#help yourself and do the communist ending

[mesetacadre]

How do you avoid becoming a doomer with politics? I want to be more politically active but the current political climate makes me feel depressed.

talked more about this here but essentially, nothing is static. Conditions change all the time, the quantity of organized people can fall and rise (with parallel but not necessarily 1:1 development of quality). What today seems like an impassable wall, tomorrow (not literally tomorrow) will more and more began to be seen as a necessary step for an improvement to happen. The fact that there exists a scientific method of analysis of history and capitalism also acts as an accelerant; how much time passed between the first bourgeois state and the first formulation of scientific communism, 50 years? That is unprecedented in the history of modes of production, and it only took another 50-60 years after that before the first relatively permanent instance of the next mode of production.

The way I see this, inaction and pessimism feed into each other, pessimism favors inaction, and inaction reinforces pessimism, by limiting your perception because it limits personal experience. And that cycle can only be broken by first stopping that inaction, since it is possible (not always) to force yourself to act against your general feelings. And then, only by working against that inaction and finding an organization/party or general line of action that works for you, can you begin to sustain an action-optimism cycle (of course, it isn't this simple and I would not call my outlook to be optimistic, but this is the best way I can think of explaining this). This cycle is, in my experience, very fragile, and somewhat often I continue to act through periods of relative pessimism by inertia and by the continuance of the responsibilities that bind me to my party most strongly. I can keep talking about the way society and the economy evolve, but at a personal and more inmediate scale, this is the only way to avoid "doomerism", at some point you're going to have to start acting if you want to avoid it, and rethoric can help, of course, but you'll only start to internalize it once you experience becoming an active part of these mechanisms. For me, it sometimes feels like a hobby, other times like a chore, and most times like the best thing I could ever do with my life. But it's crucial that you're not only driven by blind hope. The amount of effort and time you can contribute as an individual will vary wildly, depending on your own personal circumstances, and in my experience the most common type of organized person you'll encounter is the one that can only really dedicate a few days a week or a couple of hours every few days.

There is some nuance to "you have to end your inaction" too, of course. I'm not saying to join the very first group you encounter and dedicate every minute of free time to it, but you also can't be waiting for the perfect opportunity or org to come along. I contacted my ML party on a Tuesday during a winter academic break, while I was only just beginning to stabilize out of a suicidal episode but still depressed, and while considering myself mostly an ancom (I was very lost in that regard, my beliefs were not truly emergent from any proper anarchist core, but I digress). You don't need to have read x books or need to have encyclopedic knowledge of your local movement to begin to organize yourself, and you also don't need to believe 100% in the emancipation of workers. The best time to begin is the next time you have some free time to research and begin to contact some orgs/parties, that's as best as I think I can put it. I can't assure you that it'll be straightforward, but I can assure you that you can't get out of doomerism just by thinking about it.

If it's too daunting, think about those executive dysfunction "tricks". Joining A Party can sound very big an unapproachable, but you can break it down into looking, for example, for "Communist Party of [your country]". Look at their socials, see what they do and say, maybe you find an offshoot org that looks better, or run into a completely unrelated group. Then you contact them, ask when they're doing something in your area or if they can invite you to some kind of meeting, etc. Be willing to contact them if you find a couple of drawbacks too, sometimes rumors turn into the thing everybody says about x or y org, without really reflecting reality. Have criteria, of course, if some org is talking about immigrants like they're invaders, for example, it is probably not worth your time. Everything depends on what your local scene looks like. Getting experience at a mediocre org is still better than staying at home and looking on at the state of the world like it's hopeless. this isn't a very well-structured post, I've been writing this across a few days when I can, I hope it's helpful

[moontragedy]

I don't know if it's canon and I didn't get it or if it's just my theory. Nevertheless, I can't help but think that the Pale in Disco Elysium is literally because of Harry ('s alcoholism? retrograde amnesia?), and that the world itself (reality) is a creation of the mind. The creators said they wanted to create a game that could be a "mind simulator", I think it truly is.

To explain myself, when Harry talks to Joyce about the Pale, she explains to him that it's a sort of nothingness that is growing, spreading, although no one really knows much about it. It is the "negation of being" and the opposite of matter. It constitutes 72% of the world (the rest being "isola"(e?), continents of matter).

Therefore, we know the Pale surrounds whole and real continents.

Also, when Harry talks to the Programmer, they realise that the triangle of silence is kind of a "hole in reality" : they come to the conclusion that it is part of the Pale.

Joyce also says that although it is the opposite of matter, it is not really part of reality (which makes sense as only something that is not part of reality could create a hole within reality).

So the Pale is the enemy of matter, but also the opposite of reality. In this sense, and because it generally is defined this way, I think reality could be defined as matter. And it would be why Joyce opposes it to the Pale. Moreover, what we generally oppose to matter in turn, is the mind, belief, thoughts, emotions, what is not physically.

When Harry enters the book club, he has to read a book about infra-materialism in order to officially get accepted by the two communist members. In the book, it is written that Nielsen thought communism as a way to change reality itself through the power of the mind. Basically, if enough people became communists, the collective mind could - by thinking about it - wrap reality to make it the way they wanted. Although, he alone had a mind that was apparently powerful enough which is why he could be help communism so much, understand reality better, and he would've had superpowers (levitation, reading other people's mind).

The theory had different stages (depending on the strength of your mind, how hard you trained it, and the faith you had in communism I think it was?). It enabled the believer to modify reality, as it could make them read the mind or levitate like Nielsen is rumored to have done (which further shows somehow everything can be within reach and pliable).

In any case, there's this strong belief that the mind is superior to reality because it is the one commanding the other how it should look like.

The two students thought that the reason this world is so poor, sad, at war and litteraly going toward its destruction is because of the capital, and especially because it corrupts the mind. It would've made the collective mind think about a world that can only be despair, and by thinking about it, feeding the existence of such a world. And I guess it could be since, in the game, communism seems to be an answer to the end of the world, and the only way for Harry and the other caracters to have hope.

This idea that belief and thoughts create reality can then be backed up by the discussion with the Programmer. She says that the triangle of silence should normally keep expanding, that it has been there for a long time. And then, with Harry, they talk about how it explains why the church is here. That the building was specifically built to contain the expansion of the Pale.

Because the church is a place of faith, only something that is home to intense thoughts and beliefs could battle against the opposite of reality.

Therefore reality is both matter and created by the mind : it is the material consequence of thought (and especially the collective mind, as it has been said that the more people believe in something, the stronger the thought is and the more reality instantly follows).

Back to the first point. The list of people authorised to travel through the Pale is very short. Harry only knows two : Joyce and the Paledriver. We learn, through Joyce, and confirmed by the driver, that the Pale is a place that can lead people to insanity if exposed for too long to it. But when you travel through, you also get access to all this knowledge. The Paledriver, because she often goes inside it, has many memories that are not hers.

Joyce who also gets through it for many days at a time, has gotten more access to things around her (as she has probably seen many realities though other people's memories). Because she has seen more through the Pale, she appreciates the world that she lives in better.

What she sees "great bodies of water [...]" can be memories from the Pale. Those memories both her and the Paledriver have acquiered are proofs of what dwells in this nothingness. It is the "negation of being" not only because it isn't, but because it no longer is. And the past isn't, as the memories belong to the past.

Which brings me to my most important point. I think this is why Harry is the one that caused the quickened expansion of the Pale. We know he has no memories left, and his condition worsened as he got two full blackouts before getting retrograde amnesia for good (and it seriously sounds like offerings to the Pale).

When he talks to the Insulindian Phasmid, it says that the Pale is a human creation. It says that it came with the arrival of the human mind but "no one remembers it before [Harry]". The Pale had stagned and maybe no one used to see it or be bothered by it anymore, but then the lieutenant came along. And the Phasmid says that all animals and plants are convinced he will "destroy us all".

Also, the Phasmid talks about how Harry has "creation reflected in [his] forebrain". The forebrain being known for being in neurology the preferential centre of the impulsivity control, agressivity control and some even talk about it being the centre for all that gives us our personality. Harry has absolute jack shit in impulsivity or aggressivity control and he does not remember enough of who he is to have a constant personality (remember as the Pale is the "negation of being", and certainly Harry is that when it comes to all that). His brain, because it reflects, is like a mirror to the Pale and he has a part in its creation.

Also could the "holes in reality" be caused by Harry because of the many holes he has in his memory (as they would be reflected right back onto the Pale)? If it was, we have to understand the relationship between reality and the Pale, and Harry's role in BOTH of them.

The Pale offers knowledge and somehow Harry is able to discuss with the hanged man, with the Phasmid, with objects. And he gets all this knowledge from them and it has always turned out to be true or highly plausible. He has never gone inside the Pale himself, but he stills has the knowledge (because his link to the Pale is strong). This somehow means also that he can really turn reality the way he wants it (but it stays reality because it keeps a general coherence : for instance the fact that the infos that should be impossible to obtain are true). If he alone can bend reality to his will, then he has a strong mind like Masov and Nielsen had before him.

This is emphasised by the whole concept of division by functions of conscience (i.e encyclopedia, savoir faire, esprit de corps, reaction speed etc). Not only do he talk to them, but they all have faces, distinct personalities, voices, and they can interact with each other. They are just as real to Harry and the player than anyone else.

We also know he has the ability to change reality because if the player chooses to become communist, he will dream about the revolution. Conscience tells him it has 0.000% probability of occuring but the night after (or immediately after saying yes I don't remember), it already changes to 0.001%.

Also, in philosophy, spiritualistic ideologies sometimes talk about how reality only exists through one's perception. In the game, we definitely have Harry's perception (because it is a mind simulator, everything is deeply filtered through him). Harry has dumb and impulsive thoughts that can turn into litteral quests, when he has no moral left, the world gets really dark (an total invasion of the Pale?), his dreams looks just as real as everything else, we get access to immaterial/dead/non-talking minds.

+ the black aura that always clouds our vision : everywhere you go there is a black filter at the edges. It can be the Pale lurking or it could be that the world is Harry's perception. When I mean his perception I mean in the literal sense of the word : if it gets too far from him it's dark because reality is exists only if you percieve it and his eye sight can only go so far.

If it is though, then the Pale also is. And since Harry is sad and got worse throughout the years, it got worse at the same time there. His memory holes expanded the already existent holes disrupting reality.

Anyway, tell me if it makes sense. Or if there is other explanations for these things.

[juney-blues]

99% of conversations on anarchism about here are hampered by people having no clue what anarchists are talking about when they refer to "the state", including, it seems, the anarchists themselves.

[skamenglishsubs]

Subtext and Culture, Young Royals, Season 3, Episode 4

Last episode ended with Simon coming home to a smashed window, this episode starts the morning after, Simon takes the bus to school, while Wilhelm is anxiously waiting for him.

