#THIS is what conservation should look like

[reignpage]

Physics Tutor!Nanami

Conservation of momentum: if it's just us we can remain at a constant

Content: Friday night party, we're nearing the end y'all, mixed content of angst and fluff, a little sexual action but only if you squint Word Count: 3k Guide

“Nanami, seriously, you’re a grown man,” you mutter, a little annoyed. 

This isn’t how you expected to spend to your Friday night, wrangling a six-foot-tall man into his home but your ex-physics tutor came to a frat party and you had actually drank with him. Now you’re facing the consequences. 

Earlier in the night, the sight of Nanami in his cute blue sweater, sitting awkwardly as he eyed the couple making out next to him with disgust, was enough to warrant a heart attack. You had offered to drink with him in the garden, to take care of him so he could let loose. For an hour or two, you drank a couple shots, relishing the cool breeze which kept your head screwed tight as you sat beside him.

Gojo had passed by, wriggling his eyebrows at you and making lewd movements with his hands. That hadn’t gone by unnoticed by Nanami, who grew quiet. You thought maybe he was tired, maybe he wanted to go home, and when you suggested you part ways, he gripped your wrist. 

“No, don’t go with him,” he slurred. 

You didn’t have plans to go with your friend, you were just going to turn in for the night too, but as you looked at the man you’ve been madly in love with for months and saw his ruffled hair, slightly askew glasses, fogging up from the heat his face was producing, and the flush brightening his cheeks, you realised that there was nowhere else you’d rather be. 

So, you stayed, sitting on the garden sofa with him. There were a couple other people loitering around, but none really paid any attention, everyone too immersed in their own conversations and lives to notice the two of you in the corner, thighs pressed together and shoulder brushing once in a while. 

His heat was permeating, tickling your side, and you couldn't help yourself, you leaned in close, the alcohol in your system made it so effortless to just let his gravitation pull bring you closer. If he noticed, he didn't say a thing.

You made small talk, discussing lectures and assignments. It was easy to talk to Nanami; other people were always so eager to prove themselves academically superior, never really listening to what you had to say, but rather looking for weak points to attack. It was never a conversation and instead a battlefield. And when you complained to your friends, they never seemed to understand.

With him, however, he listened more than he talked. Always. He hummed and nodded, mulling and considering your words carefully like what you had to say was just as important as anything an esteemed lecturer was teaching. With him, you felt like equals. Which was insane because he was Nanami Kento, and you were just the girl he had to tutor.

"I hate that bald Professor!" You groaned. "He's so boring."

He chuckled, adjusting his glasses. "He is rather monotonous, I must admit. You aren't the first student to complain and likely will not be the last."

"Yeah, I bet. But I honestly just don't think he should be a lecturer. I'd probably be a better one than him."

Meeting your gaze, you see the crinkle in the corners of his eyes, the way they soften as they roam your face, stopping by your smile. His fingers twitch on the empty shot glass, skimming the rim just a little before he affirms, "I have no doubts you would be; I can't imagine anyone finding you boring."

Passing each other shot glasses, you'd sip and chat. Nothing about the elephant in the room, not about your confessions, about the odd tension permeating the relationship, certainly not about why he showed up to the party, or why he had become flirtatious. Perhaps it was cowardice that held you both back. Maybe it was the enjoyment of simply existing beside each other, not as classmates, not as tutor and student, and not as two people whose feelings have gotten all tied up.

But as just Nanami and y/n.

Eventually, you both ceased your chattering. Settling to watch the other partygoers or the stars twinkling. Once in a while, he'd point to a star and tell you about its story, and you'd sit entranced by his voice --it's so steady, so smooth and clear, you could listen to it for hours. And when he talked to you of astronomy and gravity and quantum mechanics and the probability of time travel, you thought he should be a lecturer. You'd attend every class, every seminar, and never complain.

"How do you know so much about stars? We don't get taught about constellations."

He lifted one shoulder. "I work at the Eden Observatory part-time."

It was so quintessentially Nanami you didn't question it even though you were bursting to ask. He would have given you all the answers you sought, you're sure by the way he gazes at you expectantly.

Silence passed by, comfortable and soothing. You had no idea what time it was, didn’t care enough to reach forward to get your phone from the table, and neither did Nanami. You thought maybe he was nodding off but when you peered up at him, he was looking down. 

At your hand. 

“C-can I hold it?” 

His voice was gravelly, a hesitation that you’d never heard from him. The way he was gazing down at your hand, limp on your lap, like it was precious, like it was made of glass, and he could be beheaded for daring to even look, made your stomach feel weird. It was the very feeling you had been trying to bury for weeks. 

It was dangerous. You’d been working so hard to walk away and he was erasing the line, stretching out his arms to invite you back over. Unwise was what letting him do as he pleased would be, and yet, you found yourself nodding. And when his own hands, warm and large, wrapped around one of yours, you couldn’t fight back the shiver that ran through you. 

He was holding you so softly, in a way no one ever has, and you could only gulp. It was as if you had entered enemy territory, foreign and riddled with land mines that could go off and blow everything up if you so as much as made the wrong step. When his thumb grazed your knuckles, your heart skipped a beat. 

“Nanami,” you began but his hand squeezed yours and you shut up.

Your ex-physics tutor was still staring at your hand, marvelling at the soft skin, his glasses slide down his nose just a little bit, and you had to push it up with your free hand. That caught his attention, as if remembering there was a person attached to the hand he was holding so carefully. 

Clearing his throat, he shook his head, clearly trying to get his bearings. “Y/n, please rethink your decision to drop out.”

“I can’t.” You pulled your hand out of his like it burned. And then you looked away, crossing your arms so you wouldn’t be tempted. “This is for the best.”

“No. You were doing so well, even Professor Yaga had said so.”

With a sigh, you turned back to him, finding his blush endearing. The longer you stared the more it threatened your defences. You couldn’t let him talk you out of it, your sister you could fight off, even Gojo, but not Nanami. Not when every word that came out of his mouth sounded like the Gospel, like undeniable, irrefutable facts. 

Standing, you brushed invisible dust off your skirt and looked anywhere but at him. Unsteady, you asserted, “Nanami, I’ll take you back.”

He shook his head, strands of his hair falling over his forehead, obscuring his vision. You brushed them off, so lush under your palm, and he looked up at you like you were an angel -- mouth slightly parted, he blew air in the space between you, eyes slightly glossy as he watched you. 

“You’re so beautiful, you know?” He whispered, and then added, his brows furrowing, softening his gaze even further, “It hurts to look at you.”

You staggered back, arms falling to your sides as you gaped at him. You didn’t understand what that meant, what he was trying to say, nor why your heart was clenching so painfully, like someone had reached in and squeezed. 

