#anti chega

[samtallchester]

To my moots, followers and friends. I know you follow me for my content or whatever other reason. And I know you must have noticed the sudden number of posts based on Portuguese elections and are probably gonna skip this post. If you're still reading this, thank you.

Portugal clearly isn't the only one heading this way. You may have heard of Vox [Spanish far right party] as well and maybe other countries. Sure there are wars raging. There is a lot going on and you'll probably think "what does it even matter?" Because many people do, because true, we are [thankfully] not going through any of that. But what I want to bring to attention is important at least to me. And I wanted to share with everyone. Because oppression still matters.

25th April marks the year my grandparents – minus my ugly ass paternal grandpa (an oppressor working for the dictator), as well as my grandparents' parents were freed from the dark clutches of the reign of terror known as the New State.

50 years later, it's happening again. AD won and Chega wants a coalition. If he doesn't achieve so, and Montenegro continues with his original plan of leading a minority government, Ventura [CHEGA] claims to shoot down any bills he may want to pass – which is petty imo. But you know politics is politics.

Eventually, AD is gonna have to go. Minority governments don't last. So Portugal may be stuck with Chega at some point in the next 5 years. My home will no longer be a democracy but will be a fascist reign of terror once again because no doubt. Estado Novo [The New State] will be back, if Ventura really brings it back. Censorships. Health care will totally change. Immigrants will be forced to go back to their home countries. Romi people will likely be dislodged. Abortion laws will change. Trans people will not be allowed to be who they are.

All because young people like us let themselves fool themselves into believing that André Ventura is right. Maybe because their romi neighbor made them mad last week so they voted Chega, whatever petty reason. Or PSD messed them up, I don't care.

They haven't learned. Surely their grandparents told them stories about how worthless living was under Salazar. Or some might have even died because people like my paternal grandpa hunted them down for being anti-fascist. And yet, you still vote for the same man who thinks women are beneath him. Who made a fuss over BE's leader wearing bright red lipstick and shamed her [Marisa Matias] for it.

I am disappointed in my nation. We are welcoming those people into our arms, not even caring where we are voting and God I feel disgusted that people these days are so stupid that they vote another party out of revenge? So what? There's like 10 parties. You could have picked another.

We are disappointing our ancestors and Mario Soares. The MFA [Movimento das Forças Armadas], every single person who fought 48 years of oppression and censorship.

Maybe I got some facts wrong – because i am not perfect and i am trying to merely educate myself. The future is uncertain. That is for sure. Because genuinely, I am ashamed to believe this country really lost its sense. Our ancestors deserved better.

[valkerymillenia]

Just a warning, if you like the CHEGA party (or any fascist party) or identify with their values, please kindly stay the fuck out of my blog and don't interact.

[thesongthesoulsings]

My husband and I refer to this scene far too often, to not make a Reel out of it. ^^

[thewinchestah]

"Chega de Saudade" - Alastor X Reader fic

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader.

Summary: When Alastor breaks into the V's building seven years later he expects to find a lot of things, lot of obnoxious, enraging, tacky things. He did not expect to find you. The Radio Demon does not take betrayl lightly and you have to live with the consequences of selling your soul to his worst enemy. Better yet, you have to live with the consequences of selling your soul to Vox and Alastor finding out. The soul you sold because Alastor left you for 7 years. Safe to say, it's a mess. A pretty, angsty, dark and delicious mess.

Warnings: Alastor is in Hell for a reason,general hellish violence,general hellish creepiness,eventual smut, i carioca coded valentino bc i can and bc he is very carioca sorry everyone,blackmail, Soul Selling, author is really invested in politics and decided to micromanage hazbin hotel canon, Corruption, Extortion, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, but nothing too explicit,mature themes in general, canon divergence, Not Canon Compliant, Eventual Smut, Alastor gets insane in this one you've been warned, fear play, Possessive Behavior, posessive sex, big bad radio demon is gonna fuck up the guy who stole his girl and will make it everyone's problem, Reader-Insert,no y/n,no beta we die like men here, i feel bad for tagging vox in this fic cause i think it's a disservice i really hate him and i make it clear so vox stans be warned, it's hell i hope y'all remeber ethics are fluid, posessive!Alastor, unhinged!Alastor, Isane!Alastor

Taglist: honestly only my queen @jyoongim i have no credibility to tag anyone anymore after being away for so long. If you wanna be tagged on future updates just let me know!

A/N:HI HEY BUNNY ANON IF YOU ARE STILL HERE THIS ONE FOR YOU!! Hiii everyone guess who's back. I had this fic cooking for a while now, actually i had a lot of writing cooking but in a very Ao3 author fashion a lot happened. You see i was on this writing streak and then my 15yo dog died while i was out of state. I had to go back on anti depressants and take a sabbatical. I got a new puppy and she's the light of my life. Got super sick, won a horse show. My first plan for this fic was having the first 3 chapters done and ready for debuting together because i always feel i'm lacking when i show up with only one chapter lol. After a while i realised i needed to get this first chapter out too see the light of day if i wanted to write again so here it is. This fic is a bit different from my other Alastor fics and i have a rough outline of 5 chapters so i think this beast will be more than 20k words long for sure. I decided to get a little deeper into Hell's politics and all the "no one ever thought of using heavenly weapons against hell even tough Hell's ancient and the best worst of humanity and demonkind is here". I call that bullshit sorry i'm brazilian i'm well versed in shady politicians and shady politics and unfortunatly, dear reader, you are in for this ride too. This fic kicks off right after "Stayed Gone". Also did i mention i'm brazilian and that my works are heavily inspired by brazilian media. This entire fic was inspired by one of my favourite songs of all time "Chega de saudade". And let's be real, Alastor and bossa nova are the perfect match. So yeah, english is not my first language and this isn't beta'd so sorry for any confusion or mistakes. Thank you so so much for reading my fics and always leaving the most kind beautiful and heartwarming feedback. I hope i can still deliver a nice story to my darling readers.

Click here for my other fics.

CHAPTER ONE: chega de saudade a realidade é que sem ela não pode ser.

In the first year you were calm and collected. There’s a perfectly reasonable explanation to why he is gone. Is he even gone, gone? He’s coming home soon, you can feel it. 

In the second year you convinced yourself there were signs everyone explaining why he was gone and when he was coming back, you were just too oblivious to them before. But everything can be a sign when you are delusional.

In the third year you cried so much you felt you were constantly drowning. You barely left home and some thought you were gone too. Gone to him.

In the fourth year you finally gave in and took the deal. Lack of self-preservation and machiavellian schemes working together to create a trap for him. He would come home out of anger, ire. But you can't outfox the fox.

In the fifth year you decided to scour hell and beyond after him. You went to places just to taunt him. Paranoia became your best friend, blood sweat and tears as you repeat “This time it will work, I'm sure of it”. Can a lie be said so many times it becomes the truth?

In the sixth year you accept defeat. You buried him deep and went about like he never existed in the first place. Isn’t it mystifying how this city screams his name?

It’s the seventh year now. The alarm on your phone rings and rings and you feel like scratching your face off. It’s time to meet your damned executioner.

Rolling out of bed you open the curtains to let some light in. The penthouse from the V’s building has a great view of Pentagram City, looking down you get the feeling of dystopian sci-fi that is so characteristic of the technology district. Limelights, digital outdoors, and big opulent, oppressing screens greet you like a constellation of dead stars, long distorted from their original purpose and form. 

You follow processional routine as you get ready. Choose a beautiful dress, put on make-up, and do your hair. It all feels like preparation for a sacrifice. One thing you learned from Alastor is that appearances are the best strategy and you intend to greet your handmade battlefield like a roman legion. 

Alastor. Even thinking of his name hurts, especially today when you need to face the consequences of your actions, the consequences of his actions. He is gone, he left you. And now Vox owns your soul. You blame your fall from grace entirely on him, he forced your hand, he made you do it. Out of desperation, out of defiance, you sold your soul to Vox so he would come back and save you, so he would come back out of hatred, anger and ire to tell how foolish you were, how betrayed he felt.

Betrayal. Selling your soul to his sworn arch enemy should be treason worthy of him dropping anything he was doing to come and punish you, to address you. You just wanted to get a reaction out of him, proof that he still cared. That he didn’t just get bored of the empire of terror he fought so hard to build in Hell. That he didn’t, deep down, just disregard you like a shiny novelty, to be left when it got old. 

You dry the persistent tears that insist on falling with clinical coldness. You are past feeling sad now, you don’t even feel angry anymore. You are past any emotion really, you just want to get this over with and get back home.

You went about your deal with Vox in many different ways, sometimes you felt like it was a good alliance, a slap on Alastor’s face. A side quest to gather as much information from the V’s inner circle, a social experiment. The truth is, during these past almost four years you were a mental gymnastics pro to justify your new arrangements. The cognitive dissonance required to live with the decision of being forever tied to Vox was an herculean task and boy he didn’t make it any easier on you. He would never be as refined as Alastor when it came to torture but there’s something about the coldness and calculated reality of the television business that was it’s own type of Dante’s inferno.

As soon as he got word of Alastor’s disappearance the TV overlord was on your scent, and he wasn’t shy about it either. You dodged him and led him on for almost four full years before finally giving in, everything was more or less under control during the early years of Alastor’s disappearance. 

Until you saw the angel army leaving.

  Death and gore were all around you. The sky rained blood. You couldn’t breathe. You tried to take a step forward only to realize you were knee-deep in demon blood. Adam was particularly ruthless this time, he seemed to have realized the unbalance in Hell’s power structure with one of the most prolific demon overlord’s absence and took full advantage of it. You choked on the sulfur filled air while the portal closed and Adam threw a last middle finger at the Pride Ring. A clawed hand offered you support as you were about to fall, your heart skipped a beat, for a split second you felt elation. In that split second a thousand thoughts, four years of misery and confusion passed through your mind like a movie. You were sure this was Alastor, showing up after the unprecedented carnage of today’s reaping. With the next heartbeat came the delivery of the most cruel reminder: the hand reaching for you was Vox’s. Alastor doesn’t care about anything anymore, not even losing territory. 

The TV overlord was covered in thick, red blood and looked vindicated, a wide chesire’s cat grin on his face. Baptized in carnage, Vox had finally triumphed for the V’s.The V’s were now a force to be reckoned with in Hell, there’s no argument to be made.  A good chunk of Alastor’s territory was now under their control, and everything that came with it too. Including you. 

“My darling doe, be careful, we can’t have you hurt after the battle is won can we?” 

Darling doe.

You threw up at the casual cruelty of the name Alastor called you with such affection being desecrated by Vox. He still supported you as you spilled your guts, you’d blame it on the nerves, the adrenaline, the reeking smell of death. Not on the fact that you knew he finally won, that the thing that broke you was to hear your name like that, on your lover archenemy’s lips. After that it happened. You sold your soul to vox. Of course he coerced you into it, and you were so mad with grief and betrayal that you felt like betraying Alastor back was the just thing to do. Pettiness and paradoxical hope dripping from your lips as the whole thing was done. 

Every year this same flashback assaulted your mind as you got ready to meet Vox on the anniversary of your deal. It never went past the look you gave those pixelated eyes as he held you on that barren land, stopping right there when you made the decision that finalized your ruin. You still wouldn’t, couldn't face what really went down when you formalized your deal with Vox. Those memories were suppressed and tucked in under layers and layers of regret and self-hatred. 

You gave yourself a final look in the mirror. No makeup smudging this time, you were getting good at numbing your feelings. Just a few tears, no more sobbing.

The yearly meeting with the V’s after the extermination was the perfect cover actually, everything was done in a way that it seemed like you were all cooperating. After all, you did hold a very good knowledge of the inner workings of Alastor’s deals, subordinates and territory. You knew who the V’s could “call in favours” and how to keep the peace. Or as close to peace as peace came when an abrupt power transition happened in Hell. You were a valuable asset to anyone really. Articulated in politics, masterful at the art of persuasion, kind, soft, charismatic, assertive, all in perfect balance, and frankly, breathtakingly beautiful. It wasn’t without reason that Alastor fell for you and that you became his most trusted advisor. You and Rosie were able to conceal his absence and manage his affairs for good two years and the better part of the third without raising any suspicion. Of course, the bigger they are the harder they fall and now you were walking down the corridor of the V’s building carrying a bulk of important intel that would dictate the fate of the Overlord power structure for the next year, at least. 

