#he cannot be killed in a way that matters

[aropride]

ok story before bed time. everyone gather around

you are me at age 13. you are an 8th grader who just realized he likes girls and recently had a gender crisis in the home depot lighting aisle. it is november of 2016, and trump has run for president for the first time. you are watching the map change over your dad's shoulder. you aren't really sure how it works yet but you are seeing a lot of red on there and you are very frightened. you just found out you have free will, like, last year, and you are only beginning to grasp the gravity of the situation- the situation being the united states of america in general- and it already is looking very bad.

when you wake up in the morning your dad tells you trump has won. he's too happy about it. you're skipping breakfast to make the bus in time. the sun's barely risen, btw, but you are 13 so you have little to no autonomy or rights, so you are in the fluorescent-light torment-nexus they call a "middle school" by 7:45am on the dot.

you see your friend as you're walking to your homeroom. he's a fellow gay emo middle schooler, he sucks, and he really likes to guilt-trip you into skipping class to hang out with him by telling you he's going to kill himself if you don't. you have other qualms with him, but this illustrates enough. he says hi, you say hi, there is a sort of thick dread in the air despite barely anyone in the building being old enough to vote and most everyone completely baffled by the concept of the "electoral college."

he asks how you're feeling. you say bad, and he agrees.

he looks you in the eyes and puts both his hands on your shoulders. he says, "don't worry about gay marriage. they can't get rid of it."

you don't say anything; he doesn't give you a chance to.

"i ran into the senate at subway yesterday and i asked them. and they said trump can't repeal gay marriage."

you do not know much about the government. you are not quite sure what a senator is. however, you know there are one hundred of them. you also know that the only subway in your little corner of maine is very small- there's, like, three booths to sit in. only a few people can even get in line to order at a time. you were born recently but you are able to draw some conclusions here:

1) there is absolutely no way that subway could fit 100 people inside of it at all,

2) there is no reason that the entire senate would be in a little town in maine the night after the election,

and 3) this guy is making shit up again, more than anyone's ever made shit up in their life.

you say, "okay. that's good." you are aware that gay marriage is not the only thing to be worried about, here. you are aware that this guy lies recreationally and it is not worth arguing the matter.

"isn't that great?" he asks. it is not great.

you go to homeroom and you do not stand for the pledge of allegiance (you never stand for it again). you go to pre-algebra. you listen to my chemical romance instead of paying attention. you go to english class, you go to study hall, you go to lunch. you go to social studies and your teacher lets you and your other gay friend (who doesn't suck and in fact you have crush-adjacent feelings for them) sit out in the hall to talk about the election, because you asked nicely. they do not try to tell you that they ran into the entire senate at subway.

you think about this interaction several times a month through the next two election seasons. you are a 21 year old man and you are still thinking about this. you are still imagining ways the entire senate could cram themselves into this tiny subway. you regularly share this story with new friends because you just cannot stop fucking thinking about it. he ran into the entire senate at a tiny little subway in maine at 7 in the morning. and they said gay rights were safe forever.

[scuderiahalf]

(almost) one year with you — c.sainz

pairing. carlos sainz x strategist!norris!fem!reader

summary. your boyfriend is usually so intelligent. when he makes one of the stupidest decisions of his life to break up with you, his best friend (and your idiot brother) decides to take matters into his own hands. 4.3k, 18+

warnings. breakups = makeup sex, oral (fem receiving), fingering, reader is kind of a bitch but carlos is into it

masterlist.

.

"I'm going to kick the door open."

"Please, do not do that," Carlos says from behind you.

"You think I can't?"

Smartly, Carlos chooses not to voice any further opinions.

You kick the door, more out of frustration than an actual attempt to break it open.

"I'm going to murder you when I get out of here, Lando!" you shout against the door, not really caring if your idiot brother has hung around to hear the very real threat.

You may not actually kill him (you're still debating it) but you will definitely hit him. At least five times. Maybe more. And he's not getting any of your late-night stress-baked cookies for several months. Asshole.

You kick the door again, harder. The wood bends near the bottom from the impact, rattling in the doorframe but otherwise unmoving. Your groan turns into a yell of frustration, punctuated by you hitting the still closed door with both hands. You seriously cannot believe Lando would do this.

"Are you finished?"

Carlos sounds almost amused.

If he hadn't been literally thrown into the room by not just Lando but Max and Alex as well, you might think he's in on this whole scheme. Instead, you just glare at him, irritated that he's so calm while you're both being held against your will.

"Is being made to be near me that horrible?" Carlos says.

"Oh, fuck off."

"You are acting as if they will not have to let us out eventually."

"How long is that going to take? Huh? I don't want to be locked in here for hours. It's actually FUCKING RIDICULOUS!"

You're shouting at the door again, hoping your dumbass brother and his stupid fucking friends can hear.

They all better be prepared for the consequences. There's no one better at holding a grudge than you.

You never should have trusted Lando when he had insisted you come to Charles Leclerc’s dumb yacht party. He never wants to be seen in public with you much less all but beg you to attend a party with all his friends who are so much cooler than you because he's an F1 driver and all his friends are, too, and you're just a strategist.

(You never thought that being a trackside strategist at Scuderia Ferrari would be preceded by "just" as though it isn't an impressive feat but with a brother like Lando Norris, nothing you do ever really seems to measure up. You're the reason Lando ever got into racing or F1 in the first place. So really, this is your own fault.)

You give up harassing the door (it locks from the inside so there must be something blocking it in the hallway) and start searching the room for another way out. It's a bedroom, and you're choosing to assume that it just happened to be the easiest place to trap you both and not a purposeful nudge to something untoward. Lando isn't that crude. You think.

