#i'm not sure if i have the discipline to organize this thing

[neo-shitty]

🙃.

[grison-in-space]

Has Biden actually done anything at all? There's evidence going around and I think it's compelling, the alternate to voting is instead doing actual social work and participating in protests and organizing political action, which is a good idea i think

1) Yes. Inarguably this has been the most effective progressive domestic administration since I have been alive, and I'm in my thirties. What in the fuck are you talking about? It's not perfect, but it's better than we've seen in fifty years: Obama tried, but Democratic Congressional organization was just not yet used to working with a completely obstructionist GOP Congress in the wake of the tea party.

Even in terms of foreign policy, this is also pretty much as good as US involvement gets. Sorry. Our foreign policy has been shaped by monsters for decades, and that's even without dealing with our huge and active branch of Christian doom cultists. There ain't a candidate in the world that could stop the entire accumulated momentum of geopolitics with a snap of the finger, and I'm not really willing to pretend that Biden is particularly notable for not managing to fix Israel/Palestine relations.

2) In your own words, anon, what precisely does organizing political action entail without participating in the political process? Do you think that abstaining from the part of the gig where you, the citizen, get to say which official gets the job somehow makes your opinions matter more to your elected public officials? Have you ever organized to get so much as a municipal one-time library project budget expanded? Are you perhaps only skilled at political argument with people who already agree with you on the Internet?

What is your leverage, and could it reasonably be described as "extortion" or "blackmail" or "political corruption?" Because those are pretty much the only things on the table that can work more effectively to drive an elected official than a disciplined coalition of political allies (who can be purchased with, you guessed it, votes) or a reliable bloc of voter support. Your vote matters less than the ones you bring with you, sure. Do you think that not voting yourself somehow helps people organize to drive more votes? Have you perhaps replaced your complex reasoning skills with a rapidly dying jellyfish?

3) Holy passive vagueness, Batman! "Evidence is going around." What a masterpiece of a sentence! How it suggests everything while providing nothing! What evidence? Who collected it? Who is talking about the evidence "going around?" Who is listening? How many of them are there? What did they think before? The more I think, the more questions I have, and damn if they ain't predisposing me to be even less charitable.

Like, this is so catastrophically poorly supported that I have to confess that I not only believe this is probably an ask in bad faith (i.e. by someone who is expecting to piss me off or otherwise engage with me adversarially, probably spammed to a whole host of blogs at once with no expectation of response) but I actively hope that it is. The alternative is to have to grapple with the reality that some people are so uncomfortable with the responsibility of moral agency that they're willing to release useful levers of legal and social power just so that they never do anything problematic with that power. Much better, of course, to wash one's hands of anything that might have the stink of responsibility clinging to it. Might fall from the membership of the Elect if you actually get yourself all muddy by doing things, I reckon.

I don't even believe that voting is the only lever we have when it comes to our elected officials or that votes are necessary to secure change, and I am certainly not talking about the presidential ticket alone when I talk voting. What I do believe is two things: one, that voting is a potential lever of power on the emergent chaos of the society in which we live. And two, that anyone telling me to leave a lever of power on the ground without a damn good reason is either incompetent, malicious, or both.

[bucketslutz]

Don't Be Late

(Professor Logan Howlett x F! Student Mutant Reader)

Click here for chapter index

Chapter Summary: The President of the University hears you out about Logan's behavior.

(A/N): yay!! this chapter took me FOREVER!! i'm so sorry about the wait, i just wanted to make sure i got everything perfect. i mentioned in the notes for the last chapter that i might recommend a song for each chapter and i think i will start that this chapter!! so for this chapter i'd recommend listening to sailor song by gigi perez. enjoy!

Warnings: smut, 18+, MDNI!!, unprotected sex, p in v, oral, f! receiving, dirty talk, swearing, overstimulation lowkey

Word Count: 7,055

Chapter 5

Time passes painfully slow outside of the president’s office. Your fingers fiddle with the hem of your blouse, trying not to get yourself too worked up with feverish anger as you organize your thoughts. You can’t let the president know how charged and complicated your feelings towards Logan truly are, no, all he needs to know is what Logan did wrong. You’ve never had a meeting like this before. You don’t have problems with people, you don’t argue with professors, you don’t report people. In all your years of academia, you’ve never had to do anything like this before. And you’re nervous. The president’s assistant calling your name pulls you from your thoughts, causing you to look up at her eagerly.

“He’s ready for you, ma’am,” she smiles politely, gesturing to the office door to her right. You thank her as you stand, smoothing your skirt down with your clammy hands. You open the door gently to find Dr. Charles Xavier sat behind a grand oak desk, scribbling on an array of papers. He’s a thin, older man, completely bald. You didn’t know much about him before this meeting, other than the fact that he’s paralyzed from the waist down and can often be seen traversing campus on his motorized wheelchair. He looks up from his work as he hears you come in, smiling politely as he confirms your name.

“Yes, sir, thank you for meeting with me,” you say, approaching the desk to shake his hand before sitting in a cushioned chair situated in front of him.

“I’m more than happy to accommodate you, my dear. Now, what can I do for you?” he asks, his voice seemingly coated in a genuine concern as he folds his hands in front of him.

“Yes, sir. Um, I’m not sure how much of my email your assistant disclosed,” you start sheepishly, clearing your throat in nervousness. “But, uh, I’ve been having some problems with my American Civil War professor—“

“Logan Howlett,” he cuts you off, a look of understanding washing over his face, like he’s used to hearing his name be brought up often.

“Yes, him,” you confirm, an awkward smile turning the corners of your mouth up. “You don’t sound surprised.”

“Logan can be quite difficult, at times. I’ve heard my fair share of stories from student and faculty alike,” he remarks, very matter of factly, not bleeding too much emotion into his words. Which makes it difficult for you to know which side he’s on: Logan’s or yours. “Now, tell me, what troubles you, child?”

“I—uh, I don’t really know where to start,” you admit, embarrassed as every ounce of preparation has left your mind. 

“Just tell me everything, starting from the beginning,” he advises, his voice soothing you in a way you can’t quite explain. So you start from the beginning, obviously leaving out the part about your repetitive, lewd sex dreams. You try your best to remain as polite as possible when you talk about the things you and Logan said to each other in the heat of an argument, omitting some of the more colorful language in an attempt to maintain Dr. Xavier’s respect. Once you finish detailing the past week’s events, you exhale a sigh of relief, Dr. Xavier offering you a sympathetic look.

“I see, I’m sorry to hear about all of those experiences and how they troubled you,” he offers sympathetically, “I will have a meeting with Logan and see to it personally he gets the proper discipline for his actions and the clear harm they’ve caused you.”

You sigh in relief, releasing tension from your shoulders you didn’t even know you were holding there.

“Thank you, Dr. Xavier, you have no idea how much that means to me,” you beam.

“Please, call me Charles, and I am always here if you need anything, my dear,” he consoles, a kind smile reaching his eyes in sincerity, “We must learn to take care of each other, in these trying times.”

“Yes, sir, of course, thank you again,” you reach across the desk to shake his hand, he accepts generously, using both his hands to encase yours.

His words put you at such ease, you haven’t felt this kind of relief in ages. It’s like you’ve just finished a productive therapy session. Like your mind has been tucked in and put to bed. You gather your things, and head to the door of Charles’ office. He calls your name, causing you to whip your head back around to look at him.

“Everything will work itself out, rest assured,” he remarks with a warm smile. You nod, believing in what he says wholeheartedly. For the first time in a week, you don’t feel plagued with overwhelming feelings for Logan. You often found yourself looking for him in places that you might run into him, in stores, on campus, at red lights. But you can’t bring yourself to care anymore. As you drive to work, passing by the bar, you don’t even think to see if his truck might be there like you’ve done the past few days. As you stock shelves in the store, you stop hoping that he might walk through the door to buy cigars and a case of beer again. You’ve effectively exiled him from your thoughts and feelings. He could be fired tomorrow for what he did, and it wouldn’t matter to you. There’s a warm bed waiting for you at home, and, for once, you do not wish for Logan to be there waiting for you too. 

…

You’re greeted in the morning to the sound of your alarm, no wet dreams this time that jerk you awake. This morning, you wake up by yourself. You make breakfast for yourself. You get dressed for yourself. The only thing you do for Logan, is print out your essay. You drive to class, not a worry or care in the world for him or his opinions. After your talk with Charles, you know Logan cannot, at the very least, pull another stunt like he did Monday. You didn’t see him on Wednesday, as you were in your meeting with Charles then and cared more about that than being in his class with his “bullshit lectures,” as Logan himself put it.

Yet here you are, sitting down in his class, ready to listen to another bullshit lecture. He looks almost sullen today, like something heavy weighs on his shoulders. Maybe Charles has met with him and he’s sulking now as a result of being slapped on the wrist. Maybe this is his last day. Maybe they’re putting him on a forced sabbatical and replacing him with someone who isn’t an asshole for the rest of the semester. Logan clears his throat, preparing to give his lecture to the class. He holds everyone’s attention now, the scattered murmurs of friendly conversations coming to a halt as notebooks open and pens are clicked.

“Westward expansion, manifest destiny, whatever the hell you want to call it, was the topic of your essay,” he starts, “A lot of people say that it was a cause of the Civil War. I’d be inclined to agree. Some people would say that it helped unify the nation after the war. But I disagree,” Logan states, speaking from a place you haven’t heard him speak from before. “I wat—I read about natives being killed in cold blood, kids bein’ beat in schools so bad they forget where they’re from, mountains of dead buffalo rotting to waste just so they can watch these native people die off. You can’t unify a country by hatin’ people. You can’t win a war against slavery then turn around and still treat people like vermin. You hear of these things now, you think shit like this doesn’t happen—won’t happen anymore. We all think we’re immune. Til’ one day you wake up and all of a sudden there’s a target on your back. Maybe you wake up tomorrow and they wanna put you in a school,” he points to someone in the class for emphasis, “Make you forget everything you’ve ever known, rip your child away from you like you’re cattle. It doesn’t take a lot to convince the world you’re less human than everyone else. You’re not guaranteed shit in this country. Not freedom. Not liberty. Not independence. We’re all one bad president away from becoming nazis. Don’t forget that. And don’t get comfortable.”

The room is dead quiet, almost like a collective shock has washed over everyone. Logan has never been this candid in class before. He just regurgitates facts from the textbook without much opinion or thought to what he’s saying. You barely know what to make of that, as well as the potential source of his rant. No one else dares to speak, to question, to think. Logan’s gaze flits to you briefly, you make eye contact. To anyone else, this wouldn’t be anything more than a passing glance. To you, that meant something. You don’t know what, but there was something underlying there. Jesus, what did Charles say to him, you think to yourself. And then, like nothing happened, Logan cracks open his textbook to carry on with his lecture, causing everyone to rush back to their notebooks to take their notes. You somehow bring your focus back to the curriculum, choosing to ignore his impromptu monologue and carry on with your day.

Yes, he surprised you. But you don’t care. Charles probably just knocked some sense into him so he’d stop acting like an immature prick and start caring about his job. But never mind with that, you still have a whole afternoon ahead of you, full of classes and work and not thinking about Logan. In fact, you really don’t think about him at all the rest of the day. You had too much classwork to really allow your mind to drift, the convenience store was busy with a shipment that you had to take inventory of, and you have a pint of ice cream calling your name at home.

The storm outside contrasts your state of mind as you drive home from work. You don’t feel clouded, angered, passionate—you feel quiet. But not the forced quiet you’ve put out into the world as a means of protection, no, there’s a tranquility to you now. There’s nothing to fear, as your feelings for Logan no longer threaten to reveal your powers. You can live the life of anonymity you’ve always wanted to. 

As you pull into your driveway, your stomach drops at the sight of a truck parked in front of your house. Logan’s truck. What the fuck is he doing here, you think to yourself, how does he know where I live? You put your car in park, stepping out into the pouring rain, you try to beeline for your front door, really not wanting to see or speak to him. Logan steps out of his truck and starts calling your name, you do your best to ignore him as you approach your door. Just as you think you’ve made it, he slides in front of you, stopping you from putting your key in and unlocking it.

“Logan, you need to leave,” you say calmly, avoiding eye contact with him, fixing your gaze to the ground.

“I can’t,” he says breathlessly. You look up to meet his gaze, his eyes look needy and earnest, like a puppy melting into its owner’s lap. His chest rises and falls as he pants heavily. “I have to...” He trails off, seemingly struggling to find the words. You don’t have time for this, you don’t want him here. You scoff in frustration and shove him away from you, he steps off your porch and into the pouring rain. You begin to unlock your door, despite Logan pleading your name. Your door creaks open, his pleading grows incessant, the rain pounds against your roof with intensity. You whip around to face him, throwing your things into your house before you charge towards him. 