“Maybe you can get your roommate to take you,” you whispered breathlessly.

Nanami shook his head once more, standing up too. His trousers were all crinkled and when he got to his feet he swayed slightly. You rushed over to his side, letting him lean against you. He was heavy, even as he carried most of his weight, and he smelled amazing. Clean, fresh and sweet. It reminded you of a bakery, just after closing, with the scent of butter and vanilla lingering in the air. 

“No, Haibara’s with his sister.” 

You both began walking, ignoring the staring and whistling people were throwing at you as they noticed both of your existence then. Some girls pointed to Nanami, no doubt recognising him from the List. They whispered amongst themselves, blushing and roving his body. You urged him to walk faster.

“Hey, hey, where are you two lovebirds going?” An irritating voice shouted. “You know my rules about fucking in the house. You have to pay a fee.”

Rolling your eyes, you informed him, “I’m taking Nanami home, he’s a little out of it.”

Gojo scanned your ex-tutor’s face, really looking at him and realising you were right. Suddenly, his grin dropped, and he was nodding to the front door. “Alright, I’ll drive. You seem out of it too.”

And just before you all left through the front door, he yelled to his deputy, “Don’t let the place burn down, it's a pain to deal with.”

The car ride to Nanami’s place passed in another relative silence, both of you in the back as you strapped him in, and your friend hummed to the songs on the radio, drumming his fingers. As obnoxious as Gojo could be, there were these rare moments of maturity and wisdom that people didn't see. But you did. You and Suguru, and these were the very moments that reminded you, no matter what, you would always find a home with him.

Parked, you unbuckled your seatbelt, reaching over the slightly light-headed man and unbuckled him too. His hand brushed your hair, gently, always so gentle. You refused to look at him.

“Let me know if you need a ride back,” Gojo threw at you, going on his phone as you fought to get your ex-tutor out, ignoring the glares you were directing towards him. His helpfulness had reached its max, clearly.

“No, she’s staying with me,” Nanami croaked. He slammed the door a little harder than necessary and you winced. Pointing a finger at Gojo through the rolled down window, he slurred, “You can go.”

Not taking any offence whatsoever, the frat president grinned and winked at you. “Alright, have fun, babes. Wrap it before you tap it. Or not. I'm pretty ready to be a fun uncle.”

And then he was driving off, leaving you crumpling under the weight of your responsibility with your jaw on the floor. That prick. Oh, you were so going to make him pay. 

By some miracle, you made it up to his floor with Nanami's jumbled directions, and now here you are, muttering irritated complaints about how clumsy this grown man is despite his age and wisdom.

“Seriously? Nanami, I told you to get it before we reach your door!”

You’re watching Nanami dig through his pockets for his keys, pink tinting the tip of his ears, either with embarrassment or with the warmth of the alcohol. He’s fumbling, muttering curses under his breath as he struggles, clumsy fingers catching on each other. You groan and swat his hands away, trying to get a feel for his keys through his trousers instead. 

This is not your first time dealing with drunk men. But it is your first time with a man as adorable as he is, unfortunately.

“Are you mad at me?”

Glancing up, you look at him, exasperated and unprepared for the pout on his face. His glasses are slanted again, and you have no free hands to push them back up — one hand is already holding him up and the other is buried in his pocket searching for his keys and trying to get past the lip balm in there. 

"No, Nanami. I'm not mad, I'm just disappointed." You hate that you sound just like your mother, but someone has to be the responsible one. You just never thought it'd ever be you.

He winces. “Please, be careful.”

“Sorry, did I hurt you?”

Nanami flushes harder, the tips of his ears matching and he avoids eye contact, stilling your wrist with a firm hand. “No, you didn’t. It’s just…”

You follow his gaze, both of you looking down and seeing something that shouldn’t be happening. You blink, cartoon character style. This is so very bad. 

Taking a deep breath, you pull the keys out and mutter weakly, “Found it.”

Once you’re inside, you pull Nanami with you, eyeing his place and appreciating the cleanliness; your place is not nearly as tidy as his. But you do see a messy arrangement of papers on his table. You can imagine a busy Nanami, sitting on the sofa, going over the papers and reading out loud under his breath. You smile.

“Alright, big guy. Where’s your room?”

“Buy me dinner first,” he chuckles to himself. He slumps down on the sofa, the leather creaking under his weight and he shrugs off his sweater, the shirt underneath riding up to reveal his abs. You look away. 

Oh, so the man has jokes. 

You’re fighting the urge to walk away and with a shaky breath, full of frustration, you very calmly say, “Nanami, it’s late, sweetheart. You’re going to need to go to bed, okay?”

Then he’s smiling up at you, a gummy smile that’s so dopey you can’t help but smile with him. 

“I like that.” He tilts his head at you. “I like when you call me sweetheart. Do it again.”

Counting to ten, you try again, “Okay, Nanami. I’ll call you sweetheart when you get in bed. It’s a reward.”

He mouths it back, tasting the word and that seems to resonate with him. Raising a hand out, he’s urging you to help him up and so you step forward, ready to bear his weight again, but then you’re being yanked down, and the world turns upside down. 

Nanami’s pinned you to the sofa, leaning over you with a fierce look in his eyes. Gone is the nerdy lightweight, and in his place is the man you’ve caught glimpses of. The one that furrows his brown in a stern scolding, that scribbles frantically on his papers and argues with the professors. Suddenly, he no longer looks his age and instead, appears not as a clumsy college student, but rather as a man. 

The kind of man that could command the attention of an entire room. 

“You did this to me,” he gestures to his hard on, the very same one you’ve been avoiding staring too long at. “Take responsibility, won’t you, darling?”

You choke on your own saliva. What the fuck?

Shaking your head, you remind yourself, he’s drunk, you’re no longer his student, and you’ve been a pain in his ass the entire time. Don’t take anything he says whilst under the influence to heart. It’s just chemicals in his brain. Just a biological urge. It means nothing. 

“Nanami, you’re drunk, let’s drink some water, okay?”

“Four shots is barely anything. I might be a lightweight, but I’m tipsy at most,” he scoffs. Leaning down, he grazes your cheek with his nose, inhaling deep with a groan. “You always smell so good.”

He might claim to be sober enough, but you’re not convinced. Sure, you can’t deny that you want him, but you don’t want him like this; you don’t want to be wanted because the alcohol has clouded his judgment. You want to be seen, as you are and not just another warm body to pass the time. 

Slowly, gently and with as much patience as you can muster, you nudge his head from your neck, and say, “You need to let me go, Nanami.”

“No.”

“Nanami.”

“I don’t want you to leave me.” That gravelly voice is back, the one weighed down by some inner turmoil you aren’t privy to, and you can only bite your lip when he presses a tender kiss at the crook of your neck. “I want you any way you’ll let me.”

