#and people have only been emboldened

[bleue-flora]

Yo! Just noticed it’s the anniversary of when I finished my second fanfic Dreamcatcher, which is the work I actually started to lean into writing fanfiction (since my first work I really just wrote for myself before being encouraged to share it).

So, in honor of that, here is some of the original second nightmare which was actually written from Dream’s pov before I ended up changing it to Punz’s.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Referenced Torture, Blood, Death, Injuries, Profanity.

Dream is wet and panting, in a puddle of watery red flowing into an equally crimson pond to his side, where the non diluted liquid gets thicker.

There’s white fur stuck in it as the body of a dog, slashed to bits lies there next to him. Both sitting in the despairing silence of the box.

Tears form in the corners of his eyes and his vision gets blurry, but he doesn’t let them fall. He just exhales.

Why does everything die around him? Why does everything he dare to care a smidge about get taken from him?

As if to follow his thoughts, the white turns to black. The fluffy bloodied dog shifts into a cat that’s long since stopped breathing. Dream turns his head, and faintly smirks at the sight of the additional body sprawled out on the floor next to him.

He mutters to the corpse under his breath, rolling his eyes, “To be fair, you were being a bitch. Like don’t blame me, you know you d—deserved it… I mean I lasted like—how long before beating your head in? That’s pretty impressive—pretty fucking impressive, you know.”

Tommy’s body doesn’t respond, just stays there, unmoving and uncharacteristically quiet. His face swollen and bruised, not unlike the innocent cat he beat to death.

Then his body evaporates and Dream finds himself in a new room, accented with black walls and bedrock. It’s detail is perfectly ominous like he wanted.

He’s kneeling, unguarded by armor with an audience of people surrounding him. His heart beats rapidly threatening to burst out of his chest at the danger. But he ignores it.

Indignant, Tommy rips off the mask that always covers his face. Exposing his pale skin to the cool air and the venomously judging faces.

Despite the frustration at his denial of privacy, he doesn’t so much as dignify it with a flinch. It was expected. He was ready. He’s not about to show weakness in front of a crowd.

They are silent as the axe lands, and lands again before lady death finally embraces him.

They are silent as the sword finds its place in his chest and he falls to the ground, bleeding out into the cold stone beneath him.

It’s ok. He knew this would happen. It was expected, it was planned. He didn’t know they’d kill him twice, but it’s fine.

On one life, he makes his way back down with sharp pain running through his veins. Somehow it seems duller than the pain in the prison cell, though it can’t have been less excruciating.

Tommy once again stands above him savagely firing arrows away. As they pierce his flesh and bone, he searches the cold faces around him and listens intently, hoping to hear one sound of objection to his approaching final death.

Surely, someone will say something, right? Surely, someone will oppose his final death, right? Surely, they woundn’t let Tommy kill him off in cold blood. Would they?

But there’s nothing from them. Absolutely nothing. Standing there, dripping in blood, he feels his heart entirely disintegrate into nothing. Leaving only a hollow emptiness in its wake.

Then suddenly he’s freezing from more than just death and despondency. He’s surrounded by ice. Their pillars, tall and sharp, casting the land in a pointed terrain. Despite the bone chilling air and his frozen insides, he stands, planted to the ground, looking at a sign pinned to the glacier. The wood marking the death of his parrot that travelled so far only to die there.

A deep sigh is released from his lungs and the scene smears into broad strokes of colors. Until a well known bleak room encases him in lava and obsidian again.

Sitting there with nothing but the annoying sounds of the prison to keep him company, he wonders if he’s always destined to lose everything. Was it always going to end up like this? Was he always going to end up alone?

[bitchthefuck1]

We as a society need to acknowledge the psychological toll of being the only woman in a friend group willing to argue back when the guys start saying sexist shit. I deserve financial compensation.

[gay-victorian-astronomer]

I am being haunted by visions of a fic and in posession of a large block of time I could use to write and no laptop to write with I am in agony

[troublcmakcrs]

//i saw poly art of craig being shipped with both tweek & thomas (of the tourettes fame) and i'm like. what if we cut out the middle man and get rid of craig this arrangement? :3c

[sanitymakesposts]

There’s not too much point in talking about the election anymore, but I think some people are misconstruing the results. 21% of the American population voted for trump. He won the popular vote with polls only recording a 43.7% approval rating, and he has never held an approval rating over 50%, something that Biden and (arguably) Harris have. He lost millions of votes from 2020 to 2024, it’s just that Harris lost millions more.

All this is to say that there is not some ‘silent majority’ of trump supporters in America. While some people will definitely be emboldened in their rhetoric and action by the results of the election, Trump was a deeply unpopular president, and is shaping up to be one again. He will enact unpopular policies that are against the will of the average American, but that doesn’t mean every American is out to get you. Engage with your local community, check in on loved ones, and maybe even take a look at local political offices in the coming few years. If you dislike the two party system, volunteer or donate to a third party. It’s altogether likely we see another 2022 situation, resentment grows further against the Republican Party, and the midterms offer a lot of opportunity to alternatives, at every level of government.

It may all feel like the end, but it’s not. We’ve been through it before, and no matter what we do, hate and ignorance will bleed through the cracks in society again in the future. It’s going to get better, but that’s easier to say if we make it better.

[bixels]

Asking you to not get involved in the discourse because it’s already tearing apart the fandom, but remember a few years ago when Tumblr had discourse about Marina getting whitewashed in art? It’s happening on Twitter again, but cataclysmically “viral culture war” worse.

Again, don’t get involved, it’s bad on all sides.

Splatoon fandom is currently experiencing a category-5 disaster.

[furuu]

∘ ◟♡ ˒ ʾʾ You were fuming, arms crossed as you sat on the floor next to Sukuna. He was lounging in his usual careless manner, seemingly unaffected by your anger. His smug expression only made your irritation worse, but instead of confronting him directly, you decided on a different approach.

With a huff, you lay down, resting your head on his lap, but not looking at him. Instead, you turned your attention to the mouth on his belly—the one that most people found unsettling but had always seemed oddly expressive to you. Today, it seemed like the perfect companion to vent your frustrations to.

"Can you believe him?" you muttered under your breath, directing your words to the mouth. "He never listens. Always doing whatever he wants, never thinking about how I feel."

To your surprise, the mouth grumbled softly in response, almost as if agreeing with you. Its lips moved in a subtle, quiet way, and you couldn’t help but feel like it understood your frustration.

"Exactly," you continued, emboldened. "He thinks he’s so smart, always in control. But does he ever stop to think about how I feel? No. Never. It’s always his way."

The mouth made another low rumbling noise, almost like a tiny growl, and you nodded, feeling validated. "See, you get it," you mumbled, shifting slightly on Sukuna’s lap to get more comfortable. "At least someone here does."

Sukuna, who had been watching this entire interaction with narrowed eyes, leaned his head back, sighing heavily. "Are you seriously complaining to my stomach?" he grumbled, but you ignored him, continuing your quiet conversation with the belly-mouth.

"I’m not talking to you," you shot back, still refusing to meet his gaze.

The mouth made a soft huffing noise, almost like a snicker, and you could swear it felt like the belly-mouth was on your side in this. Sukuna glanced down, clearly unamused, his eyebrow twitching in mild irritation.

"Ridiculous," he muttered, his voice tinged with disbelief.

