#be so for fucking real. our lives have always depended on this. you only just started caring about your own.

[pocketsizedquasar-3]

hillary won the popular vote and still was not president lmao. idk why y’all keep forgetting this.

kamala is presently repeating the dems’ 2016 ‘strategy’ of catering to right wingers and ‘never trump’ republicans while completely abandoning progressives. she is priding herself on being further right on issues like immigration than trump. don’t be shocked pikachu face when it doesn’t work for dems this time just like it didn’t work for them last time.

the choice is not between “a Black woman and a white supremacist.” the choice is between a white supremacist and a while supremacist. stop saying “Black woman” about kamala as if that’s any meaningful distinction when she is just as much an active, gleeful agent of white supremacy as any white person in her position. the fact that you can agree that yes, having a white supremacist president is “the worst possible outcome” and then happily vote for a white supremacist just because she happens to not herself be white is ridiculous. you don’t actually care about white supremacy.

you all tried the “push biden/dems left”thing four years ago (and for the past several elections). this has Not worked out.

people aren’t voting for Kamala because SHE IS COMMITTING GENOCIDE. she is actively, happily committing genocide. she has over and over again shown how happy she is to continue committing genocide. she has over and over again shown she has no intentions to stop continuing to commit genocide. and why should she, when you all have gladly and readily (since the start of the genocide over a year ago) been yelling about how you’ll vote for any dem no matter what? no matter how many people they gleefully slaughter?

kamala and the democrats would rather lose the election than stop committing genocide. multiple polls have shown that calling for an arms embargo and a ceasefire would be enough to guarantee their win in necessary swing states. they would rather continue to burn palestinian children alive and carpet bomb hospitals than win the election. they have very clearly and unequivocally decided that losing the election is not as important to them as continuing to commit genocide. if they do not care enough about winning to do the single thing that the majority of their party voters (hell, the majority of all voters in the US) want (you know, the responsibility of a democratically elected entity — to respond to the wishes of the majority they represent), then why should i care about them winning? what makes you think that a party which actively refuses to listen to the majority of its constituents in order to continue slaughtering civilians is going to listen to you on Anything? on climate, COVID, immigration, anything? why do you trust the people committing genocide to ‘defend’ any sorts of rights?

this party cares more about slaughtering brown people than it does about any responsibilities it has to you as the people who vote for it. why the fuck should i care about them?

vote for whoever the fuck you want, but stop pretending you’re doing anyone, especially palestinians, any favors.

white liberals are a poison.

due to systemic oppression, usamerican leftists don't currently have the political power to instate a leftist president. we do, however, have enough power to make one of two candidates lose the election. we could use this power to make the white supremacist lose to the black woman, or we could use it to make the black woman lose to the white supremacist. the obvious choice for leftists would be to prioritize making the white supremacist lose, but tumblr users have devised a loop hole, where they agitate primarily for making the black woman lose, but omit the detail about who she would be losing to. this makes their stance more palatable to people who correctly believe that having a white supremacist president would be the worst possible outcome.

[4dbeingguide]

let’s talk about:

doubts.

thank you guys for all the love y’all gave my previous post! i have addressed this topic extensively in my previous posts but i feel like it is worth a post of its own. we all have doubts regardless of where you are in your manifestation journey. here is some advice on how to deal with them.

⚠️ disclaimer ⚠️: there is are no cure-all solutions for doubts other than the ones you discover yourself. blogs and manifestation tips can only make recommendations but you have to sit down with yourself and understand your own psyche so you can figure out what works for you. also please excuse any errors with my grammar lol

what are doubts?

“doubt: (a feeling of) not being certain about something, especially about how good or true it is.”

- cambridge dictionary

why do we experience doubts in LOA?

we’ve spent a good majority of our lives believing that the physical world/3D is independent of our minds. these beliefs tend to stick with us even when we learn that the opposite is the truth. however, it’s perfectly possible to flush them out or minimize them.

how do i deal with doubts?

depends on the doubt in question. let’s go over some the types of doubts you can get. please remember that some of your doubts might not appear over here and that’s perfectly fine. it’s still perfectly possible to defeat them. let’s get into it:

1. doubts about the legitimacy of LOA

in other words, “what if LOA isn’t real?”. there are multiple ways to deal with these doubts, it all comes down to whatever sticks with you the best.

the scientific way

if your doubts want scientific proof that the LOA is real, i have some links on this post that might help you. one of these has links that will take you to a bunch of scientific articles and books that prove the existence and legitimacy of LOA.

the spiritual way

some of us have a more spiritual outlook on life and that’s perfectly fine. many ancient spiritual practices practiced some form of LOA. a lot of research on these communities and their beliefs might help.

the anecdotal way

if your doubts want proof through experiences, reading success stories is an amazing way to start. @loasuccessarchive compiles many amazing success stories that might motivate you. but what i would recommend the most is starting a success story list of your own (and you can include stuff you haven’t seen in the 3D because you live in the 4D, i talk more about this in the post i linked above). your own experiences that you can verify are true will have a more powerful impression on you.

please remember that everybody has individual preferences even if they are not listed above!

2. doubts on whether you have your desire or not

i have addressed this in the post i linked so i’m just gonna give a quick summary. if you have it in the 4D, you have it. you are 4 dimensional and you live in the 4D, you just perceive it in 3 dimensions. don’t rely on the 3D for approval cause it’s an illusion. the 4D is real, the 3D isn’t. something can happen in the 3D but still not be true, that’s why revision exists. but if it happens in the 4D, it’s happened unless you change it.

3. doubts on whether you can manifest

this is different from number 1 in the sense that this doubt believes that everybody else (those people you see with the success stories) can manifest but you can’t. this is laughably false. if you weren’t able to manifest you wouldn’t be alive. the mind is reality and creates the illusion you perceive as the physical world, that is a constant. you are always manifesting. LOA is just you picking what to manifest (which is perfectly possible).

methods to use when dealing with doubts

1. research

- researching on why your doubts are false may greatly help you in defeating them.

2. rants & inner debates

- rants are basically just angry and aggressive talks one gives to their doubts. “STOP FUCKING CHECKING THE 3D!” can count. you don’t have to always use ranting especially when it doesn’t help but to each their own. if it works for you, have at it! just make sure to put your mental health first.

- inner debates on the other hand are calm and civilized talks with your doubts. it involves listening to your doubts (but not believing them) and debunk them in level headed manner. this may help people who want to get over their doubts through logic and reason.

3. the “i can doubt it all i want” method

- i use this all the time and think it’s very worth sharing. it involves telling yourself something to the effect of “i can doubt it all i want, (insert desire) is an objective fact”. think of your desire like a blue shirt you’re wearing for example. you can ask yourself “is the shirt really blue?” all you want but that won’t change the fact the shirt is blue.

4. the “as ______ is true, so is my desire” method

- this is pretty simple. it’s basically taking an objective fact you accept and applying that same attitude your desire. it goes something like this: “as the sky is blue right now, my SP loves me” for example.

5. reprioritization

- a lot of our doubts come from the belief that something is only valid if it happens in the 3D. those beliefs that make the 3D the top priority make you constantly rely on the 3D which can lead to checking and doubts. all you have to do is make the 4D your top priority/end goal since that’s where you live. you live in the 4D. the 3D doesn’t have shit to do with you.

conclusion

doubts are perfectly normal and there are multiple ways to get rid of them. please be patient and kind to yourself as you try to do so. wishing all of u the best 🫶

[seraphicsmilodon]

🐺 lonewolfsince2024 Follow

Got a Howlr ping. Wish me luck.

#firstmeet #newpackmate? #prayingtoluna

🌒 werewolfofparistexas Follow

Remember to take a backpack with all the essentials if you plan on shifting together.

Spare clothes, any pre-or-post shift medications, enough wet-naps for you /and/ your partner, and a quick-reference card to make sure your strains are pack-compatible.

#practice_safe_shifting

🌙 bornnotbitten Follow

Petitioning the spirits to grant OP better luck!

Howl to charge, reblog to cast.

#spirithowler #requestritualsinmydms

🐺 lonewolfsince2024 Follow

Thanks for all the support.

#thankswereblr

🐺 lonewolfsince2024 Follow

UGH- Every single time I get my hopes up. He's another fucking bitechaser!

Fuck it, I'm done, new URL.

#lonewolf

🌒 werewolfofparistexas Follow

Depending on your strain of lycanthropy, neglecting pack-bonding instincts could potentially have a severe impact on your mental health.

Remember that you can always find your local therianthrope help hotline with a basic internet search, and it's their job to connect you with any resources you may be needing in your experience as a werewolf.

#mental_health #protect_vulnerable_shifters

🌗 fenrircallsmedaddy Follow

The problem isn't OP's instinctual needs, it's that bitechaser culture keeps forcing their way into what are supposed to be were-only spaces.

#wolvesonlybeyondthispoint

😍 betaneedstobebitten696969 Follow

WHAT'S WRONG IS THAT YOU KEEP GATEKEEPING THE FUCKING BITE!

If a dude wants your strain, just let him have it. How hard is it to bite down, lick the wound, and congratulate your new wolf-bro?

#spreadthewolf #alwayslickthewound

🦁 everythingthemoonlighttouches Follow

This is exactly why so many of us are afraid to openly live as shifters. Nobody wants to be hounded by self-destructive humans who fetishize their inner beast.

#wereblr #werecatsarewerestoo

☠️ dracolitch4unlyfe Follow

Mortals looking to get turned are a problem in all monster spaces. Esp. If your curse is viewed as one of the "sexy" ones

#justmonsterproblems

🌑 ragabash420

Maybe the real pack bond is our shared trauma over bitechasers.

#newmoon-newshitpost

[eevees-hobbies]

Just hear me out… you already having a baby w the bofurin and shishitoren boys (loml big dick Togame) and saying “our baby is so cute, i want another one” and they’re like “yeah? you want me to give you another baby?” And then boom they’re fucking another baby into you 🤭 (nobody look at me PLS)

Author’s Note: Part of the “Let That Man Breed You 2024” campaign! 

Content Warning: TW: Pregnancy. TW: Sexualization of the Pregnant Body. TW: Body Changes As a Result of Pregnancy. Heavy breeding kink, lactation fetish, Togame likes you dependent on him while you’re pregnant. He calls you mama. Getting your brains fucked out, mention of creampie. And as always, every pregnancy is different, and your mileage may vary! Minors Do Not Interact. 

Word Count: 1.2K

Babies can be fairly precarious things. They consume your life as soon as you conceive them, taking up real estate in your womb, wreaking havoc on your senses, and using your bladder as their personal trampoline. And when they’re born? You eat, sleep, and breathe “baby” because “baby” is your new way of life.

But do you know what else babies are good at? When they look at you with big, bright eyes, squeezing your finger in their small, delicate hand, and giving you a sweet giggle, they are remarkably good at convincing you that those sleepless nights weren’t so bad. Witching hour? More like party hour! Foul-smelling diapers? You don’t need your sense of smell anyway!

