#protest in america yesterday

[soaps-mohawk]

Pre-Dinner Activities

Summary: Simon is horny for his wife. That's it. That's the plot.

Pairing: Simon x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ explicit sexual content, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex, Simon is a little shit

A/N: I saw a post about writing filthy smut and posting it today so people have to read it while at dinner with their families. So Happy Thanksgiving for those of you in America, and for those of you not, uh Happy Thursday/Friday whatever day it is for you. This is shit, I wrote it yesterday, but enjoy!

MASTERLIST

“Simon, we’re going to be late.” 

“There’s traffic this time of night.” He says, ignoring your protest as he kneels down behind you. “Can come up with a believable excuse.” 

“I’m not going to dinner with your parents looking like I’ve been fucked three ways to Sunday.” You say, finishing your mascara. 

“That’s what makeup is for.” Simon mumbles, hiking your dress up around your hips. 

“I already did my makeup.” You say, grunting as he pushes you up against the bathroom sink.

“You can touch it up.” His lips brush your inner thigh, his fingers slipping around the hem of your panties. 

“I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t get turned on every time we go out to dinner.” Your voice gets breathier as his face pushes up between your legs. “Guess this is better than fucking in the parking lot after.” 

Simon hums, the sound vibrating against your pussy as he mouths at your folds. “That’s definitely happening too.” 

Your complaint is cut off by a breathy moan as he drags his tongue through your wet slit. Despite your protests you can’t deny how wet the anticipation of his mouth on you has made you. 

“Fuck.” You breathe, leaning further over the counter as he pushes further between your legs. “You’re going to suffocate yourself.” 

“Good.” His voice is muffled as he presses further between your thighs, sucking your clit between his lips. 

Your panties are looped around one ankle, giving you room to spread your legs for him. Those big hands wrap around your thighs, pulling you back against his face. His lips suckle at your clit, and you know he’s getting absolutely drowned by the slick dribbling out of you.

He offers up no complaint though as he drags his tongue across your clit, his nose pressing against your folds. He draws circles around the sensitive bud, his mouth slurping at the slick starting to seep out of you. 

“Fucking hell, Simon.” You moan, your legs jerking as he scrapes his teeth against the underside of your clit. 

He lets out a muffled grunt, his tongue alternating between circles and teasing flicks against your clit. You’re going to cum and fast with how worked up he’s making you. He loves eating you out, his head between your thighs every chance he gets. He just loves you in general, but he also loves your pussy. 

“Fuck,” You moan as his tongue flicks across your clit. He’s groaning into your pussy, the sound vibrating through your slick folds. 

He pulls away just slightly from your clit, just enough to drag his tongue through your folds again. “Gonna cum?” He asks, his voice still slightly muffled. 

“Yeah,” You breathe, dropping down onto your arms on the counter as you push your hips backwards into his face. 

He uses the new position to his advantage, sucking hard on your clit. Your hips jolt from the pleasure, needy moans leaving your lips as you lay there against the counter. 

Your knees buckle as he continues to suck hard on your clit, his pleased groans vibrating through the sensitive bud. You're so close, your orgasm rapidly approaching. 

You’re right there, right on the edge of your orgasm when he pulls away, completely withdrawing himself from between your legs. You let out a disgruntled whine, lifting your head to stare at him in the mirror as he pushes himself up to stand. 

“What the fuck Simon!” You say, watching him as he frantically undoes his belt. 

“Can’t stand it any longer.” He shoves his pants and briefs down, his cock rock hard and angry red. 

He doesn’t give you any warning before he’s pushing into you, splitting you open around his thick cock. His hand pushes against your upper back keeping you pinned as he begins to snap his hips against your ass. 

“We’re really going to be late now.” You gasp, pushing your hips back against his, meeting his thrusts. 

“Can’t show up to dinner with my parents with a raging boner.” He says. 

“I could have given you a hand job in the car on the way.” You whine. 

“Can’t show up with cum on my pants either.” He grunts, pushing his cock as deep as he can inside of you. “Much prefer this anyway.” 

“Damn it, Simon.” You groan as he shifts his hips, dragging his cock against that spot inside of you. 

“You fucking love it.” He grunts, his hands dropping to your hips. 

He's not wrong. 

His thrusts are rough and sharp, pointed with a purpose. His cock drags along that spot inside of you with every thrust, pushing you closer and closer to the orgasm you were denied just a few moments ago. You’re not going to last much longer, not with his cock bullying itself into you like that. 

“Fuck, fuck-” Your back arches, pushing your hips back against his. He keeps the pace, thrusting into you hard and fast as you cum around him, gushing all over his cock. 

“Fucking beautiful.” He groans, his eyes cast downward at your ass as his thrusts start to get sloppy. 

You watch in the mirror as he gets closer and closer to the edge, his eyes still cast downward, his lips parted as he breathes. There’s sweat beaded on his forehead, dampening the edges of his hair. You’ll have to fix that. 

His head tilts back as he cums, exposing the column of his throat. You want to sink your teeth into his skin, but that’ll be for later. He cums inside of you, filling you up with hot spurts of his seed, his hips pushed right up against your ass. He grinds against you a couple of times before folding himself over you. 

His hands come to rest on the counter on either side of you, his gaze locked with yours in the mirror. “Think it’s too late to cancel?” 

“Yeah.” You breathe, reaching for a tissue to dab at the sweat beaded on your own forehead. “We’ve already cancelled twice.” 

“Fuck,” He breathes as he slips out of you. “You’re right.” 

“We need to leave like five minutes ago.” You say, quickly fixing your makeup as he helps you back into your panties. 

His hand cups your pussy as he pulls them up, his fingertips applying gentle pressure to your clit. “Keep that in there for later.” He grins, nipping at the skin behind your ear. 

“Fine,” You give him a pointed look through the mirror. “But we’re going to dinner with your parents, so no fingering me under the table this time.”

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[qqueenofhades]

Is it foolish of me to sympathize with how marginalized people on the far-left are incredibly frustrated that the Democratic establishment isn't as scared of/desperate to please them as the Republican establishment are toward the MAGA fringe? I guess from their perspective, voting feels like begging - most of the people who hear you won't even glance at you, let alone drop you a coin. But you still have to do it, or else you (or worse, your family) are *guaranteed* to starve.

Okay, a few thoughts here. Note: for you and the other people who have recently sent politics asks, I have been very deliberately NOT talking about it for the last few months. I had to break it yesterday because of the Orange Menace finally getting fucking convicted, but I do want to go back to not doing that (at least for the next few weeks/months/until whatever else stupid happens). So while I will answer this, I am generally not going to answer others and my apologies for that, but yeah. It's just so much and I have GOT to keep myself sane until November somehow. (Or God forbid, afterward, but you know.)

First off, most members of the American far left aren't actually marginalized people, or at least not marginalized enough that their personal well-being seems in any way likely to be affected by their loud and ceaseless campaign to tell other people not to vote. Actual marginalized people who have lived in America for any length of time are *well* aware of how the government and the state can be weaponized against them; witness how black community organizers will voice well-deserved criticisms of the Democratic establishment or other aspects of American party politics that are frustrating for everyone, but they will still always tell people to vote. Black people are also extremely aware that earning the right to vote was an incredibly long, difficult, and bloody battle that they were never given it for free, and the white power establishment fought them having it at every turn. They are thus far more aware than your average white online leftist that voting matters, because they had to work so hard to get it (and still to defend it as various red states launch openly racist assaults on voting rights, especially aimed at disenfranchising people of color). Witness how Bernie also got literally zero traction with African American voters, despite being the darling of the (white) online left.

Hispanic people are also (rightfully) frustrated at how both American parties can use Latino immigrants as a political football, but they're still backing Biden by 30-point margins. We hear a lot of chatter about Trump supposedly gaining ground with voters of color -- maybe he has, though I doubt it, but that's still incremental gains from the massive holes he was in before, and where he generally remains. Arab Americans are (rightfully) angry with Biden over Gaza, but even in the much-hyped Michigan primary, he got roughly the same amount of "uncommitted" voters as Obama did as an uncontested incumbent in 2012, and most of them have said they'll grit their teeth and vote for him in the general election anyway. Yes, a few of them have decided not to, but they are not the size of the Black and Latino populations in America insofar as electoral power, and many of them have grudgingly decided that as bad as Biden might be on this particular issue (though far less so than the social media groupthink would paint him) the alternative (i.e. Trump openly promising to deport everybody who's not white and crack down on pro-Palestinian protests and anything else) is much, much worse.

And yet, white leftists seem utterly incapable of making these same calculations. Frankly, I'm not sure they actually care about Gaza, let alone anything else they say, because if so, they wouldn't be slavering at the mouth to let Trump back in there to "teach a lesson" to Biden, Democrats, and everyone else who was not Smart And Clever Enough to sanctimoniously sit on their hands and let the fascists take over. I know this because they spent all their time lying about Biden and distorting his record and insisting people not vote even before October of last year, and then it only got ten thousand times worse. I'm not saying that all leftist or leftist-identified people are white, but they are disproportionately predominant in leftist spaces and in pushing the idea that there's "no difference" between the parties and somehow Trump and Biden are morally equivalent or will have the same amount of impact on what will happen after one of them is elected. That is, yes, because they are white and they have the privilege of assuming that a weaponized fascist government will not go after them for that reason (even though Trump and his surrogates are now claiming that "everyone" who opposes Trump has to be "dealt with.") As such, when you say that marginalized far-left people are frustrated with the Democrats, I'm... not entirely sure that's true. Marginalized people AND the far left are both frustrated with the Democrats, but one of those groups has generally still decided not to voluntarily disenfranchise themselves, and the other is pumping out Vladimir Putin-wet-dream anti-voting propaganda at every chance they get.