You smirked, feeling a bit triumphant as you lightly stroked the area around the mouth. "Well, at least it knows how to sympathize," you muttered under your breath, ignoring his annoyed glare.

Sukuna grumbled, his fingers twitching at his sides. His usual smirk was gone, replaced by a look of mild frustration that almost made you laugh.

The belly-mouth rumbled again, quieter this time, almost like it was trying to soothe your lingering annoyance. You sighed softly, your anger slowly ebbing away as you absentmindedly traced the contours around it with your finger.

"Thanks for listening," you said quietly to the mouth, giving it one last affectionate pat. It responded with a low, contented rumble, clearly pleased with itself.

Sukuna rolled his eyes, leaning back with a resigned sigh. "You’re insufferable," he muttered, though there was a faint hint of amusement behind his frustration.

You smiled softly to yourself, feeling the last bits of your anger melt away. Maybe Sukuna would never admit it, but having his mouth on your side made you feel just a little bit victorious.

[reasonsforhope]

"Helio da Silva, a retired business executive from Brazil, single-handedly planted over 41,000 trees in his hometown of Sao Paulo over the last two decades.

Flying over the Brazilian metropolis of Sao Paulo, it’s tough to miss the 3.2-kilometers-long and 100-meter-wide green strip of trees wedged between two of the city’s busiest roads. It is known as Tiquatira Linear Park, and it is the work of a single man who worked tirelessly for over 20 years in order to transform a previously dilapidated area into an actual jungle within the urban jungle that is Sao Paulo. Originally from the town of Promissao, about 500km from Sao Paulo, Helio da Silva was a successful business executive for many years, but after retiring, he took it upon himself to transform the degraded banks of the Tiquatira River into a green oasis for his community. He started planting trees there in 2003 and hasn’t stopped since.

73-year-old da Silva recently told AFP that he wanted to leave a legacy to the city that adopted him decades ago. Within the first four years of his epic project, he single-handedly planted 5,000 trees in an area that had long been abandoned and known to be frequented by drug dealers and users. His impressive feat prompted the municipality of Sao Paulo to recognize his efforts and acknowledge the area as the first linear park in Sao Paulo. This only emboldened da Silva, who continued planting native trees.

By 2020, Helio had planted more than 25,047 trees over a 3.2-km-long area, achieving a survival rate of 88 percent. For every 12 trees, he planted a fruit-bearing species in the hopes of attracting birds and animals to his green oasis. His bet paid off, as according to the municipality, 45 types of birds have been identified in the park. Today, the Tiquatira Linear Park numbers over 41,000 individual trees, and Helio da Silva doesn’t plan on stopping planting until he reaches at least 50,000 of them.

“My motivation comes from the trees themselves because trees give us flowers and fruits, absorb rainwater, attract birds and provide us with wonderful shade and fresh air,” da Silva told Common Earth.

The retired executive estimates that he spent about $7,000 per year on his tree-planting efforts since 2022, but the way he sees it, it was a worthwhile investment for himself, his family and the whole of Sao Paulo. Plus, he saved a lot of money by planting the trees himself.

Once labeled as crazy for spending most of his time planting trees in an area most people avoided, Helio da Silva is now hailed as a local hero. He sometimes receives help from like-minded nature lovers, but he is still the driving force behind this amazing project. Every Sunday, he comes to Tiquatira Park to plant more trees.

Over the years, the city gym and playground equipment, tables, benches, toilets, and Tiquatira Linear Park eventually became one of Sao Paulo’s most popular areas."

-Article via OddityCentral, October 4, 2024. Video via France24, September 26, 2024.

--

Note: ONE SINGLE PERSON CAN MAKE A SUCH A DIFFERENCE

[sugurusyndrome]

cw/tags: mild degradation, best friend!suguru, car sex, mild spanking, jealousy, edging, slight drunkenness, dirty talk galore, geto likes his hair pulled, oral (geto receives), fingering, little buildup it’s all sex, fem!reader

i wanna ruin our friendship

——　❈　——

If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought your best friend was possessed. Jaw clenched, long fingers tapping erratically on the steering wheel, annoyed breaths puffing out incrementally. He was usually gentle and relaxed.

“You wanna stop being passive aggressive and say what you’re thinking?” You said, irritation twitching your eye as you watched cars zoom by.

“What makes you think anything is bothering me?” Geto shot back. It was not lost on you how his hand tightened around the wheel.

You tiredly rubbed your eyes and your fingers came out mascara-streaked. Flipping open the visor mirror, you thumbed under your eyebags to clean the smudge. “It might have to do with the fact that you keep sighing like an annoyed toddler,” you replied and snapped the mirror shut.

“Nope, nothing’s wrong,” he insisted. Rock music blared through the speakers as he increased the volume. Oh, that irritated the fuck out of you and you practically smashed the ‘Off’ button. “What the fuck?” he said gruffly when the music abruptly cut off.

“We’re adults and I expect you to communicate like so,” You said coolly. No point of both of you losing your temper. Even though he was usually the level-headed one in the friendship, clearly something was up.

Geto was silent for a moment, jaw twitching. Then, he pulled over to the shoulder of the road and unbuckled his seatbelt, turning to face you. “You have a lot of attitude for someone who needed a ride home at midnight,”

Your eyes widened then your brows knitted inwards. “You told me I could call you if I ever needed a ride home,” you replied. “And I said I was sorry for waking you up three times. What’s the issue?”

He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Did you realize that men were leering at you? It was gross but you were painfully oblivious,”

A slow eyebrow raised and a hint of a smile, eyes wide. A beat, then: “Are you jealous, Suguru?”

Now, this was your best friend you’re talking to. Someone who knows you more than most people. Were there constant sex jokes and drunken touches that teetered on inappropriate? Sure, but that’s what all best friends do.

Right?

Geto mimicked your expression sans the smile. “Are you fucking with me?”

“I don’t know, you tell me,” Your smirk twitched and you leaned over the console. “Are you jealous, Sugu?” you cooed mockingly.

“Don’t call me that,” he whispered hoarsely. He hates that nickname and it’s a rare trigger to his aggravation.

It could have been the alcohol running through your veins that emboldened you or maybe the fact that flirting with him came as second nature but you didn’t spare a second thought to hooking your finger through his necklace. You’d gifted the black agate to him for his 26th and he’d never taken it since.

“Are you jealous, Sugu?”

He let himself be tugged towards you and his irritated expression faded, only to be replaced with a wicked, wicked glint in his eye. “Do you want me to be, sweetheart?” That caught you off guard and you blinked.

Taking advantage of your guard down, Geto wrapped his hand around your wrist, pulling you even closer. “I think you want me to ruin this sweet friendship of ours,” He whispered, his lips a hair's breadth away from yours.

“If I kiss you now, will I taste another man?” Barely brushing your upper lip before licking his own lips.

I wanna fuck our friendship away.

Insane. Absolute fucking insanity.

And yet…

“Why don’t you find out?” You replied in a hushed whisper. He could smell the alcohol as your chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow breaths. Cute.

Perhaps the flirting all this time was not harmless or friendly but all thought about anything not related to Geto’s lips in your mind ceased when his tongue licked your mouth open. Shameless, you leaned right into him with a moan and his little growl vibrated in his throat. Against all odds, the kiss was slow. Huh, it would stand to reason that someone as calm and kind would kiss like that, actually.