Culture: At a high school level in Sweden, there's national tests in Swedish, English, and Math. Like everywhere else, the purpose of these tests is not only to grade students, but to align all schools across the country to combat grade inflation.

Blink and you miss it: Vincent is trying to cheat by looking at Nils' answers.

Blink and you miss it: Vincent draws a dick in the gravel while waiting for the others to be done with the test.

Subtext: This entire episode is overflowing with examples of privilege. For Vincent, and many other rich kids like him, studying and learning doesn't matter, they'll graduate regardless, so he doesn't care about the exam, he only cares about the graduation party.

Cinematography: Even with Felice and friends being completely blurred out in the background, you can still see Stella and Fredrika turning to look at Sara, and then turning their backs on her.

Culture: In the US, a lot of people are using "socialism" as a catch-all phrase which means politics they don't agree with, regardless of its actual ideology. Likewise, in Sweden, a lot of people use "communist" in the same way about generally left-wing politics, which is what Vincent is doing here.

Subtext: Wilhelm asks Simon if he can reconcile the conflict of dating a royal while being anti-monarchy, but the real question is of course if Wilhelm can reconcile the conflict in himself.

Subtext: This is where the show's political stance shines through, and this argument, that Wilhelm wasn't allowed to choose his life for himself, is the main argument they're gonna use in the finale.

Subtext: Wilhelm is weakly defending the monarchy, but just ends up repeating what his mother told him; it's a privilege, not a punishment, but does he believe it himself?

Subtext: The letter-to-yourself plot is mainly there in order to help August along his redemption arc, but here the show is using it to reinforce the point of the previous scene. Who does Wilhelm want to become? Does he have a choice?

Culture: In Sweden, Säkerhetspolisen, SÄPO, is the government agency in charge of national security, which includes providing security and assigning bodyguards to the royal family.

Subtext: Note the great use of passive voice here by Farima to avoid taking responsibility for the decision to force August to join the birthday foundation event. She's also expertly bargaining with Wilhelm to get what she wants.

Subtext: We know it was the far-right assholes who posted comments to Simon's videos a couple of episodes ago.

Blink and you miss it: Jan-Olof really perks up when Linda talks about moving to Gothenburg, because that would probably mean the end to the relationship between Wilhelm and Simon, which would solve all of his current problems.

Subtext: Like Farima, he bargains with Linda and Simon to get what he wants, for Simon to stop posting things to social media. It's almost as if their strategy was to do nothing at the start, waiting for things to blow up so they could swoop in, help out, and start making demands in exchange...

Blink and you miss it: The option to inactivate and hide your social media account is right there, but of course Simon has to choose to delete everything, because it will cause more drama and anguish.

Blink and you miss it: Fencing! Woohoo! I did fencing for five years as a kid until 8th grade or something, but I only did foil, and not épée like these students. I have absolutely no idea where these two are coming from or going to though, where would they practice? Is there a hidden fencing hall somewhere on the grounds that we haven't seen yet? How many kids at Hillerska are fencing? Also, he's carrying a practice blade and not an electric competition blade, so that checks out. Of the three types of modern fencing, épée is unique in that the entire body counts as a valid target, while in foil only the torso counts, and in sabre only the upper half counts. Oh wow, it looks like the gear is now wireless and every fencer carries their own indicator lights. Cool! Back in my day you had to be strapped in with a cord for competitions.

This tumblr is now about French School fencing. Allez! Touché!

Subtext: The narrative is that it's perfectly ok for the crown prince to be gay, as long as he's not gay gay.

Culture: The show keeps saying this, but in real world Sweden it's no longer the case. Supporting los jibbities is viewed as a completely mainstream and inoffensive opinion, on par with supporting human rights in general.

Subtext: Another example of privilege is being in a position to do a lot of good, and then just not caring about it. Simon is fighting for the causes he believes in, so seeing Wilhelm just casually throw it away is extremely disappointing for him.

Subtext: Unlike Vincent, August is actually a natural leader, someone people listen to, which is why he manages to quiet down the room when Vincent is unable to. Maybe a good quality in a future king?

Subtext: Simon is continuing the argument from before. Wilhelm could have shown solidarity with mental health causes or LGBT causes, but chose not to. However, he immediately decided to join in solidarity with the other rich kids protesting the school rules, which is rather selfish.

Subtext: Colour theory! Sara in purple, because part of the reason she's back at school is that August asked her to? And Simon in yellow, because he sure isn't loving Wilhelm very much right now.

Subtext: Just a reminder that Sara has actually been completely out of the loop since the end of season 2. She has no idea about the school rules, what's happened at home, how it's going with Simon and Wilhelm, or what's happening at school.

Blink and you miss it: Fredrika is so close to stop striking as soon as she's threatened with repercussions.

Subtext: I keep hammering this point home: The culture is in the walls, it's not something some of the kids made up. The visiting alumni were also hazed as new students and kept it going as third years. Same for the parents of all these kids. They're all part of the system, they all kept the cycles of abuse going, because they want the school to be like that.

Subtext: Privilege is thinking you can get things your way with almost no effort. None of these kids have ever struggled or protested something for real and then not been given what they wanted, so they seriously believed they'd win immediately.

Subtext: Another theme of this season is bringing secrets out in the open. We've all seen August struggling with body dysmorphia and an eating disorder since season 1, but no-one has ever called it out and put words on it, until Simon immediately recognizes it and calls it out.

Subtext: ...while the rich kids are just stuck in denial, because eating disorders is for poor people or something, it's not something that happens to them. And if it did, you certainly wouldn't admit it to anyone else.

Subtext: August tries to jokingly fend off Nils because he doesn't want anyone to know that the letter actually meant something to him, until Nils pushes too hard, and August punches him.

Subtext: Vincent talked a big game about striking in solidarity, but when they're caught as hilariously unprepared as they are, they're not pooling their resources in solidarity with each other, and instead resort to selling them to the highest bidder. Capitalism in a nutshell, illustrated perfectly by the behaviour of spoiled rich kids. Also, pet peeve, the English word for the currency of Sweden is "kronor", not "crowns".

Lost in translation: They're actually repeating a single word in Swedish, "svikare", which is pretty hard to translate. The verb, "svika", is a bit worse than letting someone down, but not as bad as betraying someone. The adjective, "besviken" typically means disappointed. So "svikare" means a person who is letting other people down, disappointing them, or betraying them.

Subtext: The culture is in the walls of the place, but the kids are also pretty damn complicit in continuing all the shitty traditions. This looks like a game of strip poker or truth or dare that went off the rails and just resulted in more bullying, with everyone joining in.

Subtext: The other girls are upset with Felice because she broke the code. You don't snitch to outsiders, you don't tell the truth, you keep up appearances.

Blink and you miss it: Henry won the potato chip auction, happily ate the entire bag, and passed out in a chair, clutching the bag. Mmmm, sourcream and onion.

Subtext: Speaking of closing ranks towards the outside, this also applies to this strike. It would be bad PR for the school if anyone outside found out that it happened, so it's better to solve it quietly and discreetly. Vanessa can trust the kids not to snitch. Vincent is also right, the parents, who are paying the tuition fees, are on their side.

Subtext: Felice can't be seen talking to Sara, so she checks that the coast is clear, and then drags Sara into a private bathroom to have their conversation.

Subtext: Likewise, Sara was probably Felice's first real friend.

Subtext: Nice little foreshadowing. I would have loved seeing Simon's drawing though!

Subtext: Well, he could have just made his social media private, but the show has to maximize the drama, so here we are, piling on more examples of how Simon is losing himself to the monarchy, that maybe he can't reconcile the conflict.

Subtext: Erik spent three years living at Hillerska, of course he wouldn't have told his then twelve year old kid brother about all the shit going on at the school. August spent an entire year living with Erik at the school, seeing what went on first hand, so of course he knows a side of Erik that Wilhelm doesn't.

Subtext: August has been trying to keep his mouth shut and avoid Wilhelm, but since they have yet another fight, he decides to drop the bomb about Erik to hurt Wilhelm.

Subtext: Again, the culture is in the walls. This is not something that only Erik's class did, once. It's probably been happening to all the boys for decades. It happened to the current second-year students, it happened to Erik, and lots of students before him who kept this shitty initiation tradition going.

Culture: Let's talk about the gay porn hazing a bit more. To me, this is an urban legend. I heard about it when I was a teenager back in the 90's, but I don't personally know anyone it happened to, or anyone who did it to anyone else. It was always hearsay, it happened to a friend of a friend's brother, or a classmate's cousin's friend or something similar, as is typical of urban legends.

Let's also make one thing absolutely clear: It doesn't work. The homophobic idea behind this shit is that if you are forced to watch gay porn and get a boner, you are gay, and if you don't, you're straight. But that is actually not true, erections don't work that way, and the fear of being found out is quite the boner killer. Also, what if you like guys, but the guys in the porno aren't your type? There's just so many ignorant misconceptions behind this idea.

I've also seen a lot of fan comments that keep playing into this ignorance; that the only reason Nils decided to stop the tradition was because he obviously failed it. Or that the only reason August is against it is because he failed, and the only reason he failed is because he's secretly not straight. No. Remember that the test doesn't work. Nils probably passed, despite actually being gay. August might have failed, despite being completely straight. Regardless of what happened, they both found it humiliating, and that is why they made a pact to stop it.

[feminismisstillahatemovement]

kindness is more important than being right ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ʚɞ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Not really: say a 65-pound skeleton comes up to you and says "Everyone keeps bullying me and saying I'm anorexic, but I keep telling them I'm fat and need to lose weight; you're with me, aren't you? You agree that I should listen to my heart, follow my dreams and diet too, right? If you don't I'm just going to cry and scream and never speak to anyone ever again."

Do you comfort and validate her feelings and so let her keep on starving to death? Or do you tell her the truth, and so save her life? Is it kinder to support her delusions or to try help her against her will?

If you attempt to live your life by that shortsighted mantra of placating someone's feelings being more important than remaining in line with reality, you allow yourself to be exploited and manipulated by anyone who comes along and frames their insane and destructive demands as simply an issue of kindness and 'tolerance', which practically anyone can do.

The cost down the line for the population at large can be that we end up living in a fascist, communist, theocratic or genocidal regime, simply because we kept silent when we could have taken the time to weigh up the actual validity of what was being claimed earlier on and spoken out in favour of truth.

Kindness is essential, but not at the cost of going along with lies.