Beautiful black curls, chubby cheeks, and doe-sized emerald green eyes are to blame for the position you’re in–literally and figuratively speaking, of course.

You found yourself turning to Togame after putting your little one to sleep, your mouth already moving before your brain could truly comprehend the weight of your words: “He’s so cute, Jo. I want to make another one.”

Famous last words and all that.

And that’s why you’re now bent over, face-down, and ass perched as high as a back arch will allow in front of the mirror in your shared bedroom with Togame’s cock buried so deep inside your cunt that your eyes are watering.

“Mmm, you want me to put another baby in you, mama?”

You bite your lip, hiccuping through the intensity of him stirring your guts, and give him a nod. You can see his face in the reflection of the mirror—he’s brandishing his signature lazy, half-smile, but his eyes are as if in a trance as they sweep over your body, admiring the way your juicy cunt swallows his cock with each hard backshot he delivers. His cock-head is repeatedly bullying the spot that makes you cry out with each thrust, feeling so good that your thighs have been trembling since you both started and show no sign of stopping anytime soon.

“Y-yeah, baby! W-wanna girl this time!”

He grunts, his hand grabbing a fistful of your ass and not regretting being rough in the slightest as each plea, demand, whimper, grunt, and whine he elicits from you only makes him more entranced.

He loves how you ask—and beg—for him to breed you. Togame had always considered himself a simple man. Kinks? Eh, he had preferences, sure, and certain things got him more riled up than most, but he became a changed man as soon as you became pregnant with his son.

It makes him a different, less in-control being thinking about your belly growing round again, the cute waddle that you’ll develop because you can’t see your feet, and this is one of the more critical and selfish reasons, but he loves that you’ll need him for absolutely everything.

“Togame, help me stand up.”

“Ugh, Togame, please help me tie my shoe.”

“Togame, need yoooooou.”

And while none of those reasons may be sexual in nature–maybe the desire for your dependency on him might be, but that’s an analysis for a different day–there are sexual fantasies and kinks that he is able to live out while you’re carrying his child. 

He loves having you ride him, fully pregnant, as you bounce on his dick. At first, you were hesitant to do so, scared that the added weight of the additional human housed inside you would be too much, but he simply grabbed your hand and guided your wrist to his mouth, where he placed a trail of soft, languid kisses.

“You don’t need to worry about any of that. Now, ride me, pretty girl.”

And when you finally got out of your own head? Trivial thoughts about your new body vanished because how can anyone focus with 9 inches of cock buried inside of them? Definitely not you!

Togame looked up at you and swore that if he died at that moment, he might not be too upset about it. His hands cupping your already swollen and heavy breasts as you grip and grind at his cock is the closest he’s ever felt to cumming inside of you faster than he ever thought possible.

“Baby,” he coos, “you’re doing so good bouncin’ on my dick, but say the word, and I’ll take over.”

He loves how wide your hips have gotten after carrying and birthing your first child, his hands always somehow finding a way to squeeze you there, even in public. People have to look away because when he does it, it feels so intimate and laced with a sexual undertone. 

He just can’t help it because, fuck, does motherhood look good on you. 

And Togame absolutely loses his mind when you come to him, wincing in pain because the baby didn’t drink enough of your milk, so now your breasts are rock-hard, and you need relief.

“Please help me, Togame,” you whimper, voice straining to fully verbalize what you need, so you raise your hands to your chest and gently motion to your breasts. 

And to Togame, the sight is glorious; your breasts struggling to fit in your shirt and nipples managing to leak breast milk even through your padded bra? If only you knew the unholy thoughts that flow in this man’s head when you come to him in such a vulnerable state.

He��d rest his head in your lap, looking up at your darkened nipples, surrounded by a puffy areola, the tip now flowing with droplets of thick, fresh breast milk. He’ll latch his mouth around the sensitive bud, sucking in mouthfuls while his other hand squeezes the other neglected nipple, streams of milk squirting out as you run your fingers through his hair.

“Thank you, baby, that feels so good.” 

And he loves the way people ogle your big belly in public as they can’t help but stare because even in the womb, Togame gives you big babies. He loves knowing that they’re thinking about him stuffing you full of his seed, creampieing you an insurmountable amount of times to get you so round, so big, so sexy. 

“Don’t worry, mama. I got ya’ I know exactly what you need.”

He delivers hard smacks to your ass, making the fat of it ripple and bounce against him as he presses his palm on your shoulder and pushes you down, your cheek now buried in the plush rug on your floor as Togame bends a long leg at your side to give him better leverage.

As your mind goes blank, and a sliver of drool escapes the corner of your mouth because god, he’s so deep, and even as you try and shift under him, the hand on your shoulder is unwavering.

“Now, now, mama. This is what you wanted, right? What you asked for? Just relax for me, and I’ll do allllll the work.”

Everything about him is just so big, his frame, his 9 inches of thick cock, and his heavy balls. It’s just so much! But you have to take it all if you want him to give you another baby. 

And to Togame, you look so good like this—ethereal even—fucked out on his cock that’s drilling into you, heavy tits squished against the floor, and so willing to take everything he has to offer you.

“Mmm, here it comes, mama. Ya ready for your first load of the night?” 

“Gonna give you that baby girl I promised.” 

“You lookin’ at yourself in the mirror, baby? Get a good look cuz you’ll be knocked up and swollen in a few months.”

@taytebby Delivery!

[queenshelby]

Our Little Secret (Part 46)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Infidelity, Age-Gap, Triggers

A week had passed since your abrupt departure from Los Angeles with your daughter Mara, spending all your savings on an earlier economy class flight to Dublin. 

You had to get away from Cillian as quickly as possible for now, to clear your head, and to decide what your next steps would be. 

Cillian, of course, had begged you to stay while he attended a few more press events and interviews, but you didn't even wait for him to explain himself to you. Immediately after hanging up the phone with Amanda, you had stormed through the hotel suite, bursting into tears silently as you packed a small bag, preparing to leave.

Over the next few days, right after you took the long journey back home with Mara, you struggled to process everything that had happened. Cillian tried to call you over and over again, but you never answered his calls. 

You wanted nothing more than to scream, to cry, to break something—to do anything that would allow you to release the intense pain that he had caused, but you knew that Mara was depending on you.

***

"It's just you and me now babygirl," you whispered into Mara's ear one evening as you tucked her into bed, trying to embrace the role of a single mother bravely. After all, you always knew that this possibility loomed in the background, even when you naively thought that you were destined to be with him forever.

You couldn't believe how blind you had been, allowing yourself to fully invest in someone who had already shown you time and time again that he couldn't be counted on.

You couldn't stop thinking about the way he had looked at you, promising you a future together, making you feel cherished and loved, only to betray your trust in the most deceitful way.

You felt a hot tear trickle down your cheek as you buried your face into Mara's soft curls. It wasn't fair. You didn't deserve this pain, this heartbreak. But, as you listened to Mara's steady breathing, you knew that you couldn't give in to despair.

"Karma is a real bitch," you then thought to yourself, seeing how Cillian and you had started out as an affair too. He was cheating on his wife with you and now you were the one who was being cheated on. 

The raw pain cut through you like a hot knife, sharp and searing. Cillian's face flashed through your mind, taunting you with the broken promises and lies that only the innocent fall victim to.

Returning to the living room you noticed a vehicle parking outside on the street in front of your little terrace house. It was a small Crolla, a car that was very familiar to you and which belonged to no other than Cillian's sister Siobhan. 

You weren't expecting a visit from her, especially not in the wee hours of the night, but you didn't mind. She was one of the rare people you could count on these days even though she was a member of Cillian's family.

Quickly, you dried your tears and went to open the door. Siobhan stood there with a serious expression on her face.

"Hey," she greeted, but even her warm voice did nothing to mitigate the heavy feeling that pressed onto your heart still. "Can I come in?" she asked, and you stepped aside to let her walk past you.

You noticed that she was carrying a bottle of wine and two glasses in her hands. "I figured we could both do with a drink tonight," she added while she placed her possessions on your dining table.

You hesitated for a moment before closing the door and joining her. "You have no idea," you sighed, leaning against the back of one of the chairs.

Siobhan gave you a concerned look before pouring you a generous glass of wine. "Oh, I think I do. I saw Amanda today and, fuck, Cillian didn't even tell me about any of this because, if he had, I would have come to see you sooner Y/N. I am so sorry," she  muttered, exasperated.

"It's okay, really. There was nothing you could have done," you shrugged, sipping on the wine like it was water. It burned your throat as it went down, but it somehow made you feel a little better.

"No, it's not. I know how much this must have hurt you Y/N. My brother can be such an idiot sometimes, but he does love you, you know?" Siobhan told you, causing you to cry and laugh all at the same time.

"If he really loves me then , why did he cheat on me?" you asked, your voice cracking with emotion.

"Because he was hurt when you knocked down his proposal," Siobhan told you, explaining Cillian's turmoil to you. "And he acted impulsively which, really, is no excuse for what he did. It's just an explanation," she told you, but you no longer cared. 

"Well, it doesn't change anything now. I'm done with him," you informed her, your voice shaking a little as the reality set in.

"But-" Siobhan started to protest, but you stopped her.

"No. This is not what I want anymore," you sighed, running a hand through your hair as Mara slept peacefully in her bed upstairs. "I am better of alone and, honestly, our arrangement still stands. He will support me and Mara financially and he will get shared care, just like I had promised him. Nothing more and nothing less,"  you concluded firmly while taking another sip of your wine, watching Siobhan frown concernedly in return.

"You know Y/N, I never gave you enough credit in the past for how mature you actually are, especially for your age. You are much more of an adult than most of my clients and you are certainly much more mature than my almost fifty-year-old brother,"  Siobhan finally shared, but it wasn't enough to stop you from hurting still.

***

The following days passed slowly, with you trying to rebuild yourself and your life. It hurt like hell, to be back in the city that reminded you so much of Cillian and the times the two of you had spent together, but you didn't have much of a choice.

He came over one day to pick up Mara just as you had agreed upon when he came back from LA. Wen he arrived he also wanted to talk to you about what happened but you refused and did not even let him through the door. 

"No Cillian. Like I said in my text message last night, all that matters now is Mara," you told him face to face now that he stood in front of your door. "You can see her three days a week, no nights for now and I do not want any contact with you unless it relates to our child," you continued with a clear, firm voice, making a strict compromise so that he could spend at least a little time with Mara until she was ready to stay at his house over night. 

Cillian nodded and seemed surprisingly accepting of your conditions.

"Okay," he told you as you both stood at the front door of the house for a minute before Cillian finally reached out and gently touched Mara's cheek. 

"Do you want to take her while I get her pram and bag?" you offered to Cillian who, again, nodded silently.  With a heavy heart, you handed Mara over to the man that you loved dearly, but who had betrayed your trust.