The hallways of the building changed a lot since you first walked them. As the V’s grew in power, the building grew in grandeur. It was now an imposing beast, looming over Pentagram City. Modern corporate architecture that incorporated the savage capitalism of Vox Tech. Savage, cold, sterile, overbearing that’s how being inside the lair of Hell’s most up and coming trio felt. The tall ceilings and big glass windows were exactly what you would expect of a broadcasting network and silicon valley Big Tech company combined. As an esteemed guest, you got the privilege of staying in the coveted penthouses, with someone to attend to your every wish and demand. You also got an idea that Vox went a little extra with your treatment as a form of flirtation, he has been trying to convince you into moving in for a while, every time you stayed in, your usual penthouse had some shiny new thing that was  made just for you, as he repeatedly emphasized. 

This year’s token of affection was a makeup mirror-gadget-thingy, that looked out of a Totally Spies episode. You had to admit to yourself that this was way more thoughtful and useful than the gifts from the previous years. The thing was cute, practical and would come in handy, which was a big improvement. Vox had tried to sway you with all types of guns and high tech devices in vain. Well, there was also that embarrassing stance with the wire flowers with a hidden recording device. Needless to say that after that entire debacle Vox learned that he may own your soul but you weren’t a damsel in distress and you would reinforce your side of the bargain if he went too far. 

You reached the elevator and went in, pushing the button for your destination. 

The earlier you start this the earlier it is over, you remind yourself.

The panoramic elevator descended to the well guarded conference room, the guards didn’t bat an eye to you entering. You realized you were becoming a familiar face around here, that made you dread what’s ahead of you even more.

“There she is! Hello princesa, I missed that pretty face!” Valentino greets you. He’s the only one inside, sitting on the edge of the table.  Well, that’s unusual… you think. Vox was always the first to get to the post-extermination meetings, plus he always gave you a slightly early timetable so he could have some alone time with you. Something must be going on.

“Hey Valentino, it’s nice to see you too! What gossip do you have for me today?” you give your best chirpy tone to the love moth. Look, you know how bad Valentino is, he is despicable really, even to your standards. But ethics are fluid, to say the  least, in Hell. The acclaimed porn king was surprisingly engaging to talk to. He was fun and actually treated you like a person, which was paradoxical in itself, considering how infamous he is for exploiting and commodifying souls. You drove yourself mad with theories of possible agendas behind Valentino’s kindness towards you, but it was the simplest of answers really, for some reason Valentino liked you and he never denied himself of what he liked.

“You have no idea! We have a lot to catch up on, did I tell you about that bitch who was trying to spy on us?” a set arms gestures to you to sit down next to him. The next 10 minutes are spent talking frivolities with the moth. You’re not complaining, it's nice to get your mind off this dreadful day and you don’t get many. 

Valentino, as always, has a lot to say, little goes on in Hell without him knowing who, what, where and why. Information, gossip, rumors, facts, if a single out of context word can be weaponized  you better be aware that he knows. Pentagram city can be divided into districts and ruled by lots of different overlords, still, Valentino’s intricate web of influence and coercion stretches across all territories. Another poor soul manifests here and goes somewhere they should not be, talk to someone they should not talk to, discover something they should never know. All cases of “wrong place at the wrong time” are happily solved by a large sum of money from the moth and suddenly another thread is weaved into his web of knowledge, another secret  made his. Valentino doesn’t operate like most Overlords and that’s where his power  lies. He bribed and fucked his way into every major circle, every  overlord’s inner circle, Hell’s best kept secret. If you were anyone in the hellish afterlife Valentino either fucked you or fucked someone very close to you. 

Knowledge is power, and Hell’s gossip girl was proof of it.

You swallowed a lump you didn’t know existed, hearing the moth talk about how things changed in a matter of hours during the early post-war made you even more aware of the severity of the intel you were carrying. It was earth shattering (no pun intended) information. 

Angels can be hurt. Angels can be killed. That meant a completely different way of existing in the afterlife, if this information goes public, the consequences are unpredictable and dire.

You don’t feel excitement knowing you technically can fight back, you feel pure dread.

To be completely honest, you feel like these “news” are not really news. You were pretty acquainted with politics back on Earth and this whole “omg no one knew about this! even though this was staring us right on your faces! is total bullshit. Hell is ancient, the exterminations are not a new thing, and there are some pretty smart people down here. To think that millenia after millenia masters of torture and skilled killers never thought of using heaven’s own firepower against them is wishful thinking at best. Sure, maybe after a few generations most sinners, even those who have power, may have been kept out of the loop about the chick in the holy army’s armor… but not knowing this at all just feels like a pretty convenient case of collective amnesia. 

Convenient, that’s exactly what this is. It’s brutal, but that’s Hell. A scheduled massacre is a blessing to those who rule to maintain, reinforce and extend their power. And if you get lucky enough, empires will fall and you will make your move. 

Vini Vidi Vici, that’s all you need to know about how Hell's politics work. 

It’s true that with every massacre the Angel Army gets more and more brutal and unhinged. What was once justified as righteous mercy killings to stabilize the ever growing hellish population now is just a display of cruelty, these angels kill for sport. There have been rumors floating around of how the disproportional annihilation tactics are preparation for something bigger for a while now , and with the demonic royal families either operating totally off Pride Ring or being completely MIA, it is no wonder those influential enough are starting to get restless. 

And that ties back to your first point, the thing that got you picking the skin around your nails while Valentino gossips. There’s a reason why this is being revealed now, you know how creating a narrative works, a few smart words and ideas become beasts of its own. A beast of its own that will tear anything on its way with the right fuel. The V’s have fuel to spare. Whose interest is that this information stayed hidden? Whose interest is that this information was allowed to be shared now? 

Hell is constructed by layers and layers of complicated militias and parallel governance, each one a locked room of secrecy that is impossible to enter without a huge amount of connections and power. 

“In a world of locked rooms, the man with the key is king. And, honey, you should see me in a crown” Valentino wisely said to you once. He’s a man of many many keys, and right now you are holding the fucking master key under your arm. 

Speaking of Valentino, he notices that you dozed off and snaps his fingers, grounding you back to reality. 

“My, my. You must have extremely sensitive information today to keep you from hearing the nastiest, hottest gossip of the moment babe” He takes a hit from his cigarette, an elegant and sensual move straight from an Old Hollywood film. The heart shaped smoke rings caress your face and for an instant you feel hypnotized, nodding your head profusely. 

“But I already knew that” behind the rose coloured shades, you see a playful wink from his infamous red hot eyes. 

The porn overlord quickly snaps his head towards the huge automatic doors, that open and reveal Vox and Velvette walking side by side exchanging looks between them that scream conspiracy.

“Sorry about the wait, my darling” Vox purrs on your way, stopping behind your chair and placing his hands on top of it, fingers dangerously close to your neck and shoulder. He pushes your hair to the side and lingers there, on your neck. “but as they say ain’t no rest for the wicked, am I right?” Velvette takes her seat beside Vox’s empty chair, meticulously placed in front of you, polite pleasantries leaving her mouth. She’s still a mystery, you never know her true stance on you, she keeps you on your toes. Does she like you? Does she hate you? Does she even care? 

“If you say so, boss!” you give him your best pageant smile. “So, who’s climbing up the ladder of the food chain today?” You bat your eyelashes at him. Your performance begins.

“Aw baby, you know I love when you call me boss! keep talking dirty to me” Vox lands a wet kiss on your cheek and makes his way to his chair.

 Right in front of you, so he’s always staring at you, drinking in your every move. You cannot fail, you cannot falter. 

As much as you’ve gotten used to pretending, pretending you like the V’s, pretending you don’t feel disgusting inside for being here, pretending you don’t hate Alastor for putting you in this situation with a burning passion but still missing him so much you feel someday your heart will stop beating in protest to him absence, it’s still hard. Especially when Vox touches you. Your eyes focus on cybersharks swimming behind Vox’s seat and concentrate on keeping your awarding winning poker face. 

“This year looks really promising I will tell you that! The orders for both your weapons and tragedy porn cameras doubled since the last extermination! I will give credit where credit is due, that fuckboy Adam knows how to put on a show!” he snaps his fingers graphs, stats and footage appears on the various screens. But it’s all irrelevant, it won’t matter when you spill your secret. 

“Lot’s of veeeery interesting happenings but I thought this year we might… start differently. Let’s forget the profit talk for now, change things a little. Did you guys see anything out of the ordinary? Did something stand out?!” he spins around his Big Boss ™ chair and stops with his hand under his chin, leaning in to you like a schoolgirl with the hottest new gossip. 

“Oh! I heard things -” Val also leans in getting closer to the TV overlord face. 

Vox’s grin shrinks, lifting a finger in protest 

“We know, we know, you always hear things Val” he replies in a monotone tone

Velvette, who spent this entire time typing away on her phone, interjects 

“Look, don’t take this the wrong way girlypop” finally looking at you she asks, or rather, states the million dollar question “ but what Vox means is that we know you have something  big cooking inside those files, so let’s drop the bullshit and go straight to it” 

The doll puts her phone down, she knows how important this is, how this secret will probably dictate how things will go from now on. You can call Velvette many things, but she is clever and under all that attitude and posh accent lies a brilliant strategist. 

“Plus, we all know you are contractually obligated to tell anyway, so spill, and can make this quick and painless to everyone involved” 

Right, your cartesian, empirical proof that angels can be killed.  Caught on the scene of the crime with the gun in your hands. 

You don’t waste anymore time, the words leave your lips like you’re choking with the threat they present. You tell them everything: where the exorcist was killed, how he was killed, the golden ichor blood that oozed from the wound, where the body was hidden. Everyone is silent while you speak, even the mechanical sharks seem to have stopped swimming to listen. 

After that you don’t remember much more of the meeting, it felt like you took the backseat of your own mind, the overwhelming feeling of dread making you so out of breath. Something is coming, something fucking coming and you can’t breathe. Anxiety sets under your skin like a second skeleton begging to crawl its way out and you find yourself sitting in one of the lavish anterooms of the V’s building. 

“So, the cat’s out of the bag then” you recall hearing Vox saying when, as if on cue, a few moments before the meeting was being declared over, the emergency broadcast about the reduction of the extermination date from a year to six months was issued. You four watch the transmission and you wonder if that’s what it feels like to get the news of the end of the Cold War, the doomsday clock finally hits midnight and we are nuking each other out. 

Mutual destruction assured. 

Your mind wanders back to your life on earth, if life up there is better or worse these days. You died so young, everybody told you, your Untimely Demise a big topic of conversation that you yourself didn’t know much about. But nothing, nothing in all of your living years and your years from Hell to eternity could prepare you for what comes next.

“So the Radio Demon is back in town! Why is he hanging around? What does it mean for your family?” 

The news hit your ears like a tsunami and you feel dizzy. It’s easy to find a big screen here and you are running to the closest one before your brain can even compute the words. 

Alastor is back, Alastor is back, and he didn’t come find you.

The next sound wave is even worse, dragging you ashore to your feelings without any reprieve. 

“Salutations!

Good to be back on the air! Yes, I know it's been a while, since someone with style treated hell to a broadcast

Sinners, rejoice!”

This isn’t a prank, there are no cameras and a sadistic tv host waiting for your humiliating reaction, instead all pairs of eyes in Hell are glued to the screen watching as the two Overlords fight it out. 

Thus, no one notices how your entire body shakes and your vision goes black. It’s too much, and you grip the rails from the stairs that lead to the foyer for dear life. Your heart is beating out of your chest. No one notices how you cry, how you whimper Alastor’s name like a prayer, how the tears run down your face and you feel paralyzed. You want to run, a million thoughts per heartbeat making your head swim. The best you can do is collapse on the floor. So you do, you collapse trying to catch your breath as you plan your sweet escape, how you are going to Houdini yourself out of this situation right to his arms.

