#but the jackboot is on fire

[moonglowmuses]

bill was always prepared for the worst. he'd been mocked for being a SURVIVALIST for a long time. but, eventually, the end of the world did come. he'd been ready while others had not been. if it weren't for frank, he would have been content watching the universe burn. he did not know what he was doing at this person's house, but he uncomfortably settled into his seat at their dining room table. after several moments of painful silence, bill asked... "WHAT AM I DOING HERE?" he did not know what was expected of him.

@lcvenderhcze

[elliemuze]

To be fair, Bill was not a right-wing nut job. Like, at all. He was a survivalist and liked guns, but neither of those are inherently right-wing whatsoever.

Right-wingers, as we know them in this period of reality, are very much pro-government and pro-establishment and pro-fascist regime. Right-wingers, correct me if wrong, were very Patriotism Above All Else during the attacks of September 11th, and very passionately blamed Muslims alone for the tragedy, to the extent of supporting a slew of truly heinous war crimes against MILLIONS who had nothing at all to do with the 9/11 attacks. Likewise, to be a right-winger is not necessarily synonymous with being a Nazi, but there is most certainly an undeniable overlap.

-

BILL:

1. Knows not to trust the government

2. Believed 9/11 to be an inside job

3. Considered the government to be a fascist Nazi regime [there was a qualifier here of course that likened such description to present day Fedra, the fictional overseers in the game/show, but context clues suggest he probably believed it to be true both before and after the Infection began.]

Bill ain't no right-winger. Put some respect on his name, I beg of you. 😂

[I say again, simply having guns and prepping supplies in the event civilization falls apart are not uniquely right-wing traits. All it means is that you're the guy everyone's itching to be friends with in the apocalypse lol.]

Have I mentioned how much I love Nick Offerman?

[tlbodine]

So, Things Are Terrible and You Want to DO SOMETHING

The election is over and, ah...did not go well. While a lot of folks are doing a post mortem of the campaigns and trying to understand what happened with the vote and fighting over who shoulders the blame, we've gotta turn an eye toward the future and figure out, okay fam, where the fuck do we go from here.

I don't have all the answers on this, and I'm not an authority by any means, I'm just a horror author with a blog. But I've been thinking a lot about it and I wanted to share my thought process with others who might want to DO SOMETHING but feel they're spinning their wheels.

Buckle in. This will be a long one.

Step One: Understand the actual risks and stakes.

I think it is very easy to start panicking now about the worst possible case scenario -- jackbooted military busting into the door to disappear everyone who ever said something mean about Trump or bought a banned book or something -- and let fear turn into inaction.

I'm not saying things can't get that bad, and I'm not saying that it won't be absolutely terrifying right out the gate for some particularly at-risk groups -- but the distance between "now" and "V for Vendetta" is long and filled with a lot of intermediary steps. There will be so many opportunities to prevent the worst case scenario.

I say this because, if your mental image of "Bad Things Happening" is The Purge, it will be easy to wake up on inauguration day, look outside to see that the world is not on fire, think, hey, maybe things will be okay after all, and then completely disengage. Alternatively, you might feel so frozen with terror at the possibility of persecution that you do nothing. This is why people are saying: don't obey in advance.

It is essential for those of us with more privilege to use it to take care of those who are more vulnerable.

So. Who is most vulnerable? What does that vulnerability actually mean? What are the most likely risks of Trump's presidency? Here's a Guardian article that I think does a good job of summarizing some of the main issues. Go read that, then come back here.

Step Two: Take steps to protect yourself

You've gotta put your oxygen mask on first, right? So before you start getting involved in other causes, figure out what risks YOU are at, immediately, and do as much as you can to secure yourself. Some potential action steps depending on your circumstance may include:

Renewing your passport (helpful for leaving the country, but also for gender/name change purposes)

Getting vaccines / boosters

Securing birth control

Ensuring your necessary papers (birth certificates etc.) are where you have access to them.

Drawing up legal paperwork for spouses/partners (always a good idea, a helpful safety measure in case you lose marriage rights)

Bolstering your data privacy and online security. Here's a step-by-step guide I found that could help with that.

The specific steps you need to take here depend on what risks you, personally, face. You'll want to do some more research into this for your particular scenario.

No matter who you are, though, it's probably a good idea to start saving money and being a little more conservative with your spending and/or pay down debts to free up some cash. You don't know what kind of emergency may befall you, and having spare money for an emergency is never a bad idea.

There is a possibility that the cost of many things you rely on might go up, if Trump goes through with his tariffs plan. You will want to plan for that.

Food costs may also rise due to tariffs (we import a lot of food from Mexico and Latin America for example) as well as a loss of immigrant labor. There is also a possibility that food safety standards could fall due to overturning regulations. Now would be a good time to look into local food resources like farm share/CSA, community farms, etc., and to stock up on a few key staples like rice and beans.

Okay. Now that YOU are reasonably safe...what can you do to protect your community?

Step Three: Get Involved

Here is your mission: You need to stay engaged enough to know what's going on, without burning yourself out or exhausting yourself, and to take actual decisive actions instead of wasting your energy arguing on the internet.