After this little stunt, you don't think he deserves the benefit of the doubt.

You start checking all the drawers to see if there's anything useful. You don't actually know what you're looking for. Maybe like a fire axe or a hand saw so you can brute force your way out of here.

"We could talk," Carlos proposes.

"And give Lando what he wants? No, thank you."

"You are so proud. Can we not talk this out?"

"What's there to talk out, Carlos? You dumped me, remember?"

That shuts him up.

You refuse to look at him. Even with your back to him as you search through a completely empty dresser, you can feel the look on his face. Full lips pouting, big brown cow eyes all sad and pitiful. You'd fold like a cheap suit if you saw his pretty eyes right now and you're trying really hard to stay strong and hang onto your anger so you won't give in.

There's nothing in any of the dresser drawers. The nightstands are fruitless, too. The wardrobe houses only empty hangers, and not even the cheap wire ones that could be bent into something useful like a weapon to kill yourself with if things get any more tense in this tiny room.

"I regret it," he says.

You close the wardrobe with a heavy breath.

"I regretted it as soon as I said we should end it."

"Cry me a river, Sainz. Build a bridge. Get over it. You don't get to call me ‘nothing but a distraction’ then tell me you regret it and expect me to forgive you just like that—fuck this. I'm going to swim to shore."

You yank the balcony door open and climb up onto one of the chairs so you can get over the railing.

"Y/N!" Carlos curses in Spanish, scrambles after you and gets an arm around you before you can actually step up onto the railing. "What are you doing?!"

"I just said! I'm going to swim to shore. Let me go!"

Carlos picks you up like a purse dog and carries you back into the room. He stands in front of the balcony door after setting you down, blocking your only escape route.

"You cannot swim to shore. We are miles out of sea!"

"If it gets me out of this room, I'd do it!"

"Can you not just talk to me?"

"No!"

"Why?!"

"Because I don't want to!"

"What are you afraid is to happen?"

"I don't have to explain myself. Especially not to you."

So, you don't explain yourself. You walk over to the couch and take a seat, arms and legs crossed, looking anywhere but at Carlos.

You knew what you were getting into when you agreed to that first date with Carlos last year. You know what you were signing up for. You knew all the judgement would be on you if/when you decided to go public. You knew Ferrari would have many things to say about your relationship, and they did, when you told them earlier in the season before it could potentially get ugly with a reveal from unsasvory sources.

You knew all of that and you went for it, anyway, because could you even call yourself a Norris if you didn't go after what you wanted? You knew what being with Carlos would bring but apparently, you were the only one.

After eleven amazing months together, Carlos got cold feet. You don't know how else to describe it. You had told your family after three months; he'd told his after just one. Everyone was happy for you. Your family loves Carlos, and the Sainz clan accepted you with open arms. You were so happy.

But as your relationship pushed a year, Carlos said you needed to talk, called you a distraction, subsequently hazardous for his line of work, and ended things.

Did you call him an emotionally stunted manchild before storming out of the cafe he asked to meet at? If you did, he surely deserved it.

A few weeks after that, you're where you are now, locked in a bedroom on a yacht while a party rages on several floors above. Carlos says he regrets breaking up with you, that he wanted to take back everything he said, but he already said it and that's how things are now.

You'll not be the girl he comes crawling back to whenever it's convenient for him. If going steady is a hazard for work, then an off again-on again situationship is definitely not OSHA-compliant. You refuse to lower yourself to being a doormat that Carlos wipes his feet on whenever he feels he has the time.

After a while of standing guard at the balcony door, Carlos makes a move to sit on the couch with you.

"No," you say.

He halts midstep.

"You can sit on the bed."

Slowly, as though giving you a chance to change your mind, Carlos sulks over to the bed and sits.

He's moving to Williams next year. He has only a handful of races left in rosso corsa. He doesn't know you're sitting on a job offer that could have you following him, a promotion to head strategist at the Oxfordshire team that you can't believe you're actually debating because of your standing with a man.

You've told no one of Williams's proposition. So, you really don't know why you open your mouth to tell Carlos of all people.

"Williams wants me as their head strategist."

He looks up, eyes bright, surprised but excited for you. "What? That is amazing."

"Yeah, I know it is," you say, glaring at him again. "I haven't accepted yet, though."

Carlos is quiet, then carefully says, "Because of me?"

"No," you say because it's just ridiculous for that to be the reason you're holding up contract negotiations, "Yes, because of you. Obviously. I don't want you thinking I'm following you. I'm not. I'm pursuing my career. So, I know that changes you being all regretful. I just want to clarify things before you hear about it from someone else.”

“Why would it change how I feel?”

“Because we’ll still be coworkers next season.”

“That changes it? What does it change?”

Carlos' accent (hot as fuck) and the way he doesn't always say things 100% correct (cute as fuck) are misleading for his actual understanding of the English language. So, you're really not sure what he's getting confused over.

He's leaving. You were supposed to be staying. No longer working together meant no distractions for him until you would meet up at a hotel after a shitty quali and he would fuck the shit out of you. Or something like that.

It'd feel good in the moment but you don't want him for just sex. You don't want casual. You don't want to be a convenient, low-maintenance, not-quite-official girlfriend. You won't do it. No matter how pretty he is.

And his plan to get you back was ruined now that you'd be moving to Williams for next season, anyway.

“I’d not be a distraction if I was staying at Ferrari. Now, we’ll both still be on the same team. Not convenient for you to still be in a toxic work environment, huh? So, you can cut the crap.”

“That has nothing to do with my regret."

