#They are voting for the rights of people and He is threatening those rights

[undercooked-icicle]

Trump announcing that if he wins this election people won't have to vote again because, and I quote, 'I four years your not gonna have to vote again because we'll have it fixed so good youre not gonna have to" is crazy.

[zvaigzdelasas]

Leonard Peltier was denied parole on Tuesday[...]

Peltier has been in prison since 1977 when the U.S. government convicted him for killing two FBI agents in a 1975 shoot-out on Pine Ridge Reservation in South Dakota.

But his trial was full of misconduct, including federal prosecutors hiding evidence that exonerated Peltier and the FBI threatening and coercing witnesses into lying. The government’s case fell apart after these revelations, so it abruptly revised its charges against Peltier to aiding and abetting whoever did kill those agents — on the grounds that he was one of dozens of people present when the shoot-out occurred.

There was never evidence that Peltier committed a crime. The FBI and U.S. attorney’s office never did figure out who killed those agents.

Peltier is widely considered America’s longest-serving political prisoner.[...]

The FBI continues to oppose Peltier’s release and is the main reason, if not the only reason, that he’s still in prison. But its stated reasons for opposing Peltier’s release are full of holes, outdated and remarkably easy to disprove.

The FBI also has not publicly addressed the key context of that 1975 shoot-out: That the FBI itself was intentionally fueling tensions on that reservation as part of a covert campaign to suppress the activities of the American Indian Movement, or AIM, a grassroots movement for Indigenous rights. Peltier was an active AIM member and an FBI target.[...]

Currently, Peltier spends most days confined to a cell with inches of space to move within, as his maximum security prison in Florida is regularly in a state of lockdown. He requires a walker to get around. He is blind in one eye from a stroke.

Biden is likely Peltier’s last best hope for going home. The president has the authority to unilaterally release him at any time.[...]

So far, Biden hasn’t said a thing about Peltier.

A White House spokesperson did not respond to a request for comment.[...]

The Democratic National Committee voted unanimously in 2022 to pass a resolution urging the president to release Peltier. Dozens of senators and members of Congress, including Biden’s former presidential rival Bernie Sanders (I-Vt.) and Senate Indian Affairs Committee chairman Brian Schatz (D-Hawaii), have called on the president at least four times to free Peltier.

2 Jul 24

[wilwheaton]

Donald Trump threatens the entire existence of the American republic. He is able to do this because the Supreme Court he created is assisting him in doing so. It is a corrupt Court – on which more later. It overturned a central right for half of our population. It routinely mixes and matches rationales, jurisprudences, logics to arrive at the end point of transforming America into their extremist vision. We’ve heard that yesterday’s decision was a terrible decision, an extremist decision, that it changes the American experiment fundamentally. No disagreement with any of those points. Most importantly, in my mind, it’s a fake decision. Yes, it will now be controlling within the federal courts. But it doesn’t change the constitution any more than a foreign army occupying New England would make Massachusetts no longer part of the United States. That may seem like a jarring analogy. But it’s the only kind that allows us to properly view and react to this Supreme Court.

The rationale for the decision yesterday has literally no basis whatsoever in the US constitution.

Josh Marshall is correct, but I don’t think it matters. This corrupt, activist, fascist SCOTUS does not care. The majority has decided that the Constitution, 250 years of precedent, popular opinion, and the foundational ideas that have made America what it is since 1787 are what they say they are.

I live in a country of three hundred and forty million people.

In this country, six unelected christian nationalists, five of whom were placed on the court by presidents who lost the popular vote, who are opposed by SEVENTY PERCENT of the population, are making up laws out of whole cloth because their power is unchecked. A country that allows this to impose their regressive authoritarianism on that entire population is not a free country. It is not a Democracy.

America has not been attacked like this since 9/11. Six unelected people forcing their christian nationalist agenda on a population of three hundred and forty million is not a Democracy. It is tyranny.

Everyone is missing the central message of yesterday’s ruling: SCOTUS is going to install Trump as dictator for life, by any means necessary. Somehow, after he loses the popular vote again, and after he’s even lost the Electoral College again, these six Fascists will invent a reason to overturn the will of the electorate, again. Every single one of their rulings this term have been part of their coup. Now, just line them all up and connect the dots.

We are four months away from the likely end of what passes for freedom in America, and once it’s gone, it’s not coming back in my lifetime.

[fairuzfan]

Would you rather have a president that enables a genocide? Or would you rather have a president that vilifies immigrants, promotes facism, dismantles the rights of women and minorities, emboldens white nationalists, worsens the wage gap, defunds vital services, AND enables a genocide?

It's an unfair and unreasonable question to ask. I know. Unfortunately those are our choices for president. It sucks, but it's a 2 party system. And until any change is made where a 3rd party vote is no longer equivalent to not voting at all, it's better to just vote blue for the presidential election. Not because Democrats are the "lesser evil", but because NOT having a Republican president will prevent further suffering of Americans and will lessen the risks of minorities' rights being threatened and revoked.

The president chooses the members of the supreme court who hold lifelong positions and whose legal decisions have decades-long ramifications. Trump picked 3 of the 11 current members who currently hold a Republican majority. It was that supreme court that overturned Roe V Wade and that decision is harming thousands of people today in multiple states.

Biden already nominated one SCOTUS, and in his next term he could appoint 1-2 more Democratic members who would work to protect rather than erode American rights.

The Trump administration was lethal for thousands of Americans for a multitude of reasons, including his failure to properly respond to and then proceeded to politicize the COVID-19 pandemic.

As awful as it sounds, as hard as it is to believe in the moment, ESPECIALLY with the atrocities Biden is perpetuating in Palestine right now, don't believe for a moment that this genocide would be even slightly less cruel under Trump. The difference is Trump's cruelties would extend to Americans as well— especially immigrants.

The point I'm making is the only ethical choice for this election is to vote for Biden, but at the same time that vote is not the same as condoning his actions. Don't let voting be the end all for political action, and I hope you understand why this choice is necessary in an unfair voting system. Please participate in your local elections, Call your representatives. Continue demanding a permanent ceasefire and an end of Israel's occupation over Palestine. And please keep helping Palestinians.

I think it's quite wild to say people domestically haven't been dying under Biden. Hundreds of thousands disabled people have died during the Biden presidency due to covid. I myself only got covid because people around my family stopped masking. Even some of my family members stopped masking because of the CDC thing. There have been countless other things that I'm too tired to list as well that directly contributed to the death of people.

I'm sorry I don't know why you sent this I'm not going to change my mind. I'm not voting for the man that killed people I know and lied to our faces about it.

[mythica-ithaca]

the fact that I see some of y'all posting more about how important it is to vote for Biden than you ever have about Palestine just shows that you fucking "vote blue no matter who" people genuinely don't give a fuck about anyone but yourselves.

you only choose to speak up when YOUR hypothetical rights are threatened. you love to fear monger about how much hypothetically worse it would be under trump than acknowledge the actual atrocities that Biden is committing and condoning every single day. how exactly is he the "lesser" of two evils for?

do any of you actually look at the images coming out of gaza, or are you too fucking ~triggered~ to fully acknowledge other peoples suffering rather than your own. have you seen the video that came out recently of the little boy whose brain is exposed, about to be laid next to his dead family members, only to twitch and seize in his fathers arms as he screams and runs in horror to find a doctor, because his son is alive. his brain is literally falling out of his skull but he is still alive. that is one brief example of the most horrific shit you've ever seen in your life coming out daily for almost a year. how on this earth can you watch that and possibly claim that Biden is in any way shape or form "less" evil.

instead of demanding that the dnc force a different candidate, you're trying to guilt trip people who have actually seen the mutilated bodies of children on their timelines every single day and watched the press briefings of bidens administration denying genocide and defending Israel at the expense of literally everything else for the last 8 months, into voting for a man who supports it 100% and has not and will not be convinced otherwise.

this is where allowing them to push widely unpopular and centrist candidates has gotten us. it didn't work with Hillary in 2016. it BARELY worked in 2020. and hate to break it to you, but its probably not going to work again. so congrats. your "vote blue no matter who" rhetoric has got them thinking that they can push the most right leaning liberals on us and think that we'll vote for them just because they're in a blue tie instead of a red one.

if you care about democracy like you say you do, then the Democrats should be fucking TERRIFIED that you won't vote for them if they don't deliver. not constantly reassured that they can commit literal fucking genocide and still get your votes if they dangle abortion rights over your heads. you realize they see those posts too right? the ones that say "Yes! protest vote in the primary but make sure to actually vote for the guy in the general!!" like. you are literally telling them how performative your activism is.

if every election at this point is the one where democracy is on the line then we are already fucked. if they don't get it through their heads now that we will not support this shit, then every election to come will be between a fascist and a fascist who cares slightly less about whether gay people get married or not. but that's all you care about right? as long as your domestic policy is in your favor then the rest of the world can suffer at your tax dollars.

this isn't about morality voting. this is about recognizing that there is not actually a "lesser" of two evils in this situation, just because you think that the causes that you personally care about will be less affected one way or the other. because what if it was abortion rights? what catholic Joe Biden was firmly against abortion and was threatening to ban it completely and throw anyone getting or giving one in prison for murder. what if it was videos of lgbt people being slaughtered coming out every single day for a year. genuinely fucking ask yourself if you'd still be saying "vote blue no matter who" and that he's the "lesser" of two evils.

vote for whoever the fuck you want. and I do genuinely urge you to vote for the most progressive candidate you can for the house and senate and your local elections. but for the love of god, stop trying to convince people that there is, in any sense of the word, a "Lesser" evil in this situation. stop trying to absolve yourselves of the fact that you are CHOOSING evil. it's genuinely sick.

[thebreakfastgenie]

It's worth remembering that Trump didn't want to run against Biden. No one remembers this anymore, but the first time he was impeached it was for threatening to withhold support to Ukraine (yeah) unless they investigated Biden (via Hunter, but he was alleging Joe was involved). Trump didn't want to run against Biden because he was afraid Biden would beat him. And he did in 2020. And ever since then Trump and the GOP have been throwing shit at Biden, the same way they threw shit at Hillary, hell even at Bill Clinton (don't send me into a Clinton impeachment tangent). They impeached his secretary of homeland security. They prosecuted his son. And that is why I believe this age/health thing was a successful Republican attack.