Got that? Okay. Good. Here are some action steps:

Support independent journalism. Subscribe to local papers, donate to and watch public broadcast programming. I signed up for news from ProPublica, for example, as well as the news-roundup service What The Fuck Just Happened Today. The goal is to stay informed without falling down an endless rabbit hole of upsetting information.

Share news and resources with others in your circle. This can be a good use of social media. It's what I am doing right now!

If it is safe for you to do so, challenge and educate your friends/family members/neighbors/coworkers. Only if it is safe for you to do so. Do not put yourself at risk doing this. And do not waste your time arguing with people who are unlikely to change. But if you have well-meaning people in your life who you think could be won over, look for opportunities to do this - the right way. I've had some success with this, I will probably write a guide about it in the future. In the meantime, here's a good article that can help.

Join local grassroots activism groups. You'll have to do some work to decide what groups to join and which causes you want to support, because you cannot do everything. But there are tons of organizations taking direct action in all kinds of causes. Search "grassroots [cause] activists in [where you live]" to start finding things. Once you get involved in one group, you might meet people who can introduce you to other groups and causes. Yes, this means you will have to go outside and meet people. I'm sorry.

Join direct action groups. Same concept as above. You'll have to search in your area but once you know people it'll be easier to find more opportunities. Some of these groups may overlap. You might find direct action opportunities by engaging politically and vice versa. GO OUTSIDE AND TALK TO PEOPLE WHO ARE DOING THINGS TO HELP.

Get involved in local politics. Here are some quick tips. A lot of things are affected at the city level - stuff like book bans and bathroom bills are often battled first at local libraries and schools, and you can be part of those conversations! Sheriffs are elected and can have a big influence on local policing. Local elections affect how tax dollars are spent, how homeless populations are treated, and lots more. Don't snooze on local elections. Get involved and stay involved.

Look up your representatives. Get in the habit of calling, emailing, and writing letters. Figure out what legislature is being passed and then call your reps and harangue them about it - both to support bills you approve of and shoot down ones you don't. Sign petitions. Join email campaigns. Here's one you can go sign right now from the ACLU. See? Not that scary.

I think a lot of people figure that getting involved in politics doesn't matter or that it's all small potatoes but...man. The president is not god, no matter what he thinks. The sitting administration is not the sole power in the universe. There is an entire machine of government we can lean upon and act upon.

Finally, some general safety notes:

Some forms of direct action are not legal. Take steps to be safe if you choose to partake. Follow the lead of more seasoned activists for what forms of communication to use and so forth.

If you're not willing or able to put yourself at legal risk to act, you can help others by donating to bail funds and legal defense funds.

We've already seen this in some areas, and it will only get uglier - some bad actors are feeling emboldened by the change in regime and will misbehave. It's a good idea to learn some self-defense skills, in whatever way is comfortable to you, and brush up on some tenets of victimology that can help you stay safe. I'll write more about that in the future.

All right. That's all for now. It's by no means comprehensive...but should hopefully help you get started taking the next step. Stay safe out there.

[ambulancevsambulance]

This is my Essay from the MCR Swarm Zine. I kept hesitating to put it up here, as I feel pretty tender about it. But after everything that happened yesterday, today. I feel like I have to put it out here. It's necessary. Needed. For myself, at the very least.

--

"'Cause you only live forever in the lights you make”

It’s June 2022, and I’m watching My Chemical Romance perform songs of anger, community, and defiance in one of my favorite cities- Prague. 

The city of my father’s family. A city that has repeatedly stared tyranny in the face and decided to rise up despite the odds.  

It’s 1945 and the citizens have rebelled to take back the city from the Nazis, street by street.

It’s the spring of 1968, and citizens fight against another oppressive regime. They are supposed to be crushed in four days. 

They last eight. Months. 

It’s 1989, another uprising, one that comes to be known as the Velvet Revolution. The city is finally free, a culmination of every revolution and rebellion that has come before. 

In each instance citizens clawed towards freedom by any means necessary, fighting in the open to stop jackbooted goons from holding onto power. To save friends, family, and complete strangers from suffering for one more moment. Each time they lost, they made sure to make it hurt, and to make the oppressor remember how hard the fight had been. 

They didn’t always win the battle,

–The good guys die and the bad guys win–

but they won the war. 

These people keenly knew that institutions will not save you. Only your fellow comrades will.

It’s June 2022. My friends and I are facing calls of discrimination, for extermination. It can be a miserable time, but I find strength in watching one of my favorite bands. I join the hundreds on livestream, watching the thousands in the stadium. Our eyes fixed on the five on stage. 

As Gerard starts crooning out the notes of Heaven Help Us for the first time in fourteen years, again I’m reminded:

They will not save you.

What is this song but a scream to be saved by outside forces? That in the midst of a cruel martyrdom, the Heavens will be silent to pleas for help. It’s the punchline to the joke, right? No higher power is coming to save you, no matter how much you cry. 

Best they can offer is to watch you burn. 

Heaven Help Us has never been a hopeful song–and it’s a struggle to feel hopeful, some days. 

But the world is an echo of the past as much as it is a march towards an uncertain future. I feel those ghosts whispering to remember this city’s history while watching MCR on stage. To remember that the only solidarity that can be found is in mutual aid–in the community of our fellow freaks and queers and fags. That without intersectionality between it all we will fucking fail. It’s hard work, and we won’t always win.