[transmutationisms]

i know this is like baby communist stuff but do you have any recommendations on how to approach theory? aside from like marxists dot org

sorry forgot this ask was here. i'm not sure if you mean getting into marxist theory specifically or just, how to approach dense theoretical texts that are often unwelcoming to new readers.

regarding marxism, i personally get a lot out of michael heinrich's how to read capital every time i revisit it, and his introduction to capital. david harvey also has some useful work, including a companion to marx's capital. harvey also has a lot of problems (see here to start) and tbc i'm not suggesting him or heinrich because i think you should treat them as unassailable authorities. but i find that both of them are useful for glossing and presenting many of marx's ideas in a way that makes it clearer to lay readers how they're formulated and what's at stake. if you've ever opened capital and just been like "these corn laws must be important but i'm not sure i understand why", i think companion guides like heinrich's especially can be really helpful for giving you a foothold and an idea of what to look for, how to evaluate the utility and applicability of the concepts, &c.

in general, getting into theory can definitely be intimidating but i also think it's less scary than people make it look at first. what concepts or problems or people are interesting to you? that's where you should start; you might find that you end up wanting to read the people they were responding to as well, but i think it's a common mistake to psych yourself out by trying to trace every theoretical concept back to its ultimate source (the old "reading plato so i can read kant so i can read hegel so i can read marx so i can..."). if you're baffled by a text, online is your friend; i really recommend the stanford encyclopedia of philosophy, and you can poke around their articles' bibliographies. also, if you're reading something and it sucks, hit the bricks. life is short. lastly i think discussing theory is not just fun but also useful, for pushing your own understanding and gaining someone else's insights. so, if you have friends who are into this stuff or access to a reading group or something, i'd take advantage. there are definitely ways to do this online as well, although there is something to be said for buying someone a pint and a pack and having a good argument :-)

[inkmonster21]

Sing for Me

3. A Choice for the Damned

Cooper Howard x Fem!Reader / The Ghoul x Fem!Reader

She's a singer the nation adores. He's the actor everyone respects. What happens when these two get entangled in a heated affair? Passion, regret, rage, and even murder will commence. From before the bombs drop to the vast wasteland, these two souls live for one another.

Previous Chapter

Series Masterlist

Tagged: @fallout-girl219 @harmfulb1tch

The sheriff leans over the antagonist with a glare. He backs away, groaning, the first gunshot bleeding out. The damsel is strapped to the fence, a bandana gag around her mouth, and tears in her eyes, “Help me!”

The sheriff nods to her, eyes determined. “Now you just stay calm, honey.” He towers over the injured man. “Please, sir. Please, sir, please.”

The sheriff holds his gun up, “There's an old Mexican eulogy. Feo fuerte y formal. Means he was ugly, strong, and had dignity. Well, Joey, I'll give you two out of three on that front.” Waiting in anticipation for him to pull the trigger, the damsel turns away whimpering.

“Do I really have to kill him?” Cooper’s voice rings out with an unsteady tone. I look up at him, as the loose rope is being pulled off of my frame by an assistant.

“Cut!”

Cooper motions for the director, “Emil, can you come over here? I got to talk to you for a second.” Cooper turns to me, lending me a hand to rise to my feet. “You were amazing, sweetheart. Just like always.” I smile, giving his hand a light squeeze. He had been very open about his concerns with this individual film. He didn’t want to be seen as the enemy. Cooper had a good heart and a strong grasp of the reputation of his characters. He held them dear.

As Emil nears I remove my hand and avert to my set chair. “Listen, I got to talk to you about these, these new pages, you know? I mean, I-I'm the sheriff, right? Well, why can't I just arrest the guy like I normally do? That's what I do.” Emil nods in understanding, “The... The audience, Coop, yeah? They already know you're a good man. They want to see that even a good man as yourself can be driven too far sometimes.” “Yeah, I understand that. But that's not really my thing, you know, Emil, that's not what I do. I mean, Bob, is Bob around here anywhere?”

I pipe up from my chair, where an assistant brushed makeup on my cheeks. “Bob's been fired, Coop.” He turns to me shocked. “What?” “The Studio fired him.” “Why?” Emil sighs, “See, turns out... Bob's a bit of a communist.”

Cooper's eyes widen, “A communist? Cadillac Bob?” Emil nods, hands on his hips, “Cadillac Bob! The very one.”

Cooper shakes his head, frustration clear in his eyes. “Well, what a shame, he was such a great writer. Terrible shame.” “One of the best, but he had to go. Which is why this movie is so important. You see, it's a new kind of western.

The power of the individual when the chips are down. The new America, it's why I'm telling you, so... that's why it'd be really great if you could just... shoot Jorge in the fսck¡ng head, yeah?” Coop lets his head fall at the director's words. The fight was clearly not worth the time for either of them. “Right.”

I sit silently, watching the exchange. Cooper really stressed this change for his role and reputation. He would always be the good guy in my eyes.

“He causing drama again?” I look over my shoulder to see Barb. I suck in a breath composing myself. I smile lightly pretending to now just look towards Cooper. “He’s not too keen on the new ending.” Barb furrows her brow. “They’ve changed it? He didn’t mention that.” My heart tinged in the most sinful way. He shares his thoughts and troubles with me instead of her. Just time was all he needed. He said so.

Cooper stiffened at the sight of the two of us speaking. He excuses himself from the director, “Uh, hey, let's, uh, let's pick this up after lunch, all right?”

He arrives placing his hand on the arm of my chair, force of habit. “I’m just going to have to do it.” His sigh of defeat reflects in his eyes. I frown, patting his hand in support, “it will be fine, Coop.” Barn watches the exchange, brows furrowed, lips in a tight forced smile.

Cooper makes himself drift away from my chair, wrapping an arm around Barb. “Are we about ready to do this thing?” She nods, bilking away any doubt in her mind. “I have both of your clothes right here.” She hands a box to Cooper and a bag to me. The lavish tissue makes it appear as a gift. What a joke.

“They’re both in Cooper's signature colors. Your dress will be the trademark of the bots. If you have any jewelry you’d like to add just slip it on before the shoot.” I smile at her sweetly, “Thank you, Barb. I’ll go change right now.”

As I leave I don't miss the glare Barb sends in Cooper’s direction. She says something causing him to roll his eyes and pat her shoulder. She brushes him off and walks away. My heart feels for her, truly, but in no way was I willing to end my addiction.

I spin in the blue fabric, the skirt of the dress flowing around delicately. The gold piping at the edge of the skirt, waist, and neckline added some extra dimension. It was likely hand-crafted just for me. I looked at my table, seeing the pearls Cooper gifted me poking out from the bottom of my bag. I bite my lip in hesitation before grasping the expensive earrings and necklace and adding them to the outfit before exiting my trailer.

I walk up to the studio doors, meeting Barb and Cooper. Cooper rakes his gaze over my frame with a smile. His eyes lasted a second longer on my jewelry; his smile widened. Barb clears her throat, “Are you two ready to meet the suits?” I nod with a smile, ready to charm and look pretty for the billionaire bastards.

Cooper nods, “I'll try not to embarrass you. No promises, though.” The three of us walk in meeting a man and a woman. “Mr. Howard, Ms. (L/n). It is great to meet you.” I shake the gentleman’s hand with a smile, “it’s a pleasure.” The man proceeds to kiss my knuckle. “I’m a big fan. Saw you in Vegas last year.” Before I could respond, Cooper pushed his hand forward, a fake smile plastered on his face, “Hey, nice to meet you.”

The woman speaks, “On behalf of the whole Vault-Tec family, we wanted to say how delighted we are that Barb could use her connections to get to you and Ms. (L/n).”

Cooper nods, “You know, I've never done an advertisement before in my life.” I lean into his side, prodding my elbow into his side lightly. “Don’t you worry, Cowboy. I’ll show you how it’s done.” Everyone laughs, everyone but Barb.

“Over here?” I ask gesturing to the large Vault Tech backdrop. My heels clicked with each step. “Yeah. Let’s get America’s sweetheart wrapped up first, then Coop can have a shot. Sound good?” The male member spoke. I couldn’t help but look towards Cooper as he called me sweetheart. I was not disappointed to find him burning a glare into the man’s frame.

I stand like a poised housewife, hand on hips and a pearly white smile. “Beautiful!” I turn around, the skirt flowing, placing my hand behind my back. “She’s such a beauty!” They had me pretend to vacuum, hold an apple pie, and eat a fucking cherry like some porn star! Cooper wasn’t wrong about what he had said, they would do some shady shit.

“That’s a wrap on Ms. (Y/n)!” A roar of applause and howls from the men coursed through the set. I bowed slightly, the cheeky smile of a performer shone on my face. “You know what would make this even better?” I stare at the man in confusion, “now how could I possibly make this any better?” Please don’t say more pictures with fruit, I silently beg.

The male smiles widely, hope in his eyes. “If you’d sing.” Several of the men nod in agreement. “Yeah, come on.”

I look over to Cooper and with a nod he tips the final persuasion in my decision. I wave my hand at the group of people, “Any chance one of you might play the piano?” They hurriedly push a skinny man out. He gulps with a smile. “I-I do miss.” I smile at him extending a hand. “(Y/n), nice to meet you,” I drag on with a friendly smile. “Henry. Henry MacLean.”

I motion to the grand piano so conveniently set right next to the backdrop, “if you wouldn’t mind.” Henry’s cheeks turn rosy, “yes, of course. It would be an honor.” He sits down composing his jitters. I lean down in a hushed manner, “It would be perfect if you knew how to play, I’m the one you’re looking for.” If even possible, his smile grows wider and he begins the tune on the piano softly. I pat the top of the piano to the tune beginning to perform.

“I see you lookin' 'round the corner

Come on inside and pull up a chair

No need to feel like a stranger

Cause we're all a little strange in here.”

Cooper smiles as he watches me, he is under my spell. I felt the power of having him at my will with his wife so near.

“Have you got a history that needs erasing?

Did you come in just for the beer and cigarettes?

A broken down dream you're tired of chasing

Oh, well I'm just the girl to make you forget.”

And I was the one to make him forget everything that pledged him. He told me his troubles big and small. We shared a heart of the same soul.

“So sit down your pretty face

You came to the right place

Oh, where every night it starts once more

I'm telling you, friend, your search is at an end

Cause I'm the one you're lookin' for.”

I spin around the piano with grace. Lifting myself on top of it. I dramatically cross my legs and lay down flat on the black surface.

Louder applause erupted. You would think it was an actual bought-out concert. I sit up with my hand over my heart and a killer smile.

A hand reaches out to assist. I grab it not bothering to look. “That was remarkable, (y/n),” Henry whispered in my ear. As my feet hit the ground I back away from him. “Thank you, thank you everyone.” Cooper claps with a flat smile, his eyes bore into Henry’s back, watching his every move.

I take a bow before moving off the floor. “Looks like I warmed them up for ya.” I laugh standing next to Cooper and Barb, whose face is fighting to break her picture-perfect smile.