Glittery nails scraped down his neck, absentmindedly tracing the spiderweb tattoo and he responded by trapping your bottom lip with his teeth. Violet eyes slit open to watch your reaction as he let go of your lip with a wet pop.

“Strawberries” he murmured, the word spilling out like honey.

Your kiss-clouded mind couldn’t understand what he meant. “Huh?”

“Your lips,” Two fingers under your chin followed by another kiss, lips parting with a soft squelch. “Taste—“Another stolen. “mmm…like strawberries,”

A dazed giggle brushed against his mouth. “Guess you didn’t taste a man on them,”

Geto replied with a chuckle of his own and it was too nonchalant. “No, I did not.” His canines gave both of your lips a sharp nip. “But you’ll taste like me soon enough,”

Oh, fuck me.

“Bold. I like it,” His smile widened and you realized you said it aloud. Moaned it, probably. Mortifying

“Seeing as I’m a gentleman—” With an oomph, you found yourself pulled over the console and straddled on his lap. “I’ll do what the lady wants,”

Just looking at his lazy grin and bewitching violet eyes, you can tell he will be anything but a gentleman.

────────────────────

At some point during the night, you had blood-red lipstick painted on your lips; a little smudged from the party but nothing too messy. That is until your best friend’s balls were slapping against your face while you were knee deep in his seat. To be fair, you were the one who dove down. Team effort or whatever.

“That’s it, gorgeous. That’s—fuuuck,” His eyes rolled to the back of his head, his palm firmly pressing down to keep his cock buried deep, deep down your throat until he abruptly pulled you back by your hair. You caught your breath with a sharp gasp and he shuddered out a heavy breath at being edged for the third time now. Like he’s not doing it to himself.

Roughly cupping your cheeks with one hand, he smashes your lips together in a painful wet kiss and you would have been grossed out at how messy it is but the feeling of his hot cock leaking on your bare thigh made all rationale fly out the window.

“You like being edged, Sugu?” You teased breathlessly once you’ve forced yourself to pull away.

At this rate, his cock is twitching every time that damned nickname left those spit-slicked lips. “And here I thought you heard me in the shower every time I slept over,” He teased back, opening up the car console.

With one hand, he lifted the condom to his mouth while his other hand palmed your cunt to slip two fingers inside. A synchronous moan left both of you and you widened your thighs around his lap. “Suguru, don’t be such a fucking tease,”

He grinned around the foil of the condom wrapping. “Would never dream of it, beautiful,” He twisted his wrist deeper and you immediately clamped down, trapping his digits. “Oh? Did I find that special spot—Ohhh,” He moaned with you when the pads of his fingers pressed just right— you felt like he was almost mocking you.

Not that you cared for a second longer, not when he started pistoning his finger sloppily into your cunt, slick dripping down his hand and onto the leather car seat. “Shitshit, don’t stop,” The squeaks that left you were practically unrecognizable. “Your fingers…fucking amazing,”

You were practically riding his fingers and Geto leered at the sight. You shouldn’t be enjoying this but— “You’ve been dreaming about this, haven’t you?” He finished your thought for you. “Over time, all those sex jokes became less of a joke with me, hm?”

“M-Maybe,” That fucking bastard.

He curled his fingers inside you with his thumb now circling your clit rapidly. “Lucky for you, I can read between the lines. And because I’m a gentleman,” He stole a kiss, swallowing your moans. “I’ll give you a choice,”

“W-Wha..?” You managed out.

Geto slowed his fingers—mercy or torture, who knows—and you whined. “Cum on my fingers or my cock. Your choice, gorgeous,”

“Suguru, I was so close,” You whimpered, clawing at his hand to press his palm to your dripping pussy. Without rhythm, you ground down on his palm, tossing your head back with relief. But it wasn’t enough.

You didn’t take being edged too lightly. Unlike a certain raven-head who simply couldn’t stop leering. Really, for someone who was grossed out at the men at the party doing it, he sure was going all out.

He tutted and grabbed your wrists to stop you from clawing at his hand. “The longer you take to decide, the more your sweet cunt will cry,” His middle finger lightly circled just the tip of your engorged clit.

A dry sob rippled through your body at his torturous touches. “Fuck you, Suguru,”

“I’m trying to, baby—”

“Your dick!” That pathetic screech was nearly unrecognizable to both of you but did you care what you looked or sounded like right now? Absolutely not a flying fuck. “Your cock, Suguru. Now.”

You watched him place the foil between pearly whites and rip it open, spitting the torn bit out. The movement was desperate, sloppy, and it had no right being downright filthy. But here you were, leaking all over his lap.

His hand swiped your pussy, eliciting a sharp inhale from you, and he slicked the condom with your glistening arousal. “Shit…why would I need lube when I—ah—got this dripping pussy? C’mere, gorgeous,”

Taking a hold of his shoulders, you lifted your hips so he can hurry the fuck up and fuck you. But no, he took his time sliding his fat tip across your entrance, your swollen lips just barely stretching around him. No amount of whining and attempted intervention nudged him fully inside. It’s like he didn’t even hear you, eyes glued to your pussy.

Geto was edging himself and you were getting the short end of the stick.

“Suguru, I swear to—Oh fuuuck…” Any thoughts or snarls died the moment he thrust up into you. He filled you up so perfectly you thought the universe definitely created your pussy just for his dick.

Geto had his head tilted back, teeth digging into his bottom lip while his hand death-gripped your hips. “Not yet, beautiful,” he hissed when you tried to start riding him. “Unless you want me to blow my load not even a minute in?”

Back arching toward him, your hand gripped his black agate necklace while your mouth brushed against his ear. “Sugu…baby…” You whimpered softly and you felt him loosen just a smidge when he shifted beneath you.

Bingo. You yanked at his necklace, bringing your faces mere centimeters away from each other. “Fuck. Me. Now.”

Catlike violet eyes widened at the sudden movement before they hooded again. Strong hands gripped your asscheeks before he thrust up testingly. Your whimper gave him all the answers he needed to bury himself to the hilt.

“S-Suguru…y-yes—fuuuck!” Your hips joined in on the dance and soon, your entire body was bouncing atop his cock.

“So sloppy—mmm…” Geto captured your lips hungrily. “So fuckin’ dirty,” He jiggled your ass obscenely, spanking them when you least expected. “What a dirty cunt you got. Who knew my best friend had something like that between those slutty legs?”

A whiny moan ripped from your throat at the impact and your back arched further against him, smashing your chests together. “Fuck, keep d-doing that, Sugu,”

“Hmm? Do what, gorgeous?” He purred against your ear. “Spanking that pretty ass pink?” He punctuated his words with another sharp impact. “Or do you wanna hear about what a dirty girl you are?”

Your palm slapped on the foggy window, dragging down as your hips rolled atop that sinfully heavenly cock. “Bo…Both—ah!” A gasped response scraped out of your throat. His meaty tip battered your sweet spot relentlessly and you just knew you were not going to last long.

Geto’s grin was felt before it was seen and his fingers dug crescents into your ass as he took control. “When was the last time this pretty pussy was pounded properly, hm?” He panted, adjusting his hips so that his cock lodged further into you.

He didn’t wait for a response; there was no way he was getting one from you, not when you were drooling on his lips and your eyes briefly crossed with each spank on plump reddened cheeks.