“Goddamn you, I can’t do this anymore!” you bark, allowing the rain to soak you as you advance towards Logan further and further, watching as he backs away. “Just when I thought I was done with you, when I thought I’d never have to spend an extra second thinking about you again, you show up here, and for what? Why did you come here, huh? To beg for my forgiveness?”

Logan’s jaw tenses, like he’s unable to find the answer himself, looking like a wreck as he gets soaked by the rain without a care. Does he even know why he came here? You scoff in disbelief, almost laughing.

“Do you even know why you came here?” you ask, flicking wet hair from your eyes as you stare him down. He just looks at you. That’s all he does. God, does he have nothing to say? Nothing? “Well, if it’s forgiveness you want, you’re not getting it. I don’t owe you anything.”

You turn around, stomping to your door until Logan’s hand grasps your arm and spins you back around to face him.

“You owe me everything, damn it,” he utters passionately, his voice intense and low but full of sadness. His eyes almost look glassy, but you can’t tell if the tears in his eyes are real or a result of the rain that’s hit his face. His breath is heavy, like he desperately needs to convey something, his grip on your arm tightening slightly, “You owe me. In more ways than you know. For every time you’re in my head—in my dreams. You owe me. And you don’t even know it.”

Your breath hitches when he says that. Did he just say dreams? He has dreams about you?

“Dreams?” you question, trying your best to hide your shock as you push him to clarify, blinking the rain out of your eyes. He lets go of your arm and turns away from you, hands on his hips as he starts pacing. Like he’s considering what he wants to say—how he wants to say it.

“Almost every night since I’ve met you,” he mutters intensely, as he looks at everything but you. “You don’t know what it’s been like—the hell I’ve been through tryna’ get you outta my head.”

You’re dumbfounded. You don’t know what to say. Has he felt this way the whole time? Does he dream the same dreams as you? You’re buzzing with thoughts and feelings, ones you thought you put to bed.

“Logan, what dreams?” you press further as you take two steps closer to him, his back still to you as you search for the answer you’ve been desperately seeking from him. He peeks over at you, rain dripping off the tip of his nose onto his leather-clad shoulder, clearly hesitant to disclose the content of the dreams.

“I—I can’t,” he sputters.

You swallow hard, deciding to take a risk you probably shouldn’t be taking.

“The first dream,” you start, “Was I in your office?”

He immediately turns to face you, looking at you with utter shock painted on his face.

“How did you know that?” 

You don’t answer. You’re locked in place, incapable of speaking. Perhaps you’re too scared to say it. 

“Maybe you owe me too,” you murmur, stitching your brows together, trying to stop your chin from trembling.

He stares at you with a passion that makes you almost crumble to the earth. He walks towards you, a slight hesitation in his step once he’s no more than a few inches away from your face.

“Logan,” you whisper, almost gasp, feeling a surge of fear rise within you. You can’t give in. You can’t let him get too close to you. His hands reach up to cup your face, and you want to shove him off. You want to tell him to stop. But it feels so right when he holds you like this, thumbs attempting to brush the constant flow of rainwater from your cheeks. 

“We can’t,” you mutter, bringing your hands to his wrists, wanting to use them to pull his hands from your face. But you find solace in the way he’s holding you. He looks down to your lips, then back to your eyes, the corners of his mouth turning up into the slightest smile.

“To hell with can’t,” he husks, his voice bleeding gravel and a fervent want. His head dips down, his lips parting as he tries to capture your lips with his. But you push him off, backing away in fear of letting him get close to you. You can’t do it. Because deep down you know that if you let him kiss you, you’ll let him in to every part of yourself. There won’t be a corner of you that won’t be unknown by him. And you can’t let that happen.

“No. Logan, I’m sorry. I can’t,” you declare with a shaky voice, tears welling in your eyes as you take as many steps back as you can. Your retreat almost causing you to slam into the trunk of the oak tree in front of your house.

He utters your name, taking a few steps towards you before continuing, “If you don’t want to do this—if you don’t want me because I’m your teacher…Say the word, and I’ll never speak to you again.”

You gape at him, doe eyes staring up into him as he speaks to you with clarity.

“But if you’re backing away from this because of fear—you don’t wanna let me in,” he continues, practically pinning you to the tree as he steps closer, “Then you’re gonna have to trust me—you gotta let me in.” He brings his hands back to your face, keeping your gaze earnestly. You can’t help the tears that roll down your cheeks now. You could just say it—tell him that you don’t want to be with him because he’s your professor. Just one sentence and you may never have to speak to him again. You’d never have to see him, save for class, you can just forget about all of this. But you can’t. The words feel like poison in your mouth. You look like you’re choking on air trying to form the words.

“Logan,” you manage, “You don’t understand, you can’t—you don’t want to get close to me.” Your cries are growing louder, your words becoming choked by your sobs. Logan soothes your name, bringing his head down to your level, now eye to eye with you. You grip his wrists tightly, keeping his hold on your face firm.

“Well—maybe I do understand. But you won’t know unless you tell me!” he stresses, his voice growing in intensity as he tries to get you to understand. You go back and forth, Logan pleading your name, as you shake your head, yelling ’no’ insistently.

“Logan, I can’t!” you resist, your face twisting into a mixture of heartbreak and sorrow. He growls your name desperately.

“Listen to me, I understand!”

“You don’t!” you wept, pushing him off of you and turning towards your house, being done with this and him. He yells your name, but you stay your course. He yells your name again, you ignore it. From behind you, he lets out a vicious growl of effort before you hear a sharp ‘snikt’ and a slice, causing you to turn around to witness a broad limb begin to fall from above Logan’s head. You panic.

“Logan!” you gasp, reflexively raising your hands and using all your strength to project a large crystalline barrier between the tree’s limb and Logan’s body. You support its full weight before throwing it to an empty patch of grass, your eyes still glowing fuchsia from the use of your powers. Your stomach drops. Panic starts to set in from the reality of what you just did. Then a glint of something metal hits your eyes, drawing your attention to Logan’s balled up fist. Three prongs of metal protrude from his knuckles, sending a shiver down your spine. You almost don’t believe it. You blink in disbelief, stepping off the porch as you approach Logan slowly. The rain showers you once again, washing away your uncertainty and your fear. Logan stares at you, chest heaving, claws still bared. Teeth slightly bared, breath hitching when you’re within inches of him under the tree. Your hand reaches down to his wrist, pulling it upwards so you may get a better view of his claws. You stare at them incredulously, still struggling to comprehend how this is possible.

“The whole time?” you murmur in disbelief, eyes flicking between his eyes and the sharp blades.

“These don’t exactly grow overnight, bub,” he smirks, retracting them back into himself, startling you slightly.

“You’re like me?” you question, though it sounds a bit more like a revelation. You run your fingers over his knuckles, feeling where the blades once were. He nods gently, bringing his hand to your cheek, your hand staying with his wrist, leaning into his touch.

“I’m like you,” he confirms, bringing his other hand to your forehead, brushing stray wet hairs from your face. His gaze flicks down to your lips, then back up to your eyes. There’s nothing holding you back now. Standing on your tiptoes, swinging your arms around his neck, you pull yourself up to connect your lips with his in a desperate kiss. He leans into you, eagerly, wrapping his arms around your back to pull your frame into his as firmly as he can. Electricity rushes through your body, almost making you shudder with excitement at the feel of his lips on yours. His tongue swipes gently against your bottom lip, you welcome it into your mouth, meeting his tongue with your own. He swallows you, moving his hands to your face like he can’t let you slip away from him for even a second. You cradle the back of his neck, slipping your fingers through his soaked hair. He deepens the kiss further, sliding his hands down to your waist, dipping you backwards slightly as he grips you tightly there. You moan gently, growing more desperate the longer you kiss him, needing to feel more of him. You break the kiss, panting heavily, sputtering as rain water attempts to enter your mouth. Logan breathes with you, your nose grazing his, not being able to help the smile on your face. He smiles back.

“Can we get out of the rain?” you chuckle, a chill overtaking your body as the rain’s assault continues. He nods, and without hesitating, he scoops you up into his arms and carries you bridal style towards your porch. You yelp gently as he whisks you away, maneuvering through your front door, shutting it with a kick behind him. After he sets you down, the next few moments are a blur—kisses growing sloppy, shoes flying off, hands pulling at jackets. Clumsily, you lead Logan up the stairs, not allowing the kiss to falter. He eventually gets tired of tripping over you, scooping you up by the ass and lifting, which causes you to respond by eagerly wrapping your legs around him. It’s messy, the way he bumps you into furniture, pressing you against the wall, attacking your lips with a feverish desire. One hand glued to your ass for support, the other searching the wall for the threshold to your bedroom, in an effort to maintain the contact of his lips on yours. Eventually, pushing the both of you through to your room before throwing you on your bed, no care for the wet clothes and hair that are soaking your sheets. 

He looms above you, his strong stance making you wonder how you can be in the presence of someone so perfect. In one fell swoop, Logan pulls his white tank top over his head, revealing his chiseled physique to you, a silver chain hanging from his neck. You don’t have time to ask about it before he’s on top of you, swallowing you, your legs wrapped around him as he grinds down into you making you gasp into the kiss. He paws at your shirt, tugging and dragging it up your body until you’re forced to remove your mouth from his to allow him to take it off of you. There’s not a moment wasted with him. His hands need to be on you at all times; whether he’s grasping your breasts, your waist, your face. He explores every inch of you with his hands. A whine escapes your lips when he breaks the kiss, but he’s swift—trailing his mouth down your neck. The kisses there are sloppy, wet, harsh as his teeth nip at your skin. His lips drag down your chest where he playfully bites at your lacy bra making your breath hitch in anticipation.

This is more than you could’ve dreamt, you have to keep reminding yourself that this is real. He’s real. He’s here. His lips and tongue coating your body is real, his hands pulling down your pants is real, the gaze you see situate between your legs is real. Everything feels heightened, each touch electric and charged. Logan sits up, roughly pulling you down the bed so your hips are hanging off the edge, the floor meeting his knees so he can be eye level with your thinly clothed pussy. He’s savoring you, biting the soft skin of your inner thigh, gripping your waist in an effort to keep you planted. You squirm under his grasp as you grow more and more desperate for his mouth on your aching cunt. 

“Logan,” you rasp, scratching at the sheets beneath you with need. He gazes at you from between your legs, a cocky grin making you melt. 

“Dreamt ‘bout this,” he husks, his hot breath fanning your lace-clad pussy before he plants gentle kisses to the crease between your inner thigh and labia. The occasional dipping of his tongue to the sensitive skin there makes you writhe more under his grasp. Hands glide up your stomach as he continues carefully teasing you, avoiding your core as much as possible with each flick of his tongue and kiss planted. He palms your tits through your bra lazily before bringing his hands back down your body to toy with the waistband of your panties. You can tell that he’s enjoying this immensely, taking his time with such passionate care you almost don’t mind how slowly he pulls down your panties. Lifting your legs to allow him to pull them the rest of the way off your legs and to the floor, you almost want to giggle that you could’ve taken them off this entire time with your powers. But you enjoy this—how carefully he’s taking his time and savoring each swell and curve of your body till you’re spread bare in front of his eyes. 

In any other circumstance, you’d be hiding away sheepishly under such an intense gaze, but Logan’s eyes aren’t boring into you possessively. They’re drinking you, digesting your appearance with such an intensity you’re struggling to comprehend how he’s been able to resist you for so long. You gasp when his tongue flicks your throbbing clit gently, arching your back off of the bed. He’s testing the waters now, priming your arousal so you’re good and ready for him. His tongue moves painfully slow, licking the inside of your lips as you squirm in anticipation. Then he moves more center, running his tongue along the full length of your pussy, causing you to elicit a throaty moan in approval. He groans in appreciation at your neediness for him, taking it as a sign to dive into you completely. You can’t help the moan that leaves your mouth as his tongue laps at your clit hungrily. The sensitivity sending shockwaves through your body as he applies expert pressure to the sensitive bud. Your hand flings to his still-wet hair, gripping a fistful as you hold him to your pussy. 

He ravishes you. Lapping at your juices noisily as he brings one hand from your waist to dip a finger into your slick core. You groan at the sudden feeling of fullness, quickly adding a second finger to pump in and out of you. His pace is consistent, tongue at your clit, fingers in and out of you, and you can barely take it anymore. His digits stroking the most sensitive parts inside of you while his mouth works expertly at your clit—practically making out with it. God, you don’t know how much longer you’ll last like this, gasping and moaning with each curl of his fingers, Logan growling into your pussy with approval of the lewd noises you make for him. Every synapse is firing inside of you as you become laser-focused on the pleasure he gives you. You’re a mess—sputtering broken moans and words of encouragement as he works you closer and closer to your climax.

