#it's like that average joe's sign

[s1ithers]

wish i knew the forgotten realms lore better...how am i meant to make my little ocs in this state of ignorance

[luveline]

could you please write something where maybe bombshell!reader hears one of the team members teasing about how she’s torturing spencer and she kinda backs off with the flirting and maybe it’s his turn to hold her hand and call her cute names because even though he always says he doesn’t mind, maybe he does and he just doesn’t want to tell her

tysm for requesting, 1k

Spencer's hair is brown silk in the sun. You bite your tongue to hold in a compliment rearing to come out, saccharine and completely true. Looking sweet, Spence. 

You love to compliment him and especially while Hotch is out of earshot. He and Derek play pairs against two agents from a different unit, their tennis racquets a shiny FBI navy. You start to speak and bite it back —a memory flashes, a shouting stop sign. 

You'd been teasing Spencer as he left the room, something about his indecisive hair. He's cut it shorter but left his curls without product, and you love it. 

Poor guy, Emily'd murmured, lips set against the rim of her coffee cup. 

What's the matter with him? you asked, perplexed. 

Nothing, just that he spins into a total meltdown every time you guys are within ten feet of each other. He must be exhausted.

She was joking and you know that, but something deep down worries she's right. It's not fair for you to keep winding him up… Especially when Spencer might be going along with you because he isn't sure how to say no. 

What if you're forcing yourself on him? 

You're sitting together on a small blanket in the grass with Anderson and a few of the other less competitive BAU agents. You bring your bottled iced tea to your forehead to cool down, condensation wetting your hot skin. The top of your head feels as though it has the full concentration of the sun beating against it. 

Spencer looks up at your movement. He's been reading a book for pleasure, or so he says, so he isn't going a mile a minute but he's still way faster than the average Joe. "Do you want to go find some shade?" he asks. 

"You look comfortable," you say, putting your iced tea aside.

Which is to say, I don't want you to come with me, it would disrupt you. Spencer nods and turns to the brown leather of his familiar satchel, popping the buckle open to dig around inside. 

"Do you think this would be okay?" he asks, bringing out his baseball cap. 

The fabric is starchy and the brim stiff as you accept it and wedge it over your head. You don't immediately cool, but your heart spins strange loops. "Thank you," you say. Thank you, handsome, gorgeous, baby, all beg to be said. 

Spencer stays looking at you for longer than normal. 

"Do I have something on my face?" you ask, swatting self consciously at your cheeks. 

"Nothing. You look really pretty," he says. 

"Thank you." Another loop. You point at his book, fingertip hitting a creamy page with a small thud. "Is this any good?" 

"I think you'd really like it, it feels like that last book I borrowed from you, and you loved that. They're very similar. I can lend it to you when I'm done." 

"Don't rush it for my sake."

Spencer gives you a private smile. "I won't. Just because you could watch a movie at two times speed doesn't mean you should." 

Your returning smile isn't half as nice. No shared lightness, no bright eyes. You're feeling awkward and unhappy —you really like Spencer. Like, you think you could be happy together for a long long time sort of like. He's charming and sweet and no one is ever as kind to him as he deserves, which is why you're trying to be kind now by putting distance between you.

You'll be brash forever. You can't change that, and Spencer doesn't need the stress of dealing with you, not on top of everything else. 

His smile fades as yours does. Quiet, without fuss, he scoots back on the picnic blanket, putting you knee to knee. The subtle muscle of his arm presses to yours and his hand wraps gently around your wrist as he dips his head down, his cheek touching briefly to your shoulder. 

"I know it's nice, but if the heat is getting to you we should go inside," he says, his fingers sliding across your palm to slot between your own. He squeezes your hand. "Heat stroke isn't obvious at first. Do you feel woozy?"

You stare at your twined fingers. He surprises you again, being this soft with you, and being uncharacteristically forward. Or maybe not uncharacteristic at all; Spencer won't let something like timidity stop him from comforting someone that needs it. 

"Spence," you murmur, closing your eyes, face angled down. 

"What?" 

"I'm sorry if I… If I've been messing you around. But I don't think this is a good idea." 

"What's not a good idea?" 

You can't make yourself say it. Instead, you rub the back of his hand, more for your own comfort than his, your tongue like a useless lump in your mouth. 

"You're sorry? Are you sure you're okay?" Spencer asks, no heed to the people sitting with you as he lets go of your hand to put his arm behind your shoulder like a shield. 

"I don't want to torture you," you say. 

Your friends love that word. You torture Spencer with your flirting and your easy affection. 

Spencer makes a face, eyes squinting and nose wrinkled. "They're just kidding when they say that. Emily, Morgan, they like making fun of me, it's like, sibling bonding or something. They don't say it because there's actually something to feel sorry about." He lowers his voice, bashful but sincere at once, "If you're torturing me, I guess I'm a masochist." 

You laugh without thinking, a breathless, girlish sound you'd regret if you had the wherewithal. "You're a masochist?" you ask. 

He takes the brim of your borrowed hat and pushes it up to unobstruct the view of your eyes. 

"If that's what it takes," he says. A hint of wryness creeps into his otherwise smooth tone. 

Despite his brave talk and his steady eye contact, his face has started to blush. A rosy hue kisses the tops of his cheeks and his nose, a dusting of pink splodges stark against his paleness. The curve of his lips seems extra tantalising now. He's very, very pretty. 

And he doesn't mind stepping in to take the reins when you're unsure of things. 

"We really should sit in the shade for a bit," he says. "Let's get drinks from the gazebo. Yeah?" 

You're halfway through a nod when he kisses your cheek too quickly for you to respond. You follow him to the gazebo without any more reluctance, weaselling your hand back into his, and attempt to pull another kiss from him.

[joeybsversion]

Contract

Joe Burrow x Reader

Joe and reader sign a dating contract

“Should I even ask how you got in here?” You sigh, crossing your arms across your chest.

“Did you read this yet?” Joe hands a stack of papers to you.

“I saw it in my dressing room.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” He forces the papers towards you again.

“What is this?” You look up at him.

“Our dating contract.”

“Why is it pink?”

He rolls his eyes, “Someone left it in the copy machine and I didn’t know how to change it.”

Your contagious laughter fills the room. “Remind me why we’re doing this again?” You take the paper from his hands.

“Publicity.” He says, almost as if he’s asking a question. “Both of our managers agreed. It’ll be a good story line for the NFL, especially as I head into the play offs.”

“And I’ll benefit how?” You ask, flipping through the pages.

“Don’t you have a movie coming out or something?” He furrows his brows.

“No I live on this set full time.” You roll your eyes at his stupidity.

“They said it’ll bring more attention to you and the movie I guess.” He nervously paces across the room. “Can you just sign it so I can get out of here?”

“I’ll think about it.” You say with a smirk.

A few hours later your cuddled up on the couch with a glass of wine after a long day on set. The constant buzz from your phone pulls your attention ration away from the TV screen in front of you.

“What do you need?” Your voice is rough as you answer the phone.

“Did you check your schedule? We have another fake date planned for tonight.”

“A fake date.” Your lips curl at the idea.

“Correct. Party to celebrate making it to the play offs.” The line is quiet for a minute. “I’ll be there in 20 minutes to get you.”

“See you soon, babe.” You tease. If you’re going to be a fake couple, you better act like it.

“Wow.” Joe says as you climb into his car.

For the first time, you don’t sense a tone of disgust in his voice. “Not so bad yourself.” You pull your seatbelt across your lap and admire Joes outfit.

After a silent card ride to the private downtown party, you climb out of the car, cameras flashing and paparazzi yelling in your direction. Joe comes around to your side of the car and wraps an arm around your waste to pull you close. You feel your heart skip a beat and butterflies fill your stomach with a warm sensation. Joe leads you into the restaurant and towards his group of friends.

“You can let go now.” You try to pull away from his grip.

“We have to act like a couple.” He reminds you and pulls you back to him.

“Right.” You flash a fake smile.

Joe makes his rounds, introducing you to the rest of the team. For the first time, you felt like a normal person. People weren’t asking for pictures, or hounding you with questions about your next big role and security wasn’t needed. For the first time in a long time, you forgot you were a celebrity.

Drinks were flowing, the music was loud, and sweaty bodies continued to crash into each other. Taking advantage of the fact that you felt like an average person, you continued to let people bring you drinks.

You could feel Joe’s eyes on you all night. Everyone once in a while he’d come over and check in on you, his hands would find your hips and his eyes would lock on your. “Doing ok?” He brushed his sweaty hair off of his forehead, the curls falling back into place perfectly.

“Yeah. I hate to admit it but I’m having fun. I think I could get use to this.” You press your drink to your lips. “I feel free here.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.” He smiled.

Joe really was a good guy. While you weren’t fond of the whole contract situation, you were glad it was him. It could be so much worse.

“Burrow!!” One of Joes teammates calls from across the bar before the handsome quarterback disappears back into the crowd.

You find yourself at the bar again, ordering another drink and slowly swaying to the music before you feel a hand pressed to the small of your back. You turn to meet a handsome, tall man.

“Hi.” You smile, the same butterflies you felt with Joe explode in your stomach again.

“Hey. I’m Sam. One of Burrows teammates.” He places his large hand out and shakes yours.

“Nice to meet you, Sam.” You smile, leaving your hand locked in his.

“So, how’d Joe get so lucky?”

You blush, looking down nervously. “You’re not so bad yourself.” You smile back at Sam.

Sam, much like Joe and the rest of the team, was very easy to talk to. You felt yourself getting lost in his eyes and laughing at all of his jokes.

Across the room, you can feel Joe staring at you. His eyes burning a hole in the back of Sam’s head. His jaw tightened when another silvery pearl of laughter over from the bar. You had been talking to Sam for the past several minutes. Not just talking, you were laughing and giggling like he was a comedian when Joe knew for a fact he wasn’t that damn funny. Irritation raged through his body as Sam leaned closer to you, causing you to laugh again. You’d never laughed that much with him. And he was your fake boyfriend.

Joe tried to pull your attention away from Sam multiple times. Now that you were finally able to relax and feel ‘free’ as you had told him before, you were flirting with Sam Hubbard.

Joe stormed over to you and Sam and practically ran Sam over. Up until this point, Sam had been one of his best friends but now he wanted to rip his hands off for touching you like that. Like you could possibly belong to Sam when you so clearly were dating Joe. Or fake dating that is, Joe thought to himself.