That doesn’t mean we– I – should give up. And MCR agrees. In contrast to the despair of Heaven Help Us, there is Danger Days– which speaks more to me now than any other MCR album. Songs of radical love and resistance against fascist conglomerates and an uncaring apocalyptic world…that doesn’t feel as fictional as it did before. 

In Prague, MCR plays six songs from that album (Boy Division counts, damn it). Seeing Gerard, Frank, and Ray all screaming into their microphones about an apocalypse that is crashing down around our ears lights a fire inside of me. Reminding me that changing the world might mean dying, but hell yeah lets try anyways. Your sacrifice might light the path of victory for others. You get to be the fucking detonator–and isn’t that a privlege? To have your acts of resistance inspire the next in line. 

It’s in direct contrast to the lament of Heaven. Stop asking who, what will save us, and realize we have to save ourselves. By any means possible. 

The concert ends with Kids from Yesterday, and I finish the night listening to Gerard sing that the only people we can truly count on are each other. That fighting for your friends is the purest form of love alive. 

So in the face of extermination, say fuck you.

And make damn sure your friends want to leave graffiti on your grave. 

[officialunionhr]

[COMPILING] ... ... Greetings Namless representative of Union DoJ/HR, Avolio Combat Systems has intercepted communications indicate that you wish to aid rogue Albatross elements who throw their lot in with terrorists in attacking our New Albion Garrison. Baseless rumours of our usage of Nuclear weaponry have been spread by insurgents who oppose our peaceful occupation and development. Regardless, this space falls well outside of the borders of your Union. Knowing this, do you wish to continue you "punitive" measures?

Hello!

I'm so pleased to have gotten into contact with me, I'm pleased to inform you that there is no such thing as "rogue" albatross agents and/or elements and all agents aligned with Albatross act with the full weight of the organization behind them.

And in this situation they also act with the full weight of Union behind them.

Do not worry about jurisdiction, the DOJ/HR specializes in working outside of Unions border's to kick in the teeth of any Jackbooted genocide enabling nuke Chucking sycophants such as your bosses.

I encourage you not to fire on any DOJ/HR ships or personel once they arrive in system, and to hand over your nuclear armarments to be properly disposed of.

We're humans after all, not animals, there is no conflict that warrants the use of such barbaric weapons of genocide when words can be used to end things just as fast.

Signed: [REDACTED]

[moonglowmuses]

"yes, he cares about me. probably more than he should." it surprised bill every single day that frank put up with his nonsense. it was a life that he struggled to believe that he deserved to live. still, he was grateful. he could not be more grateful if he tried. "he worries about me, because... well, i don't always make the BEST DECISIONS." bill was more likely to lock himself away and to say 'fuck you' to the world. he would choose to BURN THINGS DOWN, rather than to build them back up. frank was his daffodil hope, his belief in a brand new day. "it makes sense," bill agreed with a stiff nod. "i'm hoping that you will change my mind, cosmo." bill trusted therapy more than he trusted MAGIC, so that was a good start.

"Pleasure is all belonging to Cosmo." she greeted him back, yawning for a moment to see if perhaps her own state of relaxation would help calm the other who seemed to be perhaps nervous or apprehensive. "Bill." he repeated, turning her attention to him again. "It is sounding like your husband care very big much about you. Would you be thinking is true?" her tail wagged for a moment, hoping to help stir up happy memories of his partner. "Therapy not magic wand. Is more like crutch for bad leg. Will hold Bill up. But, leg not get better if Bill not try to walk without. Making sense?"

@moonglowmuses

[madamtrashbat]

I was chatting with a friend recently about the ways antis operate and how damaging their ideology is and I wanted to organize my thoughts about it.

It's one thing to be like "I wish minors wouldn't interact with my work because it's got adult content" (which is not something you can 100% control short of paywalling) but it's another thing ENTIRELY to be like "minors should never look at anything sexual ever and people who think it's okay that they do are secret pedophiles."

Teenagers need to have the safe space to explore their sexuality and figure their shit out and sometimes that place is fandom. Sometimes teens are trying to deal with the fantasies they have about their hot history teacher so they consume teacher/student smut in order to work it out. Sometimes they're wondering what gives them their jollies and are just reading whatever they can to wank to, including incest and rape and other "unsavory" things just so they can get it all figured out.

Sometimes awful things have happened to teens and they're using the avenue of art and fiction to take the power back from their rapist and create a narrative they control where they are working through it safely.

And antis would see all of this and want it fucking destroyed.

I was brought up in fandom by a few of the sweetest older women (adult women!) who took me under their wings and showed me that what I was thinking and writing wasn't bad or wrong or shameful and it was all perfectly sane to have these sexual feelings because nothing makes sense when you're a kid and if you want to write Frerard where Gerard is the hot teacher to Frank's catholic schoolboy in order to deal with your feelings about the sexy sub you just got at your school then that's totally fine.

These trusted adults also comforted me when I was afraid, taught me what boundaries were (please do not actually pursue the sub!), told me what were normal interactions and what I should be wary of (do NOT let the sub pursue you), and they were proud of me as I made my way into the world as a reasonably well-adjusted adult.