There is also the fact that America is not a left-wing country in any sense of the word, and that while it's easy for the MAGA Republicans to go ever further far-right and promise to be even more outrageously cruel and stupid and fascist than ever before, but that's not an actual policy or a plan. It is also a strategy of diminishing returns; witness the fact that for all the cruelty and stupidity Republicans have pumped into the public arena since 2016, they haven't actually been that good at winning elections, and most of their major successes have come from Trump winning in 2016 and thus being able to stack SCOTUS and the district and circuit courts with hand-picked right-wing nut jobs, who are functioning exactly as they were designed to do. (Which Hillary Clinton warned about, along with everyone else, and yet she was taken out by the exact same dirtbag leftist disinformation moral purity machine that is working overtime to handicap Biden for the exact same reasons.) Mainstream Democrats warned about this before the 2016 election and were scorned and laughed off. Indeed, the entire Online Left continues to resolutely deny that the extremist SCOTUS is responsible for anything (It's Biden's Fault) and thus are likewise identical to Trumpies. And since they also want Trump to get back in there and teach a lesson to the Democrats, they're just as anti-democratic, dangerous, stupid, and deliberately short-sighted as actual MAGATs, and can by no means be considered allies to the singular movement of keeping fascists out of power. That is our only present goal.

If Democrats bent over to everything the far left asks for (which is often a combination of tankie gobbledygook, various vague ideas about Communism utopia where capitalism magically vanishes with no consequences, half-baked revolution cosplays, and other stuff that is functionally equivalent to the wildest lunacies of MAGA) they would never win an election again, and that would be exactly what the fascists want. Witness how they struggled when they were branded "defunders of the police" and "socialists" and other effective responses to the mildest milquetoast efforts for reform or accountability. And the political climate right now is just far too dangerous to throw everything to the wind and prance out some pipe-dream perfect-utopia plan. I'm sure you've heard about Project 2025 and how the far-right Heritage Foundation is planning to systematically implement fascism at all levels of the country, the instant they have a compliant Republican president and congress. I would take all these people crying about Biden even a fraction more seriously if they weren't openly jonesing for something that is so unbelievably, incredibly worse.

For example: I currently have major beefs with literally the entire foreign policy of the Biden administration right now. I think they're being too hard on Ukraine (forbidding them to strike targets on Russian soil with American weapons, which would end the war faster) and, despite some promising signs and open displeasure, still far too easy on Israel. They looked foolish after insisting that Rafah was a red line and then essentially making up an excuse that what's going on now is not a "major operation." Secretary of State Blinken floating the idea of helping Congress censure or neuter the International Criminal Court arrest warrants issued for Netanyahu and co. was also one of the fucking stupidest things I've heard from a serious (i.e. non-Trumpist) American diplomat in a long time. So we respect the ICC when it issues warrants for tyrants we don't like (Putin), but when it issues one for tyrants we still do, apparently (Netanyahu), then bingo, it's back to the bad old habit of ignoring international law like we're special and it doesn't apply to us, and allows all the other bad actors around the world to do the same by pointing at America and correctly pointing out that we ignore it when it doesn't suit our purposes. I think this is wrong and I don't agree. So? What am I going to do?

Well, you see. I'm going to vote for Biden and I am going to give him money and I am going to remind everyone I know that they have no moral option but to do the same. I do this because I am aware that despite my disagreements, Biden is acting from a cautious anti-interventionist standpoint and does not want to throw American military might around recklessly or dangerously like good ol' George Dubya or Trump or even Obama and the drones. He is listening to sober mainstream advisors who have (however incorrect and useless) ideas about "avoiding escalation" and trying to bring conflict to a managed end. He is doing this with a realistic appraisal of the power of the office of American presidency and he's not going to capriciously end democracy and become a full-blown fascist dictator on day one, as Trump has openly and repeatedly promised to do. Yes, if there was a viable option apart from Biden, maybe I would think about voting for them, but there is not, and literally everyone who does not actively vote for him is helping Trump. I do not care about any other contrived and disingenuous online squealing. I know that Biden does not want the war in Gaza to go on for no reason and for maximum carnage; Netanyahu and Trump both do. That is just to name one thing.

So: yes. I absolutely understand being frustrated with the Democrats and wishing they would push harder and etc. But I am also aware that they can be pushed, that they are the only option right now, and the people who huff and puff and whine and groan about how it's such a moral imposition to vote for them are literally doing the fascists' work for them, and that is not acceptable. If they want a better system or a better world that isn't just useless internet fantasies about magical end-of-days Raptures fixing everything, also a la the crazy fundamentalists, they will have to get off their ass, do the work, and create that change. I will be happy to vote for that candidate when or if they arrive. In the meantime, I will continue to do my damndest to ensure that we even have a chance to get there. So yeah.

[yuurei20]

Twisted Wonderland the Novel English Translation Review: Excellent

Did a quick read-through of the English-language novel (not a word-for-word comparison with the original novel yet), and: it is an excellent translation!

Some quick notes about the more language-sensitive parts:

・As in the English-language game, Grim is referred to as a weasel in the prologue. In the original game, the original manga and the EN manga, he is called a Tanuki.

・Much like the EN manga, the original game/manga’s use of the word “egg” has been changed to “fledgling.”

・The incantation for Riddle’s unique magic is: EN Novel: "Are you ready for your sentence? Sentence first! Verdict afterward."

EN Manga: “Are you ready for your sentence? The verdict comes afterwards. Any last words?”

・The conversation where Yuuya explains where he is from is very similar to the original novel:

"I'm from Nihon," Yuya told him. "Ni-kan?" "Umm. Ja-p-an." Yuya tried the English name of his country, but that apparently did not click for Crowley either.

・The references to Japanese schools beginning in spring and NRC being more closely related to schools in Europe and America have been retained.

・Curse words have been changed into things like “punk,” “dunce,” etc., with Ace repeating “dodo” fairly often.

・The line where Ace tells Yuuya to drop the honorific from his name was changed. Instead, Yuuya thanks Ace by saying “I really appreciated your help yesterday” and Ace responds, “This isn't some highfalutin rich-kid school. You don't need to be so polite."

・The line where Deuce tells Yuuya to drop the honorific from his name was changed to Deuce protesting against Yuuya thanking Ace first instead of thanking him first.

"How come you said Ace first?" Deuce protested. "I'm first."

・Cater consistently refers to Ace, Deuce, Yuuya and Grim as “Acey, Deucey, Yuey and Grimmy. At least once he refers to Riddle as “Riddley.” No nickname for Trey.

・As there are no honorifics Yuuya refers to Riddle by his first name only, Ace refers to Trey by his first name only, and Deuce refers to Cater, Trey, Riddle and Malleus as “Diamond,” “Clover,” “Rosehearts” and “Draconia.”

・The incantation for Trey’s unique magic is: "White to red, red to white.”

・In the original novel Ace says “Thank you,” in English, while in the English translation he says “merci.”

・”Beastpeople” are called “beast people” instead of “beast men.”

・Yuuya reflecting on how Chenya does not use an honorific with Riddle was changed to, “Yuya had only ever heard Trey talk about him so casually.”

・The line about Cater using honorifics with everyone except Trey in serious situations was changed to, “He usually sounded so lighthearted when he called Trey's name…And Cater only said his name so seriously when it was truly important.”

・The EN game switched from “magical healers” to “medical mages,” and the novel went with ”magical healers.”

・Ace refers to Riddle without an honorific just once in the original novel. This is commented on in a line changed to, “You’re already bossing him around.”

・(There is a typo where Cater and Trey are talking about Riddle’s upcoming duel, and a line that Trey says is attributed to Deuce. Deuce is not in the scene.)

・(There is also a typo where Enchanted Mine (changed from ”Dwarf Mine”) is written as “Enchanted Mind.”)

・Ace’s original line of “the way a kid turns out doesn't determine the value of their parents” was written backwards in the EN game, but the EN manga and novel are both accurate to the original game/manga/novel.

・Cater’s line in the original game/manga/novel admonishing Trey for hiding his true feelings has been upheld in the novel as well as the EN manga, with only the EN game rewritten to Cater admonishing himself, instead. (This was possibly subject pronoun confusion.)

・Much like the EN game, Leona’s “Be prepared” was rewritten in the EN novel.

[komsomolka]

When Israeli occupation forces discovered the body of American-Israeli captive Hersh Goldberg-Polin in Gaza, they claimed that Hamas had executed him to provoke American outrage against Palestinians. President Biden responded by stating, "Hamas leaders will pay for these crimes," without questioning Israel's account of his death.

Meanwhile, yesterday, Israeli occupation soldiers sniped 26-year-old American-Turkish activist Aysenur Ezgi Eygi during a protest against settlements in the occupied West Bank. Weak statements followed her killing, with her death being "mourned and sorrowed." U.S. Secretary of State Antony Blinken stated that America would seek information from Israel regarding the "tragic incident."

[birthanon]

Executive Order

This story contains: mpreg, rapid pregnancy, detailed birth, extreme birth denial, clothing birth, torture, and public birth. It is a RPF, featuring Donald Trump and his supporters getting what they deserves. 18+, don't like don't read. You have been warned. Story behind cut.

The day after his inauguration, Trump woke up and knew he’d made a mistake. He lay in bed, his hand tracing the two lumps under his pajama shirt, and the missing lump in his pajama pants. He slipped his hand down the front of his silk pajamas just to check, and sure enough. His dick, never that big to begin with to be honest, was gone, replaced with a forest of hair and foreign folds of skin. “What?” he gasped, unable to summon more words.

“You wished this upon yourself,” a voice said. Donald jerked upwards, at the sound, withdrawing his fat hand from his pants. A diaphanous, woman-like creature floated at the foot of his bed, long black hair trailing into mist behind her, a purple and gold robe draped over her misty-figure, dissolving out of sight before it reached what would have been her legs, if she’d had any.

“I did not!” Donald protested. “Why would anyone, how could anyone wish for this?”

“In one of those executive orders you signed yesterday, you know, the menu-like things people gave you? You said you wanted there to only be two genders in America, and that those genders would be determined by the sex-cell they produce at conception. All babies are phenotypically female for the first six weeks, so I have made you and all those who support you, compliant to your will.” The genie smiled broadly. “I’ve left another present for you as well, so you can enjoy the complete experience.” Then, with a little wave, she began to fade.