“Cock got your tongue, beautiful?” He taunted in a cooing tone. “Do you wanna come? You wanna come all over this cock, don’t you? I bet you’ll drench me and my car. I’ll be able to smell you for days to come.” He nuzzled into your neck to latch on your sensitive pulse point. “M’dirty girl…”

Everything was simply too much. Flames started as a little flicker licking up your ankles before flashing up your spine and you shattered, euphoric cries ricocheting in the vehicle. Geto groaned when he felt your fingers gripping his hair from the back; the dual sensation of that delicious sting and your wet cunt squeezing him had him following. Even through the condom, you felt him pulse milky ribbons.

He collapsed against the carseat, arms clinging to your sweaty back as you both caught your breath. This isn’t how either of you expected the night to end. An argument? Sure. An argument that leads to you bouncing prettily on his cock in ways he’d only witnessed in his dreams? A man can only dream and fulfill.

Geto watched you lift your head and chuckled breathlessly at your fucked-out expression, the glow radiating off of your flushed cheeks. He swiped his thumb along what remains of your lipstick before popping it in his mouth. “Told you I’d have you tasting like me by the end of the night.”

[greengoblinswifey]

could you write about Nicholas catching you touching yourself while he’s away

Nicholas Chavez x Fem!Reader

warnings— pure smut, dom!nicholas, fem!masturbation, spanking, fingering, sir kink, orgasm denial, overstimulation, face fucking, choking, degradation kink, praise kink, unprotected sex, rough sex, fluff.

a/n— requests are open <3 more.

It had been a long, torturous week without Nicholas. You had grown used to his touch, his presence, and the magnetic pull that kept you grounded. But with his recent schedule packed with interviews, appearances, and rehearsals, your nights had been agonizingly quiet.

Nicholas always had an aura about him, the kind that made people turn their heads the moment he walked into a room. The tailored suits he wore for his interviews seemed to amplify the raw charisma he carried naturally. You couldn’t help but ache for him—his sharp features, his piercing brown eyes, the way his lips curved into a rare smile just for you. The few photos he had sent earlier that day didn’t help either. If anything, they made you crave him even more.

In one picture, his tie was undone, his shirt slightly unbuttoned, giving you a glimpse of the toned chest you knew so well. You’d stared at the photo far longer than you’d care to admit, your thoughts spiraling into dangerous territory. It wasn’t fair. He was out there charming the world, while you were stuck at home, counting the minutes until he returned.

Nicholas had rules. He always had rules. The biggest one? You were not to touch yourself when he wasn’t there. At first, you had thought it was just his way of teasing you, but over time, you realized he was serious. Painfully serious. Somehow, no matter what you did to cover your tracks, he always knew. And the punishment for disobedience? Let’s just say it left a lasting impression.

But tonight, the ache was unbearable. You had been a good girl all week, waiting patiently, counting down the days until you could have him again. Yet, the tension in your body had reached a boiling point. You tried distracting yourself, watching TV, scrolling through your phone, even cleaning the house. Nothing worked.

Finally, as the evening stretched on and the silence in the house became deafening, you found yourself in your shared bedroom. One of his shirts was folded neatly on the bed beside you, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the fabric. Your phone lay beside it, the photos he had sent still open on the screen. You hesitated for a moment, the internal battle raging. He wasn’t supposed to be home for hours, or at least that’s what you assumed. You could sneak in one moment of relief and clean up before he arrived. He’d never know.

You slid beneath the covers, your body already tingling with anticipation. Slowly, you let your fingers trail down your stomach, the soft fabric of your panties brushing against your fingertips. The frustration melted away as you began, your mind conjuring images of him, his strong hands, his rough voice murmuring against your ear.

You moaned softly, emboldened by the thought of being alone. Your hips arched slightly off the bed, chasing the release that had evaded you for so long as you rubbed your clit roughly. You were so lost in the moment, so consumed by the fantasy of him, that you didn’t hear the faint creak of the front door opening.

The low, commanding tone of Nicholas’ voice sent a shiver down your spine, and your breath hitched as your eyes snapped open. He stood in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame, his arms crossed over his chest. His piercing gaze locked onto yours, a mix of disappointment and something darker flickering in his eyes.

“Don’t you dare,” he repeated, his voice calm but firm, sending your heart into overdrive. He was still dressed in one of the suits from his interviews earlier that day, the fabric perfectly tailored to his tall, muscular frame. The loosened tie and the way his hair slightly fell over his forehead only added to his commanding presence.

“Nicholas,” you stammered, quickly pulling the blanket over yourself, though it did little to mask what he’d already caught you doing. The heat in your cheeks was undeniable, and you felt like you might combust under his unrelenting stare.

He raised an eyebrow, stepping into the room and closing the door softly behind him. “You couldn’t wait, could you?” he asked, his tone low but sharp enough to cut through your growing embarrassment.

You shook your head quickly, trying to explain yourself. “I didn’t know when you’d be home, and—“

“And you thought that gave you permission?” he interrupted, his lips curving into a smirk that was equal parts amused and dangerous. He stepped closer, his movements deliberate and slow, making your pulse race with every step.

“I—I didn’t think you’d know,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper, your hands gripping the blanket tightly.

He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as he looked at you. “You think I wouldn’t notice? Sweetheart, I know your body better than that.” He crouched down so his face was level with yours, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. “I know your tells, your rhythms. Did you really think you could get away with this?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the intensity in his gaze rendered you speechless. He exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “You’re lucky I love you,” he murmured, the edge in his voice softening ever so slightly. “But you know the rules. I don’t make them for fun.”

You bit your lip, guilt swirling in your chest. “I just, missed you,” you admitted, your voice breaking slightly. “It’s been so long, and—“

“And you didn’t trust me to make it worth the wait?” he interjected, standing back up to his full height. His muscular figure towered over you as he ran a hand through his hair, the muscles in his jaw tightening as he thought for a moment.

“I do trust you,” you said quickly, looking up at him with wide eyes. “I just, couldn’t help it. I’m sorry.”

He exhaled slowly, his gaze never leaving yours. “You’re lucky I love you,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “But you know I can’t let this slide.”

Your stomach flipped at his words, the mixture of dread and anticipation making your pulse race.

He stood up, towering over you once more. “Get up,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You hesitated for a moment before obeying, slipping out from under the covers and standing before him. The weight of his gaze was almost too much to bear as he looked you over, his expression unreadable.

“Good,” he said, nodding slightly, “finally being obedient for once.

Nicholas’ gaze was heavy on you, his piercing brown eyes filled with a dangerous mix of authority and something darker, something thrilling. Your heart pounded, the anticipation making your breath shallow as he lowered himself onto the edge of the bed. He loosened his tie further and rolled up his sleeves with an unnerving calmness, each deliberate movement adding to your nerves.

“Over my knee,” he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Your instinct was to argue, to play the bratty role you knew he secretly loved. But now wasn’t the time. You could see it in his sharp gaze, the way his jaw was set. Pushing him further would only make things worse. Swallowing your pride, you moved hesitantly to his side and draped yourself over his lap, your bare skin prickling with vulnerability as the cool air was on your naked ass.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice softer now, though still laced with that edge of control. His hand came to rest on your ass, large and warm, and for a moment, you dared to hope that he might go easy on you. He rubbed slow circles over your brown skin, his touch soothing, almost gentle.

