#right to deface

[carlpotatoman]

I can't fucking delete Google from my phone. Why can't I delete Google from my phone? I fucking paid money for this shit, I don't care that you make the operating system, I don't want your shitty search engine with all this fucking AI. I want to have the right to defile and deface, BECAUSE I PAID FUCKING MONEY FOR THIS SHITTY BRICK!

You know why I buy Android phones, Google? Because it is substantially easier with Android to not get absorbed into an ecosystem that makes it difficult to use anything else.

I use Android because I could decide one day that I am bored and use my Android phone to jailbreak a 3DS. I can go online and download a .apk for your shitty video sharing platform, but without abhorrent monetization, and with dislikes returned, or I could download an .apk for an app which has been long since removed from the app store.

You are the supplier, I am the consumer, and you stop supplying when I stop consuming.

I do not want to consume your search engine, so you shouldn't be forcibly supplying it. I shouldn't have to connect my phone to a PC so I can use the thing i own in the ways which I want.

Where is our right to deface and defile? Where is our right to own what we buy? Where is the right to repair?

[bloggingboutburgers]

hi :) i see you have cool stuf about being aspec. I think you are knowledgable on qpr. I have a question about qprs.... can they be a guy and a girl? Or is it not queer enough to be considered a queerplatonic relationship? Idk, I am in situations and wanna know if it's valid

Thank you.❤️

Bruh I absolutely don't see why not.

Here's my chance to remind that queer doesn't have to equal same-sex by the way. Different-gender couples including at least one bisexual or pansexual individual are queer. Different-gender couples including at least one trans or nonbinary individual are queer. Different-gender couples including at least one asexual or aromantic individual are queer. Doesn't matter if they're "passing". The reality is that their experience is outside of the cishet/amato/allo norms, they've have to live through that, and that makes them queer. It's what they ARE, not what they SHOW.

And if due to what you are, a queerplatonic relationship is what would suit you best, who the hell would we be to gatekeep them based on gender? Idk, I think the most important thing about being in a QPR is understanding what it entails and being respectful of the nature of it, and respectful of your partner.

...Also QPRs are pretty freaking amazing so the more people who are interested in them get to experience them, the better imo

[nixthehomunculus]

someone said cybertrucks are gender neutral bathrooms

[microwavedelivery]

Guys I need a consensus no questions asked, first one or second one

[boyheros]

FORGOT ABOUT THIS IN MY DRAFTS. I was gonna post it on Maverick's birthday. Wellll anyway here we go: the circumstances of his manufacture were ahhhhhh very strange. There's a thing that happens with cloning machines sometimes where they will turn on and make some random living nonsense because base black wants to be attached to alive stuff sooooo bad. these are called Unsolicited Ejections (UEs). usually it's just like amorphous cell mess but sometimes, if you have a lovely little contaminated cloning machine, it could try and make full clones. This is very common with Maverick clones, most of them are UEs. Except for designer genetically modified ones like Elaine. Now. Elaine was "forbidden" from cloning herself for various reasons, one being her genmod, but when has Elaine everrr listened to anyone? So she gets a sample of her DNA secretly modified (by her wife actually) and goes and 'contaminates' the machine with it. To induce it into a UE. so OFFICIALLY Maverick wasn't cloned on purpose and there was no misconduct whatsoever. but when you look at him. He's clearly not Maverick Clone Standard which implies intent in cloning. But no one can do anything about it because he is a UE. good times.

[wreckedhoney]

it's fathers day so i imagine the kf fandom will be quite silent today

[sirnica]

Don't get me wrong, I get why people in the US are annoyed by rainbow capitalism. They have many reason to be.

On the other hand, if a local company in my shitty, homophobic country made a rainbow product, or sponsored Pride, or hell, even made a supportive post, I would probably combust from joy because they see me as a human who they can cater ro and not someone sick, pervert, worthy of hate and ridicule.

[mishkakagehishka]

I love how there is just unequivocal hate of the British everywhere in the south tourist areas and they act exactly as the same rude asshats with 0 regard for decorum. Like... It's commendable. To think they can be that incredibly stable with such awful behavior everywhere they go...