"I won't be a casual fuck buddy who you can't stand to be around when it doesn't work for you."

"I never said that!"

He seems genuinely hurt by your implication but you won't fall for it, won't let it deter you.

"It's kind of implied. You know with the whole 'I have to focus on my driving' thing. Like, what the fuck were you doing for the rest of the time we were together? Nothing changed and you suddenly decided it was too much, then you want me back but I ruined that for you. You'll be seeing me next year, too, so don't even bother with the whole regret speech or whatever."

"I—," Carlos starts, then says nothing.

He can't seem to find the words.

"What? Nothing to say? You wanted to talk. Talk."

"If I am in a team with you or not," he says, slow, calculated, "It does not change that I regret what I said."

Carlos takes a second to think before continuing. That's where you two differ.

Carlos has always been incredibly intelligent. You knew he was gorgeous before you had ever met in person but his mind made him appeal even more to you when you first started working trackside last season. Long, intellectual conversations preceded him asking you out after his masterclass in Singapore.

You nearly started foaming at the mouth when he said "it's on purpose" to keeping your brother within DRS to hold off Mercedes. You were ready to jump his bones right then and there in the middle of the team celebration when he asked you to dinner before you flew back to England.

But he was a gentleman. (He didn't fuck you until after your second date, but it was a close thing that first night when you leaned over the center console to kiss him. You'd have ridden him right there in the front seat of that rental car if your idiot brother hadn't chosen then to walk by and make a scene. Kind of a mood killer.)

The two of you both found fascination in the other's way of thinking, Carlos' smooth logic and your chaotic brilliance. He is all thought and few words while you talk and talk until you find your solution.

You always found beauty in the contrast. You balance each other. Simultaneously alike and disimilar. He is someone you saw yourself building a life with. After nearly a year together, those are the kinds of thoughts you start to have about a partner.

"So, you regret it," you gather, "But do you still think I'm a distraction?"

"Of course, you are a distraction. I am in love with you. There is nothing more distracting than that."

You laugh, disbelieving. "You're in love with me but I'm distracting and you can't be with me? Why? Because you love racing more?"

"I was scared. I was stupid. I am stupid. I am."

"Self deprecation won't do you any favors. But, yeah, you are stupid. You're not making any sense."

"I was scared. You were everything I could think of. I thought I could not find a balance between you and racing. But without you, it is even worse. I want you as a distraction. I know that because I have lost you.”

“You haven’t,” you say before your brain even knows what you’re doing. “Not entirely, yet. Maybe… You’re not allowed to do this again. Ever.”

And you’re crying. Of course.

Carlos is at your side in record time, kneeling in front of you, taking immediate advantage of the crack in your defenses. “Never.”

“You can’t do shit like this. You can’t push me aside like I don’t matter. You can’t call me a distraction.”

“You are a distraction. In the best way.”

Unimpressed and wiping your tears, you say, “Wow. You’re such a poet.”

Carlos laughs thickly. “I love you.”

“Ugh, fuck off.”

You’re still wiping at your face. You didn’t cry when Carlos called it quits, refused to let him have any sort of hold over you when he pushed you aside but now, you’re crying. It’s in relief but you still feel your face getting hot from the embarrassment of it.

He knocks your hands aside to cup your cheeks. “You are the love of my life. I will do whatever it takes to fix what I broke.”

“S’not broken. Just bent. Or whatever the saying is. I don’t fucking care—just kiss me.”

Carlos’ “yes, ma’am” is muffled against your lips.

It’s only been three weeks (three and a half but who’s counting) since he last kissed you but it feels like an eternity.

It’s salty from your tears and wet, also from the tears but more from the way you let his tongue into your mouth after probably not enough time has passed. You don’t care. You just want him.

“I love you," you break the kiss to say. "Don't leave me."

"I won't."

"Say it back."

"I love you. I love you I love you I love you."

.

His words jumble between English and Spanish as he kisses down your body.

Your breath catches as he pulls your hips further down the cushion you're sat on. Stupid F1 driver muscles. You want to sink your teeth into his bicep, make him walk around with the bruise, a reminder of who he belongs to.

He slips his fingers into the waistband of your pants, looks up for permission. You lift your hips. You've missed what his big brown eyes look like when they're all dark with want.

He pulls your pants and underwear down and tosses them aside, tugging you even closer to the edge of the couch. Your legs part. He puts your knees on his shoulders then finally pushes his face between your thighs.

You let your head fall back as you sigh, probably sounding ridiculous but he's always been good at this.

He had you ride his face one time. He practically had to beg to get you to agree. There was a lot of him gripping onto you, arms wrapped around your thighs and hips to force you to stay in place. He'd kept you there until you couldn't stay upright or fight against his hold, coaxing multiple orgasms out of you with just his mouth.

Then, he'd fucked you until you came for a fifth time. (You tell a guy one time about how your last partner hadn't the patience to get more than one orgasm out of you, and he makes it his life's mission to get three or more every time you go at it. How terrible for you. Ha.)

He eats you out like a man starving, like he has something to prove. To be fair, he does but he's not going to be entirely back in your good graces just because he's helping you get off for the first time in three and a half weeks. This is just extra credit.

One of his hands finds yours. He tangles your fingers and holds your hand as he involves his free fingers in slipping past your entrance. You open up for him with obscene ease, legs falling apart even further.

He fucks you with a single finger slow, slow, slow while his tongue licks languidly at your clit.

"Carlos," you whine his name.

You don't need all the pleasure you already know he's more than capable of giving you. You just need to get off already.

"I will get you there, hermosa," he promises with a kiss to your inner thigh.