“Logan,” you gasp, “I-I’m—“ Your grip on his hair growing more desperate, trying your best to not flail your body too much as he devours you. He doesn’t say anything in response to you, far too focused on your pussy to offer more than moans in approval of your impending orgasm, like he’s egging you on with his groans and grunts. Your arousal swirls inside of you, butterflies fluttering through your bloodstream as you get closer and closer. A taut cord somewhere deep inside of you gets pulled tighter and tighter, till it snaps with white hot pressure. A guttural moan escapes your throat as a flood of pleasure rushes through your entire body, all the way to the bright fuchsia emanating from your eyes. Logan guides you from your orgasm, letting your clenching pussy ride it out on his fingers while your clit throbs on his tongue. Wave after wave hits you, like your body can’t shake the pleasure he’s given you. Back arching off the bed, your body wriggling and twitching from the force of your orgasm. The pace of Logan’s tongue slows and the pressure eases gently. Eyes half-lidded, breath heavy, you’re on cloud nine as you revel in one of the best orgasms you’ve ever had. Your bliss shrouded you so much you barely noticed the pace of Logan’s tongue quickening, his fingers gently curling inside of you as he tries to bring you towards another peak. You inhale sharply at the sudden pleasure pulsing from your clit.

“Logan,” you rasp, your body barely able to contain your writhing as he pulls you towards another orgasm. He groans into you as he feels you clench around his fingers, quickly approaching another climax. Tongue flat against your clit, lapping at it feverishly, your arousal bubbles up deep inside of your stomach before reaching its boiling point, yet again, and cascading white hot pleasure throughout your body. Your eyes pulsate pink as your moans reverberate around the space. You’ve never had an orgasm induced by another man, let alone two. Chest heaving, you attempt a glance at where Logan is situated between your legs. He’s pulled away from your center now, chin wet with a mixture of his saliva and your slick. He stares at you lustfully, panting as he plants lazy kisses to your inner thigh. Logan gets up off his knees, undoing his belt before he shoves his pants down his legs, his erection visible through his boxers. Your head falls back against the bed as he crawls on top of you, trailing kisses up your stomach to your chest. He stops at your bra-clad chest, his pelvis situated between your legs.

“Sit up,” he instructs huskily. You oblige, sitting up on your elbows to allow his arm behind you so he can unclasp your bra swiftly. The straps release their tension from your shoulders, shrugging the garment off with ease. Logan resumes the kisses to your chest from where he left off, beginning to suckle and bite at the tender flesh of your breasts and leaving marks in his wake. You hum in approval, arching into him, your bare pussy grazing his erection gently—the motion enough to elicit a low growl from his throat. He kisses up your neck, leaving licks to your jaw before capturing your lips in another needy kiss. You moan into his mouth, hips grinding down into yours. You long to feel him completely bare under you, growing desperate as the kiss deepens. Deciding you’ve had enough of his boxers, you take matters into your own hands. A slight flick of your wrist and you’ve unraveled the atomic structure of his boxers, leaving him bare above you. There’s a hesitation in his next kiss, breaking it to look down at his lower half in confusion, then back up at you.

“How’d you do that?” He asks, a mixture of confusion and amusement in his voice. You grab the back of his head, pulling him back down to your face so you can resume the kiss.

“Fuck now…ask later,” you murmur between kisses, to which Logan accepts without protest. Now you can feel the full length of his cock pressed up against your center. And this shouldn’t come as a surprise to you, considering you’ve dreamt about this, but he’s big. His size has become so much more real without the dreamy haze that you’re used to clouding it. His hips snap and the tip of his cock slips into your entrance, making you both groan at the contact. Your nails bite his skin, leaving light indentations that are gone almost instantaneously, you take notice but move on quickly when you feel Logan line himself up at your entrance.

“We’re gonna take it nice and slow, baby,” he husks, the dog tags around his neck swinging like a pendulum. You’re sure now that there’s a waterfall between your legs and that the warm up won’t be necessary, but then he presses his tip in further and you gasp suddenly at the sharp pain.

“Good girl,” he drawls, clearly trying to keep his own pleasure in control, “Take some more for me, princess.” He sinks in a few more inches. Tears prick your eyes from the stretch he’s causing to your pussy, but it feels so good. You need him deeper. Your legs hook around him, heels digging into his ass in an effort to spur him on. 

“Deeper, Logan, please,” you whine, lazily and desperately capturing his lips in a kiss.

“You sure, baby?” He asks cautiously, murmured between kisses. You nod eagerly, attempting to drive him further in and before you can even prepare it, he does. Spearing you nearly in half, you break the kiss, a mixture of moans and pained groans emanating from your lips. This is so much harder than you remember it being in your subconscious. The stretch, the fullness, the way he’s reaching your cervix already without even trying. Tears escape your eyes, but despite the strain his dick is putting on your body, it feels so good inside of you. You resume the kiss hastily, bucking your hips slightly in an attempt to get Logan to begin thrusting.

“Fuck me,” you murmur against his lips, groaning when he slides out of you, then back in languidly. You both groan into the kiss, Logan having trouble keeping his mouth on yours while he begins his thrusts. He keeps the pace slow in an attempt to preserve the integrity of your pussy and not tear you in half, but you need more of him. You want to feel him in every corner of you. 

“Logan, I’m not gonna snap, you can fuck me.”

He looks down at you, lips grazing yours, when suddenly his eyes grow darker and more lustful. Clearly planning on doing just that, he readjusts himself slightly for better leverage, and thrusts into you harder than he has all night. Back arching into him, your pained gasp melts into a high pitched moan. Logan quickens his pace now, slamming into you with animalistic intent. His mouth drops to your neck, where he kisses and sucks on the skin, marking his territory with bruised intent. He bites down into your flesh as your heels press into his ass and force him deeper into you. With each thrust he prods your cervix, making you unsure if your moans are from the sharp pain or the immense pleasure from the fullness of his cock and stretch he provides for your pussy.

“So—so tight for me, babygirl,” he growls, skin clapping against skin with a speed you didn’t even know a person could be capable of going. It’s overwhelming, you’re sure that an average person would break in half from the strength of his thrusts, even with your heightened strength you’re sure you’re going to be feeling sore well into next week. His pace doesn’t falter, not even for a second, his pants fan the skin of your neck as your nails dig into his back. You’re not even sure if he’s noticed the marks you’re leaving on his skin, caught up within his own pleasure.

“Fuck, baby—close, so close,” he groans, pulling his face from your neck to lock his lips with yours. His thrusts are so fast that you have a hard time keeping up with the kiss, a part of you growing exhausted from the onslaught on your pussy and ready for him to come inside of you.

“Come for me, please,” you whine breathlessly into the kiss. Logan doesn’t need much more coaxing before his hips stutter. He groans above you, reaching his hands above your head to support himself on the wall as he reaches the peak of his orgasm. You jump slightly at the sound of his claws retracting and stabbing into your drywall, then he unloads inside of you, releasing hot ropes of his seed with a throaty moan. His lips are barely on yours at this point as you try your hardest to maintain the kiss. He slumps over you, his back rising and falling quickly as he comes down from his orgasm. You close your eyes, feeling blissful, your pussy the perfect kind of sore. Logan trails gentle kisses up the length of your neck, peppering them along your jaw before capturing your lips with his. Pulling away, you smile at him, swiping wet hair from his forehead as he returns the smile.

“Dunno about you, princess, but I could go for another round,” he remarks, to which you laugh in response thinking he’s joking. Then suddenly you feel his dick twitch inside of you and realize he’s still hard. You huff in exhaustion, almost blushing. God, you could fuck longer, but you have nothing left in you.

“Logan, I don’t think I got much more in me,” you sigh in defeat, causing Logan to let out a soft hum in thought. He plants a gentle kiss on your lips.

“Mm, d’you…want it…again?” He murmurs between kisses, the gravel in his voice making you clench involuntarily.

“I do,” you whisper, suddenly feeling a second wind of arousal swirling inside of you. Logan slides out of you, eliciting a groan from him and a quiet whine from you.

“On your stomach,” he directs, on his knees above you now. You oblige, rolling over, arching your back slightly to allow Logan easier access to your pussy. You settle into this position—a lazy doggy-style. Logan lines himself up yet again, sinking into you with a rough groan as his hands plant on your hips. He uses your body as leverage to begin thrusting in and out of you, causing you to moan throatily at the way his dick perfectly hits all the right spots. Every ridge, every spongy part inside of you, Logan glides over expertly. Mewling and moaning in pleasure, each thrust of his hips hitting you perfectly. You’re in heaven, so relaxed, feeling so euphoric as he stretches your pussy and fills you. His hands squeeze at your hips, occasionally gliding down to your ass to give it a good squeeze.

“God, how are you tighter?” Logan groans, his thrusts hard yet languid with each roll of his hips. “Pussy so good—so, so good for me, baby.”

You don’t say anything in response—you can’t, you’re reduced to a puddle of moans and groans of pleasure beneath him. Complete putty in his hands that he can do what he pleases with. You don’t know how you’re still even conscious, exhaustion seeps into every pore of your body, but pleasure is keeping your blood flowing and your heart racing. Your clit throbs between your legs, you attempt to squeeze your thighs together to alleviate the pressure, causing Logan to moan above you as you clench.

“Keep doin’ that, princess, I just might come again,” Logan husks. You sneak a flirty glance from over your shoulder and clench your thighs together yet again, Logan clearly struggling to remain upright. Logan’s pace quickens, his thrusts snappier and more desperate. You squeeze again, and again, gyrating your ass gently each time. And that’s all it takes for him, hands flying from your waist, claws unsheathing and stabbing into your mattress as Logan rides out his second orgasm. Growling and moaning as he unloads his hot seed into you yet again. He sits there for a minute, dick twitching inside of you, claws embedded into your mattress, sweat sticking to his heaving chest. Quickly, his strength regains, and his breathing slows. He pulls out of you, still hard, slumping beside your exhausted body. You roll over, wrapping yourself around him, nuzzling into his chest. You can hear his heartbeat beneath your ear, your hand coming to play with the silver tags that lay on his chest.

There’s so much you don’t know—so much you want to know. But Logan feels so peaceful, this is so peaceful. His arms wrapped around you, his breath steady. He knows who you are, and he quite possibly might be the only person to ever understand you this innately. And, for the first time in your life, you’re excited for someone to see you for who you truly are.

...

(A/N): AHHHHHHHH!!! i'm so happy i got to write this chapter. this slow burn could've been slower but im impatient. the smut took me literal days to write, but im so happy with how it turned out!! i hope you guys are happy with the way i let it all play out, i hope no one feels it was too rushed or that some things don't make sense. there are plenty of things from logan's side that will become fleshed out later on. but if some things dont make sense feel free to ask questions in the comments and i will answer (so long as it doesn't spoil things for future chapters teehee). thank you always for the support, i read every single comment and it really keeps me going🫶🏻

to view on ao3 click here

tags: @wolviesgirl @sanemis-piss @fictionalmen-dilflover @e-nonsense

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Podcasting "Microincentives and Enshittification"

Tomorrow (Oct 25) at 10hPT/18hUK, I'm livestreaming an event called "Seizing the Means of Computation" for the Edinburgh Futures Institute.

This week on my podcast, I read my recent Medium column, "Microincentives and Enshittification," about the way that monopoly drives mediocrity, with Google's declining quality as Exhibit A:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/microincentives-and-enshittification/

It's not your imagination: Google used to be better – in every way. Search used to be better, sure, but Google used to be better as a company. It treated its workers better (for example, not laying off 12,000 workers months after a stock buyback that would have paid their salaries for the next 27 years). It had its users' backs in policy fights – standing up for Net Neutrality and the right to use encryption to keep your private data private. Even when the company made ghastly mistakes, it repented of them and reversed them, like the time it pulled out of China after it learned that Chinese state hackers had broken into Gmail in order to discover which dissidents to round up and imprison.

None of this is to say that Google used to be perfect, or even, most of the time, good. Just that things got worse. To understand why, we have to think about how decisions get made in large organizations, or, more to the point, how arguments get resolved in these organizations.

We give Google a lot of shit for its "Don't Be Evil" motto, but it's worth thinking through what that meant for the organization's outcomes over the years. Through most of Google's history, the tech labor market was incredibly tight, and skilled engineers and other technical people had a lot of choice as to where they worked. "Don't Be Evil" motivated some – many – of those workers to take a job at Google, rather than one of its rivals.