You’re tearing up. It might be because he’s whispering it right by your ear or because his words sound so sincere, but you feel your bottom lip quiver. This isn’t how the night was supposed to go; you wanted to let loose and forget everything by partying life away, but now you’re practically cuddling with your physics tutor. Ex physics tutor.

Despite being a little out of it and shaking with some unknown emotion, he isn’t suffocating you with his weight. He’s holding himself up in a plank, inhaling your scent and fighting off your weak pushes. 

“Please, Nanami. Let’s talk about this tomorrow, okay?”

“You promise?” He lifts his head, lashes fluttering as he searches your features for any hint of deception. “You’re not going to avoid me?”

You shake your head, and he sighs, smiling. 

“Good, because I really don’t like it when you do that.”

And then he’s pushing off. A cool breeze brushes past you and you’re shivering from the sudden loss of warmth. Nanami disappears into a room you’re assuming is his and you go to the kitchen to get a glass of water. When you enter his room, he’s only in his boxers, climbing into bed. 

He lifts the cover up and pats the empty space beside him, grumbling, “Come on, I’m cold.”

You sigh, ripping the cover from his hands and tuck him in. “No, Nanami. I’m not sleeping with you. I’m going now so I'll see you tomorrow, okay?”

Almost breaking out into laughter at the scowl that graces his face, you have to distract yourself by pulling his glasses off and folding them onto his bedside table. Like this, he looks so youthful. No longer frowning over data variables or anomalistic lab results, he’s just lying peacefully. 

"You aren't better off taking a different course. You work well under my tutelage. Grant me the opportunity to change your mind about everything. Let me show you I didn't mean the things I said," he pleads, eyes flutterings shut.

Hesitant, you say, "I'm not sure that's such a good idea, Nanami."

"Just one chance, y/n. Don't cross this off simply because we reached a bump. You trusted my guidance before, trust me now."

You don't know what exactly he's referring to and you're too scared to ask. All you can do is watch sincerity, a raw kind of pleading, swirl in his vibrant eyes. He has you in his palms and he doesn't even realise.

"Okay."

He’s fast asleep when you leave. 

You don’t bother Gojo for a ride back to your home, you texted him your sister's picking you up. She might be asleep by now but you'll wake her up anyways, so you can tell her about everything that's happened and ask for her two cents, because you think Nanami practically confessed his feelings for you. But that doesn’t make sense with all that’s unfolded, right?

How could he possibly like a girl like you?

You’re loud, boisterous, air-headed, and not the kind of girl one takes home to their mother. He deserves a girl that’s as smart, as put together, and mature and wise as he is. Deserves one that hasn’t been tainted by bad decision and nightmares.

Sighing again — you’ve been doing a lot of that lately — you walk home, in the dark, fighting the urge to look back. And as the night’s chill prick your skin, you wonder how Nanami will feel in the morning. 

Embarrassment, shame, humiliation?

Whatever it’ll be, you just hope it isn’t regret. 

You have enough of that for the both of you.

[xx-emowarz-xx]

Yeah obviously.

But also I have a couple of things to add. You probably didn't mean it this way but I want to make sure we're not putting black employees and punk employees into two separate boxes with no overlap because black people have made a lot of really important contributions to goth punk and emo subcultures which often gets erased. This post is as much about weird black people's right to get body mods as it is about white people's.

The second thing I want to say is that the idea of "professionalism" is based on restrictive conservative WASP cultural norms. This post was made through the lense of emo stuff because I'm moving though the world as a white scene trans person and my own job search is difficult right now and it occured to me that the reason you don't see a lot of older goths is because they probably experienced what I'm experiencing right now and decided to pack it in, and I made it on my sideblog where I post about bands. The post has an angle it's not a generalized statement about workplace discrimination. That being said the reason that people who look like I do get told to clean their act up before they can get hired is because of cultural norms rooted in racism. Tattoos were unacceptable in professional culture before there was punk music, and a lot of indigenous cultures use tattoos in their cultural traditions. Piercings were unacceptable in professional culture before there was punk music, and a lot of African and South Asian cultures have facial piercings normalized or expected in their cultural wear (I don't know the significance I just know I've never met a Punjabi woman without a nose ring). I don't really think I need to get into hair, but saying no weird hair (read no hair unacceptable to the wasp monocultures, be it because it's actually weird or just from a different culture) is one of the primary work arounds racists use to deny jobs opportunities to black people now that racial discrimination is technically on the books illegal. Obviously people with Ta Moko and dreads are gonna suffer under these sorts of workplace dress codes than a white guy with a throat tattoo and pink hair. That said neither of those people are getting hired at a workplace that demands a tattoo free body and a professional haircut and both of them deserve to be able to pay for food and shelter without having to change the way they look to please the sensibilities of the white cisheteropatriarchy and they should probably (hint to white punks here to maybe work a bit harder at being allies to poc) band together to demand bodily autonomy and an end to restrictive work place policies rooted in white cisheteropatriarchy.

People don't actually grow out of their emo phases. People are forced out of their emo phases by employers who get a raging boner over controlling how their employees dress, cut their hair, whether they mod their bodies and so on

[velvetvexations]

I guess Plaidos is doing that thing where she unblocks me to reblog me again lol.

Accusing me of pretending to be a trans woman is in fact misgendering me. I am a trans woman. I provably have a voice that can only belong to a person AMAB or someone who's tried very hard over a long period of time to masculinize their voice, so if I'm not a 'TMA' person, you must be necessarily be accusing me of being a man, although it would not be any better if you were saying I was any other kinna non-trans woman either, because it's still misgendering to say a trans woman is faking being a trans woman regardless.

You're misgendering a trans woman when you say I'm not a trans woman. You literally said me claiming to be a trans woman is the same as a conservative man making an attack helicopter joke. You can apologize for that at your leisure.

Extremely conceited. You come up on my blog fairly infrequently, but you have over fifteen times the followers I do and what you say has reverberations in trans discourse, so sometimes I get anons letting me know what new hornet's nest you've kicked off. I don't look at your blog because it makes my skin physically crawl. The fact that you're an Actually Popular Trans Woman on Tumblr, unlike me, means that you're going to get talked about occasionally because every time you say some dumb shit your gaggle of idiots is ready to enthusiastically vomit it at the other minority groups you call slurs.

Sincerely, get the fuck over it, you're either a prominant transfeminist literary analysist or you aren't.

It's literally a content warning, because you're a hateful and offensive person, but it's wild I should even have to defend that since 'transfeminists' will tag posts hating on me on a regular basis for no particular reason.