Sam’s eyebrows shot up as Joe stepped in front of him. “Excuse me.” Joe rudely interrupted, “I need a second with her.” He took you by the hand and led you to a quiet corner.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Joe stammered.

“I’m having fun.” You smiled back in Sam’s direction, his eyes were still locked on you. “I’m leaving with a guy at the end of the night.”

“Have you lost your mind?” His eyes go wide. “Do you remember what we’re doing here? You can’t leave with him!”

“You can’t stop me.”

Joe smiles suspiciously, “You’re right, you are leaving with a guy tonight. Me.”

You laughed. “No I’m not!” You slurred.

Joe leaned in close enough that you could taste the alcohol on his breath. “You have two options.” He whispered. “You can walk out of hand in hand with me, like an adult.” His leaned in closer if that was even possible, you could feel his lips as they whispered against yours. “Or I can carry you out of here over my shoulder. What will it be babe?” Your eyes meet his as he finally closes the gap between both of you.

Complying with his order, you take Joe by the hand, say your goodbyes, and leave the party. Outside you’re met by another crowd of rowdy photographers and fans.

“Stay close.” Joe leads you through the crowd.

As both of you had been drinking and were unable to drive, Joe ordered a car to pick you up. You climbed in quickly behind him, climbing into his lap and clinging to him as if he was your only sense of security.

“I know this is supposed to be fake, but I’ve been having a lot of fun with you. And it makes me so jealous to see having fun with other guys.” Joe slurs, his grip tightening around you. “I’ll give you anything you want if you give me the chance to make you happy. No more of this fake dating shit. I want you to be my girlfriend. I want to give it a shot with you. Take it or leave it because I’m not open to negotiations. You’re mine.” Joe crashes your lips together again.

“Only you could make asking me to be your girlfriend sound like a business deal.” You giggle.

“Please be my girlfriend.” He whispers, pressing his forehead to yours.

“I am.”

“My real girlfriend. No more contract. No more fake dates. No expectation.” He kisses you again. “Be mine.”

[jooba]

wolfman x reader

"Imagine getting the great news that you're one of a million civilians chosen to go to a distant planet, to intermingle with the local aliens. Unfortunately, your online friend doesn't exactly seem to like that idea."

TW: MDNI, reader referred to as 'girl', sexual desires, anxiety, neurodivergent reader, reader big dumb, licking, 'virgin' reader, hand appreciation

wordcount: 2,388

Three words: Civilian Space Program. The most incredible opportunity of a lifetime (for an average Joe like you).

One word: Congratulations! The letter you held in your shaking hands almost didn’t seem real. It was glossy, professional, and signed by someone so important that it was a 100% probability that you would never breathe the same air as them. Congratulations! But it was real, and your life would never be the same. You were going to space. To meet aliens. Your poor little heart almost couldn’t take it. Breath labored, you quickly snapped a picture of the letter before posting it to all of your socials. Quickly, friends and family bombarded you with questions and excitement, just as in disbelief as you are. Several phone calls later, and plenty of assurances to those with concerns, you fell back onto your couch, still clutching the letter. In just a month, you would be boarding a vessel with 14 other civilians, shipped off to the planet Geron 6GI, and left there for 3 years to “create relations” and “cultivate a human lifestyle”. Whatever that means. All you knew was that you… were a monsterfucker… and… well… aliens are sort of like monsters too. 

In your elation, you nearly missed the newest comment on your Instagram post. It was Peter, an online friend whom you had known for years. It simply said, “call me.” Peter knew about the program and how badly you wanted to be in it, but he was pretty adamant that your chances were too low. Smiling, you dialed his number. He answered on the first ring, speaking before you had a chance to.

“This is serious? You’re serious?” 

“Of course! I’m freaking out, Peter. I’m going to SPACE. I’m going to fuck so many aliens, you don't even know. Well, you do know, but-”

“You’re leaving in a month?” He asked. You kicked your legs in glee, squealing. 

“Yep! 3 years in space and depending on how the program goes it might go on for longer. God, should I bring my toys? Do you think they’ll even be allowed on the flight? But what if the aliens have toys that I can buy…” Your breath hitched just at the thought. There was silence on his end for a few moments.

“You’re a virgin.” Cheeks turning red, you scoffed into your phone.

“So what?” 

“So you’re giving yourself away to some random alien?” He hissed the word lowly, talking in a manner you had never heard from him before. You take a second to collect your thoughts, not understanding where his aggression is coming from.

“Peter… we live in the 21st century. Virginity is a stupid construct. Besides, I uh... I’m not really a virgin, you know.” 

“What?” 

“Ugh, can we not talk about this? So embarrassing…” You mumble, turning to a more comfortable position on the couch. There was silence as both of you struggled with what to say next. It wasn’t like you were actually embarrassed talking about sexual things, but Peter had a way of making your stomach flutter. It was awful having a mini crush on someone online, and even worse when he insisted on hearing all the details of your life. All the details. 

“I’m going to come see you.” He said, sighing into the phone. You froze, blinking in surprise. The two of you had never met in real life before, you’ve never even seen a picture of him! Sometimes, you would discuss meeting, but he lived a long flight away and schedules never seemed to work out. Over time, the thought of seeing him in person became too daunting, and you always shot him down. What if he thought you were too ugly to be friends with? What if the two of you couldn’t get along in person, and he lost interest? 

“A-are you sure, Peter?” You could hear the smile in his voice as he responded. 

“Of course.”

You stood nervously in the airport, shifting back and forth. People kept glancing at you, giving you curious glances. Avoiding eyes with an old troll whose beard desperately needed maintenance, you wiped the sweat from your face with your sleeve. Maybe you’d be less nervous if you had brought a friend with you to pick up Peter… Your phone buzzed with a text. 

landing now

You watch as the terminal quickly fills up with tired travelers. Eyes swiping back and forth from person to person, you attempt to pick out a man to match Peter’s description of himself. But his description was so vague, all you really knew was that apparently he was tall and had brown hair. 

Someone bumps into you, and your phone clatters to the ground. They quickly apologize but scurry away too quickly for you to get a good look at them. Grumbling, you bend down to pick up your phone, dusting it off and checking for cracks. When your eyes lift, your heart explodes in surprise at the wolfman standing before you. Hot! Inner you squeals. Standing nearly two heads taller than you, he’s lean and dressed very cleanly. Chestnut-colored fur streaks around his cheeks and neck, speckled with darker colors around his hairline and dipping underneath his shirt. Black eyes peer at you, squinting slightly.

“Oh, um. Hi!” You laugh nervously, tugging at your hair. “Just dropped my phone.” You wave your phone in front of you, but then quickly tuck it away when you realize how dumb you probably looked. The wolfman’s mouth slowly curls up into a predatory smile, top lip slightly gaped to allow for pointy fangs to peek through. 

“You’re cute,” he says quietly, eyes appraising your figure. You have to desperately ignore the urge to cover yourself from his evaluating gaze. You laugh weakly.

“T-thanks.” You give him a small smile. The two of you stare at each other for a moment. He hikes his backpack up over his shoulders, raising one eyebrow at you. Does he want something from you…? Oh god. Despite his good looks, it’s not the best time to be flirting with someone: not when you’re waiting for Peter. 

“I’m sorry. I’m.. uh… picking up a friend. Sorry.” You glance away from him, pretending to search the crowd for Peter. Why is he taking so long?

The wolfman grumbles with quiet laughter, almost a mixture of a purr and low-pitched whine. It's a rather charming sound. Suddenly, his clawed hand is on your scalp, rubbing against your hair to mess it up. He tugs certain strands this way and that, causing an absolute mess. You gasp, pulling away, quickly attempting to fix the mess he just made. 

“You’re even denser in person than I thought you would be,” he says, looking extremely satisfied at your misery. His ears twitch slightly. You pause, squinting up at him in irritation.

“Well, that’s rude. And please don’t touch my hair, I don’t know you.” You take a step back away from him in caution just to be safe. 

The wolfman huffs, rolling his eyes slowly. “That’s the thing. You do know me.” He pulls his phone out, and types onto it quickly, before looking at you expectantly. Your phone buzzes. A message from Peter. 

right in front of you. so dense.

You can’t quiet the gasp that leaves your mouth in time. You gape up at him, astonished.

“You never told me you were a wolfman!?!” 

Heart racing, you bring your knuckle up to your mouth and light chew on a finger. All these years, all the calls and long talks and he never thought to mention his species?! Oh god, you have said so many embarrassing things to him: things you would never say to a non-human. Things about giant monster cocks and clawed hands and fluffy sensitive ears and oh my GOD. You swear heat is steaming out of your ears with how embarrassed you are. 

“Didn’t think it mattered,” he shrugs. He reaches up to lightly scratch at one fluffy ear, maintaining eye contact with you. It twitches at his touch, apparently sensitive. You want to coo and squeal at how cute it is, but you restrain, just barely. Gnawing on your finger, you avert your eyes. You must not look at the handsome wolfman. Must resist. Must get Peter home without drowning in your drool…

One car ride home, hours of gentle ribbing and teasing, a desperate call to the nearest fast food joint, and a change into pajamas later, you find yourself sitting on your couch, a bowl of popcorn in hand, waiting patiently for Peter to join you. He’s taking a long time in the bathroom, but you’re not too worried. It seemed your apartment was a bit too small for him, and he was constantly ducking his head and squeezing past your furniture. Admittedly, it was really charming. You can’t help but shovel popcorn into your face as you wait. You can’t wait too long, otherwise the popcorn will get stale! In the middle of licking your fingers free from butter and salt, Peter plops down next to you. You slide down the couch and end up sitting right against you. He wraps an arm around you on the couch, hands already playing with your hair. He’s dressed in loose pajama pants and a t-shirt that says ‘You are fang-tastic!’ in faded letters.

“Really couldn’t wait for me, huh.” You smile in embarrassment, pulling your fingers out of your mouth. His dark eyes quickly zero in on your glistening fingers. Grimacing, you go to wipe them on your pants, but his hand wraps around your wrist before you can. You immediately notice how much bigger his hand is than yours, and how fur wraps around his knuckles but his fingers and palm are bare. 