“Nasty, nasty woman!” Trump exclaimed. “Come back, come back and fix this or else—!” but it was too late, she was already gone, and the deed was already done.

Intense nausea plagued Donald for the next several days. He woke up nauseous and threw up his coke and McDonalds every time he ate it. Rumors of an intense stomach bug going around the senators and congressmen floated up to his ears. Each one that reported sick, that didn’t come, Trump knew what had happened to them, a victim of his wish. Their anatomy, like his, had been changed. Then the nausea eased off, and the weight gain began, it was subtle from days four to six, but when they’d come back from break the next week, all the Republican representatives on Trump’s sides seemed to be splitting out of their suit coats. 

Ten days after his inauguration, Trump called all his followers together for a special meeting. The day of, he woke up with horrible stomach pains, horrible back pains. Probably the bloating, he figured. His stomach had shifted size overnight, whereas before it had been quite broad and sitting high up, enough that he could button his trousers awkwardly below the swell and keep them on, now, no matter how he tried, he couldn’t manage to button them. The silky material of his suit pants caught on his broadened hips, and the crotch of the seam dug into his extremely sensitive folds beneath. It was sort of like having a permanent wedgie, and even so, he could not manage to get his pants up over the shiny curve of his massive, firm stomach. 

His nicely starched shirt presented similar problems—the buttons straining around his chest where the binder he’d frantically bought last week attempted to wrangle his new, sensitive, leaking breasts. The binder couldn’t quite do the job, however, and breast tissue spilled out of the armpits of the binder. Lower down, the shirt couldn’t quite cover his stomach, and he couldn’t get the last few buttons, the ones centered over the main mass of his swell, together either. 

All just weight gain from the stress of being the best president ever, Trump figured. Sure it had been rapid, but that was likely an attempt at that nasty genie lady who was trying to embarrass him. 

Pondering his issue, Donald pulled off his clothes, and switched his binder for a full binder, which pressed uncomfortably down on his massive stomach. He groaned as the pressure triggered another cramp, whining at the intense pain. Once it eased, he wiped tears from his face, then glanced in the mirror. His silhouette was better, but he needed more. He pulled out another full-length binder and shimmied into that one too. 

The pressure was immense. His ribs ached. His stomach protested. Immense pressure built in his stomach and hips, but it served to slim his figure down enough to get his shirt and pants buttoned (barely). 

Thus attired, he pressed a button, and a slim young woman slipped in, his attendant. He’d picked her for her beauty, blonde hair, blue eyes, pale skin, a fresh college graduate. She helped him into his suit and tie, got his shoes on him (for it was far too hard to bend down and get those on himself), and helped him with his extensive make-up preparations. As she turned from him, he grabbed her nice butt appreciatively. She flinched back, but said nothing. What a charming girl. He’d get more out of her later.

For now, he had a meeting. He ate three McDonald’s breakfast sandwiches in the motorcade on his way to the meeting at the senate. Since the bouts of severe nausea several days ago, he’d felt constantly hungry. Still, there didn’t seem to be much room in his stomach, with it pressed so far down. Cramps consistently wracked his body, making him moan around the sandwiches in his mouth. But still, he ate.

When Donald got out of the motorcade, he waddled slowly up the steps to the senate. It was always a bit of a climb, but far harder this time for some reason. He had to stop several times to get his breath back, his security team shifting uncomfortably each time he did. Groaning, he pressed his hands into his back, trying to shuffle away the pain. He yearned to curl a hand around his aching stomach, to reach down to the crotch of his pants and pull them away from his sensitive lips, but such an action wouldn’t be presidential at all. Instead, he took a deep breath and continued to waddle up to the senate.

The seats there were filled with his followers, each of them similarly straining out of their finely tailored suits. They seemed unusually restless. The lights above gleamed on their strangely sweaty, pinched faces. 

“Several of them said they weren’t feeling well today sir,” his assistant noted at his side. “I told them to come anyway, if they still valued their career. They should all be here.”

Donald nodded, watching and waiting, breathing carefully through his continued cramps, until the last seat was full. 

Finally came Elon, waddling up the aisle. His face was oddly red and sweaty. He wore a gray Make America Great Again shirt, which strained over his torpedo-shaped belly, failing to fully cover it. A stripe of veiny, stretch mark-laced pale skin peaked out between the bottom of the shirt and Elon’s black pants. The t-shirt and suit coat did far less to hide Elon’s changed body than the full suit the politicians were wearing, and seeing such a rich, powerful man marked as Trump’s and so clearly pregnant sent Donald’s privates tingling.

The meeting began once Elon sat next to Trump shifting uncomfortably by him. Politician after politician stood up and talked about their plans for Project 2025, what was coming, how they could gain further power. Trump let the voices tune out as the pain and pressure in his stomach continued to mount. At his side, Elon was letting out little weak whines, and if Donald could have yanked his attention from his own pain, he would have noticed that Elon’s stomach visibly contracted each time Donald’s cramps hit.

The pain peaked to an agonizing amount. Trump moaned. Elon whimpered, curling around his stomach. So much pressure. Something inside him stung, stretching. Perhaps its the spell wearing off, Donald assumed, hoping that soon his anatomy would be returned to him. That would explain the leaking breasts, which had begun to show through his white shirt. The filling in them was simply leaving.

Then a senator in the back stood, screaming, “I can’t take this any more!” He stumbled a few steps awkwardly down his row, then stopped. Simultaneously, Donald’s own cramp increased in pain and pressure. He was going to die. That nasty woman had cursed him to die! And then, at the peak of the cramp, something snapped inside him. Water gushed out of him, staining his pants and running down his legs. An audible pop filled the room, followed by the dripping of water from the cunts and pants of nearly 300 congressmen.

There was a moment of terror as each man frantically tried to hide the fact that he’d practically just peed his pants, then a moment of relief as he realized the man next to him had as well. Then panic as each of them stood, looking around. 

Then came the next contraction. Without the cushioning of the waters, without the need to hide their pregnancy from their equally knocked-up colleagues, as one they screamed in pain. The urge to push came upon them, and they obeyed nature’s demands. 

On the podium, Trump watched in horror as each of his followers crouched as one and bore down. He felt the need himself, but refused it. They might give birth here in public, but he would not. He was the president. 

As soon as that first all consuming contraction died down, he got to his feet and began, bow-legged, to wobble away past Elon who had slipped from his chair, down to his knees, cradling his stomach and sobbing. Trump paused for a minute, torn between yearning to watch that man give birth and the dreaded knowledge of his own imminent birth. 

Trump reached toward him. “Come with me,” he said.

Elon looked up, then another contraction hit. He cried out and pushed with all his might. Trump, busy fighting against his own contraction, missed the distinct bulge in Elon’s pants which faded as soon as the thin, red faced nazi stopped pushing.

Elon, lost to the pain and panic of the moment, was clearly lost. Trump could not do the same. He staggered away, until he reached the stairs. He got down two stairs before the next contraction came. He could not press his legs together as he had in the past, and he felt the child move inside of him. The pressure from the double binder made the whole thing agonizing. He needed to take off his shirt, needed to take off everything. But he couldn’t in front of his followers.

The pain of the contraction decreased and Trump continued down the stairs, stance just a little wider than before. More pain, more pressure hit just as he reached the bottom of the stairs. He groaned, pressing his legs together, telling himself not to push, but even so the baby moved, stretching his insides. 

With shaking legs, Donald continued on, stumbling down the aisle, past his supporters, many of whom had stripped their jackets and pants. Trump passed one man, Mike Lee, who was laying in the aisle. He’d stripped his pants and boxers, and lay with his legs spread. His lips were reddened, bulging with a massive head of black hair as big as Trump’s fist. As Donald stopped to breathe through another contraction, he watched the head grow and grow as the red-faced man pushed, then recede as the contraction stopped.

Looking up at Trump, Mike Lee reached for him, whispered, “Help me.”

But there was no time for helping him, even if Donald was of the mind to. Seizing on the break between contractions, Donald tried to hurry down the aisle, but he couldn’t quite see where his feet were landing with his massive stomach in the way.

His foot hit Mike Lee’s outstretched leg, and Donald went tumbling. He struck the ground belly first, triggering a massive contraction. He screamed as the baby he’d been holding in so far shot through the rest of his canal and breached his lips.

Sweating and gasping, Donald reached for the nearest seat. He tried to pull himself up, but that involved engaging his core, which pushed the baby just a little further out. Fire lit around his privates, and he gasped, immediately disengaging his core and flopping back to the ground. The head receded back inside, just behind his swollen, sensitive lips. 

He tried several times to rise without engaging his core, but couldn’t quite manage. Another contraction hit, and Mike Lee screamed at his side, spreading his legs further, the baby’s head shooting out of his new vagina in a gush of fluid which spread across Donald’s already wet shoes. 

Desperate, Donald gave up on getting up and began to crawl on shaking arms and legs down the aisle, a slight bulge in his pants. From this angle, he got to see all his supporters in varying stages of undress and delivery.

Finally, several contractions later, back aching, Trump reached the doors. He reached up to the handle, and tried to twist it, but it didn’t move.

No.

Another contraction hit.

Despite trying not to push, Trump’s lips parted around the head. He gasping at the stinging. Using the handle, he pulled himself to his feet, engaging his core and pushing in the process. His baby moved, shooting out after all this time of denying it, into a near-full crown. He screamed, his legs wobbled. Only by holding onto the door did he manage to not collapse. 

As soon as the contraction ended, he wobbled to the next door, bow-legged. With each step his too-tight pants pushed the baby’s head just a little bit more inside, easing the sting, though the sensation of the baby going back felt exceedingly wrong.

He reached the next door just as the next contraction hit. The baby moved again, despite his best attempts, though his pants pushed the head back in as soon as the contraction ended. Then he tried that handle. It too was locked.

He looked up at the next door, and saw a senator, collapsed beside it, giving birth on his side, moaning as he tried to wiggle out his baby’s shoulders. 

They were locked in. There was no way out.

Desperate, Trump began pounding on the door, calling for his security team. He pounded and pounded, throat raw, through two more contractions. The pressure. The pain. He couldn’t take it anymore. 