(Hi, Gaja, can't wait for your Christmas card!)

Sexuality is weird and messy and whatever makes our pants tighter is all individual and equally weird. Telling teenagers to not seek out porn and to not even speak to adults is just a one-way ticket to growing fucked-up people who don't know how to operate without shame and then we have a resurgence in Catholicism and NOBODY needs that.

And the way that antis rally against this, like teenagers are Pure and Sweet Babies who are being corrupted by the Awful Adults Like Me (who are secretly child diddlers obviously) is just. So fucking damaging.

Imagine trying to handle the way your hormones are firing off at everything and you're just not sure what's going on and instead of a kind adult going "hey we were all freaks at 16 and it's totally normal to be like 'this strange thing is turning me on' I promise" you have some sniveling puritan asshole going "YOU ARE ACTUALLY A SEXUAL PREDATOR IF YOU LIKE THESE THINGS AND YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED AND PUNISHED BEFORE YOU ACTUALLY HARM PEOPLE."

Like. Y'all. I have seen antis claim that people who wrote about/drew rape in order to deal with their own assaults DESERVED IT because they chose to deal with it in this way. I have seen antis tell people they hope they get raped for the fiction they create. They wish death and harm against people who make fiction. Antis literally have a body count over this shit. And yet they want me to believe they're the good guys? Bye.

Antis will argue that it's not normal for people to think about gross and icky things. I argue that Holocaust survivors had sexual fantasies about actual fucking jackboot Nazis.

No one says you have to like everything everyone else does. We have a robust tagging system for a reason. But to behave as if what YOU like is the only thing that is acceptable and everything else is Bad and Wrong is not the business. Kink Tomato exists for a reason. We are all individuals who like different things. Get with it.

Teenagers are in a precarious time of development and if you want to shame them for whatever is going on in their heads then you are the problem, not the solution. Be the kind of adult you needed as a teenager, not some shaming, screaming Puritan trying to pin scarlet A's onto everything because it's sinful. Goody Proctor is just trying to rub one out in peace.

Get with the way fandom has always operated or go away. ACAB means fancop, too.

[dragonprincedrake]

Due to two of my main interests being Hozier and Wings of Fire here’s the DoD and which Hozier song I most associate with them atm

Sunny- Nina Cried Power

Starflight- Sunlight

Finch- Nobody

Glory- As it Was

Cryo- Like Real People Do

Tsunami- Jackboot Jump

Clay- Arsonist’s Lullaby

[sabakos]

I'm honestly confused, I thought you were antipsych too? I thought that's what that "kill all shrinks" tag was for

i am anti-psychiatry, but i think the self-identified "antipsych" leftists who claim mental illness is a myth or a social construct or whatever the fuck other useless nerd shit should also be executed.

This might seem harsh, but this anti-capitalist line of argumentation about mental health has the same paralytic effect towards any effective mental health activism that all other revolutionary politics do, replacing any possible workable solution with a fantasy.

They're trying to sell "ending capitalism" as a panacea, which involves pretending that problems that aren't caused by capitalism either aren't real or that they will somehow be magically solved under communism. Their arguments for this are all horseshit, but it doesn't really matter anyway because we and they all know the "world revolution" isn't fucking happening so it's just a roundabout way of declaring that your problems aren't my problems and instead we should all just sit around theorizing about the finer details of the imagined paradise to come.

It's a distraction at best and a gaping pit that sucks in any possibility of effort toward material accomplishment at worst. This isn't "praxis" or even "theory" it's fucking eschatology, this is a religion and like every religion its priests and its scriptures should be burned and the very memory of them erased from history. When the evil fascist jackboots open fire on these wannabe "revolutionary" intellectuals they unwittingly serve all of our interests.

[historia-vitae-magistras]

I am absolutely stuck on the dynamic between Brighid, Arthur, Alfred, and Jack rn. They're both Arthur's sons, but Jack was hers to raise first and she contributed to Alfred's upbringing too, and they may as well be hers with all the people they're getting from her, and that's happening because of Arthur's policies. And Arthur, for his part, parents them based on vague memories of his mother - but you've said a lot of those are actually Brighid.

Point of all that being, would you mind expanding on the early part of Arthur and Brighid's relationship, before he became a colonizing shithead? What are these memories with her that he's attributing to their mother? How did that relationship influence his parenting (both the things that he's aware were Brighid and the things that he thinks were mum but were actually Brighid?)

Okay so just to preface this so no one starts reading this like they do my more modern things where I can usually have a basis in fairly accepted and confirmable fact, we’re going so far back that not only is this not chronologically accurate, its only archaeologically plausible. This is the literary version of saying, "it's for ceremonial purposes” on the label of an artefact anyone with courage would call a prehistoric bong. There’s a big trend for “History of X in 100 Objects” right now. In my personal collection is a 'History of Ireland in 100 objects.' I’m not saying this is accurate or realistic. However, it is based on historical themes that lend themselves to what is ultimately a historical fantasy as plausible as I can write it. That said, let's crack this can of fuckery.