“Let me,” he purrs, eyes drooping into half lids. He opens his mouth and a long, pink tongue rolls out. It’s rounded at the end and fades into a slight purple the further back it gets. You’re instantly drawn to it and watch in stunned silence as he brings your fingers up to his mouth. He licks a long stripe up your fingers before twisting and turning them to lap at every inch. Quickly, your fingers become drenched in hot saliva. You clench your thighs, wishing he would put that tongue somewhere else… A soft noise leaves you, and he meets your eyes again. You mentally berate yourself for having dirty thoughts about your friend. He nips gently at your pointer finger. You squeak and pull your hand away, face certainly red. You hold your hand to your chest limply, now drenched in saliva. You blink at him, words caught in your throat.

“Mmm… tastes good.” Right. Good popcorn. Ha ha… ha… The TV blares and the two of you startle at the noise. Peter is quick to grab the remote and mute it. He watches the quiet television for a moment, throat bobbing.

“Let’s talk for a moment, space girl.” His voice is almost... uncertain. You grin unabashedly at the nickname, pleased. It immediately calms you down and you find yourself relaxing.

“Sure!” You place the popcorn down and turn on the couch, facing him directly. He turns to face you as well, one leg crossing over the other. The arm around the back of the couch begins to tap on the cushion.

“Just let me talk for a moment, no interruptions, okay?” He raises an eyebrow when you open your mouth to respond, and you huff, but stay quiet.

“Honestly, I thought I was being pretty straightforward with you all this time, but with this space fiasco, I knew you weren’t exactly getting the message. Had to talk to you face-to-face. I’ll make this short and sweet, easy to understand. I don’t want you going to space.” He raises one hand when you look like you are about to object. Breathing deeply, he continues.

“Don’t go to space. Stay here. I’ll give you all the monster cock you want, promise… I’m not usually one to wait so long, but I knew during our first call I would have to take it slow with you. I’ve been biding my time all these years, slowly getting to know you, waiting for my chance. And then I saw your post. When I saw that, it left me ‘peterified’.” He chuffs at his joke, pleased. 

“So yeah, I’ve got feelings for you. And a lot of them revolve around ramming my cock down your throat. Or god, knotting you,” he sighs wistfully as he speaks. He looks like he wants to say more, but stops himself. 

.

.

.

Ho….ly…. SHIT! You’re frozen on the spot, mind racing with a thousand dirty thoughts. You’ve dreamt of this moment, dreamt of a monster desiring you. And now…now you’re presented with an opportunity. 

“F-forget space! Oh my god. Peter? Peter!” You’re squealing now, your body shaking with excitement. You stand up and begin pacing, not even really aware of what you’re doing. Peter relaxes on the couch, mouth tilted up in a sly smile.

“This is crazy. Are you serious? He’s serious. I-I need to shave! And prep! Oh god, I don’t know if I’m ready for this…” You bite at your finger nervously, the beginnings of nausea twisting your stomach. Who knew that aching and wanting something for so long would have you feeling so sick?

Peter tugs at your hand, slowing your pacing. 

“You’re getting ahead of yourself, you nut. Just breathe.” He breathes in deeply, and you copy him instinctually. He guides your breath into something much slower, much more manageable. You smile at him gratefully, falling onto the couch. 

“Sorry, this is just… a lot,” you sigh out. He shakes his head. 

“Not at all. Just take it easy.” He nudges your knee with his. “Just think about it, yeah?” You nudge him back, eyes twinkling.

“So, all this time you’ve…” you question. He simply nods his head.

“But you didn’t even know what I looked like?” You're surprised when his face starts to turn a gentle shade of red. He coughs into his fist, looking away. He speaks, in a cool tone that doesn’t match his cheeks, “Yeah, I knew right from the start. Your looks are just a plus.” 

Aaand now you’re looking away, embarrassed. 

“Oh, okay,” you mumble. 

[legend-the-dumb-jock]

Stephen was the above average joe. Muscular. Huge package. Standing at 6’4”. When he walked into a room people stopped and stared looking a the muscled specimen that heaved the room. And with large size 16 feet you could hear him coming too.

Stephen had a perfect life but where someone is so perfect there has to be a downfall. Stephen’s was that he always took advantage of those close to him. He was able to be so muscular and hot spending all his time in the gym and never once helping his boyfriend, Matt, pay for rent. He was a leach. Every night he would come home dripping sweat. Kick off his massive shoes leaving them where they fell. He would drop his dirty sweat clothes in the hall way and never clean after himself. Then while still dropping sweat, flop down on the couch. Staining even more than what he already has. But it was time. And his boyfriend had had enough.

While Stephen fell asleep like he always did on the couch, his boyfriend still in front of him with a menacing glance. Holding the book he had from his family he began to chant the spell to make Stephen change.

Stephen was dreaming about plowing the hot gym bunny. Bending him over the sink and thrusting himself in. And all the while began to scream while he was having sex …

“….and this vessel must change to meet this new form!” His boy friend finished reading. And then he seen the fine print,,, there had to be an agreement from the one the spell was going to effect. He began to panic. How would he get Stephen to agree to…”YES YES ! FUCK ME !!!” Matt’s mouth dropped. How could this have happened in a more perfect moment. Stepping back slowly he hid the book. Now. Watching as his boyfriend began to change.

Soon Stephen’s well defined abs began to push outwards. His legs began to get fuller and he also began to shrink in height. His pecs quickly lost all definition as they were hidden under a thick layer of fat and his stomach continued to balloon out warden. Hair began to sprout from ever office of his body giving him in a thick coat of fur. His feet got shorter becoming a size of extremely wide and thick size 11s. He had little sausage toes now while his fingers fattened up. His butt began to inflate and sag as it widened and his back began to grow wide to match. A thick unkempt beard began to grow out of his face while he started balding. What was once a hunk before now looked like an out of shape 45 year old man. Matt smiled at his creation. Knowing that there was more to come.

Matt woke up to screams from the living room. Walking in he seen Stephen looking at his phone and trembling. “What the fuck has happened to me !!” Matt asked him. What he was talking about. All a part of his plan to make Stephen lose his mind. He was going to treat Stephen like the fat older man he was now. Even though he was the only other person in the world now that would remember what he is really supposed to be like. “Phen. You need to stop acting weird. It’s time for you to go to work. I wasn’t able to wash your janitor uniform though. “ Stephen just looked at him. Whatever happened seemed to have changed reality he thought. He had to get out of there. And sadly. It seems as though the dirty uniform was the only thing that would fit him. Before he left the apartment Matt handed him some pills “don’t forget your pills Phen. You know you need your heart meds and that cholesterol needs to come down. Try not to eat those 4 double cheeseburger for lunch again” he said as he kissed Stephen’s fatter face.

Work was hard for Stephen. He found that at his new size and short let height he was screed on all aspects of life now. He was the lowly janitor of the gym he worked at ! And people would just throw dirty clothes on him and expect him to always be at their whim for cleaning. During his lunch break he wanted to find a way to fix this. He had to get his old body back ! But then he caught glimpse of it. The burger signs. And drawn by an impossible force he walked over. Walking through the doors he was greeted by the cashier. Working his wallet out of his pocket with his meaty hands he paid for his food. 5 double cheeseburgers. And he ate ever bite. Licking the grease from the wrappers and his fingers. He was forced by some unseen force to be the fat animal he looked like. Walking back home he could help but feel winded. His lunch should have. Been enough to make him feel full for days but his stomach was growling like an angry bear. He felt so tired. As he walked through the apartment door he shuffled his wide feet down the hallway and looking in the mirror began to cry.

Somehow during the day he had gotten older. And much bigger. What little muscle definition he had was completely gone. Now his stomach was rock hard and protruding in an impossible beach ball stomach. Completely bald with white facial hair. Matt came around the corner and Stephen cried. He pleaded for Matt to remember him. “Phen. Are you ok? I know you’re jealous of my youth. But we’ve talked about this. You’re a 61 year old man. You have to come to terms with that!” And he walked off. That number reverberated in Stephen’s head.

Walking around the beach no was no longer fun for Stephen. He was getting looks now but not for his hot young body. It was for the massive beach ball he carried. He had been stuck like this for a whole month at this point. Continuing to try to find a way to change back there just has to be one. Matt came walking up to him with food. “You know one day. I’m going to stop giving into her hunger. We gotta find someway to get you. Lose weight Phen”. Phen aggressively at the multiple cheese burgers, fries and shake that Matt had brought him. Matt watched his creation. Everything from that night with spell had come true. An intense appetite that never went away, old age, massive bloated stomach with no muscle definition, and all the pains that would come with his body being like this. He knew that Phen was trying to find a way back. To get his old body back so he could be happy. But little did he know, that the Matt altered the working of the spell. “And when you agree to this the changes will be permanent”.

[matt0044]

What we can learn from “The Jaune Arc Discourse” (TM).

Well, to start with, people are really resistant to being corrected on lies at worst or overstatements at best.

Like if nothing else, the Does RWBY Like Women poll was illuminating in how it showed me that a veeeeeery weird myth about Jaune Arc has persisted beyond its true relevancy.

Volume 1 of RWBY features Jaune Arc in the spotlight for… what? Four episodes? The minutes of each adding up to roughly twenty minutes, the length of an average TV episode?

While he was featured in the previous storyline where we are given an eight episode arc introducing us to our eight main protagonists, he was a lot more… ancillary as comic relief. A discount Lavernius Tucker with Felix’s voice if you will.

He's Vomit Boy in episode one. Episode two has him introduced more formally as somebody who helps up Ruby after a bad first impression on Weiss. He later appears more prominently pining over Weiss and catching Pyrrha's attention before falling to bracing himself in being catapulted into the Emerald Forest.

He's bailed out by Pyrrha and it's set up that he's in over his head by not knowing what Aura is or at least wanting to know how it works. An exposition sponge as I heard on fan call it. I could go on but the point is that all signs pointed to a Butt Monkey Ron Stoppable sort who was likely there for cheap laughs.

Amusing enough but I worried if that's all he'd be personally. Lord knows that some movies give the Comic Relief character too much comic relief and, well, not enough character. But after Ruby and Weiss have their leader/lance headbutting, the four episodes that followed reassured me that there'd be more to Jaune than meets the eyes.

