cant think of any comic pages that would support my interpretation, was wondering if u could help w that?

I certainly think he does, at times. One thing that tends to happen when Matt reaches his lowest points, generally in darker runs (I'm about to post a whole bunch of Brubaker/Lark...), is that he will lash out physically. The Daredevil identity serves as an escape for him in a variety of ways: it frees him, it empowers him, and when his mental health is suffering, yes, it gives him an excuse to hit people. He doesn't always give in to that urge, of course, but it is there. This internal rant he goes on during a moment of frustration in Bendis's run comes immediately to mind:

"There is this overwhelming desire I’m filled with to punch someone in the face!!! Anyone will do at this point. But I know that isn’t right. And it certainly isn’t what my sensei taught me, but I can’t help it. I want to punch someone really, really badly." 

Grief can make Matt impulsive and careless. He starts a bar fight while in civvies immediately following Milla's hospitalization.

Dakota: "This is just what we need...a blind man who half the city knows is really Daredevil...getting in a bar fight. I manage to extricate him without too much injury...and get us out of there before anyone takes his picture. He tells me with his special senses he overheard those two guys planning a robbery. So he decided to scare them out of it. After hearing that, I know Matt's judgment is impaired. And not just because of a few drinks." Daredevil vol. 2 #106 by Ed Brubaker, Paul Azaceta, Matt Hollingsworth, and Chris Eliopoulos

In the very next issue, he loses his temper and punches Luke Cage (and hurts his hand, because he's Luke Cage).

Daredevil vol. 2 #107 by Ed Brubaker, Greg Rucka, Michael Lark, Stefano Gaudiano, Matt Hollingsworth, and Chris Eliopoulos

In "The Devil in Cell Block D", Matt becomes so violent in prison following Foggy's apparent death that Frank Castle decides he needs to swoop in and rescue him from doing something he might regret. Here's Ben Urich in court after Matt has been denied special protection in prison, noticing the same thing (like the Dakota scene above, it's neat to see this side of Matt from the perspective of outside observers):

Ben: "As they're carting him away, though, I see something that chills me to the bone. Matt smiles. Just a little. Just enough so that I know my worst fears have come to pass...that they're sending him exactly where he WANTS to be..." Daredevil vol. 2 #83 by Ed Brubaker, Michael Lark, Stefano Gaudiano, Frank D'Armata, and Cory Petit

(As I said: lots of Brubaker/Lark.) Nocenti, too, was deeply interested in exploring the violence inherent in superhero stories, and approached Matt's relationship to it in a variety of ways in her run, including in this memorable scene where he shares some of his darkest urges:

Daredevil vol. 1 #267 by Ann Nocenti, John Romita Jr., Gregory Wright, Al Williamson, and Joe Rosen

And heck, we can also look at Matt's various murder attempts: his near-murder of Bullseye following Elektra's death, and then actual murder of Bullseye that kicked off the "Shadowland" story arc:

Shadowland #1 by Andy Diggle, Billy Tan, Christina Strain, Joe Caramagna, et al.

And of course, his various attempts to kill the Kingpin, most recently following Mike's death in Devil's Reign:

Devil's Reign #6 by Chip Zdarsky, Marco Checchetto, Marcio Menyz, and Clayton Cowles

On the subject of Mike: I would argue (and did, at length, in this post) that Matt's dream of his brother shooting Bullseye in the "Death of Daredevil" story arc was its own form of violent catharsis.

A key early issue that delved into this side of Matt's character for what I'd say was the first time is Daredevil volume 1 #140, written by Bill Mantlo. In this issue, what begins as a seemingly standard fight between Matt, Gladiator, and the Beetle becomes a violent, brutal beatdown as civilian lives are put on the line and Matt becomes increasingly angry.