Cillian took Mara into his arms and looked down at her happily as she babbled at him, giggling after he spoke her name. "She has grown so much even in those few days," he remarked, his voice thick with emotion. 

"She sure has," you told him. "Now, do you have enough milk in the freezer for her? I left some there the last time I visited you last. It's all dated and labelled, just make sure you heat it up right, okay?"  you added, trying to keep your voice steady and authoritative, even though you wanted nothing more than to break down and weep.

Cillian looked up at you with a pained expression on his face. "I will make sure to do that," he told you, tears welling up in his eyes.

You nodded and turned away from him before he could see the sadness creeping up on you. "Okay Cillian. I expect her back by seven. Don't be late," you said softly before pushing the pram and baby bag on to the front porch.  Cillian took them without a word and stepped outside. He looked at Mara again, a lingering longing in his eyes, a feeling that was all too familiar to you.

You closed the door softly and leant your head against it. The emptiness in the house suddenly felt bigger, suffocating almost. But you had to get used to it now. This was your life from now on.

***

The next few weeks were tough, but you made it through them with the support of Siobhan and your mother as well as your best friend Emma who suggested a night out while Mara had her first sleepover at Cillian's house, which was something that made you panic.

You never not had Mara with you over night, it had always been the two of you, or sometimes even the three of you. But, after careful consideration and speaking with Cillian about it, you finally agreed to it with a certain hesitancy.

As you stepped out of your house, ready to meet Emma for your long-anticipated girls' night, you took a deep breath and tried to remember who you were before Mara entered your life.

The thought caused a wry smile to grace your lips and, with a spring in your step, you continued down the path towards the small car that your friend drove as she picked you up along with some other girls from her class.

They were all about your age, but none of them lived the way you did. You were a single mother living in the suburbs while they were all single and sharing a flat in the city.

They were out partying and hooking up with guys while you were home, changing diapers and reading bedtime stories. They were having the time of their lives, while you often wondered if this was all that life had in store for you.

But as you slipped into the passenger seat of Emma's small car, you felt a sense of excitement that you hadn't experienced in a long time. You were ready to let loose and have some fun, and you knew that Emma and the others would make it an unforgettable night.

"Holy shit, you are looking good," Tina, one of the other girls you still knew from school days, remarked as she climbed into the backseat, and you couldn't help but feel a little boost to your confidence. You thanked her with a smile while Emma glanced at you from the driver seat, smirking triumphantly while you pulled out your phone to text Cillian, ensuring that Mara  was comfortable and okay.

"She will be fine, Y/N. She is at her dad's house, remember? He is old enough to look after her. You need to stop worrying," Emma assured you as she navigated through traffic, making her way into the heart of Dublin, where the bustling nightlife came alive.

"I know, it's just -" you started to mumble but then stopped, letting out a quiet sigh. You couldn't deny the fact that leaving Mara behind on her first sleepover with Cillian was hard. It was unfair, you thought, that parents shouldn't experience the pang of abandonment when it comes to leaving their child behind while Tina chimed in, quickly changing the topic after Emma told you again that Mara would be just fine. 

"Hey Y/N. I am curious. Does he pay for your house and car?"  Tina asked, a hint of jealousy tinging her voice. You weren't close to her, but you knew that, especially after your public appearance at the Oscars, which had now been almost ten weeks ago, many of the girls you knew had been talking about nothing else but you and Cillian. After all, he was super famous now and you had his child and not many women could claim that status.

"Well, yes he does, because I am a student, just like you Tina," you replied, suppressing the irritation in your voice. "And we had a child together, so it seems fair," you justified yourself and feeling a little nervous about exposing too much information and stirring up unnecessary envy among your former classmates.

"I suppose you have it easy then," Tina said, still showing an envy-filled tone in her voice. "My mother never even got child support from my dad,"  she added, causing a heavy silence to fall over the car as Emma glanced at Tina sternly in the rearview mirror.

"Things are different now, Tina. Cillian is -," Emma chastised but, before she could continue, you interrupted her. 

"Can we just stop talking about my ex now and focus on our night out?" you requested, hoping to steer the conversation in a different direction.

Emma nodded in agreement and changed the topic, talking about her last date and the awkward ending that it had while the girls in the back seat listened attentively and added their own commentary on the subject, making jokes and trying to make each other laugh.

You tried to focus on the conversation but couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of sadness as you thought about Cillian and the life you had once imagined for yourselves.

You had hoped to grow old together, raising Mara and making memories as a happy little family, but fate had other plans.

Your mind wandered as you entered a crowded dance club, clinging to your drink as you tried to push aside the thoughts that threatened to consume you. The beat of the music pulsed around you, vibrating in your chest as you moved to the rhythm, trying to lose yourself in the seductive sounds filling the air.

But the despair that tugged at your heart wouldn't let you go, no matter how hard you tried to shake it off.

It clung to you like a persistent shadow, a constant reminder of what you had lost, and you pulled out your phone again, texting Cillian, to see whether Mara was fine.

He quickly responded, of course, telling you that she had already fallen asleep and that he was having a great time, spending time with her. It was then, in the dimly lit club, that you realized that this was your new reality, which is when, suddenly, a young attractive man bumped into you, spilling his drink all over your black dress.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! Here, let me help you clean this up," he said, sprinting away to the bar and returning with a wad of napkins and a sympathetic smile.

The unexpected kindness in his large, green eyes touched you somewhere deep within your soul, and you couldn't help but feel a tiny spark of warmth and attraction ignite between you.

"Thank you," you murmured as you took the proffered napkins, still feeling the anxious tension of uncertainty in your stomach after receiving Cillian's text about your adorable daughter sleeping soundly in his arms and it was then when he even sent you a photo of her, a gesture which you appreciated. 

Just as you looked at the phone the man nodded with a reassuring smile, his eyes sparkling with interest and curiosity as, at the same time as handling your phone, you nervously tried to dab the spilled liquid from your dress without causing further damage.

"You look like you're having quite the night here," he persisted, attempting to keep up a friendly conversation as you glanced at your phone before putting it back into your handbag. 

"Yes, I haven't been out in a while," you replied, smiling at the stranger's persistence as he still stood there, looking at you. 

"Really?" he asked. "Why?" he asked, genuinely surprised by your admission as you continued to wipe away the residual drink stain on your dress.

"Well, I had a baby -," you began to say before shaking your head, realizing that this must have been the worst pick up line ever.  The man blinked a few times, his eyebrows shooting up towards his unkempt brown hairline, but he didn't falter. Instead, he dug his hands into his jeans pockets and rocked back on his heels, a friendly half-smile on his lips.

"You had a baby? For real?"  he inquired inquisitively, maintaining a friendly and interested facial expression. "I mean, you don't look a day over twenty-one," he complimented you.

"Well, I am not," you chuckled. "I am twenty-one, actually," you  confessed, feeling vulnerable and exposed all of a sudden.

But the stranger, who introduced himself as Sean, only seemed more intrigued. "Wow, you had a baby already? That's impressive," he admitted, hoping he hadn't dwelled too much.

You nodded, flustered by the attention. "It's not easy but, hey, life happens," you shrugged, determined to keep it light.

"I assume you don't have kids?" you asked, curious, wondering out loud without considering the fact that this topic might be slightly weird for a twenty-something year old man.

"No , I don't. Not yet anyway," he answered with a small laugh, shaking his head ever so slightly, causing his mop of hair to bounce wildly on his head.

"Well then, I guess I just told you way too much about me, huh?"  you asked, feeling a hint of shame creep up your neck and onto your face.

Sean smiled at you genuinely and kindly, his eyes fixing on yours, a connection forming between you two. He shrugged.

"Not really. I mean, you know, things happen and I -," the man began to say before awkwardly telling you about himself. "I am 27 and just finished a degree in engineering. I only just moved to Dublin a few weeks ago and, uhm, I am single and would really like to buy you a drink, if you let me," he stammered. "Unless, of course, you actually have a man in your life, because you had a baby and stuff, so if the father is around then forget about what I just said,"  he added, catching a whiff of disappointment in his voice.

You smiled and shook your head. "My daughter's father is out of the picture," you told him honestly, softening your eyes as you observed him moving closer to you. 

"Great, so what are you drinking?" he asked and, with that, you knew where this was going.

Tags:

@sunbeamseas @saint-ackerman @oatmealisweird @naxxsstuff @amanda08319 @r-m-cidnah @elysiannook @cillshot @infireddabdab @tastycakee @harrysbestiee @lilybabe22 @adalynlowell @henrywintersdearestgirl @ietss @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @ryiamarie @axionn

@nela-cutie @futurecorps3 @delishen @nosebleeds-247 @thirteenis-myluckynumber @gills-lounge @hjmalmed @lost-fantasy @tiredkitten @sidechrisporn @smallsoulunknown @charqing-qing @hopefulinlove @aporiasposts @shycrybaby @me-and-your-husband @hjmalmed @lacontroller1991 @galxydefender @aporiasposts

@galxydefender @hunnibearrr @saint-ackerman @lunyyx @gentlemonsterjennie1 @ihavealotoffandomssorry @nadloves @lost-fantasy @nolucesn@mcavoy-girl @hjmalmed @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @blushykiss @tatumrileyslover @teawithsatanx @orijanko @rhaenyra4ever @xcinnamonmalfoyx @budugu @nadloves @kmc1989 @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @forgottenpeakywriter @smailaway @sophiaaguirred @blondie-22

[ornii]

Jealous? Me? No…

Illyana Rasputin X Male Reader

So I finally watched The New Mutants yesterday, and I gotta say, it wasn’t good, but it wasn’t bad either. An okay Marvel film in my opinion, however Anya Taylor-Joy absolutely killed the role as Magik. And the idea of a Reader who also had a relative in the X-Men and is believable, gave me an idea, and this was it.

The relationship you had with Illyana was particularly hard to define. You wouldn’t call her your girlfriend, but she is also more than a friend. You sensed a Kinship with her ever since your, outburst. It sounds small but it resulted in the deaths of a lot of people, I suppose that’s what happens when a Mutant tried to live a normal life. Having the same genetic system as The Wolverine, it gave you nearly all the same powers, including a deep primal rage that could erupt at any time. Thus, leading you to being hospitalized.

Dr Reyas had an interest in you particularly, it seems only one Successful clone of Wolverine exists; you. Or so they think, you know of one more, Laura. Keeping her secret, keeping her under the nose of the Government was of utmost importance. Everything with Illyana was fine, she was being her usual self, rude, condescending, and just an overall ass to you and everyone, but it didn’t bother you. Everything was fine, until Dani made her appearance. A new challenger enters Illyanas game, and she doesn’t like it.

You and Illyana were watching Dani sleep, granted you two were outside the room, watching though the faded glass. You couldn’t make out any physical differences in her. She looked like your average teenager, maybe her powers are more psionic. You rubbed your chin and Illyana spoke. “I bet Pocahontas will try to run the moment she wakes up.” She said, almost to get a rise out of you, to see your negative but passionate response but you were simply thinking, blocking her out. She noticed your lack of response and turned to you. All your attention wasn’t on her anymore, but on this new girl.