Cooper makes his way into the backdrop. “Hell, I don’t know if I’ll top that.” Cooper begins his work, striking pose after pose. He puts his hands on his hips, and before I stop myself I whistle at him playfully.

Barb chuckles beside me, very gently, loud enough for only my ears. I can feel her eyes burn into my side. I turn to her with a smile. She returns it, her eyes sending silent daggers. Her eyes graze over the necklace. “That is so lovely.” I touch the pearls in devotion, “thank you.” “Where’d you get them?” I look at her without a beat, “it was a gift.” She hums with a sharp nod. I feel the back of my neck heat up as we continue to watch Cooper in silence.

~

Barb and I sat in the car, silent on the drive home. I knew she was angry with me. It wasn’t very discreet how I acted towards (y/n). I just needed time to sort everything out. Sadly distancing myself from Barb was part of the mission.

“Henry and (y/n) would make a cute couple.”

“What?” I almost swerved out of my lane. “That guy who played the piano?” She nods, “They had chemistry.” I grip the wheel, I can feel jealousy in the pit of my chest, rotting from the inside out. “I don’t think so, Barb. He’s not her type.” “And what is her type?” I roll my eyes S we roll up to a red light, taking a minute to look at her. Her arms are crossed and her face looking at me wildly. “I see what you’re doing.” “Then it shouldn’t be difficult for you to admit.” I huff, “admit what?”

The red light makes the car appear in a rose hue as if I’m on fire. I am definitely in the hot seat. “That you have feelings for her.”

The light turns green and Barb begins her accusations. “You look at her like she’s a prize. You’re constantly talking about her. You barely come home at a reasonable hour, and when you are free you make plans with her!” I shake my head, “We’re close Barb, what do you want me to do?” She slumps, crossing her arms, mumbling, “Too damn close.”

I ran a hand over my face, thankful I was pulling in the driveway. “I think you need some rest, Barb. I know I do.” I exit the car not even waiting for her. I didn’t know if I could do it. I knew I had settled on it, but now seeing the consequences at bay I feel torn.

I love Barb. She supported me in my career through the good and bad. She has been a wonderful mother to Janey. She’s a beautiful woman who I care for in my heart. She is my wife, and I should be able to surpass desires, but (y/n)… my fire, my muse, my reason for waking every morning. She is who keeps me alive. I can picture our lives together. I’d purchase that ranch, buy a big diamond for her finger, and fill the house with any furniture she wanted. Janey would stay with us, on a set schedule arranged with Barb. It could be so perfect, and it should be easy to tell her, but that isn’t true.

I pour myself a whisky, going to rest on the couch. Barb slams the door, causing me to look back with a glare. “Janey is asleep.” “What do you care, Cooper?” Barb slams the everlasting files down with force. “I work my ass off to try and get us a spot in these vaults to be safe, and you think you can go sleeping around with that whore?” I sit up, my face growing red. “She’s not a whore, Barb. I think you should go to bed before you say something you regret.”

She smirks, laughing, “You really think I’m that stupid? Do you think I don’t know who comes and goes in my own house? Did you think our neighbors wouldn’t tell me you fucked her in our hot tub?” My face pales as her words cut me down. I sink into the sofa, a shriveled shameful man. “I watched her walk her ass down the street and get into her car. Jone from two houses down has a photograph. Wouldn’t it just be awful for that to be shown to the tabloids?” Barb stands in front of me, arms crossed and her foot tapping. “It’s me or it’s her, Cooper. You make your choice tonight and that is it.” She leaves with a stomp, going up the stairs and into the bedroom.

I sit there for I don’t know how long. Barb was really threatening her career she worked so hard for. I couldn’t let her dreams die because of me. I run a hand over my face with a groan. I only look up from my now-empty glass to see Janey taking a seat next to me. “What are you doing up, pumpkin? It’s late.” Janey has tear streaks painting her cheeks, she sniffles quietly. “Mommy was yelling.” I hug her close, resting my chin on her head. “It’s okay, Janey.”

“Are you going to leave us, Daddy?”

Fuck. There it was. The only reason for staying. I could have her, I could have the life in the hills, relaxing with my two favorite people. Janey would love (y/n).

Janey leans further into me, sobbing now. “Daddy please don’t leave me.” I hug her tightly. I can see the fantasy slipping away, more and more as I sink into the couch.

“No, baby, Daddy’s not going anywhere.” I pick her up carrying her to her room. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

After settling Janey down, I enter the lion's den, my bedroom with the awaiting wrath. Barb lay under the covers in the bed unmoving. I stare at her with sorrow. I had caused much pain, but my heart could never be closed off from feeling the constant ache for her. I lay down with Barb, wrapping an arm around her. “I choose you, Barb,” I whisper before closing my eyes and averting to my only pleasure, my fantasy of her. My mind is now the only freedom I have to picture her in such a manner. Remembering her soft moans and the arch of her back as she released. It was all just a memory now.

[bringcal]

This was inspired due to wolfertinger666's post I've just reblogged, and will be a long one, but bare with me here.

I been on the internet like way too long and too young for my age, and I never understood spreading callouts. I don't think I ever have in my life. Before I even understood them as a tool used to socially kill trans people and push an agenda of anti-queerness, I always just thought the contents tended to be stupid, and vast majority of callouts often like to use different manipulation and deception tactics that the average person can easily be manipulated by. I think most abuse survivors can agree with me here that they have at least seen one callout in their lives where they have read and easily recognized what the person spreading the callout was doing was emotional manipulation.

I have always been that person who reaches out to the person subject of the callout to help them, and I've always been disgusted in the anti-critical thinking and pro-harassment sentiments surrounding callouts, because those are the exact same things that I've been subject to after being in an abusive relationship online.

When I talk to people victims of callouts, they often have the same fears as I do due to me being in an abusive relationship: Paranoia people are stalking you, not feeling safe to share anything, having to change identities to get away from the harassment, etc. And thats because people who make callouts and create harassment mobs use the same abuse tactics. I had to delete all my accounts, change names, interests, and stay off the internet for months to try and get away from my abuser, because he would stalk me and get others to do the same, and convinced everyone that I was the one being shitty. I stayed paranoid, and sometimes still do, that I will be "found" and messaged again even though its been 6 years since we broke up.

When you have experience yourself in this sort of thing, you realize people who change their identities to get away from callouts aren't trying to "get away" due to nefarious reasons. they just want to live and grow, they want an actual support system and to be better, and never consented to their faults being publicized, and a lot of the time their faults being put on them have never even happened, or are blown out of proportion. It started to click when you realize callouts often try their best to dehumanize the person at hand, and really try to hammer in the " born inherently evil" or "too far gone" point to get people to socially outcast their victims. It often works even with people who would normally be against that sort of thing, I notice a lot of people end up deleting the callout they helped spread later saying they don't actually care or realize how ridiculous the op is being, without realizing the op still got what they wanted. Callouts only spread if theyre able to get you to that " reactionary " level of emotion to manipulate you to just doing anything.

People don't realize that the thing theyre doing actually has lasting effects on the other person. The thing you reblog that you care about for 2 days and then forget will follow the other person forever, because TERFs and Kiwifarms motherfuckers are a different breed of passionate for harassment. My IRL bestfriend I've known for a decade has a girlfriend who made a joke 6 years ago that went viral that everyone took seriously and she still, to this day, gets messages harassing her. The joke wasnt even offensive or directed at anyone, people literally just hated her because she was a communist.

So anyways, I don't like callout posts and neither should you. Make no exception. Literally just keep it to yourself and gossip with friends. Reactionary harassment campaigns do nothing. You're one "fuck up" or one "walking into the wrong person" to getting one yourself. Don't allow callout makers to turn your brain off.

[spatialwave]

"baby, don't you know? that you're my golden hour."

pairing: pre-war!cooper howard x ftm!actor!reader word count: 2.5k summary: being an up-and-coming actor had you fighting tooth and nail for opportunities. you were young, though, still had much to learn and people to impress. you were surprised when cooper howard took it upon himself to mentor you. the cowboy star supported you through thick & thin — a light in your life that reminded you everything would be alright. warnings/tags: sfw, implied transphobia, angst, grief, mention of death, hurt/comfort, fluff. notes: as a transmasc enby, i get very passionate writing ftm!reader stories. this had been sitting in my brain for awhile, so thank you to anon for sending an ask that kicked my ass into gear and write it!

“what do you mean? they told me last week that i had the goddamn job,” your voice was loud and snappy, jaw clenching as you fell back into the chair with a heavy thud, “i did three goddamn auditions and even did a table read, now they’re saying i’m not the right fit? what the hell is that supposed to mean? i put in the fucking work already.”

you were sitting in your agent’s office full of luxury furniture, expensive paintings and the gaudiest decorations. with a red face, you huffed as he explained to you the situation at hand.

your next movie had dropped you as the supporting actor. it would’ve given you enough screen time for it to be your real breakthrough role and shoot you up into the fame and glory you’d been fighting for.

“well,” your agent sighed, leaning forward against his desk, “there’s been word going around about you.”

defensive, you furrowed your brows in confusion, “what word?”

he’d grown uncomfortable, putting one leg over the other as he rested into his chair and thought about what to say next. he needed to be careful with his words, seeing that you had been ready to knock shit off of his desk if he angered you anymore.

“i think you should read this,” he murmured, filtering through papers on his desk until he grabbed a folded newspaper and pushed it toward you.

your heart sank as you snatched the paper, eyes wide and shaky when you read the front page. it was all about you. your deadname was plastered in large text as the article detailed your past that you had gone lengths to keep out of the public eye.

you changed your name, moved away from home and started your transition quietly. you had done everything to make sure that people perceived you the way you wanted.

but life was never that easy.

your eyes settled on a few words, ‘a trusted source confirmed.’ thoughts ran through your mind, thinking of any person who you’d grown up with, family members, ex-friends—anyone who would be willing to spill career-ruining information for a quick lump of cash. 

“i had no idea—“ your agent spoke, but you cut him off.

“i was hoping to keep it that way until i was in a damn grave” you said, voice calm but cheeks red and breath heavy, “fuck this.”

there was nothing worth sticking around for, who the hell would want to hire you now? there were too many close-minded people in the world, and you could already imagine the headlines of them lumping you right in with the opposition. a trans, american communist.

fucking christ.

the following week you isolated yourself in your apartment, high-end and expensive. you couldn’t even feel comfortable in your own home because the looming possibility of being unable to pay rent was alive and very real. you stayed in your bed, wondering how on earth you thought you’d be able to careen through life without anyone finding out.

you were lucky that your mother supported you every step of the way when you were a young, confused teen. she helped you navigate your feelings and even urged you to talk to a professional. one year later, you’d started testosterone injections.

she passed three years ago, leaving you with nothing but her memories and the devastating reality that you’d be alone from here on out. you always hoped your secret died with her.

you melted away on your bed as the sound of thunder boomed loudly and shook your apartment, rotting into nothingness. sleep was on the horizon, but you’d been interrupted by a buzzing sound vibrating from your intercom. you didn’t move, keeping your eyes shut tight and hoping the sound would stop. 

buzz.