It's possible I will be proven wrong. We will see what the president says in his address. I think they finally managed to hit on something that was already a weakness with enough voters and people in the media and within the party fell for it. It doesn't matter if the president is actually infirm, if enough people believe it, it will still sway their votes.

All those reports of the Heritage Foundation planning nonsense lawsuits... getting the incumbent president who beat Trump once out of the way... the "Dems in disarray" headlines writing themselves. It all benefits the Republicans.

And that's really what I'm angry about. That it worked. And I'm scared, because we can't be letting this shit work. We cannot.

Right now the best thing we can do is unite behind ONE nominee. That's going to be the vice president. The president already endorsed her. We do not give them an inch of disarray.

[deadpresidents]

On the cliffs of Normandy, in a small holding area, the President of the United States was looking out at the English Channel. It was only six weeks ago, on the 80th anniversary of the D-Day landings, and President Biden had just finished his remarks at the American cemetery atop Omaha Beach. Guests had been congratulating him on the speech, but he didn't want to talk about himself. The moment was not about him; it was about the men who had fought and died there. "Today feels so large," he told me. "This may sound strange -- and I don't mean it to -- but when I was out there, I felt the honor of it, the sanctity of it. To speak for the American people, to speak over those graves, it's a profound thing." He turned from the view over the beaches and gestured back toward the war dead. "You want to do right by them, by the country."

Mr. Biden has spent a lifetime trying to do right by the nation, and he did so in the most epic of ways when he chose to end his campaign for re-election. His decision is one of the most remarkable acts of leadership in our history, an act of self-sacrifice that places him in the company of George Washington who also stepped away from the presidency. To put something ahead of one's immediate desires -- to give, rather than to try to take -- is perhaps the most difficult thing for any human being to do. And Mr. Biden has done just that.

To be clear: Mr. Biden is my friend, and it has been a privilege to help him when I can. Not because I am a Democrat -- I belong to neither party and have voted for both Democrats and Republicans -- but because I believe him to be a defender of the Constitution and a public servant of honor and of grace at a time when extreme forces threaten the nation. I do not agree with everything he has done or wanted to do in terms of policy. But I know him to be a good man, a patriot and a president who has met challenges all too similar to those Abraham Lincoln faced. Here is the story I believe history will tell of Joe Biden. With American democracy in an hour of maximum danger in Donald Trump's presidency, Mr. Biden stepped in the breach. He staved off an authoritarian threat at home, rallied the world against autocrats abroad, laid the foundations for decades of prosperity, managed the end of a once-in-a-century pandemic, successfully legislated on vital issues of climate and infrastructure and has conducted a presidency worthy of the greatest of his predecessors. History and fate brought him to the pinnacle in a late season in his life, and in the end, he respected fate -- and he respected the American people.

It is, of course, an incredibly difficult moment. Highs and lows, victories and defeats, joy and pain: It has been ever thus for Mr. Biden. In the distant autumn of 1972, he experienced the most exhilarating of hours -- election to the United States Senate at the age of 29. He was no scion; he earned it. The darkness fell: His wife and daughter were killed in an automobile accident that seriously injured his two sons, Beau and Hunter. But he endured, found purpose in the pain, became deeper, wiser, more empathetic. Through the decades, two presidential campaigns imploded, and in 2015 his son Beau, a lawyer and wonderfully promising young political figure, died of brain cancer after serving in Iraq.

Such tragedy would have broken many lesser men. Mr. Biden, however, never gave up, never gave in, never surrendered the hope that a fallen, frail and fallible world could be made better, stronger and more whole if people could summon just enough goodness and enough courage to build rather than tear down. Character, as the Greeks first taught us, is destiny, and Mr. Biden's character is both a mirror and a maker of his nation's. Like Franklin Roosevelt and Ronald Reagan, he is optimistic, resilient and kind, a steward of American greatness, a love of the great game of politics and, at heart, a hopeless romantic about the country that has given him so much.

Nothing bears out this point as well as his decision to let history happen in the 2024 election. Not matter how much people say that this was inevitable after the debate in Atlanta last month, there was nothing foreordained about an American President ending his political career for the sake of his country and his party. By surrendering the possibility of enduring in the seat of ultimate power, Mr. Biden has taught us a landmark lesson in patriotism, humility and wisdom.

Now the question comes to the rest of us. What will we the people do? We face the most significant of choices. Mr. Roosevelt framed the war whose dead Mr. Biden commemorated at Normandy in June as a battle between democracy and dictatorship. It is not too much to say that we, too, have what Mr. Roosevelt called a "rendezvous with destiny" at home and abroad. Mr. Biden has put country above self, the Constitution above personal ambition, the future of democracy above temporal gain. It is up to us to follow his lead.

-- "Joe Biden, My Friend and an American Hero" by Jon Meacham, New York Times, July 22, 2024.

[vote-democrat-president-congress]

In Plain Sight, Republicans Are Still Trying to Undermine the Election

Some of the most important and alarming reporting during the 2024 election cycle has centered on what used to be one of the sleepiest and least divisive corners of election administration — the vote certification process. Specifically, the nationwide effort by Republicans to install state election officials who are prepared, if not motivated, to undermine and possibly block the certification of vote totals. If that were to happen in the right counties in the right states, it could tip the outcome of the entire election.

Republicans are not being secretive about this. According to an investigation by Rolling Stone, nearly 70 battleground-state election officials have openly “questioned the validity of elections or delayed or refused to certify results.”

Certification has long been a routine ministerial task, unencumbered by partisanship, as the investigation points out. Increasingly, though, that’s not the case in the Trump era, now that Republicans have reprogrammed themselves to believe that it is impossible for them to lose any election except by fraud.

The danger comes not only from isolated kooks who get their news from Rudy Giuliani news conferences. Last week in Georgia, the Republican-controlled state election board approved a measure that could unleash local election officials to do their own research and delay certifying vote counts (those that Trump doesn’t win outright, anyway).

Put aside for the moment that this new rule appears to be in conflict with longstanding Georgia law that requires certification in absence of a court challenge. The bigger problem here is in how we choose our president — via the Electoral College — and how much power that winner-take-all system gives a single state to influence the outcome of the entire election.

Americans experienced this firsthand in 2000, when the quirks of Florida’s ballot design allowed George W. Bush to win the whole state — and with it the White House — by a mere 537 votes. In 2016 and 2020, battleground states like Arizona and Georgia were decided by extraordinarily tight margins; as Trump’s threatening phone call to the Georgia secretary of state demonstrated, a swing of just a few thousand votes would have shifted all 16 of the state’s electoral votes from Joe Biden to him.

Thankfully, key election officials that year put their civic obligations above their partisan preferences, ensuring that the vote count in 2020 was reliable. Today, most local election officials and poll workers are still honest, hardworking citizens doing a thankless job. But as political rhetoric becomes more toxic and infused with partisanship, many of those workers are leaving or being driven out, replaced by single-minded people with a partisan agenda instead of a patriotic spirit.

None of this would be an issue under a national popular vote. Biden eked out his 2020 win in the Electoral College, but all together he won seven million more votes than Trump. A few dozen or hundred or even a few thousand well-placed votes would not have made any difference. In 2000, 2016 and 2020, of course, they made all the difference.

Jesse Wegman, NYTimes Editorial Board Member

[decolonize-the-everything]

what do you realistically believe will happen if those on the left wing do not vote for democrats? do you believe that will single handedly reform the system? or do you believe trump will win and ruin the lives of millions of americans who would have been okay under the democrats?

Y'all tried to threaten us in 2016 and how did that turn out for you?

I'm native. I'm not voting for a genocidal Democrat. For a genocidal anyone for that matter. Y'all are lucky I vote at all, I have no fucking business participating in the genocidal colonial-settler project that killed my family and decimated my people and hundreds of other tribes.

"how are you gonna reform the system if you dont-"

Shut up. You literally won't refuse to even entertain the idea of voting for someone who's clearly stated goals are to reform the system just because they're a 3rd party.

Again, y'all are lucky I'm willing to vote at all. The person I vote for sure as hell won't be someone who's actively taken steps to repeat America's first mistake.

"how will we ever reform"

It's been 500 years and youre STILL justifying a genocide and convinced you're the fucking good guys. You won't. This country will never reform because even it's fucking liberals dont think a genocide is worth a threat to the status quo.

Die mad with Trump as your president and know it's people like YOU who literally fight progressives and activists that let it happen.

You are settling for fascism not me

"how will we reform"

Give me a fucking break and ask the white people that have had power from day 1 and to this day continue to vote in their own interest.

You want reform? Take it up with the people who Don't want reform at all instead of me. I'm giving you my vote, you don't get to tell who to vote for.

That'd be fascism. And if your country falls apart without fascism to make it function, good. Fascist countries don't deserve to exist.

"what do you think will happen to the people-"

Idk maybe Biden should've actually codified something instead of just promising to do it after his presidential elections or after Dems won mid terms like he said he would or trying to maybe even back when he was a vp or-

You don't get to hold me accountable for the way your party has chosen to actively fail everyone alive right now.

I'm not a politician. Natives couldn't even vote everywhere until the 70's!!! You can't be serious with this victim blaming nonsense and blame shifting.

If you message me then get rid of that cognitive dissonance you have.

"ruin the lives of millions of americans-"

Which lives aren't already ruined? If you are marginalized or someone who experiences intersecting marginalizations then you must've already been making donation posts on Tumblr and Twitter. And that's those of us who can post.

So who's life are you thinking of?

Your party is a party upholding white supremacists values and that's why they're so okay with xenophobia and genocide overseas but want to increase racist police budgets despite the war crimes being committed by police against Black people and protesters on the daily. And if you think American lives are more important than anyone else's in general (you're the one that told me to consider the lives of Americans while several genocides are happening), that's nationalism! The first step to straight up white nationalism and white supremacy. And you're acting like its rational in my asks on behalf of your party!!!

Don't be shy. Let's think critically here. What does that mean about who's lives you consider valuable and worth saving? Who is it? Who. Tell me. Go on.