"Get there faster; I don't want my idiot brother thinking better of his insane plan and letting us out while you're nose-deep in my cunt."

Carlos huffs a laugh. You can feel the air against where you're wet. It makes you squirm.

Usually, Carlos would tell you to stay still and be patient but seems to think better of it this time. You would probably still do as he says, circumstance regardless, but he doesn't need to know that. He just presses his lips back to your pussy.

He sucks on the hardened little bundle of nerves at the joint of your labia just how he knows will make you go limp and needy. He pushes a second then a third finger into you, the stretch just that much more than you can manage with your own, smaller digits.

You could've gotten it with the neglected dildo that lives somewhere mostly forgotten in your closet. There was something that felt so final about bringing out the toy you haven't needed since that second date. Thankfully, you still don't need it. You should consider just pitching it, at this point.

You push your hand through Carlos' hair, brushing the ridiculously perfect locks off his forehead so you can watch his stupid, beautiful face as he goes down on you.

"You're so pretty like this, baby," you praise.

His dark eyes flicker up to you, exhaling against your exposed cunt and shifting his knees on the floor.

You're sure if he had a hand free, he'd be palming himself over his pants. He gets off on you getting off and praise goes straight to his dick. You've got this fantasy of making him come completely untouched but you might need to do actual research on that before it becomes a reality.

He sticks his tongue down with his fingers, lapping at your hole and spitting your wetness onto your clit just because it's hot. Like the way he's slobbering over you isn't enough to make the glide of his tongue over your clit smooth and delectable.

"Come on, baby. Don't tease. Not now."

Carlos makes this little displeased noise in the back on his throat.

Quickies aren't really in Carlos' sexual vocabulary. He occasionally likes it as rough and fast as the next dick-haver but he's more of a spread you open and make love to you for hours at a time kind of guy.

He took you to a secluded little cabana in Mallorca for a week during summer break specifically so you two could spend days on end doing nothing but loving on each other. Then, he took you to meet his family and you had to pretend like you hadn't spent the majority of the week prior with their golden child's dick or fingers or tongue inside of you.

Currently, you're just wanting to find relief without Lando or some other F1 driver walking in on you first.

"Carlos, baby—please."

Carlos likes when you play nice. When you're so desperate for it that your bossy exterior goes away. You tell yourself that you exploit this because your unending pride doesn't like the alternative that you really just are that desperate for it.

He finally starts to finger bang you properly. Combine that with the obscene slurping sounds he's making against your clit and the lack of action for nearly a month and no one could really blame you for not taking long to hit your high.

Heat curls and explodes in your gut and up your spine, back arching, lungs gasping, Carlos' name falling from your mouth as your thighs try to close around his head. He gets his elbows up to hold your legs open. His fingers keep fucking you through your orgasm. He pulls his other hand free of your grip to massage your clit with his thumb, kissing your thighs, pubes, stomach.

He captures your lips in a kiss while you're still riding it out. It's intense and leg-shaking after so long without, emotion-driven, which is the best kind but not worth it after knowing what the fear of losing him is like. You can hardly kiss him back, face pulled in pleausre, moans spilling past your lips that Carlos swallows unburdened.

You tuck your face into his shoulder as he drags it out just to the precipice of overstimulation. You tug him into you, arms around his shoulders, fingers tugging the hair at the base of his skull. He lets his fingers rest inside of you, rests that thumb against your clit so he can hold you back with one arm, at least.

You just breathe for a moment, composing yourself where he can't see your face. The worst may be over but the level of trust you'd built over months together would not be so easily reinstated. He'd have to work hard for that, much harder than a sinlge mind-blowing orgasm.

"Don't leave me," you say in a whisper. "You can't, okay?"

"I won't."

"Promise."

"I promise I will not leave you again. I am the most dumb man if I lose you another time. I will deserve it, then."

"Be smart, then. Like I know you have the capacity to be."

Carlos pulls his fingers out. He catches your shiver, still wrapped up in his one arm. He kisses your cheek before finding something to clean his hands with. You've pulled your pants back on when he's finished.

"Likelihood someone heard us?" you prompt.

"Heard you, you mean?"

You kick at him as he comes back over to you. "Watch it."

He tucks you against his side once he's sat. "Scale?"

"One to a hundred."

"90, at least."

You smack his chest. "Dick."

"You are very loud, mi amor. You talk so much, and you make such pretty noises."

"Don't insult me immediately after I've forgiven you."

You've not drawn away from him at all. In fact, you've tucked your feet up on the couch to curl into him fully.

Carlos knows this. He presses a kiss to your temple.

"I love you. I am sorry I am so stupid."

"I guess I've just got to have enough brains and beauty for the both of us."

"You have always."

You hide your smile in his chest. He holds your thigh when you put your legs across his lap. Now you've got him back, you want to be as close as physically possible. Whoever first said they want to be inside their partner's skin really gets it.

.

George Russell ends up getting sent to let you two out. Evidently, your brother fled the scene of the crime once the yacht returned to port in the early hours of the morning. He dumped the chore of opening Pandora's box on an innocnet bystander.

"I am so sorry—"

"Oh, clever," you say when you spot the poor Brit, "He sends an uninvolved party to let me out like I couldn't track him anywhere in the world. I've his trainer's phone number and Jon likes me more than him. I am going to beat his skinny little muppet ass. When I find him—"

You trip over the tangle of chairs that had been used to barricade the bedroom door from the outside.

Carlos catches your elbow.

"Amor, it is late," he says. "Sleep, first, hm?"

You relax into his hold a bit, a silent concession. It'll be easier to murder your little brother after a good night's sleep, anyway.