Daredevil vol. 1 #140 by Bill Mantlo, Sal Buscema, Klaus Janson, and Karen Mantlo

I don't like to overemphasize this aspect of Matt's character-- not because I don't find it interesting (I do!) but because a lot of modern takes on Daredevil (notably, the live action adaptations) have leaned into this idea of him as a violent, brooding, bone-breaking bruiser, which is an oversimplification and also plainly not true about a lot of his stories. However, this is a side of Matt that does undeniably exist. He gets unpleasant when his life falls apart, and this can be a part of that deterioration.

I will also say that it's not just Matt. Here is my dear friend Danny Rand, who (at least in his modern comics) is waaay more well-adjusted and emotionally controlled than Matt, succumbing to this very same urge:

Power Man and Iron Fist vol. 2 #4 by Fred Van Lente, Wellinton Alves, Bruno Hang, Nelson Pereira, and Joe Caramagna

(He goes and beats up some white supremacists, as you do.)

All I'm saying is that it happens to the best of them.

[shrewfern]

things about all the young dudes i really like (my atyd annotations so far)

note: i was going to post this when i was done reading it, but it’ll be while before i finish. i’ve been reading it for about a day now (spread over the past two-three weeks; i don’t have a whole lot of free time </33), and i’m on chapter “fourth year: january”. also, i’m reading atyd on a pdf file, so i can’t see the chapters numerically. any chapters named specifically will be done by year and title. <3

edit (05/06): part two!!

remus cannot read

james is tone deaf (relatable)

sirius can raise one eyebrow

james cannot. to compensate, he wiggles them.

“that sirius black grin.”

remus being excited to be thirteen, fourteen, so on…

for their birthdays, the marauders get the whole gryffindor table to sing “happy birthday”.

“birthdays are family occasions.” –narcissisa black (carrying a slumpy regulus black) to sirius black, before promptly intimidating the elder black brother to have lunch with them.

regulus being absolutely criminally offended that james touched sirius’ shoulder.

james running his hand through his hair.

james and peter nominating a “ban on bowie until the end of the year”.

remus’ gay awakening was from watching a david bowie concert on the world’s shittiest tv.

i had to keep my jaw from dropping when sirius said walburga's making him marry his cousin.

lily uses a ‘muggle-expression’. james doesn’t understand it, remus does.

james and sirius trying to tape their hands to the table while wrapping christmas presents.

after walburga (boooo tomato tomato) kidnaps sirius during christmas break, regulus sends james and remus an owl saying sirius is home and do not try to contact him.

MR AND MRS POTTER GOT THE MARAUDERS MATCHING QUILL SETS!!!!!

james yells “come in!!!!!” to mary, marlene, and lily (who are outside the door) in a room bound with a silencing spell. 

‘“One day you’ll all read Hogwarts: A History, and I can finally rest.” Sirius sighed…’

^AND HE DID!!!

remus’ favorite flavor of chips is salt and vinegar (me to!!).

‘remu’.

‘goulash’ (‘gilgamesh’).

foreshadowing with the epic of gilgamesh.

i love the implications that no one in the black family wants to be there.

ALPHARD BLACK IS GAY.

domestic sirius black!! give remus that toast!!!

‘the two m’s.’

remus, with zero context, to lily: it’s a trunk full of umbrellas.

‘telling-bone’.

sirius likes his albums alphabetically organized.

‘remoony’

‘He [Remus] didn’t want someone as cool as Ferox thinking he was a wuss.’

remus doesn’t like cats.

‘Sirius had been listening to “Black Dog” on repeat for weeks now.’

THE SHADE thrown at peter is BOMBASTIC. /pos /ihatepeterpettigrew

‘stupid o’clock’.

when talking about something important, james relates it to quidditch.

‘lumpy elephant dung’ 💀💀💀

mary is me irl.

‘James handled the invitations – which as far as Remus had seen involved shouting at various students telling them they’d better be there or else.’

good writing, feels very natural.