“(Y/n).” She said with that stern Russian accent, it snapped you out of your trance and you finally looked at Illyana, as much as she annoyed and overall pissed you off, her beauty was unmatched, blue Iris, long gorgeous blonde hair like a brick road to heaven, and an accent that commands respect but has such a alluring tone.

“What?” You say, “You gonna bully this one too?” You say, Illyana smirks, finally getting your attention. “Depends, you seem to be infatuated with Pocahontas.” She said, you finally responded to her obvious jab and shook your head.

“Real fucking funny.” You mutter. “A new girl winds up here and you’re already jealous?” You said, Illyana kept her smile, but deep down she was starting to get annoyed.

“I don’t get jealous.”

“Then you won’t mind me saying hello.” You reply, and reach for the door handle, and for a moment you saw a short glimpse of panic in her eyes, as you gripped the handle, the voice of God spoke to you.

“(Y/n), remove your hand from the door.” Dr Reyas said from the intercom, she was watching, always watching. You reluctantly removed your hand. “Please gather in the main foyer, our daily session begins in 10 minutes.” She says, you look at Illyana and shrug, putting your hands in your jacket, you walk off. You and Illyana enter the room to Roberto, Sam, and Rahne, the other tree stuck in this place. It seems that there were only two chairs left, oddly enough, both seats end up with you next to Illyana. Reyas sits before you all, and starts.

“Yesterday, I asked you to think about… the first time your mutation manifested. Would anyone like to share? (Y/n)? Sam? Illyana? Roberto? Rahne? Look, we can’t help each other unless we talk to each other. I’ve said this a hundred times. This program can’t help you if you refuse to participate. So, Rahne, why don’t you start?” She said, Rahne was a short girl, pixie cut and had a soft Scottish accent, she wasn’t as feminine as most girls, but she had her own charm.

“I…” she started, but Dani, the new girl walked in, sulking.

“Please join us, Dani. This is our new patient, Danielle Moonstar. Let’s do our best to make her feel at home. Go ahead, Rahne.” Reyas said, (Y/n) shrugs and stands up and takes another chair and places it further in the circle.

“Take a seat.” You say, and sit back down, Dani awkwardly sulks next to you, and Illyanas eyes dart from her Hand puppet to you.

“Right. I was 13. I remember running through the woods.” Rahne began.

“How did you feel?” Doctor Reyas asks.

“Free. Like, the most free I’d felt my whole life. But guilty, too.”

“Why feel guilty?” You ask, “You get a turn into a wolf, that’s fucking sick.”

“Because I knew it was bad. I went to Reverend Craig… to see if he could pray it out of me. He asked me to show him, so I changed.” Rahne continues..

“And what did Reverend Craig do?”

“Beat me about half to death. Said I was a witch… that I was going to hell.” Rahne looked so, hurt. You reluctantly sat up from your seat.

“Would anyone else like to share their first time?” Reyas asks, and Illyana decides to turn to heat up.

“New girl. How fucked up are you?” She said, turning the ire on Dani, you turned to the Girl.

“Illyana.” You said, a bit of a grumble.

“Drugs, I bet. Or a nympho, maybe..” she kept pestering. You then decided to raise your voice.

“Cut the shit okay?” You said, The Russian turned to you, seeing your face and found an odd sense of pleasure in it. Reyas takes hold of the situation.

“Keep behaving… exactly like you are right now… and we can all just spend the day in solitary. I want all of you to think very carefully… about how you’d like to use your time here. And how long you want that time to be. (Y/n), since you’re already up… why don’t you show Dani around?” Reyas orders. You stood up, still locking eyes with Illyana.

“Yeah, sure..” you said, and looked over to Dani. You offered your hand to help her up and she took it, she stood up and you began to walk around, showing the new Girl around, that was a mistake.

Night has crept up to you all much sooner than expected, you were preparing to turn in for the night, finishing up clothes duty, the sudden sound of a clank of metal caused you to put the towel down and then around, you half expected death, but it was much worse.. Illyana.

“Oh, it’s you… gonna keep bullying Dani for whatever reason?” You said, but she wasn’t her cocky, overbearing self. She pouted and folded her arms, and asked a single question.

“Do you like her?” She asks, the question blindsided you.

“What?” You responded, and Illyana slowly approached.

“Do you like her? You act like you do..”

“I .. I don’t get it why are you upset?” You said, which causes her to finally just spew her feelings. “You are so fucking dense! Do you not notice anything you big dumb cute plyushevyy mishka?!” She yells, it took you less than a minute to realize she’s pinned you to the wall. Her arm now armored and placed near your head, as she leaned in, her lips barely brush up against yours.

“YA lyublyu tebya, Rosomakha.” She said, your mind translated the words.. “I Love you, Wolverine.” Your hands almost instinctively wrapped around her waist, much to her shock. Your lips pressed firmly against hers and her powers almost activate due to a high sense of, emotion. And it seems you two fall together, to her happy place.

Jealousy, from what I heard it runs in the Family…

(This was just a short thing I wanted to write, Definitely want to make more New Mutant Content, we need more of it.)

[the-wip-project]

Perfectionism

Hello writerly friends!

Today I have a few thoughts about perfectionism. I’m sure you already heard the advice “kill your perfectionism” to write without doubting and editing yourself. If you get caught up in perfectionism, it stops you from writing forward, or it stops you from writing at all. So, it’s a good point, right? Kill perfectionism, just keep writing.

But as I thought about how I will organize my days, wondering how to find the perfect time to write my 1000 words, it hit me. This is also a trap of perfectionism. 

It’s impossible to kill perfectionism completely. Just as it is impossible to find the perfect, uninterrupted three hours of writing time everyday. I never have three uninterrupted hours in a day. There are always errands, my waning attention, phone calls, people (!). Three uninterrupted hours for writing is a perfect utopia that will never become real. And trying to write without ever doubting myself is also an unreal utopia situation.

To find the perfect writing time, to write the perfect sentences, to think of the perfect plot — it’s all the same. It will never become real. It’s a useless fight.

I cannot tell you of the one grand solution to all our perfectionism. It doesn’t exist. 

All I can do is arrange my life around the realities of life and accept that it will never be perfect. It's just like I always say (and I should totally listen to my own advice some day): work with your brain, not against it.

So, let’s leave utopia and work in the real world. I won’t have three uninterrupted hours in the day, but I can find 20 minutes several times a day. And really, I only need about four of those twenty-minute bursts per day to hit roughly 1000 words. And the sentences I write? Workable, prosaic chain of words. Just me and my chaotic brain searching for words and rewriting here and there and all the other things one is not supposed to do. I’m just writing, I make up sentences. I’m not solving the world’s problems, nobody’s life depends on the words I write, it’s just a braindump. 

Do whatever you have to do to convince yourself that nothing will ever be perfect. Not your process, not your time management, not your words on the page. Just keep doing what you do to work in your reality with your brain. Tell perfectionism to fuck off because you live in the real world and the real world is chaotic and messy and we all just have to punch our way through sometimes.

[lilac-hecox]

Destiny - Ian/Anthony - ianthony

(My contribution to the first day of Ianthony Week at @mywaybacktoyou) about 1,000 words written in like half an hour but it's been on my mind.

--

It was always going to end this way. Even when Ian was twelve and met Anthony in sixth grade, even then, it was always going to end like this. It was a hello that was always destined to have a goodbye. Maybe it would have come even sooner if not for Smosh and the life Ian and Anthony built together, a life that required them to be friends, to be close, the same life that extended their friendship was ultimately what ended it.

You can’t fight destiny or fate and Ian barely believes in those types of things, but Anthony does, and Ian believes enough to know that there were too many steps that were taken in their journey to follow the steps backwards at this point. There is no bread crumb trail, no markings to use to find their way, blind, groping, back to where they began.

Because that life is gone. Those versions of them.

They don’t live in their house in Sacramento. They don’t spend the night at each other’s houses. Ian still remembers the day Anthony grabbed his shoulders in excitement and squeezed hard, and his eyes were glimmering with something, something real and alive, and Anthony told him.

“Ian, this could really be something. We could do this.”

And they did. But at what cost?

Their friendship isn’t just for them. The most devastating part is that the ending will not be for just them either. It won’t be private. It can’t be. Ian and Anthony have made their content and success off the sacrifice of their relationship in privacy and meaning, and so, what does it even mean now to give up the last remnants of what is there? To give the carcass of their friendship to the alter of the viewers and let them dissect the corpse of what was there. What does it matter?

“We’ll still see each other,” Anthony says, his eyes so dull, so dark, so far away from the nineteen-year-old that saw all the possibilities laid out before them.

Ian doesn’t recognize Anthony. He doesn’t recognize himself.

“Do you think so?” Ian asks, because as it is, they don’t even hang out now. A few weeks ago, some last-ditch effort to reclaim what they had, they sat in Anthony’s apartment, and they played video games, and the motions were there, but everything else was missing.

“I’d like to,” Anthony says, his voice small and unsure and full of so much hurt that Ian wants to cover his ears, and he wants to turn away, wants to be blind to this, wants to be anywhere but here and now and having this conversation.

Then, they are looking at each other from across the expanse of Anthony’s dining room table.

Ian wishes he were twelve again. He wishes the most pressing matter would be whose house they are going to spend the night at this weekend. He wishes he wasn’t saying goodbye to the only person he felt has understood him since he was a child, the other half of Smosh, the other half of himself.

“It’s not too late to change your mind,” Anthony says, his eyes so tired when he looks at Ian.

“About leaving with you?”

“Yeah,” Anthony says, “fuck Defy, dude. We can do this on our own.”

“That means walking away from Smosh and what we made. And then what happens to the other cast members? To the team depending on us?”

Anthony’s jaw is set tight.

“What we made has been gone. Smosh is dead. I don’t know what the fuck you see when you look at ‘our’ channel, but it’s not Smosh and it isn’t ours. Everything else is Defy’s problem. They’re the ones that pushed for our videos to change, they’re the ones that brought on new cast members and threw them in without letting us warm them up to the viewers. They fucked up and they can deal with it. You and I can start over again.”

There’s a pleading to Anthony’s voice, a desperation that slices Ian in two. Even as Anthony speaks, Ian knows he isn’t brave enough to go. He can’t follow. He can’t abandon Smosh.

In the quiet, Anthony knows the answer, because Anthony still knows him like the back of his hand despite the distance between them.

“You’ve always been a coward,” Anthony mumbles.

The words hurt, but maybe they hurt more because they feel true.

“I can’t leave Smosh behind.”

“But you can leave me behind,” Anthony supplies.

“You’re the one walking away!” Ian blurts out, feeling a heat in his chest, his heart beating too fast.

“Not from you.”

“You’re walking away from everything, Anthony.”

Anthony runs a hand through his hair and sighs and then he presses the heels of his palms to his eyes.