“who is it?” you asked tiredly, pressing your forehead against the buzzer.

“a friend,” a southern voice replied, full of static.

you let go of the button that connected your voice to the intercom at the entrance of your apartment, closing your eyes and wishing that cooper would turn around and leave. His pity was far from what you needed

you were angry at the world, and that included him.

swallowing a lump down your throat, you pressed the door buzzer, feeling it vibrate beneath your finger until you were certain the cooper was inside the apartment and out of the rain.

with a blanket strung over your shoulders, your bare feet padded against the hardwood flooring as you unlocked your door. three locks for safety.

you waited to hear footsteps, your ear pressed against the door while your gazed focused on nothing in particular. a shell of a human was the only way you could describe yourself.

you’d never felt this dark before.

a gentle knock rapped against the wooden door, and you had to force yourself to open it up slowly as the lights from the hallway spilled into your dim apartment. meeting cooper’s gaze left you feeling like the smallest man in the world, even if you were the same height.

“you look like crap, kid,” cooper sighed, getting a good look at you. you hadn’t showered in a couple of days and your stubble had started to grow out. for years, you’d been so meticulous with how you looked, never once letting someone see you less than your best. not even cooper.

“stating the obvious,” you murmured, stepping back to give the older man time to step in. you didn’t bother sticking around for a proper greeting, already heading back to your bed so you could collapse on top of it, burying your face into your pillows.

the sound of cooper’s footsteps made you queasy, curling into a ball and peeking out as he turned on a lamp near the doorway. 

“why didn’t ya’ tell me?” he asked, rolling up the sleeves of his button up to his elbows, having discarded his coat and hat. you rarely ever saw him dressed so casually.

through furrowed brows, you glared at him, “i didn’t have to tell anyone a goddamn thing, you know. it was my secret to keep.”

“i didn’t mean it like that,” he sighed, stepping close until you felt the bed dip down next to you, “you’re not obligated to tell anyone your secrets,” his voice was so soft, it made your stomach twist, “but you’ve been ignoring my calls. why?”

a deep, shaky breath came from you as you looked at the man sitting next to you on the bed, his face lit up by the warm lamp, “i don’t need your help. i’m fine, cooper.”

“you’re a terrible liar,” he murmured, a tiny smile on his lips, “you always have been.”

you hated how well his voice and presence soothed you. for the first time in days you felt a spark of hope in your chest, but you stomped it out before it could burn bright.

“i know,” you whispered, moving to rest upright against the headboard with the blanket tight around you, “i figured you wouldn’t want to be seen with me.”

you didn’t dare look him in the eyes because the last thing you needed was for him to feel sorry for you. it wouldn’t be the first time someone questioned your identity and been turned off by it, many of your old friends had left you in the dust. considering you some kind of freak.

yet, there was cooper howard loyally at your side, his hazel eyes showing nothing but compassion and care for you.

you could remember it clear as day, the first time you filmed a scene with him. it was your first big movie gig after years of ads and small roles on television shows, a character that would be memorable if you played it well. cooper was the lead, a sheriff with a heart of gold, and you were his loveable, naive deputy. 

feeling sick to your stomach was an understatement, you vividly remember looking in a mirror and seeing how sunken in your eyes were. you’d been trembling all morning, repeating your lines under your breath as you sweltered underneath the heat radiating from the floodlights that lit up the desert scene.

cooper approached you with that big smile of his, his teeth perfect. everything about him was perfect.

the two of you had run lines weeks and days before, but as you stared at him then, you felt your mind draw a blank. you weren’t going to make a good impression on anyone, especially him.

“you good, kid?” he asked you, head tilting as the makeup department did quick touch ups before the cameras started rolling.

“yeah. i’m great, never been better.” you forced a smile, which got a snort of laughter out of the esteemed actor.

“you’re a terrible liar,” he laughed, reaching over and giving your shoulder a few strong pats, “don’t worry, alright? remember that you’re here because you deserve it. you’ve got skill.”

the rest of the movie was a breeze.

cooper had stuck by your side since then, taking on a role like a mentor. he gave you acting tips, took you for coffee to meet with a better agent, and made sure you had all the connections you needed for making your career even bigger than his own.

you’re not even sure of the exact day you fell in love with him, but after a year of pining for him in secret, you knew you had to end things before trouble found its way to you.

then, he and barb divorced. so, like the devoted little mentee you were, you stayed by his side. 

you helped him start up his gig work, which took weeks of convincing, and it only paid just enough to get the alimony to his ex-wife. you’d even started purchasing the dinners and coffees that you two love to frequent, knowing that at some point he wouldn’t be able to treat you as much as he used to.

cooper had become your lifeline, and this was the easiest way to repay him.

“why would you think that?”

cooper’s voice snapped you out of your daze, eyes readjusting to focus on the man sitting in front of you. he sat there with his brown eyes big and wide, the golden glow from your lamp creating a halo around his head. 

“well, uh, you wouldn’t be the first to think that,” your voice was barely above a whisper as you dropped your gaze, full of shame. 

he exhaled a heavy breath out of his nose, “i’d never do that to you, you know that,” his voice was a comfort to your broken heart, “look at me, i need you to see me say it,” you listened, eyes flickering up to meet his, “i will never ruin what we have over something that makes you… you,” he whispered, his hand holding yours, “you’re the same kid in my eyes and always will be.”

your bottom lip trembled as he spoke, his words digging deep into your heart and leaving you in a mess of emotions. you’d spent the last three days convincing yourself that life was over as you knew it, that all you worked for was just a heap of wood burning away into a pile of nothing.

cooper was a testament to the fact that things would be okay, even if the world wasn’t fair. after his divorce, you knew that he’d lost out on role after role, and if he managed to keep his pride, so could you.

“shit, coop, you’re so stupidly kind,” you laughed, tears rolling down your cheeks as intense emotions flooded you for the first time in months. you weren’t much of a crier, but these wouldn’t stop, “i don’t think there’s anyone in the world who’s as goddamn nice as you. it’s almost sickening how sweet you are.”

the man grinned, “don’t go rubbin’ that in, you’ll inflate my ego and you do not wanna’ see me like that.”

you let out a god-honest laugh for the first time in days, one that made your stomach flutter and leave your cheeks a little sore. 

the days got easier after that night. cooper visited you every day, bringing you a coffee and lunch, not leaving until he got a smile out of you. the two of you would sit around chatting for hours, he’d tell you all the bullshit stories of the gigs he’d picked up. he shared how barb was going to let him take janey to the gigs, too, and you saw how bright his eyes shined at the thought of getting to be with his babygirl, even for just a few hours in a day.

cooper reminded you that it was the little things that made life manageable.

a week later, he’d convinced you to go with him to see sugarfoot at her stable the day before a birthday gig, his first time that janey would tag along.

“hey, coop?” your voice was quiet as you sat in the passenger seat of his car, eyes watching the trees pass by as you made way for the stable in a secluded area outside the city. the evening was warm and bright, filling the sky with hues of orange, red and pink.

“hm?” the man hummed, tilting his head to you, but not taking his eyes off the road.

“why me?” 

his eyes flickered to you, “what do you mean?”

“why, uh… why’d you choose to mentor me?” you mumbled.

the car slowed down as you approached the turn-off to the stable, cooper looked back to road, “guess i can’t really get away with saying it was just outta’ kindness, huh?”

you chuckled, “i want the real answer.”

as you approached the ranch, cooper rolled the vehicle to a stop and shifted into park. you moved to open up the door, but his words interrupted you.

“you reminded me of myself when i was younger,” he answered honestly, turning his head to look at you, “i figured helpin’ you out would heal my soul, or somethin’ like that.”

“how selfish of you,” you snorted, “and to think i thought you did it out of love.”

you kept laughing to yourself after you spoke, opening up the passenger door and getting out to stretch your long limbs. you turned to look over at cooper, able to see him over the roof of the car, and it was then you noticed the red blush that coated his cheeks. he couldn’t hide it from you, even if he tried.

“c’mon, coop,” you smiled, feeling your heart flutter in your chest as you stepped around the vehicle, motioning for the older man to follow, “you don’t have to admit your love to me yet, just shower me in presents and i’ll know it’s true.”

“you’re a real pain in the ass. you know that, right?” he chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. 

neither of you needed to admit it out loud just yet, the look you shared spoke more than words could.

“i do,” you said through a smile, leaning into his touch as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder and placed a gentle kiss to your temple.

you leaned back, taking one long, good look at cooper. he was breathtaking under the evening sun, his skin radiant. you’d never seen him so happy.

“thank you for everything,” you said.

the colour of my sky.   you set my world on fire. and i know, i know everything’s gonna’ be alright.

[auspicioustidings]

Make your own way home

Summary: Short little drabble of what happens a few weeks after that ending cut scene.

CW: Dubcon/non-con by virtue of spirit possession.

If there was ever an example of wrong place, wrong time, you think you were it. The trip alone to the Highlands was supposed to be a journey of self-discovery. It was supposed to calm your mind, let you meditate in nature and find some peace. Not be in your head so much.

And now here you were, in your head. Stuck in your head. 

You hadn’t ever really given much thought to whether you believed in ghosts or not. You thought of them as something from horror films, always creeping in the dark and spooking young couples in their new house. You had never considered that they could be out in the hills during the daylight, waiting for a warm body to commandeer. 

And he had commandeered you without too much of a fight. For a few hours you had wrestled him for control, but his will was overpowering. It didn’t help that whoever had rudely put themselves in the driver's seat was an arse.

Let me out

“Cannae dae that, got places to be.” 

It’s my body!

“Our body hen.”

No, absolutely not, this is not a communist body, this is single ownership

“In that case, it’s my body” he laughed, seemingly finding your screaming in your (his?) head amusing.

It is NOT

“Let me see if I have a pretty wee body tae match my pretty wee voice.”

You could only watch as he took your body to the lakeside and peered into the glassy surface. It was bizarre, watching your own face light up in a grin that looked nothing like yours. He seemed pleased with what he was looking at, and you thought if you were in control you might have blushed. In fact, you knew that to be the case seeing a dusting of colour appear. Interesting, your body at least still reacted to your emotions. 

“Fuck me, look at this,” he all but purred, a hand coming to squeeze at your chest.

Oh, oh it wasn’t just your emotions that your body still reacted to. You felt the touch as if it was someone else’s hand on you and you certainly felt the sick little bolt of pleasure from it. The little bit of excitement of how horribly wrong this was. 