NO RIGHT? It's so bad i had a teacher in middle school who was so open about hating British people bc of the way they behave. As she said, "They have strict laws on everything in the UK, so they let loose in countries they deem lesser", it's like they use southern europe as a theme park just to do what they want💀 It's ridiculous. Bathing in drinking water source rivers (?), and also the river from which the tastiest frogs are caught... a mutual is just telling me how they're doing fucking morphium in the streets and leaving the rubbish behind???? Everywhere?????? It's just abnormal and inhuman.

We have a problem of cops never really doing anything bc Profit, but I, personally, think that at one point, the locals are gonna get fed-up. I'm not saying we should do anything. But i'm saying if some people decide enough is enough, i'll look the other way. And it's already happening, i remember a news article about some men beating the shit out of a brit and bystanders joining in despite not knowing why or what. Bc brits have a reputation, and even i first assumed "musta been disrespectful"

[happylandfill23]

6 gsa posters ripped down :/

[depresseddepot]

so there's a church in my town that has a pride flag flying 24/7 and there's an event in the town today and they let an lgbtq youth support group set their booth up on their lawn for free and I straight up burst into tears the second I saw it

[sayruq]

Trinity College Cambridge, the University of Cambridge's wealthiest constituent college, has decided to divest from all arms companies, Middle East Eye can reveal.This came after MEE revealed in February that Trinity had £61,735 ($78,089) invested in Israel's largest arms company, Elbit Systems, which produces 85 percent of the drones and land-based equipment used by the Israeli army. MEE also reported that the college had millions of dollars invested in other companies arming, supporting and profiting from Israel's war on Gaza. In response to this report, on 28 February the International Centre of Justice for Palestinians (ICJP), a UK-based rights group, issued a legal notice to Trinity College warning that its investments could make it potentially complicit in Israeli war crimes. The ICJP indicated in its legal notice that "officers, directors and shareholders at the college may be individually criminally liable if they maintain their investments in arms companies that are potentially complicit in Israeli war crimes and crimes against humanity". MEE has learnt from three well-informed sources close to Trinity's student union that the college council, responsible for major financial and other decisions, voted to remove Trinity's investments from arms companies in early March. According to these sources, the college decided not to announce that it would divest from arms companies after an activist defaced a 1914 portrait of Lord Arthur Balfour - who authored the infamous Balfour Declaration - inside the college on 8 March.

[meanbossart]

Based on the latest art/the famous graveyard scene, or at least my version of it. CW: The usual durge-isms. Astarion's sense of humor.

The graveyard is appropriately silent - there isn’t a proverbial soul to be seen as you stroll through the headstones with lazy strides. You’re so often in a rush to get from one place to the next, how novel it is to meander.

You wonder if either of your souls could tick up the counter; Astarion, a corpse-walking, and yourself something else entirely.

His head, battered and bruised as the rest of your bodies scans through the names etched on their respective places of rest, uncharacteristically quiet ever since you left the Inn. You’re worried. It’s been a dreadful day, and now he’s brought you here - you speak. “Are we defacing any graves tonight?”

Astarion humors you with a stiff grin - no, he says, then he changes it to a maybe, and then he asks you to be patient. His eyes land on a simple stone, half-sunken into the dry ground and overtaken by weeds and vines - a small thing forgotten amidst drunkards and urchins in a dark corner of the dead’s park. He sighs, pushes up his sleeves and snaps the foliage away with his own hands, dusts off the shallow writing and rubs the grime off on his knees - standing back a few feet to look over at his handwork. You squint to read his full name off the rock.

“Ancunin?”

 “Astarion Ancunin.” He scoffs. “I haven’t seen this in… Well, in centuries. I was beginning to wonder if I had an em somewhere in there.”

His amusement dies down.

“I had to punch a hole in the coffin and claw my way through six feet of dirt.

“He must’ve had someone come and smooth out the ground- Cazador, I mean. He was waiting for me here, when I finally surfaced.”

The vampire's eyes have risen from his name. He looks past the rows of gravestones and into the brick walls that surround them, sight glazed over, face drained from feeling. His words, so victorious in choice, just bear a numb uncertainty. He is so tired. “From that day on I was his. Until now.”