“I have to, Ian. I can’t be a puppet for Defy anymore. They ruined Smosh. They ruined us.”

“And I have to stay.”

Then, the matter is settled, as it was always meant to be. Every beginning has to have an ending and life isn’t a movie or a sketch, and Ian can’t will it to go the way he wants it to. He thinks of the nervous twelve-year-old he was so many years ago and how good it felt to have a best friend, how good it felt to be living his dream life with his best friend, and Ian can’t imagine that twelve-year-old knowing that someday, it would all end up like this.

This is their ending, whether he likes it or not. This is destiny, or fate, or whatever the fuck you want to call it. This is Ian and Anthony living out the consequences of years’ worth of actions. This is selling to Defy. This is Anthony getting engaged. This is an awkward dinner with drinks in New York where Ian felt like he was drowning and couldn’t voice a word to Anthony.

This is them setting up a filming date to announce Anthony’s departure.

This is Ian shrugging on his coat and Anthony lingering near his own front door and it feels like there are a million things to say to one another but at the same time the silence is thick, choking, and Ian wants to run. He wants to run back to Sacramento, to their old house, their parent’s places, their teenage bedrooms, to the science class in a Del Campo middle school, and he wants to tell those twelve-year-old boys not to sell to Defy, and to talk to each other more, and not to be so damn afraid of what the world thinks their relationship is supposed to be.

But he can’t.

What he can do is get in his car. And what Ian can do is look up at the lighted window of Anthony’s apartment from where he parked in the street, and what he can do is raise his hand in a wave at the figure silhouetted in the light from that apartment.

What he can do is let Anthony go.

He doesn’t really have a choice.

You can’t fight destiny.

[preciouslittle-bhaalbabe]

I'm glad I could provide some! I spend entirely too much time thinking about this horrid little man. And while I admit I have a strong “A!A is the bad ending” bias. I do try to back that up with, I dont know, text evidence? Thoughts that go beyond, being evil bad.

And people really over simplify Ascended Astarion sometimes and treat him like he's not the same guy.

I do put a lot of weight on the spawn, and I think, at least initially he does too. You never really get the chance to just sit and ask him how he's coping with that.

But all the dialogue before hits me as someone who didn't know the cost would be this high and is now desperately grasping to justify it because he thinks ascension is the only option he has to get what he wants out of life. (Power, safety, freedom, something that feels like a victory because just killing cazador doesn't actually get him anything back.)

He genuinely makes me so sad.

I agree the likely outcome for how taking over baldur's gate/being a vampire lord plays out really does depend a lot on what Tav is doing.

Left to his own devices, I think he's probably gonna botch it. Part of me thinks he makes a real stab at playing politics for a year or two realizes he hates it, sets the castle on fire and skips town.

I can just see him doing something drastic and impulsive like that. And Astarion truly doesn't strike me as someone who wants to have a lot of responsibility or be settled. In either route. He just wants to fuck around being a murder hobo.

But yeah, circling back, I think everyone's views on the characters, and plot archs and likely futures for all the companions, not just A!A are really fucking variable, just by the nature of it being an RPG where the player has so much agency In everyone's lives.

And so much of the relationship existing off screen.

Cause you really don't get many specific details about your romance in the game.

I can't tell if I like this as a writing thing, or if I sort of hate it because it makes interpreting the text fucking impossible.

And this is especially true with Astarion because he's a lying Mc liar face. I can't take anything he says at face value. He's the only one in this game proficient in deception!

He's such an unreliable source of information that it's SO hard to tell wtf is going on. But I agree with you! I think people tend to oversimplify him to just "oh he's evil now gross". He's always been a little shit guys. It's just now he's a RICH little shit lol

So much of his romance and relationship with the player has to just live in our heads. And I think that's why people fight about it so much because even in the past hour or so people have said wildly different takes on the same thing, and none of them are official or canon. We're just guessing.

[lupins-hehim-pussy]

I wanna know ur Fontaine msq criticisms 👁️👁️👂I’m all ears

I'm not sure if you wanted me to talk about this secretly or publicly but! Here I go!

The TLDR: Fontaine MSQ aestheticised prison, poverty, child abuse, the justice system/court and didn't properly address any of it.

More:

Focalors/Furina has way too much of a sympathetic angle for a dictator who's lets people drown with her inaction.

Neuvillette feels Bad for sentencing some people to death/prison, but that's it. He's one of the most powerful people in Fontaine. If he felt like there are systemic injustices, I.E sending an abused Child to prison, he should be the first person to DO something about it, not just cry and be sad so the audience can be like aw, that's complex character writing isn't it? No it's not! And guilt doesn't absolve you!!!!!!! (These are stuff we deal with in OTCOJ read my fic now /j)

Meropide has children in it, both Sentenced there (Wriothesley) and BORN THERE (Lanoire), and this is just a quirk of the place. Not only that, Meropide accepts prisoners of all genders and crimes. There are abusers and abuse victims in one place. Do you know how bad that is? How much potential for crimes to happen in a place like that— oh wait, Meropide isn't under Fontaine's jurisdiction. If you are assaulted as an inmate it literally means nothing to the court.

Wriothesley had no qualifications when he took over. Depending on how long he lived on the streets, how old he was when he killed his parents, how old he was when he was first taken in by the orphanage, etc, the man might never have more than 4–5 years of formal education. Sigewinne probably had to teach him how to write reports. And do Meropide's spreadsheets. Edit because I forgot to elaborate on this one: This isn't a point brought up anywhere, which is bad, because when poverty and incarceration robs you of a proper education (and the rights to vote in many places too, too, by the way), it reduces your prospects for jobs, reduces many people's ability to get a home etc etc. Wriothesley was just, narratively, Given his position.

Meropide is an industrialized prison, and they portray this as a good thing. Prisoners are paid in coupons for their labour, and this is also portrayed as a good thing.

The One-Meal-A-Day reform was something Paimon gushed about being so great of a perk, that people might want to go to jail for food (could be interesting and reflective of systemic poverty if MHY had brains, but they don't, so I was just Pissed because essentially all Paimon wanted to say was "Prison isn't so bad, but still don't go to prison guys! Prison labour is really hard!"). By the way, in most real-world prisons they are obligated to feed you three meals a day. Because that's how much food a human needs. MHY went with one meal just so they can say "if you want to eat more, you have to work." And then the welfare meal is a goddamn gacha. So imagine you're a starving child who's too weak to work in the fucking robot assembly line, and you wander up for your first meal in 24 hours, only to luck in with a shit one. I'd kill myself.

They wrote Wriothesley, who's a victim of the system, into a guy who's say shit like "I'm the Duke I can do whatever I want" for a cool moment where he choke-slams an inmate (I know he was a bad guy. But also, in copaganda when cops are violent/disregarding protocols, they are always only portrayed to do that against bad guys, so what does our critical thinking tells us about this one?) They wrote Wriothesley, who was an inmate of a prison so bad, so notorious that it is the literal boogeyman of Fontaine, that has a legal (???) fighting pit, with an administrator who abuses his position to be unreasonable, to willingly stay in the place and become an Administrator who would choke-slam an inmate while saying a cool line about how he has the power to do whatever he wants. They wrote him, the guy who had to be fed on the streets by melusines, to think one-meal-a-day was a good enough reform (while he spends god-knows how much on his boat). This wasn't a victim-turns-into-abuser narrative either, they want all this to be seen as positive character growth.

And then, the final kicker is, they gloss over his entire abuse. You can only read about these shit in his profile, which most people don't because they don't Have Him or doesn't care to unlock it/read it online, and they jammed his entire backstory into a flaccid info-dump at the end of his character story quest. This man isn't Allowed to feel abused and neglected and show any reaction to it within the narrative of Fontaine itself, because if they actually Gave Weight to what happened to him, they'd have to confront THE FUCKING JUSTICE SYSTEM they had NO PLANS on criticising. I don't think they ever explicitly said the fucking Crime-Theatre nonsense was Bad either.

I could go on, but this is already so long. But yeah, I hope this gave you an idea.

[storm-angel989]

Outside The Office Part Twenty Two

Hi All,

SO GLAD I got so many comments and likes on the last chapter- I hope y'all enjoy it! Trigger warning for body image issues and disordered ideas of what is healthy.

As always, please feel free to drop a comment, a DM or an ask if you have a situation you want Val and Reader to explore together- from shopping to sex, nothing is off limits!

Enjoy!

An hour to the dot later, Lucifer appeared in the living room. Val had left me behind as soon as breakfast was eaten with a kiss and a promise to make good on his words. As soon as he left I changed into the required attire and let myself lounge on the couch and scroll aimlessly through sinstergram while I waited. 

“Well, I see you look ready,” Lucifer said drily as his eyes raked over me. 

I looked up at him from where I laid on the couch. Dressed in black leggings, a tank top and sneakers I assumed my relaxed position was what he was referring to. I rolled to the side and walked towards him as I tucked my phone in my pocket. 

“Ready when you are. Where are we going anyway?” I asked as he opened a portal. “Soul collecting?”

“No. And don’t call it that. We don’t collect souls, we contract souls.” He paused but shook his head, “I mean, we technically collect them but don’t call it that. I don’t like it.”

I stared at him. Even for Lucifer, that comment was weird. “Alright then, where are we going?” 

“To see exactly where your military skills lie- and where you need to improve,” he answered. 

His gaze fell to my wrist, and then to my collarbone. Wordlessly, he brushed his finger against both. 

The bruising and pain vanished instantly. 

“It’s only temporary. Won’t last more than a few hours, but at least I can get an assessment of your full, uninjured body, ” he said easily. “Word on the street is that you were one of the most ferocious angels to ever see combat.”

I didn’t answer. Extermination wasn’t something I participated in, but battling demons who encroached on our territory? That was something I did in my younger years. Mercilessly, and without thought- just as my father had taught me. But the hours I used to spend training were now spent doing much less physical tasks- modeling for Velvette, reading contacts or doing office work for Vox, and of course, studio time with Valentino. I may have been continuing to work out for a few hours a day out of habit, but I was nowhere near where I used to be. 

I stepped through the portal behind Lucifer and looked around. The room was large, with mats shoved against one side and an assortment of weapons on the far wall. I eyed them. Crossbow. Sword. Gun. All things I could easily handle. 

Lucifer gave me a look. “Don’t even think about it. Today is an assessment of your physical skills and fitness. Not how well you can aim a gun. That comes later, I promise. Follow me.” 

I followed him through the door in the back and stepped into another room, this one fully matted, lit only by electric blue light. 

“This is my own personal creation,” Lucifer said proudly. “Over the course of the next few minutes you’ll be surrounded by enemies that feel as real as you and I are. But that’s the kicker- they’re not! That being said, every punch, every kick, every action you give or take will feel real, though at the end that pain will vanish. I strongly suggest you fight as though your life depends on it- the longer you last, the stronger the enemies. And again, I promise you no actual harm will come to you. Go stand in the center of the room.”