Hope this helps ;3

[lady-raziel]

I'm angry. I'm really, really furious right now. I am absolutely livid that when the stakes are so high-- not just for Americans at risk from project 2025, not just for people in Europe being threatened by Russia, not just for people in Palestine, but for pretty much widespread global stability-- that the elites of the Democratic party would dare, would have the fucking gall to let Joe Biden run for a second term in the first place, and then when the magnitude of their own hubris is revealed, would not correct the mistake. And even worse, now, after what we've seen over the past two weeks-- that many of them, including some of the most progressive, would look out upon the people who they claim to be champions of, the diverse and varied America who will suffer at the hands of the conservatives' agenda--and they would EVER dare to say that YOU are wrong to point out the truth before your own eyes.

After the NATO press conference, where Biden absolutely had to prove he was not on the decline, and resoundingly failed to do so, I was appalled to go on Twitter (I'm still not calling it X, sorry) and see favored Democratic insiders claiming that the performance I had just seen was GOOD. That I should be PROUD of this. That I should WANT to vote for this.

How dare you. How dare you say that I should be proud, should wholeheartedly endorse the candidate at the head of a party who, time and time again over the past 30+ years, has only ever chosen to raise up its own aging elites, and occasionally younger people if they met the right demographics to portray the image of the "diverse party of the people."

No. It became evident a long time ago that you only ever cared about yourselves and consolidating your own power. Time and time again you have destroyed the chances of any candidate that strays beyond what you consider the bounds of acceptability for yourselves. There were good candidates in 2004-- and instead, the Democrats gave us John Kerry and handed the Republicans another four years of Bush. Hillary Clinton first ran for president in 2008-- had Barack Obama not been so compelling, had the idea of having the first African American president been so appealing, would you have allowed him to stand a chance? In 2016 you again and again ignored what the average person had to say, ignored concerns that had been brewing for decades that your commitment to "diversity" only mattered if it could be wielded against conservatives and used to prop yourselves up, and destroyed Bernie Sanders' campaign in service of an elite no one wanted.

The seeds of Donald Trump had been brewing for a long time, and instead of doing something about it then, you rested on your laurels and held on to your power instead of raising new people up to move the mission forward. And now, when the situation is MORE CRITICAL than it has EVER been-- still you refuse to listen. Still you refuse to change. Biden literally said in that press conference they aren't listening to polls anymore--is there ANYTHING that will get you to see that you are fucking this up???

So no, Biden campaign surrogates on my Twitter feed, DNC donation-prompt texts, endless barrage of emails one after another-- I see no reason to my proud of this. For many of us, this election as well as the last one was ALWAYS a strategic calculation to prevent worse things, empower local-level candidates, and allow a party structure to exist in some form in hopes of change. This was ALWAYS a dispassionate choice made with the full knowledge of complex situations in order to play the long game.

How dare you say I too should wholeheartedly believe the emperor is dressed in robes of splendor when he and the rest of you have lain bare for the longest time, while those of us trying to keep things from getting worse have to convince the rightfully angry people who still care to ignore the nakedness of who you are--to prevent people cloaked in blood from taking the reins. Shame on all of you, honestly. I wish I could say that this might be a learning moment for the Democratic elite, but I have little hope, and I expect to hear you pontificate on end regarding how "young people just don't understand the political process and that's why we lost" as we all go down together.

Fuck you.

[kp777]

WATCH: Michelle Obama speaks at 2024 Democratic National Convention | 2024 DNC Night 2

PBS NewsHour

Aug. 20, 2024

"[Harris] is one of the most dignified. A tribute to her mother, to my mother and to your mother, too. The embodiment of the stories we tell ourselves about this country," Obama said. "Her story is your story. It's my story. It's the story of the vast majority of Americans trying to build a better life."

Obama also jabbed at former President Donald Trump for the ways he had targeted President Barack Obama.

"For years, Donald Trump did everything in his power to try to make people fear us. His limited, narrow view of the world made him feel threatened by the existence of two hardworking, highly educated, successful people who happen to be Black," Obama said. "Who's going to go tell him that the job he's currently seeking might just be one of those 'Black jobs'?"

Throughout her speech, Obama urged the audience to take direct action across the next 11 weeks to ensure as many people as possible vote for Harris in the upcoming November election.

"Michelle Obama is asking you, no, I'm telling y'all to do something," said Obama, inspiring an audience chant of "DO SOMETHING!" in return.

The phrase "do something," she reminded audiences, comes from Harris's own mother, an immigrant from India who encouraged Harris to not complain about what was wrong in the world but instead to "do something."

"This is our time to stand up for what we know in our hearts is right, to stand up not just for our basic freedoms, but for decency and humanity, for basic respect, dignity, and empathy, for the values at the very foundation of this democracy," Obama said. "It's up to us to remember what Kamala's mother told her: 'Don't just sit around and complain. Do something.'"

[olenvasynyt]

I have always been uncomfortable with the SF scene where Cassian takes Nesta on the hike, but I didn't fully understand why until my most recent reread. And it is one of the reasons why I am anti-Nessian.

This is a summary of my tiktok video, feel free to check it out, and follow me over there as well if ya want.

So this hike was right after Nesta lashes out and tells Feyre that the baby was going to kill her during the birth, and this was because of her frustration and hate towards Rhys and the IC and how she has been treated.  

Chapter 46 of ACOSF: “Is it respect that she offers you?” Nesta spat.  “Is it respect that your mate offers you?” Feyre went still. … “What do you mean?” “Have any of them told you, their respected High Lady, that the babe in your womb will kill you?” “…I do know that your mate ordered everyone not to inform you about the truth.  Did you all vote on that too?  Did you talk to her, judger her, and deem her unworthy of the truth?”

It broke something in Nesta—broke that rage, that roaring—seeing those tears begin to fall, the fear crumbling Feyre’s paint-smeared face.   She had gone too far.  She..oh, gods.

But as Feyre and Cassian both point out, she saw the parallels between Feyre’s situation and her own, and decided to avenge both of them.  Rhys and Amren were hiding the truth about Nesta’s powers, she knew that a lot of them did not trust her to know the truth about her own body.  

Chapter 47 of ACOSF: I think she saw the parallels between your situations, and, in her own way, decided to avenge both of you. That’s my feeling too.  Rhys disagrees.

I think Feyre’s situation was much more serious than Nesta’s powers being kept from her, but that is also why it was good for Feyre to find out the truth even if the situation was upsetting.  

Cassian was like oh "I’m sorry you found out the baby could kill you" and Feyre was like "I’m not.  I’m mad at you guys for not telling me.  Nesta was the only one brave enough to."

Chapter 47 of ACOSF: “I’m sorry you had to learn of it.” “I’m not.  I’m furious with all of you, I understand why you didn’t tell me, but I’m furious. Well, we’re furious with Nesta. She had the courage to tell me the truth. She told the truth to hurt you. Perhaps.  But she was the only one who said anything. — I wish you’d found out a different way. Well, I didn’t.  But we’ll face it together.  All of us. — I want you to come back home.  Both of you.

I love how Feyre, who is the one was the victim in this moment, was like “I’m not sorry this was how I learned about the baby but I’m glad someone told me.  Rhys overreacted, I calmed him down and I want both of you home.”

Rhys overreacted.  He completely and utterly overreacted. — Rhys had no right to chase you from the city, or threaten Nesta.  He has realized that, and apologized.  I want you to come back home.  Both of you.  

Now kind of going off topic with Rhys threatening to kill Nesta: people get mad at Cassian for not standing up for his mate.  And I can understand that, I also think that’s frustrating and Cassian not standing up for Nesta is something we see often, including the Ember and Randall bonus chapter in HOFAS.  But it can be complicated because a lot of people will defend Cassian like this: Rhys is high lord and it will be very hard to stand up to him as someone who’s not on his level, so of course Cassian couldn’t do anything to defend his mate in this situation.  And yes this is true, and we see a very similar situation between a High Lord and their superior with Tamlin and Lucien in ACOMAF. Lucien tried to stand up for Feyre but couldn’t, and was shut down and abused. 

But if people are going to use this idea to defend Cassian, that he couldn’t stand up and fight his high lord, we have to make this comparison between  Rhys to Tamlin.  And a lot of pro-Rhys people don't like that conversation.

But anyways, this argument cannot be applied to this hiking situation at all, because Feyre mindspeaks with Cassian and says that Rhys overreacted, she isn’t mad at Nesta, all of those things I talked about before.  Feyre says that she wants both of them home but Cassian still brings Nesta to a hike and says he’ll call it a punishment to sort of appease Rhys because he knows Rhys is still mad about the situation.  “Tell Rhys it’s a punishment.”  Rhys was not the victim in this situation, Feyre was, and she was like fuck Rhys!  He was wrong for overreacting!  Nesta was braver than you guys and I want her home.  

Where did you even head off to? The wilderness.  I think we’ll stay out here for a few days.  We’re going on a hike.   Nesta has never been on a hike in her life.  I guarantee she will hate it. Then tell Rhys this is her punishment.  Because Rhys, despite apologizing for his threats, would still be furious.  Tell him that Nesta and I are going to hike, and she’s going to hate it, but she comes home when I decide she’s ready to come home.

But Cassian still brings Nesta on the hike.

And he was definitely doing it for Nesta and to help her work out her thoughts and not solely because of Rhys, but this hike is a terrible way to help a suicidal person work out their thoughts.

This hike pisses me off so much. The way the IC decided to “rehabilitate” Nesta in general pisses me off.  I liken Nesta’s “rehab” to those therapy wilderness camps where people get kidnapped and brought to the middle of the mountains for.  Those rehab camps revolve around forcing people to get to their lowest to rehabilitate, to acknowledge their mistakes, and it is a horrible, abusive system and very often results in resentment at best and death at worst.  And I think Nesta being locked up was the same thing and this hike is the same thing.  One of the several things those rehab boot camps do is force their patients to go on strenuous hikes for multiple days, and when it’s beyond their physical capacity.  It can lead to exhaustion, dehydration, injury, and death.

And one of my least favorite things in this entire book is that when Cassian realizes that Nesta is suicidal, he continues the hike up the rocky cliffs of the Illyrian Steppes with barely any food and even less talk.  He doesn’t look at her or speak to her in days.