If you actually do go through that tag, you'll see that I tend to only ever talk about you in response to people bringing you up first, or in the case of you misgendering me, you talking about me first. The only real exception is that I made two posts about the Dropout discourse you blatantly started for attention, which was (a) still brought to me by anons since I'd not have known you were responsible for that otherwise and (b) a special interest of mine I was really fucking pissed off that you were fucking up with the bullshit that special interest was an escape from.

I'm not sending anyone to do anything, moron.

Your vanity is not charming. I've talked about you lately in direct response to you talking about and misgendering me. You are discussing me too dummy.

I don't think you should be transmisogynistically harassed, but I'm absolutely fucking not responsible for someone with fifteen times the followers I have getting backlash to things like defending a 4chan slur for non-binary people. Like, no, actually, someone taking issue with that is not on me, and considering what you think counts as transmisogyny, I'm not really sure I even buy your characterization of said backlash, especially if they're "directly referencing" anything I say.

Completely unsupported by your behavior! Do you remember when you were randomly like "if you're wondering what velvetvexations is up to, she's saying you can call trans women hysterical because they don't have uteruses" when that was not what I fucking said?

I've tried making the same "I'll never mention you if you don't mention me" offer to people who obsessively stalk my blog before, including people who I would never talk about anyway because they don't have nearly the same presence on this website. I've asked them to stop screenshotting my blog and lying about me and getting anons sent to my inbox as a result. I've reported them to Tumblr, who doesn't consider it harassment. Each time the people stalking me - which is what they were actually doing to me, unlike me occasionally commenting when someone tells me you've caused some new discourse - was laughed at and told I simply deserve it or bring it upon myself.

Once again, you position yourself as a serious transfeminist activist and you have the following to back it up. You have influence in the conversation around transfeminism and as a trans woman I have a right to talk about it. Tell people to stop parroting your every word, or better yet, entirely stop kicking at trans men and non-binary people literally every day. Like literally every day you do this, it's why I can't look at your blog because it fucking repulses me.

You don't do anything to help trans women. You don't care about trans women. You care about being cruel to other trans people and using that to prop up your own crumbling ego. I would love it if your opinions weren't unfortunately popular and constantly being widely disseminated among others, but like, they are, and it's fucking disastrous for everyone involved. I don't hate you more than any other dumbass radfem.

I've helped TERFs deradicalize and retransition. You will never in your life do a quarter of what I do for transfeminism. The most you will ever accomplish is being an aggressive contrarian who's too unoriginal to come up with headcanons that weren't popular with transmascs first and claiming it a win when you say they're too stupid and shallow to interpret art correctly.

[alicefromwhichplanet]

Can I ask? What so you think about tf one? I meant I see a lot peoples praise it yet when I thinking again its not great like what they thinking.

Sooo what do you think they like that?

Hi, first of all thank you for your question. I hope my reply is not too late. I’ve seen your question weeks ago and I wanted to answer it, but by then, I was stuck in a bunch of things at work and I had complicated, negative feelings towards this movie. My opinion on it is so harsh that I find it difficult to really form a complete criticism because they are overwhelming. So I tried to avoid direct comments, tried to hide my edges and tried to be an amiable person. But now I think I’m wrong: being a harsh critic and working on some harmless, happy-together aus are all fine for me, because they all make me more like me.

So to answer your question on my opinion of Transformers: One, I’m gonna say it’s bad. It’s SO bad. It’s not just lazy writing, but kind of like malicious writing. My most non-malevolent inference is that: the play-write is an uneducated, simple-minded arrogant fool. He hasn’t read anything more serious than American popcorn superhero comics, doesn’t have any idea what a “revolution” is, hasn’t known a single blue collar worker individual, and most likely a rightist conservative. This is why the joke is on him: all he had written gives people just the opposite feeling. Characters he tried to convince the audience to be good looks like winners of an unjust game, and the character he tried to convince the audience as a super bad guy looks like a stigmatized hero. The four main characters all look like they have serious flaws in their personalities. And their “friendship” looks like a lie. They’re more like a bunch of blind rats happened to get stuck together with the playwright’s forceful hand, not knowing each other, not able to empathize with each other because of the defects in their personalities. And their friendship falling apart is only a matter of time. Not a little bit pitiful. See my friend’s analysis, I think they’re quite reasonable.

Since it should be a brief and comprehensive answer, I’ll make myself brief. So I’ll only point out some major annoying flaws in the portrayal of the four main characters:

Optimus Prime/ Orion— Not strong, not gentle.

For many, the reason for making excuses for TF One Orion is because they had the lingering love for Optimus in many past works. But there is no point comparing THIS Optimus to the past ones because in TF One, Optimus’s core virtue of empathy and tolerance is scraped from him.

Peter Cullen defined Optimus’s personality foundation as “strong enough to be gentle”, as the opposite of a “noisy flamboyant Hollywood hero”. It is fair to say that he is the savior for this franchise and this main character not to fall into “Hollywood hero” category. Optimus becomes Optimus Prime not because he “wins everything easily and gets compliments without flaws”, but because he has a big heart, is able to care for people around him, carries his unique sense of responsibility and is wise enough to make hard choices with no one supporting. But TF One, Orion is written as a reckless teen who does his acts “optimistically” like he doesn’t belong to his miner background, and chooses the subjects of his sympathy towards a small group of bots who are written on scripts as good guys. To Megatron, He is a terrible friend. He doesn’t even know about his temper and puts on a freaking surprised look whenever he is angry with an obvious reason. (And FUCK THEM with that “being too hysterical when getting angry is a sign of evil nature” conclusion, this is a Middle Ages witch-haunting line)

Megatron— the deprived and the insulted

I have written a separate analysis for TF One Megatron in Chinese, and I will translate it here eventually so I won’t say more. My conclusion is that the writer of TF One tried very hard to belittle Megatron’s character, including scraping off his radical leftist ideology and replacing it with a witch-haunting narrative: he is unstable. He has bad temper. Whatever he is angry about, he is too angry to the point of disgrace. We don’t like hysterical women. Same fucking white male narration. Orientalism.

Elita One: Fake female idol

I doubt if the playwright really knows how to write a strong woman character. Apparently he piled up some annoying alpha male traits on this bright pink, main-character’s-plot-girlfriend-turned-smurfette character in order to gain her some importance: she is as self-conceited, given much action scenes, admiring physical violence and social hierarchy as any male bodyguard side character kind of stereotype. Feminism my ass.

Not to mention that she’s basically a traitor to working class. A blind follower of miners-hierarchy rules and desperate to get on top without one single thought of this being done only through suppressing other miners ( the plots are stupid enough to the point of having her yelling at the miners to all praise her. Geez). Does or does she not have a real growth arc? Is there any more complexity to this character than being a blind follower of first a caste system then a new Sentinel Prime (Orion of course. I can’t think of another ending since he’s got the coronation from the gods for defending a tyrant, oh yeah) and getting rewarded for that? Again. Feminism my ass.