Within Google, that meant that decisions that could colorably be accused of being "evil" would face some internal pushback. Imagine a product design meeting where one faction proposes something that is bad for users, but good for the company's bottom line. Think of another faction that says, "But if we do that, we'll be 'evil.'"

I think it's safe to assume that in any high-stakes version of this argument, the profit side will prevail over the don't be evil side. Money talks and bullshit walks. But what if there were also monetary costs to being evil? Like, what if Google has to worry about users or business customers defecting to a rival? Or what if there's a credible reason to worry that a regulator will fine Google, or Congress will slap around some executives at a televised hearing?

That lets the no-evil side field a more robust counterargument: "Doing that would be evil, and we'll lose money, or face a whopping fine, or suffer reputational harms." Even if these downsides are potentially smaller than the upsides, they still help the no-evil side win the argument. That's doubly true if the downsides could depress the company's share-price, because Googlers themselves are disproportionately likely to hold Google stock, since tech companies are able to get a discount on their wage-bills by paying employees in abundant stock they print for free, rather than the scarce dollars that only come through hard graft.

When the share-price is on the line, the counterargument goes, "That would be evil, we will lose money, and you will personally be much poorer as a result." Again, this isn't dispositive – it won't win every argument ��� but it is influential. A counterargument that braids together ideology, institutional imperatives, and personal material consequences is pretty robust.

Which is where monopoly comes in. When companies grow to dominate their industries, they are less subject to all forms of discipline. Monopolists don't have to worry about losing disgusted employees, because they exert so much gravity on the labor market that they find it easy to replace them.

They don't have to worry about losing customers, because they have eliminated credible alternatives. They don't have to worry about losing users, because rivals steer clear of their core business out of fear of being bigfooted through exclusive distribution deals, predatory pricing, etc. Investors have a name for the parts of the industry dominated by Big Tech: they call it "the kill zone" and they won't back companies seeking to enter it.

When companies dominate their industries, they find it easier to capture their regulators and outspend public prosecutors who hope to hold them to account. When they lose regulatory fights, they can fund endless appeals. If they lose those appeals, they can still afford the fines, especially if they can use an army of lawyers to make sure that the fine is less than the profit realized through the bad conduct. A fine is a price.

In other words, the more dominant a company is, the harder it is for the good people within the company to win arguments about unethical and harmful proposals, and the worse the company gets. The internal culture of the company changes, and its products and services decline, but meaningful alternatives remain scarce or nonexistent.

Back to Google. Google owns more than 90% of the search market. Google can't grow by adding more Search users. The 10% of non-Google searchers are extremely familiar with Google's actions. To switch to a rival search engine, they have had to take many affirmative, technically complex steps to override the defaults in their devices and tools. It's not like an ad extolling the virtues of Google Search will bring in new customers.

Having saturated the search market, Google can only increase its Search revenues by shifting value from searchers or web publishers to itself – that is, the only path to Search growth is enshittification. They have to make things worse for end users or business customers in order to make things better for themselves:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/21/potemkin-ai/#hey-guys

This means that each executive in the Search division is forever seeking out ways to shift value to Google and away from searchers and/or publishers. When they propose a enshittificatory tactic, Google's market dominance makes it easy for them to win arguments with their teammates: "this may make you feel ashamed for making our product worse, but it will not make me poorer, it will not make the company poorer, and it won't chase off business customers or end users, therefore, we're gonna do it. Fuck your feelings."

After all, each microenshittification represents only a single Jenga block removed from the gigantic tower that is Google Search. No big deal. Some Google exec made the call to make it easier for merchants to buy space overtop searches for their rivals. That's not necessarily a bad thing: "Thinking of taking a vacation in Florida? Why not try Puerto Rico – it's a US-based Caribbean vacation without the transphobia and racism!"

But this kind of advertising also opens up lots of avenues for fraud. Scammers clone local restaurants' websites, jack up their prices by 15%, take your order, and transmit it to the real restaurant, pocketing the 15%. They get clicks by using some of that rake to buy an ad based on searches for the restaurant's name, so they show up overtop of it and rip off inattentive users:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/24/passive-income/#swiss-cheese-security

This is something Google could head off; they already verify local merchants by mailing them postcards with unique passwords that they key into a web-form. They could ban ads for websites that clone existing known merchants, but that would incur costs (engineer time) and reduce profits, both from scammers and from legit websites that trip a false positive.

The decision to sell this kind of ad, configured this way, is a direct shift of value from business customers (restaurants) and end-users (searchers) to Google. Not only that, but it's negative sum. The money Google gets from this tradeoff is less than the cost to both the restaurant (loss of goodwill from regulars who are affronted because of a sudden price rise) and searchers (who lose 15% on their dinner orders). This trade-off makes everyone except Google worse off, and it's only possible when Google is the only game in town.

It's also small potatoes. Last summer, scammers figured out how to switch out the toll-free numbers that Google displayed for every airline, redirecting people to boiler-rooms where con-artists collected their credit-card numbers and sensitive personal information (passports, etc):

https://www.nbcnews.com/tech/tech-news/phone-numbers-airlines-listed-google-directed-scammers-rcna94766

Here again, we see a series of small compromises that lead to a massive harm. Google decided to show users 800 numbers rather than links to the airlines' websites, but failed to fortify the process for assigning phone numbers to prevent this absolutely foreseeable type of fraud. It's not that Google wanted to enable fraud – it's that they created the conditions for the fraud to occur and failed to devote the resources necessary to defend against it.

Each of these compromises indicates a belief among Google decision-makers that the consequences for making their product worse will be outweighed by the value the company will generate by exposing us to harm. One reason for this belief is on display in the DOJ's antitrust case against Google:

https://www.justice.gov/opa/press-release/file/1328941/download

The case accuses Google of spending tens of billions of dollars to buy out the default search position on every platform where an internet user might conceivably perform a search. The company is lighting multiple Twitters worth of dollars on fire to keep you from ever trying another search engine.

Spraying all those dollars around doesn't just keep you from discovering a better search engine – it also prevents investors from funding that search engine in the first place. Why fund a startup in the kill-zone if no one will ever discover that it exists?

https://www.theverge.com/23802382/search-engine-google-neeva-android

Of course, Google doesn't have to grow Search to grow its revenue. Hypothetically, Google could pursue new lines of business and grow that way. This is a tried-and-true strategy for tech giants: Apple figured out how to outsource its manufacturing to the Pacific Rim; Amazon created a cloud service, Microsoft figured out how to transform itself into a cloud business.

Look hard at these success stories and you discover another reason that Google – and other large companies – struggle to grow by moving into adjacent lines of business. In each case – Apple, Microsoft, Amazon – the exec who led the charge into the new line of business became the company's next CEO.

In other words: if you are an exec at a large firm and one of your rivals successfully expands the business into a new line, they become the CEO – and you don't. That ripples out within the whole org-chart: every VP who becomes an SVP, every SVP who becomes an EVP, and every EVP who becomes a president occupies a scarce spot that it worth millions of dollars to the people who lost it.

The one thing that execs reliably collaborate on is knifing their ambitious rivals in the back. They may not agree on much, but they all agree that that guy shouldn't be in charge of this lucrative new line of business.

This "curse of bigness" is why major shifts in big companies are often attended by the return of the founder – think of Gates going back to Microsoft or Brin returning to Google to oversee their AI projects. They are the only execs that other execs can't knife in the back.

This is the real "innovator's dilemma." The internal politics of large companies make Machiavelli look like an optimist.

When your company attains a certain scale, any exec's most important rival isn't the company's competitor – it's other execs at the same company. Their success is your failure, and vice-versa.

This makes the business of removing Jenga blocks from products like Search even more fraught. These quality-degrading, profit-goosing tactics aren't coordinated among the business's princelings. When you're eating your seed-corn, you do so in private. This secrecy means that it's hard for different product-degradation strategists to realize that they are removing safeguards that someone else is relying on, or that they're adding stress to a safety measure that someone else just doubled the load on.

It's not just Google, either. All of tech is undergoing a Great Enshittening, and that's due to how intertwined all these tech companies. Think of how Google shifts value from app makers to itself, with a 30% rake on every dollar spent in an app. Google is half of the mobile duopoly, with the other half owned by Apple. But they're not competitors – they're co-managers of a cartel. The single largest deal that Google or Apple does every year is the bribe Google pays Apple to be the default search for iOS and Safari – $15-20b, every year.

If Apple and Google were mobile competitors, you'd expect them to differentiate their products, but instead, they've converged – both Apple and Google charge sky-high 30% payment processing fees to app makers.

Same goes for Google/Facebook, the adtech duopoly: not only do both companies charge advertisers and publishers sky-high commissions, clawing 51 cents out of every ad dollar, but they also illegally colluded to rig the market and pay themselves more, at advertisers' and publishers' expense:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jedi_Blue

It's not just tech, either – every sector from athletic shoes to international sea-freight is concentrated into anti-competitive, value-annihilating cartels and monopolies:

https://www.openmarketsinstitute.org/learn/monopoly-by-the-numbers

As our friends on the right are forever reminding us: "incentives matter." When a company runs out of lands to conquer, the incentives all run one direction: downhill, into a pit of enshittification. Google got worse, not because the people in it are worse (or better) than they were before – but because the constraints that discipline the company and contain its worst impulses got weaker as the company got bigger.

Here's the podcast episode:

https://craphound.com/news/2023/10/23/microincentives-and-enshittification/

And here's a direct link to the MP3 (hosting courtesy of the Internet Archive; they'll host your stuff for free, forever):

https://archive.org/download/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_452/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_452_-_Microincentives_and_Enshittification.mp3

And here's my podcast's RSS feed:

http://feeds.feedburner.com/doctorow_podcast

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/microincentives-and-enshittification/

[d3f3n3str4t10n]

Playing through Chapter 1 with the info gained from Chapter 2 (Or I guess, watching playthroughs, in my case) helps shed a lot of light on certain details... but one thing that always struck me as strange even after that was the phone call between Ashley and Renee.

Here, it seems like she's showing genuine shame for what she's doing, or what she feels like she has to do... though exactly what that is, is left unclear. The vagueness of it all is, of course, to build up mystery as to what it could mean, which we find out more about in Chapter 2. And in chapter 2, we find out that Renee was... heavily implied to be very much in on what these quarantine people were doing. Selling their organs, using their deaths as an insurance scam, to the point of willingly and deliberately hiring a hitman to kill Andrew and Ashley once they escaped.

We aren't fully sure about how deep this conspiracy goes; If this is something the water company as a whole is pushing on a widespread scale, or just certain people within it, or even if the 'parasites' are real or not. (Though I think it's all but clear that they were just made up...) We know from flashbacks and the Grave's own words that Renee wasn't exactly the most 'present' mother figure. Yet when confronted about it, she of course, denies it. (To a degree, anyway.)

We haven't seen or heard much of any direct interactions between Leyley and Renee, or much of Renee in general, so we don't have too much to go off of. This could very easily just be classic Graves' Family Gaslighting here... but I honestly think there's some truth to what Renee is saying here.

(Is it just me, or are Renee's eyes in this picture... slightly more green than they are in the present day?) Anyway, as we see in the screenshot above, Renee doesn't seem very worried about whatever Andy is upset about. We know that Andy had the responsibility of raising Leyley from a young age, which is likely what this conversation is about. Her uncaring, nonchalant look here gives off the impression that she's more annoyed about the situation than concerned. (Or she just has a resting bitch face, who knows?) She claims she "Thought they were getting along, so she didn't want to see what was happening." when apologizing to Andrew. I'm assuming this mainly meant that she didn't want to spend the time and effort to raise her kids, and just put the burden of disciplining Leyley on Andy. She was never counting on Leyley being such a handful... But she does bring up a... well, not a great point but a point nonetheless.

Why... didn't she turn her in? Ashley's quick to point out that it was simply to cover her own ass, and save herself the embarrassment and trouble that would be; having your kids murder another kid, even if accidentally... but is that... really it? Considering Andy and Leyley were so young when that happened (I'm willing to bet Andy wasn't even 10 yet. At the most, he was probably 12-13, meaning Leyley was around 10-11...) I really don't think the sentencing for them would've been... THAT bad? I don't know about the laws for this kind of stuff, but kids accidentally killing another kid while playing an innocent game of hide and seek... It feels like they very easily could've played the "I'm just a little kid I had no idea what would happen I'm so sorry" card fairly easily. This probably would've led to Mr. and Mrs. Graves taking most of the heat, being their parents. At least, that's what Ashley claims Renee was actually concerned about. But... then... why was she 'sorry' when she told Ashley to stop calling her? If she saw her as nothing more than an embarrassment, why would she say that? Was she only doing it to come off as caring one last time? Was a small spark of regret and humanity poking through her facade as she left her kids to slowly starve to death and be harvested for their organs? Did she really 'try' with Ashley? We know through the "Mother's Intuition" preview video that we'll be getting at least 1 flashback from Renee's perspective, and we know that we'll be seeing many more flashbacks with the family when they were still together, and possibly seeing some of their extended family. (Staying at their grandparent's house, for example.) I'd very much like to know what *they* thought about all this. Their reaction to Renee getting pregnant to young, why Renee decided to keep the baby, (If that was even her decision to begin with...), why she thought it was fine having another, (Even if Andy was an 'easy child,' there had to be more to that decision, surely. Was Renee just that impulsive back then? Did she not see that having 2 children would just be more work? Why did she want to have another kid specifically???)