It is to force Nesta to get to her lowest moment so she’ll break down.  Exactly like what happens during those rehab camps.  It is forcing her into this breakdown in an unsafe place with no professional help. 

Cassian knew that Nesta often hated herself.  But he’d never known she hated herself enough to want to…not exist anymore. He’d seen her expression when he mentioned the threat of falling. And he knew going back to Velaris wouldn’t save her from that look.  He couldn’t save her from that look, either. Only Nesta could save herself from that feeling.

When I read SF for the first time I was so weirded out by this hike and I couldn’t figure out why.  I do not find these chapters moving or inspiring, I thought they were toxic and sad and I still very much do.  And if I’m going to be honest I felt like I was also being manipulated into getting emotional like how Nesta was.  

And this is where I’m going to get into my criticisms for SJM.  

I don’t know if she realizes this comparison between Nesta’s rehabilitation in general and the boot camps and just, bad, toxic therapy in general.  I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt because I think a lot of Silver Flames is about how the Valkyries helped heal Nesta and SJM and their hike during the Blood Rite was so much more inspiring at least for me and was definitely the climax and resolution to Nesta’s healing journey.  SJM illudes to the IC’s biases very often in SF and I thought she was making Nesta’s rehab toxic on purpose, but the reason why I struggle with giving SJM the benefit of the doubt is because she said in an interview that that hike Cassian took Nesta on was inspired by a hike she and her husband went on during a vacation.

I also hate how she adds the idea that the mountains are healing, and there is a voice telling Cassian to keep pushing Nesta forward, “just one more mountain”.  Like no.  This again adds to the comparison of the fucking bootcamps because that is also a tactic they use.

Chapter 48 of ACOSF: The peaks weren’t as brutal and sharp as those in Illyria, but there was a presence to them that he couldn’t quite explain.  Mor had once told him that long ago, these lands had been used for healing. Perhaps that was why he’d come.  Some instinct had remembered the healing, felt this land’s slumbering heart, and decided to bring Nesta here.

This is fantasy, of course, so I am fine with this element of a higher presence that is healing to the characters who are struggling.  And there is the symbolic element of climbing your mountain.  But I need people to stop saying that this is a realistic way to treat people with actual problems in the real world, not only with this hike but also with all of the rehabilitation the IC made her do by locking her up.  I might make a whole other video on that but if Nesta was in the House of Wind because she was addicted to alcohol and fucking strangers and spending money, this is not the professional way to go about it.  

I like a lot of parts during this final breakdown where they talk about forgiving yourself, leaving the past behind.  But I did not like the journey they made Nesta take to get to this point.  Nesta could have very well had this breakdown not on this hike.  

And this part ends with Cassian comforting Nesta. 

“I’ll be with you every step of the way,” he whispered into her palm.  “Just don’t lock me out.  You want to walk in silence for a week, I’m fine with that.  So long as you talk to me at the end of it.”

Like I appreciate this sentiment.  

But, another thing that annoys me is Cassian’s conclusion after this scene

Chapter 50 of ACOSF: “She’d been suffering, and he’d had no idea how much it consumed every facet of her life.  He’d seen her self-loathing and anger—but hadn’t realized how much she’d been aware of it.  To know she’d hurt this much, for so long.

First of all, how would Nesta not know she was aware of her self-loathing and anger?  She had actively talked about it before this moment??? She fucking has. And how did Cassian not know that she had been hurting this much for long long?  I thought he was her mate who understood her?  He talked about her traumas before in ACOWAR.  Plus, I thought she was being rehabilitated.  Helping her get not addicted to alcohol and spending money and having sex?  

There is such a lack of awareness when it comes to the IC and this situation and I get frustrated when readers don’t understand it.  People say that Nesta’s rehab was very serious and complex but no.  It wasn’t.  It is a terrible way to help anyone.  

I think Nesta and Cassian still have to work on a lot to be an actual healthy relationship.  And we saw the issues they still have in the Randall and Ember bonus chapter so I am very curious to see how SJM resolves their issues in future books, if she does so at all.

[tinycozycomfort]

rest in the cup of my palms (part one)

pairing: no outbreak!joel miller x art student f!reader

chapter one: drawing from life

series masterlist | next chapter

series summary: you went back to school to find out who you are—to make another leap in the hope of self discovery. when you finally find that first glimpse of yourself, it’s in someone else. what happens when the mirror tries to pull you in? or  you’re everything joel could’ve hoped to find. he doesn’t let go easily.

chapter summary: ellie volunteers joel to model for a drawing class on campus. you find someone worth dreaming about.

warnings/tags: no outbreak, no use of y/n, (for everything) -> mutual pining!, possessive behavior, smut (w individual tags to come), unnecessary descriptions of joel being beautiful, ellie is joel's daughter, ellie and reader attend the same university but reader is in post-grad, age gap (joel is late 40s, reader is not), alternating pov, slow-ish burn, joel miller wins girl dad of the century via unanimous vote (for this chapter) -> masturbation (f), intense feelings of loneliness, existential rumination

word count: 7.2k

rating: explicit (18+ only! mdni)

A/N: some good ol' work up, necessary to explain the rated r plans i have for them. ive been terrified of writing a series but i'm also tired of editing everything down to be one-shot appropriate, so today we try. im full-swing into my fixation era and on my 'i cant be loved + ive known how to love you for 1,000 lifetimes' bullshit. this fic is as self indulgent as they come, but i hope you can enjoy it! and for those of you willing to trudge through this with me, i love you.

read on ao3

“To photograph people is to violate them, by seeing them as they never see themselves, by having knowledge of them that they can never have; it turns people into objects that can be symbolically possessed.”

Susan Sontag - On Photography 

───────

A halo of hot light falls through the pane of glass above the sink. Joel’s got one eye pinched semi-shut, trying hard to focus on not burning himself while he drains boiling water out of a pot of pasta. 

When he woke up this morning, the blinds on every window in the house had been strung up to the lip. He’d barely gotten a hand around one of the strings in the glass frame above the couch before Ellie appeared out of nowhere to literally slap his wrist, ‘I’m drawing’. Still groggy, he tried to challenge her, ‘Do they all have to be open?’, to which she patiently explained—for what she probably feels is the millionth time—that she needed the extra light, and if she had them all open when she started, they’d need to stay that way until she was done. 

So he left her to work, knowing she’s got midterms to finish, walking around with his eyes closed until he felt his way back into his bedroom. He came out once for coffee, and not again until dinner. This is their weekend.

Joel spoons out some of the food into bowls, leaving them to stay warm by the stove before he steps into the dining room. He stops himself half-way, hanging back in the archway to give his daughter another minute as the last shreds of strong sunlight start to wane out.

Ellie’s right where he left her: at the table, cross-legged in her chair with an eraser-less pencil held tightly in her fist. She’s hunched over a large pad of paper, the back of it lifted at an angle under a pile of old books and dog-eared tool catalogs. The sketchbook she uses as a reference guide is propped up on the corner of her left knee, leaned against the edge of the table. She rifles between two pages of it, eyeing some of the quick sketches—visual notes, as she puts it—that she took in class to help her navigate the larger, more detailed version with ease. Silent save for her short huffs of breath, she’s concentrated, wrist-corner lifted to not misplace any graphite. Her process is always the same; a little creature of habit.

She’s wearing her headphones, the cord winding dangerously low, threatening to dip into a cup of water she’d placed in the empty triangle between her lap—the same one he’d seen her with six hours ago. She hasn’t even touched it, still full nearly to the brim. He wonders if she’s gotten up at all. The girl works herself a bit too hard, he thinks, always falls head first into whatever project she’s working on, nothing if not like her dad. The corner of his mouth tugs up so tight it hurts. What is he going to do without her?

He just stands there, feet crossed on top of each other and arms in a twist over his chest, and watches her while she’s not looking, knowing she still gets shy sometimes when he catches her like this. She’s the sweetest reminder of everything good Joel’s ever done; another life he’d gladly offer his own for. 

It’s always come naturally—to be what someone needs of him—in a way that transcends reward or expectation. 

Joel had been his brother’s primary caregiver first, from birth and then well into their adulthood—always around to bail him out of jail or lend him money he didn’t have. Because he cared. Loved him. He couldn’t ever really say it, always had a problem with the wording, but he knew that at least some of what he wanted to explain had come across. He can see it in the way Tommy is with his own family.

His brother has Maria now, and the kids, and seeing how happy Tommy could be in spite of their upbringing was the first time Joel had ever put his priorities into question. Somewhere in all the caring-for he did, he’d forgotten about himself; the possibility of having his own wife and child and home. He’d always ached for that, deep down, but didn’t even know it was an option until he saw it happen. By that point, he wasn’t sure if he could do any of it, or if he even had the time to start. Then came Ellie.

She entered his life when a close friend of Tommy’s had died unexpectedly and no one came forward to claim her, unknowingly giving him a second chance; one he worked to make count. She was tough to crack at first—also like him in that way—but the love had always been there, waiting its turn after all the awkwardness and misunderstanding and adapting before finally showing its face. She’d needed him then, as much as his brother had all those years ago, carrying on the torch of purpose that Joel so feverishly searched for. 

He rolls his eyes at himself; he’s been having too many misty-eyed moments about her lately. It’s so unserious, the actuality of it; of being her dad. Going to work and the supermarket and museums, being there to chaperone field-trips and take one-thousand mostly-blurry photos of her graduation. But it’s been everything to him. He’s desperately clung to the five years of her life that she’s shared with him, and he’s so proud to witness it, but he knows she’s getting to a point where she needs to be her own person. He’ll miss her when she’s only home for summers, then only home for Christmas, then only home once in a while—so he holds on to every bit, and tries not to think about what’s next for him. 

He walks closer to her, tilting his head to try and steal a glance of what it is she’s working on. He catches a glimpse of the face of a woman, a portrait from shoulders-up. She’s pretty, with a soft and thoughtful expression, looking downward off the side of the pad. From what he could make out between the movements of Ellie’s hand, she even looks a little shy. His daughter rubs at the cheeks and nose of the girl on the paper, imitating the shadow-less areas where light would fall. Joel is mesmerized by the way she creates so effortlessly, like breathing. 

Without moving her head, she pulls a tiny white bobble out from her ear, “I know you’re watching me, weirdo.” 