But to circle back to the main thesis, it's actually fascinating that the myth of Jaune hijacking the narrative for himself is this pervasive when the offending story in question... is very much a self-contained character piece. It's way less about the wider story involving Ozpin, Roman Torchwick (at the time) and the White Fang.

It has relevance in how Pyrrha starts mentoring Jaune after he deals with Cardin and gets over himself (for now) which trickles down into future stories. Even then, the next story arc right back with Team RWBY with nary a sign of the everyman in question. A story arc that does deal with elements of the main plot, leading directly into Volume 2.

And in Volume 2, Jaune trying to woo Weiss and being ignorant to Pyyrha's advancements was just a subplot scattered in the first half of the story. It very much piggybacks off of Team RWBY's whole deal.

Volume 3 has what I consider to be a reversal of what's been known as Trinity Syndrome.

Namely the sort where a male character goes off the square off with the main villain mano-e-mano after shoving the female character/his love interest away so she won't get hurt. An egrigious example being when the love interest CAN FIGHT and back him up.

However, Pyyrha instead shoves Jaune out of the way after kissing him and goes off to face Cinder in a very fatal battle. It was honestly a brilliant (as much as the term may be disliked these days) subversion of the cliche.

And it’s Ruby who sees her death and gets the trauma induced power up. Jaune only has a scene of angst before that and was the one to call Ruby to have her try and back up the one he just realized he loved.

Jaune from that point on is an Everyman Protagonist who is forced to remember that he’s not THE protagonist. Yet the myth persistently proclaims that he hijacks the narrative from the titular Team RWBY despite only four episodes being wholly dedicated to him and his head space.

How did we get here?

Well… there’s the fact that not everyone finished Volume 1 and that not everybody, well, watched RWBY. And that would be fine on its own. You gave it a shot and it wasn’t your cuppa joe. You saw the trailer but clicked on something else.

I get it. That’s fine. Contrary to popular belief, nobody in the FNDM will really fault you for it. Less fine is when you spread faulty readings of RWBY and from those heavily biased against it no less.

It cannot be emphasized enough that tearing into RWBY is a cottage industry on YouTube. Hbomberguy might have the biggest platform but you’ll find multiple channels with lengthy series on “RWBY bad, here why.” And they are actually amongst the FNDM. They know how the YT Algorithm game is played, how it rewards engagement above all else. And sadly, negativity and rage pay more bills.

It’s why there are few positive videos or at least few that are pushed into the recommendations. Many often borrow the same points from each other born from the V1 days, namely that Jaune is allegedly given favoritism by the writers while we somehow “don’t know who the main girls are.”

From four episodes.

I also think it’s also to do with how it’s not that he actually did steal screentime… so much as many anticipated he would. A lot of shows and movies I grew up with would have strong female characters but any potential they had was hindered by the male lead and his hero’s journey. See the above Trinity Syndrome I referenced.

But Jaune didn’t do that. Even when he was central to an event like his semblance being awakened, it’s a healing/power boost that he gives to others. Weiss getting skewered might’ve brought it out but it lead to her getting back into the fray while he was largely to the sides.

Seems more like he shares screentime if anything.

People cling to these myths despite legit fans actually pointing out, “Hey, that’s not true actually and here’s why,” because that hate being told they are wrong more than being wrong. And because there are many around these who reinforce this “truth,” they feel content with it. No need to challenge it when it “feels” right.

So Jaune Arc stole screentime. Because that’s what “everyone else” is saying. By you need to question popular opinions. You need to realize that sometimes… a fan community is based on lies.

”Trust me, bro” is not the gotcha you think it is.

[sentient-stove]

Miranda said to stay put, keep his phone on him and wait for help. Unluckily for Danny, he had not stayed put, kept his phone on him and if help came in the form of a meta-disliking vigilante, he’d rather find his way to the police himself. Not that he was a meta- he was dead- but apparently freaky kidnappers from pharmaceutical companies didn’t care about the distinction if you could heal quicker than the average joe.

Right now, he really only had two goals in mind. The first was to get the fuck out of the sewers, hopefully via a manhole since his powers were completely out of reach due to the new collar that had been clamped around his neck when they’d removed the cuff. And the second goal was to avoid getting caught again. The internship leads had stressed the importance of setting small, attainable goals, and Danny liked to think that in a fucked up sort of way, he could manage to set goals in the style recommended.

Look at him go. Learning. Weren’t internships just the best?

Danny glanced back when a roar echoed through the tunnel he was casually jogging down, good hand on the wall to keep as a point of reference while he navigated in the dark without night vision to help. It sounded close, but that could’ve been anything, and didn’t have to be the same guys after him. Still was a not great sign though. Just because they weren’t Danny’s problem didn’t mean he wanted to add them to his already embarrassing list of issues.

[frozenjokes]

The Reasonable Next Step (Cannibalism)

Cub did not understand. Never for a second did he think he was wrong, nor did he doubt himself now, but if he wasn’t wrong (which he wasn’t), then why did Mumbo say no?

It did not make sense. (and his feelings were a little bit hurt) It did not make sense.

Mumbo had always been a bit of an oddity, and Cub used to attribute this to the fact that he was just so.. normal? Mumbo was jumpy, yes, he’d always been on the edgier side, but other than that, he was just human, just doing his own thing, standing out only because of how painfully ordinary he was minus perhaps the height and the gaunt figure.

Cub wondered if Mumbo had looked more haggard lately, in the past few years maybe, or if that was just his mind playing tricks on him. Those eyebags, whew. Cub had truly never seen anyone get so little sleep.

But Mumbo was not normal. Mumbo was not even the slightest bit ordinary, however Cub had only started noticing in season eight.

Maybe that’s when Mumbo started losing his grip, Cub didn’t know, but two events over the course of those months stood out to him as particularly insane, those being the stealing of Grian’s soul and the sacrifice of Bdubs to ‘appease the moon,’ which was a perfectly on brand thing for Scar to do, but Mumbo? ‘Peace, love, and plants’ Mumbo?

That’s what had gotten Cub’s attention in the first place actually; Mumbo had always been famously uncomfortable around blood and gore, uninterested in murder on a good day, even as part of a game, but he had seemed particularly unwell then, not only because he was so damn skinny that a small gust of wind could’ve knocked him clean over, but the insistence on only eating certain foods, bordering on not eating at all; it had worried Cub, to be frank. He and Mumbo were never close, but he remembered stopping by once or twice to check in, and generally hanging around to make sure he was okay. Mumbo always insisted he was just fine. And then Cub heard he threw Grian into a meat grinder and was a tad more concerned.

Technically Mumbo had not been the one to put Grian into his killing machine, but he may as well have been, tricking Grian into signing a contract than leading him to his own gratuitously violent death- Now all of this Cub heard from Scar, so perhaps there was a bit of hyperbole going on, but Cub had checked out the machine, and even compared to Cub’s own violent history it looked.. intense.

Maybe not intense coming from some other hermits, but out of pocket from Mumbo.

Now, with the moon growing large and crashing into the server, it was safe to say everyone was a tiny bit off their rocker, but Mumbo didn’t sleep well on a normal day, so Cub wasn’t sure he believed the whole idea of the Boatem Mooners as they were called, making a pact not to sleep, which, inevitably, drove the whole lot of them off the deep end. But Mumbo lived like that normally; Cub couldn’t recall more than two times he’d actually seen Mumbo asleep over a period of years, and in his passive observation, it felt like something was off about Mumbo’s behavior in the Mooner cult. It felt.. like an excuse. And maybe that was just a hunch, it’s not like Cub had any real evidence, but participating in a ritual sacrifice seemed severely unlike Mumbo, even if he only hauled Bdubs up to the pyre in the first place and Scar was the one who set the flame.

Cub didn’t care of course. What Mumbo did with his time was his own business, and Cub certainly wasn’t judgemental but.. well, he was interested. It was like your reliable average joe experiences a short burst of pure unbridled mania, then goes back to normal the next day pretending none of it happened. Cub just had a feeling there was more there, more to him, and god if he didn’t want to know what it was.

He considered stalking to be a strong word. What he did was not stalking.

However, if Mumbo was around, or Cub caught a passing glance of him sneaking off by himself, he may have followed, never revealing his presence. And that- in the back half of season eight and the start of season nine. Cub had seen some things. He had certainly seen some things.

Now, Cub was no stranger to rituals. In general vex and their counterparts were ritualistic creatures, drawn to performance and sacrifice and dance. He was always drawn to violence, as was Scar, and they had shared more than a couple vile displays of lust and brutality. It was indulgence, it was a show, and in truth, the only reason the sacrifice of animals was not a more common occurrence is because Scar shied away from it, preferring to use their own flesh and blood. It did not bother Cub either way. If the treatment of animals was among his top concerns, he’d have quite a few issues with some of the other inhabitants of the server.

All of this preface to say that the things Cub witnessed Mumbo doing to animals was enough to make him think that pigs and chickens had orphaned him, stolen all his most precious possessions, burned down his childhood home, then ate all his children and cursed his bloodline, because seriously, what the hell?

Cub was not someone who was easily disturbed, but watching Mumbo set animals from various farms loose, chase and maim them for literal hours (sometimes whole nights) leave them with horrific injuries, then only when they couldn’t stand to run any longer, eat them alive- It was a deeply fascinating, deeply unnerving display, coupled by.. whatever the fuck Mumbo was. It sure as hell wasn’t human, something Cub was relieved to figure out quickly.

Mumbo was tall, but even then, he was too fast. There were moments when parts of him were too long, a leg or fingers, and sometimes too sharp- From a distance, Cub didn’t know how Mumbo was inflicting such brutal lacerations, and even with a spyglass, Cub couldn’t quite tell, but he had to be changing, his body had to be adapting to his physical needs. Mumbo was too strong as well; this was something Cub had witnessed in places other than remote locations thousands of blocks from spawn, but it was true! No one that skinny, bordering on emaciated, had enough muscle to sustain activities like this, much less break bones with a snap of a hand and restrain terrified animals twice his size.

All of this was inhuman, however, most of these things could also be explained away as tricks of the light, or misunderstandings of human anatomy. Unlikely, yes, but possible.

Cub really knew when he saw Mumbo eat for the first time.