So, to start out, this is all pre-1066, which is when, after the Norman invasions of England, Wales, and and Southern Scotland, the history of the British in Ireland begins. Before that, we’re talking about a world where Irish raiders are a menace on the Welsh coast, and the Dál Riada is the result of an Irish migration, where the peoples on the Irish Coast brought Gaelic culture and eventually merged with and overtook the Pictish culture already occupying the area. The balance of power is very different in this world. This is not the 18th and 19th century when Brighid is firmly under the heel of a British jackboot and even when the British government was willing to concede slightly on empire, the British army nearly revolted when it was even considered to maybe, perhaps, rein in unionist violence in nineteen-fourteen just months shy of WW1. Winston Churchill was also behind that, in case you need more reasons why he's an allmighty cunt.

I give them all Celtic roots. Brighid is probably 300-500 years older than Alasdair, and then political solidification in Wales brought Rhys along and then Arthur as the reorganization of Celtic Britons in Roman Britain. This might be a hot take, but while the Anglo-Saxon ‘invasion’ in the 400s-500s brought Germanic rule and language to England, the Cumbrians and other Celts were not wiped out. Mostly it's a cultural shift. So he’s born as much a Celt as his siblings and experiences dramatic changes earlier in his life than they do. However, if you get to the root of English culture under all of the bullshit of empire and all the German royalty who built up their legitimacy by reviving Anglo-Saxon memory, history has more Celtic elements than someone might think.

In Northern England, Southern Scotland, Eastern Ireland, and the maritime fringes of Wales, there was an Iron Age tribe by the name of the Brigantes, whose name was taken from the northern goddess Brigantia, which means either ‘the exalted’ or ‘highlanders.’ Either way works for me because it is the root word of Brighid’s name, the Welsh word for prestige, honour, dignity and power, all things connected to fire, power and elevation. As all modern knowledge of her comes from 8 inscriptions and some statuary material, and her name is so goddamn appropriate, I’m running with it. It’s so close to Brittania. According to Strabo, writing about a now-lost account of a Greek sailor and explorer Pytheas, it comes from a feminine name likely from the Celts itself.

In the tradition of Catholic patron saints of specific places, Brigantia seems to have been a goddess associated with lakes, rivers, and coastlines. Saint Brighid, from the same name base, is the patron saint of Ireland, bastard children, babies, children, midwives, sailors and poets. Me, hitting a bong in 2021; yeah, that sounds like mother and daughter to me. Eirian, whose name is a version of the Welsh name for King Arthur’s mother because I’m ✨original✨ ruled her own kingdom directly. She was a queen regnant in a culture that saw that crop up often. She was a product of the Iron Age, a warrior culture where swords and a hierarchy of militancy ruled society. Brighid was her firstborn child, and very much her mother’s daughter, sharing that long, beautiful hibernian gold (think rose gold) hair down to her waist. She was tall and gorgeous, with a head for politics as well as martial talent, but Eirian was as much a goddess of the hearth as the sea and war; she still took her tributes in blood, and treasure. She ruled directly with iron and faith.

Brighid, however, while just as capable of that, had a personality that found early Christianity very appealing. It’s hard for us to imagine now, but 1,500-2,000 years ago, Christianity was, in many ways, a much gentler religion than some flavours of what we now call paganism. And while just as capable at every aspect of ruling as her mother, I do think Brighid has aspects to her personality that were kinder, a bit softer. She was an artist in the scriptoriums, a weaver, all these things in her golden age. And she was grown, or near it, by the time Arthur came along. And the gentlest things he remembers about his mother are usually Brighid. An image of a woman weaving, red hair pouring down her back as her fingers fly over the shuttle and her feet work the treadles. That is Brighid. Another of a woman’s elegant and quick fingers on the spindle, fitting the handle into a clumsy child’s hands, laughing when he gets frustrated. Also Brighid. Picking him up and giving him a raspberry even when he kicks to be let down because he wants to run everywhere, is also Brighid. Teaching him to put his knife into the kidney because he’s young, and that's the highest he can reach? That’s his mother. The two images, his powerful mother and his bright sister swirl together when Arthur gets into a strange mood.

He'll yammer away in Cumbrian and hum the tune of the songs who's words he cant remember. When she died in the 5th or 6th century, they scattered as their various regions expanded and solidified linguistically as Common Bythronic became Welsh, Gaelic, and Cumbrian (Scotland’s native Celtic language is actually extinct, replaced by Irish Gaelic in late antiquity.) England imploded under the pressure of the Germanic migrations, so I picture Arthur kind of wandering through his numerous kingdoms most of the year. Brighid may have, too. It was common for high-status people to go on progress and stay with the nobility from time to time in various European societies. However, I can also see her with her own mini-kingdom inside the Gaelic system of ranking kings, over kings and high kings. Arthur would usually spend the winter with one of his siblings. Usually Rhys, but he would have been welcome with Brighid for a long time, even as the wee cuckoo, half-German bastard that he was. He may have even lived with her for long periods. But once, she was power, and once she loved him and once he wasn't the cause of all the horror of her years. It was a different world before the Vikings came.

[thecglcatalog]

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Adult Baby Military Hats.  Irresistibly adorable little caps to adorn baby’s head – and strip former symbols of power of their masculine mystique.  Cavalry Stetson is slightly too small for most adult heads, but has an adjustable chin strap; its signature badge and tassels are baby pink.  Police-style Patrol Cap has black patent leather brim and strap, your choice of navy body with gold teddy button or powder blue body with rhinestone heart button.  Sailor Hat in neatly starched white cotton has an embroidered anchor and pins to the hair at a jaunty angle.