Gasping, he slipped off his suit coat, then grabbed his collared shirt and began to tear it off. The shirt resisted at first, then the over-strained buttons popped and the shirt parted, revealing the double binders and his large stomach and chest. 

Another contraction hit, and Trump sank to his knees, giving up, and finally, blessedly pushing. The baby moved. His lips stung. Somewhere in the room, a chorus of baby’s first screams filled the musty, sex-scented air. 

Then the contraction ended. The pressure was terrible. And it was so, so hot. With trembling hands, Donald reached for the hem of his binders and pulled them both up in a desperate tug. The pressure on his chest increased, but his stomach, at last, was free. It practically doubled in size, popping out of the restrictive binder. The skin was slick, shiny with sweat, and red. Veins stretched across his stomach, his belly button protruding from its peak. It was round in shape, beach-ball like, huge. How had he not realized he was pregnant before? It seemed so obvious staring at the shape of it.

He pushed with the next contraction, hard as he could, groaning with the effort, but the head didn’t move. Sweat dripped down his face, washing the bronzer and other make-up he wore off. His shirt collar and the binders beneath them, doubled up around his chest, were stained orange.

Another contraction, still no more progress. His lips were straining around the massive head, spreading him at a full crown, but it wasn’t moving. Then he realized. His pants.

They were still on!

With shaking fingers, he tried to get at his belt, to get his pants off. But he couldn’t manage it. Another fruitless contraction, and Donald screamed with the pain and frustration. He looked around for help, and that’s when he saw the C-span camera, pointed straight at him, the light blinking. It was on, though it shouldn’t have been, and was broadcasting Trump’s pleas for help, his birth, to the entire world.

Then another contraction hit, and he found he didn’t care. He’d do anything to get his pants off, to give birth, to finally give birth. He screamed for help, but everyone was too busy with their own births.

Then finally, blessedly, his assistant appeared. She looked down at him, totally unaffected by the chaos around her. She stood a moment and took in President Donald Trump’s appearance: his suit coat lost, his tie loosened, but still looped around his neck, his collared shirt ripped apart, parted around his massive straining stomach, his binders stained orange from his bronzer and sweat, layered over his chest, his suit pants still on, the crotch bulging obscenely from his baby’s massive head.

Donald didn’t remember her name, but he begged her anyway, to help him. 

She smiled, and knelt beside him. She ran a hand through his hair, then rested the other oh so gently on his round stomach. “All those women you raped, all the woman who were forced to give birth because you took away abortion, this is on you. Why should I help you, felon?”

Then her grin turned feral and she pushed down on Donald’s stomach with both hands. 

The pressure was enormous. Donald screamed in agony, tried to wriggle away, but couldn’t. Tears of pain leaked down his eyes. He couldn’t continue any more. He felt as though he were going to burst. Something had to give—

And then it did. The overtaxed seam of his suit pants gave in. His baby shot out to its ears, and Donald’s vision flashed white.

But the baby had moved. Progress, at long last. His boxers, light blue with little American flags on, were still on, but they were loose enough, he figured he could push the baby out of them.

Gasping for breath, he seized upon the next contraction. Except—the baby didn’t move. His assistant was kneeling next to him, holding the baby’s head in place.

“Let me give birth!” Donald demanded.

“Beg me,” she said.

Another contraction passed. Then another. Without movement. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. “Please,” he whispered as the next pain came upon him.

Then, while the contraction was still going, despite Donald pushing against her, she shoved the baby back inside, all the way, until his lips closed on the head. The baby kicked within him. Donald screamed in agony. His vision blanked.

Still he could hear her. “We’ve got to get these pants off you, then.” When he came too, his pants and boxers were discarded, as were both his binders. She’d replaced his collared shirt though, hit hung open, revealing his large breasts and rotund stomach. His red tie was back around his neck, restricting his breathing, dangling between his bare breasts.

He pushed with the next contraction, and the head, slowly, began to emerge once more. But he was exhausted. His head fell back and he gave up before the contraction ended. The head slipped back in, leaving only a teardrop of hair visible. 

As he worked, the cries of babies increased, all the other congressmen having long since succeeded in giving birth. He reached a full crown once more, pushed and felt the baby’s nose stretch past his purpled, swollen lips. Then, with a gush of fluid, the baby’s head was finally out.

“Oh good,” his assistant crooned. “You are nearly there.”

The shoulders shifted inside him. One popped out, then the other. If he thought the head was big, this seemed twice as large. It felt as though he’d split at the seams. Just one more push. Except, he pushed twice and the baby stayed there, lodged his canal, spreading him apart.

The assistant was there, holding the baby in place once again.

“Let go!” Trump gasped, then weaker. “Please.”

“Oh, did you want to give birth?” she asked, innocently, her fingers trailing around Trump’s sensitive, over-stretched lips.

Another contraction hit Donald, and he tried fruitlessly to push the baby’s massive shoulders out. “Please,” he repeated. “Anything, I’ll do anything.”

“Repeal every one of your executive orders,” she said. “Go on national television and tell people that the bishop was right. Become the best advocate we’ve ever had for trans rights, queer rights, women's rights, immigrants rights.”

“Never!” Trump hissed.

The assistant grinned and began pushing the baby back inside Trump, the shoulders once again enveloped by his canal, then its neck, then its cheeks. Trump screamed and writhed, but he was helpless. Completely at the woman’s mercy.

She paused when the baby was back at a full crown. “I could do this all day,” she warned.

“All right,” Trump gasped, “All right. Anything, please.”

The assistant nodded, then stood up, stepping away. She began to fade, becoming for a split second, the genie that had started all this. “Good,” she said before she disappeared, “Now be a good girl and birth that baby for America.”

Exhausted, surrounded by his sweaty supporters, Donald Trump obeyed.

[holylulusworld]

The assistant (11) - Heating pads and cupcakes

Summary: You are invisible most of the time.

Pairing: Former!Boss!Steve Rogers x Former!Assistant(plussized)!Reader

Possible pairing: Jake Jensen x Reader, Lloyd Hansen x Reader, Curtis Everett x Reader, Ari Levinson x Reader, Andy Barber x Reader, Mike Weiss x Reader, Ransom Drysdale x Reader

Warnings: flirty CEvans characters, language, plus-sized/chubby reader, protective brothers, Lloyd being Lloyd, arguments, brothers being brothers, fluff, caring brother

A/N: I was on my period while writing this. So, I would like you to please bear with me.

The assistant masterlist

The assistant (10) - Apologies

“Tell me, sugar. How did you meet my brothers?” Ransom sits on one of the chairs at the kitchen counter to watch you, Jake and Mike make breakfast for the hungry pack.

“Do not talk to Y/N,” Jake warns. “I don’t know why Andy even called you. We can handle Captain Asshole on our own.”

“Captain Turd,” Lloyd corrects while walking inside the kitchen. “I think I established the name yesterday.” He grins at Steve who sits at the kitchen table. Steve sips the coffee from the café around the corner and tries to stomach the dry bagel he bought.

“Boys, play nice,” you tut and point the spatula at Lloyd. “We do not fight within these walls. Lloyd, that goes for you too. Have a seat. Coffee is ready and we are almost done preparing breakfast.”

“Uh-huh,” Lloyd plops down on the seat closest to you. “You’re wearing my apron.” He grins.

“Yeah, I figured that this must be yours,” you roll your eyes as he grins like a madman.

“Kiss the cook, he wears a mustache?” Ransom huffs and shakes his head. “That mustache looks stupid on you, Lloyd. Almost as if a caterpillar died on your upper lip.”

“Kiss my ass,” Lloyd snarls in Ransom’s direction.

“Eat shit!” Ransom retorts.

“Guys,” you clap your hands. “We have a busy day ahead. Thanks to the drama you caused yesterday, I agreed to let Captain Rogers stay another day. He didn’t get the chance to see anything but a bunch of idiots fighting each other.”

“Idiots?” Lloyd pouts. “I'm not an idiot. Andy started this. It’s not my fault my brother is an idiot.”

“Lloyd, we do not punch people, and we don’t call them idiots,” you tut. “I told you, no more fighting or I’ll hide your expensive mustache wax for a week. Your mustache will be all fuzzy without it.”

“Cupcake, did you steal my wax?” Lloyd gapes at you. “I didn’t take you for a thief, missy. You better not make it a habit.” He looks at you wearing his apron. “Or make it a habit. I like me a bad girl.”

“She’s got a very good lawyer on her side,” Andy casually walks inside the kitchen. He’s hiding the bruises his brother caused with a brand-new shirt and tie. “I will leave for a few hours. I trust you to not kill each other.”

Lloyd glares at his brother Ransom before he says, “I can’t promise anything. You brought this piece of shit into our house.”

“Lloyd!” He made it. You hand the spatula to Mike, asking him to watch the last pancake to round the kitchen island and slap Lloyd’s ass. He yelps but purrs your name. “No swear words at our home, Lloyd!”

“Our…home!” Jake, Mike, Lloyd, Ari, Andy, and Curtis who just walked inside the kitchen, stare at you in awe. They smile, and then, you end up wrapped in too many pairs of arms.

“GUYS! I can’t breathe!” You protest but it's no use. You get hugged again and again until you feel dizzy.

“Hey, what’s your role in this drama?” Ransom turns around to look at Steve while his brothers are all over you. “Damn, aren’t you Captain America?” He slides off his chair to get a better look at Steve sulk in a corner. “Wait…what is Captain America doing here?”

“They kidnapped my assistant,” Steve grumbles while watching you hug the brothers, one after another. They laugh and joke while exclaiming that you accepted their home as your own.

“Ah, I see,” Ransom nods thoughtfully. “So, you’re unwanted here too, huh?” He grins. “Hmmm…you know. My grandmother always bragged about being related to Captain America. She was a crazy old hag, but I cannot deny you are a spitting image of my grandfather.”

“What are you mumbling about over there?” Curtis didn’t forget about Ransom’s intrusion. He’s still up to give his brother a good beating. “I see, two assholes found each other during desperate times.”