“Tune on in

 when I'm done, your status quo will know its race is run”

You want to kiss him, you want to slap him, you want to tell him how much you missed him, you much your fucking hate him. You want him to drag you to his rooms and make you pay for cursing him out. You want him, you want your Alastor back. You cannot breathe.

“Oh, this will be fun.”

and then all the lights go out.

There’s a beginning of an uproar happening, the electric building dies a quick and unforgiving death, demons run around and Vox is flying down the stairs trying to do damage control. But even he is failing to keep his composure, because he knows. Oh how you know too. 

Alastor is like a natural disaster, a shattering force that bends everything on its way with the sheer force of will. The inevitable reckoning that comes to your town, that judges and executes everyone that you love. 

And now he is here. 

You see the burning red hot pair of eyes first, their predatory gaze hold the entire room hostage, looking for his prey and then they land on you. 

The piercing intensity of Alastor’s eyes, the flickering reds of damnation itself, regard you with surprise, elation and something more. So overbearing those eyes are, they make you shiver, bearing the weight of his gaze that penetrates deep into your soul. Your soul that is not yours anymore, it belongs to the man he hates, the man he despises. 

The Radio Demon’s towering frame closes the distance between you two in five long strides, you do your best to keep yourself upright and not cower at the sight of him. He looks like Rapture and righteous torture, coming to deliver your setance. Vox knows his sentence is being delivered here and now too, so he runs, runs to you.  You feel static and an electrifying pull, metal clinking. A chain. A glowing blue chain on your neck and Vox’s pulling it tight.

“What? what the fuck is going on? what’s this?” snapping your neck quickly towards Vox you whimper, you beg. The few seconds you stopped looking into Alastor’s eyes causing seething rage inside the deer demon, ire that makes the room tremble. 

‘“Talk over the radio, that way everyone can hear, baby” Vox says straight at Alastor, like it is a shooting gun. The look on the TV Overlord is maniac, a sideway cocky smile that drips pettiness. Just because Vox clearly lost this battle, with all tvs and electricity on petagram city going dark, it doesn’t mean he can’t still forever tarnish this victory. 

Alastor’s demonform covers the already dark building in opaque, thick shadows, radio static picks up around the room like a tornado chocking the majority of the unfortunate demons that are still inside, in a desperate attempt to seek shelter. 

No words leave the radio host’s lips as he grows even taller, breaking the posh entrance of the building, debris flying down causing even more damage, the tall glass windows shatter in a million pieces courtesy of his tentacles tearing down everything on their way. The sounds of destruction and despair are loud but you haven’t been listening to the world outside you and your returned lover’s radio dial eye’s for a while. A doe caught in the headlight of his eyes the best you can do in brace for the inevitable impact that is coming your way.

In a flash of his scarlet eyes a fire ignites, the flames born from it are unnatural, behaving like a hive mind to kill and destroy.

 You always knew that facing Alastor after these 7 years would not be easy, but you never imagine your reunion like this, in the midst  of pomppeian fire, a wild raw power, the oncoming storm that is Alastor when he attacks. 

Vox knows this fight is over, his ego hurt and today’s accounts always written as a victorious comeback from the Radio Demon, nevertheless, between the three of you Vox will always know who really won, who drew the last card, had the last laugh. He did, holding Alastor’s girl on a leash because he owns her. The soul of the woman the Radio Demon dared to love is his, the man Alastor despises with a burning passion, and that’s enough for now. 

The raging flames circle the three of you and without much more flair Vox drops his act, your chain disappearing from your neck. You drop to the floor, branching yourself on all fours. You consider crawling your way to Alastor, so you can explain, so you can cry, so you can beg. You don’t know for what exactly you will be begging for: your life? his forgiveness? his punishment? you just know a lot of begging and pleading will be involved. 

But the decision is made for you.

“Run, run my little darling doe” Vox commands “Run and do whatever you need to do” 

You get up on your feet in a completely ungracious move and Alastor’s out of the room instantly. The flames never touch you on the way out, the outside world greets you: a cacophony of screams, sirens, burning sounds, the infernal orchestra that becomes the soundtrack of your life.  

“Oh, and by the way” Vox screams from the threshold of the decaying building “we just got news that your place on Cannibal Town got trashed by some wayward sinners during extermination. But don’t worry you can always come home here, come home to me!”

You do your best to ignore his taunting, and you pray to whoever is listening that Alastor didn’t hear it. But it’s futile, the pavement where he is stepping cracks a dark cloud of static and shadows trail after him. He definitely heard and felt the implications of these words. 

“Al.. Al!” you scream running after your lover. 

Fuck, you’re still in heels, and those aren’t your running heels.

Kicking the damned shoes off you run faster, you cry harder and plead faster.

When you lived, your life always felt a bit surreal, weird stuff happened to you that you couldn’t really explain. People always joked that screenwriters of your life were the most creative people alive, the thing that happened to you never happened to anyone else. You died young, with a big, full life ahead of you, but you took this as gospel to your afterlife, after all everything related to your death was a mystery to you. But the things that happened to you living or dead were a raw reality impossible to make up.

 The uncertainty of your death only fuels your resolve to fight for the life you found in the afterworld. 

“Al, wait!” you are starting to get truly desperate, you need to get to him otherwise you are pretty certain you will drop dead here and now.

 “Alastor please, please listen to me” your voice failing, you finally choking from the smoke, from the suppressed tears. If Alastor doesn’t hear you now you are not sure you can carry on after him, you’re too tired too scared. You him to save you like the damsel in distress you are right now so bad.

Alastor dramatically comes to a halt. 

“I. am. Not. Having. This. Conversation. Here.”  his voice is staggered, still. Filled with static and a murderous edge to it. His long arms catch your wrist and pull you close, flush against his chest, you almost stumble but a powerful arm around your waist locks you tight to him. 

It’s the first touch in seven years, your legs shake at the realization that he’s real, he’s here. You lock your arms around his neck, the familiar fabric of his overcoat, the soft strands of his hair, they all feel like coming home.  

Something inside Alastor snaps when he remembers, when he feels how small you are in comparison to him, only one arm securing you safely to him. Some paradoxical fight starts inside him, wild wild want, wild wild rage against tameness, the docile calm you bring whenever you are at his side. 

The world disappears for a few seconds as darkness engulfs both of you,  inside the black moving vacuum only the two of you exist, greeting each other in bloody homecoming. 

Alastor takes you back to the Hotel, landing with a low thump inside his room. For a second his hand supports the small of your back, preventing you from falling forward. After all it’s been 7 years since you shadowtravelled with him, he knows you are terribly out of practice. 

His consideration towards you only lasts this precious second thought, because he makes his way across the room, creating as much distance as he can between the two of you. Your touch disarms him, he is aware of that since the first time your hand brushed against his, the first time his lips ghosted on top of your knuckles. If Alastor is touching you he is extremely likely to get soft, to remember how much you mean to him, what you do to him, so he will be merciful. And right now the last thing the deer demon wants is to be disarmed, to show you mercy. He can feel your betrayal burning inside his veins, clouding his judgment with ire and jealousy.

Alastor doesn’t fight those feelings, on the contrary, he lets them take him by storm adding fuel to his already bad temper. That’s the only way he can face you now, that’s the only way he can make you understand. 

You don’t get any time to gather your bearings, from the corner of your eye you notice a forest. His room is bigger on the inside and has a fucking conservation area but that’s hardly the most pressing matter at the moment. The pressing matter at the moment is that you are getting whiplash from touching your demon lover for the first time in seven years and his subsequent refusal to touch you, stationing himself across the room to you.

Why isn’t he with you? by your side as you ride the shockwaves of today together? You are scared, but above all you feel overwhelming sadness. 

“How did it happen?” he finally snaps, breaking the deafening silence. It’s the first time Alastor regards you, directly, in 7 years and the weight his words bare is so heavy you wish for more of the silence. “Tell me, how did it happen?” his eyes are wild, dangerously close to radio dials. 

“How did it happen? You tell me Alastor! You left me, you fucking left me!” you wish you could be your usually articulated self, you rehearsed this conversation so many times in your mind and in none of them you started with such venom on your lips. But it has been too long, and maybe the poison from all those years alone and afraid beside Vox drips through. 

The Radio Demon sees the tears that fall profusely from your big doe eyes, and they sting more than an acclaimed torturer like him could have anticipated. Alastor finds himself still disarmed, because with every single glistening tear that falls he can see how hurt, how scared you are. He is the only one allowed to make you scared, he owns your fear.

But that’s the problem isn’t it? He owns nothing. Vox does. And that realization turns him back to feeling seething rage. 

“So my mere absence is enough to change your devotion? Is me being here the only thing that stopped you from falling into his arms?” more poison. By the end of the night you both will choke on it. 

“Al.. Al” you are sobbing now, your throat tightens and it’s hard to breath it’s hard to speak. “ I had to do it. You don’t get it, you don’t get it.” your voice breaks “hemademedoit, hemademedoit!!”. You swallow half the words, whimpering, as if you say it fast enough the action will quickly become the past, as if the memories won’t haunt you. And yet the memories flood your mind

A dim-lit room, the smell of blood and something burning.

“He is gone baby, and he isn’t coming back”

Electricity makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. 

A stranger’s hand pushes the hair to the side of your face, dread creeps up inside of you.

“This is the only way my dear, the best decision you can make” 

The same stranger’s hand grab you by the waist 

“I’m the only one who can protect you now, you know that right?”

eyes that make you freeze, it’s hard to think. eyes that make it hard to say no.

“If this is hard for you, you can pretend that I’m him” 

a wrong type of static pricks your lips 

“This won’t hurt” 

a shockwave hits your body and it feels like you are being split open

You have to steady yourself on the closest piece of furniture. You cower as the repressed memories from the night you finally gave in to Vox assault your mind, trying to make yourself as small as possible, like he is coming back to do it all again. Cries and incoherent words leave your lips and you don’t know if you actually said what happened or if this entire time you have just been crying. You entire body hurts as you hyperventilate “Al, I’m so sorry” you whisper 

That’s what undoes Alastor, you curling yourself in a ball, defeated and scared at the ghost of the man he hates. You looking away from him like you are undeserving of him, of his punishment, of his love. Like you are tainted. Alastor can’t make the exact words of your confession about how it happened, but he heard enough. Vox would never make you come to him willingly, Alastor knows that. Whatever Vox did - and Alastor has a lot of ideas of what he did - he will pay double for it. 

 Alastor’s blackened heart shatters when he calls your name and you don’t look up to meet his eyes, like you always do. He was always your lantern for when you were drowning. He meant to break you, hurt you like that. He just wanted to make you come to him, beg for his forgiveness, beg him to soothe the pain. 

“Mon coeur, my sweet darling doe you are safe” Alastor voice goes so soft it hurts “Don’t fret, it’s in the past, it’s over, you are safe with me now as you are meant to be” he coos.

Still, you can’t read your lover’s mind. So you don’t know his heart is shattered, you don’t know how much he loathes himself for letting this get this far. You are so caught up on your own feelings, reeling the rage and the memories that you miss the softness of his voice and his outstretched hard and you inevitably choke on the poison. 

“No. No!” you snap “You don’t get to say that. You have no right to say that!” you scream as you get up “I’m not safe, I will never be safe because you weren’t there to protect me, you promised Alastor, you fucking promised” the poison is now inside you, heartstopping waves of hurt consume your body and sprit. Right now the same burning passion that makes you heart beat for Alastor makes you hate him too. You were never good with ugly feelings, you always pride yourself for being soft to be strong. Your kindness and act of rebellion during the hellish reality you lived. You were never good with bad feelings, so you do something you never thought you’d do.

You shove the Radio Demon, that man you love so much it drives you to insanity. You shove him because the shame is too much, all the ugly feelings ball up inside, convincing you that you don’t deserve him, that you already lost him. And you won’t survive his dismissal. 