Shooting Stars Spanker.  Your little patriot probably associates stars with rewards for valor.  Give him a gold star for naughtiness instead with this super-stingy spanking rod of flexible nanoplastic, which has cutout stars that leave a distinct red mark on his bottom. Specify color: light red, butter, sky.

Clothespin Soldiers.  With the ideas he was given about masculinity, baby might struggle for a while to relax into doll play.  Help him transition with a set of clothespin-doll toy soldiers!  They’re modern spring clothespins with an extra steel rod to hold a wooden bead head.  Little felt military uniforms and painted jackboots turn them into cute and classic toys – that have a pinchy bite sure to make his nipples snap to attention.  Set of 6.  Specify coat color: classic red, powder blue, or sparkle pink.

Tarpaulin Nursery Softies Gift Set.  Whether he associates them with field tactics or camping, crinkly tarps are a sweet personalization for his new nursery!  Two throw pillows with steel grommet corners and a folding nap mat are packed inside a toy box with matching upholstery, steel grommet finger loops, fitted lid.  Specify blue plastic tarp, Olive Drab nylon canvas, or Tactical Black nylon canvas.  The box arrives tied with a burlap ribbon that secures a miniature tarp teddy on top!

Tin Tank Baby Walker.  Adult-sized version of a first-year essential shaped like an antique tank!  Stand-up bouncer on locking casters has a stretchy-springy supporter in the middle.  Lower your slave through the top hatch into the seat and let him push himself around with his knees, or lock the casters and tie his ankles to the eyebolts in the back of the play tray so he can’t reach the floor and has to stay where you put him.  Play tray includes toy periscope, swiveling toy cannon, buttons to push that produce “whoosh” and “bang” noises, some interesting unmarked dials (they’re actually a thermometer/barometer), and a recessed slot for a snack, puzzle, or board book.  Plastic and molded metal; specify color: buff, black, olive drab.

Cavalry Charge Play Set.  Adult baby boy rides to the rescue!  Spring-frame wooden bouncy horse has a screw port for a dildo at the rear of its saddle (and another one between the hind legs for display … or multi-slave play, for that matter).  Slide your little man’s hole onto the dildo, hand him the vibrating rubber sword (don’t worry, it’s too flimsy for him to hurt himself!), and top off his look with baby cavalry hat and a white clip-on play cape attached to his nipples or onesie shoulders.  Charge! Also includes a nylon Rocking Horse Girth in Tactical Black for keeping him on the horsie.  Specify horse finish: white/red accents, pine/black accents, stained oak.

Soldier Peg Doll Anal Trainer.  Special edition hole-gaping practice toy has five subtly contoured peg dolls in a row, from a two-inch cadet to a nine-inch general!  It’s carved from smooth wood with a glossy wipe-clean finish that won’t absorb lube.  Specify your peg soldiers’ painted uniforms: green forest camo, buff desert camo, black with gold accents.

[moonglowmuses]

there was a SPECIAL SPOT that bill returned to when he was needing some alone time. he preferred the remoteness of the woods to the bustling-nature of the inner city. bill was preparing a FIRE, taking up a stump for a seat so that he could relax a bit. he had a couple of beers, too. what more did a man need? bill turned quickly when he saw that someone had observed him and his place. "you caught me red-handed," the survivalist suggested. "i am cooking and having a fire. since you've already found my spot, you'd might as well STAY FOR A MEAL."

@lcvenderhcze

[im-adream]

Hozier Lyrics That Make Me 😌

Wasteland, Baby! Era

Nina Cried Power: Power is my love when my love reaches to me

Almost (Sweet Music): I laugh like me again she laughs like you

Movement: When you move I can recall something that’s gone from me

No Plan: My heart is thrilled by the still of your hand // How big the hourglass, how deep the sand, I shouldn’t hope to know but here I stand

Nobody: I’d be appalled if I saw you try to be a saint, I wouldn’t fall for someone I thought couldn’t misbehave // And if I had a choice between hearing either noise, the excitement of a thousand or the soothing of your voice

To Noise Making (Sing): Was it that or just the act of making noise that brought you joy?

As It Was: Make your good love known to me or just tell me about your day // the nights were as dark as my baby and half as beautiful too

Shrike: I couldn’t whisper when you needed it shouted

Talk: I’d be the dreadful need in the devotee that made him turn around

Be: When I have no kind words left love for you

Dinner & Diatribes: I’d suffer hell if you tell me what you’d do to me tonight // tell your man // let there be hotel complaints and grievances raised and that kind of love

Would That I: I fell in love with the fire long ago

Sunlight: Each day you rise with me know that I would gladly be the Icarus to your certainty my sunlight, sunlight, sunlight strap the wing to me death trap clad happily, with wax melted I’d meet the sea under sunlight

Wasteland, Baby!: And I love too that love soon might end and be known in its aching

NFWMB: If I was born as a blackthorn tree, I’d want to be felled by you, held by you, fuel the pyre of your enemies

Moment’s Silence (Common Tongue): What yields the need for those who lead us oh so morally // so summon on the pearl rosary