And when he said the first time, he meant the first time; even when Mumbo had made eating potatoes his whole identity, Cub had never actually seen him eat anything. When he asked Scar before this whole ordeal, the thought had never occurred to Scar before, but when he asked Grian, he had only told Cub that Mumbo was private with his meals, too anxious to eat in front of others. Honestly, Cub had thought Mumbo had some kind of eating disorder. Given the state of him, it wasn’t a poor assumption, and Cub got the sense Grian felt similarly, though he wouldn’t give any more information other than ‘Mumbo is anxious,’ stubbornly close-lipped. Cub got the sense Grian knew a little more than he was letting on, and given how nosy he was, Cub found himself wondering if Grian had seen Mumbo eat before, really eat.

After pressing, majorly pissing Grian off in the process, Cub was a little more sure, though, Grian getting pissed off could just as easily be a symptom of Cub being an asshole and nothing more. Sometimes Cub didn’t know when to stop, but Scar had a pretty good system of letting him know. (“Cub, you’re being an asshole.” to which he would respond “Oh, okay.” For some reason people avoided telling Cub to shut the fuck up even when they really wanted to, but it would make his life a lot easier if they did.)

But yes, it was quite clear that Mumbo was not human when the hunt was over and he finally started to eat.

Mumbo didn’t.. Cub wasn’t exactly sure if he chewed, rather than just.. swallowing. A lot. Too much at a time. Mumbo’s body seemed to accommodate him more than a human body ever should- he had teeth, Cub knew he had teeth, but it seemed instead he preferred to eat as much as he could whole.

Snakes could unhinge their jaws, striking, then positioning their prey so they could eat it head first, killing it faster, reducing the chance they may get scratched or bit.

Mumbo did not do this. Perhaps he did unhinge his jaw, but a human mouth, even broken in every sense of the word, could not possible take as much as Mumbo did at once, his body distorting and bubbling in ways that couldn’t be anything less than painful, bones and muscles rearranging, skin stretching, it was horrible, but Mumbo didn’t even take his prey head first.

It made no sense. Why would he start at the back, where he could be kicked, scratched, where it was easier for whatever he was consuming to bend over and bite him, hurt him. Is that why he tired his prey out so completely? Waited until they were completely exhausted? But even then, they still fought. Nothing being eaten alive like this could simply let it happen, the will to live was too strong, regardless of the inevitable hopelessness.

Cub wondered if Mumbo wanted to be hurt. If Mumbo thought he should be hurt by kicking feet and flailing jaws, larger animals struggling so fiercely that they would snap his entire face out of shape, a sight so particularly horrific, Cub found himself flinching, though he never looked away. Mumbo seemed like the type of person that wanted to punish himself, not that Cub knew him particularly well, but he was so weird, so oddly puritan when it came to standards set for himself, it made sense.

Or maybe he just wanted them to struggle. He wanted them to live longer, draw out suffering, just as he’d been doing for hours prior. Mumbo never flinched, even when he’d been bit or scratched particularly badly. Cub never saw blood or injury. And he was looking for it. He was watching closely. That first night, he slept just as little as Mumbo did, though both of them seemed not to need it.

Cub didn’t think he’d sleep ever again. He had to know more.

But Cub was a busy man, he had his own projects to work on, and he didn’t make a habit of following Mumbo around, but he did keep tabs. He was curious, but that curiosity started shifting to concern, especially after the switch from season eight to season nine.

Mumbo was visibly deteriorating, those lonely acts of violence feeling a lot more like desperation than real cruelty. Maybe it had always been desperate. Or maybe Cub was mistaken. He was not the best at reading other people.

But you didn’t have to be good at reading people to know that Mumbo was losing his grip. Mumbo was jumpy on a good day, but after the first weeks of season nine, he didn’t react to anything at all. He hardly even looked up when Grian approached him, trying his best to cheer Mumbo up, which Cub knew because Grian told Scar, and Scar could never help himself but tell Cub, just as Cub could never help but keep anything from Scar.

Scar knew about Mumbo the morning after Cub witnessed the hunt on the first night, Cub not even sleeping before he shook Scar awake at 7:00 AM, relaying everything he’d seen. Bafflingly, Scar could not have given less of a fuck.

“I knew something was wrong with him,” he’d said, mildly amused, and then closed his eyes, settling down to go back to sleep. Cub did not understand. It just did not make any sense that Scar did not care because this was one of the wildest things Cub had ever witnessed. He had so many questions! How could Scar not have any questions? Why did Mumbo keep this a secret? What was the point of drawing out his hunts? What was Mumbo? He had teeth, why didn’t he use them?

“Cub.” Scar said stiffly, eyelids fighting against Cub’s claws as he tried to pry them back open and make Scar listen, “You’re being an asshole.”

Scar still had no interest in answering any of the questions that kept Cub awake at night, but he did humor Cub when he theorized for hours, trailing Scar while he worked on his base, landscaping, was stuck sick in bed- Cub was more anxious when Scar was sick, worried he was boring him with chatter he knew Scar cared little about, but Scar insisted otherwise, engaging far more than he ever did when he had something else to do. Alien. Alien. Mumbo’s an alien. Alien. He’s an alien. He’s from the void. He’s an alien. Scar’s theories were not often rooted in sense, but it was fun to listen to him regardless.

But Scar cared in season nine. He cared because anyone close to Mumbo could see how poorly he was doing, and Scar would do anything to ease that pain. Cub would have approached Mumbo himself, asked about his excursions directly, but Scar had insisted that was the wrong way to go about it, not when Mumbo was so frail and already so depressed. Mumbo would accept help easier from someone closer to him, and Scar knew how to be subtle.

Scar came back to their shared tree home later that day wearing a grimace and a hand stuck permanently running through his hair.

“It, uh.. I may not have handled that as well as I could have. He may be upset. I dunno.. I didn’t think it was that bad, but Grian really chewed me out when it was just the two of us.”

“What happened? What did you say?” Cub’s tone may have been too harsh, a bad habit he struggled to shake when he was so invested. “I’m sorry-“ he snuck the words through when Scar winced, speaking before he could, “I don’t think you’ve done anything, I just want to know what happened.”

“I know,” Scar said, and Cub knew he did, no one knew him as wholly as Scar did, but Cub knew him in the same way, and knew he was sensitive after plans turned sour. Regardless, Scar continued, “So I meet up with Mumbo and Grian, right? We were just hanging out, talking about blueprints, nothing too crazy, but I wanted us all to get together anyway, since Mumbo’s been so down. He’s always a little more relaxed when Grian’s around, I don’t know what it is about those two, they’re like each other’s emotional support cats.”

“That’s true,” Cub nodded, trying to engage but antsy in the fluff of Scar’s story.

“So I bring us all together, you know how it is, and I suggest we have a little party, the three of us! None of us really have any birthdays coming up, but in my mind we can’t really afford to wait, so I suggested we do one now! Grian was teasing me, saying something like ‘Is it really a party if there’s only three of us?’ But I think so, and I said I think we could all use a bit of a pick me up, and Mumbo agreed with me, he said he thought it was a good idea! So I went on, I said we needed to have a themed party, because unthemed parties are no good, just as joyless as an unthemed amusement park, not awful, better than nothing maybe, but come on! You have to have a theme!”

“You have to have a theme,” Cub agreed, solemnly serious.

“So I told them it should be cannibalism themed!” Scar threw up his arms grandly, just like he’d probably done for Mumbo and Grian, but here the gesture was more frustrated, “And I didn’t want to get shut down right away, so I just kept talking about the details; maybe we could hire another hermit to be our lamb, y’know? Or we could just take turns with each other, or even just drain some blood, y’know, throw it around- and this, I still think this is genius- we could put blood in water guns and shoot each other with it! Wouldn’t that be awesome?”

“Gruesome,” Cub said, not disagreeing, but more amused than anything.

“Maybe a little bit,” Scar snickered, good natured, but he straightened, looking awkward, “But uh.. Mumbo did not like that idea. I could see him not liking it, so I kind of panicked y’know? Anyone would! So I just kept talking, hoping I could convince him before Grian bit my head off, but Grian was trying really hard to do that, and I just kept interrupting him, kept talking, and I know Mumbo isn’t squeamish, he can’t be given everything you’ve told me, but you would have thought it, and in fairness, I may have gone a little too far..” Scar slowed down, shrinking in on himself in his guilt, “I just want him to feel better. He was so- so distressed. I just want him to feel better. He- he fell when he was trying to get away from me. I wasn’t keeping him anywhere, but he was just so upset he fell and.. I don’t know. He’s just so frail. I wasn’t sure if he’d be able to get up again.” Scar rubbed the back of his neck. “He did. I mean, of course he did. He didn’t even have any trouble. He didn’t stumble. He just looks that way.”

Cub nodded slowly, sympathetic. A small silence lingered as Cub thought, opening his eyes when he was done. “I think a cannibalism party is a great idea. We should gather up a bunch of hermits and airdrop the lot of us in the woods with Ren on the full moon. He wins if he kills all of us by the morning.” Cub paused, “Well, maybe that’s not really a cannibalism party. Tangential cannibalism party.”

Scar snorted, mood ever so slightly lifting, “I think that’s fantastic. Better than my idea.”

“I don’t know about that.”

Scar shrugged, “I think your mind is beautiful.”

Cub wasn’t sure what to do with that, quietly flustered, but he must have made some kind of face because Scar laughed, wrapping Cub in a tight hug that made him squeak, shaking him in the same way a dog might shake a chew toy, though less violent given they were sitting down, just an expression of Scar’s restless energy. Cub was no good at comfort, they both knew this about him, but somehow Scar managed to find it anyway, wrestling it out of him when Cub couldn’t dig it up himself.

He did not think about Mumbo for a little while, resting instead with Scar, listening to him mumble rambled nonsense for the next thirty minutes until he fell asleep.

Cub did not interact much with Mumbo in the following weeks, not wanting to push when he was clearly so sensitive (and the two of them weren’t much more than strangers), but from what he heard from Scar, things weren’t getting any better. Grian was doing his damned best effort to cheer Mumbo up in his own way, Mumbo creating a vault for Grian to ‘break in to,’ and Cub heard from Scar that Mumbo sat out there for hours watching Grian (literally) bash his head against a wall, so at least Mumbo wasn’t alone.