But that hope shattered as a sharp smack landed squarely on your ass, the sound echoing through the room. You yelped, more from surprise than pain, though the sting quickly followed, spreading heat across your skin.

Nicholas chuckled lowly at your reaction, his amusement evident. “Did you really think I’d let you off that easily?”

“N-No,” you stammered, already feeling yourself crumble.

“Good,” he said, his tone dark and commanding again. “Now, count. If you miss even one, we start over. Understand?”

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice shaky.

“Yes, what?” His hand hovered, waiting.

“Yes, sir,” you corrected quickly, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“That's better.”

The next smack came harder, the sting making you gasp. “One,” you counted, your voice trembling.

His hand came down again, and then again, each time with more force, each strike sending a sharp jolt through your body. “Two—three,” you managed, your voice faltering as the stinging heat built.

By the sixth, a small sob escaped your lips. The pain was sharp, but it was the overwhelming mix of sensations—pain, submission, and the low rumble of his voice that left you breathless.

“Aww,” he teased, rubbing a soothing hand over your bruised skin. “Already crying? And I’ve barely started.”

You whimpered, your fingers gripping the blanket beneath you. “I’ve learned my lesson sir,” you said between shaky breaths. “I won’t do it again, I promise.”

He hummed, unconvinced. “Oh, I don’t believe that for a second,” he said, his hand stilling on your skin. “I need to make sure.”

His hand slid between your cheeks, fingers brushing against your soaked pussy. The action drew a sharp gasp from you, your body instinctively arching into his touch.

“Now, tell me,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “Is this from earlier, or is this from me spanking you?”

You couldn’t answer. Words failed you, your mind too clouded by the mix of pain and pleasure. All that came out were incoherent sounds, your head dropping forward as you tried to catch your breath.

“Hmm,” he mocked, his fingers retreating. “Can’t even speak, can you? Pathetic.”

The spanking continued, each strike eliciting a fresh cry from your lips. You counted every single one, your voice cracking as you reached the higher numbers.

“Seventeen, eighteen…” Your sobs grew louder with each number, tears slipping down your cheeks.

“Good girl,” he murmured, almost mocking. “Two more.”

When the twentieth strike finally landed, your entire body grew limp with relief, your muscles trembling. The fire in your skin was unbearable, and yet, you found yourself melting into his touch as he gently rubbed circles over your raw skin.

“You’re a bad girl,” he said softly, his tone almost affectionate now. “But you did well for me.”

Your voice wavered as you asked, “Am I okay now? Am I your good, obedient girl again?”

He chuckled darkly at your question, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on your skin. “Oh, sweetheart,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement. “Your punishment isn’t over yet.”

Your breath hitched, anticipation and dread pooling in your stomach as you realized he wasn’t done with you.

Nicholas lifted you gently off his lap, though his grip on your waist remained firm, guiding you to lie back on the bed. Your legs trembled as they settled against the sheets. He stood over you, his broad frame imposing, and his blue eyes sharp with authority and amusement.

“You’re dripping,” he said, his voice low and mocking. His fingers grazed your pussy, sliding through the slick evidence of your arousal. “Look at you. I spank you, and this is how you respond? Pathetic.”

You bit your lip, shame and desire swirling in your chest. Your big brown eyes flicked up to meet his, pleading silently, though you didn’t dare speak without permission.

He smirked at your silence, slipping a single finger inside you without warning. Your breath hitched as he curled it expertly, hitting that spot that made your legs kick involuntarily.

“Nick” you gasped, your hands clutching the sheets as your body twisted under his touch.

“Stay still,” he snapped, his free hand pressing down on your lower stomach, holding you firmly in place. “You wanted to disobey me, so now you’ll take this.”

He added another finger, stretching you as his movements became merciless. The pace quickened, his fingers plunging and curling with precision, driving you to the edge. Your legs squirmed and your hips lifted despite his grip, desperate for relief.

“Please,” you whimpered, your voice breaking. “I’m sorry! I need to—“

“Shut up,” he interrupted, his tone cold. “I don’t want to hear your excuses. Bad girls don’t get what they want.”

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes as the overstimulation built, your body quaking beneath him. Your breath came in short, ragged gasps as the pressure coiled tighter and tighter, your release so close you could taste it.

But just as you were about to squirt all over him, he withdrew his fingers, leaving you trembling and aching.

“No!” you cried out, your hand darting to grab his wrist, pulling it toward you. “Please, sir!”

He leaned down, his face inches from yours, his voice low and cruel. “No. This is your punishment. And bad girls get punished.”

You were practically in tears now, your body trembling with frustration and need. He straightened, brushing his damp fingers over your lips, smirking as you instinctively parted them, desperate for anything he’d give you.

“Get on your knees,” he commanded, stepping back and fixing you with a sharp look.

Your body obeyed before your mind caught up, sliding off the bed to kneel before him. Your gaze flicked up to his, your lips trembling, waiting for his next move, hoping for any sign of mercy in his dark eyes.

Nicholas towered over you, his hand firm as he gathered your hair into a makeshift ponytail. The dominance in his touch sent a shiver down your spine. His grip tilted your head back slightly, forcing you to meet his piercing gaze.

“Unbuckle my pants,” he ordered, his voice low and commanding.

Your hands trembled as they moved to his waistband, fingers fumbling slightly before you undid the buckle and zipper. His hard cock sprang free, the sight stealing the breath from your lungs. You swallowed nervously, opening your mouth to speak, but he didn’t give you the chance.

Without hesitation, he guided himself into your mouth, thrusting deeply. You barely had time to adjust, your hands instinctively gripping his thighs for balance as he moved with no concern for your comfort.

“Take it,” he growled, his other hand tightening in your hair, controlling your movements. “You wanted to be a bad girl, now prove you can be good for me.”

You fought the urge to gag, focusing on swirling your tongue around him as he thrusted in and out of your mouth. His pace was relentless, leaving you with little control, but you tried to meet his rhythm, desperate to please him.

“That’s it,” he said, his tone a mix of mockery and approval. “Look at you. So eager to behave now, aren’t you? You’re lucky I even let you do this after earlier.”

You hummed in response, the vibrations drawing a sharp moan from him. His grip on your hair tightened as his hips bucked forward, pressing deeper into your throat.

“Such a filthy little thing,” he continued, his voice low and rough. “But you’re good at this. My good girl, aren’t you?”

You nodded as best you could, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the intensity. Your throat burned, but you didn’t stop, letting him take what he wanted. His words sent heat pooling through you, your body responding despite your earlier punishment.

“Just like that,” he moaned, his pace faltering slightly as he neared his release. “You’re going to swallow every last drop, understand?”

You made a small noise of agreement, your hands gripping him tighter as he came in your mouth. The warm saltiness coated your tongue, and you forced yourself to swallow, blinking up at him through watery eyes.

“Good girl,” he said breathlessly, pulling back and releasing your hair. He brushed his thumb over your swollen lips, smirking down at you. “At least you’re good for something.”

For a brief moment, his hand cupped your cheek, his expression softening slightly.

“Maybe,” he added with a hint of amusement, “you’ll think twice before breaking my rules again.”

“Get on your back,” he ordered, his voice cold and sharp. “The only thing you’re good for is laying there and taking it. You seem to do that well enough.”

Your heart raced as you scrambled to obey, laying down and looking up at him with wide, pleading eyes. His gaze raked over you, dark and unrelenting, making you feel completely exposed.