"So, are you two...?" George trails off.

You cut him a glare.

"Nothing. Never mind. Apologies."

He speeds around the two of you and off the boat.

"The 2019 rookies are all terrified of you."

"Good."

Carlos laughs. "I am excited to see what Alex is like with you next year."

You smile.

Next year, you'll still be working with Carlos. It'll be at a different team, a midfielder at best but at least Carlos will still be on the grid. He'll still find increasingly laughable excuses to be in engineering just to see you. He'll still come home to you, the same that you'll come home to him.

A future with Carlos is still in the cards. He'll be damned if he messes it up again, you know that much.

[anarcowboy]

Boiling it down to any single factor is a mistake when it's a soup of dogshit

--there was substantial decrease in voter turnout between 2020 and 2024. more voters than 2016 tho, and still a popular loss. Woof. 3rd party votes did not make a difference and even if all "other", Stein, AND libertarian votes went to Harris she'd still lose (libertarian pulled from Trump more than Harris)

--running to the right of Trump on various issues normalized conservative policy, so those who they attempted to court could get the same results from Trump without having to vote blue

--those they attempted to court are also, yes, a lot of racists and misogynists. The Black vote was almost unanimously in favor of Harris. Just wildly strong polling. The Latino/Latina vote was split, men leaned Trump and women leaned Harris. The white vote skewed pretty strongly to Trump. Failing to ever address white supremacy and instead court it will never make a woman of color appeal to these people, no matter how "lethal military strong border" fascist you try to be

--Harris's campaign ruthlessly belittled her constituents. They refused to speak with people, canceled meetings, mocked them, and tried to make a fool of people in mourning, scared, devastated, yet still ready to vote for her if she gave them crumbs. She didn't. The campaign turned its back, like Clinton did before, on people willing to vote for her if she put any effort into getting their votes. But like in 2016, Schumer was confident you could replace blue collar dems with suburban republicans. it failed. twice. The whole campaign trail has been littered with contempt for their own base. Harris didn't even speak at her own rally last night and sent everyone home.

--2020 has shifted us into an era of extremism and desperation. People are angry. People are scared. Multiple people have tried to kill trump in the last few months. Many voted for him not because they like him but because they have contempt for Harris, whether reasonable or bigoted varies across the board.

--Even as min wage hikes pass, abortion passes, social security expansion passes, and "radical" politicians like Omar and Tlaib win re-elections in the same exact places Harris loses, anchors blame progressive policy for her downfall. Even now, the marginalized people used as pawns by her campaign are being thrown to the wolves for her loss.

--The dems never learn from a loss. They are a center-right party with substantial hatred for progressive policy even as progressive policy polls as wildly popular among the masses. They loathe their base, while Republicans are willing to kiss the asses of theirs.

--Trump will fail to meet all the expectations placed on him, and his base will become angry. Then rather than ever run a platform to help working class americans, marginalized people in substantial and lasting ways, the dems will court those disillusioned by Trump, until they fail to wow them next time and a new fascist runs.

--The two party system does not work, especially when both are right-wing. Trump is not the sole issue and never was. He's convenient cover. Biden is too weak to do anything, then Trump will be too powerful to stop. It repeats forever. But this dance is crumbling for people. Something is breaking and people are tired of it. We have always been a fascist nation that is rapidly becoming more fascist, and unless something truly radical on the left becomes a possibility for dems that can grab the masses and inspire hope--like say, Bernie Sanders--then we are doomed to slide ever right-ward forever until collapse. But hey, the dems certainly wouldn't sabotage and kill a movement like Bernie's, right?

To sum up: we are in a fucked up time where we refuse to reckon with our past and white supremacy and instead cater to it and then have the nerve to be shocked it bites you once again. In politics and in life you cannot appeal to white supremacy, it is a snake to defeat.

Organize, find solidarity, fight, and god while you need to stop bending over for your enemy, you'd maybe be inclined to learn from them, understand them, and realize the way to defeating them has always been with force and a "fuck you I'm here to stay" attitude.

Electoral politics are never the beginning or end of what politics is. The presidential election is even a very small part of that process. Support community work protecting the people neither party will, support organizations working to undo the harm of these parties, and stop seeing this as a team sport with black and white villains and heroes where one side of a corrupt system represents the good guys and so surely their loss can only come from Evil Forces and not a system performing as designed.

[fanfic-obsessed]

The Brother Act

While I do greatly enjoy the ‘Dick was an ass in not believing Tim and taking Robin’ I have had a different thought. 

As always, look not for Canon for it is not here…

Alfred, Dick, Barbara, and Tim have a special bond that the rest of the bats and birds do not really understand. The four of them were the ones who scraped Bruce off the floor and dragged him back to a healthier mindset after Jason’s death(Dick and Babs, lost in their own grief and issues, did come in a little later than Tim and Alfred, so they missed the absolute worst but still had to deal with some of the darkest moments of Batman’s grief). 

After Bruce was lost in the Time steam, considered dead, these four sit together while Damian is at school. Tim tells them what he has found (circumstantial evidence that Bruce is still alive and lost in time). They believe him, there is no doubt that Tim is right, but they do not have proof. And the Justice League is already wary of Tim, primed by Tim’s reaction to Bart and Kon’s death (Look, this is very much a case of Gothamites are built different. Tim’s cloning attempts, where he does not even threaten other people AND makes provisions for any viable clones that do not turn out to be his friends-not that there were any but the were plans in place. Well, that is practically tame for Gotham, most Gothamites would have taken it as a sweet gesture, not madness).