You huff. “Curtis! No swear words! We talked about swear words and impulse control last night.”

“Sorry, Sunshine,” Curtis drops his gaze and sighs. If only he’d got a few minutes alone with Ransom. He’d give his treacherous brother a few more punches.

“I get that having your brother back is scary and opened old wounds. But, you should be happy to have him in your life,” you sniffle. “You don’t get a person you love back so easily.”

“Great, now you made her cry,” Andy wraps you in his arms and runs his hand up and down your back. “They’re stubborn but will behave from now on. I promise.”

“I’m only a little emotional,” you choke out a sob. “I’m on…” You shake your head. The brothers don’t need to know that you’re on your period and almost everything makes you cry. “I saw that cat video…and the cat was so cute and…then you argued... and Mike looked like the lost kitten…It made me so happy…”

“Crap,” Lloyd snaps his fingers to get his brothers' attention. “Alright! Red alert. I repeat. Red alert.”

“What now?” Curtis rolls his eyes at his brother’s antics. “What’s wrong with you?”

Lloyd turns his head toward Curtis. “You, stop sulking and get my wallet.” Lloyd snaps at Curtis before pointing at Mike and Jake. “You two, search for any movie on any platform Y/N will like.”

He crosses his arms behind his back and marches around the kitchen. “Barber don’t get too cozy with her but keep on rubbing her back. Ari, you and Curtis will go to the bakery. We will close for the rest of the week. Get all the cupcakes and shit Jake baked. We’ll need it.”

“What’s going on?” Ransom watches his brothers hastily follow Lloyd’s order. “Where’s the fire?”

“In Y/N’s uterus. Now shut up, pretty boy, and be useful for once,” Lloyd mutters at his brother. “If you want to stay, you’ll go to the guestroom in the west wing and get me all the fluffy pillows and a warm blanket. No, make it two.”

Ransom purses his lips. He weighs his options. If he wants to be part of this family again, he must play along for now. “Fine.”

“Y/N. Cupcake,” Lloyd gently pats your hair. “What’s your favorite brand? Do you need a heating pad? What painkiller do you prefer? Lloyd will get you all you’ll need.”

Steve watches the brothers make of fuzz about your period. He rubs his chin, wondering if what he feels is more than worry.

“Good job everyone!”

Lloyd grins as you snuggle into one of the fluffy pillows. You’re wearing one of Andy’s warm sweaters and the fuzzy socks Jake got for you. Ari wrapped a warm blanket around you after Lloyd carefully put a heating pillow on your lower abdomen.

Mike chose the movies you and the brothers will watch while Andy and Jake prepared food, beverages, and sweets. Curtis is currently massaging your feet while Ransom sits on the other end of the huge U-shaped sofa.

“How do you feel,  Sweetie? Do you feel better?” Jake sits next to your head to gently pat your hair. Do you need anything else?”

“Did I buy the right stuff?” Lloyd asks. He sits on the sofa and stretches his legs out. “Damn, I didn’t know there are so many lady products out there.”

“I’m good,” you murmur and snuggle further into the pillow. The brothers took very good care of you. No one ever put so much into making you feel good. “See, if you work together, you can do anything.”

“So…this is what you do? Getting lady products and feeding a sexy girl with cupcakes,” Ransom grins. “I think I could get used to this…”

“No one asked you,” Curtis huffs. He’s still angry at Ransom for leaving them. Especially, because he used to look up Ransom when he was a kid. Curtis and Ransom shared a special bond, and now, it's broken.

“No more fighting tonight,” Andy stops the brothers from arguing again. “We have a plan, don’t we.” He subtly points at Steve watching you and the brothers from his seat. He chose to sit on an armchair, still not convinced that the brothers did not mean harm to you.

Ransom stares at Steve. He rubs his chin and wonders aloud. “Back to Captain America. Isn’t it odd that he looks so much like Grandfather Steven?”

Part 12

Tags in reblog.

[shadysadie]

Hot take: the Wittebanes were not Puritans

So since Hollow Mind came out there have been a lot of jokes about how the Belos is a crusty old Puritan. And while he is certainly crusty and old, I don’t think he was a Puritan.

I understand why everyone jumps there, when we think of Witch Hunts in Colonial America the very first thing that comes to mind is the Salem Witchcraft Trials. However, the Salem Witchcraft Trials began in 1692, that is 80 years after Masha says the Wittebros showed up in Gravesfield, and 30 years after the events of Elsewhere and Elsewhen.

If Masha’s information is correct, (which it might not be but we’ll get to that) then Caleb and Philip arrived in Gravesfield in 1613, which is closer in time to the settlement of Jamestown (1607) than the Salem Witchcraft Trials. 

The Pilgrims didn’t even land at pride rock until 1620, seven years after the Wittebros arrived in Gravesfield. The Mayflower Pilgrims were really the group responsible for creating the idea of religious charters. They specifically wanted to leave England to create their own religious society. Many other groups followed, (notably the Massachusetts Bay Colony, which later became the home of the aforementioned Salem Witchcraft Trials) but the Mayflower Pilgrims were the first group of religious extremists who came to America looking for their Zion. 

Prior to that, the motivation to settle the “New World” was mainly financial. Ships were chartered through the Virginia Company. Which as we all remember from our favorite wildly inaccurate and problematic 90s Disney movie, the Virginia Company was in it for the money. The New World had resources and Britian wanted them, damnit, Glory, God, and Gold and the Virginia Company.

That meant, if Caleb and Philip really did arrive in Gravesfield in 1613, their family likely made the trip for financial gain, not religion. If that’s the case they were less likely a member of an obscure group of religious extremists, and more likely to be either Protestant like King James and Queen Elizabeth. (They could have also been Roman Catholic, evidence for that comes later).

“But”, you say, “weren’t Puritans the ones persecuting witches at the time?”

Yes and no. 

In the Americas, Witch Hunts will forever be linked to Puritans, but in Witch Hunting long outdates the Puritans. King James himself, was a witch hunting fanatic, he personally oversaw hundreds of witchtrials. He wrote books about finding witches, and it was specifically the King James endorse translation of the Bible that features the infamous “thou shalt not suffer a witch to live” (in many prior translations the word witch is something more along the line of “sinner” or “evil doer”). By many estimates, upwards of 1500 people were executed for witchcraft as a result of his reign. If we are going with Masha’s 1613 timeline, the brothers would have left England smack dab in the middle of his reign, right after the King James Bible was published.

(^this GIF has nothing to do with the Owl House, I just love sassy Gay King James in his bird mask, look at this cocky ass bastard, you know him and Belos would have been genocide buddies)

However, I can’t pretend to be focused on some semblance of historical accuracy and take Masha’s information at face value, even in the context of the show it wouldn’t add up because according to the sign we see in Yesterday’s Lie, Gravesfield was established in 1635. 

(Granted there is a difference between a settlement and a town, it is possible that 1635 was when Gravesfield was officially acknowledged as a town and the boys just lived there pre-establishment). 

However, in the name of historical accuracy, I have to assume Masha got the date wrong, because the English didn’t even settle in Conneticut until the 1630s. The Conneticut Witch Trials began in the 1640s. By this timeline and demographic, the likelihood of Caleb and Philip being Puritans goes up by a lot. 

However, if we look at Philip’s clothes an his goals, there are still signs that don’t point to Puritanism. First look at the clothes Caleb and Philip wear as children:

Philip’s pants are red and Calebs are green. While it is a myth that Puritans could only wear black, the colors that they were allowed to incorporate into their wardrobe were typically still neutrals (dark yellows and beiges). Green would be pushing it, and red would be unbelievably bold.

Additionally, the ruffles on Philip’s shirt in the journal and Jacob’s book, would have been seen as incredibly vain.

 The blue/black coat that Caleb wore in the puppet show, and Philip later wears in Elsewhere and Elsewhen and King’s Tide has gold buttons and gold embroidery. Gold and Silver accessories of any kind would have been considered incredibly sinful and conceited. 

Which would also make it really weird for a Puritan to choose gold to represent himself. Infact his whole emperor authentic is much more reminiscent of the Catholic Pope. His own role as the messenger of the Titan’s will is also very papal in nature.

Finally there is the term he uses, “Witch Hunter General” is an illusion to “Witch Finder General” which was a rank made up and used by Protestant Matthew Hopkins and not really used by any Puritans. Such a title would also probably have seemed pretty vain.

Now you might say, “It’s a fictional story, why does any of this matter?”

The answer is: It does not, but I am high and have ADHD and this was the rabbit hole I fell down.

[tired-vi]

A lot of people are going to blame Arab voters, jewish voters and other groups.

Don't, what we are seeing is an America that is tired and has chosen a lie cause it is nicer than the truth. a lie that America is under attack from immigrants and both parties fueled this lie, republicans are just better at adding fuel than democrats.

If I am correct (Which I hope to God I'm not) the democratic party is gonna move farther to the right and view the reason they lost this election was cause they didn't appeal to the right wing enough.

which is the opposite of what happened, Dems are a left party and they keep trying to play the center. It doesn't work and today/yesterday we saw that, people are either so disgusted that they view both parties as 99% evil and 100% evil or are just completely checked out and doomer about everything that their like "Why bother".

Now I know this are bad (they seem worse) but I want you to remember that life caries on, in Gaza, Sudan, Myanmar, Afghanistan these places are not saying "Its over, woe is me" no they are staying hopeful and they have it so much worse than us in the imperial core.

So for the next 4 years please stay strong, stay hopeful, protest and fight to keep hold of what we have left.

[shypotatoes013-blog]

I'm not sure what the proper CW/TW for this would be, kindly inform me and I will add it! Not proofread.

I don't want to be political on the TL, but I think this has to be said because for Americans, we are about to be entering even darker times.

Alongside the ban of TikTok yesterday, apps like Capcut and Lemon8 have also been banned. Gaming apps and companies are being banned as well, but I do not have a list as of yet.

This is not the beginning of censorship, but it is worsening now more than before.