Jackboot Jump: So you know good things are happening when the jackboot needs to jump

[moonglowmuses]

as a survivalist, bill made very little money. from time to time, he constructed a bunker for people. he provided survivalist lessons as well. the types were diverse, ranging from starting fires to learning how to control them. he taught people how to establish shelter and how to fend off foes. those side jobs were helpful, but he also made money being crafty. he could cook as well as he could fix cars. he was doing the latter now and he could not wait to get home to see frank for the rest of the evening. "you had more problems with this car than i was expecting," bill stated, reminding himself not to get too frustrated with his client. it was hard for him to keep his cool at times. "thirty minutes more isn't much. hang tight." bill nodded, not about to fight the other about his needs. "here's a chair here. take a load off. it won't be much longer."

Despite being highly skilled engineer, William didn't work on cars. He found it to be below his worth. It was too common a job. His talents were reserved for robotics. Something people would marvel at, not something they'd drive to the grocery store in. Regardless of his lack of appreciation for them, he'd become quite reliant on his own car after being attacked. He still couldn't walk without aid and a lot of the time it was simply easier to drive. "Thirty minutes? You said that forty five minutes ago. How hard can it be?" He sighed as much as his rib brace would allow for, trying to remain professional despite his frustrations. "Alright. Thirty minutes. But, I'm not leaving again. I need to sit down."

@moonglowmuses

[offsidekineticist]

💎💎💎 for emery? From any of your ocs I love them all 👁️

I decided to have Giliys handle this one, which is part of why it took so long - took some time to pin down exactly how intense the emotional reaction would be - and also means I need the "I am sorry please know that I love your OC and don't necessarily endorse these opinions" disclaimer. Under a cut because cw: discussion of slavery and cycles of abuse

Giliys scowls, fire in his eyes. "That treacherous backstabbing piece of shit deserves to rot in every fucking level of hell at once, and I'd fucking make it happen if I didn't have the kids to think of.

"What, didn't expect that? Didn't think I'd hate the kid that fucking much? Look, I met a lotta slaves in my time. Most of em were slaves their whole damn lives. And a lot of em pissed me the fuck off, cuz, y'see, it's easy to think, when that fuckery is the only shit you know, that everyone is either a slave or a slaver. And as much as I can't fucking stand the ones who decide they're good with being slaves, I really fucking hate the ones who escape by becoming slavers.

"And you can always tell the slavers who used to be slaves, cuz they're the most brutal, zealous, evil fucking bastards. Cuz beating the rest of us down is how they prove they're not like us. They're the one with the fucking whip. Slaves don't have fucking whips, see, so of course that means they're better. Stronger. Free. A slaver who's always been free beats you till you stop fighting. The ones who were slaves beats you till he's convinced himself he's not like you.

"That's Sunshine. No clue what hellhole he crawled out of, but whatever one it was, he's scared enough of going back that he needs to prove he's not a slave anymore. And the fucker can't imagine a world where 'not a slave' means anything but 'slaver,' so he ran to the first jackboot he could find and begged them to let him join and backstabbed everyone who's ever been like him. And don't give me that 'not all hellknights' crap. Any hellknight order that's got no slaves just don't got the money for 'em.

"He's already on his way to being just like the other freed slavers. Already fucking rabid about 'law and order.' Thinks if he beats 'lawbreakers' hard enough, he'll be free, when all he'll be is a slave with a cushy job and no fucking soul.

"And before you ask: no, I don't got any fucking sympathy for the bastard. Cuz I don't got any fucking sympathy for slavers, and that's what he's throwing his heart and soul into becoming. So fuck him and the stupid fucking ghost horse he rode in on."

[goldenponcho]

Salazar Fic! Salazar Fic! Salazar Fic! SALAZAR FIC!!!

The remake has rekindled my love for this adorable gremlin man! It’s more the original version, but I’m taking a LOT from the remake. (Most importantly, those nails.)

Also, this is a Salazar/OC fic, and I am very proud of it so far..

You Can Lead a Castellan to Water…

Chapter 1: The Boon

The vast castle halls had long held a quietness that secretly made the young castellan’s heart drop into his stomach. There were times he honestly missed the bustle of hundreds of servants and other nobles flitting about the yawning archways and echoing from impressively towering ceilings. The emptiness made him feel…small. And there was nothing more vexing to Ramon Salazar than feeling small.

Ramon huffed, suddenly having trouble keeping up with his two towering guards, and retrieved a handkerchief from his inside breast pocket to wipe the sweat from his pale forehead. As they approached the audience chamber, he handed the dirtied hanky to his right side guard as the left opened the double doors to allow him entrance.

Self consciousness at how slow it felt to get down the hall to the stairs it opened to made his usually cold skin feel like he had walked into a furnace. He straightened himself as he neared the threshold before bowing to the Lord standing before him, barely noting before lowering his head that the man was not alone.

“My ILLUSTRIOUS Lord Saddler,” he addressed his superior, and as he rose again he saw a large man next to him, clearly military, who held restrained a woman in dirty coveralls.

“My boy,” Saddler had to stoop to give the shorter man an affectionate squeeze of the shoulder, then he turned in a grandiose motion to present the even taller, muscle-bound man and his captive at the bottom of the steps.