You never talked back to him, you never raised your voice. Not because you were afraid to, but because you never had to, hence the reason why Alastor is so taken aback that your pitiful attempt of violence actually moves him from where he was standing. 

Alastor shoves you back, pushing you up against the wall with a searing kiss. He kisses you like you are his last chance at salvation, like he wants to be redeemed. He licks your lips as you struggle to catch your breath, pushing his hips hard against your core, making you straddle him. Alastor doesn’t grant you a moment of reprieve, his lips come crashing down on yours again, his tongue inside your mouth dancing to a madman’s tune. He does what he does best, he takes and takes and takes. He takes your breath away, he takes all the callous words that threaten to leave your lips, aimed at him. 

You succumb to your demon lover, your nails dig into his skin and he moans inside your mouth, he bites your lips enough to draw blood. In the end Alastor is still Alastor, and of course he gets all hot and bothered when fighting. You feel delirious with the taste of his lips, your blood and your salty tears mixing together, an unholy ambrosia. His hardness press just the right way to make you sing creating a current of desire after a seven year long drought. 

His hands are quick, ridding up your shirt making he grab your ass and then your hips, strong enough to bruise. His clawed finger is already tweaking your nipple that way he knows you love. Your bravado melts, in perfect synchrony to when he sinks his teeth deep into your neck, drinking everything: that wretched poison that tarnished your words, the sacred warmth of your blood. You moan his name like a prayer that he promptly answers, he’s kissing you like a drowning man again, your blood on his lips painting your lips red like you both just drank from the holy grail, his hand cups your other breast and you vow to never speak to him like that again, only if it’s gonna get you up against the wall like that with him. 

And then he stops. 

“I hope this kiss haunts you” he says, voice still drunk with desire, low and threatening. He swiftly moves you off him, walking away and creating the same distance from when this all started “haunts your every breath, finds its way inside your every waking moment until you are mad with regret” 

You are bewildered, eyes widening in disbelief. What is he doing? How can he go from 0 to a 100 so fast? 

“I hope this kiss haunts you, so you never forget that you were the only woman who ever had me at the palm of her hand and you decided to throw it all away with that calamitous cynicism of yours.” 

So that’s what’s happening. You can never expect to beat a master at his own game, Alastor is still cruel when he is merciful. When push comes to shove he will always win. There’s only so far you can get with taunting his repentance,  playing with his heart laid bare at your feet, filled with sorrow and begging for forgiveness. He was ready to apologize, to dry your tears and soothe your fears, worshiping your delicious body and the ground you walked on. He was ready to admit that this was half his fault until your venom stung him beyond the realm of spoken word. 

“I understand it now, it must be hard for you to cope with your own decisions, your own failings, so you take it all on me. I hope you remember this when you come back to beg, on your knees for my forgiveness. And trust me, you will.” Of course Alastor would torture you with the knowlodge of his guilt and despair, the loss of his benevolence, the promise of desire and carnality. He will always be a torturer at heart, and you forgot that’s the first rule you need to always remember when dealing with him. 

“You’ve got your demons darling” never was your precious pet name said with such disdain. Static starts to gather around you, and in a flash his hand is on your neck

“and they all, Look. Like. Me” his voice is distorted when he finishes cursing you, there’s a tempest behind his eyes that entraps you, the burning red of his irises condemn you. 

The Radio demon is a raging fire, an oncoming storm. But he is also meticulous, cruel and calculating, if you dared to question him, to step on the grace he gladly gave you, you clearly were aware of everything he did to lull his absence. All the plans and contingencies he made to hush your worrying thoughts about him and bathe your threshing heart on tranquiline waters.

And you decided to mock it. To mock him and his love for you. 

You are crying again, but this time Alastor is fucking glad he was the one to hurt you, to reduce you to a mess of regret and tears. 

Tonight in Hell, power shifts from one Overlord to another. Sinners plan and freak out accordingly.

 But their machinations are all meaningless. 

The 7 years you spent away from Alastor made you sad, the three years spent on Vox’s side made you bitter. The V’s operate on poison, it’s their fuel. And maybe the poison drips through.

Tonight you drank the poison and it broke you.

Tonight, for the first time, the poison broke Alastor too.

[butvega]

𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐚̃𝐨.

“Onde Mark Lee era considerado Santo, em uma cidadezinha bucólica no interior de Minas; e você, o próprio anti-cristo de saltos e batom.”

conteúdo. smut!+18, menção à masturbação masculina, cowgirl, falo sobre igreja, e mark estuda pra ser padre.

notas. e saiu o tão esperado mark padre 🥹

Divino era uma cidadezinha arbórea, de arquitetura barroca, e pecados entranhados nas almas pobres de cada morador. As pessoas sentiam prazer no julgamento, o veneno que escorria pelas línguas de falas duvidosas. Aquela era a diversão deles.

Ah, se soubessem…

Você era uma garota de classe média alta, que pela necessidade de viver a própria vida, havia deixado de lado todas as premissas de como uma boa moça deveria se portar. Havia se mudado para a zona boêmia, onde se aglomeravam prostitutas, travestis, e homens casados aos montes, escondidos de suas mulheres.

E obviamente, havia um movimento político liderado por “pessoas de boa índole”, que usavam, e abusavam da campanha pela destruição da zona boêmia. Infelizmente seus pais comandavam a ideia, e ao lado deles, Mark. O rapaz denominado santo desde que nasceu, uma espécie de divindade, intocado, uma benção.

Uma farsa.

Os joelhos de Mark já deveriam estar em carne viva, de tanto ajoelhar-se no milho pedindo perdão por pecar. Os pecados da carne… Você.

Desde que havia colocados os olhos em você, ele havia provado o que há de mais carnal no homem. O desejo. Os seios espremidos no decote revelador, a boca carnuda sempre pintada de vermelho, as pernas de fora envolvidas em uma meia arrastão.

E quase todas as noites eram como aquela: ele se esgueirando pelas sombras da noite, para chegar até o prostíbulo onde você morava. E quando bate em sua porta, você corre como se sua vida dependesse daquilo, para abri-lá, e dar de cara com um Mark Lee com a típica roupa de padre, e um chapéu para esconder seu rosto ruborizado, e assustado.

Mas ele nada diz. Continua com os olhinhos arregalados, parecia tremer, mas não consegue parar de te admirar. Estava apenas de lingerie, bem maquiada.

“Mark.” — você murmura, e ele fecha os olhos com força, tentando distanciar ao máximo os desejos humanos.

“E-eu não sei porquê v-vim. Não conseguia parar de pensar… Em você.” — Mark se sente tão quente, que imagina estar com febre. Você pega com delicadeza na mão do padre, o puxando para dentro.

“Tá tudo bem.” — soa condescendente, quase com pena. “Tá tudo bem.” — repete, desta vez mais para si mesma, do que para ele.

“N-não deveria estar aqui, o-o p-padre Francis…” — ele diz, parece estar prestes a entrar em algum tipo de crise, quando com delicadeza você cobre os lábios dele com alguns dedos.

“Você está aonde deveria estar.” — é o que diz.

Repara todos os detalhes dele; da barba bem feita, até o colarinho bem arrumado da batina que usava. Ele realmente tremia, algumas gotas de suor descendo pela testa, pelas maçãs do rosto bem marcadas.

“Veja, quero que me conte: você se tocou? Se tocou lá?” — pergunta baixinho, e ele olha para baixo. Parece envergonhado. Você repete o nome dele, esperando uma resposta, que vem apenas com um aceno de cabeça. “Fez como te falei? Foi bom?” — é delicada em todas as palavras, tem medo de assustá-lo.

“F-foi, e-eu…” — ele suspira nervoso. Com frequência passa as mãos suadas pela própria roupa, afim de secá-las. “Eu fiz como você falou. Coloquei as mãos, e… E-eu… Mas não consegui por muito tempo, o meu corpo… Eu não sei, eu só queria… Eu só conseguia pensar em você.”

Supre um sorriso que quase escapa quando o escuta. Sua destra caminha do peitoral do mais alto, passando pela barriga, até chegar no quadril. Para bem em cima de seu membro, mesmo com a batina, chega a senti-lo alí. Duro, apertado dentro da calça.

Mark sentia-se sufocado dentro de todas aquelas roupas, a cabeça latejando, o corpo arrepiado. Ele só queria por instinto se livrar de tudo aquilo e poder tocá-la.

“O seu corpo?…” — incentiva uma explicação maior, enquanto passa a massageá-lo por cima da roupa. Ele franze o cenho imediatamente, quase engasgando-se com a própria saliva.

“Eu m-me sentia quente. P-parecia que eu… Iria explodir. E-exatamente como agora.” — é instintivo quando ele estoca o quadril para frente, afim de mais contato com sua mão.

“Isso se chama amor, Mark. É amor.”

Você sentia que poderia explodir também. Sabia que era ele, sabia que ele a amava na mesma intensidade, mas aqueles malditos rótulos impostos a perseguiam, e faziam com que a relação fosse vista como uma blasfêmia. No fim das contas, Mark acreditava fielmente que não havia nascido para ser padre, tampouco santo.

“Eu amo… Amo você.” — ele murmura, a cabeça tomba para trás completamente inerte a sensação que você propõem.

Seu coração acelera, os olhos enchem de água com a declaração. Entende que naquele momento Mark está entregue, e que seria o momento perfeito para torná-los um só. Mas mesmo assim sentia que estava o usando. Abusando da inocência do menino que daria tudo por seu toque.

“Mark. Quero que deite na cama.”

É sempre calma e cautelosa com o uso das palavras, uma vez que entende que o rapaz está em pânico. Ele caminha devagar, seguindo-a pelas mãos, e se senta na cama com colchas brancas.

Você senta devagarinho no colo dele, uma perna de cada lado do tronco. Abre botão por botão da batina, até que se revele a camisa social branca amassada que ele usava.

Os olhos pequenos e negros pareciam arregalá-dos, e a cada botão da camisa aberto, ele prendia por mais tempo a respiração. Estava extremamente nervoso, e excitado. O corpo anestesiado por seu toque, o torpor, toda a energia que emanava de sua pele feminina e delicada, por cima do corpo esguio e frágil do próprio. A maneira como você rebolava, inerente a qualquer barulho ou recusa vindo dele.

Não havia mais como voltar atrás. Você teria ele. Quando finalmente o vê sem roupas, largado na cama, com a expressão sôfrega, contorcendo-se a cada mínimo toque, se dá por satisfeita.

O corpo de Mark entra em combustão no momento em que você encaixa a cabecinha em sua fenda, descendo devagar. Apreciando cada centímetro, cada veia espessa.

“E-eu… Nossa. Meu Deus, meu Deus!” — eram palavras desconexas, um pânico vivido. Os dedos apertavam a carne de sua cintura com força o suficiente para marcar.

Era demais para ele. Você estava descendo e subindo tão vagarosamente, tão quente, molhada, deliciosa. Uma raiva incomum percorre a mente de Mark quando ele se dá por conta de que muitos homens apreciaram você daquela maneira, viram você daquela maneira. Sentiu vontade de chorar. Queria desde o início ter tido coragem o suficiente para ser o seu homem.

“Eu estou aqui. Pode deixar vir.” — é o que você murmura baixinho no ouvido dele, acelerando o ritmo das sentadas.

Obviamente ele não demora a vir, pintando seu interior com seu leite esbranquiçado. Nunca sentira algo como naquele momento. O ouvido zumbindo, como se tivesse ali um apito.

Era por isso que os homens eram tão loucos por você.

Pelo menos por algumas horas, ele repousou adormecendo em seus seios. Sem culpa. Sem obrigações. Somente amor.

[butterflynate]

Eu estava pensando como somos animais burros ,Sabemos que vivemos presos e temos manias ansiosas que tem como descontar as nossa emoções em comida. O que é nada efetivo, chega ser até nojento.

Tive um peixe aqueles dourados de olhos grandes , aprendi que se der comida tempo todo ele vai comer tempo todo, até morrer de tanto comer,

Também já tive um passarinho que era assim ,se não me engano era as pombinhas do ar, foi triste quando meu avô fez solta-las , estava tão gorda que só explodia no chão ou era presas por outro animal.