“Pathetic,” he sneered, his words slicing through you. “Do you even know how desperate you look right now? You’re so needy, it’s embarrassing.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I’ll be good. Please, sir. I’ll do anything—just don’t make me wait anymore.”

He grabbed your thighs roughly, pulling you closer in one swift, forceful motion. “Anything?” he mocked, his hand gripping your chin and forcing you to look directly at him.

You nodded quickly, the words spilling out of you. “I will! I promise, I’ll be so good for you. I need you. Please, sir. Please.”

A dark chuckle escaped him as he positioned himself at your entrance, giving you no warning before slamming into you with a force that made your back arch and a shocked cry escape your lips. Your body jolted beneath him as he set a brutal pace, not giving you even a second to adjust.

“Quiet,” he demanded, his hand wrapping firmly around your throat. “Take it. That’s all you’re good for, isn’t it? Letting me ruin you.”

“Yes!” you cried, your voice breathless and shaky. “Thank you, sir. Thank you—oh, God, it feels so good. You feel so good.”

His pace didn’t relent, each thrust leaving you more breathless than the last. “You think you deserve to feel good after what you did?” he growled, leaning down so his face was inches from yours. “Beg me for it. Beg like the desperate little slut you are.”

Tears pricked your eyes as the words tumbled out. “Please, sir. I’m so sorry, I’ll never disobey you again. I’ll be good. I’ll be perfect. Please, I need to! I need to—”

“Not yet,” he hissed, his hand tightening slightly around your throat as your body writhed under him. “You don’t get to decide. You don’t deserve it.”

You sobbed his name, your body trembling and your voice breaking as you begged him over and over. “Please, sir. I’ll do anything. I’ll wait as long as you want, but I need it. Please—please let me—“

Finally, his grip loosened, and his lips curled into a cruel smirk. “Fine. You’ve earned it, barely.”

The release hit you like a tidal wave, your entire body shaking uncontrollably as you cried out, soaking both of you and the sheets below as he fucked you hard and rough.

“Yes,” you gasped, your voice barely audible. “Thank you, sir. Thank you so much.”

“Look at this mess,” he sneered, his voice laced with disdain. “All over me, all over the bed. And you’re thanking me for it?”

“You’re pathetic,” he muttered, but there was a glimmer of satisfaction in his voice. “My good girl. Even if you don’t deserve it.”

He didn’t stop. If anything, he went even harder, his thrusts rough and relentless as you cried out beneath him, gripping the sheets with trembling hands. “I can’t—” you screamed, your voice breaking as the overwhelming sensations wracked your body. “I can’t take it, please, sir, I can’t!”

“You can,” he growled, his tone leaving no room for argument. His hands pinned your hips in place as he slammed into you with a pace that made the bed creak beneath you. “And you will. You better take it and be a good girl for once.”

Your body shook uncontrollably, tears streaming down your face as you quivered under him. The intense pressure built again, unstoppable, and within moments you cried out his name, soaking the bed in another wave of release.

“Pathetic,” he muttered, pulling out abruptly. He wrapped his hand around his cock, his sharp breaths filling the room as he chased his own climax. A few moments later, he groaned low and deep, releasing onto your stomach in hot, messy streaks.

“That’s all you’re worth,” he sneered, his gaze fixed on you as you lay there breathless and trembling. “My cum on you. You don’t even deserve it inside you.”

Despite his words, you whispered shakily, “Thank you, sir.” Your voice was small, but the sincerity was unmistakable.

He collapsed onto the bed beside you, his harsh demeanor softening as he reached for you, pulling you close. His hand cradled your cheek, and his lips pressed against yours in a kiss that was tender. The change in his energy was undeniable, the fire of dominance giving way to warmth and affection.

As the kiss deepened, you couldn’t help but smile against his lips, and he mirrored it, his forehead resting lightly against yours. “I missed you,” he murmured, his voice low and genuine.

“I missed you more,” you replied, your fingers brushing lightly against his cheek. “M’ sorry for not obeying your rule. I promise, next time I’ll be good.”

His lips quirked into a faint smirk, his hand running gently down your back. “Good girl,” he said softly, his voice filled with approval.

You nestled closer, feeling his warmth against you as the room settled into a calm stillness. Whatever tension had existed before melted away in his embrace, leaving only the comfort of being together again.

[liberalsarecool]

From Professor Christopher Robichaud, Senior Lecturer in Ethics and Public Policy, Harvard:

“I'll say this, and then I likely won't be saying much more on here for quite some time, to the relief of some, I'm sure. But my farewell warning is this.

Everyone in the days and weeks ahead will use this loss as an opportunity to seek validation for their own hobby horse complaint. Harris lost because she campaigned with Liz Cheney. Harris lost because she didn't embrace Gaza. Harris lost because she didn't choose Shapiro. Harris lost because she wasn't progressive enough (possibly my favorite one).

Take a good, hard look at the map, my friends. Trump has won the popular vote. Trump ran the table. Explaining that with your hobby horse issue isn't going to cut it, tempting and consoling as it may be. The problem isn't the electoral college. The problem isn't that we didn't have a full primary. The problem isn't Harris. The problem isn't that Dems didn't have the right message. The problem isn't even inflation or the border.

The problem is so much worse than any of those things. Those are all technical problems, with straightforward expertise fixes. If only it were so! No, our problem is not technical. It's very much adaptive. A party that embraced the Big Lie, supported an insurrection, and has been selling conspiracy-addled madness for years, [which] was widely and enthusiastically embraced. Voter turnout was profound! People didn't sit this out.

Simply put, the problem--as some of you have rightly posted--is cultural. America, culturally, has completely abandoned a politics of decency and respect and has embraced instead a politics of resentment, revenge, false nostalgia, and bullying. And if you look at the demographics, you also won't be able to comfort yourself that it's just a white thing, or a working class thing, or an education thing. It's multi-class, multi-gender, multi-educational, and multi-racial. That's what winning the popular vote means. That's what running the table amounts to.

A culture that has descended to this level of debasement is not easily fixed. In fact it may not ever be fixed. The timeline for changing something like this is decades--at best--not two-to-four year election cycles. You can extend that in this case, because with the GOP likely controlling all branches of federal government and the courts, they will ensure that mechanisms are in place to keep them in power long after their popularity has waned. You can count on that.

The GOP evolved into a party of rage, lies, and revenge--and it correctly diagnosed that there was and is a large appetite for that. That's what the country wants. At least enough of the country wants it to ensure broad appeal and widespread electoral success. The old GOP will never return, and the Dems have nothing to say to American culture at the moment. Nothing. They've been speaking to a country that's gone, like dust in the wind.

And that's my final thought, which my posts last night alluded to. The America I knew and loved is gone. This new America--nah, I won't even bother. I will say that cultural change is less likely to occur in politics or in the academy. You're not going to get people to see how vulgar they've become through a clever argument or a nice campaign speech, that's for sure.

This would be time for the arts, broadly understood, to step in. The arts can change hearts and minds. Too bad the arts have been systematically dismantled in education in this country, and on the other end, the tech industry's assault on the arts through AI is sure to hollow out any good-faith efforts that might emerge.

And for the rest of the world, America's rightward lurch is, I'm afraid, bad news for you too. I know you know this. Because it's not isolated, is it? It's just at the moment the most prominent example of a burgeoning trend. And this will embolden others in other countries, to be sure. We need not speculate what happens when countries become mired in lies, embrace resentment, and savor bullying. We know exactly what happens. Bloody conflict and global destabilization.