Joel laughs, wet and thick in his mouth with the emotion he’s still climbing down from, “Is this how you treat me when I’m trying to feed you?” 

She smiles, he can see the fat of her cheek rounding out even from this angle, “You should’ve just said that.” 

Ellie leaves her set-up untouched, just getting up and moving down to an empty seat while Joel goes to bring the food out. 

She shifts around in her seat, feet folded again on the flat of it, eating too fast—ill-mannered—and it reminds Joel of all the nights they spent at Tommy’s for family dinner, right at the beginning, back when they’d just begun to become close. When she’d push his patience with her behavior to see if he’d say something, to see if he still paid her mind—he always did, still does, “Jesus Christ, kid. Have I taught you nothing?”

She holds back a laugh, mouth full of tomato sauce, “You love it. I’m charming.” 

He snorts, the two of them falling into a comfortable quiet for only a few minutes before she breaks it again, “Speaking of how much you love me, I need to ask you for a favor.” 

“Oh no,” He jokes, “What now?” 

“Remember those drawings I turned in of you last month?” She starts pushing around the last bite of her spaghetti, never a good sign, but he nods anyway for her to continue, “Well my teacher really liked them. And there’s been an issue with finding people to sit for the drawings. Sooo,” she really drags it out, “I signed you up.”

“What do you mean, you signed me up? For what?” 

“To model,” Joel’s mouth pops open in an immediate attempt to oppose, but Ellie’s quicker, “Didn’t you say you’d always support me in school?”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” Joel finishes his plate and then they’re both just clinking their forks against porcelain for a heavy eightnineten seconds before she gives it another shot.

“C’mon, seriously. I’ll get extra credit if you do it,” She lets out a long sigh like she can’t believe she has to explain anything more than that, “My professor teaches a Monday session for the master’s program and they need people. It’s just one time.” 

“Ellie. It’s Sunday. How are you gonna tell me this now?” 

“Please, you just sit there for, like, two hours while they draw you and you don’t have to talk. That’s two of your favorite things. Three if you consider that you’d be helping me out.” she looks at him with a sticky-sweet smile, eyes crinkled—like she knows she’s getting away with it. 

She might be. 

“Why don’t you ask one of your friends to do it?” Joel gathers up their plates from the table to carry them into the kitchen. Ellie picks up their still half-full glasses as an excuse to follow him.

“Because we all have class together tomorrow on the other side of campus. Plus, you’re easy to draw and—” 

“Hey.” 

She ignores the flat look he shoots her, flipping on the sink, “That’s a compliment, by the way. But really, it’s no effort and you’d be getting me into a good place with my professor ‘cause she’ll be super grateful. The budget’s kinda tight this semester.” 

“Then what am I payin’ for, if you’re gonna make me do this stuff myself?” It’s a half-hearted dig—he’s mostly annoyed because she probably already figured out he’s going to agree.

Her little smirk graduates to a shit-eating grin, she knows it, “Best dad ever.”

“You’re a pain in my ass, y’know that?”

“Just because I knew you were gonna say that, I actually signed you up for two.”

───────

Joel stumbles out of the elevator, filing hurriedly through groups of students with a new-found purpose now that he’s managed to make it to the correct floor. Ellie made a point of not mentioning that he had to be at the school at 7:30am until she was saying goodnight to him a few hours ago, because she thought it would dissuade him—she was right—so now he’s running late on top of everything else. 

He’s got the little scaled-down, splotchy-printed version of the campus map gripped tightly between his hands. Room 14B is seemingly only two turns and one corner from where he stands—if he’s holding it the right way. He wants to ask for directions, but he feels too out-of-place to set aside his embarrassment. He’s older than at least half the staff, and some of the attendees are even younger, and he doesn’t want to run the risk of looking incapable, as foolish as it is. He wishes Ellie would have just offered to show him where to go before she headed off to her own class. 

For someone who prides themselves on their ability to parent, he feels hopeless now without his daughter; not for the first time, but it’s especially harsh considering the circumstances. It hurts something bittersweet, to think about how much more they’ve bonded since he started working less and she decided to live at home her first year of college (though it’s coming to an end sooner than he’d like). Again, too many sad thoughts, and she’s not here, so he trudges on. 

He walks in two more circles before he finds the right place—down a fucking hallway and hidden behind a door he didn’t know he was allowed to open, of course. A woman with long, dark blonde hair is sitting at a desk by the door when he enters. She doesn’t look up at him.

“Good morning, ma’am. Sorry I’m late. My—uh. You teach my daughter? I’m here for—” 

“Ellie’s dad,” She cocks her head without meeting his eye, “Late? You’re about twenty minutes early, she told me you probably would be.” 

She knows me too well, the brat. He chastises her in his mind but outwardly he corrects himself, “Yes, right, sorry. I’m a little turned around.” 

“That’s alright. There’s just a waiver you need to sign, and you can get undressed in the bathroom down the hall. I’ll give you a cover-up to wear until I come to grab you.” 

Right, he’d have to be naked. He already knew that—sort-of—having seen dozens of Ellie’s sketches from semesters past. He knows the students don’t see it that way, knows that they’ve all drawn the same things so many times they would be desensitized to his nudity. They’d probably all be desensitized to him as well; in their eyes, he was just a reference, as familiar as any of the memorialized piles of fruit or arrangements of glass that Ellie's also brought home. 

Still, Joel feels a wash of anxiety come over him. He’s more than comfortable in his body, after putting it through so much, but this degree of vulnerability is severe in comparison to vanity or sex—it’s a state of living he hasn’t participated in for a long time. He doesn’t like to be seen, and being documented—having physical evidence of how he’s interpreted by others—makes his stomach turn. He hasn’t looked in a mirror for more than a moment in months, but it can’t be that bad, right? Ellie’s always given him a favorable light, but he worries she has a bias beyond belief. What if he sees something about himself he doesn’t like? What if everyone’s been able to see it all along?

Caught in his thoughts, he doesn’t realize the woman is still talking, “We have a scheduled break halfway through class. You can leave then. Next week it’ll flip and you can come for the latter half so they can finish.” She slides the form and a swath of black fabric across the table, and almost like she can sense his apprehension, finally raises her head to give him a meaningful look, “Thank you again for doing this. I know it can feel weird, but it makes a difference for them. There’ll be a joint show at the end of the month, too, with Ellie’s class.” 

He just offers her a little nod of his head, thank you, signing the form and padding to the bathroom to unceremoniously disrobe in an empty stall.

It’s just two hours. 

───────

If they make you take another figure-drawing class, you’re going to scream. 

You’d think this far into a second degree, the school board would stop requiring you to take what is essentially the same class every semester. Sincerely, the only thing that changes is how long the session runs and what number follows the class title. It’s getting old. 

To be fair, it’s not necessarily that you dislike drawing—it provides a pretty firm foundation for your personal work to stand on—it’s just tedious. Nothing is inspiring about assignment-based work, especially when they’ve decided the only way you can prove your skill-set is to make you draw the same three objects five-thousand ways. 

But it’s not up to you. 

So here you are again, two weeks from spring break, back in this frigid building after surviving another forty minutes of traffic, body still stiff from fighting the urge to fall asleep at the wheel. 

It’s important, you remind yourself, to show up and put your fullest effort into everything, no matter how much you don’t enjoy it. Even if just to prove to yourself you can still finish things.

Coming back to school was an idea you’d toyed with for years after graduating. 

There had been a lot of pressure on you to go in the first place, from your parents and your teachers and your nightmare of an ex, because according to them you’d get nowhere without it. After enough pressure and in a need to appease them, you folded and went; suffered every long night and pushed through every period of self-doubt and smiled for every ‘worth-capturing’ moment right up to the end. And then when it was over, gone faster than you could comprehend, you felt like something was taken away from you, even with how low it had made you—the worst kind of stockholm syndrome. 

In an attempt to keep some momentum, you were over-eager for more right out of the gate. There was an initial need to continue, because you’d been reliant on academic structure just by the nature of familiarity, and maybe a little ill-prepared to face who you were without guidance. Without the instruction of someone with two degrees and a smoking addiction and no teaching license. Now it sounds silly, but then you spent a few too many nights uncontrollably looking into post-grad institutions or internship programs, googling professors and reading forums for first-hand accounts. 

Then, after a year, the thought of continuing got a little less exciting, and you became comfortable in the freedom of nothing after being in school your whole life. So you pretended to research, emailed everyone about how great the options looked, signed up for one-on-ones you didn’t show up for—until people stopped asking. 

It was at that point that you finally had the time to process what you were doing and why, and accepted that you didn’t have to have all the answers, despite what everyone had led you to believe. Truthfully, you still had no idea who you wanted to be and that’s okay—living with it and living alongside it weren’t mutually exclusive. You just took time to practice being yourself—sucked up the embarrassment and did the work, little exercises in unleashing yourself onto the world instead of letting every experience be done to you. If you were going to do anything anymore, even something like continuing your education, it had to be on your own terms, to try it all in the effort of self-discovery.

So yes, applying and getting accepted and attending every class—even this one—this time around was for you—to better yourself instead of just filling an expectation. You’re determined to make good on the opportunity.

And it has been better, so far. You even have friends this time around. Okay, two, and one of them is your roommate, but it's more of a support system than what you had going into undergrad.

You say yes now, too; not to everything, but to more than before. Which is maybe how you got roped into getting ‘introductory’ drinks later this evening with everyone, now that more people have joined the program as winter thaws out and it’s easier to commute. It’ll be nice to swap ideas and catch up and maybe even get laid instead of spending hours staring at the ceiling and willing time to pass. That thought alone is enough to keep you here.

It’s just two hours.  

The room this semester is a little bigger, at least; probably the only perk that moving up so gracefully from Drawing II to Drawing III had earned you. It’s still unfortunately just another classroom; windowless to protect it from outside influence and drenched in fluorescent light to create a controlled environment. Old, stained art horses form a circle in the center of the space, crowding around a painted-gray wood pallet like an audience. A metal stool sits atop the make-shift stage, providing a seat for the subject. It’s clinical, the way the elements come together; a perfectly disarrayed scene that’s been neatly curated to emulate every ‘socratic seminar’ model you’ve seen in education since you can remember. Always the same.

