#fuck this stupid shithole country

[organvaults]

beating nyen with a bat because he is (once again) probably the only canonical usamerican in this comic

[beepbeepmfkr]

Honestly if trump wins I'm blocking anyone who's ever put "the Dems are just as bad so why bother voting" bullshit on my dash. Y'all will do everything to blame anyone else but yourselves for not doing the absolute bare minimum of your duty as a citizen and the hilarious part is that so many of you pretend that be fucking pseudo revolutionaries on the internet

Y'all can't even handle a conflicting opinion without sending anon hate but sure. You're definitely the one who's gonna plan the revolution 🙄

[bloodboundismylife]

I fucking hate this country. We had one job to do. ONE FUCKING JOB! And the U.S. blew it again! We're an even bigger laughing stock now because of this buffoonery.

[conqu3er]

I guess there is no such thing as out running fascism, i don't think there's a place i can move to that would be safe from it

[rahabs]

I have given up entirely on my birthday this year after today.

[blkwag]

the u.s will always have blood on their hands because… *opens history book* but this…. i have no words

[gremlingottoosilly]

"If you need to be mean"

Konig just got his promotion to colonel. It also came with deployment in a terrorist-ridden country, but at least he would get an adorable, civilian you as a prize. TW: Konig being a huge pervert, Canon-Typical violence, Dub-Con, Innocence kink, Age difference(Konig in his yearly 40, Reader in young 20)

Pairing: Konig x fem!Reader Tags: Fluff, Power Imbalance, Hurt/Comfort, Size Kink, Possessive Konig, Yandere Konig, Creepy scary stalker Konig, written mostly from Konig perspective Word count: 5213 My AO3

Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

König hates this fucking country.

Shithole in the middle of nowhere, with literally nothing going on – some border quarrels with some terrorists that are desperately trying to settle into the big war on terror that won’t achieve a thing and would be meaningless anyway. No one wanted to actually station here – this is why they promoted him so quickly, just so they could send him away like a pack of garbage they can’t give two shit about throwing out. 

He never even wanted this promotion. Too much work, too many people, never enough time to relax. Payment is sweet, of course – if he only had time to use any of this. He is too old for new titles, you can’t teach old dog new tricks – and, quite frankly, he does feel terribly old while doing nothing but pushing papers and listening to some useless fucking recruits with their reports. 

Job is simple – stay on the base, make sure that the locals won’t become too villifed to the soldiers that are supposed to protect them, even though he already knows how people would feel about the PMC stationed in their city. Fights with occasional resistance from the outsider force that decided “Hey, let’s just annex our neighbor, what could possibly happen?”. He doesn’t know a lot about this country – but if they have enough money to hire KorTac to help the local forces, he might be quite interested. If he only had energy for that anymore – between relentless paperwork and occasional yelling at his stupid fucking nonsense of rookie – seriously, it feels like they hired a bunch of edgy 12 year olds instead of normal soldiers. 

Job is simple and he finds himself bored to death because this isn’t what he enlisted for. He wanted to fight, to kill, to burden this urge to hurt people who once wronged him with someone who is – probably, maybe, somehow – deserve it. Not really a noble cause, but he stopped playing knight in shining armor once they used him as an infiltration weapon instead of what he actually wanted. All hopes and goals in his life were buried deep with his first sniper rifle – and rude comments about his inability to sit still, even though he is still as good at being a killing machine as a human being possibly can. 

— Sir! We, uh, have a problem to report. 

Gut. 

A problem – this sounds as exciting as it can be. Last time his brigade got a problem, it was about some new recruits falling down with stomach ache because of the forged alcohol they were drinking. Also that one time someone tried to burst their way into the base – not fun, since officers took care of him, but it was at least something to do except for reading and scrolling through various housing options like he actually has a use of buying something with more than one bedroom. Like someone would look at him and love him – enough to pass through some easy fling and start living with him. No one would do that – even his parents couldn’t. 

Still, the problem sounds exciting. Maybe, he could actually go on a mission instead of feeling useless. They promoted him just to pin on the wall like a trophy.

— Repost immediately, soldier. What is it? 

— A civilian, well…a civillina woman…lady, broke the curfew. 

And here it is. Not an unexpected attack from his enemies, not even a drunken fight that someone from his subordinates decided to join and ended up getting their asses kicked. Is this what years of service come to? Watching over some stupid club girls broking the easiest fucking rule to follow, like getting home at midnight is a completely alien experience for them. One of the things he hates about his rank – he is used like a public figure, giving speeches, trying so hard to come up with something other than “Ja, we will kick asses of everyone who tries to infiltrate your country, don’t worry” and then he has to act like he knows what he is doing. Which he obviously doesn’t. If there was a way to just give up his rank and become a shadow again, a monster under a terrorist’s bed, he would do it. Without even a second to think. 

— Send her to the police. We aren’t supposed to deal with…

Then comes the second guy – he doesn’t even remember his name, fuck this, he is supposed to be a father to his troops, or big brother at least, but he couldn’t give less of a fuck to someone weaker – inferior, smaller, someone who will die within a week or so in his first battle because apparently, higher-ups just love recruiting spineless teenagers now. 

Second guy comes to the room, holding someone very firmly by their hand – and König isn’t religious, he isn’t even sure when was the last time he was at any church, the little prayers his grandma used to sing is long forgotten for him, but he sees your face and almost believes in angels. 

König is too old for this shit, again, he hates this country, his team, his rank – then he looks at your face, the way it twists with fear and nervousness because of course, one of his dumb subordinates is holding you too tight and the softness of your flesh – why in the world you are wearing such light clothes, it’s night outside, you will catch a cold and he would give you his jacket, but that would drown you under the weight of it, and he don’t want you to smell the alcohol he has on his clothes, terrible coping mechanism with boredom, and he might just give you something else, maybe, like his shirt or a…

Wait a minute. 

He doesn’t even know your name, even though he is sure this is something gorgeous and would look perfect next to his last name, but he looks at your face and all the years of his military training is suddenly washed away because he can’t even muster a thing out of his mouth. Thank god no one is forcing him to stop wearing his hood – he wouldn’t be able to survive otherwise, not with how hot his face feels right now. You are nervous, this is obvious, since you broke the curfew and went on the streets past 11 pm. He should just bring you to the police, he isn’t even sure why his soldiers would bring some random civilian to the base. He immediately wants to give this private a raise – for bringing him a goddess walking on Earth. Angel, succubus, all of the fancy names and…it feels like he is going crazy. And he should compose himself. Be a good example of a rotten mercenary commander. 

— Why were you breaking the curfew, miss..?

He hates how squeaky his voice sounds, even after all the years in service he can’t get rid of that boyish tone and nervousness every time he is talking to women. All the fear is immediately washed away after you tell him your name – and it’s gorgeous, perfect, feels like something he can devour, something he can moan in the depth of the night while using his hand as a poor substitute for the warmth of your body. 