The first quarter of the 21st century will, therefore, in hindsight, be viewed as the seed-planting stage for the absolute shit show that's about to unfold globally over the next two and a half decades. Count on it.

Adopt whatever coping and endurance strategies you have available. You're going to need it.

I think that's all I've left to say.”

The least evolved. The most paternalistic.

The bully. The liar. The most resentful.

This is the reality we are in. FOX and Republicans have been repeating the script for decades.

The Dark Ages are conservative aspirations.

The abdication of values/principles is complete.

'Good faith' no longer exists on the Right. The more reprehensible the action/person, the bigger the addiction. Trump proves this.

Anti-paternalism, anti-fascism and anti-bullying are my paths forward. Join me.

[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.

[woso-dreamzzz]

The King

Patri Guijarro x Putellas!Reader

Summary: Patri think you're the king of Barcelona

There was barely a few minutes between you and Alexia.

You were older by five minutes but Alexia was taller and the one that everyone assumed was older.

She was La Reina and you were La Princessa, at least to the fans.

She was midfield. You were leftback. She weaved through opposition lines, scoring goals and securing assists while you were a rock at the back, part of Barcelona’s brick wall.

You and your sister practically did everything together regardless of whether or not the two of you were having another one of your petty arguments.

“La Reina!” Patri cheers as Alexia’s corner ball comes in and is neatly turned into the net by you,” La Reina and…”

You turn to look at her, jogging backwards on your way to celebrate with your sister.

“And…” Her throat is suddenly dry as you grin at her.

You look glorious in that moment, jogging backwards, so self-assured as Alexia jumps onto your back.

“And El Rey!” Patri finishes off and somehow your smile widens.

“No more La Princessa?” You tease and Patri just nods.

“Er…yeah,” She says lamely,” La Reina and El Rey. The Putellas sisters.”

“I like it,” Alexia says, still on your back as she ruffles your hair,” My little sister, El Rey.”

“I’m older than you!”

“But I’m taller!”

Alexia laughs as she slides off your back, a kiss pressed atop your head before she moves back to her position.

You shake your head fondly at her before turning to Patri.

“It’s nice for you to upgrade me,” You tease as the match ends,” El Rey. I like that.”

“I..er…” Patri doesn’t want to admit to making a mistake, to being so overtaken by your beauty that she’d gotten tongue-tied. “I thought it was time.”

“Well thanks,” You say, bumping her hip with yours,” I’m going be milk this so much.”

And milk it you did.

So did the club.

La Reina and El Rey.

The superstar sisters of Barcelona.

People called out ‘El Rey’ just as much as ‘La Reina’ and you’d taken your new moniker better than when Alexia first took hers.

You sister was also taking your new nickname better than when she first took hers.

“Ale,” You groan as she tugs you away,” They were fans!”

“They were trying to get in your pants!” Alexia shoots back and Patri’s glad, for once, about how protective your sister is over you. “I won’t let them!”

“Let them. Ale, I’m-“

“They only want to sleep with the famous El Rey! They don’t want you for you! I won’t let you sleep with someone who doesn’t want you for you!”

“As nice as that is, Ale-“

“No! I won’t! Don’t argue with me!”

“I’m not going to argue,” You say, meeting Patri’s eyes,” Trust me. I’ll only sleep and date people who want me for me. Not El Rey.”

“Good!”

You watch your sister flounce away.

“So, how long are we going to wait?” Patri asks,” To tell her, I mean?”

You grin, sidling up closer to Patri so you can speak directly in her ear over the roar of the crowd. “I was waiting for her to catch on. She seems to be fighting invisible suitors though, can’t see what’s directly in front of her.”

You lace your fingers with Patri’s and you know all of the fans recording this will just write it off as being close friends. You’d always been the more physically affectionate of the Putellas sisters. Alexia showed her affection through slight violence, she always had. When you were younger, she used to tug on your pigtails and squeeze your face or give you a swift little tap on the head.

It wasn’t to be mean and it was never true aggression. It was just Alexia’s way of expressing her love for you.

In contrast, you were full of affection. You gave out hugs liberally as a child and loved holding hands. Kisses were a bit more withheld but only slightly. Family got your kisses and close friends.

It was probably why Alexia hadn’t noticed you and Patri yet.

That evening when she’d bestowed your new nickname, you’d asked her out, suddenly emboldened by the way she got so flustered around you. Despite the way that she’d tried to hide it, you’d noticed it immediately.

Noticed Patri immediately.

Nearly four months later and you were still going strong and Alexia still refused to see what was right in front of her.

You’d like to say it was because you were hiding it, that you and Patri were being so secretive and sneaky. But you weren’t.

Everyone else had caught on from practically the moment you’d gotten together.

Already, you’d been on four separate double dates with Mapi and Ingrid, a further two with Marta and Caro and one with Alexia and Olga, though your sister had thought it was just you and Patri tagging along. Olga had gotten the message loud and clear though and congratulated you in the toilets.

“Yeah, well Alexia’s always thought that you had a stream of potential girlfriends following after you,” Patri says as your sister signs one of your shirts for the fans with narrowed eyes,” But then again, everyone wants to date El Rey.”

You bump your hip against hers. “But only one person gets to.”

[halalchampagnesocialist]

It’s scary just how much fascism is on the rise. Im aware it’s not new either, there’s been a resurgence happening since God knows when, but it seems to be more apparent now and more emboldened. And it’s not just white nationalists, but right wing nationalists from non-Western countries too who are a threat. Even “moderates” are trying to appeal to these people.

It’s not just racism they’re pushing either, but transphobia too which ended with the death of a child a few days ago. Denialism of all sorts as well, like climate change denialism, anti-vax rhetoric, and so on.

The world we live in is in shambles. There’s very little security of any kind… which is why we need to work to fix it. But instead we have liberals gaslighting us that only voting or appealing to those in power will fix things meanwhile the right-wing demagogue capitalises on these issues to shift the blame onto minorities. Again, it’s not anything new by any means but it just shows how desperately we need to build something new and very quickly.

[vulnerary-prince]

From Harvard ethics professor Christopher Robichaud:

“Everyone in the days and weeks ahead will use this loss as an opportunity to seek validation for their own hobby horse complaint. Harris lost because she campaigned with Liz Cheney. Harris lost because she didn't embrace Gaza. Harris lost because she didn't choose Shapiro. Harris lost because she wasn't progressive enough (possibly my favorite one).

Take a good hard look at the map, my friends. Trump has won the popular vote. Trump ran the table. Explaining that with your hobby horse issue isn't going to cut it, tempting and consoling as it may be.

The problem isn't the electoral college. The problem isn't that we didn't have a full primary. The problem isn't Harris. The problem isn't that Dems didn't have the right message. The problem isn't even inflation or the border.

The problem is so much worse than any of those things. Those are all technical problems, with straightforward expertise fixes. If only it were so! No, our problem is not technical. It's very much adaptive. A party that embraced the Big Lie, supported an insurrection, and has been selling conspiracy-addled madness for years was widely and enthusiastically embraced. Voter turnout was profound! People didn't sit this out.

Simply put, the problem--as some of you have rightly posted--is cultural.