You shake your head. “You were never his. Everything he had, he took by force.”

“Maybe. But he did take it. And I can’t get it back.” Astarion shoots you an assertive scowl. “There’s nothing left of the person I was anymore. Just a name on a rock. I need to figure out who I am now - and what I want.”

You struggle to reach out to him. For the thing which he mourns. His words, when they echo within your own, perforated skull, sound to you like a statement of freedom, a relief; you’ve also left behind the person you were, and there is nothing there worth lamenting.

Astarion is different. As vague as his recollection of the past may be, or as favorably as you believe things have turned out for the both of you, eventually - you can’t help but feel like he would still trade it for a do-over. You don’t have it in you to ask if he would be willing to do it even if it meant your absence.

You know the answer.

You try to make your peace with it.

This person that your lover longs for, you didn’t know them, and you didn’t love them. But you do now; and so, you find yourself wanting for nothing.

“What is it that you want right now?”

“You.”

He’s caught in his own lack of hesitation, sullen face brought back to life by a small look of bemusement, of surprise. “I want you. Not just now, I… You were by my side through all of it - the bloodlust as well as the misery. You’ve shown yourself to be patient. And caring.” His words are staggered by chortles. “You are so sweet to me. A shock, frankly, given the most recent discoveries. I often wonder if this was always part of your nature, or just a happy consequence of your… ah”

Astarion’s finger prods uncertain around his own curly head of hair, prompting laughter to rumble up your throat. “Incident.” 

“Perhaps.” You’ve never wondered such things and you never will. “You’re beginning to sound awfully sweet yourself, mister concussion.”

He groans in response, reaching the short distance over to the throbbing bruise on the top of his forehead, next to his temple. It was a close call today, perhaps the closest yet - or you only felt the ever more desperate given what was on the line this time. “Anyway, I should probably fix this.”

You watch as Astarion crouches down in the dirt. With a small dagger he had tucked away in his waistband, he gets to work scratching irregular lines into his neglected headstone.

Astarion Ancunin

His father’s pride, his mother’s starlight, his friend’s joy.

229 NR - 268 NR.

He makes an addition below the numbers.

468 NR.

“Is that the year?”

“Yes.”

He pauses, then proceeds a little less confidently.  “... At least… I think so?”

You both exchange clueless looks before breaking into an ugly cacophony of snorts, Astarion leans with his hand on his memorial and hangs his head down in feigned exasperation, shoulders jerking. You kneel, joining him on top of his undisturbed plot. The vampire shakes his head “It doesn’t matter. I’ve been dead to the world long enough - whatever year it is now, I plan on living it. And I’m not letting anything stand in the way of that.”

He puffs his chest and breathes a lone sight - no subsequent following and no former to speak of. His body sits back onto his shins, hands fall limp on top of his thighs “Not him, not the sun, not some giant brain, and certainly not…

“Come here.”

There was less than a foot between your bodies that the elf now closed. He cups your jaw between his thumb and his pointer-finger, you feel a gentle pressure on your neck as Astarion uses you to leverage himself over - your mouths lock, you feel a scabbed-over cut on his otherwise soft bottom lip, a hard lump that splits and leaks into your gums. You turn,, grab onto him tight - hot palms on the cold nape underneath the collar of his shirt and chest against chest, a sore nose-bridge buried into his gaunt cheek. Your faces break apart and he presses his brow to yours, a passionate kiss turns into a tight embrace. 

You take a long whiff of the crook of his neck “You’ve got me in a kind of way I can’t begin to make sense of.”

Astarion’s hand becomes entangled with the hair at the back of your skull. “I love you too.”

You feel it. The desperation and the future echo of his cracking ribs, the hot, vivid flashes of your digits prying apart bone and reaching into the cavity of his heart - you can’t be close enough to him. You can never step into his skin and he can never leap down your throat. An anxious feeling sinks into your gut as you realise that there is one thing that you still want; even in your waking hours of clarity, even in crystalline sanity, even in moments like these, ones that you hold sacred and wish to shield from depravity.

He murmurs into the side of your face. “Lets have sex. Right here.”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want me to beg?”