The pause lingers too much and he already suggests just…taking you. To further investigation. to see if you are really just an innocent person caught up in breaking the rules or an enemy spy – which would give him the perfect opportunity to interrogate you and hold you for a bit longer. He wants you to be a problem, actually – that would give him the authority to hold you here, to think about you in a way that won’t immediately make him a bad person. 

— Went to the pharmacy. Forgot about the time, I’m…I’m sorry. 

You look guilty and weak and nervous obviously – a good girl caught up in the reality of her home country now implementing new rules just so it won’t get annexed by their neighbor. He wants to protect you – or give you the real reason to be scared of him. He wants to be good, but you look too cold in those clothes and he wants to give you something more. Or warm you up in a different way – which makes him feel horrible, his skin crawls and hands are fidgeting again even though he is almost sure he forgot about that habit after a few trigger-happy moments with the enemies. 

— Pharmacies should be closed by this time. Why were you here so late? 

Soldier that brought you here left you with König – colonel, you saw him in the newspapers and on TV, some public speeches while concealing his face in various ways. You don’t trust him, don’t trust the mercenaries – how can you believe that they are going to save you if they don’t even dare to show their faces? He is even scarier in person – big, hulking, too muscular to feel safe, with something like a sack thrown over his head. You want to forget about the medicine you bought and just run away, but that would only mean outright saying that you are guilty. 

You brace yourself and try not to feel too small, but König just wants to wrap his hands around you and throw that weak body of yours on his shoulder. Not letting you go away. Ever.

— I…got lost. Sorry, I know what this looks like, but I just changed the apartment and…look, this is a bog misunderstanding. I have my documents, I’m local! Not some spy or anything, I promise. 

Too bad – you would have the opportunity to escape if you were an enemy. Some evil and wicked femme fattal that is here to seduce him and get the important information out of him – but if you are telling the truth and nothing, but a civilian, he isn’t sure that he could save you from…falling to his hands. It’s stupid, he should really just find someone to fuck, he is getting desperate over the first cute and gentle girl he saw in this place – but really, do he has a chance with a soldier if just a helpless weakling like you can make him kneel? He needs to compose himself. 

— You really shouldn’t be out so late. There is a reason the curfew is upheld. It saves you from the danger. 

— For now the only danger after midnight is your soldiers, apparently. 

Your breath hitches as you understand what you just said – god, who was holding your tongue and making you blurt this in front of the fucking commander? You might have had the chance of just escaping before, you weren’t doing anything wrong, you know that some of your friends were breaking the curfew after a party or late visits, but they were never held to the police or martial law – soldiers are understanding of the situation, no one from the young people actually wants to stay in their houses no matter the threats war can bring. You might have the chance of going out with nothing but some harsh words about those stupid younglings ignoring the rules – but now you insulted his men and this will probably bring you to jail for the night at least or something even more…

He laughs. And the sound of it makes your cheeks warm. 

— Ja, I can understand why you would say that. But you shouldn’t break the curfew. 

You feel like winning a lottery, but the prize isn’t money – it’s the chance of getting out of this creepy building and going home to your warm sheets and slight smells of devastation and loneliness. 

— I’m really sorry, sir, I won’t do this again. Promise. 

You look guilty, and König loves this expression. The softness of your face, the way your eyes are filled with tears when you think he would actually make you goto jail or do something even worse. He relishes in this power over you – even though he doesn’t mingle with civilians, always keeps a safe distance with women around him, never dares to even give them a careful look. He wants to take you away – protect from the world around you, from this fucking place, from all the dangers. The only thing that is dangerous to you seems like him – because he is the only one with power here, the only one who can decide whether he wants to behave like an asshole and lock you away or…

— I can’t just let you go. Let me…I can escort you to your residence so I can make sure you actually went home. And not somewhere else.

He looks at your pharmacy bag – it's a shitty plastic one, transparent and see-through. He understands immediately why you would decide to run to the pharmacy so abruptly even within the vicinity of the curfew – and the fact your bag contains pads and pain medicine only makes him want to scoop you in his arms and get you to his quarters. Government gave them a pretty nice location for the base and he, as the commander, got a bedroom that won’t even make you think about the military. Perks of quartering outside of base, even the barracks are nicer than the ones at home – and he would love to introduce your sore body to the comforts of warm sheets. 

You look at him, surprised and nervous, your adorable lips twists in a pout as you think about your options. You can’t really say no, this can make him angry and resentful – and these aren't emotions you want the local military personnel to feel about you. He is also scary, and stares too much – you don’t want him to look at you like this, both surprised and depraved, but something in his figure still makes you trust him. Maybe it’s that weird propaganda about them protecting your country – he is a public figure, he can’t be evil, right? Maybe it’s just the way his hands fidgets as if he is nervous about your answer – or little cracks in his voice that makes you blush just a little every time you hear it. Or you are simply too tired to not comply. 

— I, um…are you sure? You must have some other things to do. I don’t want to be a bother, really. 

— I want to protect you from harm. Nights are dangerous. 

You want to say that it’s okay, you spend more time in this country than he is – and you know every little corner of the city by this point, no matter the military outposts and destruction. You also want to say that this is creepy as fuck and you don’t want a random guy to just know where you live – but you can’t say that, you are already almost buried yourself with that long tongue of yours, and the only thing you want to do right now is just drink your ibuprofen in peace and get teleported to your bed. 

You want to say no, but it almost feels like something romantic and even though he isn’t showing his face, the view of his muscles, bursting out his clothes and body armor, enough to make you agree. You can regret that decisions later – but with the way his eyes light up like he is a puppy, you probably won’t. 

— Okay. I…I mean, if that’s okay with you, sir. 

— I live to serve. Und ich diene gerne jemanden, dir so bezaubernd ist wie du.

— Sorry?

It sounds like German, and the way he pronounces it makes you feel like it’s something important – but you don’t want to ask for translation, he mutters it under his breath, Maybe some curses about stupid girls getting caught by his soldiers and how he needs to escort them to make sure they are not enemy spies ready to put their knives in his back.

— Just show the way. 

He is awkward, he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, he looks at you and fights the urge to just squish you with his hands. You are pouting, your hands are trembling, and you are shaking – maybe from the cold or just from fear. König hates himself for not understanding whether he wants you to be scared of him or not. There is something dark, predatory almost, in having someone as adorable as you shaking like a leaf – but he also wants to just scoop you in his hands and make sure you will never be afraid of him. 