‘“...marry Prince Charles if you want to…”’ –remus lupin

^ as a royal family watcher, i damn near flipped my lid at this (i love you, diana!!!!!).

andromeda saying that she doesn’t think nymphadora will marry anyone at the table…

marauders should build a treehouse. not related, just a silly thought.

marlene is also me irl.

sirius point blank refused to sign marlene’s petition to remove the whomping willow (‘“it has the right to be here as anyone else!”’).

james being nice to peter got me fuming.

sirius intentionally does poorly in astronomy to piss off his parents.

ok i’m reading marlene’s break-down chapter (third year) and she IS ACTUALLY ME.

NOT SIRIUS TELLING REMUS IN TOTALLY PLATONIC CONTEXT ‘Have I told you lately how much I love you?’ 💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀 (third year, marlene chapter)

madame pomfrey being the nicest person alive! i wish we got to see more of her in the actual books.

the conversation between remus and ferox in “third year: greyback” mirrors that between remus and harry in the prisoner of azkaban.

‘one emotional crisis at a time.’ me every day.

gang remus >>

lanky weedy remus is real and he lives inside your walls.

first fourth year chapter’s off to a good angsty start!

‘[remus’] laces didn’t match, red on left, yellow on the right. He’d thought that looked really cool back in July, but now it looked a bit silly.’ 

^me who wears two different colored shoes 👀👀👀

sirius pronouncing ‘cigarette’ with a french accent.

i want to be sirius or remus so badly aAJBSHSDGBSKBJ i love them both sm sdfkjgbsjkblsgnjskbgsbgjkjjbkbkjbkfkdjkbgdkjbgjk.

oh, no, not the chicken sandwich being symbolic.

‘one might assume that a hungry werewolf would fancy a chicken sandwich…’

james trying to court lily (year four) got me grinnin frfr.

lily hates being called ‘ginger’ bc the kids in elementary school picked on her for it (i would too. it’s nothing personal; i just see a ginger and i gotta bring out my flame thrower.)

mcgonagall telling the commentators to stay on-topic during quidditch match.

^this is something i love in the official books, too!

‘“please mr. moony, step into our office,”’ james says, inviting remus into his bed (not like that, you shitface!!!)

sirius doesn’t like sticky things.

‘“we seem to have some pranksters in our midst,”’ *everyone immediately looks at the marauders*

as a great gatsby enthusiast, i greatly enjoyed “year four: christmas”.

^THE GREAT GATSBY IS NOT A ROMANCE!!! well, it kinda is but NOT IN A GOOD WAY!! it’s more of a dramatic tragedy imo.

^sorry. i see anything great gatsby related and i just pop off.

^I SHOuld have been in the theatre with remus!! he would’ve loved the great gatsby if i was there! we would’ve squawked about what a narcissistic bitch daisy is and how fucking gay nick and jordan are!! and i could’ve explained the social parallels and the symbolism and why daisy is a WHORE and love vs deperation vs obsession vs want and why i would absolutely KICK f. scott fitzgerald’s ass if i ever met him. and the green light. THE GREEN LIGHT. ugh remus why aren’t you real we could’ve had such a good time…

^i get even crazier about the greatest showman.

remus freaking the fuck out after being told to calm down.

‘Since Dumbledore’s visit to the Potters Sirius’s hatred for anything remotely Slytherin had increased tenfold.’ as a slytherin and the #1 sirius simp, i do not like this sentence.

[gabbriette-bechtel]

The relationship between infanta Catalina ‘Katherine’ of Aragon and her father, Fernando ‘Ferdinand’ II of Aragon

Fernando II of Aragon is known to have been a cheating husband (which, the queen, Isabel of Castile, his wife, was very aware of) and a not-so-great of a father; at least to his daughters, whom he did not care much about, seeing them as potential pawns and bargaining chips to make powerful alliances. He was, above all, an astute and cold-blooded politician and, as such, this Aragonese king was not the sentimental type of man.

It was no secret that he and the queen of Castile favoured their son and heir, Juan, prince of Asturias and Girona, over anyone else. (The queen herself would lovingly refer to him as ‘my angel’).

However, if anything has become clear to me after doing my research, is that both, the Iberian Queen and King had a soft spot for their little one, Catalina.