You’re hoping for someone new today to rest on the chair; the department has been in less-than-preferred financial standing lately, so you’ve seen the same faces interchanged for  most of the term.

Your professor is at her desk when you make your way in, greeting you with a grin despite the tired look on her face. A hardworking woman, the shadows under her eyes gave her a beauty you could only explain as determined. You knew she cross-taught for both sections of the department, and you respected her for it. It couldn’t be anything short of a struggle to toggle between those modes of seriousness—to have the patience to answer the younger students’ unending questions and the passion to keep the post-grads engaged. 

Moving to get a seat as far on the outskirts of the cluster as possible, you watch as your classmates arrive slowly until all the slots are filled. No one really talks, probably all similarly bogged down by the early start and the cold weather outside. Ian, your friend who’d invited you out tonight, waves at you from four horses down and you halfheartedly nod back at him. 

“Good morning everyone, we’ve only got two more classes after this until your week off, so we’ll make this next one a two-parter and have critique on the twenty-first. I want you guys to focus on composition more than anything else,” She turns in her seat to write some names on the board behind her, “We’ll go for two hours then break. If your name’s up here we’ll have a conversation about your thesis. The rest of you can go.” 

Thankfully you’ve been spared this time—granted another seven-nights-straight writing the segment of your thesis that was meant to be finished two months ago. Your brain hurts inside of your skull. 

You set up your little station, sketchpad raised against the easel, body straddling the drawing horse as you fiddle with some dirty erasers in your pack. 

You can hear the slap slap slap of the model’s feet on the concrete floor as they enter—a long gait paired with hard, thudding steps; probably a man by the sound of it. Tall and heavy. 

“Okay guys, we’re starting,” She winds up the dial on a plastic kitchen timer and sets it on the edge of her desk, “Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be making a few passes throughout and we’ll exchange thoughts.”

You roll your neck, knowing the model tends to take a minute to find a comfortable position, and that people watching didn’t do anything to help. A tempered soundtrack—the poorly contained buzzing of the clock and the moan of the air-conditioning—plays on in the background. Your leg is asleep. It’s cold in here. You count to thirty in your head. That’s enough time, right? You shift again, stretching your arms once more just in case.

Looking up, you peer over the side of the easel to get a quick look at the model’s pose and immediately do a double take. 

It is a man.

He’s sitting on the chair, facing the girl a few seats down from you so that you can only see him from a three-quarters view. He has one long, thick leg pushed against the lower bar of the stool, the other one, closest to you, hiked up on the seat, folded so that his knee points towards the ceiling. His arms are crossed, hugging his erect shin with his wide back wrapped over his thigh, effectively shielding the ‘naked’ parts of him from view. He looks shy, but not uncomfortable; either like he’s done this before or he’s accustomed to protecting himself—to hiding. 

The frame of his body is captivating; he looks strong but used, little nicks and scars littering his shoulders and hands. Weathered. As you make your way up his torso, you find it’s a similar state of experienced, tan profile and neck bearing the slightest difference in color from the soft of his side, and you can see the faintest curve of a hem-shaped tan-line across the dip in his shoulder. Little wisps of gray-dusted brown curls frame the edges of his face. He’s beautiful in a gentle way, with a dark, heavy brow that leads into the sharp slope of his nose, plush lips pursed like he’s concentrating. 

Part of you feels bad about staring, but it’s easy enough to disguise it as working, so you map him with your gaze again and again until you can still see him when you blink. It takes the constant movement of your classmate’s hand sketching something in your periphery to remember you’re being timed. 

You choke out a cough, repositioning your body and grabbing some charcoal. 

The way you usually approach this task is simple: get down the general gist of the body, careful to keep out the details of the person in favor of capturing light and weight—there’s a graded challenge to be considered, after all. 

Yet as you watch him, you decide you can fulfill the requirements in a way that gives him more room to exist. You crop the drawing tighter, paying careful attention to the landscape of his face; the hills of his cheekbones and the valley between his lips. You want to immortalize him. 

You’re suddenly deeply concerned with the history that’s woven itself into the shape of him, in what happened to make him look this way. It seems like life has been useful to him, but that he’d had to grow from something to make it so—like he had to work for it. He’s the living manifestation of his own grief and enjoyment and passion, and you want to know all of it.

Countless minutes pass as you take him in and spill him out, fingers moving quickly to recreate the weighted feeling of his posture, exhausted and heavy, muscles held together on the string of bone that runs through the center of his back. You write him down, again and again, flipping to a new page half-way through to get in one last version of him—one for yourself. 

You’ve never seen him before, but you see part of yourself in him. He mirrors the anxious peace you’ve been operating under for the last few years, humming with energy but willfully stagnant. It makes you feel seen, less burdened by your recent inability to connect—he makes you want to keep trying.

You wonder if he writes or draws or makes, and if he’d show you. You want to hear him talk. You want to see the other side of him, literally and metaphorically. You want to feel—

The tinny ring of the alarm sounds off, and you’re taken out of the fantasy. 

The second drawing is only really half done, but you didn’t make it with the intention of sharing it anyway, so you flip back to the original to hide it.. 

You try not to watch the man when he stands—remembering that just because he’d been hidden before doesn't mean he wasn't naked the entire time—maybe more for your sake than his. You peek around the room instead, taking a healthy, albeit competitive, glance around for other interpretations of the man; did they see him too, the way you do?

When you look up to take a comparative look, he’s gone. You’re a little disappointed, admittedly, but there’s still one more chance to interact with him, and you can make up for it then. You start to pack up your things in an effort to make it to the parking lot before the crowd. A sudden rise in the volume level in the room tells you that the shock of the early morning has started to burn off. You try to tune it out, so much so that you don’t hear someone walking up behind you. 

“Wow.” It’s a man’s voice, deep and smooth. You pivot in your seat. 

It’s him, in all his communal-robe wearing glory, even more gorgeous from head on. It’s a pleasant surprise, this reveal; his beauty is evenly distributed, like a handwritten note that extends into the margins or when a movie’s ending is just as good as the start.

“Oh. Hi. Thank you.” You feel exposed, like you got caught doing something bad, even though there are ten other people in the room with even more detailed portraits of him.

“Can I see the other one, too?” 

“What?” 

“You flipped your page. I didn’t see anyone else do that. Did you make two?” 

You just nod, shocked that he was watching you back, peeling back the paper to reveal to him the unfinished drawing. He won’t question it if you don’t give him a reason to. 

“Are you gonna finish it?” He asks, eyes rolling over it with an intense curiosity.

“Uh, probably not. I don’t like it as much as the first one.” Maybe lying your way through this would provide better reasoning than ‘I wanted a part of you that no one else could see’.

“Can I have it?” 

When you can’t find something to say fast enough, he just continues.

“I’m sorry, is that rude? If you’re just gonna get rid of it, I’ll take it. It just… looks like me. I mean they all do, I’ve been told I have a ‘simple face’,” He coughs awkwardly in acknowledgement of his own tangent, “I just mean to say that it feels a lot like me. If that makes sense.”

“You’re actually very visually interesting.” Is the first thing you can think of, and fuck, did that come out really fucking wrong, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Maybe it’s better if he takes it, if it’ll stop you from fumbling, “But yeah, you can have it.” You pull a little plastic mail-tube out of your bag, ripping the drawing free from its perforated tether and rolling it in on itself. 

The edges of his mouth pull up, a cute little thing, free of laughter or judgement, “Thank you. I’m Joel.” One of his hands drapes across his stomach, palm spread over the knot of the wrap—he’s holding himself at length again. Why? 

“Hi Joel. You seem to know a fair amount about this whole thing. Not your first time, then?” You offer him your name in return, and he parrots it back—guard still up, still standing too far away. 

“It is, actually. The closest I’ve come to this is sitting in the yard for my daughter,” He watches as you slide the drawing into the cylindrical case, “You’re very talented.” 

“Thank you.” It feels weird to hear the praise twice, “How’d they get you to pose for no money? I heard the department’s a little strapped. I’ve been subbing in for the undergrads too when I can.” 

“My daughter volunteered me, she’s on the other side of the program. Your teacher was giving out extra credit.” He takes the roll when you pass it to him, going out of his way to grab it from the middle, his thumb grazing yours. Your skin heats up where he’s touched it, and you look down at the floor, suddenly nervous. 

“Wow, this is the first time I’m hearing anything about that.” You continue to pack away items into your bag, “I’m owed quite a lot if that’s true.” 

His face falls in on itself in a wince, “Oh. Didn’t mean to do her in like that.” You can feel him looking at you for a few beats too long, and his eyes narrow like he’s about to say more. 

In the same moment, as if summoned, your professor turns on her heel, walking over to your bench. 

“It’s okay. I’ll be okay without it. I’ll see you next week, right?”

He shakes a little, releasing his stare, and throws a thumbs up in your direction with his protective hand, “Yeah, see ya next week. Nice to meet you.” 

───────

After another four-hour class and a too-long nap and a break for dinner, everyone from this morning joins together in a few cars to head to a bar downtown. You meet up with Ian, who offered to drive as a bargaining chip, because he knows by now that you’d back out if you had to show up on your own.

The bar is dark and divey and perfect for being overly-observant in secret. You’ve warmed up to this crowd enough, but you’re still on plus-one basis with a lot of them, Ian serving as your invitation. You like to just listen to them at first during these outings, strategically planning your involvement so you don’t feel put on the spot when they give you a turn.

It’s a lot like being in class; the group of you occupying a dimly lit corner, a round-table of bodies, with the person in the center alternating as the topic changes. Tonight you stay at the furthest end.

You cling to the single tequila soda you ordered, watery and flat by now with pea-sized ice chips bobbing around in the center to avoid the heat of your fingers. You watch them swim, tipping your cup to see them swirl in a frenzied circle until they disappear. 

Some guy from your English class—Andre or Andrew or who cares—is talking at you, making his best attempt at what you think is supposed to be flirting. It’s really just him asking your opinions on his five favorite books, not hiding his disapproval when you mention you haven’t read one or the other. 