He is awkward, silent, he goes on the open side of the sideroad like protecting you from any vehicles that may cross the road at this hour – even though the only ones who are allowed to move at this time of day are hospital workers and his soldiers. His hand looms over your side, like he is not sure whether he wants to just grab you by your shoulder or allow you to lead in a more simple way. You feel protected in a way – you can’t even read his expressions because of that weird mask he is wearing, but his eyes are strangely warm every time he looks at you and thinks you are not looking at him. 

König wants to talk, but he isn’t sure what he even can say to you. The weather is nice? It’s the night, a cold one, and he doesn’t want you to catch some weird illness, but he also doesn’t want to seem like a creep by giving you his jacket. He would do so in a blink of an eye, he would die seeing your smaller body wrapped in his clothes like a nice little gift – but he knows who he is. Monster, giant, always too much and never enough, zero experience with someone who is one his one night stand in some lousy pub when he hates himself a bit less than usual. And you smell clean, civilian, sweet almost, he feels like a dog by just looking at the way your cheeks are blushing from the cold weather. 

He wants to initiate the conversation, know what you like and dislike, maybe learn your opinion about the situation – many locals dislike military presence, he understands this, KorTac isn’t known for being the best guys around here, but they get the job done, however bloody this might be. He would give away anything to just be able to talk – to speak like a normal person, without scaring you or making you think that he is weird. It’s borderline embarrassing, over the many years of his life he was thinking that he would outgrow his anxiety somehow – and here he is, fidgeting with the stupid anti stress toy in his pocket that his therapist gave him, not knowing how to talk to a girl in his grown up years. 

— You’re local.

It doesn’t even sound like a genuine question, it’s more like a threatening statement and he doesn’t like the way it sounds. He can’t gave it back now, it would be even weirder, he just wants to calm down and breathe, but even this is fucking impossible when every time he looks at you, it seems like you are only getting prettier.

— Lived here all my life, sir. 

You’re nervous, and he at least finds some comfort in this – he is not the only one who is scared here, even though he understands that you will surely be more scared than him. But it still comforts him just a little, knowing that you are in roughly the same boat – he can smile under his hood and attempt to at least pretend to be normal. Even if this would be literally impossible for someone like him. 

— Where do you work? 

It sounds like an interrogation and you are not sure if you want to answer truthfully – he isn't trying to force you right now, he isn’t even touching you no matter how closely you are walking, but you are smart enough to understand why telling a random man you just met where you live and work is a bad idea. Even if the man itself is a prominent figure in protecting – or not – your country and literally walks you home because you got lucky to not be sent to the police for breaking the curfew. You would just lie to him about where you work and, hopefully, never see him again – but it’s not just a random guy you met on Tinder. He probably has the resources to check if you really work in said place and if you didn’t and just lied to him then, well…he isn’t threatening you, but your overthinking is enough to make you scared. 

— Just a waitress. Cafe I work at isn’t very far from my apartment. 

You even tell him the address, all while praying he won’t visit you at work. He has the right, of course, especially if he would leave a good tip, but military personnel staying at your cafe probably won’t be good for business. Clients may go away, and that would mean leaving you without tips – and then you can kiss your shitty apartment goodbye. He probably won’t visit you, he is just asking this to fill the awkward silence and check whether you are a spy or not – how confident your answers are, if your story checks out or not. He is a colonel, he must have a lot of other stuff to do instead of chasing over some rule breakers. 

— Hm. 

König already knows where he will be eating every day from now on. But…hell, can he do this, really? It would probably be very awkward for both of you, and you may think that is stalking you, which he definitely is, but doesn’t want to show it yet. He can give you a nice tip every time, he sure as hell has money for it, but then you would think that he is trying to buy you, which he would of course try to if you would be fine with it because honestly, girl as adorable as you should get all the nicest thing she wants to, and he can provide for it, but his damned awkwardness would never let him outright say this, which would lead to a very uncomfortable situation and…

— We might need someone local to help with operations. 

Nailed it. Right? 

— Wh…what do you mean, sir? 

You look scared, nervous, he doesn’t want you to be scared, you’re supposed to feel safe around him! He might hate higher ups for giving him this rank and sending him to this fucking country, but he will protect you no matter what. He wants to be useful, for people to stop being scared of him – to start liking him instead, even if some cold, dismissive way of just stopping bothering him with stupid stuff. He would allow you to bother him all the time, he would protect you and make sure you are alright – you just have to let him, that would be really easy and…

— We’re strangers here. Lots of operations crossed because locals refuse to cooperate. We might need a guide out here. 

He sounds nonchalant, like he doesn’t really care about your answer, but the grip of his hands is stating otherwise. He throws you nervous looks, cold eyes flickering with anxiety as you take your time to answer, secretly hoping that you would get home before you’d had to state this. It doesn’t feel like a genuine question, more like a statement again. More like you don’t really have an option to say no, since he still has the power over you. Since he still looks and sounds like someone who can and will throw you over his shoulder and use it as a cannon folder. 

— I…I’m not sure, sir. I have to work at my actual job. 

Can he blow up your cafe? That would greatly diminish the chances of bumping into you on a romantic Sunday morning, ordering coffee just the way you secretly like it, and then leaving you a very generous tip that would immediately show you what a sophisticated and loaded gentleman he is. He can say that enemies did it, and then he would execute those poor people for ever messing with civilians. He can also get some people from the government to close it, so you wouldn’t have any place to work and then you would be simply forced to work with him – and help him get out of this country as soon as possible. He would pay you well, of course, and being your boss would be a very…interesting experience for him. 

— Are you sure?

You bite your lips and it's proven to be a horrible idea in such terrible weather – your skin breaks easily and you feel the blood in your mouth. Nice – now you would have to invest in lip balms again even though you are sure as hell that even yesterday the weather was nice. Colonel – König, you remember his callsign, no names of course, some twisted secret identity over protecting people who can literally kill you and won’t have consequences – look at you and you can swear to god that his eyes are narrowed, studying your features a bit more. Is he going to kill you for refusing the…job offer? Demand of working with mercenaries to protect your country? 

— Sorry, I…I really need to think about this. And get at least two weeks notice from my job. 

He is too focused on the way blood is glistening on your lips. He wants to lift the lower half of his hood and lick every little drop lingering in your mouth. Kiss this little wound until you would turn into a moaning, crying mess under him. Hold you so tight, he would leave bruises in places his fingers were – all while you are allowing him to. He isn’t delusional enough to think you like him the way he adores you already, but he is delusional enough to imagine you would comply with him mostly – he is a great person. Except for almost everything, of course. 

The road to your home is lonely, no one around, obviously. People aren’t breaking the curfew on the main streets – except for you, apparently, they are tending to do stuff in the shadows if they need something to go out at night. He looks at every street light with suspicion, almost wanting for someone to try and attack you – that would allow him to be your hero, protector, to put out all of his pent-up aggression on someone else while being praised for it. He wants someone to try and kill him just to feel a bit more alive – but then you stop in front of the house, and it only takes one look for him to decide that no, he isn’t going to let you go that easily. He may not be a good or even decent person, but he is not allowing an adorable little thing like you to live in that fucking rathole. 