And then Mumbo announced he was leaving. That he didn’t know for how long, or even where he was going, but that he just needed a break, he needed to go. Burnt out, was the reason he gave. He was burnt out. Anyone with eyes could see through the lie, and Cub wondered how many hermits were noticing for the first time just how bad of shape Mumbo was in. But no one said anything. No one stopped him. And if anyone had more in depth concerns, they weren’t brought up to the group as a whole, kept between whispers and close friends.

But Mumbo said he would be back. The words left him grimly, almost as if against his will, but he was firm, certain. A tone that said his return would not be a good thing, but it was inevitable, and he was resigned to the knowledge of that future.

So easily it could have been mistaken for apathy. For sadness that he was leaving behind friends, that it would be awhile before he saw everyone again. But Cub saw through. He wondered if Scar did too, Grian, maybe Iskall.

Cub thought Mumbo might have looked at him then, seconds before his departure. Their eyes met, and for a long moment Cub was sure Mumbo saw something in his; knowledge, intent. And then Mumbo looked away, and the moment passed. And then Mumbo was gone.

“You look like you’re seconds away from killing someone, you okay?” Tango elbowed him, and the gesture was playful, but all the same there was that underlying concern, the kind that told Cub plainly that Tango was telling the truth.

Whoops.

It was possible Mumbo was staring at him because Cub looked like he wanted him dead.

“I’m alright,” Cub shrugged, and he was, “Just sad to see him go. Don’t like losing anyone, you know how it is.”

“Yeah,” Tango mused, shaking Cub’s shoulder in a gentle gesture of encouragement, “But he’ll be back. Honestly, I bet he won’t be more than a month, he just needs some space to get those creative juices back in action. Can’t imagine him functioning without Grian at his hip for much longer than that,” Tango laughed, and Cub joined him, though the chuckle was somewhat joyless.

Mumbo was gone for a hell of a lot longer than one month. Nine months actually, he was gone, to the point where most hermits were pretty worried, some wondering if he was really returning at all (thoughts never expressed when Grian was around).

But Mumbo did come back. And when he did, he looked great. Truly great, Cub couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Mumbo looking so genuinely healthy and happy; still skinny as a stick, but more filled out, less gaunt. He looked strong, and even his eye bags had lightened a little, though whatever he’d been doing, it clearly hadn’t fixed his insomnia; that being an observation Scar said to him in jest.

But it was good. It was good.

Honestly, Cub had expected his mild obsession with Mumbo to flare up again the second he stepped foot back on the server, but almost the opposite happened, where everything Cub had previously felt; the curiosity, the intrigue.. it all simmered down. Mumbo was healthy, he was high energy, and Cub found that he didn’t care all that much what was going on with him so long as he stayed that way. He’d had nine months to burn himself out on theorizing anyway, he’d moved on to other interests.

But Mumbo did not stay healthy.

Cub was too busy on the back end of season nine to notice, not keeping tabs on Mumbo hardly at all by then, but at the start of season ten, when everyone was together, Cub saw it right away.

The difference between the Mumbo returning home from his break and the Mumbo at the start of season ten was stark, at least to Cub, since no one else seemed to notice, or at least didn’t say so. It wasn’t like Mumbo was deteriorating as severely as he had been before traveling, but Cub was sure he had lost weight, and something was just wrong; maybe he was a little too neurotic, a little too snappy. It was almost nothing! Hardly noticeable, honestly, to the point Cub thought he might be going crazy, but really. What would happen if the problem escalated to the point of season nine, Mumbo so miserable that just the mere suggestion of violence was enough to do him in completely. Whatever Mumbo was doing now, it wasn’t sustainable!

Cub waited a couple months, partially to see what would happen, but admittedly, he wasn’t too thrilled about the idea of confronting him directly. He didn’t want to tell Scar this time, he wanted to do this himself, but working up the nerve was a beast within itself.

But it was fine. It was going to be fine, because Mumbo had literally no reason to say no. If Mumbo needed to eat, however convoluted the way he had to do it, he should just do it, and Cub became so convinced of this that he was certain Mumbo would see it too. So he approached him, not accusatory of course, not even questioning Mumbo’s thinly veiled humanity, but simply giving him an out. Scar would be more than thrilled to have Mumbo drag him around by his innards or whatever the fuck Mumbo would come up with. He would not say no.

(He said no.)

This was going to be a tough case. Cub really hadn’t anticipated this going wrong in any way, because put simply, it made no sense for Mumbo to refuse, but regardless, this was fine because Cub was not going to give up. He would not let this get as bad as it had before. He’d go for a more subtle approach instead, and not the Scar kind of subtle either, real subtle, not even mention eating people at all. Cub was going to make this work.

He was going to seduce Mumbo.

[worriedvision]

You're the third wheel in the relationship - Wriothesley and Neuvilette.

Gender neutral reader, reader is a businessperson who has to travel outside of Fontaine, which leads to them being with their lovers less often than they see each other. No happy ending.

--

When you were dating Neuvilette, he introduced you to Wriothesley before the prospect of dating had crossed your minds. He was gentlemanly, and rather professional. Over time, you had found yourself pairing the two of them together in your mind, and when the two of them told you at the same time that they wish for Wriothesley to join the relationship, it was difficult to ignore the twinge of unease in your chest.

To your surprise, Wriothesley keeps sending you invites to spend time with him personally, and you find yourself being the 'link' between the two of them. Although you spent more time with the both of them than they did, you heard people whisper about how out of place you looked. According to people, your job being different from theirs was concerning, and it didn't help that you were considered the ugly ducking of the poly relationship.

But still, when these comments grew in size, your boyfriends would shower you with love, so much more than you usually had, and you thought they felt bad for you. They chastise you when you bring this up, however, saying that they simply wanted you to know how much they loved you.

It was all fine, all things considered, until you travelled to Liyue for work. At the time, both of your boyfriends were preoccupied - the two of them working on paperwork, and you know better than to interrupt them when they had to focus. Hearing whispers once again, you brush it off as you begin your travels.

-

How did you manage to get into this position, you think to yourself.

Speaking to Zhongli, a representative for a Funeral Parlor, regarding Fontaine Flora for oil. The man excelled in his knowedge of Liyue, however he seemed to know a few things. You land up taking the conversation to dinner, where he asks you about your life in Fontaine. That's how he finds out you are in a poly relationship. After admitting you have two boyfriends, you fear he's going to assume you're either very easy or very toxic to be around. To your surprise, he smiles.

-

"It is lovely to share feelings in a group. I am in no position to judge, as a single man," Zhongli chuckles, you smiling into your cup as you take a sip of the tea Zhongli recommended.

'Eww...wait, that's...'

'Wriothesley and Neuvilette are into that average joe?'

'They don't deserve Wriothesley and Neuvilette, travelling while they're in Fontaine,'

'Maybe that's why the two look so happy, now that they don't have to be awkward around _...'

-

That...surely that wasn't true, right?

Now that you thought about it, it starts to dawn on you. You hadn't spent time with them as a duo, only being able to have time with one of them at a time due to work...according to them...

Perhaps they were lying, and you couldn't take the hint that you were a simple release for them when they couldn't spend time together. You were likely now a third wheel in the relationship, and you were simply too stupid to realise it.

But why would they reassure you so hard? Was that to keep you as a pawn for them when they wanted to hug each other but couldn't?

"Are you alright?" Zhongli asks, touching your shoulder with a concerned glint in his eye. "I've been calling your name, but you must have zoned out."

"Sorry, just personal issues." You brush off, Zhongli not buying this for one second. "Now, regarding violetgrass..."

You didn't want your time in Liyue to be ruined by the realisation you were not in a relationship with your boyfriends, they simply had you around as a stress toy.

--

Upon your return to Fontaine, contract signed for a flower exchange, you return to your flat to put your bags away before officially breaking things off with your boyfriends.

Seeing the letters they sent you really made you realise that you were just for their own work. They refer to their own workplace, mentioning you but not the third person, and putting heavy emphasis on how you were 'useful' to them when they had nothing better to do.

Realising you do not have the boldness nor the confidence to break things off in person, you decide to break things off by writing letters to them. It's not like you had enough time to meet them individually, after all you were going to have to make several trips to Liyue for the flower exchange.

[mpbbychoice]

I had always been proud of my thick, flowing hair. It was one of the few things that made me stand out from the crowd, and I liked it that way. But here I was, standing in front of the mirror in my boyfriend Joe's apartment, staring at my balding head with a mix of horror and fascination. Joe was a strong, hirsute, bald man with visible muscles. He liked to wear muscle shirts and had a manly musk that I found strangely intoxicating. I, on the other hand, was an average man who took pride in his hair. But Joe wanted me to become more like him, and as much as I hated to admit it, his constant badgering was starting to get to me. It all started with a simple haircut. Joe hated my long hair and convinced me to get a buzzcut. I hated it at first, but I didn't complain. I figured it was just a small change, and I could always grow it back. But then I found myself in Joe's bathroom, staring at his epilator. For some reason, I felt compelled to use it on my head. The pain was intense, but so was the pleasure. I couldn't stop myself from tearing out my hair. When I went back to bed, Joe looked at me with surprise and admiration. 'I don't know what happened, but you look sexier than ever!' he exclaimed. He grabbed me and fucked me harder than he ever had before. I had the best orgasm of my life, and from that moment on, I was hooked. I began using the epilator regularly, and each time, Joe would join in, using it to thin out my hair even more. I hated the pain of having my hair ripped out, but I loved the attention from Joe. He shaved my head weekly to keep my hair short, and I continued to use the epilator, even as a bald spot formed on my head. Joe loved my baldness, and I have to admit, I did too. There was something strangely empowering about it. I felt stronger, more masculine. I was becoming more like Joe, and it turned me on. But then one day, after a particularly intense epilation session, I realized that I had gone bald. Not just balding, but completely bald. I was horrified. This was not what I had signed up for. I wanted to stop, to go back to the way things were, but I couldn't. I was addicted to the pain, the pleasure, and most of all, the attention from Joe. Joe, however, loved it. He loved my bald head, and he loved the fact that I had become more like him. He told me that I had never looked sexier, and he fucked me with a passion that I had never experienced before. I couldn't deny that it felt good, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I had lost myself in the process. In the end, I realized that I had let Joe's desires consume me. I had destroyed the man I used to be, all in the name of becoming more like the man I loved. And even though I hated what I had become, I couldn't deny the intense arousal I felt every time I looked in the mirror and saw my bald head staring back at me. Joe and I continued our relationship, with him shaving my head regularly to keep it short. I still used the epilator, and the baldness became permanent. I had become a bald man, just like Joe. And even though I had lost myself in the process, I couldn't deny that I loved the man I had become.