I really do think there's more to Renee than we've seen and heard so far. I don't think she's as heartless as some of her actions make her seem. I genuinely think that, at one point, she 'tried' with Ashley. But at some point, she gave up, and left Andy to pick up the slack. Maybe it's just cope, idk.

[serpenttailedangel]

I'm back in "reading scholarly articles by people advocating for major policy and education program change" mode and, subsequently, back in "disgusted by the amount of mask-off shit people just straight up say that you get called a conspiracy theorist for repeating to people who don't read this garbage even though these fuckers publish their insanity" mode. Presumably, these people expect that no one outside of their circles reads their stuff, so they can put it in ink. Although I guess it also helps that they use a lot of deceptive language and contradictions to try and snag people who aren't thinking too hard about what they read.

United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization has a book available for free digital download in which they argue for some pretty insane shit (claiming to support academic freedom while also mentioning they want certain research subjects suppressed, wanting more politicized disciplines to have equal input to things like chemistry and biology in medical research, and new ranking for schools based on how well they comply with this guideline rather than the quality of their research or how good they are at teaching.) I tried telling someone about it IRL and they told me that whoever I heard about it from must have been lying. When I told them I was specifically citing UNESCO's official publication on their website, this person concluded that the only logical explanation was that the UN was hacked and someone wrote and posted a 100 page hoax paper for nebulous false flag reasons, and the UN has been unable to take the fake paper down and unwilling to release a statement saying it's fake for a year now.

But. like, in defense of the people who haven't read this stuff and also don't believe it when you talk about it, I've checked four different times to make sure that the author of Drag Pedagogy is an actual person affiliated with Drag Queen Story Hour events and not some intern Ted Cruz paid to write a false flag article. Sometimes shit gets so mask-off that I struggle to believe my own eyes.

[espionn]

RainWing tribe sheet!

honestly i'm not 100% sure i like this sheet visually. its ok but not my best. i do like my more in-depth headcanon stuff for rainwings, though, so i hope people like it anyway!

fyi the next few tribes are giving me a bit of trouble so i might post these a little slower, but i still plan to get out all 10 tribes!! they just might be more than a few days apart.

Physical Appearance + Traits:

-RainWings live in the dense and tropical rainforest. Similarly to chameleons, they have prehensile tails and claws well-adapted to cling to branches; and, most strikingly, their coloration can be changed at will, to any color under the sun. This can be used for perfect and uncanny camouflage, for intimidation, for beauty and expression, and to communicate emotions. (Below is a chart of emotions corresponding with their colors; note, though, that they can be combined with each other, and patterned, to mean slightly different and more complex things.)

-Like birds of paradise, they are fond of bright and bold colors, but when they want they can also make themselves virtually undetectable. What exactly this skill is used for depends on the period of history; showing off, playing hide-and-seek, hunting, silent warfare.

-RainWings also have fangs that can be used to expel “venom” - called such for lack of a better word. It does not need to be injected to be deadly, unlike most venom, and rather seems to have a burning, warping and generally destructive effect on cells upon contact. Whether it is deadly depends on the level and location of exposure.

-Neck, chest and sometimes tail frills are used for expression and dance; the floatiness of these frills, and their color-changing abilities, make them hypnotizing. Neck ruffs in particular are commonly used for communication: perked up to show curiosity, drooping to show discomfort or sadness, and flared to show anger and to intimidate. 

-Their fifth claw - the dew claw - is larger and more opposable than those of other tribes, more like a human thumb. This, and their extra (and also more dextrous) wing claw, lets them climb and cling to trees with swiftness and ease. It also makes it easier to use tools, and crack open fruits and nuts, while keeping themselves steady and balanced. 

Life Cycle:

-RainWings are typically laid in clutches of 4-9 eggs. They take the longest of any tribe to develop within the egg; they incubate for nearly half a year, and still are hatched with pale and dull colors. As they grow, though, they get better control over their color-changing abilities through play under the watch of the rest of the tribe.

-RainWings do not form partnerships at all, and rarely mate with the same dragon twice. They also do not raise dragonets on their own; all dragonets are raised communally by the wider tribe. RainWings make friends and have positive relationships, but the idea of parental or romantic relationships are odd to the vast majority of them. Romantic partnerships are not completely unheard of, but they’re seen as unusual.

-Dragonets are naturally playful and learn to harness their abilities through games and competitions. This, though other tribes scoff at it, is quite effective, and other than a lack of structure and discipline in certain eras depending on the queen, RainWings are not less powerful than any other tribes, through nature or nurture. 

-The oldest they usually live is to 90 -100. It's uncommon to go much longer than that, which makes RainWings one of the shorter-lived tribes. Old RainWings tend to live together in their own communities within the tribe, and likewise, younger RainWings prefer each other's company. These boundaries aren't strict, but social norms expect dragons to generally stick to their age groups.

Society and Culture:

-RainWings’ societal structure has varied through time. Their ranged venom and near-invisibility makes them excellent assassins and spies, and several times in history they have been organized or hired in this way. Their nature, though, tends to be easygoing and nonviolent on the whole, and their culture tends to drift in that direction in the absence of external pressure. 

-RainWings are social dragons, and while they do not have a particularly ranked and organized society structure, like SeaWings, their social and personal dynamics are complex and important. Popular and well-liked RainWings are more successful in their tribe than those who are disliked and outcast. Their emotions are very openly communicated, and the idea of hiding thoughts and feelings is strange to them. That isn’t to say they lack subtlety and tact, but they rarely try to suppress their natural scale fluctuations. 

-A lot of RainWing culture rests on colors. They use colors to communicate and associate objects with different emotions based on their color. They sometimes set distinct color palettes in order to appear a certain way in front of others, but some level of fluctuation is impossible to avoid.

-RainWings are the only tribe that has no written language. They are completely illiterate not out of laziness or inability, but because historically they have never had need for communication that isn’t direct and in the present. Their visual signals are so complex that they might be called a crude type of sign language, less refined than Aquatic but not entirely dissimilar, but the only RainWings taught to read and write are those involved in diplomacy or other inter-tribe interactions where it may be necessary. For their own tribe affairs, verbal communication is all they need.

-One of the ultimate staples of RainWing culture is performance - theater and dance. Their dances, often synchronized, with their agile bodies, floating frills and shifting colors, are famously breathtaking and mesmerizing. There was a time when RainWing dancers would travel and perform for different tribes, and dragons scrambled to watch them. For RainWings themselves, though, the performances take on their own meanings, as emotional expression comes through in the colors and some dances tell elaborate stories through these visual cues. Silent theater, similarly, relies on color to tell stories, and these shows aren’t as popular among other tribes simply because other dragons can’t fully comprehend the meanings of different scenes.

-RainWings don’t use facial expressions much, because their scales are so adept at showing emotion, and sometimes that causes communication issues with dragons from other tribes. Similarly, they struggle to separate different tribes from their color associations; for example, it’s hard to get over the subconscious assumptions that all SkyWings are angry, all IceWings are in pain/distress, and all NightWings are constantly overflowing with rage and hatred. (@puzzled-pegasus inspired this one - hope you don’t mind me adopting it!)

-Sleep schedules are loose to non-existent, best compared to that of cats; RainWings generally sleep at midnight and midday, and are awake at dawn and dusk, but short naps throughout the day are considered normal and acceptable.

-Because of the diversity of plant life in the rainforest, RainWings have a more in-depth knowledge of toxins and medicines than any other tribe, and their medics can cure a vast number of ailments. They also have access to - and use - a great variety of stimulants and hallucinogens, usually in a festive or celebratory context.

Diet: Selectively herbivorous. RainWings can eat meat, and sometimes do, but generally they prefer to put time and energy toward gathering rather than hunting. They eat just about every type of fruit under the sun, having adapted to a high-glucose and low-protein diet, and their dishes are elaborate and flavorful with spices and sweeteners; just about every other tribe that eats plants is happy to invite RainWing fruit merchants into their towns. RainWings were also the first Pyrrhian tribe to produce chocolate.

[writingquestionsanswered]

Hiya! Not sure if you’ve answered something like this before, but if you feel comfortable answering, I’m wondering what tips you might have for writers with ADHD/ADD.

I haven’t been able to write well for years and thought it was laziness/lack of self-discipline, but it very well could be that my brain just wants to work a certain way and I didn’t know about it.

Of course, there’s no “one-fits-all” answer, but some ideas about where to start the journey of understanding what works for oneself would be nice.

Thanks!

Writing with ADHD

There are three sub-types of ADHD (inattentive/formerly ADD, hyperactive, and combined), so tips depend somewhat on which type you have. As luck would have it, I'm combined type, so I have tips for both. (And these tips can be helpful even for writers who don't have ADHD but still struggle with keeping their butts in the seat...)

Writing with Inattentive ADHD

My biggest struggle with writing is difficulty staying focused and getting sidetracked easily. Here are the things I do to work around that:

Dedicated Writing Time/Place - I'm fortunate to have a writing room with a desk, but even if you don't, just having a dedicated space for when you write can be really helpful. It also helps to make sure your chosen writing spot is tidy and free from built-in distractions, like people traffic or a distracting view. And, if you can aim for the same general writing time each day, that can help train your mind to go into writing mode when you sit down to write.

Minimize Distractions - this is a "must do" for me when I sit down to write. Phone goes on silent, no TV, no music with lyrics, no social media, and if it's a busy day outside I close the shades and put on headphones. Also, nicely ask anyone else in the house not to distract you during your writing session.

Regulating with a Timer - When I'm really struggling, I've found that timers are very helpful in keeping me on track. If I need to stop to research something along the way, I set the timer for 10-minutes. If I can't find out what I need to know in that time, I note it for later research and keep going with a placeholder. I'll also set the timer for breaks, writing sprints, or anything that might pull me off course.

Scene Lists & Timelines - Having a scene list to follow was a real game changer for me early on in novel writing endeavors. When I start to feel my mind wander, just putting my eyes on the scene list to see where I'm supposed to be and where I'm supposed to be heading can be enough to get me back on track. Checking off each scene and plot point along the way makes it more task-driven which also seems to help keep me on track. You could do this with a timeline, too. And even if you're not a planner but like to write organically, you can still keep kind of a general scene list or timeline to keep you on course.

Writing with Hyperactive ADHD

My biggest struggle with the hyperactive side of my ADHD is fighting the constant need to get up and be anywhere but in my chair typing. I've actually been working on this post for an hour because I haven't done any of my safeguards, so I've been out of this chair probably 20 times since I hit the answer button. Here's what I could have done to prevent this...

Start Writing on a Full Stomach - Nothing gets me out of my chair more often when I'm writing than feeling like I'm hungry. So, I get up, eat a small snack. Sit down and type for a few minutes. Then decide I need another small snack. Whether you write after you've eaten a meal, sit down to write with something to drink and munch on, or just make sure you've got your big water bottle there, eliminating hunger pains as a reason to get up makes all the difference.

Do Writing Sprints - Set a timer for anywhere from five minutes to an hour, and write as much as you can during that time without stopping to edit or evaluate your work. Writing sprints are a great way to focus your energy to make sure writing is getting done. Five-minute intervals work great for me, but sometimes I can do ten-minute intervals. When the timer goes off, I set it again and get up to do a few things like stretch or get something to drink. Preferably anything that won't take longer than the timer or snowball into something else. This way, if I'm only writing for an hour I still get a solid 30-minutes of writing in even if I'm up and out of my chair every five minutes.

Keep a Basket of Fidget Toys - This doesn't always work for me, but sometimes it helps to have something to fidget with during the moments when I pause to think. Thinking putty, fidget spinners, stress balls... Anything you can do for a second while you're thinking and immediately put back down. That way you don't get up out of your seat looking for something to direct that energy toward.

Speech to Text App - If you really need to be up and moving, try getting a speech to text app for your phone and writing your story verbally while you do other things.