— You live here? 

— Yes. Thank you for, well, looking after me. I know that I broke rules, I won’t…won’t do that again. Sorry. 

— No. 

— What do you mean “No”?

Is he going to inspect your apartment? You are pretty sure that you left your bed in a very chaotic state and there is more than one pair of panties lying on the couch. Not even speaking about how horrible your living conditions are – tiny apartments, barely enough space for one person fitting in 20 square feet with all of their stuff inside, and an overwhelming desire to blow something up each morning when one of your neighbors is fighting again. 

You don’t have anything to hide, but you are getting pretty tired of people who just think that because they sold their bodies to the military, they can do what they want. 

— It’s a horrible place for a girl to live. 

Hey! You might hate your place, but even that rathole of an apartment doesn't deserve something like this. 

— Well, it’s not a castle, but…I manage. 

— Don’t you have another place to sleep? 

He is fighting with the urge to invite you to the base instead. Far greater place for a little goddess like you, much nicer than…this. He has to physically restrain himself from throwing a hand on your shoulder. He just stared, hoping that you would pull a prank on him and actually has some better living conditions – he can’t bear thinking about you in that kind of life instead. 

— It’s a nice one, really! At least I don’t have to live with roommates. 

He can be your roommate. No, not even like this. He can buy you a freaking house if you would want, just pick a place, preferably in Austria, and that would be easy. He would love to just provide for you, to get to live with someone as adorable – as in need of protection as you. He understands that being this delusional is off brand even to him and his wild fantasies, but he spends too much time hating his work lately, and he needs some outlets, breathing room to just drown himself in fantasies about a nice girl who can actually like him. Who can be his everything, a cure to fix him even though his therapist says such expectations from your partner are toxic and codependent. 

He knows that he can’t say anything to you right now. If anything, you would dismiss any of his worries and just call him a psycho – would be right, probably, he doesn’t even know why he is so obsessed with your safety all of a sudden. He is only self-reflective enough to understand that he can’t act right now, no matter how much he would want to. He can only sigh and let the situation go, for now. He can always just show up at the place you work at. Totally not creepy at all, definitely, completely. 

— Be safe, hase. This time is very dangerous for a girl like you. 

— It’s…okay, really. You don’t have to worry about me, sir. 

Oh, but he wants to. 

Oh, but you want to run up the stairs and close the door behind you as fast as you possibly can. And maybe, just maybe, give him your number – definitely for consultation about the safety and how you can forfeit from breaking the curfew later in life. 

He puts a hand on your shoulder, large fingers tracing over your thin shirt, and goosebumps that are running on your skin aren’t from just the cold weather. You feel ashamed for kinda liking the situation – you are creeped out by him, you are curious about him, and you kinda want him to do something else. But he squeezes the soft flesh of your shoulders, rolling a bit lower, to your back – and then lets go. You breath hitches as he takes a step back, clenching his hand as if fighting the urge to do something else. 

— We’ll meet again. 

You just nod, not sure if you want it or not. König makes a point to determine which apartment is yours based on the window placement and pay you a visit in his leave time. 

[kosherkept]

I’m glad you can find it in your heart to support the country that exterminated most of our people in its rabid bid to be the only authority to be allowed to define a genocide. I’m sure you’ll keep supporting them when more Nazis retake power in that stupid fucking shithole and they repeat their actions again, because you morons would sooner throw every Arab under the bus than think for once about what giving those fucking SS descendants the power to define genocide entails for actual Jews.

Shut your idiot mouth for once. Converts don’t speak for actual, full blooded Jews, and you never will. You have not, will not, and will never know the struggle we face, because you just decided one day you wanted to be one of us instead of having to experience the horror of being born one of us. You did not grow up fearing when you would be cornered and beaten for being a ‘dirty kike’, so your opinion means nothing.

does anybody else wanna handle this bc lmao there is SO much going on i don’t even know where to start

(don’t worry anon. next time i talk about antisemitism i’ll make sure to write you an itemized list of every instance i’ve ever dealt with it personally irl, just to keep you satisfied that im reaching my quotas of “how many times i have to be called slurs to REALLY be a jew”)

[heyheydidjaknow]

I haven’t played this stupid game in 6 months. This is a sequel to Prospects, this time featuring Bailey.

Agreement

The envelope shook in your hand. “This should suffice.”

Bailey took it from you, not bothering to meet your eyes as she slit the top and took the slip inside. Whitney, dressed for the ride ahead— or fight; whatever came first— in his sweats and t-shirt, stood with his back to the door. Despite your assurance, he had insisted on sitting in on this final transaction as if the mountain of cash you had worked yourself ragged to obtain would not be enough to settle the score, as if your being there were not dependent solely on your value as a worker, as if Bailey— who now looked up at you over the check between her fingers and her half-rimmed glasses— would care beyond that if you were gone.

The ground swayed beneath your feet.

Bailey leaned back in her chair, gesturing to Whitney with the check. “This was your idea?”

You could not bring yourself to look back at him, but you could imagine his expression. It was the same as when you had when you had met Briar and Avery a few days before; cool, unflinching, as though you were an item at a pawn shop he was trying to get a good price on. You supposed you were, in a sense. “Yes.”

Bailey nodded slowly, taking in your figure, your stance. You squirmed under her gaze. “And the child’s yours, I take it?”

“Yes.”

She considered as much. “You know,” she mused, “your… what would the word be? Fucktoy?”

He scoffed. “For our purposes, property.”

“Oh, hardly.” She leaned her elbows on the desk, fingers lacing together under her chin. “Not officially at least, not until our terms are settled.”

“What terms are there to settle?” You picked at your cuticles, heart pounding in your throat. “Is that not how much—“

“That’s how much my best earner was worth before.” Her smile was sweet like cough syrup, sharp like whiskey. “I’m a businesswoman you understand; it would hardly make much sense for me to part with my greatest revenue stream for its raw material costs.”

You looked back at Whitney. He kept his eyes trained on the woman in front of you. “And how much would it take for you to part ways with your charge?”

She sighed in mock contemplation. “Oh, I don’t know.” She sucked her teeth. “Another fifty percent ought to do it.”

The words echoed in your ears. You swallowed back panic as you went back to staring at the floor.

“Fifty?” His sneer was audible. “The fuck you take me for?”

“Someone desperate.” She gestured to you. “Someone willing to take when they can get and leave.”

“A bitch, you mean.”

“So long as we’re being frank.”

“You—“

“Do you know how much that child is worth?” You shut your eyes as you felt her own take you in. “Do you know what sort of market you could appeal to with a matching set?”