[phoenixyfriend]

I've been thinking about how it might be useful, if not necessarily entirely fulfilling for whatever it is that I need out of them, to ask politicians how they would define a healthy economy, as opposed to just asking them how they would try to ensure a healthy economy.

President Joe Biden took to the White House lectern Friday to tout the healthy economy – strong job creation, lowering inflation and increased workforce participation and job satisfaction. - US News, Sep. 1, 2023

And

"I think we will see a big pickup in growth. We may not see it in the winter quarter...but I’m hopeful that we’ll see it in the spring,” Larry Kudlow, head of the National Economic Council, said on Fox Business. “It’s a fundamentally healthy economy,” he said, touting the 3.5 percent unemployment rate and “tremendous wage gains.” - The Washington Post, Jan. 30, 2020

In both cases they are offering a few signs of a healthy economy, the things that are quantified and measured as indicators, like unemployment, inflation, and wages.

But... wouldn't 'the ability to buy or rent a living space, and food security, for as many people as possible' make more sense?

Yeah, low inflation is the sign of a good economy, but what is the healthy economy actually doing? The jobs being created, are they actually full time and paying a living wage?

Fuck knows how many times a person at the podium has referenced the stock market as a signifier of the economy's health, and we all know that's barely relevant to the lives of us normal people.

I guess the question I'd want to ask politicians is "if the economy's health were measured in percentage of people who are able to afford housing, food, and other essentials on a full-time job with no government assistance, is the economy actually healthy?"

Low inflation means jackshit if the minimum wage is still no inflation. Job creation means something, but not if it's so far from your home that you spend most of your paycheck commuting. 'Tremendous wage gains' don't mean much if you're looking at an average that includes the CEOs and allows their paychecks to skew the data upwards.

How many of your citizens can afford housing, groceries, and medical care on a full-time wage, without government assistance?

[arkus-rhapsode]

Manga Recommendation: Tower Dungeon

So looks like Arkus Rhapsode is here to recommend another fantasy manga after the last one. So this time we're going for a bit of a different flavor with the series Tower Dungeon by by Tsutomu Nihei who you may know as the creator of Blame! and Knights of Sidonia.

Now I've known about this series for a bit even though it is relatively new. Having only started last year in Monthly Shonen Sirius. But I remember its announcement from people like Manga Mogul and hearing Makoto Yukimura (Author of the incredible Vinland Saga) recommending it. Now I always loved Sword and sorcery so I was gonna read it eventually, but it just wasn't translated. However, now being able to read the available chapters, I can say this is a very different type of fantasy series.

The premise is very basic: An evil sorcerer has killed a nation's king and kidnapped a Princess and now the royal knights need to ascend the "Dragon Tower" to save her. One battalion has conscripted a young man named Yuva for assisting troops medically has found he has impressive strength. Now Yuva must strengthen himself for the journey ahead as they explore the deadly tower.

Now like all simple premise stories, the real strength is in execution. And unlike the other fantasy series I've talked about before which have bucked the trend of "RPG fantasy" be leaning more into a traditionalist fantasy stories a la Tolkien, this goes for the more realist fantasy of something like Berserk or Dark Souls.

The world of Tower Dungeon may have things like magic and dragons, but it is a dingy, dirty, and lacks any frills. Knights wear heavy armor and people are covered in blood and scars from their adventures.

The mighty Dragon Tower itself? The most iconic thing about this series and the basis of the adventure? Looks like this. This isn't an opulent tower, this is a massive imposing structure where monsters dwell.

However, unlike some grim dark or edgy fantasies, this world isn't indulgent in its darkness. The violence and death are never cool or cheap. They are simply the way the world is. Even when magic exists, the world is still like Medieval Europe and all the "joys" that come from it.

The people as well are similar. These aren't romanticized or polished fantasy archetypes that often come with the idea of a Dungeons and Dragons style adventure, these feel like average joes plucked off the streets having to do a job. If you are say a fan of something like Chainsaw Man, this sort of post modern emphasis on people acting like regular weirdos and not some "anime characters." And I think that is something quite nice that even in a fantastical world, we can see our regular selves in them.

But that's just the story, what about the art? Well if you've noticed this series does have a very minimalist style. Something similar to that of Land of the Lustrous or Chainsaw Man. These almost scratchy and not the most detailed designs that make use of their simplicity to create this very unique atmosphere.

Creature designs themselves are less fantastical and more grody. Feeling as if they come from an off shoot of man rather than some majestic beast. Right down to the cat people.

This series is still new and sadly hasn't been officially translated yet. I've had to use mangadex to read this, so my heart goes out to the translator team. I can understand that this may be a niche that's not for everyone, but its something that feels like such a good sign for fantasy as a genre. A genre that I think has somewhat been stagnated in popular belief with the greater emphasis on Urban Action manga and the reliance on escapist fantasy anime like isekai. To see a more dirty but down to earth take on the premise, I highly recommend it.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

July 6, 2023

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

JUL 7, 2023

The payroll processing firm ADP said today that private sector jobs jumped by 497,000 in June, far higher than the Dow Jones consensus estimate predicted. The big gains were in leisure and hospitality, which added 232,000 new hires; construction with 97,000; and trade, transportation and utilities with 90,000. Annual pay rose at a rate of 6.4%. Most of the jobs came from companies with fewer than 50 employees. 

The Dow Jones Industrial Average, which is a way to measure the stock market by aggregating certain stocks, dropped 372 points as the strong labor market made traders afraid that the Fed would raise interest rates again to cool the economy. Higher interest rates make borrowing more expensive, slowing investment. 

Today, as the Washington Post’s climate reporter Scott Dance warned that the sudden surge of broken heat records around the globe is raising alarm among scientists, Bloomberg’s Cailley LaPara reported that the incentives in the Inflation Reduction Act for emerging technologies to address climate change have long-term as well as short-term benefits. 

Dance noted that temperatures in the North Atlantic are already close to their typical annual peak although we are early in the season, sea ice levels around Antarctica are terribly low, and Monday was the Earth’s hottest day in at least 125,000 years and Tuesday was hotter. LaPara noted that while much attention has been paid to the short-term solar, EV, and wind industries in the U.S., emerging technologies for industries that can’t be electrified—technologies like sustainable aviation fuel, clean hydrogen, and direct air capture, which pulls carbon dioxide out of the air—offer huge potential to reduce emissions by 2030. 

This news was the backdrop today as President Biden was in South Carolina to talk about Bidenomics. After touting the huge investments of both public and private capital that are bringing new businesses and repaired infrastructure to that state, Biden noted that analysts have said that the new laws Democrats have passed will do more for Republican-dominated states than for Democratic ones. “Well, that’s okay with me,” Biden said, “because we’re all Americans. Because my view is: Wherever the need is most, that’s the place we should be helping. And that’s what we’re doing. Because the way I look at it, the progress we’re making is good for all Americans, all of America.”

On Air Force One on the way to the event, deputy press secretary Andrew Bates began his remarks to the press: “President Biden promised that he would be a president for all Americans, regardless of where they live and regardless of whether they voted for him or not. He also promised to rebuild the middle class. The fact that Bidenomics has now galvanized over $500 billion in job-creating private sector investment is the newest testament to how seriously he takes fulfilling those promises.”

Bates listed all the economic accomplishments of the administration and then added: “the most powerful endorsement of Bidenomics is this: Every signature economic law this President has signed, congressional Republicans who voted “no” and attacked it on Fox News then went home to their district and hailed its benefits.” He noted that “Senator Lindsey Graham called the Inflation Reduction Act ‘a nightmare for South Carolina,’” then, “[j]ust two months later, he called BMW’s electric vehicles announcement ‘one of the most consequential announcements in the history of the state of South Carolina.’” “Representative Joe Wilson blasted the Bipartisan Infrastructure Law but later announced, ‘I welcome Scout Motors’ plans to invest $2 billion and create up to 4,000 jobs in South Carolina.’ Nancy Mace called Bidenomics legislation a…‘disaster,’ then welcomed a RAISE grant to Charleston.” 

“[W]hat could speak to the effectiveness of Bidenomics more than these conversions?” Bates asked.

While Biden is trying to sell Americans on an economic vision for the future, the Republican leadership is doubling down on dislike of President Biden and the Democrats. Early on the morning of July 2, Trump, who remains the presumptive 2024 Republican presidential nominee, shared a meme of President Biden that included a flag reading: “F*CK BIDEN AND F*CK YOU FOR VOTING FOR HIM!” The next morning, in all caps, he railed against what he called “massive prosecutorial conduct” and “the weaponization of law enforcement,” asking: “Do the people of this once great nation even have a choice but to protest the potential doom of the United States of America??? 2024!!!”

Prosecutors have told U.S. district judge Aileen Cannon that they want to begin Trump’s trial on 37 federal charges for keeping and hiding classified national security documents, and as his legal trouble heats up, Trump appears to be calling for violence against Democrats. On June 29 he posted what he claimed was the address of former president Barack Obama, inspiring a man who had been at the January 6 attack on the U.S. Capitol to repost the address and to warn, “We got these losers surrounded! See you in hell,…Obama’s [sic].” Taylor Tarranto then headed there with firearms and ammunition, as well as a machete, in his van. Secret Service agents arrested him. 

Indeed, those crossing the law for the former president are not faring well. More than 1,000 people have been arrested for their participation in the events of January 6, and those higher up the ladder are starting to feel the heat as well. Trump lawyer Lin Wood, who pushed Trump’s 2020 election lies, was permitted to “retire” his law license on Tuesday rather than be disbarred. Trump lawyer John Eastman is facing disbarment in California for trying to overturn the 2020 election with his “fake elector” scheme, a ploy whose legitimacy the Supreme Court rejected last week. And today, Trump aide Walt Nauta pleaded not guilty to federal charges of withholding documents and conspiring to obstruct justice for allegedly helping Trump hide the classified documents he had at Mar-a-Lago. 