I hope that these tips will help you be able to sit down and start writing again. If you need ideas for exactly how to outline your story or general ideas for how to get started, see my guide to How to Outline a Plot as well as my Plot & Story Structure master list of posts.

Best wishes on your ADHD writing journey! ♥

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[sathanasslut]

I'm back at it again :)

(To Sodo's detriment, it seems...)

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Rain / Dewdrop / Swiss

Tags: Dom/Sub/Sub, Overstimulation, Punishment, Voyeurism

Word Count: 2,938

Read on Ao3 or below the cut!

"What the fuck was that?" Rain hisses, shoving Dew's shoulder. Hard. Dew growls in response, stumbling a couple of steps back. "You need attention, huh? Is that it?"

Rain was ever so good at being the calm one of the group, a pleasant, mild-mannered ghoul who tried his best to talk everything out before resorting to more drastic measures. Usually. Not today, nor after Dew had sunk his teeth into Mountain's palm during one of his hissy fits.

"Knees." Rain commands, the thudding in his chest making it hard to hear anything else. "Now."

Dew relents only because he can smell the genuine anger radiating off of his packmate. He knows he's pushed it too far, but that doesn't mean he's going to just roll over and weep in apology. Regardless, he kneels as he was instructed.

In one swift motion, Rain's glove is removed from his hand and used like a whip against Dewdrop's cheek, leather biting into his freckled skin.

"God- what the fuck!?" Dew gasps out, a hand applying pressure onto the crimson mark flourishing on his face. "The hell is wrong with you?"

Fingers wrap around Dew's throat, applying pressure without hesitation, deftly cutting off his airflow.

"I don't wanna hear a goddamn thing come out of your mouth unless it's your safeword. Understand?" Rain's voice is low, gravelly, taking a tone that can only mean Dew is not gonna be in for an easy night. "You've got hell to pay, so I need you to shut up and take it already."

Dew pulls at his lip with his teeth, the metallic tang of blood teasing at the tip of his tongue.

"Or fucking what?" He just can't help himself. Not when Rain is already so riled up, and Dew can already feel the heat pooling in his abdomen. "Gonna fuck me about it? You know I can take anything you've-"

If the choking didn't shut him up, Rain's two fingers being forced into his open mouth all the way to the entrance of his throat sure did. He gags, not having any warning that would enable him to quell the reflex. Rain seems to trill at the noise, taking great pleasure in Dew's discomfort.

"Shut. The. Fuck. Up." He punctuated every word by shoving his fingers a little further into the warmth of Dew's throat, his body responding to the familiar sensation of pushing deeper. "I won't be the one fucking you tonight. You of all people know only good boys get the honour of pleasing me. And you… you haven't been a very good boy, have you, Dewdrop?"

The way Rain says his name makes him want to melt, his tone soft, a complete contrast to the fury evident in his eyes and the bite behind his words.

Just as tears begin to well in Dewdrop's eyes, Rain pulls his hand back, wiping the saliva onto Dew's stinging cheek.

"You've been bad. Very bad…" Rain takes a step back, and Dew finally feels like he can breathe for a moment, despite the slight ache blossoming in his chest at the realisation that Rain is disappointed in him. "But that's okay, because I do have a good boy. One that I know is just desperate to help me discipline your hissy ass once and for all."

Dew tilts his head at that, like a cat hearing an unfamiliar noise. Rain… has a good boy? He's always been Rain's good boy… So what the fuck is this?

Rain smirks at the look of confusion written across Dew's expression.

"In, boy." Rain commands, and the door cracks open agonisingly slowly. Dew's mouth falls open at the sight of Swiss pushing his way through the doorway. The door clicks shut behind Swiss, and he locks it without a second thought.

"You see, brat…" Rain glances at Dew, stepping closer to Swiss. "I've tried for so long to put you in your place alone, I think it's time I accepted I need some help. Some muscle." His hand wraps around one of Swiss' biceps, squeezing gently. "It's just so convenient that my good boy deserves a reward, right when my bad boy decides to earn a punishment."

Bad. That word is starting to get to Dew now, the submissive mindset kicking in and triggering the drive to be good for his dominant. But he hasn't been good, and he's becoming overwhelmed by shame.

"Is this… really okay?" Swiss' voice is like Dew's never heard it before. That usual smooth tone hidden away by a blanket of submission and obedience. Dew grits his teeth.

"Are you questioning me?" Rain's voice doesn't hold the same anger when he addresses Swiss that it does when he speaks to Dew, and that only serves to piss him off more. Swiss only shakes his head, which seems to appease Rain.

Dew wants to speak up, to ask what's happening, what's about to happen - but his cheek still stings, an aching reminder of Rain's warning to 'shut the fuck up'. It doesn't matter though, as Rain clearly picks up on Dew's curiosity.

"Do I need to spell it out for you?" There's that harsh tone again, irritation. "Our little multi-ghoul here has made such good progress with me recently, he deserves to let loose and have some unrestrained fun. And you… you've exhausted all of my other options, so I'm going to allow him to exhaust you."

It finally clicks in Dew's head, and he looks between Rain and Swiss like he's watching a tennis match.

"There it is." Rain sighs, squatting besides Dew and grabbing a handful of his hair. "You take your time sometimes. Don't you, brat?"

Brat. He doesn't like being a brat, but he knows he's earned this treatment.

"He's gonna… we're gonna-…?" Dew stutters out, his eyes trained purely on the awkward stance Swiss has adopted besides the bed. It sends a shiver down his spine, seeing his cocky, free-spirited bandmate all placid, tamed.

Rain doesn't even deign that with a response, just turning his back on Dewdrop and sauntering through the room, seating himself in an armchair besides the bed.

"Bed. Now." His eyes are on Swiss, but Dew knows the order is for him. He tries to find his way to his feet, but a leather glove implanting itself into the wall besides his head forces his body to freeze. "Crawl." comes the amended command.

So, crawl he does. He can feel Swiss' eyes on him, but the multi-ghoul is silent. It's eerie, his head ringing with all of the teasing comments he would assume Swiss would make in this scenario, but the reality is completely void of them.

Once he's situated atop the silk sheets, another command comes. "Hand and knees." for him. "Behind him." for Swiss.

They both assume their positions, still fully clothed. Dew's eyes are trained on the baby blue sheets below him, but Swiss' can only focus on Rain's form, lounging in the armchair.

"What, don't know what to do with the pretty little reward I'm giving you, baby?" Rain laughs softly, looking at the way Swiss has frozen behind Dew like a deer in headlights. "Undress him, touch him. Use him."

Swiss' body tingles with anticipation, his hands already reaching to unbuckle Dew's belt now that he's been given explicit permission. Dew squirms at the slow way Swiss' hands work to tug off his trousers, fighting the urge to just throw off his clothes himself and get this over with.

"Is this okay…?" It's that meek, disconcerting tone again, a mockery of Swiss' voice. They've fucked before, plenty of times, but he's never been exposed to this side of Swiss, and it's really throwing him off.

"Obviously. Get on with it." Impatience continues to gnaw at Dew, he'd been wet since the moment Rain had thrown him into his bedroom, and he really didn't want to waste time pussyfooting about.

Though, his impatience proved to be a mistake.

Neither of them even noticed Rain getting out of his seat until his hand is forcing Dew's face into the pillows, pushing him into an arch that has Swiss aching.

"Watch your fucking mouth." Rain growls, his warm breath grazing Dew's ear. "Your his treat, brat. He can toy with you in whichever way he likes. He doesn't even have to fuck you if he doesn't want to, you know you haven't earned it."

The pressure is gone as soon as it came, and Rain plops himself back into his seat with a small hand gesture telling Swiss to proceed.

Dew shudders. Oh Dark Lord, Rain is hot when he's scary. Swiss' mind spins, noting that Dew didn't move an inch from his arched position even without Rain enforcing it.

"Anything goes?" Swiss queries, looking to Rain for confirmation, which he receives in the form of a nod. "Oh, perfect..." He's practically purring at just the thoughts of what he can do with this blessing.

Swiss finally tugs off Dew's boxers, having to physically restrain himself from gnawing at the wet patch soaking into them. It doesn't bother him too much, not when his eyes stray from the fabric to focus on Dew's pretty pussy, right in front of him, all exposed and just dripping.

"Oh, Sathanas…" His trousers become impossibly tighter, saliva pooling in his mouth. He sees every small movement in Dew's body, the slight twitch as a drip of slick runs down his pale skin, the way he presses his thighs together as Swiss just stares.

Dew can smell the lust in the air, but holy fuck, Swiss is still not touching him. He feels like he's going to explode, or at least he's moment's away from giving in and shoving his own fingers in - though, he can only imagine the punishment he'd get for that. It doesn't matter though, not when he feels Swiss' breath shudder between his thighs, and a tongue runs firmly against his core.

"Shit-" Dew gasps, fingers curling in the silk of Rain's bedsheets. He has to stop himself from mewling, pleasure already coursing through his veins.

"Does he taste good, baby?" Rain practically cooes, a slight smile on his lips as he sees both of his boys already shaking with pleasure.

Swiss can't form words, not when his mouth is busy devouring his bandmate, fulfilling a thirst he didn't realise he had until now. He can only hum in response, whining happily as his tongue breaches Dew's entrance, delving deeper in search for more of this utterly divine taste.

Dew feels the sweat beading on his back, his stomach tightening and thighs shaking with every single movement Swiss makes. That hum almost sends him over the edge, his clit pulsing at the soft vibrations. His tail curls around his own thigh, a grounding sensation to keep him from truly getting lost in this pleasure. It's not much of a punishment, he thinks, but he knows not to underestimate Rain.

Dread begins to dawn on Dew as Swiss' actions become more fervent, his muscles clenching and his hips bucking. "Im… Swiss, fuck, Rain- I'm-..." He pants, his eyes squeezed shut as he pushes every ounce of focus into keeping himself under control.

Rain let's out a cold laugh. "Already? Pathetic." Dew hears him step closer, but his eyes stay screwed shut. He thinks whatever dark look Rain has in his eyes, paired with the way Swiss is using his tongue, would demolish his restraint in an instant.

"Puppy?" Rain's voice softens slightly, his hand gently pulling Swiss' face from between Dew's thighs. Swiss pouts slightly, his lips glistening. "You're gonna push him over the edge. Is that what you want?"

Swiss nods, his chest rising and falling rapidly with irregular breaths. His brain is a fog, the only clarity is his primal instinct to have his mouth enveloped in Dew's warmth again already.

"I see." Rain grins, his eyes sparkling with pleasure. "Go on, then. Destroy your toy, puppy."

Dew doesn't care that Swiss' teeth graze catch on parts they shouldn't be catching on, not when he can feel the pleasure forcing its way into every inch of his body. He doesn't even know when his orgasm hits, his entire body short circuiting as Swiss' tongue fucks him over the edge and doesn't stop.

"Oh fuck- Oh Satan below, please, fuck-!" Dew gasps, his body pressed flat against the sheets as he squirms and begs. Swiss pays him no mind, flipping him onto his back in one swift motion and tugging his thighs over his shoulders, immediately diving in for more.

He has unfettered access to Dew's clit in this position, and he doesn't hold himself back one bit. He sucks it harshly and tugs at the sensitive bud with his teeth, his tongue flicking it skillfully.

Dew can barely inhale enough to beg, the muscles in his thighs cramping so hard they ache. He doesn't know what the words spilling from his mouth actually are, just that Swiss isn't stopping, and the low hum of Rain's laugh indicates that he's saying something truly pathetic.

He doesn't care, not when he feels like his soul is being torn from his body by the heat of Swiss' mouth and the dexterity of his tongue.

Dew's sharp tug at Swiss' hair elicits a sinful moan from the multi-ghoul, and that alone is enough to send Dew over the edge again. He thinks he might have actually screamed that time, and through his tear-filled eyes he can see drips of squirt dripping down every inch of Swiss' face.

"How easy…" Rain chimes in, admittedly feeling himself becoming quite overwhelmed by the sight of Dew's shaking body and Swiss losing himself in the pleasure of another. He hadn't even noticed until then that Swiss was grinding onto the sheets, the zipper of his trousers fighting for its life. "He's such a slutty toy, isn't he baby?"

Finally, Swiss pulls back to breathe, his tongue lapping up the juices dripping from his moustache.

"Toy…" He pants, his eyes roaming Dew's trembling body. He knows his primal side is taking over, and he isn't resisting it one bit.

Dew yelps as Swiss shoves his thighs apart and plants himself between them, claws tears his shirt to shreds. He doesn't get a chance to say anything, not before Swiss' tongue is back to work, this time tormenting a pierced nipple standing proud on his chest. His head spins, and he can't do anything but moan and squirm.