I did as I was told and looked around at the matted walls. A sense of unease washed over me as they flickered that same electric blue. 

“I’m going to stand in this corner right and send enemies your way. Fight like you would any other battle. I’ll call time when you’re officially dead.” Lucifer said. 

Faceless black figures filled the room. I allowed my instincts to take over. The first punch hit me in the gut thirty seconds in and I doubled over as pain shot through me. Fuck, he wasn’t kidding when he said they felt real. It was like fighting my own father, or one of the other top angels. Behind me, I felt hands grab my hair. I reached behind and yanked the shadowy being flipping it on its back as hard as I could. It vanished.

“Kill one.” a robotic voice rang out. 

Lucifer clapped his hands together. “Excellent job dear, keep going.” 

I dodged the next, and fought as hard as I could until a searing pain shot through my chest. I gasped and dropped to the floor.

“Time till death. Two minutes and forty seven seconds.” the voice rang out. 

“Oh reader, that was sorely disappointing. You’re going to have to do better than that, “ Lucifer tisked. 

Bright white lights flooded the room and he strode over to where I lay. The pain vanished but I still struggled to catch my breath, my muscles sore from the exertion. Lucifer extended his hand and helped me to my feet. 

“That was…less than impressive, my dear.” he reiterated with a shake of his head. He pressed his finger against the pulse point on my neck and looked at his watch. “I would toss you back out again, but a muscle tear would only further delay us. And judging by how slowly your heart rate is going down, I would strongly suggest conditioning yourself over the next two weeks. We can reassess then. I’d like to teach you how to utilize the power you hold, but I’m afraid we can’t do that quite yet. You’re just not physically ready.”

I must have looked dejected because he gently ruffled my hair. “Enough of that. Just because you toss inebriated demons through a wall, doesn’t mean your stamina is the same as it used to be. Follow me, I want you to see one of my staff doctors before I send you back home. Make sure you’re physically unharmed.” 

The familiar portal opened and I followed him without protest, my mind reeling with both anger and disappointment at myself. I knew how to fight, I was strong, respected, and feared. Or at least, I used to be. 

I stepped into what looked like a hospital room. Lucifer flung himself into one of the chairs and pulled out his phone. As the doctor performed his physical, he glanced up every now and then but quickly went back to typing.When I was told I was cleared of all major health issues, Lucifer stood up and tucked his phone into his jacket pocket. 

“Alright then, let’s get you home, shall we? Again, condition- hard- for the next two weeks. We’ll repeat the same process again then, hopefully with better results.” 

I followed him back through the portal, a dark cloud of shame hanging over my head. As I stepped into the apartment I was hit with the smell of vanilla cake. Velvette sat on the couch, salad in one hand and phone in the other. At least four stacks of pancakes covered the coffee table, accompanied by what looked like banana bread and cookies. 

“Glad you’re here. Vox is in a tizzy.” Velvette grumbled without looking up. 

“What’s his problem?” I asked as I surveyed the scene. I could see Vox whisking something in a bowl. Cookie dough maybe, or brownie batter. 

“My problem?! My problem is that fucker has made his way back to hell and now I have a fucking issue!” Vox hollered from the kitchen. 

Velvette rolled her eyes. Lucifer looked amused. 

“Who….exactly is that fucker?” I asked.

“Alastor.” Velevette and Lucifer answered in unison. 

“Radio demon.” Velvette explained as she stood up, her bowl empty. “They used to be friends until…”

“Until shit hit the fan. But we have bigger issues that I know were caused by him. Like the angels that killed your father and half of the angelic military have been spotted swooping through our fucking skies. And is it really that much of a stretch to notice that Alastor shows up at the same time? I think the fuck not.” Vox shouted over the oven timer. “Where the fuck are the chocolate chips? We can’t be out of them! Velvette! Come take the cake out of the oven before it burns! I need help!”

“In more ways than one,” she muttered as she walked towards the kitchen. “Settle down Vox, I got it.” 

His words snapped me to attention. “They’re here? The angels that killed my father? Here in hell?”

“I mean, they were. I made quick work of them this morning, but you- you need to get your shit together Princess. We are running on a timeline here.” Lucifer said in an unhurried voice.  “Why do you think I pulled you today? And I’m glad I did- you have work to do.” He studied my body and crossed his arms. “You’re not exactly getting tubby, but those muscles could use some work along with your fitness level.”  He checked his watch, and mumbled under his breath. “I gotta go. See you soon, I expect improvement in two weeks' time.” 

He vanished and I stared at the place where he stood. First the physical failure, and now he was insulting me? I felt the heat burn in my cheeks. Had I really let myself go that much? 

“That was mildly rude.” Velvette said as she strode back to the couch. She flopped down and pulled her phone back out. “Care to elaborate?” 

“Not really, I need some time to myself.” I replied as I turned down the hallway to my bedroom. 

Vox yelled something and she walked back to the kitchen,her attention effectively diverted. I closed and locked the door behind me. Standing in front of the mirror, stripped myself down to nothing and studied the reflection within.  As pretty as my hair and skin were, my body told a different tale. My stomach was definitely softer, my curves more prominent. My face, as clear as my skin was, was definitely rounder, an indication of the fat gained and the muscle lost. My arms, once solid, were less muscular, and my entire frame less defined. The guilt that washed over me with Lucifer flooded me now. I bit back my tears of frustration. They wouldn't solve anything- I needed a plan. 

As I dressed for the gym, I thought back on how we trained new recruits- soldiers who did less than I did on a daily basis. By hell’s standards, it would probably be considered cruel. I grabbed a notebook, outlining the plan as I remembered it. Reading it back to myself, even I had to admit it was brutal, that was for sure, but also proven time and time again. Sure, I had done it to newbie soldiers a thousand times before, but never to myself. How bad could it actually be?

Find their breaking point, my father fathers voice echoed in my head. Push them until they pass out, puke or die. And then push them harder the next time. Eventually their body will break and something stronger will take its place. 

I quietly slipped out of the apartment and headed down to the gym. To my relief, neither Vox nor Velvette were anywhere to be found.  With the exception of several of Velvette’s models, I was alone in the gym. Perfect. 

I picked up a garbage can and hesitated. I knew what was to come, and the concern that Valentino would find out and be less than enthusiastic flitted through my mind. I wondered what he would think of the whole process, but quickly decided it was in my best interest to not find out. I set the garbage pail next to the treadmill and I climb on. My wireless earphones synched up to a playlist and I let myself fall into the rhythm of a run. A mile passed. Then two. Then six. The machine didn’t stop and neither did I. 

I felt the first twinge of exhaustion around mile ten but pushed on. My chest burned as I tried to keep my breathing regulated and my focus elsewhere. Angels were made for endurance, far beyond that of any human. I wasn’t quite sure where demon stamina came in but as mile thirteen passed I felt my body start to give up. Much like I pushed the new recruits I pushed myself to hit the next ten mile goal. 

Blackness. Tripping. I grabbed hold of the machine and hit the emergency stop button, gasping for air. I grabbed the garbage can I had strategically placed and coughed until my stomach was empty. Fuck, this sucked beyond words. 

I pulled myself back up and wiped my mouth with a tissue, tossing that in the garbage along with several others. In the back of my mind I could hear my fathers disappointed voice. How I let myself get weak. How absolutely unacceptable my performance was. I sat at the edge of the treadmill and took a sip of water. Much like I had seen in the recruits, the first sip came right back up. I waited a few moments. The second sip stayed down. With that settled, I scribbled down in my notebook how far I had run and how long it had taken me. I took another sip of water and when I was sure that would stay down, I pulled myself back to my feet and headed for the weights. 

An hour and a half later I stood under the hot water of the shower, scrubbing every inch of my body. Physically, my muscles ached and I felt nauseous. But mentally? I was prouder of myself than I had been in a long time. My notebook was tucked securely away in my gym bag, not that I honestly thought any of the Vee’s would go looking for it, notice or care. But to be on the safe side, I didn’t need them to know. If I was being honest with myself, I was afraid of what they would have to say. A soft knock on the door pulled me from my thoughts.

“Princessa?” Valentino asked, “can I come in?”

I took a deep breath. His voice reminded me of the next issue to be addressed, one I couldn’t hide. Something would have to be done about the calorie laden pasta dinners we ate more often than not and Valentino had a history of noticing what I did and didn’t eat. Maybe I could just explain to him what happened and tell him I was trying to eat healthier and build muscle. Not bring up the exercise part, but at least I could be transparent in this regard.

“Come on in Val,” I answered as I turned the water off. I heard the door open and shut. I stepped out of the shower and he handed me a towel. His eyes softened as he took in the sight of my body and I felt myself flush. Why didn’t he see the shameful issues that I saw?

“You look exhausted, babydoll,” he observed. His hand pressed against my forehead and ran down my cheek. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Yeah,” I lied as I wrapped my towel around myself. “Just tired. I had a long day.” I filled him in on the events of the day with Lucifer and left out his comment about my body, and the part about the workout after. I watched for his reaction. 

His expression remained neutral and he pressed his lips to my forehead and wrapped me in his arms. “Baby, I’m sorry you had such a hard day. How can I help?” 

I felt a pang of something I couldn’t identify. Shame? Guilt? I closed my eyes against him. Better to just spit it out. 

“Val, will it be an issue for me to stick with salads and chicken, fresh fruit, eggs, that sort of thing? And cut back on the alcohol? At least, while I work on getting my muscle back? I’ll feel better than if I eat pasta and pancakes.” I waited for his reaction, for him to yell at me about wanting to control what I ate. 

To my surprise, he didn’t look upset, or even the slightest bit concerned. 

“Not at all princessa. It doesn’t bother me one bit. What you put in your body is your decision as long as you’re healthy about it.” He  ran his hand under my chin and tilted my head up to meet his gaze. “You sincerely look tired though. Do you want to stay home tonight?”

I nodded and rested my head against him, relief flooding through me. He wasn’t mad, he wasn’t angry and he would let me eat how I wanted to. I couldn’t ask for more from him.

He kissed the top of my head. “Good. I’ll stay with you, we can have a night in together. Our own little date night,” he grinned and tugged the towel off of my body. “Starting now, yes?” 

The soreness from my workout vanished from my mind as he pushed me against the counter and pressed his lips against me. He broke away after a moment and entwined his fingers in mine. 

“Come, princessa. I have an idea I think you’ll enjoy.” 

[enbycrip]

I need people to stop telling trans binary and nonbinary people who vent about their family forgetting or not using their pronouns or chosen names to “just cut them out of their lives if they can’t respect who you are”.

*Lots* of us are disabled. I really depend on help from my folks to manage my life when things are bad.

But, frankly, even if I didn’t - I’m not going to cut my folks, or the rest of my family, out of my life, because things they do hurt me. Because they do, sometimes right to the heart for things I don’t think they realise mean a lot to me, but that *doesn’t* stop me loving them. Nor them loving me. My folks are also right at the limit of their capacity caring for three people to different extents, and that doesn’t give them a lot of capacity to spare for learning or processing stuff they don’t necessarily see as all that important.