About Tiktok:

This ban is not about TikTok but our freedom of speech. Even if you do not use TikTok or like it, this affects you too! They label the app as a national security threat and instill the idea that millions of American's data is being collected and used by the chinese government.

This is a fear based propaganda tactic that they weaponize against Americans for essentially anything they do not like. The false claims, surrounding China and communism that they conditioned American citizens believe, makes it easy for them to do this.

Do not fall for these tactics, henceforth, and become informed on your own. Using your own discernment, instead of basing your opinions from what you hear, is important in these times.

We will likely be seeing more of these things happening from this point forward and, especially, when Trump is inaugurated on January 20th (Tomorrow)

Why they are doing this:

There are many reasons our Congress and government officials are applying these unjust policies.

1: Unification with other nations.

They do not want us to be individual thinkers and to be able to think critically. TikTok has been a way, for many around the world, to connect and share their experiences. This is worrying to our government because people are awakening to how corrupt our power system is.

The rest of the world is not like this. We are given the illusion of choice and freedom, but we do not have a say in anything at the end of the day. And the saddest part is that the rest of the world already knows this.

We realize that we do not have universal healthcare, we have poor food and water quality, lack of education outside of our own country, the highest disease/crime/obesity rates, and overall poor standard of living. We are trillions in debt as a nation and 2% of the nations wealth is shared between the middle and lower class.

Americans have to work multiple jobs to pay for rent, taxes and groceries. We have no paid maternity leave, childcare and staggering homelessness rates. Gun violence is prevalent in schools where elementary aged children are risking their lives to get a subpar education that teaches no real life skills and our government is heavily militarized making it virtually impossible to protest these things without fear of being killed.

2: Money. America is a corporation. Not a country.

We live in an Oligarchy. Which means the people are controlled by the 1% who own most of the nations wealth. People like Elon Musk, Mark Zuckerberg, Bill Gates, Jeff Bezos, Andy Jassy, Black Rock, Vanguard, JP Morgan.... Etc.

This also means that these people are capable of swaying political decisions and people in power with money. Often lobbying their interests to push bills against the will of the people and without the consent of.

All of our Congress have stocks in Meta. Meta is owned by Mark Zuckerberg and the apps that he controls are Facebook, Instagram, and Messenger. Which, by the way, if you read the privacy policy they are doing the same thing that they are claiming China is doing. TikTok is banned in China and has been! This is another tactic to shift blame.TikTok is owned by Mr. Shou Chew, a Singaporean man.

Stocks in Meta are not valuable if people are not using the apps. This makes TikTok a competitor app. Since it is not American owned, they cannot control the narrative or the revenue and these stocks are becoming worthless. Mr. Chew would not sell the app to American corporations.

As a side note, on TikTok, the day before the ban, I was getting ads for Facebook and Instagram and there is now a link to Tiktok on facebook. I fear that Mr. Chew has caved as he said in his last video that he has been negotiating with Trump to have the app reinstated. This is NOT a victory. This means our government won and it should be avoided at all costs along with all Meta apps. Please delete them and leave 1 star reviews. Tank their ratings and crash their stocks.

3: Project 2025

I am sure some of you have heard of this by now. I've been trying to inform people about this since last year when the heritage foundation was making their agenda to pass far, right wing religious laws to suit their narrative. They are a Christian nationalist group against the rights of all humans who do not follow their ideology.

If you haven't heard of Project 2025, you can read online what the project entails. That means banning of media such as games, pornography, women's right to healthcare and safe abortion and strict laws imposed within the lgbtqia+ community. Dousing religious freedom and mandating Bibles in schools. This is just a quick snippet from my memory, but you should look into it when you can.

A silver lining:

If you have not heard of Rednote or Little Red Book, it is a completely Chinese owned app that is similar to Pinterest, Tumblr, and TikTok all in one format.

This app has been wonderful and the Chinese are overjoyed to have us there. Their government even warmly invited us to take refuge. I've personally observed instead of interacting so far.

BUT

There are many who share their thoughts on their social media platform being overrun by foreigners and diluting their carefully curated experience on the app.

Do take note that IF you decide to go there, it is NOT your home. You must abide by their laws and be kind.

1. Be courteous and use translations in both English and Traditional Chinese if you pose. DEEPL is the most accurate for translation.

2. They do NOT have to accommodate to you and your needs. Do not go in acting entitled and causing drama.

3. There will be major cultural differences and trying to understand them rather than being offended is best. We all live by different standards and they are generally curious about you and your life! So be nice.

4. TikTok slang and Brainrot is not acceptable. They think we're funny, but people are already commenting inappropriate things under videos of attractive people (and there are many attractive people there.) Brainrot will actually get you banned.

5. Observe for a little to see what kind of content they post. You can even make friends. Most of them want to learn English and are willing to teach you Mandarin.

Anyway, that's all I have to say for now.

[raccoonface]

New Bodyguard

Part 2 finally (a little short like Jenna)

Jenna's POV

"Hey Sophie" (her agent)

"Jenna."

"That's me..."

"What is about this photo, and isn't that the new bodyguard I sent out...?!"

"Yeah"

"JENNA."

"The photo only showed us sitting on the couch plus you can barely tell that's me"

"Exactly the press with come to a conclusion that it is you in the photo and rumors will spread"

"We didn't even do anything"

"That doesn't matter, people with make shit up and you can't do anything about it."

"I don't know Soph"

"Well you kind of have to do something about it you can't have Americas 'it girl' have something with somebody and not come out about it"

"Why can't I have a relationship with somebody, why can't I keep it a secret?!?"

"Because people will find out, and will expose you anyway so you might as well come out now."

"What if I don't have a relationship with anyone"

"Then you tell everyone that, just figure it out then come to me."

"Ugh.... Fine I got to go bye"

"By-"

I hung up on my agent because I was pissed, but I had to tell Y/n about this.

“Hey everything all right Jen?”

“Yeah, Y/n everything’s good… other than this photo being out to the public.”

“What photo?”

“This one”

She looked like she just saw a ghost after she saw the photo, but I couldn’t blame her I did too. I couldn’t believe someone would just randomly take a photo of me and her,

Yet again it’s not that suprising because I am Americas ‘it girl’ right now.

“Who did this?!?”

“Idk.. but I think we should talk Y/n, about us”

“About what? About me sleeping over, we didn’t even hold hands or anything..!”

“I-.. I know but I want us to be something”

“Jenna-.. I don’t think that would be professional of us. I mean think about it, I’m your bodyguard”

“I know but you could protect me more efficiently now, you know like day and night type of job”

“I-I…. Let me think about it”

I smiled and ran to give her a hug, before she had to leave. I loved the way she smelt, but it didn’t last long.

“I gotta go Jen”

“Okay…”

———————————————————————

I wanted to stay in bed and forget what happened yesterday but I needed to face Y/n for the answer

So I got up and got dressed just to change again when we get to the studio.

I walked out my door to Y/n standing there by her car waiting for me

“Hey Jenna,”

“Hey Y/n,”

We both greeted each other then she opened the door for me, such a gentleman Gentlewomen

We were both in the car, and she was driving normally but then another car came out of no where and hit us

I was knocked unconscious and the last thing I heard were sirens

———————————————————————

.

.

.

.

.

I woke up in a hospital with my mom beside me

“Oh my god, honey, are you okay”

“Yeah, I’m fine… where’s Y/n? Is she okay?”

“Oh honey I don’t know but I’m sure she’s fine.”

I got up with my mom protesting me to lay back down

“Jenna you need to sit back down you’re gonna hurt yourself more”

“I’ll be fine mom I just have to find Y/n”

I left the room to go to the front desk to ask where Y/n was

“Hello ma’am do you know where a girl named Y/n L/n is?”

“Sorry give me one moment.. are you family?”

“Uhh… yes I’m her wife”

“Okay room 128”

“Thank you”

“You’re welcome honey”

I ran off to where Y/n’s room was hoping she was okay

When I found her room I ran into it and she was asleep laying down

So I went to her bedside glad she was okay and I fell asleep knowing that she was

———————————————————————

Sorry for taking three years on this I was having terrible writers block plus I’ve been dealing with a lot of school stuff. I hope you like this

Btw sorry for lying in the spicy part. It’s the next one that will anyways have a nice rest of your day raccoon faces..!

[goingontomorrow]

Transgender Trump's America

I am a transgender American. I lived through Trump’s first term, starting in high school and lasting until I was halfway through college. I don’t claim to have great insight or even the perfect words to say, but I need to talk about the impacts of what has happened—and what may happen again.

During Trump’s first presidency, the military ban on transgender troops was enacted. Yesterday, it was reinstated. As a trans American, this decision has had the most profound impact on me. It was dehumanizing and traumatizing to witness how little people seemed to care. While I have reservations about the U.S. military-industrial complex, the fact that we were so openly discriminated against and barred from serving felt like a stark reminder that we aren’t even considered “good enough” to die for our country. I also remember pride flags being banned from U.S. embassies and Trump’s former vice president openly supporting conversion therapy. Bathroom bans were also a reality, though they were eventually protested and overturned for a time.

However, it’s important to point out how much worse things have gotten in this country over the past four years. More states have banned hormone therapy for minors than have banned conversion therapy. Bathroom bans now feel like a recurring issue. Things deteriorated so much that I felt I had to flee a red state as if my survival depended on it.

This brings me to why I started writing this. When I left, I felt like I had no other choice, but it didn’t seem entirely mandatory at the time. I could still go about my life, and as an adult, I could access hormones in that state. But after leaving, I realized I couldn’t breathe. My safety and sanity had been eroded so slowly that I hadn’t fully noticed. It was like rocks were being added to my chest one by one, and once they were removed, I couldn’t understand how I had ever lived with them there.

Now, with Trump back in office, I feel that same pressure returning—but this time, I refuse to ignore it. There’s a cost to this awareness, though. Instead of the pressure building unnoticed, I’ll feel every moment of it. It’s up to me to stay informed: to know what rights are being stripped away, what changes are happening, and how I am impacted. I cannot afford to become complacent.