“Dinnae tempt me hen, told ye we have places to be. Once we get there we can play together as long as ye want.”

You could not think of a single thing to say to that and you almost felt a sense of motion sickness when your body started moving again, trekking through the mountains at a pace you would never go at. You tried everything. You pictured a battering ram to try and smash through to get control and he responded by putting thoughts in your shared headspace of the ramming turning lewd. You sang obnoxiously and he only joined in using your voice, delighted with how it sounded. You gave him the silent treatment and got so painfully bored of it that within 30 minutes you were back to just wailing in your head. 

“Ye know, they dinnae usually stay.”

What do you mean?

“When we take a body, the previous tenant disnae usually stick around.”

Am I going to die?

“Naw if ye dinnae want that. Even if ye did, might keep ye around. If ye behave might even let ye have control for a wee bit, would ye like that?”

If being possessed was not terrifying enough, the concept that the thing possessing you one, had plenty of experience and two, had never had anyone survive was making you feel sick. You felt that feeling in your body and he felt it too if his confused little grunt was anything to go by.

“Come on hen, be nice,” he said, not stopping but shoving a hand unceremoniously into your pants to rub gently. “Just relax.”

It was an insane feeling, you touching yourself but it actually being someone else controlling the movements. He wasn’t going fast, the languid pace seemingly aiming to soothe more than anything. It was wild that it sort of worked, that sick feeling fading out to a hazy rolling pleasure that was only just a gentle simmer.

At some point you felt your thoughts drift off to a strange sleep even though your body was still awake and moving. When you felt consciousness leak back in, you could see yourself approaching a house. 

“Look who's finally awake! Good timing princess” he said. You could hear the exhaustion in your voice, you wondered if he had let himself and the body sleep at all. Maybe if the body slept, you could wrestle back control.

You watched as your hand came to knock at the door. Watched it open to reveal a huge man in a skull balaclava. Watched and very much felt when your body launched at him, pushing the mask up to get your lips on his. He reacted as if he knew you, holding your body tight and laughing into your lips.

“Knew you’d make your own way home.”

“Always do LT.”

[drdemonprince]

Your blog is like a breath of fresh air. Thank you for all the wonderful thoughts and writing.

That said I actually have a question. I am pro-palestine(it feels stupid to call it that, as if it should even be a debate) and in a very left leaning friend group. But also a very white academic one. You know the type, read Marx, dream of the revolution but continue studying to end up in 9 to 5s instead of doing anything(I am guilty of it too, this isn't meant as insult just a description)

Anyways, as you can imagine they have been extremely hesitant when it comes to having any opinion on Israel or Palestine. That wouldn't be a problem in itself, I know how to start topics with them and get them thinking usually but in this case there is an additional problem. Whenever I try to broach the topic I get shutdown with "Look at all the shit that is going on here, our country is falling into fascism, I just don't have the energy to deal with this conflict. Please don't talk about it because it's triggering". And I have zero clue what to do. Forget getting them to go on protests with me, I can't even speak to them about it and feel really guilty. Its me bringing up a heavily triggering topic after all. It feels wrong to feel guilty though. I know at the end of the day it's not important if I could convince some people to give a fuck but do you have any advice? How to get over this guilt or maybe how to broach a topic with that considered?

My main problem is my fear of losing my friends because I have been ill for some time(as in physically unable to leave the house for more than a short grocery run, or my visits to the doctor, because of pain and my friends are what keep me alive) and losing their help would be not good.

My exact situation aside, do you have advice for someone to broach a topic that others describe as unpleasant/triggering without causing a huge rift in the group?

Thanks for your kind words and your question, Anon.

I think your friends suck and that you can do better than them. I think you should get out there and find yourself some Black, brown, working class anarchist and anarco-communist buds (and Marxists who show up for others in a real, observable way in their regular lives) as soon as you can.

I know that wasn't the answer you were looking for. But I have seen this kind of entirely theoretical, jaded, self-superior, passive, white well-off Marxist type a thousand times before, and I've failed to ever see them show up for other people in any kind of consistent way.

And it's not only the people systematically crushed beneath the wheel of Capital half a world away that they neglect, either. They tend to be pretty shitty friends and neighbors when it all comes down to it on the micro-level, too. Their smug over-intellectualism and dispassionate cynicism allows them to justify remaining disengaged and going along with the status quo in a way that ultimately serves capitalism very well.

There is a theoretical basis to this selfishness and disengagement, I will admit. This type of overly academic Marxist typically believes that the fall of capitalism is inevitable, that humans lack free will and only behave as befits their obvious material interests, and that there is nothing that one can do on a personal level to hasten any kind of Revolution, so there is nothing left to do but wait, and take care of oneself, and allow the future to unfold.

This is a perspective explicitly advocated for by people like the Chapo Trap House guys, and among academic white boy communist types, it is incredibly popular. I remember hearing Matt Christman saying on his vlogs that he essentially does not believe the conditions allowing capitalism to fall will happen in his lifetime, and so his only responsibility is to just take care of himself and his family and be comfortable.

Ultimately, these types wind up sounding and behaving exactly like capitalist economists who believe that everyone is rationally motivated only by increasing their personal wealth. They are disengaged from politics except insofar as they like to make snide jokes about current events for their own entertainment and enrichment, and they don't see themselves as having the capacity to exert a positive influence on the world, nor any obligation to. It's bleak shit.

At the same time, if your friends are in the circles that tend to read and listen to and promote this kind of stuff, surely they have also been exposed to popular leftist voices advocating loudly for the Palestinian cause. And yet still they have done nothing.

Hasan Piker has been vocally pro-Palestine his entire career, and his Twitch channel has been providing near constant coverage of Palestinian issues since October 7th. True Anon has had multiple episodes on the Israel Lobby, the suppression of pro-Palestinian activism and journalistic coverage, and has aired interviews with Normal Finkelstein. Palestine is the central topic of nearly every Trillbilly Worker's Party podcast for months now.

These are widely popular voices among the very types of Marxists that you say that your friends are, and many of these creators are close friends with the Chapo Trap House guys, whom your friends almost certainly are taking notes from. So it's nearly impossible to imagine that your friends have not encountered the near constant coverage of the struggle of the Palestinians that all the rest of us have. And yet still your friends do nothing. Still they do not care, and dismiss you when you share with them how despairing you feel.

Your friends have turned off an essential part of their hearts, I think. And I don't mean they lack empathy. Not having empathy is fine, I don't have it either -- but I make the conscious choice to care about the Palestinian cause and to advocate for it, because it aligns with my values. I give a fuck. My giving a fuck is conveyed through my actions, not through what I think about or how I feel.

Your friends are showing no interest in learning more about this genocide or doing anything about it. Perhaps some degree of ignorance or hesitancy could be justified early on because the Israeli apologist propaganda is so far reaching, but we're well past the point of that explaining away inaction by now. Over 100,000 people are missing and over 30,000 are known to be dead and little girls are being shot by snipers while seeking medical care while babies are left to rot in their NICU beds.

Your friends know this. Maybe not everyone in the world does, but if they're so well-read about leftist issues, your friends do. And they have chosen, for some reason, not to care. They've disconnected from the pain the Palestinian people are in, unplugged from the steady stream of upsetting information, sought comfort in a politics that says all too conveniently that nothing they do matters, and when you try to share with them how much anguish you are feeling about the mass deaths happening throughout the world, they're dismissive toward you.

Your friends suck. If acknowleding reality and confronting the horrors of a genocide is too tough and triggering for them, then a lot of horrors here at home will be too much for their fragile egos too. There are so many leftists you could be surrounding yourself with instead, I promise -- people who give back to their communities, people who are in the streets doing the tough work of feeding and housing and fighting for the release from prison of people every day, instead of using those local struggles as a shield for their inaction on a more global scale.

Fuck these people for real. This is a big glaring red flag and it will be relevant to your friendship and your life. One day many of them might see you and your problems and your human needs as too much of a distraction from their dry academic jerk-off sessions too. I've seen it a dozen times. Sorry to be so blunt. But you seem like a person who is putting their attention in all the right places and I don't want to see that compassion squandered on people who won't ever show you the same consideration. You can find people who actually walk the walk, they're everywhere.

[prettycottonmouthlamia]

Listen to me right now, genuinely.

You should vote in November. You really should, but I don't really want this post to be about that. I have a pretty profound distrust of the average liberal "blue no matter who" crowd on here. I am not of the belief that you should willingly suspend your capacity of criticism and accountability of people in charge. If that can be extracted out of you, they will not give it back. Democrats are not a party full of people who love you and want to do everything you ask of them: they are a party who support the capitalist system first and foremost, and their interests are more beholden to the system than they are to us.

BUT, speaking as a trans woman right now, I'd personally really not rather see Trump get elected, obviously. If you're the type of person who sits and goes "I don't believe in politics", I want you to really listen to me. I get it. I truly do. American politics suck. Our politicians are chronic liars, they make promises they don't even try to keep. But there is almost one thing they never lie on, and that's the people they intend to oppress and stomp down. Trump wants to legislate and use his executive powers to push trans people out of existence. He can't be allowed to do that.

BUT

BUT. Voting cannot be the only thing you do. A bunch of the blue no matter who posters on here are going to do one of those things come November

Trump will win, and despite any evidence to the contrary, they will blame the like 50 communist bloggers on this website for ruining the election chances of the entire country. It was Russia yet again, somehow.

Biden will win, they will pat themselves on the back for a job well done, and proceed to sit on their hands until they find another reason to blame leftists for the actions of conservatives.

Trans history is full of examples of us being left behind. Your political plan for the future CANNOT just be to show up at a polling booth. You need to do more than that. What you will need to do will change somewhat depending on who is in charge, but I'm begging those among you to start taking action both now and after the elections.

Make sure your trans friends are safe. Check to see if they still have access to their medications. Check to see if they need money to get out of the country. Work to protest regressive and transphobic policies. If you're a lawyer, it's time to get ready to defend the cases of trans people against libelous suits. Plenty of you can do this pro bono.

Build mutual aid groups among your neighors and peers. Show up to a local LGBT organization and see what they need. Volunteer your time and money and often time spare clothes for other people. Educate yourself on our history, educate yourself on political theory, support organizations that help out the homeless directly.

Learn how to defend yourself and others during a protest when it faces police brutality and state sanctioned violence. Learn how to effectively neutralize tear gas, learn how to cover your self up so that you cannot be tracked by the pigs. Learn how to break kettle formations, learn your rights.