Bumblebee: the only not-so-disgusting person in the main characters, but still his happily chopping the guards scene brings me back to the Japanese Fascists soldiers holding a competition of how many innocent people can they kill in the streets of Nanjing (one killing 105 and one 104 or so, the news was on a Japanese newspaper during WWII). No kidding.

I would say it’s a story of bullying and justified abuse. (“Four ppl are good friends and then one day they all want to isolate one friend and they stopped talking with her(I know Meg is a him, but here his fate of being guiltified because of “anger management” is too similar to mad woman in the attic) and all behave very surprised when she is angry at “something wrong”. Big bro and his girlfriend big sis told the good-tempered kid (Bumblebee) who is too afraid of loneliness to do as they said or he’s gonna be *expelled from their group* like “bad Meg”. Out of fear she/he does as she/he’s told.) Besides the malicious character depiction and plot arrangements, the whole story comes without any memorable point. Very bland and predictable plots.

[maxdibert]

The Weasleys attitude towards Muggles is really interesting when you look at it. They don't hate them, but there have an attitude about them. First thing that jumps to mind is Molly's introduction at the train station. She complains that the train station is "packed with Muggles". Not just people, she specifies muggles.

The Weasleys accept Muggle-borns and believe that, as magical people, they should have the same rights as other wizards—but they don’t really consider Muggles as a whole. They don’t see them as equals, or even really as people; they’re just Muggles. Let’s not forget how Molly Weasley said that they didn’t have much money, but at least they were wizards. Excuse me? That’s just a polite way of saying she’d rather starve than be a Muggle, and it’s absolutely a form of discrimination.

Arthur Weasley doesn’t come across as a Muggle expert—he seems more like an old-school, speciesist zoologist who views Muggles as lab rats to experiment on. He goes on and on about how fascinated he is by their culture, but he actually has no clue what they’re like. He’s basically that stereotypical bourgeois “progressive” who claims to be anti-racist but then makes wildly inappropriate comments, touches Black people’s hair without permission, or thinks Africa is a country. It’s the same cringeworthy, problematic privileged liberal energy.

At the end of the day, they have zero genuine interest in Muggles because they don’t see them as equals or even as truly worthy. At least Lucius Malfoy is upfront about what he thinks. Honestly, I’d rather deal with a straightforward conservative than a failed wannabe progressive who parades around as a social justice warrior while holding the most questionable beliefs.

(Not me desperately wanting to be super self-indulgent and make Molly Weasley go head-to-head with a Muggle who calls her everything but pretty lol)

[anneapocalypse]

⬆️Pointing to what cookingwithroxy and runninghands said above.

I agree with everything that's been said above--allowing one partner no room for personal expression is a terrible way to live. I fully agree that if you find yourself in that situation, it doesn't bode well for the partnership and you should probably leave.

But I think it is important to look at all of this in the larger context: this is a direct result of the idea that men's sphere is the workplace and women's sphere is the home. In conservative heterosexual households it's very common to see the wife exercise an iron grip over the household because that is all she is allowed to have control over. And if this dynamic existed only in households where both partners had voluntarily chosen that kind of partnership, that would be one thing, but the "second shift" (look it up if you aren't familiar with that phrase) is alive and well even in left-leaning households. You might have heard the expression, "Yeah he's a socialist but does he do the dishes?"

To be 100% clear: I am not excusing women who behave in abusive and controlling ways toward their partners. Constantly belittling your partner's hobbies and trying to deny them self-expression is not okay regardless of gender. Sociological context does not negate responsibility. Nor am I in any way suggesting that men should stay in an abusive, controlling relationships as some sort of compensation or punishment for benefiting from patriarchy. Everyone deserves to be treated with basic respect, and if that's not happening in a relationship, you are well within your rights to leave.

I'm also not saying that anyone experiencing this type of behavior brought it on themselves by neglecting to contribute to domestic labor. We can see that in at least one of the anecdotes above that wasn't the case. Women, regardless of personal politics, are fully capable of unconsciously buying into patriarchal ideas like "the home is my domain and I should have full control over it" without examining why they think that.

But I think it's good to understand the broader context nonetheless, and to recognize this as one of many instances where strict gender roles, including those that are enforced unconsciously, are detrimental to all involved.

Respect your partner's hobbies and interests. Contribute to the upkeep of the home you share. And communicate about how you want to build an equitable partnership together.

I’ve seen this new trend of girls posting videos like “I hate my boyfriend for bringing all of his stupid boy things into our apartment when we moved in together ���” and then pictures of his hot wheels collection or a Halloween skeleton or an extremely cool pirate flag. Give him to me you do not deserve him.

[stinkybrowndogs]

gsps really are the most Dog of all dog breeds

I’m honestly surprised there are not more shorthairs on dogblr. What’s the hold up people. They are basically just a Malinois minus the teeth and brains and there are like 50 of those bopping around on this site! That and gsps are truly a dime a dozen. I could go on Craigslist right now and find a few byb litters. (I won’t. But I could.)

In all seriousness I think it has to do with the fact that the people who enjoy them unfortunately tend to lean conservative 😓 especially once you get into the hunting community. Being obviously gay or trans in hunting spaces is not super comfortable or safe feeling and I can only imagine being non-white in these spaces as well. That and the popular training methods used for gun dogs are… interesting. To say the least.

Some snippets of the books I was given when I was trying to get into hunting :

That isn’t to say that these are completely void of any useful information, there are lot of simple training steps that make perfect sense for the task the dogs are doing. But I think you have to take some of this with a grain of salt; when I was trying to get into hunting I found that I was able to achieve the same results with less adverse methods, plus my mentor was much more versed in modern dog training and conditioning. Brandy’s training is more of a blend of the two- the most adverse tools we used was a woah- harness (phased out pretty quickly) and an e-collar for long distance recall (again, there is a bit of a trade off of comfort for safety- the dogs job in the field necessitates being off leash and pushing out far ahead of the handler, and they can quickly get out of sight or earshot. Having a Vibrate-based recall cue simply makes sense. This should be paired with a gps collar just in case… I was told many a horror story of dogs falling into mine shafts and only being found because of the gps Tag).

Force fetching was never on the table. I saw one handler with a rubber bumper covered in toothpicks so his dog would not bite down too hard on it… never had to do that either. I’ve never had to strap an e-collar to my dogs belly. I don’t have to force my dog into a down to teach her. I don’t step on her toes (on purpose).