There will never be an America without trans people, but we will always be used as collateral by those who want to make a point. My fear is that there won’t be enough people willing to fight against that. For now, I’m focusing on what I can do. I’ll start saving so that I can flee the country if it becomes necessary.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Steven Beschloss at America, America:

Last night 50 Republican senators voted to confirm the blatantly unqualified Pete Hegseth as the Secretary of Defense, with only GOP Sens. Lisa Murkowski, Susan Collins and Mitch McConnell voting no. With every Democrat rejecting Hegseth, Vice President J.D. Vance cast the tie-breaking vote—51-50. There are many ways Hegseth puts our nation’s security at risk, including his track record of drunkenness and sexual abuse, his lack of knowledge, his utter lack of experience managing large organizations, his hostility toward the Geneva Convention, his support for soldiers convicted of war crimes, his desire to drive out “woke” generals and end an inclusive culture, his support for Christian nationalism, his plan to minimize the role of women in the military. But perhaps the most alarming feature of his dangerous ascent is his apparent sycophantic readiness to do what Trump asks him, law and morality be damned. We witnessed this during Hegseth’s Senate confirmation hearing less than two weeks ago when Sen. Mazie Hirono questioned him directly. (Here’s my snapshot summary of that hearing.) “In June of 2020, then-President Trump directed former secretary of defense Mark Esper to shoot protesters in the legs in downtown D.C., an order Secretary Esper refused to comply with,” Hirono said. “Would you carry out such an order from President Trump?”

Hegseth refused to say no. Instead, he said that he was among the National Guard unit in Lafayette Square that day, “carrying a riot shield on behalf of my country.” With thinly veiled anger, he also called the events that day “chaos” as protesters tried to jump over a fence and set a church on fire. Hirono’s conclusion: “That sounds to me that you will comply with such an order. You will shoot protestors in the leg.” Hegseth did not deny it. [...] Do you think American soldiers will refuse to obey illegal orders? Or will they do whatever they are told, recognizing that in Trump’s authoritarian regime the rules of engagement on American soil have changed? As I discussed in yesterday’s essay, “Take Strength from the Helpers,” can we expect—do you expect—to find principled Americans among the military who will not go along with the illegal or immoral demands of this Trump regime? Perhaps you’d like to share stories from your own family members who have sacrificed for their country and upheld the values and principles of our democracy.

@Steven Beschloss wrote a solid column on whether American soldiers should disobey lawless orders from newly-confirmed Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth and “President” Donald Trump.

[sophie-frm-mars]

How do you feel about the AANES’ alliance with the US? Is it a case of you gotta do what ya gotta do to survive?

Most governments don't recognize the AANES as an autonomous entity from Syria, and looking for evidence of what you're asking about I can only see AANES working with a us led coalition against ISIL. Considering that AANES was founded after the region was liberated from ISIS, it's unsurprising they would dedicate resources to eradicating the same fascist scum from nearby countries.

For a bit of a parallel, when I was in Armenia I went to a talk about the political position of Armenia internationally and they were very clear that the small nation was doing a very careful balancing act accepting help from Russia one month and America the next to avoid falling into the control of either large power. I think we have to appreciate that this kind of thing is very common for countries and people and places in the imperial periphery

More to the main point though, I was just at a protest yesterday, the Kurdish Community Centre in North London was shut down by UK police on the anniversary of the founding of the PKK, because the UK has to treat groups that Turkey considers terrorist groups as terrorists in order to make nice for NATO's sake. The met police sent in scores, properly swarms of armed police and riot cops to shut down a community centre because they were celebrating the founding of a workers party that fights for the freedom of their people. This is the way the imperialist order treats the PKK and Kurds generally, and I don't imagine America is about to turn around tomorrow and say y'know what actually we love Öcalan, nor do I imagine the AANES are ignorant to that

[natrogersfics]

The Anthology - Chapter 7: But Daddy I Love Him

Artwork by @faith2nyc Read on AO3

“What the hell were you thinking?”

Steve looks up to see Maria’s typically collected expression overcome with incredulity, and from his seat in front of her desk, he can only shift in place. “I don't know how much clearer I can be, Maria,” he says, watching as his agent remains unfazed by his clipped tone. “She was drunk and in no condition to go home alone. It was the right thing to do. Anyone-”

"Anyone would have done it," Maria finishes for him. "That's what you were going to say, right?" He lifts his chin up, as if daring her to say what they both know she truly wants to. She scoffs. "Be that as it may, not just anyone would have stayed the night. And even worse, been stupid enough to get caught!" 

“I didn’t realize whose couch I crashed on was anyone’s business but my own,” he volleys back, crossing his arms over his chest.

“It is when it’s Natasha Romanoff’s couch,” Maria says, only to sigh at the dagger of a glare he sends her way. “For God’s sake, Steve, these pictures of you two are already tanking your follower count-”

“I don’t fucking care about my follower count!”

“Then what about future projects? Do you care about that?” Maria asks, undeterred. “Because just yesterday, I had a meeting booked with the studio to look into extending your three-picture deal. Today, they suddenly need to take a raincheck?” Maria shakes her head as she reaches for the tablet on her desk before handing it to him. “That’s not a coincidence, Steve. Not in light of all this... protest.”

“What are you talking about?” he says, his brows furrowing in confusion. Maria’s only response is to extend the tablet further out to him, and reluctantly, he takes the device to see the Twitter trending page pulled up on the screen, his name in bold font at the very top. An exasperated sigh falls from his lips as he taps on it. Call him old fashioned, but he had never come to understand the allure of an online presence. He had resisted building one for as long as he could, acquiescing only when the subject had become a sticking point in the new age of contract negotiations. Even then, he was only too happy to hand over the reins to Maria and her team. And as he skims through these responses now, he couldn’t be more thankful that he did.

“Jesus,” he says as he haphazardly drops the tablet back onto Maria’s desk, shaking his head as though the action will erase what he’s just seen. For those comments he’s just read – if they could still even be called that – are nothing short of vitriolic. How people could have the courage to release such vile things online, opining about matters they not only haven’t a scintilla of a clue about, but also absolutely no business casting judgment on, he couldn’t comprehend. “Where was all this outrage when I put my hands on that pap?”

Maria’s expression softens a touch at that, her silence a resounding confirmation of what he already knows. “Steve, I know you… care for her,” Maria carefully begins a beat later. “But, rightly or wrongly, they’ve already decided who and what she is. Don’t let her drag you down with her.”

A cold, humorless chuckle falls from his lips. “How is it that the person who’s supposedly dragging me down is the only one that actually lets me breathe around here?” Now more than ever, he could see it. The way people conflated him with the paragon of virtue that was Captain America, a mere character he plays. He gestures towards the tablet. “Am I even an actual person to these people, Maria?” He shakes his head. “And I’m just supposed to believe that all of this is just, what? Because they care about me?”

His hands curl into fists at the very thought, and before him, Maria can only press her lips into a line. For the reality is bleak. These strangers pontificating about their disappointment in his choices are the same ones who claim, adamantly, to have his best interests at heart. It didn’t matter that what they ask of him, what they feel ever so entitled to implore him to do, is the one thing that will break him. They’ve already set the rules, the price of his defiance already outlined – live up to the perfect, impossible image that they’ve built of him in their minds or be at their perceived mercy.

To hell with that.

The response comes to him instantaneously. For it's all clear to him now. In the end, it doesn’t matter. None of it does. Nothing about what the sanctimonious, faceless keyboard warriors say online changes the fact that he’s never been happier than when he’s with Natasha. It doesn’t diminish the joy he feels when he hears her laugh or when her verdant eyes are the first thing he sees when he opens his. Or the spark that rushes through his veins, making him feel more alive than he’s ever felt, when he has her hand in his. And, above all else, it won't make him forget that it wasn't until he had her in his arms, the both of them sprawled out in comfortable silence on her couch this morning, that he finally felt whole for the first time in weeks.

There isn't anything in the world that could hold a candle to any of that. He isn’t going to let there be – no matter what it costs him.

He rises from his seat, watching as a knowing yet still apprehensive look crosses Maria’s face. She sighs. “Steve.”

“It’s my life, Maria,” he says, squaring his shoulders. “My choices are just that, mine. And I choose her.” 

Chapter 6 | Chapter 8

[thatfragilecapricorn30]

laughing gas

msr, gen, humor | 1k words | ao3 | tagging @today-in-fic

Scully was in the office, catching up on some paperwork while Mulder was at the dentist. He had asked her yesterday, sheepishly, if she could drive him home after his root canal. It was so like Mulder to ask her last minute, but since it was during the workday, she didn’t have any other plans. Scully timed it so she would arrive at the dentist around the time Mulder finished up and was in recovery. He told her he was getting nitrous oxide and might be a little loopy after the procedure.

After she checked in with the receptionist, a cheerful nurse escorted her to Mulder. “Your husband’s been asking for you,” the nurse commented over her shoulder as she led Scully down the hallway.

Scully opened her mouth to correct the nurse, but then thought better of it. Most of the time, her protestations fell on deaf ears. When her and Mulder first started working together, those comments were weird, but now when someone mistook them for a couple, Scully got a little thrill, which usually turned to disappointment pretty quickly. It was what she wanted but knew she couldn’t have, so she just ignored the comments.

Mulder was in the recovery room, reclined in a leather chair, with a dazed look on his face. When he spotted Scully, he gave her a big smile. Well, as big of a smile as he could manage with a mouth full of gauze. Despite herself, Scully could feel her heart skip a beat. She knew it was the drugs, but seeing how happy Mulder looked when she walked in filled her with warmth.

“Scully!” he exclaimed; her name slightly garbled.

She made her way to his side and sat down in the small chair next to him.

“You made it!” he mumbled.

“Well, I said I would be here. It’s time to go home soon," Scully said slowly, like she was speaking to a child.

He stared deep into her eyes, his gaze a thousand yards. “You’re so pretty. You’re the prettiest princess in the castle.”

Scully wrinkled her nose. “Princess, Mulder?” She wasn’t even into princesses as a little girl and certainly not now as an adult.

Mulder appeared deep in thought and then exclaimed, “The most beautiful president America has ever elected!”