America, culturally, has completely abandoned a politics of decency and respect and has embraced instead a politics of resentment, revenge, false nostalgia, and bullying. And if you look at the demographics, you also won't be able to comfort yourself that it's just a white thing, or a working class thing, or an education thing. It's multi-class, multi-gender, multi-educational and multi-racial. That's what winning the popular vote means. That's what running the table amounts to.

A culture that has descended to this level of debasement is not easily fixed. In fact it may not ever be fixed. The timeline for changing something like this is decades--at best--not two-to-four year election cycles. You can extend that in this case, because with the GOP likely controlling all branches of federal government and the courts, they will ensure that mechanisms are in place to keep them in power long after their popularity has waned. You can count on that.

The GOP evolved into a party of rage, lies, and revenge--and it correctly diagnosed that there was and is a large appetite for that. That's what the country wants. At least, enough of the country wants it to ensure broad appeal and widespread electoral success. The old GOP will never return, and the Dems have nothing to say to American culture at the moment. Nothing. They've been speaking to a country that's gone, like dust in the wind.

And that's my final thought, which my posts last night alluded to. The America I knew and loved is gone. This new America--nah, I won't even bother. I will say that cultural change is less likely to occur in politics, or in the academy. You're not going to get people to see how vulgar they've become through a clever argument or a nice campaign speech, that's for sure.

This would be time for the arts, broadly understood, to step in. The arts can change hearts and minds. Too bad the arts have been systematically dismantled in education in this country, and on the other end, the tech industry's assault on the arts through AI is sure to hollow out any good-faith efforts that might emerge.

And for the rest of the world, America's rightward lurch is, I'm afraid, bad news for you too. I know you know this. Because it's not isolated, is it? It's just at the moment the most prominent example of a burgeoning trend. And this will embolden others in other countries, to be sure. We need not speculate what happens when countries become mired in lies, embrace resentment, and savor bullying. We know exactly what happens. Bloody conflict and global destabilization.

The first quarter of the 21st century will therefore in hindsight be viewed as the seed-planting stage for the absolute shit show that's about to unfold globally over the next two and a half decades. Count on it.

Adopt whatever coping and endurance strategies you have available. You're going to need it.

I think that's all I've left to say.”   

[zwhoreo]

hello! It was just recently when I found your page and Immediately loved how you write Luffy!

I wanted to know if you could write a short fic about jealous! Luffy, maybe the crew land on a island, they went to a bar and reader started get hit on by another dude, I wonder if luffy would be overprotective or wouldn’t care that much.

tysm for the support! I’m so happy you like my writing, that means a lot!! :’) I’ve had some ideas for this concept and I love how this turned out, so thanks sm for the request <3

jealous luffy - luffy x gn!reader

fluff

summary in request, luffy’s progression from uneasy cluelessness into overprotective rage

words: 1k

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Luffy’s been holding your hand all day, like he always does. And he’s been roughly dragging you around across the island because he’s excited to be in a new town and make friends and find adventures. Evening comes and your hand is sweaty, you love Luffy but you want a little break, so you tell him that, as gently as you can, when you follow some of the crew into a tavern in the town square.

It’s loud and warm and Luffy wanders off to see if they have food here, so you’re left alone to sit in one of the bar stools and wait to catch the bartender’s attention so you can get a drink. Your excitement doesn’t overflow like Luffy’s does but it’s been a long, boring voyage over this particular sea and the stable ground, the unfamiliar faces, the world outside of a wooden box are so welcome, and so you’re in a particularly good mood, more outgoing than you would normally be.

So when a man comes to you, and sits by you, and begins to ask you who you are and compliment your clothes you let him, you talk back happily. Because you’ve been talking to just the same nine people for far too long. When he offers to buy you a drink you think why not? and agree with a dismissive laugh.

Luffy is bored and notices you talking to a man he’s never seen before. He isn’t jealous, not yet. He doesn’t pick up on anything out of the ordinary, he doesn’t see a problem with his hand being close to yours, or the drink he offers you. In fact, Luffy’s jealous of you, because you’re getting something for free and he isn’t. He gets antsy and wants to hold your hand again, now that he’s in a bad mood. So he comes and sits cross legged on the floor, leaning against your stool, not saying anything.

You smile at him and return to your conversation. You’re aware, only vaguely, of how the man is leaning in closer towards you, how his gestures brush your arm. Luffy isn’t. But Luffy still feels agitated, like something’s not right, though he can’t place it. He plays with the cuff of your pants, staring straight ahead, brows furrowed.

You lean away as the man gets closer. You don’t feel in danger, you’re slightly amused at this man’s clear attempts to hit on you, you continue to laugh it off because Luffy’s there and you feel safe. You bring your hand up to rest your head on, to get it away from his creeping fingers, your body language is subtle but Luffy is starting to feel like something isn’t right. Something feels off in his heart, his stomach.

He’s watching the man now, from the floor beneath you, glaring as the man glances down icily at him. Luffy is stressed, a hand wrapping around your ankle. The man doesn’t feel threatened, he’s too confident, emboldened and cocky he rubs it in by leaning closer and complimenting you more. He wants to make Luffy jealous.

Luffy is angry. His face is heating up. Who does this man think he is? And as Luffy gets angry you’re feeling off too, like the man is getting too close, fingers reach out and brush your hair.

“Hey,” you try to dodge, not having any fun anymore. You want out, you’re racing to think up an excuse, or try to get Luffy to do something, but you’re scared. The man is tall and strong, probably a pirate himself, you don’t know what he might do in the face of denial. You feel awful for your kindness and excitement just minutes ago, you feel a little sick. The man tries to hold your hand and you jerk away, no subtlety anymore.

And that’s when Luffy breaks. The rage inside him suddenly explodes because he may not know what it means to come onto someone, but he knows you, he knows when you’re upset. And his overprotective side takes over and he decides that this man is going to be the one to pay.

Luffy shoots up from the floor and punches the man in the face with all the force he can, yelling at him to get away from you. You gasp and scurry off the stool, trying to grab Luffy’s shoulders, but he lunges at the man again with a sharp uppercut. The man reaches for the cutlass on his belt, blood dripping from his mouth, but Luffy sees red and hits and hits.

The tavern has turned to the three of you in shock, but cheers erupt from the alcohol ridden crowd as an animalistic fight breaks the bar in half. And there’s a clear winner.

Luffy stands, soon, in a rage-filled daze, fists clenched as he looks down at the unconscious man beneath him. And in an instant you’re crushed into strong, flexed arms, lifted from the ground, hands gripping your skin as Luffy holds you tightly in a silent need to keep you for himself. Kisses pepper your face and he rubs your hands and wrists and shoulders where you had been touched before by the man Luffy can’t stand to look at again.

“He can’t have you,” Luffy says unhappily, face buried in your neck, pouting like a child.

“Luffy…” You wrap your arms around him and try to steady your breathing, soaking in his familiar smell and warmth. “I’m ok… it’s alright-”

Your lips are met with a forceful kiss before you finish speaking. “Mmm!” Luffy grumbles into your mouth, still mad, a newfound clinginess developing in his heart as he grips you protectively.

You’re so aware of all the eyes on you, but all that you need right now is the overpowering presence of Luffy all around you. You’re safe. It’s over now. You close your eyes, Luffy’s mouth still attached to yours, as Nami rushes over to drag both of you out of the tavern.