Never stop protesting against the people who feel it is their God given right to turn America into a theocratic dictatorship (which is not in the Bible by the way. I feel I should mention this. This is not a Biblical belief, the conservative Christians who tell you otherwise are lying out their ass.) Never stop protesting to stop the exploitation of the Global South by tech companies. Never stop protesting to end the genocide in Palestine. Never stop fighting so that the people of Sudan can be heard.

Just voting does not make you a politically active citizen, or really, a politically active person. It takes work, work that is very easy to burn out on. But if we can't rely on the American government and the Democratic party to do the things we need in order to avert the twenty crises looming over the horizon, then yes, we need to do more as a united people than fucking vote.

[heyheydidjaknow]

Hii I hope you day/night is going lovely and that your doing great. Also can I request something please like what if misa made L go out with them and the drink a little bit and we have to watch him for the rest of the night? I’ve been looking for someone who writes L not like a uwu fem boy but actually keeps his cannon characteristics and you do that <<<<333

Thank you for the request. I am just getting over a nonspecific illness. Not sure about the ending but hopefully this was something similar to what you were looking for.

“But, see,” he droned on, head laid upon the table, “the whole thing— the whole communist regime, I mean— it all deconstructed in regards to the actual soul of the movement with the death of Lenin.”

There were things that friends did not do to one another. Friends did not leave friends’ drinks unattended. Friends did not sleep with other friends’ partners or ex partners. Friends did not let friends be left with dangerous men. You were surprised to learn that there was, in fact, another thing to add to the list: friends do not leave friends with history professors.

Your “friend”, Misa Amane, had called you at one in the morning to babysit a guy. You did not know how she knew said guy. You had never met him, never heard of him. The name Ryuzaki was only vaguely familiar, a name you may have heard once in passing. But you came, because she was your friend, and friends do help friends get laid (though by your best estimation her boyfriend was about as interested in making love to her as you were in the inner workings of the Bolshevik party), only to be given a hotel room number and address, a charming smile, and a big fuck you to your sleep schedule. While you were thankful you had not been left with a dangerous drunk man, you were starting to question whether that would have been preferable to— you checked your phone— two hours worth of a lecture on a topic of which you had no knowledge.

“—but the only reason that happened—“

“I’m terribly sorry to interrupt,” you smiled, voice betraying your obvious exhaustion, “but what does any of this have to do with where you’re from?”

He blinked. “Pardon?”

“I asked you about your accent.” You opened your phone again, absently rereading a past message. “All I asked was where you were from.”

“Oh.” He sat up, taking another sip out of an extraordinarily bright cocktail through an equally colorful straw. “Europe.”

“Which part?”

He shrugged. “If you threw a dart at a map of Europe you’d know. Did the whole circuit.”

You considered ordering a drink. You reminded yourself that you were the designated driver. “What circuit?”

“It’s not an official circuit.” He took another sip. “But I have lived all across the continent. Well,” he amended, “not lived, but I’ve been.”

You nodded. “You’re not Japanese, then.”

“Not legally, no.” He furrowed his brow. “Have I been talking strangely for long?”

“Since I got here.”

He nodded slowly. “And where has Amane gone?”

“Oh, somewhere.” You gestured vaguely towards the door. “Trying to seduce her boyfriend again.”

He snorted.

“Exactly.” You crossed your arms. “You’ve met him, I take it.”

He smiled. “I have.”

“Thoughts?”

He considered it. “He is a very intelligent, ambitious man who understands how to utilize his assets.” He stirred his drink, precariously perched on his bar stool. “However, to say that he is disinterested in anything beyond his narrow scope of interest would be an understatement.”

“Tell me about it.” You let your head fall onto the counter. “He’s so pretentious; I’m not really sure what Misa sees in him.”

“Have you known her for long?”

“Since high school.”

He looked down at you, clouded eyes slowly clearing and sharpening to a fine point. His words were still slow and sloppily spoken with that same odd tone, but it was becoming clear, even now, that this was all to do with the alcohol. “Do you remember when she met Yagami?”

You shifted away from him, slightly intimidated. “I don’t.” You sat back up, going back to fiddling with your phone to avoid looking at him. “I know that she started talking about him in late May or early June but I don’t know when exactly.” You started typing an SOS to another friend. “I bet she met him earlier than that, though.”

“What makes you say that?”

You paused. “I mean,” you sighed, “I’d never heard her talk about moving to Tokyo before mid March.” You shrugged. “And I guess I get it– with what happened to her folks it makes sense to want to move away– but she didn’t even start talking about it until two weeks before she left, and then she just met a highschooler? She just met Light ‘Golden Boy’ Yagami? It’s so weird!”

He nodded slowly, still stirring the drink. “That certainly is an unlikely coincidence.”

‘It is!” You closed the phone. “And, like, I get that she’s not that much older than him, but who just meets a high schooler?” You rested your hands between your legs. “So I bet she met him online or whatever, convinced herself that she was in love with him, and jumped on it.”

“That would make sense.”

“It would.” You looked around the bar, leaning back to read the time on the wall. “Do I need to get you home?”

“It probably wouldn’t be a bad idea.” He climbed off his stool with an unusual amount of grace only to eat shit as soon as he tried to stand.

You had to practically carry him out of the bar, his arms wrapped tightly around you to keep himself steady as the two of you made your way to the train. Fortunately, where he was staying was not unreasonably far from the station. Unfortunately, he was surprisingly heavy; you almost toppled over with him on numerous occasions. As the two of you stood on the train, closer than you would like, he leaned his head against your shoulder, keeping quiet despite the fact you two were the only ones in the car. “May I use your phone?”

You obliged. “What for?”

“Calling myself a ride.” After a bit of fiddling, he handed it back to you. “He should be at the station by the time we arrive.”

You rolled your eyes. “If you could get someone to pick you up, why’d we take the train?”

“Because.” He sighed, closing his eyes and relaxing into you. “Forgot.”

You looked up at the ceiling, wishing death upon Misa and/or the drunk man hanging off of you.

Sure enough, a car– an expensive looking one at that– was waiting for him. With a wave and a stumble, he fell into it, calling a “merci beaucoup” to you as he drove away.

You got back on the train. You made it home. Your location was logged, and as you fell asleep that night, thoroughly exhausted, your messages and calls were scanned, analyzed, and filed away for future reference. These messages would help L Lawliet establish a timeline within which Misa Amane would have been able to find and use a Death Note. They would never make it into a courtroom.

[tfdtreasurer]

hi sooo i have very very VERYYY intense eridan x yn brainrot happening and its all i can post about and think about, can you please tell me how the actual fuck do i cope with the ampora brainrot TEACH ME UR SECRETS /hj (funnily enough i found ur blog through you liking one of my eridan posts, soo yk)

It is not a total exaggeration to say that Eridan brainrot has taken over the entirety of my creative thinking capabilities. Some would see this as a negative, but I believe I have achieved zen mastery over my brainrot, which I think is the best case scenario, very possibly enlightenment. So in short, embrace the Eridan and channel it creatively. This also applies to literally any character that you form brain rot over, so I hope the rest of this ask may be universal to other people too.

The long and universal answer is that you have to start by forming an in depth interpretation of the character that you can creatively work with. Research everything you possibly can about them and when you're done research more until you're so wrapped up in thoughts and ideas you want to spin into yarns you're not sure what are spurious connections or load bearing columns. Link your thoughts about the character to your own personal philosophy on nothing less grand than life itself. From there, anything you will want to say will steadily become clearer, and you'll be better equipped to express it in artistic and creative medium.

For me with Eridan I can spend hours in Wiki holes and esoteric and specialist websites for the strangest things. I know the symbolism of the water carrier and the shoulder yoke. I know the myth of Ganymede, cup bearing and drinking poison. I know the exact names and manufacturers of 1800s whaling equipment, their mechanisms and specifications. I know that Starbuck is the name of a significant whaling dynasty. I know the scents of lightning. I know the instruments of the apocalypse and armies. I know the complicated etymology of romance. I know emperors and conquerors. I know of biblically wicked kings. Think of nothing that you research or notice shallowly. Look for deeper meaning because even if you determine it's not intended in that case, you can create something with it where it is. Do that and your repertoire of symbols and devices will become infinite.

At every step and revelation about Eridan as a character I related it to my own worldview and practiced endless self inquiry like a fucked up fandom fueled Socratic dialogue. And as my worldview refined, without meaning to sound ridiculous, I came to view things through the lens of Eridan goddamn Ampora. Does that sound ridiculous? Yes, absolutely. Would I admit in person? Maybe on my deathbed or in a criminal confession. Is it the truth? Yeah. Sorry to get all hippie communist all of a sudden but I can seriously link Eridan to my thoughts on capitalism and class struggle, on anarchism and anti-authoritarianism, the status quo and revolution, on psychology and how to relate to our fellow human beings. Not because she's instrumental in getting to those beliefs, but because the art I want to create to express myself and consequently the beliefs that form myself will inexorably use my ultra brairot powers to do so. Even if you don't seek to create art, training yourself to look deeper and analyze at that level about anything will help you consuming art in a way that will give you so much satisfaction in the long run.

For me personally, I have written works of art that are just channels for all my complicated thoughts on Eridan. I've written my own version of orphaners, of kids that wanted different lives than the one they ended up with, allegories of the Aquarius zodiac, magicians and scientists, punks and soldiers, bespectacled and pinstripe-wearing villains. I've entered them into contests and to literary journals. On small scales, I've won money and gotten published.

Yes I realize that it's mostly plain ol brain rot but at the same time a part of me is always wondering if this is just the nature of how we're influenced by art. The way that Homestuck is written feels like it's somebody's own experience with an obsession with something in particular that spiraled outward into all these esoteric sources that were then synthesized into a singular creative work. Gnosticism and genetics and Internet culture and video games and music, but also little its and bits of things like lovecraftian horror, anime, chess, Peter Pan. To borrow the words of a recently relevant political figure,

"You think you just fell out of a coconut tree? [...] You exist in the context of all in which you live and what came before you.”

It's the same thing with art. I came to understand at some point in my life that I am less merely effected by my influences, and more possessed by them. In writing, I find myself acting irrationally, random impulses to include depths of symbolic comparison that nobody but myself could possibly hope to understand. I try to tame these impulses when they arise, make them more accessible, but my subconscious psyche is a pair of invisible hands perpetually at the wheel. So, I really just wish that someone eventually reads into my writing and is just as possessed by my words as I was by something else writing them. Even if it's not what I intended or the ghosts possessing me even intended, because writing is strange like that, in how we leave so much in the hands of the audience to interpret their own way. Like, I don't know if the cup-bearer-zodiac-Eridan drinking something later linked to an allusion of poison was intentional, but it will be for my own art. I don't know if Eridan's scare-everyone-away personality was connected to the skunk stripe-like hair, but for the characters I write it will. And I hope my legacy is like a legion of weird eridan-like ghosts haunting others' writing everlasting into eternity.