Scully had to hold back a laugh. “Yes, that’s better, Mulder, thank you.”

He kept going, “The smartest Supreme Court justice on the bench!”

This time Scully had to turn away so she could hide her laugh as a cough. She patted his shoulder, “Okay, Mulder, that’s enough for today.”

Luckily, at that moment the nurse came in with a wheelchair to take Mulder out to the car. He insisted on holding Scully’s hand during the trip through the hallway. The nurse smiled at them, still thinking they were a married couple.

“I can tell he really loves you,” she said.

Scully’s mouth dropped open, while the nurse kept going, “Some people aren’t that nice when their inhibitions are lowered. But your husband couldn’t stop talking about you and complimenting you. You're a lucky lady," she said with a wink.

A wave of affection swept through Scully. She looked down at Mulder, who seemed ready to fall asleep, and squeezed his hand. Even though his eyes were mostly closed, he still smiled and squeezed her hand back. Oh boy, was Scully in trouble now. She had been in love with him for some time now but seeing him act so sweet and happy towards her was making all her buried feelings rush to the surface in an overwhelming swarm of emotion.

Scully drove Mulder to his apartment and decided to wait around for the nitrous oxide to wear off. Who knew what kind of hijinks he would get up to without her supervision? Plus, she wanted to spend time with him and try to figure him out. In the span of a few minutes, Mulder called her smart and beautiful and whatever else he said to the nurse. Did he really think those things? Could he have feelings for her? She hoped so, because each day it was becoming harder and harder for her to hide her own feelings.

Scully let Mulder doze on his couch for a few hours, while she puttered around his place. When he finally started stirring, she brought him over a glass of water and ibuprofen since the dentist said he might experience some pain after the procedure. Mulder woke up fully and smiled at her, the same way he did earlier that day.

“How are you feeling?” Scully asked.

“Kinda tired,” he answered. “And my mouth hurts a little.”

“There’s some ibuprofen for you,” Scully pointed out and Mulder took the tablets and drank half the glass of water.

“So, I didn't say anything embarrassing earlier, did I?” Mulder asked, setting the cup back on the coffee table.

“Not really,” Scully answered, trying to hide a smile.

Mulder looked skeptical, a rare expression for him. “‘Not really’? What did I say?”

“Just that you thought I should be president. And a Supreme Court justice,” she said with a chuckle.

“Oh, is that all?” Mulder snorted, laying back on the couch. “I think just one of those jobs is more than enough. Not that I don't think you're capable, Scully.”

After a minute, he looked over at her to confirm: “So, nothing else?”

Scully decided to take a chance and said, “Well, you told the nurse that you loved me.”

Mulder shot up like a bullet. “What?!”

Scully doubled over laughing, not trying to hide it this time. “Relax, Mulder. I know it was the drugs.”

He still looked nervous. After a pause, he asked, “What if it wasn’t?’

Scully abruptly stopped laughing. “Wasn’t what?” she asked.

“Wasn’t the drugs,” Mulder responded, finally making eye contact.

“Are you being serious?”

“Well, it shouldn't be that suprising. it’s not the first time I’ve told you that,” he said.

“Yes, but you had a head injury that time,” Scully insisted. "And this time you were under the influence of nitrous oxide."

“It doesn’t mean it’s not true. And it’s a lot more than I’ve gotten from you,” Mulder pointed out. “You’ve never said anything, so I wasn’t sure…” he trailed off, looking apprehensive about what she was going to say.

Mulder was right. It wasn’t fair that she was so good at hiding her feelings that he was afraid to take a risk and tell her how he felt. Though, she thought that she had given him plenty of hints along the way. Scully got up to sit next to Mulder on the couch.

“You’re right,” she said. “I’m not good with words… and expressing things. I’m better at showing them.” Scully turned to Mulder, ready to kiss him and hoping that would convey her feelings.

As soon as she got close, Mulder leapt back. Scully was a little annoyed at the rejection.

“My mouth,” Mulder said, bringing his hand up to cover his face. “I don’t think this is a good time for a first kiss.”

Scully shook her head and laughed. Naturally, they had terrible timing. “Rain check?” she asked, starting to stand up from the couch.

Mulder tugged her back down next to him. “Where are you going? Just because we can’t kiss doesn’t mean there aren’t other things we can do.” He waggled his eyebrows at her.

“Mulder!” she exclaimed, surprised at his forwardness.

He started cracking up at her outrage. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he insisted. “Unless…?”

She shoved him playfully and stood up. “I’m going home. We’ll talk once your mouth is healed,” she said with a smirk.

Mulder flopped back dramatically on the couch. “I don’t think I can wait that long.”

And he didn't have to - she came back later that night.

[urfave-masc]

America, God bless you if it’s good to ya.

(A letter to those who voted or voted third party)

Ive had plenty of time to think about the weaponized words you all have used against us. “I don’t think you’re who I thought you were” and “you’re misunderstanding me” no, I hear you loud and clear. What you’re not doing is listening to us.

A third party or non-vote is the same as giving a vote to someone who wears genocide as a shiny pin on his suit. At least maybe with Kamala, we could save some unfortunate victims of assault, rape, incest. We could’ve protected our own trans kids, now we are going to fight a genocide of our own. We are going to have to fight and riot because someone got killed for “walking while black” under this administration.

I beg of you to organize. That’s an important thing to do while the world is going to crash and burn, because it already is, and nobody is going to be happy with either party. We clearly did not do critical thinking when it came to our own issues. I’m specifically looking at my third party and non voters here, whatever your reason may be from “i don’t like either” to “children are dying overseas” well, now our mothers and trans children are dying here. what have we solved. apart from enacting horrible tariffs the likes of the economy will have never felt since the great depression, and giving tax cuts to the billionaires to make the working class even poorer than the ruling class, which doesn’t sound like we are solving anything at all. it doesn’t sound anything like the reform we need, the revolution we need, right?

ah yes, because your activism for children overseas while you can’t be an advocate for your mother, or her mother, or her mother, or her mother, while you can’t be an advocate for yourself, while these women and kids are getting raped and assaulted you thought a non vote meant more than a impending genocide on POC and trans people and control over women in our own damn country wasn’t as important as kids in gaza. “if it means i don’t have to have access to gender affirming care or hormones, ill live.” well im very glad you’re privileged enough to live. i’m extremely glad you will never feel some of the pain trans kids feel who took their lives because they got beat so bad at school, or their parents left them homeless.

Nex Benedict, you were a child who should’ve been able to feel safe at school.

Kids should feel safe in our schools. 513 mass shootings and counting in 2024 alone, kids doing lockdown drills monthly and posting video of police stampeding their school complexes wasn’t enough for even a vote for basic mental health issues and addiction issues? Was issue 12 nothing to somebody who is almost a year sober? Who has almost died 2 fucking times in the span of a year because of drugs? Is abolishing the department of education really what we needed here, to put behind kids like me who had IEPs and those with autism, adhd, and other mental disorders and even physical disorders from receiving a proper education?

Where was your voice while protesting the genocide in gaza when the 20 kids in the Sandy Hook Elementary School shooting should’ve been able to vote yesterday. Where is your support for “March for Our Lives?”

Where was your voice when black men and women are being subjected to some of the worst systemic racism in modern times? “Kamala jailed thousands of black people for weed charges” and if you look at what’s law right now, she gave 95% of them a slap on the fucking wrist if you actually did your research. Doing her job, and then trying to do a job for the people where weed could be legalized and charges could be expunged, which affects majority black people. This issue hits close to me. Because you want to paint someone out to be an absolute monster, which there is some merit to, but you neglect to see that the other monster wants nothing to do with the community and won’t give an inkling of hope to give people a safe way to make community. It’s like a damn pitbull at the shelter. Stay in the crate and potentially get adopted someday, or get euthanized.

Tamir Rice, you should still be breathing, you should still be alive.

We should organize regardless of who was elected but I guarantee you now there are going to be repercussions the climate, people, and world have never known with an outcome like this.

With major climatologists begging you to vote for somebody who isn’t going to immediately continue burning fossil fuels and continue the meat industry, to continue doing the things we are doing now and you still let a non vote out of “making a message” happen when the most crucial part of our climate journey is NOW. Because of the political divisiveness in our country and unwillingness to vote for somebody that’s “less bad” than the fascists, we are going to make absolutely no progress. You really think rioting under Trump is going to work? It may not work either under Kamala, but damn it was sure a fucking shot if it meant that my grandpa still had access to healthcare while he steadily declined.

This isn’t about parties for me. This is about my grandpa, who drank from colored water fountains and couldn’t enter certain stores because he was too dark. Or when he was told he would never amount to anything in life and went to college all while having two kids and three jobs.

This is about my grandpa who we fought long and hard to get the ACA for his parkinson’s to work out with the VA to make sure his succumbing to death was as painless and humane as possible.

This is about my grandpa who always said to “love your neighbor no matter how much they hate your skin color” because we have too much fucking infighting to make an actual revolution work.

This is about my grandpa and his family who had their fucking land taken away in a broken ass system who even then knew better than to vote for a fascist fool. This is about the millions of undocumented immigrants who are now at an even heightened risk of deportation. this is about my teenage best friend, D. R, who’s mom is living in a trailer park with 3 kids and can’t get citizenship because they might deport her. And leave her DACA children and US citizen born children at the hands of child protective services.

This is about our broken ass system which only became more fascist because of your non fucking vote. do better. even if you don’t agree with everything i am saying from my own experiences or lived experiences, do fucking better. support minorities and people in need instead of running away or giving salutations to what you think is right in your mind. Personally, we are upset that you did not vote. Very upset. Because you couldn’t decipher when to look out for yourself and your own marginalized community while making a difference in another. It’s like a black person voting for Trump. Do. Better. We are so deeply involved in a two party system that this election would not have been swayed by your non vote or third party vote and your privilege and naivety is really showing based on your ability to vote, and yall didn’t anyways. Until we come together as a community and start disassembling the system starting at a local level, you have no fucking reason to let a christofacsist win to help bring down the system.