Mesmo sabendo disso tudo eu engordei, virei uma bola, eu sei que vivo numa jaula já era para eu ter aprendido a me controlar.

Ah Não ser dependente de anti depressivo, o o também não ser gorda, já era para eu ter acordado.

[tbthqs2]

Parece que sua intuição estava certa... Não tinha como algo ruim acontecer naquela feira. O sol estava brilhando, a brisa anormalmente fresca e relaxante naquele dia de verão, ao ponto em que você nem se lembra da quentura e do mormaço que costumava sentir nos anteriores. Pelos altos falantes, alguém falava sobre um show do Red Day em uma hora e você mal podia esperar para entrar na sorveteria, comprar um gelato de 2 dólares e ir aproveitar o show da melhor forma possível.

Tw: descrição de violencia física

Até que seu telefone vibra e você de maneira displicente abre sem nem checar direito quem mandou a mensagem. Assim que seus olhos vêem a foto, sua respiração é cortada na hora. Você reconhece a pessoa na foto é The Activist, sem roupa, com mão e pés amarrados com silver tape, uma meia na boca e sinais de espanacamento. Logo embaixo a ficha:

"The Activist. Cobaia número #1 Projeto Kali. Anteriormente: Advogade das empresas de Cigarro Laramie. Agora: Ativista da causa anti-tabagista."

Você não acredita no que seus olhos estão vendo... esse deveria ser o futuro bom... pera, como assim futuro bom? Antes que você possa pensar melhor a respeito disso, mais uma mensagem de número desconhecido chega. Você lê mas não acredita muito. E então suas pernas começam a correr sem que você ordene.

Parece que sua intuição estava errada, afinal.

Informações OOC

The Activist ainda está vive, mas em algum lugar da feira. Elu estava na barraca de orgânicos, na estufa. É um bom lugar pra alguém que quer salva-lu.

É critério pessoal de cada um se seus personagens vão tentar salvar u The Activist ou não.

Os seguintes personagens (Jocelyn Jenkins, Katherine Lewis, Lucien LeBlanc, Ringo Miller, Elizabeth Quarks, Vincent Kingsley, Ben O'Leary e Arabella Dankworth) receberam a mensagem abaixo depois da foto: "Esse é só o começo… todas as pontas soltas devem ser amarradas. Estejam preparados."

Os seguintes personagens (Harper Wang, Nora Grey, Ain Montgomery, Riley Kalman, Priyanka Lalwani, Kai Pomakai'i e Olivia Priestly)receberam a mensagem abaixo depois da foto: "Tic tac um de vocês será o próximo, cobaias do Kali. Todas as anomalias devem morrer"

Os seguintes personagens (Nash Torres, Ember Rose Hawthorne, Anastasya Petrov, Odysseus Fischer, Arista Montgomery, Medison Jenkins, Gwen Vickers e Harvey Wang) receberam a mensagem abaixo depois da foto: "Um de vocês vai ser o responsável por algo assim se repetir. Tenham cuidado"

Personagens que estavam adormecidos, podem despertar agora se quiserem.

Vocês ainda podem abrir e responder starters antes dos personagens receberem as mensagens.

No mais, se divirtam kkkkk

[dottiesgang]

abaixo do read more algumas ideias que eu gostaria de desenvolver. comente no post ou me chame no chat se quiser alguma dessas <3

͏ ͏ ͏ ͏⠀ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏⠀ ͏ ͏ ◜ ⠀amizades.

*os que estão classificados como "qualquer espécie" pode ser preenchido por humanos também.

. ⊹ ��� FEARLESS ”: (open to male) muse é um (qualquer espécie, menos humano) responsável por tirá-la da torre onde ela ficou trancafiada toda a vida. os dois viajaram juntos por uns meses, ele mostrou um pouco do mundo para ela, e depois a levou para arcanum. os dois ainda tem uma relação muito próxima, com intimidade, carinho e senso de proteção um com o outro. embora seja difícil por serem diferentes, os dois sabem que são uma dupla imbatível, e têm um ao outro como porto seguro, sempre se salvando das escuridões em que podem se perder. (esse plot pode pender para o lado romântico, se quiser, já que o plot é inspirado em rapunzel e flynn)

. ⊹ “ I'M ONLY ME WHEN I'M WITH YOU ”: (open to female) lyanna e muse (qualquer espécie) se conheceram por acaso, fora de arcanum, onde muse salvou a vida da bruxa. as duas sentiram uma forte conexão, mas nunca mais se viram. até agora em arcanum, onde se reencontram e a amizade só se fortalece a cada dia. mesmo sendo tão diferentes, sentem-se confort��veis juntas, e estão sempre incentivando uma a outra a serem suas melhores versões; ainda que um pouco aventureiras e rebeldes demais, de vez em quando.

. ⊹ “ ANTI-HERO ”: (open to both)lyanna forma uma amizade improvável com muse (qualquer espécie, menos humano e bruxo). elx é conhecido por sua personalidade complicada e índole duvidosa. no entanto, elx ajudou lyanna uma vez, que passou a vê-lx como umx herói/heroína, e sem coragem de revelar a ela sua verdadeira face, muse faz o possível para manter a mentira e fingir ser x herói/heroína que ela acredita que elx seja.

. ⊹ “ BEJEWELED ”: (open to both) essa amizade aqui começou de repente e se tornaram parceiras de negócios. muse (fada ou sereia) adora criar joias e bijuterias, e o artesanato foi o que a uniu com lyanna. as duas começaram a fazer artigos personalizados e mágicos para vender, e às vezes tem discussões de conflitos criativos, mas no geral se dão muito bem.

. ⊹ “ YOU'RE ON YOUR OWN, KID ”: (open to both) esse muse (qualquer espécie) sempre se sentiu solitárix e acostumou-se com isso, chegando a dizer que prefere dessa forma. lyanna chega em sua vida para mostrar que tudo bem precisar de outras pessoas, não tem fraqueza em pedir ajuda, ao mesmo tempo em que muse tenta ensiná-la a ser um pouco mais independente.

. ⊹ “ IT'S NICE TO HAVE A FRIEND ”: (open to females) muse e muse (qualquer espécie) são duas amigas muito próximas de lyanna. juntas, formam um trio quase inseparável, que se cuida e se protege em qualquer situação. (aqui seria uma inspiração das meninas super poderosas, a lyanna seria a lindinha, então procuro a docinho e a florzinha hehe)

------------------------------------------------

͏ ͏ ͏ ͏⠀ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏⠀ ͏ ͏ ◜ ⠀romance.

*lembrando que a lyanna ficou trancada numa torre quase a vida toda, então várias dessas conexões terão de ser desenvolvidas do início.

. ⊹ “ ENCHANTED ”: (open to male) lyanna e muse (qualquer espécie) se conheceram há um mês, na sua primeira noite em arcanum, num baile de máscaras. os dois dançaram juntos a noite inteira e foi uma noite de conto de fadas para ela. nunca mais se viram, até se reencontrarem em arcanum, mas não se reconhecerem. após uma noite decepcionante onde lyanna estava de coração partido, os dois se encontraram em um bar em arcanum, acabaram dormindo juntos, mas ainda não se reconheceram. (aqui eles podem virar amigos com benefícios futuramente) fechado com vladislav dracul @armecdertristen

. ⊹ “ FOREVER AND ALWAYS ”: (open to male) lyanna caiu no papinho de muse (qualquer espécie) quando ficaram juntos. ele lhe prometeu que ficariam juntos para sempre, que a protegeria e cuidaria, que a amava, e no dia seguinte... sumiu (ou agiu como se nada tivesse acontecido). de coração partido, lyanna decidiu seguir em frente, mas ele não aceitou muito bem isso. (pode ter acontecido antes de arcanum ou ser mais recente, e podemos desenvolver do início)

. ⊹ “ THE WAY I LOVED YOU ”: (open to male) lyanna parece ter encontrado o amor em muse 1, e os dois tem uma relação fofa e saudável. no entanto, o seu rival, muse 2, parece estar interessado nela e demonstra da pior forma possível. talvez muse 2 só queira lyanna por já ter uma desavença com muse 1, ou talvez ele esteja realmente encantado com a bruxa. (esse plot está aberto para os dois muses, mas o muse 1 pode ser npc)

. ⊹ “ I KNEW YOU WERE TROUBLE ”: (open to male) a fama de muse é conhecida, e é péssima. mulherengo, egocêntrico, e tudo de ruim que se pode imaginar, lyanna deveria ficar longe dele. mas por que aquela aura de mistério a seduz tanto? e o pior: ele não para de flertar com ela, que sente que está caindo na lábia dele aos poucos, mesmo sabendo que ele é problema. ( fechado com nikhil nayyar @bcnvivant )

. ⊹ “ SO HIGH SCHOOL ”: (open to female) conhecida por sua personalidade fria, manipuladora e sarcástica, muse é uma (vampira, fada, sereia ou demônio) centenária, ambiciosa, que viu em lyanna o frescor de vida e juventude que ela mal lembrava que existia. as duas ficaram amigas, e ao lado da bruxa, muse se sente como uma adolescente apaixonada no ensino médio, mas não revela seus sentimentos por medo de magoá-la. enquanto isso, precisa esconder o quão afetada fica com seu carinho e seus toques.

. ⊹ “ GORGEOUS ”: (open to female) lyanna nunca havia sentido atração por mulheres, até conhecer muse (qualquer espécie). acha a mulher linda, encantadora, inteligente, e mal consegue falar quando está perto dela. muse, por outro lado, percebe o claro desconforto da bruxa, e não sabe se ela a detesta ou apenas não está sabendo lidar com um crush secreto.

. ⊹ “ DELICATE ”: (open to both) lyanna e muse se tornaram amigos, do tipo que algumas pessoas dizem que seriam um belo casal. os dois riem e fazem piada disso, mas só lyanna sabe o quão difícil é esconder que está interessada nelx. pior ainda é ver muse envolvidx com seus milhares de contatinhos, sem ter ideia do que causa em lyanna.

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͏ ͏ ͏ ͏⠀ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏⠀ ͏ ͏ ◜ ⠀inimizades.

. ⊹ “ MASTERMIND ”: (open to female) lyanna anda sendo subestimada por sua aparência doce, personalidade avoada e falta de experiência. ela acaba descobrindo que muse, uma bruxa mais velha e influente, a qual ela admira muito, anda fingindo ser sua tutora, mas está apenas trabalhando secretamente para impedir que lyanna alcance seu verdadeiro potencial. seja por medo de concorrência, vingança ou qualquer outro motivo, muse está usando todos os seus truques sujos e poder de manipulação para convencer lyanna de que a está ajudando.

. ⊹ “ KARMA ”: (open to both) lyanna ainda não faz a menor ideia, mas muse (qualquer espécie) sempre soube de sua existência, e de que ela estava presa em uma torre, e o motivo. poderia tê-la resgatado, mas não quis. agora, os dois se conheceram em arcanum, ficaram amigos, muse desenvolveu um senso de proteção com ela, sem coragem de admitir que poderia ter acabado com seu sofrimento anos antes.

. ⊹ “ I DID SOMETHING BAD ”: (open to both) muse (qualquer espécie) desenvolveu uma espécie de obsessão por lyanna, perseguindo-a e a observando de longe. ela está morrendo de medo, e não sabe se o interesse dele é por seus poderes, por ser nova ou qualquer que seja o motivo. mal sabem eles que, sem querer, ele tomou uma poção que ela estava praticando, e por isso a obsessão.

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͏ ͏ ͏ ͏⠀ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏⠀ ͏ ͏ ◜ ⠀outros.

Já deu para perceber que eu amo um plot inspirado numa música da Taylor, né? Então, aqui algumas músicas que eu também gostaria de um plot, mas não consegui incluir na lista:

wildest dreams, last kiss, all too well, better man, my tears ricochet, death by a thousand cuts, dear john, teardrops on my guitar, midnight rain, back to december, don't blame me

[magicxshopbangtan]

NEVA PLAY

Temos uma nova música no ar.