You heard a rustling of cloth behind you. Whitney’s voice was as cheerful and bright as you had ever heard it. “So long as we’re considering the lives of people that matter,” he smiled, “I’m curious; how much is your life worth?”

There was a pause, a laugh from Bailey. “That bitch,” she sighed. “First that file—“

“This actually isn’t Laundry’s, surprisingly enough.” You heard the clinking of metal parts as he gestured to you. “Friend of a friend who lives in the country; I promised him the deed to this shithole if your position found itself empty.”

Despite yourself, you turned to face him. He held the pistol in his hand with the confidence of a man unfazed by its weight. In the back of your mind, you wondered if he would be tried if he went through with it, whether the cops would come or care or whether they would write it off as the result of one of Bailey’s “ungrateful brats”. You could not for the life of you decide which would be preferable.

“So,” he continued, finger twitching, eyes shining, “I think it best if we tried renegotiating terms.” He gestured to you. “Either you take the money and I take your cash cow off your hands—“ He steadied his aim, “— or I redecorate your office with your insides and you get to find out whether the contents of that envelope are worth shit in hell.”

You cast your gaze back towards her. Bailey looked between the two of you, lips pursed. “You’re more desperate than I thought.” She pushed her glasses up her nose and reached into her shirt pocket. “Let me give you some advice, kid.”

You shut your eyes again at the click of the safety. “Hands where I can see ‘em.”

She pulled out a carton of cigarettes, tapping one out and sticking it between her lips. “He isn’t a better person than I am, you know.” She took a lighter off her desk. “He’s not going to take better care of you than I am, isn’t going to wish you off to some fairy tale land where you’ll never know hardship; if anything, he’s going to fuck you over harder than I do.” She lit it, took a drag, smiled, exhaled.

“You fucking—“

“And you.” She pointed the cigarette at him. “Whitney, yeah? You think your life’s going to get better by being a father?” She leaned her head on her free hand. “I’ve been stuck with this job for thirty years now; the only thing that thing—“ she waved the cigarette in your belly’s general direction, “— is good for is an accessory to the walking ATM it’s stuck in.”

You could hear his voice shake; with what, you could not tell. “So help me God if you say one more thing about my fucking kid—“

“Let me say my piece.” She stood up, taking another drag and blowing it in your face. “If I were you,” she sighed, “I’d see if Harper couldn’t make an exception to get that thing out of you while it’s not breathing. Short of that, I’d ship it here.” She leaned forward, resting her hand on the surface of her desk. “But if I ever find your brat at my doorstep,” she promised, voice lowering, “if I ever see you or that thing here again, I’ll make your time here look like a stay at the Ritz-fucking-Carlton.” She stuck the cigarette back between her teeth, tilting your head up to look her in the eye. The resemblance between her and Whitney was apparent; you wondered if that was just what the eyes of monsters looked like. “I will make your child pay for however much you would have made me twofold, and I will sell their body— whole or piecemeal— to any dumb fuck who asks for what I’m sure will be a pretty young thing like them. Do you understand me?”

You could not breathe.

Her grip on your jaw tightened. “Are you deaf?” She brought you closer, and you whimpered at the sensation. “I asked you a question. Do you understand me or don’t you?”

You shut your eyes as her nails dug into your skin. You dug your own into your palm as you forced yourself to nod.

She kept you there a moment— for what, you did not know— before pressing a kiss to your forehead. Your eyes shot open, and you swallowed back tears— of relief, of sadness, of panic— as she released you, collapsing to your knees and gasping for air. “Good.” She took the check, slipping it into her pocket before sitting back down. “Leave before I change my mind.”

You pulled yourself to your feet, practically tripping over yourself to cling to Whitney. He glanced down at you, letting you bury your face into his shoulder as he took one last look at your former guardian. Wordlessly, he pulled the two of you out into the hallway, past the children gathered by the door, past the garden and Robin and the stairs and the threshold and finally, with a smile of untempered relief and satisfaction, across the street, into the truck parked there, and away from that miserable town, and as you watched the buildings you had come to know as parts of your home flew past, as you watched people you recognized from school rush into the forest and students— like you, you registered vaguely, desperate for money, for purpose, for anything— lean against street corners, you wondered if this would be any better, if this was more desirable, if this was emancipation or a different, crueler kind of ownership.

You mumbled a goodbye to the bus stop as it passed. Only then did the tears really start.

[male-body-swap-lover]

Time Travel Christmas Part 3

*** This was supposed to be out before Christmas but then life happened***

Christmas in 2023. Once again, I am here for the 3rd time, 3rd body. Living the past 45 years in my son’s body, well my dad’s body, or really my body has been an interesting adventure. This time, life followed the timeline I created when I was in my grandfather’s body, Roger Braddock the 1st. So, I did better in college than my father ever did, and we had more money than my father had in the original timeline. I always had a nicer house than my father ever had when he was living his life. I did follow the original timeline and married my wonderful wife, who I guess is my mother. I never thought like that though. It was never weird. I still created my children. My daughter and my son, Roger Braddock the 3rd, aka me. It’s weird looking at yourself when you are a baby, but you aren’t yourself, you know. I know it doesn’t make sense. The same thing happened when I was in my father’s body. It’s been amazing to experience this timeline so many different ways. I probably should have spent some more time in the gym, but such is life. I was in my den preparing for the family coming over for Christmas and looked over at one of my favorite photos. It was me holding my son at our first Christmas together.

God how things have changed. Yes, I did better financially in this timeline. However, I had one screw up, and that was my son, aka my old life. I pushed my son so hard because I wanted him to do better in this timeline. I always did well when I was Roger Braddock the 3rd, but I wanted my son in this timeline to be a doctor. I always pushed him so hard and it all back fired on me. Whereas when I was Roger Braddock the 3rd, I got into business and always pushed myself. I was decently successful, but never amazing or rich. I wanted the world for my son and apparently, I made a mistake. Not only did he not become a doctor, he didn’t become a businessman. He became a slacker, didn’t graduate high school, and now lives in a trailer home jumping from one temp job to another. He mostly listens to country music, smokes, and drinks beer. I still love him, but my god, I am embarrassed to be his father. Hopefully I will stay in Roger Braddock the 2nd’s body and never jump back into my original body, or if I do, it’s in my original timeline.  I’m not going to think about that though. I have a quick minute so I am going to lie down for a nap before the family gets here.

Ah fuck, why does it smell like cigarette smoke in here. I’ve told my son he can’t smoke in my house. I open my eyes and I am not in my bedroom. I look around and realize that I am in my son’s trailer. OH SHIT! I feel my body and I realize I am no longer Roger Braddock the 2nd. I am now Roger Braddock the 3rd. Oh this is exactly what I didn’t want. I never wanted these raggedy ass clothes and this beard. Who would want to be a poor redneck that gets drunk all the time. Ugh, why does my head hurt so much. Fuck, I must have a hangover. Goddammit this fucking blows. Wait, why am I swearing so much. This isn’t fucking like me. This is just like my son.