Trump Republicans—MAGA Republicans—are cementing their identity by fanning fears based on cultural issues, but it is becoming clear those are no longer as powerful as they used to be as the reality of Republican extremism becomes clear. 

Yesterday the man who raped and impregnated a then-9-year-old Ohio girl was sentenced to at least 25 years in prison. Last year, after the Supreme Court overturned the 1973 Roe v. Wade decision recognizing the constitutional right to abortion, President Biden used her case to argue for the need for abortion access. Republican lawmakers, who had criminalized all abortions after 6 weeks, before most people know they’re pregnant, publicly doubted that the case was real (Ohio Attorney General Dave Yost told the Fox News Channel there was “not a damn scintilla of evidence” to support the story). Unable to receive an abortion in Ohio, the girl, who had since turned 10, had to travel to Indiana, where Dr. Caitlin Bernard performed the procedure.

Republican Indiana attorney general Todd Rokita complained—inaccurately—that Bernard had not reported child abuse and that she had violated privacy laws by talking to a reporter, although she did not identify the patient and her employer said she acted properly. Bernard was nonetheless reprimanded for her handling of privacy issues and fined by the Indiana licensing board. Her employer disagreed.

As Republican-dominated states have dramatically restricted abortion, they have fueled such a backlash that party members are either trying to avoid talking about it or are now replacing the phrase “national ban” with “national consensus” or “national standard,” although as feminist writer Jessica Valenti, who studies this language, notes, they still mean strict antiabortion measures. In the House, some newly-elected and swing-district Republicans have blocked abortion measures from coming to a vote out of concern they will lose their seats in 2024. 

But it is not at all clear the issue will go away. Yesterday, those committed to protecting abortion rights in Ohio turned in 70% more signatures than they needed to get a measure amending the constitution to protect that access on the ballot this November. In August, though, antiabortion forces will use a special election to try to change the threshold for constitutional amendments, requiring 60% of voters rather than a majority.

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[kirbylover34]

VOTE!!!

I know how everyone is feeling currently about the genocide of Palestine right now. People are angry and furious that we Americans are complicit in the ongoing violence that revokes the lives of innocent people. How our politicians are sending weapons and defending Zionism, and silencing those that speak out. As it stands both political parties, our democratic and republican candidates are fully onboard with the slaughter of women and infants. I feel that pain, seeing videos of children crying for their deceased families and the vileness I never thought humans were capable of doing. As it stands democratic candidate Kamala Harris has fully shown support for the Israelis. So why as an average normal American citizen who detests the ongoing genocide am I telling you to vote for Kamala? If you have been paying attention to our current politics. You would know who Donald Trump is. But many of you have seem to have forgotten the various warning signs that should alarm everybody. Trump has recently ramped up fascist rhetoric, calling immigrants and minorities like vermin, threatening to arrest political opponents, spreading deceitful lies such as how Haitians are eating cats and dogs, many of you have also seem to forgot that he incited an insurrection on our capital after sleepy joe was fairly elected. He did nothing when people were dying from COVID and even sent our tests to Vladimir Putin. He has been convicted of 34 felonies. Many of you should also know about his Project 2025 playbook,if you don’t. It details plans to replace the federal civil workers with MAGA Loyalists, and using Unitary Executive Theory to give the Executive branch more power over other branches of government. He also wants to send illegal immigrants to concentration camps, give a tax cut to 1%, defund the department of education and EPA, cut back on social security and Medicare. Also many seem to be ignoring the fact that he was given immunity by 6 out of 3 Supreme Court justices. Which the sane court also overturned Roe V. Wade. He also plans to take abortion away nationwide making it illegal. Also most of his current administration want the same things he wants. He plans on turning our country into a military state as a local police force. Hell that’s not even counting the fact that the republicans request he be put in MILITARY VEHICLES FOR TRANSPORTATION. He wants to outlaw rights for Gay and LgbtQ. Thats not even counting the fact that he is clearly suffering from dementia and could be in control of NUCLEAR CODES! Yet many people say Kamala is the same shit from the toilet bowl as trump. I can’t sit here in good faith and watch people ask for a revolution that may never even happen. We are literally hanging by a thread over a black abyss we may never escape from. We are looking at the next Nazi Party, but instead they call themselves MAGA. I’m telling you to vote for Kamala not because I support her. I’m voting for her for the lives of every American. People of color, women, children, LGBTQ, elderly, average normal people who just want to live their lives. Literal lives are at stake here. People should be coming together to make sure Trump never gets back in. And yet I still see people insist to not vote for Kamala. I’m sending this as a warning and message to everyone to vote Blue, no matter what stupid shit the democrats do or how much you dislike them. Do it for your neighbors, do it for the good people who stand in solidarity with Palestinians! VOTE!!! 🔵🇵🇸

[havinganormalone]

At least the first time trump took office, he lost the popular vote. There was this sense of camaraderie with America at large, that most of us didn't actually want this buffoon asset stripping our country.

But he won the popular vote this time. He won it by a significant margin. People SAW the devastation he unleashed, and still. Still. They want him back in office. They know he is the same man as "grab them by the pussy" and "I could stand in the middle of Fifth Avenue and shoot somebody, and I wouldn't lose voters" and "When the looting starts, the shooting starts," and they decided they didn't care. This time around, when he comes for people, it's with the tacit approval of the majority of voters. That's what is making this election even worse than 2016, what fills me with dread.

And people might say "the voters don't actually want him to target minorities, they just are upset about inflation." And it fills me with such cold resignation, because I know my history.

Post WWI, 1923. Germany was saddled with compensating the world for the economic damage done by the war. It caused massive inflation. That's how it started. It started with the average joe just wanting life to make sense. And when Hitler took the stand, he promised he could get the country economically back on track. He didn't campaign on a platform of targeting anyone different. He campaigned by taking people's economic fears and shifting the blame to others. It's the Jew's fault you are hurting. They are hoarding all the money. The homosexual is corrupting our family values, that's why society is in shambles. We have these leeches in our country, and if we could just get rid of THEM.

Maybe it won't happen here. But if it does. Well, a huge chunk of the population signed off on it with glee. I don't like our odds of any of them suddenly growing a backbone and standing up for us.

[mariacallous]

On Sunday, Speaker of the House Mike Johnson went on television and mixed up Iran and Israel. “We passed the support for Iran many months ago,” he told Meet the Press, erroneously referring to an aid package for the Jewish state. Last night, the Fox News prime-time host Jesse Watters introduced South Dakota Governor Kristi Noem as hailing from South Carolina. I once joined a cable-news panel where one of the participants kept confusing then–Attorney General Jeff Sessions with Representative Pete Sessions of Texas. I don’t hold these errors against anyone, as they are some of the most common miscues made by people who talk for a living—and I’m sure my time will come.

Yesterday, President Joe Biden added another example to this list. In response to a question about Gaza, he referred to the Egyptian leader Abdel Fattah al-Sisi as the president of Mexico. The substance of Biden’s answer was perfectly cogent. The off-the-cuff response included geographic and policy details not just about Egypt, but about multiple Middle Eastern players that most Americans probably couldn’t even name. The president clearly knew whom and what he was talking about; he just slipped up the same way Johnson and so many others have. But the flub could not have come at a worse time. Because the press conference had been called to respond to Special Counsel Robert Hur’s report on Biden’s handling of classified documents, which dubbed the president an “elderly man with a poor memory,” the Mexico gaffe was immediately cast by critics as confirmation of Biden’s cognitive collapse.

But the truth is, mistakes like these are nothing new for Biden, who has been mixing up names and places for his entire political career. Back in 2008, he infamously introduced his running mate as “the next president of the United States, Barack America.” At the time, Biden’s well-known propensity for bizarre tangents, ahistorical riffs, and malapropisms compelled Slate to publish an entire column explaining “why Joe Biden’s gaffes don’t hurt him much.” The article included such gems as the time that then-Senator Biden told the journalist Katie Couric that “when the markets crashed in 1929, ‘Franklin Roosevelt got on the television and didn’t just talk about the princes of greed. He said, “Look, here’s what happened.”’” The only problem with this story, Slate laconically noted, was that “FDR wasn’t president then, nor did television exist.”

In other words, even a cursory history of Biden’s bungling shows that he is the same person he has always been, just older and slower—a gaffe-prone, middling public speaker with above-average emotional intelligence and an instinct for legislative horse-trading. This is why Biden’s signature moments as a politician have been not set-piece speeches, but off-the-cuff encounters, such as when he knelt to engage elderly Holocaust survivors in Israel so they would not have to stand, and when he befriended a security guard in an elevator at The New York Times on his way to a meeting with the paper’s editorial board, which declined to endorse him. And it’s why Biden’s key accomplishments—such as the landmark climate-change provisions of the Inflation Reduction Act, the country’s first gun-control bill in decades, and the expected expansion of the child tax credit—have come through Congress. The president’s strength is not orating, but legislating; not inspiring a crowd, but connecting with individuals.

That said, although Biden’s Mexico mistake might not be a demonstration of dementia, it is a warning sign of a different sort that his campaign would be wise to heed. Recently, the White House declined to have Biden participate in the traditional pre–Super Bowl interview this coming Sunday. The administration framed this decision as part of a broader strategy favoring nontraditional media, but it was reasonably seen as an attempt to shield the candidate from scrutiny. The president’s staff is understandably reluctant to put Biden front and center, knowing that his slower speed and inevitable gaffes—both real and fabricated—will feed the mental-acuity narrative. But in actuality, the bar for Biden has been set so laughably low that he can’t help but vault over it simply by showing up. By contrast, limiting his appearances ensures that the public mostly encounters the president through decontextualized social-media clips of his slipups.

As Slate observed in 2008, the frequency of Biden’s rhetorical miscues helped neutralize them in the eyes of the public. In 2024, Biden will have an assist from another source: Donald Trump. Among other recent lapses, the former president has called Hungarian Prime Minister Viktor Orbán “the leader of Turkey,” confused Nancy Pelosi and Nikki Haley, and repeatedly expressed the strange belief that he won the 2020 election. With an opponent prone to vastly worse feats of viscous verbosity, Biden can’t help but look better by comparison, especially if he starts playing offense instead of defense.

But none of this will happen by itself. If the president and his campaign want the headlines to be something other than “Yes, Biden Knows Who the President of Egypt Is,” they’ll have to start making news, not reacting to it.