Rain almost pities Swiss, watching as Swiss' clothed crotch bucks up between Dew's thighs, imitating fucking the smaller ghoul in a fit of desperation.

He can't help but enjoy it, though. His puppy is just so needy, and he's putting all of his effort into committing this image to memory.

"You can fuck him, pup." Rain takes it upon himself to remind Swiss, knowing that if he doesn't, Swiss is gonna blow his load in his boxers like a horny teenager. "Show him how good you can be."

Both of the ghouls on the bed respond with whines and groans, Swiss' teeth tugging on the nipple piercing as his hands fumble with his trousers. He pulls the waist and of his trousers and boxers down the smallest amount possible, and in one moment, pushes himself inside of Dewdrop.

Dew's back arches on the bed, his claws digging into Swiss' back. He doesn't even get a second to adjust, before Swiss is pulling back and fucking himself back in, further.

"You're not even all the way in…" Rain sighs, a hint of humour behind his tone. "Fuck him properly, come on."

Swiss whines, his lips forming a pout, but he obeys. He takes a deep breath, and eases himself all the way in.

"Tight… wet, hot…" The words practically drip from his mouth, meant as a form of praise, but coming out as nothing more than lewd rambling. "Deep, perfect..."

Dew's body doesn't seem to care that he's already cum twice at this point, his clit throbbing at Swiss' words and his guts twisting, as if begging Swiss to go deeper.

Rain can barely restrain himself at that point, finally slipping a hand beneath his jeans and palming himself slowly. Oh, his sweethearts fit together so well.

It's barely a few moments before Swiss' thrusts stutter and that familiar warmth pulses inside of Dew, his own cunt clenching and spasming at the sensation. His claws puncture holes into Rain's bedsheets, and he can hear his own pants and whines flooding the room.

But… it doesn't stop. More specifically, Swiss doesn't stop. Dew spots a cruel grin on Rain's face through the tears in his eyes. Fuck. This is a punishment, after all.

It could've been hours, days, weeks, before Dew is given enough of a moment to come back to himself. Swiss is still inside of him, filling him to the brim with his cock and cum, but his movements have stilled entirely. They're on the bed, all three of them apparently.

"You can be a good boy, when you want to be. I knew you had it in you, precious." Rain is… talking to him? Dew's tail ripples with happiness, and he nuzzles the water ghoul's neck affectionately. "That's it, good boy."

Good boy. He's been good.

"Mmph… good." Swiss mumbles, his mind fried from the pleasure, but a fragment of clarity reminding him of the aftercare Dew deserves after such a rough session. "Good boy."

"Good boys." Rain affirms, his once cruel grin entirely wiped away by the genuine smile the sight of his bandmates cuddling pulls out of him. "My good boys."

[stuckinapril]

hi this may sound silly but re: your post about loving to study, and mentioning someone treating it like a game, how do you get into that mindset? like as in how do you start to really enjoy it? don't get me wrong i love learning, but the more monotonous parts of studying specifically make it harder to do. any tips?

not silly at all! to me studying is literally a sport just like any other. it takes time and patience and practice to build stamina for it. i set timers and try to cram as much as i possibly can (one of my favorite apps for this is forest), literally all my bedroom walls are tacked top to bottom with sticky notes pertaining to study concepts and questions and reminders, i make myself quizzes, i reward myself w things based on how much i study (if i get x amount done, i will allow myself to do y), i crunch flash cards on the treadmill, i play jazz instrumentals on sunny winter mornings while i study, i dress up and put on my favorite perfume and lip gloss and pretend i'm one of my favorite studious characters going through my notes, sometimes i will pace around w my textbook in hand if i get restless, i switch my environments a lot (you will literally catch me studying at a beach if it means i'm focused there and getting things done), i make sure my workspace is pretty and organized and inviting, i make cute study moodboards and have a lot of motivational quotes on hand, i interleave subjects so that i don't get bored studying something for long blocks of time, i have a list of what my goals are and will sometimes have them on my desk so that whenever i'm demotivated i remind myself why this matters to me to begin w, i follow discipline over motivation (having a study routine is so vital!!!! i live by my calendar), and last but not least i have a huge appreciation for what i'm studying and try not to fall into the trap of "this is boring." instead i actually try to engage critically w the material and give it the love it deserves.

also!!! challenge has always attracted me--if i don't understand a topic well i gravitate towards it more, bc it genuinely bothers me not to be able to do something proficiently (very likely my mom's neurotic influence). that disposition goes hand in hand w the skill set needed for effective studying.

[andwhentheangelscome]

go off about the DE debrief pls

Okay okay okay okay SO - gosh, where to even begin.

Okay, so: You're standing above the Whirling-In-Rags (which - by the way - is an INCREDIBLE name for this particular location, as Harry is quite literally caught in the storm of his own hopes and failures and responsibilities and poverty BUT I DIGRESS ALREADY), and you're invited to take in a view of the square which will comprise a central location for the game's central drama, and here, at the end of your first day - for a new player, spent running around haphazardly, talking to people who hate you, who have strong opinions about you and about this world that you barely understand - both as the player AND diegetically as Harry - and right before you try to pack it in and give it another go tomorrow, Kim does something important: he invites you into the story in a way that frames not only what you have done in a way that is encouraging (something needed as a player after all the disorientation) but also deeply personal for this character.

This moment isn't just about the narrative gameplay utility of taking the player aside after they've finished Chapter One (so to speak) and making sure they understood the major components of the story that they're in. It's about giving the player a chance to see Kim Kitsuragi - a character who is deeply straight laced, and particular, and necessary for Harry's potential to heal and to move forward from this point where he's found himself - in a moment of genuine vulnerability, and also genuine power.

Kim pulls a cigarette. His minor vice, his personal challenge, one of the markers of his Cool. He takes you through the days events, making sure that as a new player, you aren't completely lost as to what your goals are here, and what's central to achieving them.

(I had forgotten about this until I've been watching it back - he also compliments the snakeskin shoes!!! The green does compliment the orange!!! And those SHOES - one of the many things that makes me headcanon Harry as a closeted-even-to-himself bisexual, like - Kim KNOWS that it's a bold fashion choice and admires it, okay I'm veering off what's just in the text itself now here)

And then he "zooms out," so to speak. We get a discussion of the RCM, an organization which is core to Kim's belief system, which I read as being a steadfast commitment to the ideals of self-governance, of propriety in the social order, of there being a right way to carry a weapon, and a right way to protect the things worth protecting.

He talks about having been a Moralist (a political ideology coded as being similar to specifically European Liberalism), when he was younger, and falters when trying to articulate why he moved on from their beliefs, except for throwing in a comment about how their motto is more about "what they want you to think about them" implying that, for all their talk, they fail to truly meet those values of "Love, Compassion, Self-Discipline", a statement which the situation in Martinaise genuinely supports.

And it's hard to understate how good the music is in this scene too. Breathy and expansive and yearning and defiant and sad.... It's everything that the story is set up to make you feel. It's big, and it's aching, and musically it's all about how it isn't time to give up yet, not now, not while there's still some way to stand on your two feet and do something about all the problems in the world.

And what's insane about that feeling and that idea is that it's actually the central thing that Harry and Kim deeply share. It's what makes them good cops. The story tells us - both directly through text, and through their actions (assuming that you're not playing Harry as a fucking fascist) - that they get up, every day, broken as they are, and try to Do Good in a world that is beautiful, and hostile, and complicated, and impossibly hard to see clearly through all of the ideologies, and the daily grind, and all the pointless pain, but you still have to try to do the right thing. Because it's worth it. Because that's what you owe it.

Harry has been beaten down by this challenge. He's tried to be good, and smart, and tough enough to take on the problems of the world, and of his community, and he has been brought here: to his last leg, to the Whirling-In-Rags, certain in his heart that he's been beat.

But Kim refuses to accept that answer, and so does Harry's soul (a stand-in for us, as the player), he refuses to accept that nothing can be done, just because the problems seem so large, and intractable.

And then Kim does the best thing that he could for Harry, and for us, who are facing the same exact questions in our own, much bigger, just as complicated world:

He stares the challenge down with courage. And despite what he believes through the clarity of his sight, he hopes for a better world:

It's this line, this Perception check, that I always come back to, when I think about what this game really wants me to take away from this whole story. There's more to it than just that, of course, this game is full of lessons about money, soldiers, workers, sex, power, honor, and beauty,

but this is the thing that I need the most, when I'm trying to find my own way forward. I need to be able to acknowledge that maybe I won't see the world become more kind, more loving, and more honest before I die. Maybe it'll still be just as hard and bleak in 20 or 50 or 100 years.

But still.

I still have to believe that the struggle won't break me down. That the work, the very belief that trying is worth it, will drive me forward,

that it will make me look young. when it should make me look tired.

And then just like that, it's over. It's time to go back inside, to let the moment fade, and to take that courage as far as it will take you.

There are so many good scenes and interactions in this incredible masterpiece of gameplay and storytelling, but the Day One debrief will stick with me forever, I think.

[spiderfreedom]

men's feelings aren't really our concern

From a review of a radical feminist book, emphasis mine:

I can't get on board with the anti-family, pro-abortion, even at times anti-sex (a radical celibacy which is purely politically motivated), other times it's about a political homosexuality, or the anarchy / Marxism. The tension radical feminists must live in by simultaneously wanting abortion on demand while knowing this automatically benefits sexually liberal men is part of the reason why I don't want to be in their shoes.

There is no tension whatsoever because feminism is about liberating women, not punishing men.

Example: I believe women should be allowed to work without needing to wear bras or shave their legs, even if some men will find this sexually arousing, because organizing your life around what men do or don't want is not what feminism is about. Feminism is about women's liberation. I think it's far more worrying that women's bodies are treated as naturally disgusting and in need of disciplining. Some man, somewhere, is always going to be aroused by a woman's body or presentation. That's not my problem. The society shaming the woman for her body is the problem.

Some men may think abortion is a good thing to them because it means there's a possibility of having sex without a baby. But abortion is something that should only be in the hands of women. If it so happens that a man benefits from a particular woman choosing to abort, that is his problem. The goal is not to punish him for the sake of punishing him. The goal is for women to be able to control their reproduction free from male violence and coercion. Forcing women to have babies they don't want to "punish" a sexually liberal man is such a ridiculous notion that I'm not sure OP thought out the implication of that - a man should be tied to a woman he does not want to be with (and she may not want to be with him either) as a "punishment"... sounds more like punishing the woman.

Women's liberation will often inconvenience men or cause them to lose privileges, but the point is not to be some kind of judge from on high punishing men. We should only be interested in punishment if it has to do with justice, not for punishment's sake. Whether men feel good or bad about liberation is not our concern.

[cepheusgalaxy]

And it's done! Props to @letitbehurt for the yummy prompt. I'm an absolute sucker for stoic whumpees, so I chose her prompt to write first!

CWs: Exhaustion whump, bad decisions

Whumpee didn’t feel very good.

She wavered it off, though, shooking their head and massaging their temples for a second. Whatever it was, she didn’t have time for it right now.

Their plan couldn’t just wait for another day. Their team was waiting.

Whumpee took a deep breath, and then another, and composed themselves together, as they should.

They finished getting dressed, a black cardigan and the leather boots they’ve been given, and dragged themselves to the living room.

The capitain didn’t notice them arriving. She seemed to be looking over a map, and when Whumpee got closer, they may have saw her biting her lip, but she wasn’t sure.

Whumpee saw the team members arriving and she straightened her spine and got in a proper position. That made the room spin a bit more than it should.

— Is everybody here? — Capitain said. — I’ve talked to our mole, and they said today is the day we can infiltrate. We will rehearse the plan one more time and... — She looked at her. — Whumpee? Are you hearing me?

Whumpee had lost balance for a second, and she was quick to get herself together and stand straight.

— Yes, ma’am.

Capitain didn’t send her another look, and started repassing the plan. Whumpee resisted the urge to close their eyes. Why was everything so bright today? Her head was pounding for some reason, and she desperately longed for them to get over the plan and make silence.

They tried to stay focused on Capitain’s words and on the map, but the roadlines where getting mashed together and it was being hard to focus. Well, no problem, she thought, a little frustrated. Whumpee had already decorated the map and the plan, and prepared themselves to every variable. They had spent nights in clear rehearsing everything and thinking of solutions to everything that could go wrong. That’s why they were sent here, after all.

--

Capitain finished talking and let her team give another look at the blueprints and roadways they would take, and she fought the urge to rehearse the plan just once more. They unfortunately didn’t have time for it. Yea, time, it was a precious thing. They had to get in, and then out. She bit her lip and ran her hand through her hair.