Trans folk, and disabled folk, which have a big crossover in the middle of the Venn Diagram there, are socially marginalised and isolated. Lots of trans and disabled people are literally cut out by their families for being who they are, and that is a big, big cause of marginalisation and isolation.

The idea that the rest of us should just do that to ourselves when people we love hurt us by not understanding who we are - and this stuff *isn’t* actually that easy to learn for people outside the queer, disabled or queer disabled communities if they’re not incredibly motivated to do so - is incredibly fucking damaging and, to be absolutely honest, a complete cop-out by people who are not willing to put up with the emotional labour of understanding that most lives are not simple, and marginalised people have to constantly deal with trade-offs in most areas.

I don’t remotely mean that people should put up with abuse if they have the capacity to leave that situation. But people need to expand their understanding to a) behaviour that hurts us is not necessarily the same as abuse, and b) marginalised people *are* frequently stuck in abusive situations, and this sort of absolute “leave or shut up” attitude people are so keen to put out online further traps and isolates marginalised people who are stuck, instead of giving them emotional support and, hopefully, physical and informational support too.

The idea that we can simply and easily withdraw from parts of our social network without it costing us something vital is incredibly privileged, and incredibly dangerous.

We talk so much in environmental and social movements about building community. We always talk about it in this purely positive light. I need people to start engaging with the fact that real, as opposed to idealised, community, is a multifaceted thing, and all the more so for people who are intersectionally marginalised - anywhere at the crossover point of queer, disabled, BIPOC, trans, neurodivergent, migrant, and other things. We are communal creatures by nature, but, frankly, capitalism has done a *lot* to break that up, and to prevent us from learning the skills of negotiation and existing in community as equitably as possible. And that includes in small communities like families.

Part of that, frankly, *is* letting people have vent spaces. Without necessarily jumping in to problem solve unless people *ask* for that. Venting is literally one of the ways that people move towards problem solving themselves - it not only lets them express emotion they may not have the space to express properly in the situation that’s causing it, but it starts letting them lay a situation out and put it in perspective. And online venting is great, tbh. It stops individual people from becoming sole venting spaces, the emotional labour of which falls disproportionately on women and femme-read people. And it means that, if you don’t have the spoons to hold that space for people, you can scroll by.

I absolutely do *not* find this stuff easy. At all. I am *way* too autistic for that. That’s why I work *hard* at this stuff.

We *need* communities. We are communal primates. It’s what we are and what we do. And, frankly, we need to get better at being in community with each other to build the future we need to survive. Capitalism and oligarchy has been far too fucking effective at pushing a narrative of individualism which ignores our responsibilities as humans - to each other and to the planet we live on. We need to learn to see the costs of isolation and being isolated, and learn the skills of supporting each other and negotiating with each other.

And, absolutely honestly, if someone *is* in a situation where they do need to walk away from a relationship (of any kind), they will be *so* much better able to do so if they have a community of genuine support from others around them.

[super-hero-confessions]

Homelander and Vought are a lesson about how modern society raises people, in especially but not limited to religious fundamentalism and America.

You are not a person, you are product and profit margin for capitalism and billionaires.

Children go to school not to learn what will help them in life, but to be properly trained for the common 9 to 5.

You do not have a right to life, you must pay for it and take on unpayable debts for it if need be.

You must work yourself to the bone to survive, but mostly to make money for someone else.

You must obey the rules and people that leave you at a disadvantage and abuse you, for they are your makers and we must not bite the hand that feeds.

You must not want change such or to break free of this psychological dependence on them because one day, someday though statistically unlikely it may be, you too may be able to profit off of and control others as is the way.

Is it?

I once heard something along the lines that the way we treat our livestock is reflective of the way we treat people in society, and it's true.

We are just fodder to fuel a broken machine, we already don't matter.

If someone dies through this system, we are told to look the other way and move on.

It's only when it becomes personal that we are forced to face this and unable to move on or go back from our own disillusionment.

Still we are nothing more than statistics and told to allow whatever corporation responsible to continue to profit off us, whether through our lives or our deaths because we don't matter and we never have.

If a cubicle is a marker for success in the average person, does that mean it's the same for a chicken?

Homelander is reflective of the average person in a society that is built to use, abuse, and toss us for the sake of short term profit at the expense of the individual.

This is why so many people relate to him, the drive to explode or escape is a real thing.

Vought is reflective of real life corporations such as Big Pharma that use, abuse, and toss us for the sake of short term profit at the expense of the individual.

If we took just a second to look at them, we'd realize just how little we matter to them and that these seemingly cartoonishly evil portrayals of them aren't actually cartoonish at all.

They are accurate.

It hurts but it's true, corporations and especially right wing pundits and politicians which support those corporations do not give a fuck about you.

We're just useful to them.

The revelations about Homelander's past and how not a single scientist saw him as a person or thought about what they were doing to him and the long term consequences of their actions is so painfully realistic.

We have real world examples not just in the past with basic repeated history of monarchs and revolutions or all the experiments performed on innocent children in more recent history, but in the modern day as well.

People don't matter as much as profits in the short term, so of course long term consequences are irrelevant.

Of course what Homelander did in the future didn't matter to them as long as they could profit in the short term, ideally someone else would have to clean up the mess.

That's just the way the world works, it's all just normal.

Isn't it?

We still haven't learned this lesson and it always starts the same way and always leads to the same result.

In truth, Homelander and Vought are actually a brilliantly presented if very direct example of humanity's greatest foil.

The lesson we always fail to learn.

[kingofthering]

thinking about your beautiful rosquez fake dating au.... is it a public thing? like are they the motogp royal couple here (INSANE time to be in the paddock lol. and oh GOD the breakup) or is it strictly a performance for their friends/family? (also insane for marc specifically. that man cannot lie to alex ever change my mind) like i cant stop thinking about it...

I was thinking performance for their friends and family but with a couple of things to consider [because I never make my life easy, do I]:

my considerations of this kind of depends of the span of the fic and how long they are pretending before going into the actually dating phase [I think Valentino probably freaks out (mostly because of what Marc said) after that first time they sleep together and then putting it short : he ghosts Marc, Marc confronts him and they start hooking up regularly and then there is another big family thing (maybe Christmas if the fic started in the summer) and Valentino forgot he was supposed to fake break up with Marc at some point and anyway, they figure their shit out, the end] [divorce still happens in 2015, see you in 2024 for the reconciliation]

but in the grand scheme of things, they're only doing this to trick Valentino's mom (and like, all the aunts and uncles and everyone that gets involved after the dinner and the baby shower) (oops, things are getting out of hand, it's fine Valentino, it's fine) so that's the only thing they both have in mind when dealing with the secret

now, who was present at the ranch that summer to hear about this? probably the Academy kids that were all in either Moto2 or Moto3 at the time — do they really have to interact with Valentino's family and eventually lie to them? eh, I'd say it's a possibility, and does Valentino trust those teenagers to lie for him? absolutely not, does he trust them to keep their mouth shut about his relationship with Marc if he sat them down and told them it was important? yes, much more (and like, who would believe them in the paddock anyway, him and Marc together? please)

I think Luca can be the big joker/question mark here, on the one hand Valentino would feel shitty making Luca lie to his mom but on the other end Valentino feels shitty lying to Luca, so, 50/50 on that one for now

which means, that in my mind, Marc doesn't even have to bother about his side of the family, I fully agree with you that that man cannot lie to his brother and honestly, he would probably already spill the bean when his stay at the ranch gets extended and Marc asks him why on the phone

technically, could Valentino's mom talk to Marc's parents and fuck things up? I suppose, if I want to make my life annoying, that it could be a possibility, but I don't think Valentino's mom was in the paddock often so I'm just gonna eliminate that issue for this one universe [and like, could she have their number? also yes maybe in a universe that would be annoying to me]

in the grand scheme of things, Marc is agreeing to this 10% to help Valentino and 90% for personal selfish reasons and because in theory, this doesn't have any real flaw/annoyance for him, right? — do I think that he would have felt comfortable lying to his parents? absolutely not, I do think that would be quite interesting to explore in fic but again, making my life easy here [the whole "Valentino can put on a performance act while Marc is an open book to people who know him" of it all]

Now, to come back to that first option, the first thing that came to mind was a forced to come out scenario, especially if it happens because of leaked photos of them hooking up when having hate sex in say, 2016. Way angstier in the beginning but then it's indeed "what an insane time to be in the paddock" in a good way after they've fixed things.

[admittedly I don't always see how going the "yes we're gay but we're in love" way is better PR management than "our private lives should have never been hindered, that's all we have to stay about the matter" but, you know, fic purposes]

I think it could actually bring quite a different aspect to their dynamic in that scenario because if this is 2016, Valentino is 37 (9 titles and could technically retire with a long well-done career) and Marc is 23 (4 titles, still an immense way to go in his career and so much potential to explore).

Of course the whole thing affects Valentino but he honestly believes he can survive that whatever way and ignore the bad people and focus on keeping the same life, he'll be fine. Marc will say that he's not affected by what people say about him (and only on track things matter) but I don't think it's that easy, especially back then, especially after all the backlash he got post-Sepang, and when he puts his own 2015 anger aside, I think Valentino can recognize that as well.

It's Valentino looking at Marc seating next to him in the Yamaha/Honda (whichever) motorhome, watching the way Marc's knee keep bouncing at lightning speed, the lines of his face harsh, his eyes pointed on a far point on the wall. It's Valentino shutting his brain down and going "Yes, we'll do that, where do we start".

[quiet-admirer]

I'm only saying something because shit's getting scary out there, but idk I feel like I have to say it. I had been really, really conflicted about voting for a long time this election, even as someone who has always been able to grind my teeth and vote for Dems because I know I have to play the game that's actually happening, not the game I wish I was playing. I really felt like I would be voting for genocide by voting for Harris, and of course we are complicit by participating in the election system the same way we are complicit by paying our taxes. I understand why people say they're not voting, I get it, I was there myself a week ago, but as a queer and trans person I can't help but feel like I'm surrounded by people who want to prove one point at our expense. (And I say this having watched the interview with Harris saying she's not going to do jackshit to protect trans healthcare.)

Of course it's imperative to continue, expand, and escalate direct action to do everything we can to impede the genocide that's happening before our eyes, but I'm seeing people say "don't vote because voting for a politician to save you is futile, they only act in the interests of money," etc. and that's all fine and dandy but how many people who are abstaining from voting for moral purposes are chaining themselves in front of a shipment of arms? How many are shoring up and growing their local community's ability to provide abortion, reproductive health, and trans health services in the very real chance that they get cut off in the upcoming years? How many are spraying foam into the keyholes and card swipes of weapons manufacturing companies' HQs? Buying e-sims and donating to gofundmes?