Queen Isabel would coddle and protect the infanta in a way she had not done with the rest of her daughters, partly due to the fact she had lost Juan and her eldest daughter, Isabel of Aragon consecutively (1497 and 1498, respectively) and partly because Catalina was her ‘baby’.

She purposely delayed Catalina’s parting to England until the very last minute, (which Fernando didn’t object to, either) and even then, she did so rather reluctantly. What is more, the queen had had the habit to accompany the infantas in their journey away from home for a little while and wave them goodbye. However, when Catalina headed for A Coruña in 1501, Isabel, either because she was feeling physically unwell or was not emotionally strong enough to do so, abstained from travelling alongside her.

Now, going back to the king.

We know the young princess would write to her father a handful of missives throughout the years, which were essentially a plea for help due to the awful state of misery she and her tiny household were in after Arthur’s premature demise in 1502.

King Henry VII was distraught by the death of his eldest son and his wife, Elizabeth of York, (the latter had passed away in 1503 after giving birth to a daughter who also died, a couple days later) and little did he care about the well-being of a foreign princess.

Not only did he fail to provide for her (the infanta had to resort to selling some of the stuff she had brought from Spain, and even then, this was not enough to sustain herself and her ladies) but also refused to return half of the dowry he had got from the Spanish monarchs, while keeping Catalina a hostage within his realm and refusing to let her return to her home country.

The situation worsened when the Castilian queen died in 1504 (aged 53) and the infanta was no longer as a desirable match as she had been when her mother was still alive.

King Fernando left many of Catalina’s letters unanswered. He did not listen to Henry VII’s demands that he paid for the rest of the princess’ dowry, either (be it because he refused to, or because he had no power to do so: his daughter, Juana, had inherited Castile, and that was where the remaining money from Catalina’s dowry allegedly was being kept. Furthermore, Fernando was not well-liked among Castilians, and his daughter, now queen, would probably not take heed of any of Fernando’s petitions for help due to the power and influence her husband, Philip of Hasburg had over her).

What Fernando did, instead, in order to improve Catalina’s welfare, was to strip de la Puebla from his title of ambassador for the Crown of Aragon in England in 1507, and grant it to his daughter, making her the first European woman ambassador in history. He would also teach the princess how to encode her letters, while instructing her thoroughly on politics, so that she could navigate the Tudor court unscathed and perform her duties as ambassador flawlessly (which we know she did).

When Henry VII died in 1509, his son Henry succeeded him to the throne as Henry VIII at 18 years old. The new young king had had the choice to marry whomever he wanted, and so, he married Catalina.

After spending seven years as a virtual captive at Durnham House in London, the whole ordeal was finally over. An extract from a letter Fernando sent his daughter after he was informed his Catalina would, in fact, become Queen of England reads: ‘(...) Porque de todas mis fijas soys vos la que mas entrañablemente amo, por vuestra virtud y merecimiento, y por el mucho amor y obediencia que conozco que como buena hija me teneys’. // ‘(…) Because, of all my daughters, you are the one I love the most, for your virtue and your merit, and for the great love and obedience that I know that, you as my daughter profess me’.

TL;DR: Despite Ferdinand II’s many faults as a husband and a father, it is safe to believe he liked and favoured his youngest child (in his own way) over the rest of his daughters.

Bibliography:

— Liss, Peggy K. Isabel the Queen: Life and Times. Second edition (Revised)., University of Pennsylvania Press, 2004.

— Pérez Martín, María Jesús. María Tudor. La Gran Reina Desconocida. Fourth ed., Rialp S.A, 2020.

— Tremlett, Giles. Catherine of Aragon: Henry’s Spanish Queen. Faber, 2011.

— Everett Green, Mary Anne. Letters of Royal and Illustrious Ladies of Great Britain, from the Commencement of the Twelfth Century to the Close of the Reign of Queen Mary I. Internet Archive. London, H. Colburn, 1970.