Her WOAH command maybe took longer than I would have liked, but it’s solid with lots of practice. Her recall is great and regularly practiced, and I don’t need an e-collar to reinforce it. She has a wonderful natural fetch, though we never formalized it. She’s beautiful when she’s on point, and it’s amazing to just see her do exactly what she was meant to do with little input from me. Truly no greater feeling than watching her cross back and forth across a field in front of me and freeze into a perfect point. It’s like she wants to chase the bird/rabbit/whatever SO BAD she’s shaking but her genetics won’t let her.

If I had the money to get back into hunting and falconry I would do it in a heartbeat. It’s a hobby that’s been sidelined since losing my job for obvious reasons, and it’s the first thing I want to pick up when I have a more stable income. If and when that will happen, I am unsure

What the fuck were we talking about. Oh yeah.

Dogs of all time for sure. But very much a dog that is good at the one thing they are good at, and if you DON’T do that thing, they can be…. A bit much. Being so environmentally focused can be difficult for people I think. It’s just not what many people are looking for (even though they give world class cuddles). That and the energy level; I don’t think it’s too bad, especially now that they are older (we go out for runs like 2-3 times a week) but also I simply would not leave the house if there were no consequences, so having a creature that will dismantle my furniture if I do not go get some vitamin D is a great motivator. The dichotomy of being a Velcro dog and being nearly oblivious to their handler when they are off leash is interesting, and probably why you don’t really see them in many sporting dog circles, or working outside of hunting. You gotta cement that recall before you let them off leash, ESPECIALLY being able to recall off of wildlife, and you gotta work really hard to reinforce handler engagement. I joke that Brandy is an idiot, but everything she needs to be able to do seems to be hardwired into her, and the things I had to teach her (recall, leave it, drop it, WOAH ect) she picked up quickly and hardly ever has issues with. (Dont talk to me about loose leash walking though)

Regardless, I love their personalities, their niche behaviors, their energy level, their ability to be the goofiest silliest idiots, their soft soft floppy ears, I love how they talk back to me when I talk to them, I love their big booming barks and club feet. I love that we are ultimately exploring the world together, and the joy we share when running through the woods or on the beach. I love watching them leap into the river with reckless abandon. And then at the end of the day, all they want to do is get under the covers with me and fall asleep. They are perfect monsters and I can’t see myself without them.

[redpill-tfs]

Hey, I was talking to some guys that were coming out of a gym about the red pill and they said that it might help me bulk up a bit since I am scrawny. I don't feel well. I think I took the wrong red pill.

That's strange. I do outsource some red pills to some alpha jock bros every once in a while, so it may have been one of them. Let me check the records and see if there's anything there. It will just take me a few moments.

Ah, yeah I see it. This bro found some weak scrawny liberal guy in front of the gym and thought he needed fixing. That must've been you, bro. It looks like you did take the right red pill, but its effects have been delayed slightly. Usually the transformation should be instantaneous. I guess this one is just taking a bit longer.

According to my notes, the bros thought you might need some help fitting in at the gym. They have a certain image they try to uphold, you see. You should be developing a lot of muscle soon. The biggest biceps you've ever seen, combined with absolutely massive pecs. It'll be tough to find any shirts that fit your new size. You'll probably be able to dead lift 400 pounds easily.

That's not to say you skip leg day, of course. Those massive tree trunks prove otherwise. And your feet will grow in size considerably, up to a size 15. I know some guys will absolutely want to sniff 'em. You probably could make loads of money on those homos. As you should. Being in your thirties can get expensive sometimes.

Your tattered clothes will begin to reform themselves to fit your new dudebro persona as you enter the gym. A solid pair of compression shorts and a red t shirt, perfect for working out in. As a bonus, you'll also receive a red hat. I'm sure you don't need me to tell you what it says. It's your favorite slogan after all.

You love wearing that hat, don't you? It shows everyone you mean business and you're not afraid to show your beliefs. Sure you get some looks for it, but fuck those libtards, right? Real men will get the message. That's also why you wear that cross around your neck at all times. What kind of Christian would you be if you didn't show off your faith to everyone? People see you and think "That guy's got it all figured out." They especially love your beard and keep it maintained. The ladies love it!

You head over to the weights as the mental changes kick in more. Your brain slows down a little, not needing a lot of its extra processing power. It's okay though. You'll forget you were ever smart in the first place. You don't need to know much anyway. You only need to focus on a few things anyway for your new life.

Bros, to drink a cold beer with while watching the game. Also someone to spot you while you work out.

Chicks, to fuck of course. Nothing gets you harder than thinking about breeding her and bringing another conservative alpha into the world.

Queers, to stick in their place. They belong under you, a true alpha male, sniffing your feet or sucking you off. No homo, of course.

Faith, to guide your values. You attend church every Sunday without exception. You're on great terms with your pastor, who taught you everything you need to know about being on top.

Trump, to guide your politics. You know RIGHT is right and those communists and illegals just want free stuff from your hard earned money. They may have won some battles in the past, but never the war, and you're excited to see Trump's legacy continue into a second term.

You finish your bench presses, getting ready to meet with your first client of the day. You remember you're a personal trainer at this gym, getting those bros to become even stronger and more dominant.

By the time you get this message, I'm sure the changes will have happened. If that's the case, feel free to ignore this and go about your day, as nothing in this should be new to you. But if you ever see a scrawny looking guy at your gym who looks out of place, I'll send you some red pills just in case. You'll know what to do with them.

[legolasbadass]

Late

A/N: Well, yes, I am back with more Richard and Lorelei! What can I say? I just love these two so much and cannot control my muse 🙈

After watching Missing You a few weeks ago, I just couldn't stop thinking about RA in those suits in his office, which gave me major Professor Armitage vibes, so I decided to revisit an old one-shot I had written and here we are 😈

I actually posted this one on AO3 a little while ago, but figured I should post it here as well. However, given that engagement is a bit low on here, I may only post future fics on AO3, so be sure to subscribe to my profile and the series so you don't miss out!

Summary: Richard and Lorelei are getting ready for an alumni event at the college when they get a little distracted...

Relationship: Richard Armitage x OC (Professor AU)

Word count: 1.6K

Rating: E

Read on AO3

“The black or the grey one?” I ask as I step into the bedroom, holding up two dresses. “The grey one is a little boring, but the black is a quite short, so I’m not sure it’s really right for an alumni event…”

Richard, who was fiddling with his tie, pauses and looks up at me. Then, with a mischievous smirk I know all too well, he walks toward me and says, “I like this one,” as he wraps his arms around my naked waist.

Though my blush tells him all he needs to know, I shake my head and step out of his embrace. 

“Be serious,” I say as I turn to face the full-length mirror. “I need your help.” 

“You know what? I think you’re taking this too seriously and it would do you good to relax before we leave.”

Ignoring his suggestive tone, I toss the black one on the chair next to the door and start to unzip the grey dress. The more conservative and professional choice. 