She turned to Whumpee. Yes, that’s right, she thought. Whumpee had been working with them for a few months now, and they were brilliant. She was an agent from another organization, a recently-made ally, and were sent to help them. Whumpee was strong, disciplined, smart, efficient, and now, a fundamental part of all their plans.

She was always stable and composed and... Capitain squinted her eyes. They didn’t seem to be very focused today. But that should be okay, right?

— Liberated, everybody. — She clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention. All heads turned back to her — Remember your roles and finish the preparatives. We go at dawn. — As both anxious and excited confirmations started leaving the room along with the members and Whumpee moved herself to leave as well, Capitain rose her hand. — Not you, Whumpee. I want to talk. Are you ready for tonight already?

Capitain’s eyes got a glimpse of a flinch, but she wavered it off. Whumpee wasn’t one to flinch.

— Miss? — They answered in a slightly lower voice than they usually would.

Capitain didn’t know exactly how to get the information that she wanted. She hadn’t worked with Whumpee for much time, and still hadn’t had the chance to know her, besides her brilliant usefulness, but maybe...

— Are you sure you are in condition to make this work?

— Yes, Capitain. I am. — She answered without hesitation.

Capitain crossed her arms and looked straight in her eyes. Capitain was tall and had to look down on most people, but never on Whumpee. She could easily be on the same level as them.

— You seem off. You might want to rest for a bit and eat well before...

Capitain interrupted herself when Whumpee lost balance and fell foward. Capitain rushed to catch them, shock rising inside her.

— Whumpee? Whumpee, what happened?

— I’m...It’s alright, I’m... — They said as they supported themselves on her arms to get themselves back up. They brushed their eyes. Now that she was that close, Capitain saw that she looked way more than off. She looked... exhausted.

Capitain swallowed up. Was she being affected that much? Maybe she had noticed Whumpee was skipping some nights to work, but... She didn’t think Whumpee would go that far. Shit. Capitain didn’t want to leave Whumpee here, she was a fundamental part of the operation, but if she went as she was...

They would be set up to fail.

Damn it.

— Whumpee, have you slept? Are you sick?

— I’m not sick — Whumpee defended herself.

— Have you slept?

Whumpee avoided answering, and as she turned her head away, Capitain took a decision.

This wasn’t their only chance, she reassured herself. If they went now, things would probably end up terrible. Capitain had been working on this field for almost a decade now, and she knew how to evaluate risks.

Even when she didn’t want to.

— The operation — she sighed, and walked up to a table and began scribbling a note in a letter — will be delayed.

Whumpee didn’t seem to have heard her at first, but then her expression changed, and she said:

— What? Ma’am, why? If it’s me, please know I’m alright! — They pointed to themselves — I can still play my role-

Capitain interrupted them with an abrupt hand motion.

— No. You can barely stand still. It’s not something I had taken into account... — she dreaded — But it’s not worth the risk. We can retreat and alter the plan and readjust things with our allies... — Oh that would be a pain. This operation had taken a month to get ready. If only she hadn’t relied on Whumpee that much...

They still protested a bit, but Capitain was firm and ordered them to fix their sleep schedule. Whumpee, with no choice, quit and obeyed.

Capitain sighed in frustration, and started calling her team and sending messages.

--

The sun had just started to set, and Whumpee already was in position.

She knew the plan by hand at this point, and she knew exactly which parts she could do alone, and which parts there would be no chance of doing later, not with great sacrifice.

She tsked internally. If Capitain didn’t want the plan to occur today just because she was feeling a little tired, fine, but they wouldn’t let it all go down the hill because of a mistake of her part.

It was her job after all.

So they wavered it off and massaged her temples, trying to take the pain of the bright world and loud everything around them.

She didn’t have the time for that right now.

[cnestus]

re: your last post about career options in entomology, consider this an invitation to talk about what you think about molecular systematics and its role in taxonomy/phylogeny. i'm an undergrad currently in a lab focused on the phylogeny of benthic marine inverts, and the vast bulk of our work is based on molecular data. i'm interested in hearing your thoughts on the topic!

i should be clear and say that i have no inherent problems with molecular systematics as an approach to taxonomy, and in many cases it can be a tremendous boon to the field and pretty much the only way to untangle some particularly gnarly taxonomic knots.

i guess my problem arises from how the ascendancy of molecular systematics is crowding out traditional morphological taxonomy, to the point where, like i was complaining in my last post, many subdisciplines are disappearing because nobody is replacing the aging and dying experts on many groups of insects and other organisms. i think that very few people who do molecular systematics would themselves argue that they should replace traditional taxonomists, but i also think that academic administrators and funding agency bureaucrats see the difference in "efficiency" between one scientist who needs years if not decades to publish a comprehensive monograph on their study group, and another who can slam a bunch of samples through a machine and describe a hundred new species in a semester, and would prefer to fund the latter. i'm being unfairly reductive here of course, but my point is that in the publish-or-perish culture of academia, being able to churn out papers faster will always be rewarded and tilts the game way towards molecular taxonomists. even incoming grad students who want to study to become morphological taxonomists are having a harder time securing the funds to do so.

i just worry about what things are going to look like in even 10 or 20 years from now when the last of the old-timers have died off and very few have been replaced. even if you can technically identify an organism of interest through sequencing it's CO1 gene or whatever, that's no replacement for having an actual expert who can way more quickly and authoritatively tell you what it is without having to be connected to Genbank.

(far more minor, but i also think that molecular work places far too great of an emphasis on dogmatic phylogenetic taxonomizing over more practical groupings. this is pure old man grumbling but i absolutely can't stand how every few years someone recategorizes some group of insects based on their genetic sequences and suddenly i gotta relearn a bunch of new taxonomies and relabel a bunch of shit because every group's just gotta be 100% monophyletic. fuck monophyly! i will not elaborate on this!)

anyway back to my main point, again i'm sure i'm being reductive and unfair and there are absolutely labs that make use of both morphological and molecular taxonomic methods, but it's just a worrying trend to me. i just can't help but feel like the ascendancy of molecular systematics is of a piece with the inexorable automation of so many other jobs and disciplines, like a robot replacing the craftsman it was ostensibly designed to assist.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

you seem really organized. are you? if yes, have you always been this way? how does one get to this point of discipline?

I'd say I'm pretty organized. I don't know if I've always been this way or if I was forced to be this way. XD Probably both. But organized looks different for everyone. I can share some things I do, though.

Everything has a designated place. I always remember where everything is if it goes back to the same place.

Use any spare time. When I have a free ten minutes (or any amount of downtime), I will use it to clear my surroundings. Even if it's as small as putting my pens in order or putting away a few things, it prevents a big mess from ever happening.

When putting things away, things I use most often are placed in easy reach. If I want to use something more often, I will move it to the front.

I am always altering my organization for optimization rather than aesthetics. I am neat, but it is more important for me to use my things. If I want to use something more often, I will make it more accessible.

Tasks are in order of priority and efficiency. I will do multiple tasks at once if I think it is most efficient - sometimes with my two hands doing two different things. I have mental checkpoints to double check to make sure I didn't miss anything. And, of course, I have priorities of each day and focus on doing those things first.

I use alarms if something is time sensitive. These days you can change alarm sounds on your clock app to customize the type of sound to alert you of different things. Most of the time I don't need it, but it's a good habit to get into. Inevitably, I will get old and will be glad I already thought to do this.

Plan ahead for your future self. I do this a lot. If I purchased a bulk meal, I will separate it to meal-sized portions and store them that way so I only need to reheat a portion instead of having to lug the whole thing out. I will order products from soonest to expire in the front to latest in the back. When I go to my stash for a replacement, I already know the stuff closest to the front needs to be used first. I can also see if I'm running out depending on how empty the space left is.

I have a good memory. I generally don't need to write things down. I will use post-its / memo pads / notes app if I want to make a list (usually for groceries, addresses, etc). I always think in order of priority. If something doesn't need my attention right now, I'll make a mental note or stick a post-it somewhere I remember to remind myself (or set an alarm on my phone) to do it later.

Rely on your strengths and supplement your weaknesses. If you need to write things down to remember them, having list notepads in handy places or purchasing a planner can work for you. Just because I don't do it doesn't mean you shouldn't. I also don't live a very busy life. My current system works for now but might not in the future which is why I'm always thinking of future ways I can adapt. There are lots of planning styles out there you can research and experiment with to make your own perfect one. If your time is very important, try time blocking. If you need to be more flexible, utilize technology (Notion, Google calendar, other pre-installed apps on your phone, etc) to reposition things if needed. Most people carry their phone around all the time; technology might be the way to go nowadays (although for students, maybe keeping a paper copy is needed in case you can't use your phone in class). Set up routines for what is fixed in your life (work, school, etc) and keep it realistic. If you're not a morning person, prep the night before (ex: meals / outfit / things you need and place it all in your leaving path so you can just pick up and go). If you are a morning person, you can batch tasks for the allotted time you have before you start your day (sleep early to prepare well for your morning routine). Keep in mind how long it takes you to do something - not how quickly you wish you could do things XD but the actual realistic time.

If you have a system in place, keep what works and change what doesn't. Don't wait. Just do it. Most of the time you can tweak a little something to make it a teeny bit easier for you. Likewise, don't overhaul things that already work for you simply because it seems inefficient to others. There's the whole "do something for 30 days and it becomes a habit", but, in my experience, things don't become habits unless you make it easy for yourself and it feels easy for you. Think about the life you lead and the life you ant to lead. You don't need to be everyone else. You only need to be you.

Some people don't need to be as organized because they like life's spontaneity. Some people need to be organized despite their nature because they have deadlines (mostly talking about school here) and so they adopt a system but discard it later (when they graduate). In this case, it can be difficult so I recommend both having a useful system that also makes you happy as you use it. Buy stationery that suit your style and make you smile. Using digital planning tools opens up even more options (including free ones) - if you need those BTS meme photos in your daily schedule to keep your spirits up throughout the day, by all means, add 'em in.

Also, if you are interested in living with someone, find someone who has the same definition of "messy" and "clean" as you. Don't police them on how they're doing it, but the end result should be the same. It'll make for a more harmonious environment, fr. Bonus if they like doing the tasks you personally hate and if you like doing the tasks they personally hate.

[chaotic-archaeologist]

hi! i'm not sure how exactly to word what i'm asking so i'll just explain what i've been thinking about lately. i'm currently in grad school for archaeology and ive just always had so much interest in classical history and i'd really love to do some excavation work in italy one day, but at the same time i'm feeling a sense of guilt because i come from a country where archaeology has only recently started picking up and there is still so much history that is yet to be uncovered and studied and talked about, especially when it comes to our pre-colonial period! i feel like i have a moral obligation to stay here and help in finding out everything i can about my own country's history, and of course i do genuinely want to do that, but i also feel that guilt because i know that it's not where i see myself devoting my career to and because i know it wouldn't make me as happy if i settled. i reaaaaaally really want to excavate elsewhere but i feel like that just makes me another scientist who doesn't love their country enough and would rather hop over to study history's most famous colonisers (i know that that's really not the case but sometimes it feels like it to me and then i start questioning myself...)

Okay, here's the thing: it's okay to be a little bit selfish. Your life is yours, and that's also true for your research.

For a long time I was split between becoming a Jewish studies scholar and a Civil War scholar. I was getting a lot of pressure from my community to go the Jewish studies route, which is understandable. Spoiler alert: that's not the path I took.

I chose to study the Civil War because that's where my passion is, and I think I can make a more meaningful contribution to society in the long term by choosing to focus on an interest I can sustain. And... I didn't feel like I had a lot of original ideas that I could contribute to Jewish studies because it wasn't what I spent my time thinking about.

This applies to a lot of other things, particularly activism. An activist who has burned themselves out to the extent where they can't organize anymore isn't doing anyone (or themself) any good. What you want matters. It's okay if those wants don't always align 100% with what other people want from you.

Another thing: X cultural concept doesn't always have to be applied to a limited range of subjects. I bring a very different mindset to studying the Civil War because I come from a unique background. You can bring a fresh viewpoint to Classics because you've had very different experiences than many other Classics scholars. And really, isn't promoting Jewish/anti-colonial scholarship outside of those disciplines furthering their cause?

Finally, it doesn't have to be either/or! Three years after deciding to become a Civil War scholar, I applied to be a TA for a Judaic Studies class. I'm really excited to help a bunch of students learn about Jewish history and culture, and part of that excitement exists because I'm not forcing myself to do it all the time. Who says that you can't go on a dig in Italy and then come home and help your country recover its pre-colonial heritage?

Do both. By all means, apply to go on a dig overseas! Take a class in the Classics department just for your enjoyment. At the same time, stay involved with your culture and its archaeology. Follow the opportunities that feel right to you. You deserve to be happy.

-Reid