So, yeah, how do you cope with Eridan Ampora brainrot? Learn to love it, and learn to use it. Most of all, learn to love using it.

[lolitastories]

GHOST

Javier Pena x Reader

Chapter 4

The day I got into the vehicle with those guys I thought it was my last day on earth. It was stupid to have Pena waiting incase they took me to some remote place to drop my body. I bang my head thinking about it in the car. Thankfully I was actually going back to my work place. I set up the phone I was speaking with a trusted member of the cartel. They told me Escobar would be traveling back to Colombia from Panama. To move some money around because they would have to pay people. I connected the dots knowing well enough that they would be coming back for war.

“He wouldn’t start a war now” Diego cleans his glasses and refills my cups. “He missed home, to soon to start something”

“Tell that to the money he is moving around. That is not the strategy of someone who is going to relax when he sets foot back home” I shake my head trying to figure out and put pieces together. “He is going to want to keep pushing extradication off.”

“They already denied their request. The ambassador and the military are focused on the police and military and some communist” He groans not hiding his dislike.

“Who gives a fuck about any of them” I roll my eyes wishing this shot was actually straight tequila. “Tell me something good”

“Murphy and Pena have an unknown informant and might lose their job for it” Now that is news. Before he could continue I got a notification on my phone. This is even greater news. “Haven’t seen that smile in a long time”

“You’re about to see more of it” I put my phone away downing the shot of water. “They siezed their accounts.”

“So you get to go home too” I shake my head. This will never be home but I am still happy to see a light at the end of the tunnel.

“I will be here tomorrow. Things are going to go down fast and I need more intel. Get a hold of Pena and tell him to meet me in the back. Escobar will have a plan by tonight” And I was right. Later that night Colombians hope was shot dead. A couple bullets below his bulletproof vest and in a couple minutes he was dead. The crowd mourned him and as they held a funeral his second hand fell into power. Galan promised to get rid of the narcos but Gaviria had another look in his eyes. I am not saying he is crooked but who knows nowadays.

“Going home late again?” One of my colleagues stopped at my desk. “You have been killing yourself these past weeks. Why don’t you come out with us friday?” I shake my head.

“Can’t” I motion to all the files I had to go through. It wasn’t for that certain client but for me. I need to find connections with the people I am looking for.

“Think about it. You have my number” She smiled, putting on her coat and walking out. As soon as she left I got back to work. Numbers don’t add up on the certain date I was looking at but what difference was that? None of them added up. That's why Pablo bought his people, so they would make it make sense. I should have been here at the beginning but I was following the wrong lead. Now I am doubting myself about Pablo, what if he has nothing to do with it? I close up the books and say goodbye to the rest who are working. It was sunset as I walked into the bar.

“Early tonight?” I smile at Miguel.

“Tomorrow is friday, I thought I would celebrate early” I thank him sitting in my regular spot with my drink already prepared.

“So not working late tomorrow?” Who knows. “Becuase I was thinking I could take the night off and-”

“Lola! You’re early today” Diego came from the back giving me a signal. “I am taking my break” He nudges Miguel with a small laugh then extends his hand towards me. “I need your help on my finance real quick”

“Thankfully I haven’t started drinking” I laugh along while walking around the bar and into the back.

“He is nice, are you going to accept?” I turned my head weirded out by that question. “What? Just test the waters or a stress reliever!” I shake my head with a smile. We got to the back room and Murphy was standing there.

“Y/N” It was nice to see him again. “Pena couldn’t make it. We are dealing with something” He looks back not wanting to say anything infront of Diego before he walks out.

“Let me guess, your informant” I grin, taking a seat on the couch.

“Yeah” He falls back spreading himself on the couch. “He is going to get us fired and all for a couple of nights of warming the bed”

“He slept with her?” I said it a little too fast causing a look from Steve.

“He hasn’t denied it but his reputation follows him” Of course. “He is getting her fake papers to protect her”

“Listen” I sit up trying to change the subject. “He has got 2 million dollars in a briefcase right now. They already took Galan out and more money like that in there hands they are going to take out many more”

“As you know he stepped back on home soil” I nod. “He sent a note to Gaviria, either leave them alone or go to war”

“Has your informat said anything?”

“She spoke about the M19. Pablo meeting up with him or talking. But she showed up at Connie’s job asking to be hidden. She fight for the people and not the help the narcos”

“Apparently” I whisper, shaking my head.

“Apparently” He repeats with a chuckle. “How are you doing?” I shrugg quickly before groaning. I stood up fixing my clothes.

“Could be better” I laughed before looking back. “I need you to look into something” I grab a paper from my bag and hand it over to him. “Keep it quiet. The ambassador knows about it but no one else should”

“Does this have to do with Pablo?” I shake my head forcefully before closing my eyes.

“I don’t know. That it what I am trying to figure out”

“How bad is it?” who knows.

“Crooked information. New labs overseas. Cartels working together. What's one druglord down if the others learn from their mistakes and become harder to catch?”

“Anything else?” He placed the paper in his pocket. I wanted to tell him what I had in mind. If everything goes down in a couple days or even tonight, there are a lot of ifs and whats and never a sure plan.

“No” I smile before turning around and leaving. Later that night I twist and turn. There wasn’t much to do tomorrow so I decided to call in sick. I needed to talk to Diego again. I walk into the bar and wave at Miguel. “Diego in?”

“In the back” The bar was empty and as I walked confidently towards the back all that went away quickly.

“I need more information than that” The sight wasn’t what I was prepared for this morning. I grab my gun from the holster I hand on my leg hidden by my dress. I pass by fast trying to look around. There seem to be only two men in there. Diego’s hands were tied together and his face bruised up. I looked around making sure no one else was back here. The only way was through the curtains so there was no way to surprise them.

“Diego?” I walk in with a hand behind my back. I act shocked by the men standing there.

“Miss” They were the same guys who stalked me outside my window. “You shouldn’t be here” He sets his gun down and walks forward in motion for me to get out. I wait until he is close enough to grab his hand and with a flip a gun is pointed at his head.

“Put the gun down” The man's eyes showed no mercy. He pulled on the safety but I took the first shot.

“You bitch!” He screamed holding on to his leg.

“You can still walk, untie him” I let go of the man and walked over to remove the guns away from them while pointing at them with mine.

“The boss will be after you when he hears you are working with the DEA agents that came in here” I look over to Diego who was massaging his wrist.

“More are coming. You need to leave” I nod quickly making sure he had the upper hand and ran out of there. I sent Miguel home and just as I was going to walk out I saw another group of men walking in.

“Wait. You need to come with us” One man warns, moving his hands slows towards his back. Two gunshots were heard and I took that as a chance to start running. I go around the corner to an alley and into an abandoned building. I take a moment to think before my feet continue without any direction. I don’t know if they were still following me but I continued on running. My lungs were burning and my legs didn’t feel like my own. I couldn’t be seen walking into the police station or the DEA.

“Fuck!” I scream looking inbetween streets. I don’t know any of these streets. “Can I use your phone?” I say casually walking into a store

“Of course it's in the back” I tell him thanks and move faster to pull the phone. “I need to talk to the ambassador” I tell whoever is on the other side not waiting for their introduction.

“You will need an appointment or-”

“This is Agent L/N. I don’t need an appointment because I will be dead! So if you would be so kind as to get me connected to the Ambassador I would really appreciate it.” I speak urgently.

“As I was saying, the Ambassador is out. You could leave-”

“Connect me to Agent Murphy or Pena!” I wanted to pull my arm through the phone and choke her.

“They are busy-”

“You know what they will be busy with? Finding a new secretary! Get me someone before I get a chance to personally get there and drag you by your stupid-”

“Woah” I hear a man's voice on the other side. “Is that how you say hello?”Murphy laughs

“I need your help Steve. Diego is in trouble and I need you to send someone to the bar” I hear papers fumble on the other side before he is back to the phone

“Are you okay?”

“I don’t know where I am. I need somewhere to hide”

“Wait. Give me a minute” Of course. Fucking hell. I look back hoping those men didn’t continue to follow me. I hear only static on the other side before 5 minutes go by. “Pablo took over the Supreme court with the help of M19. Burned everything we had on them” Another couple curse words follow before he continues talking. “I am going to give you an address. Grab the first taxi and someone will meet you there”

“Okay”

“I will be there as soon as I can” I know that means it would be hours.

Chapter 5

[lacefuneral]

you know disco elysium is a good game because i'm willing to play through the exact same plot and side quests and puzzles over and over and over again. not to solve a murder mystery but because i'm fascinated with trying out alternate universe versions of harry du bois

what if he was a centrist honor cop that is also an outspoken feminist that chainsmokes. what if he was a sloppy sloppy party boy drunk doing every drug he sees, and he thinks the world is going to end. what if he was a horribly bigoted fascist - how does he exist in this world with a gay partner of color, how does he reconcile his white supremacist beliefs with that of measurehead's black supremacist beliefs (which he ends up adopting)? what if he was an outspoken communist bisexual that actively hates being a police officer at every single step and is going to resign the second the game ends, and he's been sober the entire time? what if he has 1 in every skill and spends his entire time crying, throwing up, apologizing, and passing out.

and also... do any of these men know their own name? what do they prioritize, in terms of memory recall? how do they choose to dress and present themselves to the world? does he shave? why or why not?

if they all pick the same dialogue option, are they saying it and meaning it in the same way? our protagonist is not voiced. he could be sincere, sarcastic, bitter, manic, bureaucratic, empathetic.

it's such a good study in people and ideology. regardless of beliefs, all of my characters have taken bribes. they've helped the union leader. they cozy up to the ultraliberal. even the cop trying to be the most Ethical. the most Fuck The Police. ends up abusing his own power. ends up killing people. ends up stealing. invades privacy. because its what is dictated by the job. by the narrative.

when you try to be apolitical, you still do all of those things. and, in fact, if you're apolitical enough you can abandon martinaise entirely and you get assassinated by the moralintern for Knowing Too Much about the pale.

if you play a communist you still have dros at the end telling you that you're not a real communist because you haven't fought for revolution. you're a wannabe

if you play a fascist dros even tells you that you're not a real fascist because you haven't enacted enough fascist violence. you're a wannabe

if you're a liberal you're shielding the fascists

you cannot be "a good guy" in disco elysium and you cannot "win." a "good" ending is getting recruited back to the force, and you can still manage to do that if you don't drink and kim is by your side. you can be brutal and awful and violent to everyone and everything. and they let you back.

even "good cops" cannot choose to resign. you must be kicked out of the force. which you do by hurting yourself and letting others get hurt

you can only resign if you take enough Morale Damage that you abandon not just the force but the entire community. and you get a game over screen

man. this fucking game....