Eu fiquei bem sumida daqui, tantas coisas aconteceu nessas semanas, principalmente no fandom ARMY, o mês de agosto inteiro e começo de setembro está sendo meses difíceis para nós, principalmente nós B-ARMY's. Além de toda a situação com o Yoongi, a perseguição mídiatica, os antis agindo para prejudicar ele e o BTS e nenhum movimento realmente importante vindo das K-Armys para ajudar com isso, nós B-ARMY's ainda perdemos um dos nossos maiores meios de informação e socialização com os ARMY's do resto do mundo, não temos mais acesso ao Twitter e a nossa parte do fandom é extremamente importante por lá.

Quem usava o Twitter sabe que apesar de lá ser um lugar péssimo, querendo ou não, era lá que tínhamos nossas fontes de informação instantânea sobre os meninos, o lugar onde nos organizamos para realização de projetos, mostramos nosso apoio, lugar onde vinha o maior incentivo para os streams, votações e nos comunicavámos com o restante do fandom para nos unirmos. Para quem é fã, o Twitter sempre foi um lugar onde se recebe as informações em primeira mão, e nós B-ARMY's perdemos isso justamente bem quando os antis estão agindo com ainda mais hate no Yoongi e no BTS, bem no aniversário do Jungkook e no anúncio da nova colaboração entre Megan Thee Stallion e o Namjoon.

Tivemos que partir para outras redes sociais, se encontrar em algum lugar que pudéssemos dar continuidade ao nosso apoio e amor ao BTS e estamos dando nosso jeito, ainda tentando se acostumar e estar presente em várias redes socias já que o fandom acabou se espalhando sem o Twitter.

Enquanto passamos por isso, tivemos o anúncio de Neva Play, música da Megan Thee Stallion junto com o Namjoon. Já tivemos a Megan com o BTS lá em 2021, com o remix de Butter e foi uma das colaborações mais especiais que tivemos, Megan sempre teve um carinho muito grande pelos meninos, já cantou em um dos shows da tour Permission To Dance e tudo na colaboração foi incrível.

Ter Megan e Namjoon colaborando juntos nessa só podia sair Hit mesmo, com o Namjoon ainda no exército (infelizmente), a Megan movimentou tudo sobre o feat. Neva Play foi lançada dia 6 de setembro junto com um MV com o Namjoon em animação.

E Neva Play é um hit e tanto, o Namjoon veio com um rap e uma voz que não estávamos acostumados a ver, assim como a Megan disse em um tweet. Namjoon mostrou a sua voz num tom muito poderoso e soltou um PAVED THE WAY que mexeu com muita gente. Namjoon está sendo aclamado por seu rap em muitas postagens no Twitter, que infelizmente nós B-ARMY's não podemos ver diretamente, mas estamos recebendo as informações mesmo que um pouco atrasadas.

O fato é que o Namjoon é incrível em tudo que faz, Neva Play com a Megan é um presente e tanto para nós e que temos que dar muito valor. Sobre isso eu quero falar em outro post, porque merece muito atenção mas agora o importante é os streams, é o apoio que demonstramos.

Deêm muito streams em Neva Play, rodem as playlists, existem várias, não é um bicho papão dar stream nas músicas dos meninos, então chega de preguiça e apoiem todos os membros. Os streams de nós B-ARMY's são EXTREMAMENTE importantes para o chart global, nossos números contribuem muito para o aumento dos streams e das posições no chart global, não se esqueçam disso!

Aqui vai os links do MV e o link da música no Spotify:

[beardedmrbean]

In November, Geert Wilders' stridently anti-immigrant, anti-Muslim party swept the Dutch elections in what the media called a political earthquake.

The magnitude of his win came as a shock to the center and left parties in the Dutch legislature. They jointly decided that "Europe's most dangerous man" should never become prime minister.

The Dutch are not alone in seeking an institutional fix against hard-right populism. In legislatures across the European Union, politicians are erecting a "cordon sanitaire" against extremism -- a red-line tactic to block far-right parties from entering governing coalitions.

It's hardly enough, but it's an important first step.

Coalitions against extremism rose to prominence in the late 1980s, when Belgian parties signed a deal to exclude the extreme-right Vlaams Blok from government.

The resulting cordon sanitaire lasted for 30 years and evolved from a written deal to an unwritten convention. But it's become more difficult to maintain in the face of far-right mobilization. Nonetheless, the strategy is being tried in other countries, too.

21st-century populists

In the upcoming EU parliamentary elections in June, center and left groupings of European parliamentarians, known as MEPs, are planning a quarantine strategy to isolate the hard right in parliament. The prospects of success for this EU strategy are far from certain.

In Spain and Portugal, beleaguered governments are turning to anti-extremist coalitions, too.

In Portugal, a new Democratic Alliance government has been formed by center-right and socialist politicians who are working together to exclude Chega, the far-right party that holds the third-largest number of seats in the Portuguese legislature.

In a deeply controversial move, the Spanish socialist government is even prepared to work with Catalans indicted for crimes against the country's constitution. Prime Minister Pedro Sánchez apparently believes it's preferable to work with separatists than to turn the government over to authoritarian populists on the far right.

The weakness of this tactic lies in the fact that quarantine only deals with populists once they arrive in government.

Germany is practically alone in Europe in having a popular movement that opposes extremism in the streets.

Hundreds of thousands have marched against the anti-immigrant AfD. Even though the AfD polls at nearly 25% of decided voters and is predicted to win seats in the Reichstag this summer, it will be impossible for any established party to work with them.

Quarantine not a cure

Quarantine is always a half-measure. When populists win outright majorities, the cordon sanitaire becomes useless.

The United States, Poland and Brazil have elected populists. Establishment Democrats are trying to energize a lackluster presidential campaign by arguing they're the democratic wall against Donald Trump's MAGA movement. Such a tactic is a Hail Mary play in the polarized American two-party system.

Even so, Trump doesn't enjoy the benefit of being an unknown quantity for Republicans. Those who like him are true believers. The rest don't like him. But left-leaning and Arab-American Democrats are angry about President Joe Biden's military support for Israel and Benjamin Netanyahu's indiscriminate bombing of civilians in Gaza.

That means the progressive flank could stay home in November. The winner will likely be the candidate who is less hated by voters. Pro-democracy sentiments may not have much to do with it.

Anti-populist efforts abroad

In Poland, Donald Tusk and his coalition are trying to restore the independence of the judiciary and expel hard nationalists from top positions in the bureaucracy. They may succeed because Tusk has the support of Polish voters and the EU bureaucracy.

Brazil's quarantine strategy relies on the judiciary, which has been more effective than the U.S. courts. Former President Jair Bolsonaro and leading supporters have been barred from elected office for the next seven years.

Even so, the upper and lower houses of the legislature are still allied with Bolsonaro and they're resisting all of President Luiz Inacio Lula da Silva's major economic reforms. That said, the disgraced former president and key members of his administration have been accused of plotting a coup to remove Lula.

In Israel, the religious right holds a critical place in the wartime unity government. It has built a wall against the progressive parties -- a reverse quarantine. Even though Netanyahu is detested by a majority of Israelis and has been described as "the worst leader in Jewish history," he will be difficult to dislodge. The Oct. 7 Hamas attacks gave him yet another political life.

Democracy is also under major attack in countries like India, Hungary and Italy. The power structures in these countries make the quarantine tactic difficult, and all three have decades of struggle ahead.

It's always easier to build coalitions with a handful of parties filled with populist and self-interested cynics than it is to build a big tent of people who wish to uphold liberal institutions.

Revolt of the masses

Probably the biggest benefit of populism quarantines today is that they provide some breathing room to pro-democracy parties. How those parties use this borrowed time could determine the fate of nations.

In 1930, José Ortega y Gasset, the Spanish philosopher, wrote The Revolt of the Masses, arguing that spasmodic crises afflict all "peoples, nations and civilizations."

Revolts break through the political status quo as ordinary people confront political authority and bend the arc of history. In the post-Second World War era, citizens pushed for greater social, political and legal equality. The 1963 March on Washington, the Paris occupation of May 1968 and the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989 are three such iconic moments.

Those past uprisings didn't destabilize entire societies because their leaders were not cynical opportunists using anger to create disorder. They had concrete goals to create more just societies. As a result, these movements opened the door to creative political compromises.

Sowing disorder

The populist merchants of grievance have done the opposite, hollowing out political parties that now work against the constitutional order they were elected to uphold.

Mainstream political parties are seemingly losing their capacity to build consensus and defend democracy against conspiracy theories on social media.

The legitimacy of liberalism hangs in the balance. Whether quarantining populism via coalitions formed by weakened parties will barricade the door against populists is an open question.

Many populists, after all, are highly organized, well-funded by the billionaire class and skilled at sowing disorder. It's going to take much more than a legislative lock on the door to shore up our defenses. But it's incumbent upon the courageous Dutch and others to give it a shot.

[head-post]

Tusk, New Democracy, Liberal party celebrate major election victory

Despite the success of right-wing and radical right-wing parties, the main pro-European parties will still be the leading force in the European Parliament following Sunday’s election results.

Tusk celebrates victory

Polish Prime Minister Donald Tusk’s centrist party won its first electoral victory over a right-wing populist party in a decade, taking the most votes in European Parliament elections, official results released Monday showed, AP News reports.

Many viewed Tusk’s return to power last year as a rare case of a democratic party winning over populist and authoritarian forces. But while Sunday’s victory strengthened his position, the results also showed his lead is slim and support for the far-right is growing.

His Civic Coalition won 37.1 per cent of the vote. The nationalist Law and Justice party, which was in power from 2015 until last year and is led by Jaroslaw Kaczyński, won 36.2 per cent of the vote, showing the continued appeal of its conservative outlook to many Polish voters despite corruption scandals during its years in power.

The Confederation gets best results

Meanwhile, the Confederation posted its best result ever, coming third with 12.1 per cent – in line with an EU-wide surge in support for anti-EU nationalist parties.

One of the Confederate candidates who won a seat is Grzegorz Braun, the scandalous politician who last December snuffed out candles on a menorah lit in honour of the Jewish holiday of Hanukkah in the halls of Poland’s parliament.

New Democracy wins in Greece

Greece’s ruling centre-right party New Democracy (EPP) won the election but lost more than a million votes compared to last year’s national election, with the opposition unable to catch up.

New Democracy scored 27.7 per cent, well below the 33 per cent set by Greek Prime Minister Kyriakos Mitsotakis and well below the 41 per cent it scored in the July 2023 legislative elections, losing almost 1.1 million votes.

Winners and losers in Portugal

Portugal’s centre-right party (S&D) and liberal party (Renew) were the winners of Sunday’s European elections in Portugal, where, unlike most other EU countries, the far-right Chega (ID) party was defeated.

Although Portuguese voters voted for the Socialist Party, taking 11 of 18 constituencies and ahead of the Democratic Alliance (PSD-CDS-PPM, EPP), which won the general election three months ago, the party won eight of the 21 seats in the European Parliament, losing one seat compared to 2019 despite more votes.

Read more HERE

[its300am]

CineTag by @qglivro

Regras: Apenas responda às perguntas em um post próprio e marque um perfil para respondê-la também!

5 filmes favoritos:

Moana: Um Mar de Aventuras (2016) Dirigido por Ron Clements e John Musker Mamma Mia! (2008) Dirigido por Phyllida Lloyd Peixe Grande e Suas Histórias Maravilhosas (2003) Dirigido por Tim Burton O Que Fazemos Nas Sombras (2014) Dirigido por Taika Waititi e Jemaine Clement A Família Addams (1991) Dirigido por Barry Sonnenfeld

Último filme que assistiu:

O Menu (2022) Dirigido por Mark Mylod.

Um filme ainda não lançado que quer muito assistir:

Parte dois de Duna, um grande "VEM AÍ!" esperado que seja lançado em 2024. A direção é de Denis Villeneuve.