Oh my God! I’m starting to gain all of his memories and lose my old memories; I mean my father’s memories. Why would I have my father’s memories. That’s weird. I hate my father. He’s the reason I turned out like this. Tried to push me to become a doctor. Fat chance of that shit happening! I’m too stupid for that. That’s why I live in this shithole, but it’s good enough for me. Beer, cigarettes, cable. What else does a man need. When I need a man, they are so ready to come here for me. Nothing like a bearded, dirty redneck to get these young men to do some really weird shit. Fuck I love my life. Guess it’s Christmas so have to go see the ole parents. Can’t wait to get into an argument with my dad about some shit. Better take a beer for the road. Maybe time to set up a Grindr date for after. Better light up before I go. This is the life!

[butchosprey]

As someone who grew up in the state that ranks 49th in education, I am continually embarrassed by other blancos inability to educate themselves. It's some stupid form of learned helplessness, or whatever pop psychology term you wanna use. Yes, there is a degree of anger one can have over the system brushing over or not even touching certain topics (i.e, the rich history of black Oklahoma, and how Freedmen wished to make it an all-black state).

But you're an adult. Fucking educate yourself.

It continually embarrasses me to see Americans who still refer to Native Americans in the past tense. They literally probably live down the street from you, hello???? Then, you don't understand why people in famine-prone regions just "grow more food". That's cool that you get to live in total bliss of the fact that half of the world is at risk for vitamin A deficiency. How far off are you from the Right Wingers that call these places "shithole countries"?

India and Mexico have the fastest growing middle classes. Maternal mortality has plummeted in the past couple decades in both countries. Yet, there's a good chance a white lib who believes themselves to be "educated" doesn't know these facts, and merely continues to view these countries as bad, bad places :(

You can't even challenge your racist ideas of the world, because you still think the Mexico Yellow Filter is canon.

[eustasskiddsprosthetic]

Now that my YouTuber AU Sabolaw fic is ending soon, I have a new wip fic. Long ago, I floated the idea of a blind prince!Sabo (x) and I'm happy to say I've gotten something concrete down!

Like I said, Sabo is blind as in he can't see things clearly. He's mostly self-reliant and refuses to accept help from people he doesn't trust and that includes help from his own attendant, Law, a man four years older than himself.

They were 'okay' with each other. Sabo thought Law was too serious and Law thought of Sabo as a bit naïve, even if good-hearted.

One day, Sabo realises that he would be eighteen soon and that meant he had to do be king. Oh, fuck that! He's running away! He refused to be king over a kingdom that refuses to acknowledge its sins, for refusing to do anything that would help people. He would not inherit this shithole of a country,

Ace and Luffy promised not to snitch. That's a solid enough plan, surely!

It was not. This will be a long story. I love slow burns!

Literally on the first night, Sabo was attacked by bears and would have died if Law did not immediately step in with a gun.

Being the little tsundere that he is, Sabo refuses to trust Law. Law's an adult. A shady, no-good adult like everyone else who made fun of him for being blind.

Maybe this is shit writing, but the only reason why Law won over his trust is because Law gave him a short letter, telling Sabo exactly what he intends on doing: they would go to Corázon's place to seek asylum, Law had a budget for food and necessities, Law had specific routes to take and Sabo was supposed to follow him.

Sabo thought it was such a stupid plan but then it suddenly hit him. Law learned how to write in braille with a slate and stylus. Law refused to elaborate on the details, thinking it was not necessary. It absolutely was but Sabo did not have the energy to complain. He was too hungry. The palace chefs spoiled him so much.

Law tried his best, though. Meagre meals of bread, some hunted deer and boiled water from rivers in the forest. Law was a shit cook. Everything he made was almost always burnt but, then again, it was edible and Sabo would rather not go hungry.

Law would buy food sometimes but they would never be much. Law explained that there weren't many food options and Sabo accepted the explanation. Law took them to ghost towns sometimes. That was when Law would sometimes leave for several days, claiming that he needed to find work—whatever that meant.

For accommodation, Law tried but they did not have many options. Not many places were safe and unaffiliated with the royal court, let alone places that were comfortable.

They really were shitholes and brothels but Law always cleaned the rooms and beds as best he could before letting Sabo sleep on them. Sabo still sneezed from the dust but Law never complained when Sabo did. He just smiled and said he'd try to find a better place to sleep next time. He said Sabo needed to man up and Sabo begrudgingly admitted it was true.

Sabo liked it best when they camped out in the forest. It was quiet and peaceful. Law was laughing at a horrible pun he made about bugs or whatever. Sabo learned that Law loved making jokes that were as bad as his cooking.

One night, while camping, Sabo was trying to sleep after taking a piss somewhere and he felt something touch his lips. It was quick and gentle, nothing too forceful like the kisses he shared with strangers before in the taverns whenever he snuck out. Sabo thought this was some stranger who had a weird kink but he was surprised to hear a familiar voice apologising to him.

"I'm so sorry, your highness. I went out of line."

"You kissed me, Law," Sabo said blandly. "Why?"

“I… it’s a spur of the moment.”

“Do not lie to me.”

Law hesitated. Sabo couldn’t understand why. If Law wanted to have sex with him, he should say so. Sabo wouldn’t mind. Sabo’s curious and Law’s an adult. It felt right, anyhow. That was the way it should be. Law should teach him this and not the boring stuff from books.

“I’m sorry, your highness,” Law said softly after some time. “You’re pretty. That’s why I kissed you.”

Sabo knew there was more to the story. He knew Law was staring at his body. He knew Law liked his body, found him not just pretty but attractive. He knew Law was turned on. Plenty of people told Sabo he was handsome before, and it was unsurprising Law thought that way too. In fact, it would be insulting if Law didn't.

“No, your highness,” Law said with strained finality. “I can’t. I refuse.”

Sabo shrugged. “Pity,” he said without meaning it.

Law struggled to breathe. “You say that as if you actually want to have sex with me.”

“I won’t say I want to,” Sabo said. “I don’t know why you’re so uptight around me. I’m not the king, you know, I have no real power yet.”

“That’s exactly why I refuse. You have no power.”

“Huh?” Sabo did not understand and Law refused to elaborate. Sabo got frustrated and said that Law should explain so Sabo could learn instead of avoiding the topic. Weakly, Law agreed but never explained why having sex with Sabo was such a horrible thing to do.

That day made things more awkward. Neither refused to talk about what happened, and maybe that was for the best. At least, Law now never left Sabo's side, which made things easier.