It is clear. If Dick, as Batman, is seen supporting Tim in his ‘grief fueled madness’ then the Justice league will try to interfere in Gotham. And Gotham is built different. The Justice League do not understand Gotham and Cannot be allowed to interfere. Bruce would not want that. 

So Batman cannot be seen supporting Tim. Even if Dick believes him.  

They talk about Jason, who once Got Gotham the best out of any of them…but between his death and rebirth, the Pits, and his time away between Assassin training and the Outlaws he does not remember Gotham the way he thinks he does (shown by how he has forgotten that Batman cannot ever kill, that it is not Bruce that put that rule in place but Gotham herself). Gotham is still inscribed upon Jason’s bones though. He can heal enough to remember, to Get Gotham once again but it will take time. Alfred thinks that if Jason could remain on Gotham soil for three more consecutive months he would remember enough to stay until he healed all the way. Until then, though, they cannot fully trust him. 

They also talk about Damian. How Damian is not connected to Gotham, not yet. Maybe if he had been there longer, he could have truly ‘Got’ Gotham before becoming Robin. But they do not have time for that. Tim points out that Damian would not accept Robin if he thinks Tim is giving it to him, but he would if Damian thought he was beating Tim in some way to get it. They saw that through the murder attempts (Which are not taken as seriously one would think. It’s not that the Bats and Birds believe that Gotham would keep them alive no matter what…but…it does always seem as though everything works out, no matter the odds. And Jason didn’t die until he was not on Gotham soil and eventually came back after being buried in Gotham-No one really knows how Jason was brought back, not for sure). 

So Tim, Dick, Alfred, and Babs construct a very careful play. One devised to slip Damian into the Robin role, where he could grow connected to Gotham. One that gave Tim a reason to slip away, be gone so he could get proof that Bruce was still alive (because they would need the Justice Leagues resources). And all 4 sitting at the table were desperately trying to ignore that Tim had to leave Gotham, without backup, at least in the beginning (hoping that Jason would remember enough to be true backup later). Trying to ignore that the last time a Bat left Gotham without any kind of backup ended with Jason’s death.  And Yes, Tim would always have Oracle in his ear but only on the unofficial channels that do not go anywhere near the JLA systems, but that is not the same as having actual backup. 

And so time rolls on. Tim goes to search for Bruce, draws the attention of Ra’s Al Ghul, and does what was needed.  Damian grows into Robin, and begins to get it, to get Gotham (One day, about 2 months before Tim returns, Damian turns to Dick and goes ‘Drake will succeed, right?’ without any context and Dick knew Damian finally Got Gotham).  Jason did not spend the three consecutive months in Gotham until just before Bruce was brought back. 

When Tim is vindicated by the JLA, he finds Bruce. Every non Bat (and to a small, and shrinking extent, Jason) expects Tim to be petty and pissy with Dick.Even after Dicks catch. Except that does not happen.  Tim is pissy and petty with various members of the Justice League but not Dick (whom they think tried/threatened to throw Tim into Arkham-they have that on video).

[lafaiette]

Look I wanted to have a good screaming match with Solas, telling him in short, military words where he can shove his redemption (alongside with inquisitors left hand) BUT I respected him, even understood to some extended and I wanted to save him. Seba wanted to make him 'a true villain of the story' no matter what ( that one memory about sacrificing ghost???) but that's a problem I have with most characters in TV - they lack depth the previous parts offered.

I would have had no problems with the game offering the chance to antagonize Solas in a respectful manner, yes! Players in Inquisition could find ways to respect his wisdom, but not like his manners; they could punch him when they believed him to be an insufferable ass; they could become great friends with him and genuinely enjoy his company; they could romance him. That is because he was written like a compelling, multifaceted character, and those are the ones that evoke the largest number of feelings and reactions in people: rage, disgust, interest, adoration, respect.

But in Veilguard he's simply introduced as the villain. Ghilan'nain and Elgar'nan are terrible, yes, worse than him, and Rook and Strife admit this, but they are relics of an old age and they can be dealt it as one would deal with a very bothersome bug that has been suddenly set free. The game implies (without holding back) that Solas is clearly the real problem Rook will have to face at the end.

The corrupted elven gods are just a temporary threat; Solas is the true villain Rook must worry about, because, as everyone reminds them, he is the elven God of Lies and Trickery, so he's definitely planning a way to escape his prison and resume his ritual.

And to convince the players of this, they heap all the sins of the world on his shoulders. Not only the creation of the Veil - with Bellara lamenting the loss of the elves' true selves and culture, entirely blaming Solas and not realizing it was necessary to free the elves from their terrible existence; but also the Titans' severed dreams and the creation of the Blight - with Davrin and especially Harding being outraged by it; Varric's death and Solas' trick on Rook to make him believe he's still alive; his constant sacrifice of people, which was alluded to in Inquisition and Trespasser, but never to these extents and with Solas showing little to no remorse, even when he uses spirits to achieve his goals. Solas, sacrificing spirits without a second thought, when he literally breaks down and leaves Skyhold for a short time to recover from the grief of losing a spirit friend in Inquisition...?

It's clear as day that Weekes wanted to go back to the version of Solas he had written for The Masked Empire, that Fen'Harel who let an entire village get killed and spared only the children, that Fen'Harel who told a noble to kill the king's other daughter to see his beloved at the funeral again. But that was a Fen'Harel that made very little sense with the Solas we find in Inquisition - too cruel, too distant from the empathetic figure who tells a boy to abandon a senseless rebellion and return to his ailing parent.