The playfulness in his tone is brief. He feels it in your tense shoulders and stiff back - you aren’t teasing him.

You only pull away enough so you can look at him, hands remain latched to his waist. “I’m still afraid of what I might do.”

“I understand.” He doesn’t seem disappointed, only sobered. “Well that puts a slight damper on my plans. No matter.”

“You can help yourself once you’ve tied me up for the night.”

“If I wanted to make love to a rabid mastiff I’d go find a new maniac to lord over me.”

“We could still just… Stay here a while. Together.”

You come off a little pleading. Astarion’s eyes squint when he smiles - “Yes, I… I think I’d like that.”

It’s a little clumsy, the way you sway apart and try to find your footing on the gravel, how your hands slide down each other’s elbows and then lock tightly at the fingers, refusing to let go, new amateur joints; as if men like yourselves who’ve more battles than many do in entire lifetimes couldn’t dream of standing up without the leverage - it’s ridiculous. You’re like little children bumbling to your feet, giggling, trying to catch each other staring as you dangle your locked hands over gravestones and step over rogue bouquets blown by wind.

Everything is fine, everything is well. Your future is certain as is your happily ever after - whatever it may imply. You peruse the cemetery, mocking the dead for the names their parents have given them, their uninspired eulogies and whether or not their dirt happened to smell of piss - you make up stories about the lives they lived and both the horrific or the banal circumstances in which they died. Astarion skips up the stairs to the coffin-maker’s abode, overlooking the scenery - he calls for you to come admire your kingdom, death prince. You laugh, and he laughs, and it all seems so awfully benign.

“That will be king for you soon.”

“Oh, gods - get away from me.”

He knows you aren’t serious. This world has brought you too much joy for you to end it. There hasn’t ever been a moment where you were tempted to do your fathers bidding.

But there’s been moments where you questioned what other choices you had.

Not tonight, however.

Astarion rolls his eyes and takes the hand you reach out to him with. You are yanked towards the paved terrace up the stairs, and you pull him into yourself in a lazy sway by the balustrades. “We will figure something out” You say.

“As always,” Astarion confirms with an emphatic nod of the head, but his gaze is low - he stares at your moving feet. Hand-in-hand and hand-on-hip he’s picked up on what you’re doing; “It’s - left forward, right back, close left, close right, right?”

“That is only if you’re leading.”

“Well then, I guess I’m leading.”

“Be my guest.” 

He places a hand on your waist, you put yours on his deltoid, your boots bump into each other on occasion as you both waltz over uneven stone tiles, first with careful attention until you’ve caught yourselves in a sound-less rhythm. When you raise your eyes you find your partner-in-dance staring on with a rivalling smirk.

“So, you remember how to ballroom dance, yet haven’t got a clue about your own name?”

You ask if that disappoints him, Astarion assures you to the contrary. You both rehearse a dance for an event you will never be going to, and you enjoy every second of it.

[xoxochb]

Can u plss write a percy x hecate reader smut like during the war and its like angry sex with CRAZY degradation, breeding kink, bondage, and choking, and can Percy be like reallyyyyy mean (Like pushing your head into the pillow so hard you lit cant breathe like at all)?

Anyways thats kinda it

oh my gods nonnie

pure nsfw under the cut!

——— ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

your poor wrists. and your throat. and your eyes. and your pretty face. and your lungs, your cunt, and any dignity you had left.

your every noise, plead, or such, leaving your sanguine lips— speckled with bits of blood from both percy biting them, and your own teeth— becomes stifled from the cotton pillow, your mascara dripping and defacing it entirely to a point of no return. and beyond percy’s care, but the lack of oxygen finding your airway is concerning, nearly gagging you alongside rolling tears.

your wrists, tied tightly with blue ribbons, ripped taken from your well-done braids, leaving marks on your skin from your attempts to un-restrain yourself.

you don’t dare fight back, not now, mid-war and your boyfriend is beyond pissed, if that’s the write adjective.

though you’re starting to think, by the force to which he shoves his cock into your slick walls, there is no right word.

you try to lift your head for air, for only a second at the very least to save your life. though the moment it barely even comes up, percy forcefully grabs a fistful of your hair and pushes it back into the pillow.

you love him, you do. but maybe not as much when he’s taking his anger out on you, his poor girlfriend.