Último filme que viu no cinema:

Barbie (2023) Dirigido por Greta Gerwig. Vou pouquíssimo ao cinema, geralmente é muito barulhento, então não me sinto bem e prefiro assistir em casa.

Seu filme de terror favorito:

Halloween — A Noite do Terror (1978) Dirigido por John Carpenter. Sou muito apaixonada e revejo sempre que chega outubro.

Seu filme de comédia favorito:

Como já citei O Que Fazemos Nas Sombras (2014) no top 5, aqui vai um diferente: As Patricinhas de Beverly Hills (1995) Dirigido por Amy Heckerling.

Seu filme de super-herói favorito:

Não sou muito fã de filme de super-heróis, então vou roubar e colocar um anti-herói. Deadpool (2016) dirigido por Tim Miller.

Um ator/atriz que você assiste o filme só por ele estar no elenco:

Amanda Seyfried, me apaixonei por ela em Mamma Mia! lá em 2008 ou 2009 e nunca mais a larguei, tudo que ela faz estou lá batendo palma.

Seu filme da infância:

Trilogia de O Rei Leão, eu tinha um DVD com os três inclusos e fiz da vida da minha família um inferno assistindo eles o dia inteiro várias vezes.

Um filme que você odeia:

Toda a categoria de filmes estilo REC ou Bruxa de Blair. Eu infelizmente não consigo curtir, fico meio entediada.

Marcações: Sinta-se marcado se quiser fazer a tag.

[hipindiee]

Pela primeira vez eu vou falar sobre esse assunto que por muitos anos eu vivi dentro e fora de mim. É a primeira vez que eu realmente paro pra reconhecer que esse problema, esse fardo, me consome completamente.

Desde pequena eu vivi e passei por situações que nenhuma criança merecia passar, naquelas circunstâncias eu tive que aprender a conviver com inúmeras coisas que aconteciam ao meu redor e com o quanto isso me machucava. Mas, eu era uma criança e não entendia o que era e nem sabia como pedir ajuda, mas eu queria e mais ainda, eu precisava! Nas minhas falhas tentativas de socorro, adultos não eram capazes de perceber que uma criança sofre e se entristece como qualquer outra pessoa a única diferença é que a criança não consegue associar aquele turbilhão de coisas “ o problema que você tem é estudar “ até parece, e a gente engole esse discurso maldito, romantiza tanto, que as crianças parecem um monte de buraco vazio e sem emoções.

Crescer nessa bolha, com essa negligência que eu entendo que as pessoas da minha família que me amam não faziam de propósito mas que, não existia atenção e cuidado com o psicológico, questionei isso por tanto tempo, mas já passou.

Os anos se passaram, acumulando emoções, situações, sem ajuda, aprendendo a “ lidar “ com tudo sozinha. Foi assim que eu cresci, me tornei “ adulta “ cedo demais, aquela criança que não dava trabalho, que se esforçava ao máximo pra não decepcionar as pessoas que amava, que sofria, chorava em silêncio, e o resultado? Me tornei uma adulta que não sabe esternalizar o que sente, que não sabe pedir ajuda, que sente o abandono das pessoas, uma adulta cheia de problemas que não foram resolvidos, situações que não foram curadas, mas que acumulou tudo isso, acumulou choros, acumulou noites sem dormir, acumulou crises de ansiedade, acumulou excessos.

Mas a conta chega né? Uma hora ela chega e a gente toma aquele baque e não sabe o que fazer e nem como lidar, mesmo sabendo que isso sempre existiu. Eis então o diagnóstico, depressão. Pois é, eu estou com depressão, hoje 02/04/24 é meu primeiro dia lidando com isso com a consciência do que se trata de fato. Ontem 01/04/24 eu pedi ajuda, não aguentava mais, chorava escondido, entrava em desespero, não conseguia respirar e até meu sono eu já tinha perdido… pedi ajuda, pedi socorro e fui atendida, um homem, um médico e agora meu psiquiatra, ele viu o meu problema e o quanto eu vivo presa no meu passado, uma criança presa, assustada, com medo, deprimida…

Hoje foi meu primeiro dia tomando anti-depressivo, ainda não aceito totalmente que estou com depressão, tá sendo difícil ver a minha fragilidade, ver o quanto eu estou vulnerável e não posso fazer nada pra me proteger. Contei pros meus três amigos mais íntimos, pro meu chefe, e não sei como vou contar isso pra minha família, ainda não me sinto pronta pra contar na verdade, preciso lidar melhor com essa situação aos poucos e vê no que vai dá.

Se cuidem, cuidem dos seus filhos, escute o que o outro tem pra dizer, ajudem sempre que precisar… antes que uma tristeza vire uma depressão, depressão não tem cura. Vou ter que viver com esse fardo pro resto da minha vida, a diferença que agora tratando ela…

É isso.

[rhanything]

Os direitos autorais da coca sobre a arte do urso bipolar do ártico

"O processo de reartificar um sonho."

O grande ator hiberna, espera indiferença

O sado-masoquista, sangrando, vem de banquete à mesa

Com uma maçã na boca

Congelada

Achando ser di Caprio

Sendo Wagner Moura

Espera que se aclime

Com a ilusão nos olhos

Não quer deixar seu rosto

Pois ambos os opostos

Agora que estão juntos

Dependem um do outro

Até que ambos mortos

Se entregam sem seus corpos

E sem noção alguma

Brigando pra ser próton

E ambos os elétrons

Que quando estão unidos

Não fazem mais perguntas

Pois agora se importam

Com o que um dia foram

E o que cobria os ossos

Poeira do seus cosmos

De estrela de nêutrons

Se comparando aos peixes

Não ligam se tem cálcio

Ou se é supermassivo

Engole a luz do sabre

Não sobra George Lucas

Fez casa de tijolos

Não ligam nem um pouco

Ninguém espera o lobo

Pois subestimam sopro

Mesmo chegando em barco

Pois cresceram com porcos

E mesmo que na lama

Precisam de lavagem

Acostumado em fossa

Vivem das próprias fezes

E mesmo quando em nave

Em rave

Ainda que eu navegue

Enterprise

Não vai haver quem teve

Tão perto quanto a noite

Tão longe quanto o norte

Tão quanto em uma frase

Esteve

Mas não por ouro ou sorte

Chegou aonde a côrte

Que venerada aos montes

Deixou seu sacerdote

Não tem mais apetite

Pois quem tem boca mente

De tão ingnorante

Agora é viajante

Em Santa Sé, distante..

E aqui não há dilema

Sendo que a vida é uma

Não vai restar problema

Nem poema

Que explique

O quanto a estrada em suma

Ensina

Sem nem impor bandeira

Se pra cruzar fronteira

Vão te parar na beira

E sempre em curitiba

Taxando o que era nosso

O sonho americano

Um pouco de floripa

Mas quem pagou seu preço

Quer escolher poltrona

Ingresso de cinema

Garganta na platéia

Quer na primeira fila

Reconquistar bahia

Ver quem chega primeiro

Enquanto o ar respira

Olhando o quanto esforço

Pular do precipício

Achando que é negócio

Se ja nasceu caindo

O cara que é seu sócio

Quer um pedaço inteiro

Do que não fez esforços

Do santo quer um maço

Se mal sentou no bonde

Querendo ser primeiro

E de João sem braço

Pisou nos próprios vícios

E sem fazer esforços

De não pisar nos nossos

Pra não perder seu tempo

Outro lugar de berço

Não enche o que restava

Tampouco o que gastava

Era o que lhe bastava

Por isso não tem nada

Na sua fôrma de gelo

Quem quer da vida implora

Comprando até colônia

Roubando até madeira

E quando a noite chega

E o que gastei com telha

Troquei pelo que espelha

Turista, em vila velha 😰

Brindando até corona

Pede bebida cara

Pede parte da goma

Pra por limão em água

Que carcará não toma

Pensando que é penacho

Ninguém quer ser caçado

E mesmo assim folgado

Quer ter o seu pedaço

De volta o anti-braço

Tirando sem ter dado

E mesmo que roubado

Alega ter tentado

E quem não tem telhado

Prefere crer no estado

Acreditando em teto

E morre condenado

Dexando a conta aos netos

Não quer saber quem sabe

Pois sabiá tem medo

E a consciência agora

Perdida pois se afoga

Cantando até mais alto

Na embreagues da alma

Depois de por impulso

Chutar o banco em baixo

Do que segura e acorda

Enforca

Assim afunda o barco

Sem ter terra avistado

Porque se apoia em bancos

E de tabela em juros

Mal contados

E não sobrando mata

E assim depois se mata

Pra não pagar o pato

Arranca o próprio bico

Consigo insatisfeito

Quer ter seu próprio luto

Pobre pássaro

Morreu sem ter um ninho

E sempre pisa em falso

O que era no começo

O seu melhor amigo

Lembrando qual memória

Esquece o próprio traço

Depois do urso pardo

Vem o que hiberna em gelo

Que até no equinócio

Na borda desse mundo

Diz congelando o inútil

Só pra nao ler prefácio

De bipolar que rosna

Sua própria raiva aquieta

Depois de ter pangéia

Entrega e não disfarça

Mesmo que dependesse

De carregar nas costas

Depois de ler os restos

Correndo atrás do livro

Sintetizando o incrível

Não se sentiu mais forte

Não por viver na estante

Só pra ganhar montante

Prefere ser tentado

Ao pão francês pisado

Prefere ser mais pobre

Inda que mastigável

Pausou sessão da tarde

Com fome

E fala de ir pra marte

Depois da própria morte

Não há quem salve a côrte

Pois essa nunca morre

Já que não sobra bote

Pra quem jogou a corda

Pra ancorar seu casco

Pois Deus afunda o barco

Acaba sendo a isca

De quem jogou faísca

E nem país prendado

De ser emprimeirado

Viu titanic em raso

Nem passageiro a bordo

Que encontasse vivo

De atravessar a ponte

E quem gostar que goste

Depois de tantas mortes

Quer fazer o contrário

Virar documentário

Mas não muda o cenário

Depois de sedentário

Procura um dicionário

De sobrenome Aurélio

Espera que isso intere

Que a coca-cola o mate

Espera que um canário

Mesmo que engaiolado

Sempre das mesmas cores

Cantando o que o manteve

No sistema verbário

Até que um verbo mude

E herbologia o molde

Até que nasça crista

Se em um milhão de anos

Nem trisca

Eu só mudo o que faço

E o resto é background

Quando o segundo round

Quando o mortal kombat

Permite aquele golpe

Enquanto o Cage bate

Mas sempre em hollywood

Precisa-se de arte

Fazer dublê de morte

Por isso o verbo existe

De formigar o braço

Só quer morrer de infarto

Mas nunca quis de fardo

Pois só sabe o que é manto

Mas não tocou com dedo

Teorizando tanto

Todo centro da terra

Não sabe o que é real

Por isso chega perto

Mas não explica o quase

Tentanto entender Einstein

E tudo que descobre

É relatividade

Talvez por isso a prole

Não vinga, nem floresce

Sobra quem tem nocaute

Quer certeza da sorte

E quando chega a noite

Que simplesmente esquece

Sobrevivendo o assoite

Sonhando sempre a noite

Pois pra viver é tarde

Mas pra uivar, dente de leite

Mesmo que cedo deite

Marsupiando a parte

Que nunca mais esquece

Só muda a cor do esmalte

Se quando chega a peste

Tem sempre aquela parte

Que tampa o que permite

De respirar a morte

De sorte

Que as vezes filtra em arte

Clareia o que anoitece

Querendo o que as falte

O que eles mesmo explodem

Não tem bomba que force

E como sempre o forte

Vive sonhando a noite

E de criar seu norte

Não vai haver quem peite

Sem que articule o dorso

Como se estrigiforme

Se não tiver resquício

De ameaça viva

Se não houver quem priva

Só espera que dissolva

Em coca

E o ártico sem pressa

De se fingir de morto

Não vai haver quem caça

Se não houver nem traça

Ou peça

Se não houver quem sonhe

Se não houver quem viva.