“It seems we have been graced with a willing American mole, who has so far proven himself a capable smuggler of…valuable goods.” Saddler’s gaze shifted to the woman, whose dark eyes only had a moment to meet Ramon’s before dropping to her knees with a sharp intake of breath as the large man twisted her arm behind her back and forced her down.

The castellan cocked his head, eyeing the prisoner in curiosity and slight confusion, “Do pardon my boldness, Lord Saddler, but this parcel doesn’t particularly strike as the offspring of a national leader.” He smirked, giving into a fleeting whim of mischief, “No offense intended, naturally.”

“None taken,” the woman’s voice was horse. That’s when Ramon noticed the bruises and the ring of dried blood around one nostril before her face was forced to the floor by a heavy heel pressed between her shoulder blades.

“You speak when spoken to, civilian!”

Saddler didn’t flinch, but Ramon winced at the thud of the woman’s head hitting the tile.

“No, my child,” Saddler walked around him to face the compromised captive as well, “This lamb has a different part to play in serving our faith.”

Ramon’s observance remained on the battered creature at his feet as he descended the stairs and approached, before raising his gaze to the man behind her. “I’ll implore you to remove the jackboot from the back of our Lord’s prisoner, Americano.”

The man sneered down his nose, and Ramon felt the tremor of his blood beginning to simmer.

“Krauzer,” Saddler’s voice was reserved, but stern, and the large man obeyed the young castellan’s command, pulling the woman back to her knees, who shook her head with a huff and a groan.

“The time has come, my child, to exercise your gift…” Saddler’s eyes bore down into the younger man’s before turning again to the prisoner, “…and to share it with another.”

Ramon’s heart was now in his throat, and he felt his own plaga spasm. He knew the time would come, but now that it was here, his nerves were on fire. He felt those nerves showing through in his face and despite his Lord’s unwavering expression, he knew that he saw the apprehension.

He felt the squeeze on his shoulder, almost painful this time as he was urged closer to their prisoner, who despite recognizing some unknown coming unpleasantness, locked eyes with Ramon. It was the challenge in those eyes that stoked just the right amount of cruelty in him.

“You should be grateful, dulce dama. Our gracious Lord has counted you fit to carry our most sacred gift,” she didn’t flinch as cold fingers made contact with her cheek, “But I really must apologize ahead of time for this abrupt intrusion upon your person.”

She was only able to twitch an eyebrow as the digits that now cupped her chin elongated and shoved themselves swiftly into her mouth and down her throat.

She thrashed, but her head was held in place by Krauzer behind her, forcing her to do nothing but choke pitifully. Ramon was overcome with the urge to look away from his own handiwork, but the thought of looking away from her smacked of cowardice. Disrespect, even, to Lord Saddler but even more so to his victim, who at this point warranted at least a remnant of dignity for her bravery.

The thought barely passed through his mind before the sudden crushing pain of his extended tendrils being bitten. Hard.

He yelped, instinctively yanking back his hand, teeth raking painfully across tentacles as they retreated back into their host as she coughed and wretched.

With a snarl, he snatched her roughly by the jaw again with his other hand, “Pequeña animal sucia…” He tossed her head aside, and she returned the remark with the slightest hint of a smirk even as she attempted to calm her coughing fit.

“The deed is done, nevermind your insolence…”

“My dear son…well done!” he felt Saddler’s touch at his shoulder again and a swell of pride and joy. He had done what his benevolent Lord had asked him to. “Your work with this one will continue. Your loyal servants should be quite adept at keeping her vivacity in check until she has fully accepted the plaga.”

Ramon bowed in obedience.

“Still, you would be wise to use caution. She is a special case. A boon to our holy cause that does not come without risk.”

He wanted to ask what his Lord was implying, but he knew it was a question that, for the time being, would go unanswered. It helped that he had just surpassed an obstacle he had worried over for some time now. It hadn’t been a pleasant process, though if done to a deserving enough enemy, he could certainly get used to it.

“I will leave you to your duties, my child.”

Lord Saddler made his exit, and as Ramon snapped his fingers to direct the verdugo to take his new prisoner from the American, the four were left alone.

The woman staggered to her feet as his right and left hand lifted her, and though shaky, she exhibited a surprising resilience considering her current condition.

“I trust your impressive tenacity will not become a problem, señorita…”

“I’ll do my best…”

Ramon gave her another once over. Even under the baggy jumpsuit, it was clear she was anything but frail. The suit bottoms, though loose, didn’t hide the thickness of her legs, and now that she stood, it was clear that carried through the rest of her body. Femininely soft, but with a clear underlying strength. He also took note of the nasty gash that ran diagonally across her forearm, still caked in blood.

“And what shall I call you?”

There was a flicker of something he caught behind her black eyes, as if she hadn’t expected him to ask for her name.

“Abigail Crain,” she sniffed, as if inhaling a stream of stray nose blood, “But Gail’s fine. What shall I call YOU?”

“Gail,” he tested the name with a nod, then bowed with a flourish.

“Me llamo Ramon Salazar.”

Spanish translation:

dulce dama - sweet lady

pequeña animal sucia - filthy little animal

I think we can figure out the rest.