Now, clearly free from the constraints the original lead writers and creative directors had for the series, Weekes went back to that cruel Fen'Harel persona, but this cannot be reconciled with the Solas we have in Inquisition anymore. And so we are left with a character that existed only in a book, who was changed into a kinder, more sympathetic figure, only to be reduced to a villainous figure once more because... well, because the new players would never be able to engage with him otherwise. How could they, since they never talked with him when he was simply a hedge mage obsessed with spirits and Fade? How could they, when all they ever hear about him is how distant, cold, and stuck in the past he was?

[stygiansun-totaleclipse]

I’ll just ask the big lil ole question in here buuut what would the ROs do in a Orpheus and Eurydice situation. Who would look back and who would resist looking?

ooh interesting ask 🤔 I’m going to answer this assuming a relationship has already been recently established between mc and the ROs and that their mythology regarding death/afterlife is the same as the Greeks cuz otherwise their answers would differ in ways I can’t explain bc spoilers

Kieran: The urge to look—to be sure—would of course be eating them alive, but they would never forgive themself if, on the off chance mc really is there and Hades was telling the truth, they looked and lost mc again forever and it was all their fault, their own insecurity. So they'll put their faith not in Hades' word, but in mc, and trust that mc is following behind them. They would follow mc anywhere so they'll trust that mc will, too.

Aurynn: Honestly, he likely wouldn’t even be in this situation bc he’s already right there with mc—like not even a question of bringing mc back as he doesn’t think it’d be possible and would instead bargain for being allowed to join mc in whichever of the three afterlives they were sent to (probs elysium). If he were in an Orpheus/Eurydice situation tho, I think he would probably be driven mad by the silence—the doubt—and the increasing surety that he had been tricked as he has little faith in gods and he would end up looking. The guilt would be crushing, and when he finds he can’t get back into the underworld, he’ll get in the same way mc got in.

Samira: She has plan A all the way through Z planned out, so if petitioning Hades does not work she’s moving onto the next plan. Though the silence and gnawing doubt would be unbearable, she would resist looking if it means there is some small chance this succeeds—she's come this far and can't mess up now, especially not when mc has their faith placed in her. She won't let them down. Either way, she is getting mc back one way or another. Even if that means she needs to…break some rules.

Nihm: Is desperate and heartbroken, so they need to believe this is true. And because it has to be true, they cannot look no matter what—they wouldn't be able to live with themself with mc's blood on their hands, even if they weren't what really killed them. They would be squeezing their eyes shut the entire walk back and would not open them again until mc breaks the unbearable silence.

Lilith/Lucien: Wouldn’t trust that the gods would keep their word and might try to find a way around the rules (“Hey, I didn’t turn around. I used a mirror to double-check. That’s not allowed? Well, you should have specified. I followed the rules you gave me.”) or some way to get some leverage in this situation if the gods end up cheating them. If mc is not behind them when they return and they can’t get back into the underworld the same way they did the first time so they can kill god 🔫, they’re getting back in the same way everyone does eventually. It was bound to happen sooner rather than later, anyways.

[originalleftist]

NBC has called it for Trump- he'll get at least 270.

Assuming that holds, and it looks like it will, a few things:

Do not despair. No matter how hopeless you feel. That's just another form of "obeying in advance".

Do not lash out violently. It may sound cathartic to some, but it won't change anything except to get you and probably other innocent people hurt or killed, and make it easier for Trump to get support for violent crackdowns.

We have two and a half months to prepare- either to try to block Trump's taking power, or to resist what he does starting on Inauguration Day.

We cannot afford selfishness, nor apathy, nor recklessness or impulsiveness. We must be resolved, deliberate, and strategic.

Unions should be organizing to strike. If 5% of the country went on strike, it would bring everything to a halt just like that. If you are involved in a union, and are willing to run some risk, start organizing for this.

State and local governments should be organizing to resist deployments of Federal troops against them.

Hell, Biden and other Democratic office holders, including the House if we succeed in taking it, should be refusing to recognize Trump's legitimacy and organizing to block the transition on the grounds that he is Constitutionally ineligible as an insurrectionist.

If you are a Democrat or marginalized person (that includes anyone with a uterus), and aren't prepared to resist, you should try to leave the country in the two and a half months you have left before Trump can close the borders.

Above all:

WE DO NOT GIVE UP.

This is the real world, not a myth or a fantasy novel. There are no final victories in history, nor final defeats. We lost this round. It hurts. I imagine it will hurt more when it fully sinks in. A lot of people will probably suffer and die who didn't have to.

But that does not mean that we give up. THAT is how fascists truly win.

And if this all seems like wishful thinking, remember this:

A lot of countries have been in a lot worse position than America is now. For example, Ukraine has been in a worse position than we are, in a number of ways, for basically it's entire history. It faced Soviet genocide and Nazi genocide, finally regained its independence with the fall of the Soviet Union, only to find itself under a Russian puppet regime.

It then ousted that regime in the Maidan protests, and has been fighting against Russian annexation and genocide, with far too little support, for over a decade.

It did not surrender.

Maybe it will after tonight. But I doubt it.

And if it did, it would still have fought longer and harder against longer odds than we face in America today.

So to hell with giving up. Almost 64 million Americans and still counting voted for Kamala Harris, and we are not going to just lie down and obey Dear Leader.

[zephemeral]

Do you think when he dies, his eyes hit pause?

[shannonsketches]

[gingermintpepper]

hi I love your tags so so much! they were so sweet and so interesting and creative and the whole Aphrodite type of beauty thing sounds really interesting do you have any articles and recommendations to read further into it??