Eventually, they did make it to Corázon's house and that was when Law left Sabo abruptly without ceremony. Sabo wasn't worried. Law would come back like he always does, with some food and other little gifts he could find along the way. Law always came back.

One day passes. Law is not here. Fine, maybe Law was on vacation. Two weeks and still nothing. Sabo tried not to get worried. Maybe Law got a job. One month later and there was still no news. That was, until one day, a guy with flaming red hair came by to ask for Law.

"Hey, blondie. Where's Trafalgar? He owes me money."

"Excuse me?" Law never borrowed money.

"Huh?" He said. He shrugged. "Whatever, it's not serious. Just tell him to find me if you see him around. There's something else I want to tell him. Name's Eustass. See ya."

"S-sure..." This man looked fucking terrifying!

Corázon was in the kitchen making breakfast and so Sabo forwarded the message. Corázon smiled and said that Law had been borrowing money from him and Eustass. Eustass was a kind man so Sabo need not worry about him.

"What? Why?"

"Law knows he can't give you the luxury you're used to but he insists that he must try," Corázon said kindly.

The first lesson Law taught Sabo in the palace when Sabo was still sixteen was to never to be in anyone else's debt. That was why Sabo started realising something was very wrong.

"But Law always told me how much budget we have and we camp outside. He had always been transparent. He works sometimes, that's why he disappears for three days at a time sometimes."

"Have you actually touched the money Law claims to have?"

N-no, he did not. Corázon invited Sabo to sit down as he explained what's really going on.

Like Sabo, Law had been running away, specifically from a man named Donquixote Doflamingo. At first, Sabo did not know who this person was or what they did to Law but after an info-dump from Corázon, he realised more and more that he was not as smart as he thought he was.

Doflamingo killed Law's biological family when Law refused to work for him. Doflamingo tracked down Law's friends and somehow forced them to distance themselves from Law. Law, now, was dedicated to finding out where they were and setting things right. That was why Law left Sabo alone.

And now, Sabo learnt that these 'palace guards' Law kept complaining about were not palace guards at all. They were Doflamingo's men. That explained why they spoke to Law like that, like he was some sort of slut. Real palace guards spoke to Law with professionalism and formality.

And yet, Law would go so far as to marry Doflamingo! To accept being talked at, degraded and losing basic agency over his life if it meant keeping Sabo safe and, worse of all, free.

"If it means anything, Law said he wished he could've made things easier. You had to get used to a lot of things you're unfamiliar with and there wasn't much of a coping period to help you with your blindness. He regretted not arranging things better for your sake."

Sabo really was a child, after all! He learnt nothing! Nothing at all!

"I forgot to mention this, but Law left a letter for you." Sabo snatched the letter away and felt it. It was written in braille, and it only had a single sentence. Sabo started crying.

"Young man," Corázon said lightly. "How about you write a letter to Law? Or, I'll type one for you. How about that? There's still some time before Law leaves the country with Doflamingo."

Sabo shook his head. He stood up, demand that Smoker give him a ride on his white horse named Chaser towards the Northern Chapel. If Chaser was as fast as Smoker said, then there's still time for Sabo to prove himself to the only person, other than Ace and Luffy, to say, "Sabo, I love you."

[clairehadenough]

I’m speechless

https://www.tumblr.com/mid-westmonster3/764692374458859520/i-wouldnt-go-to-portugal-if-i-won-a-raffle-or-a?source=share

Wow 😯

The place should be bombed? And that stupid Mid is happy to agree and post?

What in the genocidal system fuck is this?

And that’s not talking about how wrong that anon is. Obviously they have never been to Portugal/Lisbon. It’s a wonderful country and Lisbon specifically is very beautiful.

Also beggars, hookers and drug dealers? They might as well be describing NYC, Paris, London, LA…you name it.

Every city in the world has these whether you like it or not.

“The crappiest place” is certainly the shithole inside Mid and her friends’ brains.

You know who else bombed places simply because he didn’t like the people who lived in them? ⬇️

Congratulations, your jealousy officially made you act like N*zis 🤮

[unnervinglyferal]

List of European countries and why I hate them, in alphabetical order:

Albania - I've never heard fucking anything about the people here, do you people even do anything save for having beef with everyone else in the Balkans. Fuck you.

Andorra - I don't think this place is even a real country. It's like the size of my dick. Fuck you.

Austria - You know what you did. Fuck you.

Belarus - Sucking Russia's dick just for the novelty of getting to be featured in their ongoing cringe compilation. An utter embarrassment. Fuck you.

Belgium - If there's two things I hate, it's colonialist brutality and the fucking smurfs. Fuck you.

Bosnia and Herzegovina - Despite all the rest of their shitshow, at least the rest of the Balkans can at least agree whether they're one country or two countries. Make up your minds. Fuck you.

Bulgaria - The best thing you've got going on is the yoghurt and even that isn't as good as the greek ones. Fuck you.

Croatia - Out of all the countries in Europe whose existence I had literally forgot about, this is the oldest and the largest. How do you trace your history back to the fucking antiquity and only barely seem to exist at all? Fuck you.

Cyprus - I actually had to google to check that Cyprus isn't just a part of Greece, but apparently you gained independence from the UK in 1960? How the fuck are you in Europe and get colonized by Europe. Fuck you.

Czech Republic - Your main export is utterly unpronounceable last names. There's a reason why you can't shouldn't be allowed to put five consonants in a row. Fuck you.

Denmark - Annoyingly smug golden retriever-ass mushy-faced fucks. If I pressed my open palm into a dane's face, it would ooze through my fingers because these mushy fucks don't have bones.

Estonia - The bitter, prettier and smarter sister to Finland who is passive-aggressively better at everything but still doesn't get the same attention. Finns show up to your shores to raid the booze stores, vomit on everything, and leave, and you just let them. Fuck you.

Finland - An entire nation of spoiled ivory tower whiners who just will not understand how good they have it. The entire country would die out by mass suicide if things ever got half as bad as they are in the rest of the world. Fuck you.

France - The only reason why the french aren't known as an equal mass of colonialist brutes as the brits are is the language barrier. They're just as stupid but you'll never know what they're thinking because they consider learning another language to be beneath them. Fuck you.

Georgia - The americans stole your name and put it on a state and you just fucking let them. Now we have to hear about their utter lack of understanding of geography every single time some shit happens at your borders. Fuck you.

Germany - I'm jewish. And looking at your involvement in Israel, I'm starting to think you people don't really even care that much whose side you're on, if there's a genocide happening anywhere, you just like to be included. Fuck you.

Greece - You have like 4000 years of recorded history verifying that you've spent that entire time thinking you're smarter and prettier than anyone else in the whole world. You specifically invented the word hubris to describe yourselves. Fuck you.