“stay down,” he demands. you obey.

but you’re choking on your own saliva, nearly vomiting over it as you try to get a simple word out. you shake your head against the pillow violently as you sob, listening as percy degrades you through quiet whispers, and the sound of his cock obliterating your throbbing cunt.

“p-perce— mphmm—”

his hand finds the back of your head again, silencing your sentence and preventing you from speaking further.

“I never said— shit.” percy’s gaze falls to your dripping cunt, his blue shark sheets a mess of your juices. “I never said you could speak. got it?”

you nod rapidly against the pillow. percy strokes your hair gently.

“good girl.”

[autisticdoomslayer]

I'm so tired of antisemitism happening and then seeing leftists claim "well actually a zionist probably did that to make themselves seem more sympathetic". Sure, just take zero responsibility for the problems within your group.

Remember when Alex Jones claimed that Antifa stormed the capitol on Jan 6 dressed as right-wingers to make them look bad? And remember how we all agreed that he was fucking insane? That's what you idiots sound like.

Attacking synogogues and defacing holocaust memorials will not free Palestine. It's Nazi behavior. And if there is one Nazi at a protest, and nobody kicks him out, then it's a Nazi protest.

This is honestly why I do not go to protests. I donate, and I advocate, but I do not go to protests. Because I know I will inevitably see at least one Nazi, and I will watch as no one does anything about it.

Fix it.

[indecisiveavocado]

an incomplete list of hate crimes in the past fourteen (14) days against jews not in Israel, in no particular order

A shul was defaced with swastikas (Minneapolis, US)

A shul was firebombed (Montreal, Canada)

An ATM dispensed antisemitic banknotes, complete with 'Fuck Jews' (Sydney, Australia)

Swastikas at public high schools (Virginia, US)

Antisemitic stickers at the Boston University Campus ("spreading" from Harvard)

More antisemitic grafitti (Indiana, US)

(or maybe 12) 5 antisemitic attacks in Zurich (Zurich, Switzerland)

(or 13) Swastika grafitti in Pittsburgh, where I live (Pittsburgh, US)

(or 14) A car burned and grafitti sprayed in another antisemitic attack in Australia (Australia)

(or 15) That Melbourne arson attack (Melbourne, Australia)

(or 16) Jordan Acker's home was vandalized (Michigan)

(or 17) The San Francisco Hillel was vandalized with antisemitic grafitti (San Francisco, US)

(or 18) An Israeli in California was wounded after someone DROVE A FREAKING CAR INTO THEM (California, US)

(or 19) Someone intentionally cut off the peyot of a Jewish boy in New Jersey, akin to ripping the hijab off a Muslim woman, only it takes a while for her to get another hijab (New Jersey, US)

Mind you, as far as I know, this was a relatively typical two weeks. Goodness knows there were many more that went unreported. And many of these were basically unreported in the non-Jewish news, because no one really pays attention unless it's something big, like arson. Imagine if some tailor destroyed the hijab of a Muslim girl after saying not to, as her mother begged for him to stop. National news, right? But if it's a Jew - no one cares.

But tell me more about how antisemitism isn't a big problem and I shouldn't worry again.

[renthony]

Obviously you shouldn't write in library books or books that you otherwise don't own, but I never understood the "oh my god, don't write in, highlight, fold, or dog-ear any pages in your books, ever, or you're defacing them" mindset.

One of my favorite things in the world is borrowing paperbacks from my wife's collection and seeing all her little annotations. Notes in the margins of used university textbooks have helped me understand complex passages, and given me a connection to students struggling to understand the same things I did. Highlights in novels from the used bookstore have made me stop and really appreciate a passage I might have otherwise glossed right over. Marginalia and annotations in historical texts are a goldmine of information and humanity.

What people prefer for their personal collection is totally valid, but I hate how writing in books gets treated like inherent vandalism. It's just another one of those ways the physical paper of the book gets held as more sacred than the information and the connections made with the book's contents.