You watch Ian, who left you twenty minutes ago in search of the bar-top for another drink. He’s caught now on his third conversation on the way back, maybe thinking he’s doing you a favor by taking his time. You try relentlessly to catch his eye instead, and he bounds over without question when he sees you. The glass of wine in his hand is already half empty, and the English-class-guy spooks at the sight of what he probably thinks is competition. So much for that.

“Having fun?” he prods when he slips in the chair beside you, already aware that you are absolutely very much not having fun. 

Ian’s a nice guy, and he means well. You met him a week into your first semester—almost a year ago now—at orientation, because your last names were the beginning and end of the line of their respective letters. He was from somewhere in Canada, studying photography with a minor in painting and drawing. He’s maybe a year or two older than you, though you’ve never asked to confirm; tall and long and pretty, for lack of a better word, with big eyes and a permanent split in the little bangs that cover his forehead. He’s the first man in years you’ve been comfortable around, never initiating anything or pushing too hard for your friendship. All in all, no one’s been as welcoming to you, except the person you literally live with, and you’re happy to let him drag you out if it means he’ll continue to look after you the way he does.

“Of course, when have you ever known me to have a bad time?” 

“No luck with Adrian?” Adrian. You were close.

“Just likes to hear himself talk, I think. I wasn’t interested in being an audience.” 

He hums, “Someone else on your mind?” 

“Like who?” You lean the lip of your cup against your mouth.

“Saw you making eyes at the model today,” He teases, nudging you in your rib when you take a sip of your drink so that you keel over slightly. You sputter, unamused with the tactic to get you to fess up.

Was it that obvious?

“Isn’t that the point of the class?” 

“Yeah maybe, smartass, but that’s not what I meant. I saw him talking to you, saw you give him a little gift,” He bobs his eyebrows at you suggestively, “Excited for him to come back next week?”

“So I can stare more, you mean?” 

“So you can get his number.” 

“Ian.”

“I’m just saying you should try and find someone outside our section of the building. No writers, either, obviously.” He gestures to where Adrian is already trying his shtick on some girl from your class.

“He’s a little too old for me, don’t you think? His daughter goes here.” You muse. He’s mostly right about you needing to expand your reach, but you won’t let him off that easily.

“Maybe. But if you don’t care, and he doesn’t care, what’s it matter? He’s not too old to fuck you.” He makes a face and you roll your eyes. 

The thought is nice, but you know forging relationships is unlikely when you’re concerned, at least as of late, “I don’t want to spend my night talking about people I’m not going to fuck.” 

“Whatever you say.” He slinks out from his seat, mumbling something about a glass of water. A few steps away, he looks back over his shoulder, “You’re not doomed, by the way,” the asshole can read your mind, “You can enjoy yourself without feeling guilty. You’re allowed to like people.” 

And then you’re alone again. 

It’s like that for another hour, small attempts at chatter and meetings until you realize you’re too tired to fuck anyone, let alone continue to sit upright. Being up so early this morning took more of a toll than an hour nap could fix, and you're begging Ian to take you home. He agrees, spending the trip trying to plan another outing later in the week before everyone’s gone on vacation.

You give him a sleepy goodbye when he pulls into your apartment complex, making sure he’s still going to class tomorrow before letting him drive away. Once you’re inside, slipping quietly in through the front door, you realize your roommate isn’t home. She’s probably still in a late class or at her boyfriend’s or somewhere else. You enjoy the quiet enough to not think about it too hard.

The five sips of tequila-mostly-water has settled into your stomach by now, making you a quarter-second slower when you strip all your clothes off and climb into bed. 

You twist under the sheets, and after a while your skin starts to feel too hot, even in the cold air of your room. Breathing deep, you try to think of something boring to get your mind to still, but when you sense the sleep about to take over, it switches.

You see his face behind your eyelids, the man from today, strong and pretty and delicate, remembering all your favorite details—the length of his fingers and the depth of his voice. You curse yourself for assigning this importance to him. He’s just another page in your portfolio, if you even keep him, yet you can feel a slow heat bubble up at your core when you remember the stretch of his body under the robe. It’s okay to be taken with him, you think, he’s objectively gorgeous. 

Your conversation with Ian replays in your head—less about his sincere advice and more about how you need to get laid. It’s been too long; maybe you are just horny, and maybe taking care of it just this once could be enough to stop this hollow interest from growing. 

You reach a hand down under your blanket, the tips of your digits pushing into the slit of your cunt. You’re wet, arousal tacky and pooled so much that the light pressure you meant to be exploring with is enough to have you accidentally slipping inside. Okay, he’s really hot. So what? Was it really that bad if you thought so?

You dip a finger further in, timid at first; you’re used to keeping quiet for this kind of activity, and even though your roommate was gone when you got here, it doesn’t mean she hadn’t come in in the thirty minutes of rolling around you’d done before giving into your desire. You lay your free hand over your mouth just in case, teeth biting into the meat at the base of your thumb to keep yourself quiet. 

You slide in a second finger to the knuckle to join the first, the light stretch of it enough to make you pant. You see him again, hard and soft and beautiful. You think about what his skin would taste like, if he’d let you sink your teeth into the sinew of his neck. It feels weird to know what he looks like without his clothes, and you’re weirdly proud of yourself for holding back from seeing him fully; it's easier to dream about that way. You wonder how he’d present himself to you, how he’d want to fuck you. You imagine him winding a hand around the hinge of your jaw, fingers pressing hard into the soft of your cheeks. Would he be gentle? Would he make it hurt? You suspect either would be too much. You feverishly palm your clit, hips canting in an effort to climax. The pictures flash faster—his cock in your mouth, his tongue in your cunt, the way he’d spit and grip and hold—and you’re coming, drooling over your hand as you hear him say your name in your mind. 

You take your hand away after a minute, breath pushing out heavily from your nose. It’s fine, you needed to do it, just one time. No shame in that. It’s out of your system now. 

And if you see his face one more time before you fall asleep, it’s probably an afterthought.

───────

By the end of the week, you come to a horrible conclusion. 

It starts the next morning when you take your sketchbook out, itching to get a handle on the many writing assignments you’ve been dutifully ignoring, hoping for an outline or a free-flow of ideas. Nothing comes to mind. You draw a little bit to fill the space while you think, just a mess of material on the page, strokes of your hand that leave barely anything behind. 

Then on Wednesday you’re at your laptop, typing with one hand while the other one slides against the wood of the dining table, down and around in a loop, mimicking the same shape each time. 

And again last night in the shower, letting the shame of a different semi-failed night-out wash over and off of you. You slosh your foot around in the water in the basin below, catching it as it runs down and pools, ankle dragging in a tiny, controlled movement. 

It’s not until now that you put it together.

You’re sitting at your desk, with creative materials at your disposal this time, trying to make sense of what it is you’re forming. You find that no matter the medium, your hand automatically makes a single hard line. The same line, from memory. It’s negligible at first, just a light press of pen or pencil or crayon, until it drags down, down, down. It’s not until you lift your utensil that you recognize it. The hook of a nose and the crest of a top lip. 

A hard pit forms in your stomach, blood draining from your head to gather in the center of your chest, a blooming sickness of obsession you haven’t felt in a long time. You’re drawing him. You’ve been drawing him. You know this feeling, have participated in this kind of behavior. These are the actions that cause the humiliating dregs of attraction to bleed over into fixation—juvenile and universal and unavoidable.  He’s going to be a problem.

[queenpiranhadon]

A/N: You all voted on this poll, and this poll, and this poll and after a LOT of voting ((((again) again) again) again), I present this to thee ;) I was working on a time crunch lmao I literally have to wake up for school in like 6.5 hours :,) but I wanted to get this out for Fred’s birthday :). And to @your-local-multi-geek, thanks for staying up and beta reading this for me:) Might make a part two of this…it’s really short. Here's my masterlist!

Warning(s): f!reader, Fred and reader are dating, reader is a Slytherin, we’re going to the Yule Ball!, reader’s a badass lmao, Fred is taller than reader (shh he will always be tall to me), characters might be a little ooc, secret relationship reveal, reader wears a dress, Fred calls reader love, reader calls him handsome.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Girlfriend!Reader

•───•°•❀•°•─── ᴀɢᴀɪɴꜱᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ────•°•☁︎•°•───•

You felt amazing.

Like really amazing.

Standing there in your gown, you stare at the way your dress hugs you just right, and Merlin did you look good.

Even better, you felt good.

You smirk, the reflection in your mirror smirking back at you, with a daring look in your eye that could rival a Gryffindor’s.

Tonight was the Yule Ball, and you planned on making a statement. You were ambitious, like the rest of your house, but you weren’t as bad as the general public made you out to be. You were kind, and brave, and maybe you enjoyed to stir up trouble on occasion (nothing harmless though), and you (rightfully) thought of yourself in a high regard- not enough to come off as snobbish or arrogant, but definitely enough to show someone that at a glance, you were confident, and you knew how to stand your ground.

That’s how you met Fred- and how you created quite a reputation for yourself.

That’s how you met Fred.

Only a year and a half ago, some pricks from within your own house had been picking a fight with the aforementioned ginger and his twin brother. Both parties would’ve ended with less than ideal injuries, had you not stepped in and basically gave each an every one of them a run down as to why they were being idiots and precisely how each of them messed up.

At first, the Slytherin group had laughed in your face, finding the fact that a girl only a year below them thought she was superior to those older than her funny.

They didn’t seem to find your Aguamenti charm as amusing though, dousing them and their robes in ice cold water, glaring at them with an ever colder stare as spluttered and cursed, deciding that angering you further wasn’t worth it.

They may have thought you scary- but in that moment, Fred fell in love.

The months following said encounter involved the Weasley to attempt to befriend you in any way he could, and you were happy to oblige- knowing that he was a good person despite his pranks, and in all honesty, threatening people would be a lot more fun with the support of one of the most destructive students at Hogwarts.

You two had become close, and after one secluded night in the Astronomy Tower, the both of you started dating.

No one knew though.

Until tonight.

Fred had asked you to be his date to the Yule Ball, to which you accepted, with a wide grin on your face.

It was going to be so fun to see the looks on everyone’s faces at the mere thought of a Gryffindor and a Slytherin dating, much less be willing to have the company of the other.

But if anyone was going to break that stereotype, it was you and Fred.

Other than the two of you, George was the only other person who knew about your relationship, cackling when he found out what the two of you were planning to do.