Hungary - I'm pretty sure that you guys are the reason why people think all of Europe is a backwards shithole. Fuck you.

Iceland - The only reason you people can dedicate all of your time in inbreeding ponies and people is because your climate is so miserable that nobody wants to move there. Fuck you.

Ireland - Your climate is just as wet and miserable as Iceland, but you still got colonized by the english. Fuck you.

Italy - I've never met an italian who was capable of doing anything in a punctual and organized way. Imagining a whole country being run by italians seems impossible. Like having 15 cats successfully operating a tank. Fuck you.

Kosovo - What the fuck even is the Balkans. You guys don't even have your own language. Fuck you.

Latvia - Like Estonia without any of the good parts. Fuck you.

Liechtenstein - This isn't even a real country, this is just the quarantine containment where Switzerland ships the people who are too annoying for Switzerland. Fuck you.

Lithuania - The most boring of the Baltics. Fuck you.

Luxembourg - There is no way this place is fucking real. The fuck do you mean your citizens are called luxembourgers. The fuck do you mean your official language is luxembourgish. What the fuck is any of this. Fuck you.

Malta - Same thing as Liechtenstein, but for all surrounding countries around the Mediterranean sea. Fuck you.

Moldova - How and why is there a tiny-ass country the size of my dick on the border of the Balkans. How does this exist. Fuck you.

Monaco - This isn't a real country, it's a french ploy for tax evasion. Fuck you.

Montenegro - Oh won't you look at that, another teeny tiny Balkan country. Montenegrin is the stupidest name I've ever heard for a language, that sounds like a comedy bit. Fuck you.

Netherlands - Fuck your weed and fuck your bicycles. Fuck you.

North Macedonia - This also feels like a country they just made up just to make the list of European countries longer. Fuck you.

Norway - Fuck your oil and fuck you.

Poland - Your main export is far right politics and porn-addicted communist furry femboys. Fuck you.

Portugal - Spain but a little bit to the left. The only way to tell the spanish and the portugese apart is by whether they get mad when you call them spanish. Fuck you.

Romania - Get your fucking shit together. Fuck you.

Russia - Fuck you.

San Marino - Italy has two stupid little city-states as pets. This one is the one I hate less because it only contains tax evaders.

Serbia - The only thing I know about Serbia is A Serbian Film. Fuck that film and fuck you for making me remember it.

Slovakia - The wettest, saddest slavs of all the slavs of Europe. Fuck you.

Slovenia - Slovene is the second-stupidest name I've ever heard for a language. Fuck you.

Spain - I have no idea how the fuck a people who are as disorganized as italians managed to also be as competent as france and britain at colonialism. Fuck you.

Sweden - As smug and mushy as danes and as inbred as icelanders. Fuck you.

Switzerland - You know what you did. And continue doing. Fuck you.

Ukraine - You wouldn't be in this fucking situation if you hadn't trusted Soviet Union's pinky promise to never invade. A russian's promise is not worth the oxygen it wastes. You guys are cool but nonetheless, fuck you.

United Kingdom - Fuck you smug bastards for everything.

Vatican City - Italy has two stupid little city-states as pets. This one is the one I hate more because it contains the pope. Fuck you.

[daddys-angelbabyy]

Trump's gonna save ya fuckin yanks arse and stupid wokists are too retarded to get it 😂 do you think you would've have any rights in a fucking caliphate? There's a reason why all Islamic countries turned to shitholes. The reason are the people living there. And if they come to the west, the won't prosper - they only will turn our countries to shitholes as well.

I agree about the abortion though. Commie cunts like you are the reason abortion should be legal, so the world wouldn't have to deal with this scum.

Yesterday was historical and our children will celebrate this day for a looong time 😚

what the actual fuck are you yapping about buddy

trump didn’t save us the first time around, can’t wait till y’all see nothing will change :)

[alatismeni-theitsa]

Hi there, first off I'm really sorry for deleting the comment! While I wish I could keep it up the private messages were too much. Sadly I don't think I can report whoever it was. Reddit has this weird thing where if you pay for it, you can privately send some messages without any username or something to be shown. So yeah some random person got really upset at the idea of PJO being in Greece and decided to pay money towards Reddit to let me know.

As for the xenophobic things that were said about Greeks. I have to rely off the top of my head since I deleted them pretty quick. It was a bunch of "nobody cares about you Greeks, the country's a shithole that has to rely on tourists, you can't even claim to own the mythology because you were a bunch of colonizers who took other POC myths and made them your own" stuff.

Barely nothing about why they hated the idea of having the series in Greece. I think it was just some xenophobic ass who pretends to be progressive. But man I did not expect the subreddit to hate the idea of a Greece setting so much. By the time I deleted the comment it was at -20 downvotes.

-🌟Anon

I planned on replying sooner but chronic illness is a bitch. I am outraged that people feel comfortable being such assholes for fucking nothing, and they have completely false arguments on top of that.

I am sorry that it was such an unpleasant experience, and I hope you are feeling better now. Those malakes should go fuck themselves, plain and clear. They are such stupid and incompetent bullies that they'll fart your dick and balls (Greek expression for "they don't have the guts to do shit to you"). They are cowards and their "progressiveness" is no more than a shitty excuse to make everything about them and bully people in the name of "justice". They probably got their friends to downvote the comment and did a small smear campaign. Cause I find it hard to believe that a whole subreddit actually hates Greece.

I am all for recognizing when Greeks have done and do something bad/wrong but the statement "you can't even claim to own the mythology because you were a bunch of colonizers who took other POC myths and made them your own" is just factually wrong in so many levels. Even the smidge of truth in that statement is so twisted that I cannot give them right. So, they're spreading misinformation on top of everything.

You are in charge of your actions and feelings, so if you feel the comment is best deleted, then that's okay. My humble suggestion - in general - is to not give these fuckers an inch. I had my fair share of them here, for years. When they realize their cyberbullying doesn't work anymore because people don't get intimidated, they just whine to their equally fanatic friends. The only power they have is whining online, and when people back down, they get encouraged and do the same thing to more people.

Unless you feel your safety is threatened, or you feel too unwell to engage (all valid!), then ignore them and just leave your opinions online where people will inevitably see them. Do it once, do it twice, and you'll see that nothing more than unpleasant messages (which you will just delete and block) will happen. Your comment was civil and completely harmless. You are on the right here.

Even if I agreed with their opinion, their approach of behaving like violent crybabies is simply inexcusable. Tolerance has its limits. Their behavior should not be tolerated, because it leads to the opposite of tolerance. (It's a famous paradox) The only thing that stops them from joining a nazi party is their life circumstances.

P.S. A friend of mine wants to comment on the subreddit with your (or a similar) message. Would you send me the link of the post with the Hot Takes so they can do that? (She's feeling a lil' silly - and no, it's not me :p)