-hogoflight

Hello my fine feathered (I am assuming possession of feathers if you are, indeed, capable of flight) @hogoflight! I'm always always happy to hear that people appreciate my frenzied rambling in the tags :D! I have a lot of articles and recommendations :D!! Ancient Greek notions of beauty and representations of it in their art and sculptures is a pretty well studied topic! There isn't any way for us now to know definitively what the beauty standard was (it varied widely from region to region and culture to culture after all) but here are a couple of my favourite reads about Aphrodite and what her representations tell us about idealised beauty!

Probably the most empirically extensive one I can list is Krönström's thesis which compares statues of Aphrodite and literary text referring to both the goddess and mortal women to determine physical ideals for women in five specific eras of Grecian antiquity. Including measurements of the statues there are many descriptions of Aphrodite as 'curvy' with a 'voluptuous figure' and with 'ample buttocks and bosom'.

"When the beauty traits are described in the texts, they are never extreme or anything that could not be found in normal people just that they are more beautiful in every aspect. Furthermore, the sculptures’ physical forms look healthy, they are tall and have distinct curves. Great examples of this are the Knida sculpture and de Milo (the Melian) sculpture."

Of course, these images are still idealised, and there was still a concept such as 'too fat' or 'too skinny' found in written records (and this thesis even includes analysis of pornographic writings and descriptions of the fashion and stylings of pubic hair of women from different regions!!) but from an interpretational standpoint? There is absolutely no reason why these can't refer to a fuller figure. Height was also a very important factor after all and over the course of many eras, it seems like being well proportioned in addition to the length and appearance of one's hair were the most important factors (and, like Apollo, greater beauty was given to those with curlier hair)

Mireille M. Lee's 'Other Ways of Seeing' essay which talks about the forgotten female viewers of Knidian Aphrodite which is also extremely illuminating on how Aphroditic sexuality and sensuality was perceived totally differently from the well documented male voyeuristic gaze (which was overly preoccupied with the statue's nakedness and therefore over-sensationalised the statue's physical appearance) vs women's perspective on the statue which is more centered on the beauty of simplicity in Aphrodite's garment and decoration and in her power and ability to captivate both in her finery and without it. I think it's especially useful in exploring the importance of finery, jewellry and adornment in representations of Aphroditic beauty.

"Some of the small-scale copies are heavily jeweled, especially those from the eastern Mediterranean, for example the Hellenistic gilded terracotta statuette in the Çanakkale Museum (Fig. 5) in which the goddess wears, in addition to the armband on her (right) arm, the following: a necklace with multiple pendants; cross-bands extending over both shoulders and hips, with a cascading pendant in the center; a coiled snake armband on the left arm and another snake on her left thigh, and a twisted anklet on her right leg. (The left leg has been restored, and might also have featured an anklet.)"

"Jewelry is especially associated with Aphrodite in Greek literature. As seen above, in the Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite, the goddess adorns herself with gold jewelry, dress-pins, and earrings in the shape of flowers (162–3)..."

Finally, and to me, the most important one in the argument for an interpretation of Hyacinthus as fat, beautiful and fundamentally Aphroditic comes from Brilmayer's brilliant brilliant thesis done on Aphrodite's work and influence in Archaic Greek Poetry which does away with all of that masculine preoccupation with physical proportion, measurement and bodily ideals for a focus on a Sapphic Aphroditic ideal centered in clothing, ornamentation and, most importantly cunning as symbols of Aphrodite and ultimately a feminine idealised form of beauty. This paper also discusses Pandora and Helen in these terms and it is just kind of a wonderful read tbh.

"Combining Homeric and Hesiodic elements with her own ideas, she [Sappho] alters the way female beauty is viewed. For example, the Homeric war chariot – a symbol of male, military prowess - comes to symbolise the totality of Aphrodite’s power uniting in itself male and female qualities. Having addressed the concept of beauty directly, Sappho then concludes that beauty lies in the eye of the beholder. With the help of Helen of Troy and her beloved Anaktoria, Sappho sets out to reinvent the concept of female beauty as a godlike, subjective quality that may be expressed in many ways, yet remains inspired by Aphrodite."

The conclusion to all of this of course is that Aphroditic ideal beauty is much more fluid compared to its stricter Apolline masculine standard. The nuances and understandings of both are of course, constantly being studied, analysed and scrutinised but really, if Dionysus who was both bearded and clean shorn, effeminate, birthed and rebirthed (and twice gestated!) and strongly associated with vegetation can be popularly portrayed as fat and handsome, why can't Hyacinthus?!

[ahalliance]

how do i turn qantoine’s spontaneous marriage proposal to qetoiles into evidence of his early-days fear of qfrench drifing away and keeping secrets from one another

[bacchuschucklefuck]

(chuckles) Im so good at reading comprehension and my meat is huge

[acridid-s]

Bloodborne's cut dialogue altered my brain chemistry

[forcedhesitation]

Man.

there's just something about the love between a woman whose impending death is inevitable and a man who's an immortal undead...

[iniziare]

Tag drop: Aventurine.

[ravenheir]

thinking about it again — the fact that the only man who has ever actually been something of a father to wyll is abdel adrian. the fact that, while wyll is undoubtedly ulder's son (and francesca's son, something less acknowledged), much of who he is is because of abdel; the hero of baldur's gate. wyll's idol. someone he trusted, loved. and just … abdel's death was absolutely The Moment for wyll; the moment that he understood crushing guilt and grief, the moment that he understood what it meant to lose someone dear to you. i think it also laid … a very specific and complicated kind of foundation in his mind, given the nature of abdel's death — abdel, a man revealed to be bhaalspawn, a man turned monster, tearing apart and being torn apart by his unholy brethren. do you even get it