As the two of you discussed, you would meet up by the kitchens, so that no one would notice the two of you together until you would enter the Great Hall.

You waited, running your fingertips along the fruit of the painting that concealed the entrance, occupying yourself by observing every single paint stroke and fiber of the canvas to occupy your time.

Lost in your own world, you don’t notice anyone approaching you until a steady arm encircles your waist, holding you snug against their chest.

You register smell of cinnamon, the familiar scent of your boyfriend wafting into your nose. You giggle, realizing Fred put on some cologne too.

Spinning around in his arms, you place your hands on his chest, smiling up at him as you drink in his features. His hair was messy, as usual, but you couldn’t deny that he still looked dashing as ever in his tuxedo, black cloth hugging him perfectly and allowing you to see the faint outline of his muscles. A button on his undershirt was left undone, holding it in your fingers as you rest your chin on his chest, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

He chuckles, brushing a strand of your hair out of your face and pressing a kiss to the corner of your lips in awe.

“You look beautiful, love.” He whispers, his voice just below a whisper, and yet you heard him perfectly.

“And you as well, handsome.” You say, pressing a kiss to his nose gently, and take yourself out of his embrace in favor of entwining his hand in yours.

“Are you ready?”

“It’s you and me against the world, love.”

[qqueenofhades]

It's definitely a refusal to engage with or truly understand politics. I'm 24, I was in middle school during Obama's second term and 17 in 2016, and I feel like a lot of my peers just continue to be appalled at how bad things have gotten with the Republicans and why Democrats can't do anything to stop it. What's missing from their understanding is how long it took for the Republicans to get here. It didn't start in 2016. They worked for decades to do all the nightmarish shit they're doing now, and Democrats just haven't been able to do the same (because people refuse to vote consistently and give them the power to do those things). I feel like that's where the "both sides are the same" bullshit comes from - the idea that if the Dems wanted to stop the GOP, they would. It's a fundamental misunderstanding of how anything works, and often relies on downplaying how bad the Republicans actually are in order to support their 'Dems are just as bad' stance.

Things did get catastrophically worse when Trump was elected, and he broke things way more than they ever had been, but he doesn't exist in a vacuum and it took the Republicans a lot of fucking work for him to do what he did. The only way the Dems can counteract that is by having a party of people willing to put in a similar level of work, and that requires understanding our structures and how things work (executive orders are only temporary fixes and actual legislation takes time, compromise, and work), and a lot of these people just aren't willing to do it.

The thing is, yes, I absolutely do get the feeling that everything is terrible and we are doomed. I went through it when GWB was re-elected in 2004 and then again in 2008, worrying about whether Obama would get elected and end that particular run of Republican-induced misery (when John McCain looks like a fucking saint compared to the GOP candidates we are being offered now), and obviously plumbed the depths of despair in 2016 with Trump. But I don't remember ever thinking that I should just give up trying, stop voting, or any of that, and I don't think it was because I was some kind of special person who was just so tenacious. I obviously have not been a teenager in the present era and yes, that means I have different views on things from the next generation, but also: this has always happened. Moments of total political despair and feeling that everything is fucked are also not a new thing. We are going through it with Trumpism, the previous generation went through it with Reagan/Thatcher, the previous previous generation went through it with Nixon/Vietnam, the previous etc generation went through it with the Cold War, the previous etc. etc. generation went through it with World War II -- and so forth. There has never been any one point when everything was great and there was no work left to be done, because, y'know. That is not how either history or human nature works.

Hence, that is why I'm trying to figure out what in the fuck is going on right now, and whether it's just social media that have made things so bad (entirely possible). Critical thinking is a shambles, yes, but that's not necessarily something young people have chosen for themselves. The current world is a late-stage capitalist dystopia run by four or five trillionaire oligarch cartels and corporations, and obviously public education, basic civic responsibility, the teaching of any "controversial" history, and everything else that might threaten that setup has been systematically and methodically dismantled, politicized, or so infiltrated with false information that it's basically useless. That in itself is not young people's fault. They have genuinely been dealt a terrible hand in many ways, and I don't blame them for being angry about it. I too am angry about it! I do question, however, when the overwhelming sentiment became "well we should just give up and let the bad guys win, either because it's too much work to change it or because that will spark the Great Revolution and that's the only way to fix things ever, and doing anything else at all in the meantime is wrong."

Once again: I do not blame young people for being angry at the shitty situation they are currently facing. I do not blame young people for being disillusioned with the system and thinking that it can't solve everything at once. But yet again: there has never been any government, country, or organization in the history of ever anything everywhere that was able to do that, and the ones that tried, or insisted that they could do it, were infamously murderous bloodbaths, because breaking society (even with all its flaws) into a thousand pieces and thinking this will make My Preferred Ideological Utopia Now Appear is probably the deadliest belief in all of time and space. The world is flawed and has been for all time because humans are flawed and probably will be for all time. Being a grownup requires coming to an understanding of that fact and seeing what you can do in spite of that. People in every era have had gaps and biases and blind spots and other things that hobbled their understanding or made their efforts for change less perfect or complete than they would have wanted in an ideal world, and they have had to move past those anyway. The current generation is no different. Not to sound like a boomer, but even despite the mess they've been faced with, they need to figure out how to engage with it anyway and not just completely absolve responsibility because they can't fix it all at once. Which I don't think most young people do! There are plenty of them who really do get it and are engaged and idealistic and working for good change, and that's great! It's just the other part that worries me, and which is not as small as we would like to think.

And yes, part of this is just flat-out bad information and the stubborn lack of any desire to change it if it conflicts with pre-existing beliefs. (This is by no means exclusive to young people of this current generation, as it's another bad habit of humanity, but yes.) In the aforementioned "you're driving young leftists away :(" ask I got yesterday, there were also plenty of dubious and just-flat-wrong claims, such as that Democrats keep moving to the right "especially economically." That is just not true. In the last four years, the Democrats have moved the most economically leftward in all of American history and have finally and flatly rejected the Great Reagonomics Myth. Just because Clinton did Reagonomics-lite in the '90s (when most of the current generation of Online Leftists weren't even born), that is thirty years ago and in wildly different circumstances. These things are not difficult to look up. Do it. Try to educate yourself, even if the system doesn't want to do it. You can't just throw up your hands and insist that nobody taught you, so how could you know??? Put that "instant access to all of human history and knowledge" to use, even just a little. It'll be good for you!

Likewise, there was also the anon's befuddling insistence that I was "patronizing" or "shaming" anyone "further left than Biden," which reflects their apparent feeling that telling people to vote for Biden is a "personal attack" on their cherished beliefs, or whatever. I'm unsure how many times we have to keep repeating that voting for a candidate does not mean you are canonizing all their beliefs exactly as your own, and that it's just one tool to do the bare minimum to not live in a fucking fascist theocratic dictatorship, but yeah. I can guarantee you that I personally am well left of Biden. I can guarantee you that most people on Tumblr voting for Biden are probably well left of him as well. That does not negate the fact that Biden is the most progressive president America has ever had, regardless of how much Online Leftists shriek otherwise. It also does not negate the fact that this is by no means true of America as a whole (witness the large faction that still thinks Biden is a godless far-left evil socialist). It does not negate the many complex historical, political, social, cultural, religious, racial, etc reasons that have collided to produce the America where this is the case. Therefore, if I do not want to live in a society ruled by Trump and his orange Nazi minions, which is the case due to how badly the last 10 years have been fucked up, I will use the tool of voting for Biden! He can be successfully pressured to create positive change in the direction that I would like! Trump cannot and will not under any circumstances, regardless of the wild fantasies that suddenly he will transform into a perfect progressive on Gaza or whatever other issue! THIS IS NOT THAT FUCKING DIFFICULT!!!!!!!

Anyway. All of this is obviously complicated. Obviously things are bad and frightening and we want a solution that fixes all of it at once, instead of slowly, badly, and piecemeal. But as I said: that has never, not once, been the case in all of history, and we know what happens when people and/or governments with delusions of psychopathic grandeur try to do it. We do not want the "Final Solution" (which is infamous as what Hitler literally called the Holocaust). We do, in fact, want the careful step by step, we want things to get better and not just explode in a mountain of nihilistic doom, and that does take work, from everyone. So unfortunately, there is no real choice except to do it.

[traegorn]

why do you think that voting for someone doesn’t endorse what they do? voting for a certain president doesn’t mean that you’re going to start a fight against them like you’re desperately trying to use as an excuse. people, even the young, remember 2016, and maybe they wouldn’t feel great with the idea that they’re supporting a genocide- i don’t care if trump is worse or whatever, you’re still supporting a man who’s actively funding an ethnic cleanse and doesn’t even care about trans people since that’s your main concern apparently.

"i don’t care if trump is worse or whatever"

That is the most arrogant, privileged thing you could respond with. Imagine telling that to the folks facing mass deportation under a Trump presidency. Look those people in the face and tell them you don't care what happens to them because you'd feel icky.

If you really cared about what you say you do, you wouldn't be taking this position. This feels more like you care about who you hurt than who you help.

It's a two party system, and one of two people will be elected in November. If you're going to challenge the person in power, it matters very much who the person in power is. It's not endorsement, because in an electoral system strategic voting is a requirement for survival. There is no magical option that doesn't put us under either Trump or Biden.

And they aren't even anywhere near each other on the one issue you say you care about.

Biden's position on Israel can be changed. Trump's cannot. Biden has threatened to withhold aid to Israel (which is remarkable to happen at all coming from a US President), Trump says he wants to "finish the job." Trump will escalate things, while Biden can be pushed.

Allowing Trump to get elected will literally make the genocide worse.

And there is no other possible result of the Presidential election.

You want to stop what's happening in Israel, right? How will you do that if you also have to also fight mass deportation, a rollback on trans rights, and further attacks on women's rights? What will you do when two more seats come up in the next four years on the Supreme Court? Will we flip the court back to the left or will a conservative majority stay in place for another fifty years?

So leave your doomerism, selfish, self centered bullshit at the door.

There are real fights to be fought, and you're telling me that not only. is my life worthless in your eyes, but so are millions of others. You don't care if anyone else dies if it means you can feel better about yourself.