Richard, however, has other plans. He steps in and takes the grey dress from my hands, tossing it aside before wrapping his arms around me from behind. 

“Not the grey one. It’s too serious—and it doesn’t do you justice.” As he speaks, he caresses my bare stomach with one of his large hands, staining my skin with goosebumps. 

“Richard,” I groan in frustration. “You’re not helping!”

“Why don’t we just stay here, then?” he suggests, ignoring the look on my face to press a lingering kiss onto my shoulder, and despite my best intentions, I lean back against his broad chest. 

“We can’t stay here; our presence is expected,” I say, trying to remain reasonable. “Besides, I’ve never been to one of these events before.”

“It’s boring—trust me,” he replies, now moving to nuzzle my neck, his beard scratching me softly, and when his lips close in on the sensitive spot below my ear, I can’t hold back my sigh. 

“Well, I won’t know until I go, won’t I?” When he doesn’t reply, I shake my head. “You’re just trying to get into my pants.”

With a wide smirk, he looks up to meet my gaze through the mirror in front of us. “I’d say I’m pretty close.”

I can’t hold back my laugh, causing Richard to smile against my skin. “The event is in an hour, so you’re gonna have to control yourself and help me get dressed,” I insist despite very much wanting to stay here with him and let him continue. His hand on my stomach does not move, but the mere thought of it exploring all the sensitive places of my body makes me lick my lips. Suddenly, Richard’s smile widens, and I know he has not missed the frustration in my voice. 

The hand that now moves across my back is further proof that he can too easily read the signs of arousal in my body. When his fingers close in on my bra and effortlessly unclasp it, it takes a great deal of effort for me to protest. 

“Richard,” I groan and turn my head toward him as he pushes the straps down my arms and onto the floor, but I forget what I intended to say next as he silences me with a deep, hungry kiss. 

Despite all my best intentions, my resistance crumbles in an instant. His beard scratches my heated skin in a most alluring way as his tongue slips between my lips to meet mine, sending fiery tingles swirling through me. Even months into our relationship, his kisses are enough to make me yearn for him in ways I had never thought possible with previous partners. His passion is intense, sometimes even rough, but he is always tender and patient, leaving no inch of my skin uncherished, and now, despite the ticking clock, all I can do is melt in his arms and beg for more of his intoxicating caresses. 

Desperately needing to touch him and give him as much pleasure as he lavishes upon me, I try to turn around to face him, but he holds me firmly in place. One of his arms is wrapped around my middle, holding me tight against him, while the other hand moves to cover my breast and squeeze it, his thumb grazing my hardening nipple. Need begins to pulse in my core as he continues to tease me, but as pleasurable as his touch is, I need more. I need him , but he holds me tight, and when I finally manage to beg for him to let me touch him, he shakes his head. Then, to my surprise and confusion, he gently turns my head toward the mirror.

“I want you to watch as I pleasure you,” he explains in a low, almost growling tone. 

Heat pools between my thighs at his words, and I cannot help but whimper. Shyness surges through me as I see myself in the mirror—my hair slightly in disarray, my cheeks flushed, and my chest heaving—but the burning lust in his gaze and the large hands that explore my curves chase that feeling away. As though hypnotized, I follow the hand that now slides down my bare stomach and, finally ,  under my knickers. He stills for a moment, his eyes gazing into mine, and the smile that graces his lips tells me he knows exactly how much I am enjoying this. 

With the tips of his fingers, he teasingly traces my folds, coating me with my arousal, all while his other hand continues to caress my breast. Unwittingly, my hips buck against his hand, wordlessly begging for more, and a pleased sigh escapes my lips when he grants me my wish. He lets go of my breast for a moment to drag my knickers down my legs, then wraps his arms around me once more. There is something so incredibly arousing about standing completely naked in front of the mirror while he stands behind me, dressed in his black suit, and a low moan escapes me even before his hand returns to worship the most intimate parts of my body. 

“ Richard… ” I whimper when his thumb brushes against my clit, sending sparks of pleasure through me. 

In response, Richard chuckles against my ear before biting my earlobe, and I shiver. I am sure he will slide a finger inside me or even make me face him so he can make love to me, but he does no such thing. His fingers settle into a steady rhythm against my clit, one he knows will shatter me in no time, and I am forced to hold onto his forearm to steady myself as my core throbs against him. When a particularly powerful jolt of pleasure erupts inside me, I arch against him, my bum pressing into his growing hardness, which leaves me with no doubt as to how much he wants me, yet still, he does not move. 

“I want you,” I manage to say between breathy moans, looking up to meet his eyes in the mirror as he continues to caress me. 

To my surprise, despite his ragged breaths against my ear, he replies by saying, “Later,” then presses a lingering kiss into the crook of my neck. 

His fingers increase their pressure on my clit, and that tightening, throbbing ache deep inside me grows almost unbearable as I stand suspended on the edge of release. Nothing I say makes much sense, but Richard does not need words to understand that I am now begging him not to stop. He knows I am close, even if only by the way I now roll my hips against him to increase the friction of his hand. I desperately want to keep watching us in the mirror, but as wave after wave of rapture crashes against my core, I let my eyes flutter close. 

“I told you to watch,” Richard suddenly growls in my ear. 

Whimpering, I obey him, and the burning intensity of his gaze and the perfect movements of his fingers against me bring me over the edge. The whole room spins around us as sweet, burning ecstasy licks me from the inside out, leaving me a trembling, moaning mess in his arms. Only once he is sure my orgasm has subsided does Richard remove his hand, though he still holds me tight against him, for which I am very grateful as my whole body feels boneless. 

“What time is it?” I ask reluctantly after a while, still slightly breathless. 

“We’ll be a bit late,” Richard replies, causing me to groan. “Don’t worry, love.”

“But what about you—”

“Don’t worry about me—we have to go.” He finally lets go of me, and I turn around to face him, only for my gaze to drift down to his very prominent bulge. My core throbs at the sight. “Just get dressed; that will already make it easier for me,” he chuckles. “And we can continue this when we come back.”

“Alright,” I say with an apologetic smile. Then, as I reach for my bra and knickers, my eyes widen, and I exclaim, “Shit, I still don’t know what to wear.” 

“What about your navy dress—the one with the short sleeves and the polka dots.”

“Wait, that’s actually perfect!” I say with a relieved laugh. “And you say you have no fashion sense.” 

“I just know what looks good on you, sweetheart,” he replies with a smile, and my heart flutters.