Both rejecting all presidential candidates AND voting for Harris require robust local infrastructure and direct action to make up for either outcome, but I don't see those steps actually being taken, or even calls to action to start the cogs turning to make those actions happen, which tells me this is nothing more than performativity. That realization is what flipped me and changed my mind and made me vote early. They're promoting an ideal with no concrete contingency plans to deal with the material consequences of a Trump presidency, or a Harris presidency for that matter.

At the end of the day the reality is that there 2 candidates and one of them is going to win. You don't have to like it but you do have to live in reality, so if you're abstaining from voting, make damn sure your money is where your mouth is in the next 4 years regardless of the outcome, and hit the bricks to do something so we are never forced to make a decision like this again.

If you're not voting for ethical reasons and those ethics don't include you actually leaving your house or picking up the phone and making phone calls or opening your wallet, then you are 100% complicit and participating in the moral apathy and inaction in the face of genocide as the people you are condemning. And I'm sorry, but sharing a social media post or buying a Palestinian flag sticker or putting a watermelon emoji in your social media bio is not activism. Those things are just consumerism and putting money in social media companies' pockets, and function to make you feel like you did something so you're less likely to do something actually effective.

If you're in a swing state, your vote actually does matter this time around, and we are living in a reality where the lesser of 2 evils is not a metaphorical concept, but there is one evil that is significantly less evil than the other one.

So yes, it will be the Dems' own faults if they lose, and we are choosing between a far-right candidate and an unapologetic explicitly fascist candidate, but no matter whether you come to the conclusion to vote or not, or who wins or not, your actual moral imperative here is to fucking DO SOMETHING in the next 4 years so that we are making steps closer to feeling like we aren't dependent on politicians and materially aren't dependent on politicians to save us and to survive.

Also read about fucking project 2025 if you haven't already.

[lilyevanstan1325]

❤️ Built For This World ❤️

Chapter 1

I drag myself with difficulty to the edge of the long road that stands in front of me.

My senses are on alert as I move slowly but decisively towards the trees on my right.

I feel too exposed here, the trees will give me a little more shelter from prying eyes and teeth ready to bite me.

I blink violently as the sunlight blinds me, burning my clear eyes.

Mum always told me "Clear eyes are delicate, always protect them"

And I, who was only five years old, snorted impatiently while, with a very sweet smile, she placed a pair of sunglasses on my nose and then kissed the tip making me giggle.

I have always loved my green eyes just because they are the same as my mother's, they are the only thing that reminds me that she existed.

I have nothing left of her except an old photo, creased and worn by the tears I shed over it.

Every time I see my reflection, if I concentrate hard enough, I can see her in my features, I can pretend for a few moments that she is there in front of me.

Our resemblance is the only thing that constantly reminds me that she was a real part of a life that today no longer belongs to me.

Emerald eyes.

That's how dad called her.

I can still hear his voice as he whispers those sweet words to my mother.

I sigh thinking about how much they loved each other.

They have always been my example of true, pure and strong love.

They are what I aspire to or rather what I dreamed for myself before.

Now there is nothing left, only death and despair.

I look around looking for a slightly shadier spot but without great results.

The heat is increasingly unbearable, especially at this time of the afternoon.

Not that I have a watch with me but from the position of the sun in the sky I'm pretty sure it was a few hours after noon.

I breathe deeply and the hot air burns my nose, my lungs.

The heat burns my throat, corroding every clear thought.

Damn…

I didn't know Georgia was so damn hot.

I mean, even though I am walking in the depths of the forest, the sun gives me no respite, it infiltrates the branches and leaves with unprecedented violence.

It's like it wants to constantly remind me “Hey bitch I'm here, I know where you are.You can't escape me"

The jeans I'm wearing fit like a second skin, making me sweat even more profusely while the white t-shirt I'm wearing has noticeable, and if I had been in the company of other human beings, embarrassing patches of sweat near the armpits and along the entire back.

Let's say the smell I give off isn't the best.

For a fraction of a second my vision blurs, slowing down my already limping and clumsy pace.

The sounds around me become muffled.

I no longer hear the cicadas singing in the heat of this desolate and cursed land.

Without realizing it, I stop and rest my hand against the rough trunk of a tree, the bark scratches my palm but I barely feel the pain.

Nowadays I feel numb to everything.

I no longer feel anything except the inexorable passage of time.

Forty-two days, I think as my vision comes and goes, repeatedly showing me white points of light on my black boots.

That's how long I've been wandering.

Forty-two damn days.

On my long journey to Atlanta I encountered few living people but many, too many, dead.

Fucking biters.

I tried to keep a low profile, only killing them when I really couldn't help myself.

My only weapons are my trusty knife and a machete found in an old abandoned car near Charlotte.

As for the living, well...in that case I avoided them as anyone would avoid STI.

Or the biters.

It depends on your point of view.

But the thing that amazes me is that I have never met his men.

Or him.

Maybe they didn't think I would run away south.

Or maybe they never looked for me.

Why should he commit his men, in his opinion his most precious resources, to look for me?

Maybe there was a time when he would have turned the world upside down to find me but in the last few weeks he had grown colder.

It wasn't him anymore.

Without feelings.

No hugs, no sweet words.

Only barked orders, half-hearted phrases.

As if I were another one of his stupid men and not the most important woman in his life, as he used to call me.

It is as if he had convinced himself that his love for me made him weak in the eyes of others, as if love me made him vulnerable and therefore less credible or reliable as a leader.

I feel my legs give out, my knees tremble, forcing me to kneel on the hard ground.

I bring the hand that isn't busy gripping the tree to my head, as if this gesture could ease my pain.

The same excruciating pain in my head that hasn't left me for days now seems to explode with ferocity, as if I suddenly found myself hanging upside down and all the blood was draining towards my brain, giving me the not so pleasant sensation of my eyes being forced out of my eye sockets.

In the midst of this ocean of pain I can hear the cawing of a crow that echoes throughout the forest, making me jump violently, making my heartbeat skyrocket.

I feel it beating so hard that I have the almost mathematical certainty that at any moment it could break through my ribs and come out of my chest.

The crow flies away with a rustle of wings, continuing on its way unaware of having almost caused me a cardiac arrest.

Another dizziness takes me by surprise, making me lose my grip on the tree and finding myself on all fours, my stomach shaking with violent spasms while empty retching fills my dry and sore throat.

I know what's happening.

I'm aware of it.

The problem is that I'm fucking scared of it.

I can't accept it.

After all, who could do it?

Who would be able to accept their death as if nothing had happened?

I feel my eyes burning but no tears appear.

My crooked mouth in a grip of perpetual pain burns, the dozens of small wounds that cover it bleed with every small movement.

I've learned to live with hunger, it's not as difficult as it seems.

The last time I think I ate was about two or three days ago.

I had found a small cabin in the woods, I think it was an old hunter's lodge.

With only a few hours of light ahead of me, I had decided to stop and set a small trap near my refuge for that night.

Maybe I would catch a disgusting possum or if I was really lucky a rabbit.

But instead, the next morning, the only thing I found was a little mouse.

Small, defenseless, gasping desperately with his little paw stuck in the trap.

He squealed forcefully, fighting for his life.

I still remember the tears of disgust at what I was about to do but it was for my own life.

For my survival.

I felt pathetic feeling sorry for a small and insignificant ball of fur but I think I saw myself in him.

Too small and defenseless for this world that is now too cruel and cowardly, destined to succumb but not therefore willing to give up.

I believe my sleep deprivation played a major role in my little mental breakdown.

An hour later I was sitting in front of a small fire, my hair glued to my neck from sweat and the remains of that little warrior on the ground in front of me.

“Mors tua vita mea” I found myself whispering while looking at those little bones.

Both of us, the little mouse and I, had only one mission, survive and there would be only one winner.

The failure of the little rodent guaranteed the achievement of my goal...surviving a few more days.

A rustle in the distance brings me back to the present.

I try to use every ounce of strength to concentrate all my energy on lifting my head, to at least try to understand where the noise is coming from, but by now dehydration is taking over, making me weak and exposed.

Vulnerable.

And in this world if you are vulnerable you are dead.

I lower my head in defeat, my forehead almost touching the dry leaves on the ground.

The smell of mold and musk tickling my nostrils.

My fingers dig into the ground with anger and frustration.

The sun continues to burn the back of my neck undisturbed, dulling my pale skin.

Some dirty strands escape from my bun and stick to my sweat-beaded forehead.

I am thirsty.

I'm literally dying of thirst.

And honestly it's a horrible death.

I finished my last water about five days ago.

For the next two days, after the end of that precious liquid, I drank my own urine twice.

I still remember the feeling of disgust, the tears rolling down my cheeks.

My head screaming at me not to do it while my body begged me otherwise.

I had to do it, I had no choice...

But then between the sweat and the lack of any other liquid even the urine disappeared and now I haven't drunk for almost 48 hours and my body can't take it anymore.

It's shutting down.

I am slowly and surely losing all functions.

Like I'm falling but I'm doing it in slow motion, I know I'll crash eventually and it'll be horrible but I can't do anything to help it.

I'm there, sitting in the front row watching my end.

Cool.

That rustling again.

I would like to get up, my instinct tells me to check what it is, to fight, but my body no longer responds to me.

It's like my brain has dissociated itself from everything else and told me “Hell no baby, I don't give a fuck, I'm done.Now it's your business"

Another round of retching knocks me out, forcing me to lie down on the ground, melting against it, with the dry leaves as a pillow.

I hear footsteps and I can't understand if they belong to a human being or to a biter.

The sounds are confusing, like everything else after all.

Thoughts become incoherent, and reality mixes with memories of the past.

“Come on my little girl, don't give up”

Is my daddy's voice?

The almost musical cadence of his voice makes my heart skip a beat.

Or is it just the palpitations due to dehydration?

Then another voice…

“Summer?Where are you my dear?"

Mom?

It's you?

Where are you?

Rolling onto my side and using the last of my strength I lie down onto my back.

Behind my closed eyelids I can perceive the intensity of the sun.

The sounds in my ears don't make sense, they come and go garbled and distorted.

Words, angry growls, whispers.

I believe my time has finally come.

The only regret?

Knowing that I came close, so close.

Atalanta is only a few tens of miles away and dying like this, devoured by some horde or simply devoured by my own thirst, sucks.

Dying sucks.

It's not how I imagined it.

It's certainly not like in the movies, that's for sure.

There is no last soft sigh, nothing romantic.

No cathartic moments.

No understanding of the meaning of life.

There is no flashback, no images of your life flashing before you.

Indeed...every breath is a stab, a slow torture that consumes your soul.

First, it fucks your brain and then he takes everything else.

An agony without grace.

Dying is not easy.

But despite everything I will die happy knowing that I tried in every way.

I tried to survive tooth and nail but in the end this world got the better of me.

A lone tear drips from my left eye.

Then the darkness.

Here, today, my journey towards a better life ends.

My run towards the freedom ends.

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