~rhanything

[lepasfe]

ATENÇÃO, GATILHOS DE V|0LÊNCI@

Eu sou uma mulher parda, b!ssexu@l, ateia, gorda, com doenças em tratamento e estáveis físicas e psicológicas, da classe trabalhadora, com crenças em ideias de €squ€rd@ (como o f€minismo, @ntif@scism0, @ntirr@cism0, antib0nson@rism0, anti-xen0fobia e afins), 29 anos e completamente cansada emocionalmente de todos os preconceitos que vivo por ser quem sou, mesmo quando estou em silêncio, sem expressar ideias. Eu sei que sou privilegiada pois em grande maioria essas violências são veladas e em geral tenho uma vida confortável e com os mínimos direitos gerais descritos na constituição. Mas como é de conhecimento de todos eu falo bastante...

Pessoas ao redor acreditam que pelo fato d'eu ser obesa, ou simplesmente não padronizada, é liberdade suficiente para palpitar sobre a única coisa que realmente tenho de minha (meu corpo) sem nenhum pudor. Essa é minha morada, e ninguém tem o direito de falar sobre ela disfarçando com o pretexto de estar preocupado com a minha saúde, afinal, e minha mente? Há preocupação se os comentários violentos (e sutis) gordofóbicos podem desencadear dor e sofrimento? A obesidade pode ser o sintoma de uma doença ou a moléstia em si, mas uma coisa é certa: suas causas são inúmeras e apenas uma equipe multiprofissional pode diagnosticar corretamente.

Eu passei uma pré adolescência, adolescência e juventude com crise de ansiedade, problemas com a minha imagem, dificuldade para ter relacionamentos amorosos com outras pessoas por isso (além de mais alguns outros motivos). E nessa grande parte da minha vida onde eu estava magra, com o famoso (e desatualizado) IMC em dia, recebia elogios mil, entretanto com rara pergunta de como eu estava, de verdade, sendo que estava passando por depressão e crises de ansiedade constantemente. Entenda, não romantizo, obesidade é uma doença crônica, que desencadeia outras doenças graves, mas você não sabe o motivo, se ela não é por causa, se tem cura, se está sendo tratada, entre milhões de outra peculiaridades. E pior, o pré julgamento pode dizer que uma pessoa está obesa (o que acontece quase que sempre) mas ela está saudável e só os padrões de beleza que estão desfigurados, tortos, levando até mesmo pessoas não obesas a serem consideradas assim. Hoje eu estou caminhando para ficar bem dentro de mim, e não é por eu estar emagrecendo, que eu vou mudar de opinião.

Todos os dias de trabalho eu tenho que respirar fundo depois que alguém questiona, de forma disfarçada ou direta, se eu sou mesmo a médica em atendimento, porque eu "não tenho cara de médica" ou "que pareço uma enfermeira" (aliás, beijo para essa categoria linda, e é só uma honra ser comparada, se não fosse os preconceitos embutidos). Usualmente estou em uma sala de atendimento, sozinha, usando um jaleco (escrito meu nome e embaixo "médica"), as vezes com estetoscópio 🩺 no pescoço, com um carimbo /bloco de receita / caneta / computador na minha frente sobre a mesa, porém com cabelos cacheados, olhos marrons, pele naturalmente pigmentada de tom bege claro, testa larga e lábios amplos. E novamente adultos (nunca crianças -que por vezes entram gritando ao me ver, temendo uma injeção - e adolescentes) com poder de dedução intacto questionam "quando o médico chega?", "É aqui que faz o exame? Ah... Você é a médica...", " entendi, então depois eu volto tá?" , entre outras frases que podem não parecer racistas, e sim implicância minha ou teoria da conspiração. Mas veja, isso não acontece de vez em quando. Eu repito: é rotina. E o que escuto de alguns da branquitude é " o que importa é que vc é uma boa médica", "eles não tem nada a ver com a sua vida, não liga, eu não ligaria", "você lutou tanto, não precisa provar nada pra ninguém"... Mas aí é que tá, eu tenho, senão eu não entro em hospitais e ambulatórios pra trabalhar ou até estudar, e eu amo minha profissão (apesar de trabalhar muitas vezes de forma culposa: sem intenção de trabalhar haha). Se pessoas falassem constantemente que você é similar a um sapo, um dia você não se indignaria (se a resposta é não, sinto em dizer que está mentido pra si próprio e está apenas esperando pela princesa pra te beijar)?

Eu não conheço uma mulher que negue ter sofrido violência por ser mulher (mesmo que essa tente suavizar ou justificar a ocorrência). Recebo queixas de pacientes que são chamadas de histéricas ou que são aconselhadas a tratar suas supostas crises de ansiedade apenas por se impor em seus postos de trabalho. Conheço mulheres que precisavam abortaram (até mesmo hipócritas e julgadoras) por diversos motivos (principalmente por doença) e não tiveram nem o direito a assistência de saúde. Outras que sofreram violência doméstica, quase sempre de familiares próximos. Aquelas que sofreram assédio sexual se calando e sendo caladas. Então porque seria diferente comigo? Pra mim, os assédios sexuais foram mais marcantes que graves: um "colega" de faculdade se sentava ao meu lado, mesmo eu tentando evitar, colocava a mão sobre minha coxa e apertava, como se fosse um ato íntimo e despretensioso entre amigos; um canalha que se dizia estudante de odonto me beijou forçadamente e sem permissão, machucando meu rosto e pescoço; um médico, em um hospital dedicado ao cuidado de mulheres, roçou sua perna mesmo que eu me afastasse. Todos brancos, ricos, bem instruídos, que estão em posição de cuidar de pessoas. "Você devia ter denunciado". Como? Nas mesmas esferas e tempo eu via mulheres com dinheiro, advogado particular, brancas e estruturadas denunciando tais lixos radioativos humanos e as instituições, que deveriam estar em nossos lados, ignoravam num piscar eterno de olhos. Imagina eu, ainda mais naquela época. Cuidei de mim e tentei cuidar das que estavam ao meu redor. 

Eu peço também desculpas a qualquer pessoa que tenha sido violada por mim em uma situação em que você estava vuneravel. É fato, que possivelmente, o que eu fiz não se compara a agressões por aqueles que estão em todas as situações de poder (biopsicoeconomicossocial), nem por isso eu deixo de assumir e tentar mudar. Procuro usar dos meus pequenos privilégios para erguer os que estão a margem, pra falsa/inconscientente compensar meus passados e futuros erros.

A bissexualidade é absurdamente engraçada e sensível, chamada de "indecisão", "fase", "confusão", na tentativa desesperada de enfiar esse indivíduo novamente para a heter0ssexu@lid@de. O LGBπQ|@+ é um monstro de letras, algo difícil de mais pra decorar, "não existia isso antes". Minha vó de mais de 90 anos, vai discordar de você: "oxe, sempre teve, mas antes era escondido minina". Porque a gente não lê um pouco sobre? Vê tiktok ou reels sobre! Talvez assim, vc não diga erroneamente que eu não sou BI por eu ter casado com um homem. Foi coincidência, porque se amar alguém fosse escolha, eu ia dar preferência pra mulheres ou não b!n@rios, pois gostar de homem chega até ser castigo ( te amo Adri). 

E para os reacionários, por favor, entendam: ser de esquerda não significa ser vagabundo, comunista comedor de criancinha, ser adorador do d€mônio, a favor do atual presidente ou de qualquer corrupção política... Talvez vc seja de esquerda e não sabe. Vc gosta de ver o meio ambiente limpo e sonha em comer sem agrotóxicos? Tem desejo de ver todo mundo com escola, saúde, comida na mesa, um teto sobre a cabeça, sendo amado pela sua família e amigos, que não exista medo de andar na rua, que crianças inocentes não m0rr@m de bala perdida.... Se vc disse que não, vc é cruel e patife. Se você disse que sim, não se preocupe, não vai precisar concordar com @b0rt0, libertação de dr0g@s, casamento h0m0ssexu@l (mas eu concordo) . Dentro de pessoas não há necessidade de ser igual com todos. As diferenças também ajudam a pensar sobre as desigualdades.

Na função de profissional da saúde eu tenho que respeitar as crenças religiosas, se é benéfico ao meu paciente, eu vou estimular a buscar o seu norte espiritual, pois é mais que provado por pesquisas que ajuda e muitas vezes é necessário em tratamentos e curas. Eu não sou do d€môni0, não cutuo coisas maléficas, eu me considero, de forma geral (nunca de manhã), um bom ser humano. Só porque eu não acredito nas mesmas divindades que você, eu não mereço ser respeitada (principalmente dentro da sua mente)?

Eu acredito que pessoas são um misturado intenso de coisas boas, ruins e indiferentes, com tendências pra cada uma em cada momento. Também penso que não existe essa história de que as pessoas não tem capacidade de mudam: somos massa de modelar, só que dá trabalho fazer uma nova  forma de si próprio, quando acreditava que já estava pronto e endurecido; somos barro, não mármore.

Se o que digo te afasta, tudo bem, nada agrada a todos, nem Nutella. Mas não significa que não estou aqui pra conversar quando quiser e eu puder. Não é frescura o que eu digo, se pensa assim, seu afastamento é uma via dupla de conveniência, seguiremos mais saudáveis.

[plethoraworldatlas]

‘El Loco’ wins landslide victory in Argentina that experts say shows scale of frustration with Peronist status quo

Luminaries of the global far right are in raptures over Javier Milei’s thumping election victory in Argentina which experts predict will turn Buenos Aires into a new stomping ground for the populist radical right.

Donald Trump and Jair Bolsonaro led the merrymaking after their Argentinian ally trounced his rival, the Peronist finance minister Sergio Massa, by nearly 3 million votes in Sunday’s presidential election. The former US president predicted Milei would “truly make Argentina great again” while Brazil’s ex-president applauded a victory for “honesty, progress and freedom”.

Bolsonarista and Mileísta activists predicted Milei’s win would be the first in a trio of rightwing conquests that would see Trump and Bolsonaro reclaim power in 2024 and 2026.

In his first post-victory interview on Monday, Milei announced he would travel to the US and Israel – where he has promised to move Argentina’s embassy from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem – before being sworn in on 10 December, alongside his ultra-conservative vice-president elect Victoria Villarruel.

Bolsonaro announced he would attend Milei’s inauguration in Buenos Aires and posted footage of a pally video call with Argentina’s president-elect. “I’m really happy,” Bolsonaro told the radical libertarian economist. “You have a big job ahead of you … and it’s a job that goes beyond Argentina,” Brazil’s former leader added. “Gracias!” Milei replied.

Unlike Bolsonaro, a professional politician who posed as an anti-establishment outsider to win power in 2018, Milei is a genuine newcomer to the world of politics. Born in Buenos Aires in 1970, he played in a Rolling Stones cover band and found fame as a foul-mouthed economic pundit on Argentinian television before being elected to congress in 2021 for his libertarian party Libertad Avanza (Freedom Advances). Milei’s mercurial personality, expletive-ridden onscreen outbursts and Britpop-style hairdo have cemented his reputation as ‘El Loco’ (The Madman).

From Bogotá and Santiago to Lisbon and Madrid, other ultra-conservative figures voiced delight at Milei’s landslide victory over the centrist Massa, by 14.47m to 11.51m votes.

André Ventura, the leader of Portugal’s far-right Chega! (Enough!), celebrated Milei’s “struggle to defend society” and Matteo Salvini, the leader of Italy’s far-right League, sent his congratulations. Santiago Abascal, the leader of Spain’s far-right party Vox, said Milei had opened “a path of future and hope … for Argentines and all of Latin America”.

Hungary’s president Katalin Novák congratulated Milei on a “great victory”.In South America, the Chilean ultra-conservative politician José Antonio Kast congratulated Milei for his “resounding triumph”, writing: “The reconstruction of Argentina starts now”.

The Colombian senator María Fernanda Cabal called Milei’s victory a victory for “sanity, common sense [and] the hope of a rebirth for Argentina”. “Once again Latin America’s depredating left has been defeated.”