If you enjoyed this fic, be sure to reblog and leave a comment! 💗

Tag list and people who might be interested: @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @i-did-not-mean-to @xxbyimm @middleearthpixie @enchantzz @myselfandfantasy @notlostgnome @laurfilijames @swoopswishsward @quiall321 @dianakc @sazzlep @albionscastle @evenstaredits @louk419 @sweetestgbye

[lady-raziel]

hilarious that with each new day that passes a new bit of dirt from JD Vance's past gets discovered and plastered over the internet...it's almost as if this is why presidential campaigns have always announced their running mates well before the convention...so that if glaring issues with a candidate came to light quickly there would be time to replace them on the ticket before they were officially locked in...it's almost as if certain things in political campaigns were done for a reason, donald...because the very same critical failures had happened before...but no i'm sure you and your guys attempt to recreate a fantasy version of history while ignoring all the reasons that history was a disaster will work this time...because you are built different and the 10000th time trying fascism will work like a charm...

[megpricephotography]

Beach Boy! Barney, jumping for joy during a trip to the beach in July of 2012.

[celtrist]

I love how you draw Alastor with the dark patches on his skin/fur. Although I feel bad for him being forced into outfits he's not comfortable in, I have to agree with Charlie that he looks super cute in that dress!

Tis the burden he bears being attractive: people wanting to put him in outfits he'd 100% not be cool with wearing.

[centrally-unplanned]

So I think I will just add "the declining efficacy of protests" to the topic pile for an effort post since it is a very good topic that needs depth to cover. I will be briefer therefore here, no real expectation that it will be super convincing or anything.

protests are an incredibly important signal of how pissed off people are about something. protests can and frequently do serve an important function of being a highly credible and highly visible signal to people pissed off about something that other people are also pissed off about that thing--they served this role in the first trump administration wrt the muslim ban.

They are a very weak and indeterminate signal of all of that, actually! Which you sort of self-prove here: the muslim ban protests were quite small. A few thousand people at a dozen or so airports., The US is over 300 million people. This is anti-data, it is pure selection bias, it tells you nothing. One can try to claim "sure but that number of highly active people indicates a mass backing of semi-active people, it is like bubbles from a boiling pot" but everyone knows that isn't true, a class of people who "professionally" protest (students, party activists, etc), composed them. They are not the organic bubbling of the narodnaya volya, they are a faction everyone already knew existed.

Protests can be effective by surfacing undiscussed issues - if Maine's lobster fisherman "March on DC" due to a dispute on water pollution runoff I bet some people will go "okay fair enough let's take a look here". But the Trump muslim travel ban was not undiscussed! Every media source on the planet was talking about it. Hell, that is, in a lot of ways, why there was a protest! People think the protests create the tweets but just as often it is the other way around. They generate more tweets, sure, but there is a harshly declining value on these things. Most people's minds were made up and protests are very poor as an argument for those who were on the fence.

Which again ties back to the actual results - the protests did nothing. They (or the ban overall) were not a big topic driving median voters in the 2020 election, Trump didn't budge, etc. Maybe not literally nothing, eh, I'm sure the ACLU got marginally more funding for their legal suits due to bonus tweets driving donors. I don't think the individual protests in this case were like "bad" to be clear, marginal donor driving aint nothing for a few thousand people to spend a day achieving. But that is very small bore.

And they didn't do anything because:

(and the media is plainly not covering what is happening in the US government right now enough)

Guys:

My friends:

My dudes:

"Look if they just replaced that Groundhog Day Story with a headline on Birthright Citizenship the battle would be won"

It is actually impossible to drive more attention to the current activities of the Trump Administration because literally 100% of all political bandwidth that exists is currently being allocated to it. Trump has monopolized attention on his activities so badly the Danes are reading about defense policy on the daily, this shit is insane.

And, of course, Fox News is not covering these stories the way you want them to. The constellation of alt-right podcasters are not covering these stories like they are bad. But protests are not going to shift that needle! Because this (to play that transition card again):

americans must communicate to other americans in clear and difficult to ignore terms that 1) yes, people are mad about this, 2) no, they won't stop being mad about it, 3) you should be mad about it too and 4) if you are mad about it you are not alone,

Is false. It isn't true. Liberals are mad about this. Which you know because they are liberals and they didn't vote for Trump! Conservatives just aren't mad about this, not yet! And street protests by liberals - which is all they will ever been seen as because that is probably what they actually would be, it is lying to claim they would speak for the masses - will certainly not convince them.

We just had a real street protest, a vocal expression by the American people, a resounding call of a million voices making themselves heard:

And expecting people less than a month into the admin of a winner of that contest to give a single thought to what a crowd 0.1% the size of this one is waving signs about is folly. It isn't gonna happen.

Which I get is frustrating by the way. Trump is awful, doing real damage, he is correctly reading that he has a virtual blank check on power right now because that is how the system (both the gov and the Republican Party) works. Voters were fools to vote for him. Reality just sucks sometimes, it is a world of fools.

(This of course is laser-focused on the idea of "protest" a la things like the Muslim Ban response or the Women's March. Dems are currently doing many other things that are valuable and could be doing more. It is complicated but tweets and podcasts are almost certainly more important things to focus on. And hey if you wanna pivot to violently attacking or overthrowing the government none of this critique applies!)

It's kind of weird to me how little in the way of mass protests we're seeing in response to this Trump stuff.

I'm usually skeptical of protests. The modern, uh, left-wing protest culture seems actively calibrated to accomplish nothing other than making its participates feel good.

But this seems like exactly the type of situation where protesting could genuinely accomplish things. Trump is doing things that are (1) bad, (2) unpopular, and (3) illegal. That's the ideal case for protests to make progress!

Like, Trump isn't personally going to care about protests. But the thing they're good for is drawing attention to an issue that people either don't know about or would rather ignore, but where they'll be on your side if they have to actually think about what's going on.

That doesn't apply to most wedge issues, and especially not most of the ones that get the left fifth of society really excited. But "Trump shut down Medicaid" or "Trump handed the Treasury over to private actors who are refusing to spend money on [insert program here]" or "Trump put in a bunch of tariffs and now your groceries and phones are way more expensive" all totally apply.

[palaceoftears]

Magnificent Century Rewatch: One Picspam per Episode

Episode 17: The Double Joy

-My dear mother used to say "walk barefoot on earth and it shall take away all your troubles and sorrows, earth shall give you happiness and joy"

-Your mother spoke well, one can only find peace in earth. But I'm not sure if it is on earth or in it.

[bauliya]

man I’m so jealous of china imagine the old headed nationalists in your country were communists rather than fascists like. what if the BACK IN MY DAY rhetoric was about Maoist murdering of landlords rather than the absence of minorities and women not having rights can u imagineeee

[here-there-were-dragons]

i have to wonder what super hardcore militant vegans think should be done about obligate carnivore animals, because in all my painfully-rapidly-approaching-30-years i've literally never actually seen anyone give a clear consistent much less halfway feasible answer on that