#sidewalk discourse

[vriskarlmarx]

The couple functions as both the problem and its solution. If not this one, she just needs another boyfriend, one that will treat her better. A woman may feel the nausea of ambivalence, of being caught between obsession with phallic power and revulsion from it. She does not know which is greater, the melancholia of the couple or the melancholia of denouncing it as a social form. Most opt for the sadness of the couple over the alienation of being cut loose from its grasp. Capital lends a shoulder at every turn, suggesting you watch a rom com with your girlfriends when heartbroken or providing endless ways to personalize your wedding dress. Similar to the framework of electoral politics that limits the scope of critique to the wrong people being in office, the couple-form attributes women’s problems to dating the wrong man rather than to the couple itself. As long as she stays invested in the idea of romantic love as salvation, as the guiding principle against isolation and towards fulfillment, she remains tied to the couple-form.

As another facet of the couple-as-solution, the discourses surrounding austerity measures and neoliberal restructuring frame the couple as a remedy for poverty. One reads tales of young people shifting between poverty and prison as a result of single parenting, especially absent fathers, as if the restitution of the couple could remedy the poverty and structural racism produced by capitalism. State bureaucrats tell women that the couple and the family that it anchors have replaced social assistance programs: you don’t need help with childcare or food stamps; you need a man! The surest way out of poverty is to get married! While many women might never have access to employment, those who do work for a wage face a gendered discrepancy in earnings, likely forcing them to rely on male wages to support their children. These economic mechanisms preserve the vehemence of the couple-form as a trap for women within capitalism, which masks unwaged labor as acts of love and care.

[...]

The logic of the couple penetrates queer relationships as well as straight ones. Homonormativity and gay assimilation have fashioned queer relationships in the shape of straight coupledom. Rather than a subversion of heterosexual social relations, assimilationist, liberal homosexuals have fought for the right to fit into the logic of the couple — to get married, to wear a wedding dress, to create familial nuclei able to protect property relations. Homosexuals perpetuate heterosexual norms and phallocracy through categorizations and role-play, which further codify desires and constitute sex within the logic of phallic centrality and authority. Same sex couples do not escape either the territoriality imposed on desire or the couple’s reinforcement and faithfulness to repressive social relations.

Dismantling the logic of the couple does not indicate distaste for love, but rather a critique of directing love towards a specific object. One must contextualize the couple-form within patriarchy, as so-called ‘love’ arrives to us through the apparatus of gender. Denouncing the couple does not mean shunning giddiness, love letters written in tiny cursive with quill pens, or the feeling of the sidewalk being a trampoline. Rather, critiquing the couple involves an analysis of the way that patriarchy has recuperated women’s desire for solidarity, for intimacy, for excitement, for negation, for the event into a consolidation of phallic power and the accumulation of capital.

Who would not arrive at this conclusion: patriarchy and capitalism thwart any possibility to love in a way that liberates oneself from the logic of the couple or from one’s own oppression. To liberate love necessarily involves the abolition of patriarchy and capitalism. One cannot opt in or out of these structural relations, and the struggle against them will be a collective, historical project.

In this pathetic, stillborn world, we do have feelings. Sometimes we look at someone and think we are in love with them. We must crush the illusion that romance is or will be an avenue for liberation.

Against the Couple Form, Clémence X Clementine and Associates from the Infinite Venom Girl Gang

[centrally-unplanned]

God yes New Yorkers discoursing about how *adding trash bins on the street* is *changing the character of the neighborhood* I am living for this, inject it right into my veins, levels of NIMBYism God never saw in all his omnipotence during the creation of Man. Im so happy.

[athousandgateaux]

Sidewalk discourse yeah yeah blah blah blah. But I swear pedestrians in this city are pathologically incapable of using the sidewalk. They be out here jumping directly in front of moving cars for no discernable reason. Their flesh craves the cold emrbrace of motorized steel.

[tricitymonsters]

I love this game so much!! :D

Whenever you have time of day, pls Kazu fluff I need it pls!!! 💙

Thank you so much ;w; !!

Here's some Soft Kazu ideas that are currently rattling around in my noggin:

The judicious overreaction when someone is a dick to you in public. Catcalled? Cut in line? Had your machine stolen at the gym? Kazu will materialize out of nowhere and throw that person like a shot put.

His arm goes on your shoulders while you walk. You go on the inside of the sidewalk, he stays on the outside. He opens the doors for you. No he is not taking any criticism about this.

When you go somewhere on his motorcycle, he makes you sit in front of him and leans his upper half over you the whole time.

Has accepted that you are going to steal his clothes.

Makes you lunch and gets real Nagging Mom about it if he discovers you suck at cooking or caring for yourself. You'll end up with packed lunches or him dropping off food at the beginning of the week for you to subsist on.

When you go to Korean Barbeque or Yakiniku, he is the one who grills and distributes the food, you just sit there and are given food.

He'll also gravitate towards ordering for you at restaurants he likes if you let him. Mostly he knows what's really good here but lacks the social skills to make a suggestion out of it.

If you ride in one of his cars, he does that thing where he puts his arm out across your chest if he has to brake hard.

He glares and glowers when you try to patch up any minor injuries he sustains but he lets you get into his space just the same.

After much begging and pleading on your part he does martial arts moves he calls Showoff Hollywood Shit where he does aerial kicks or breaks blocks/boards or vertically split axe kicks just to prove that he can but you can also tell he is eating up the chance to show off his skills.

He starts infodumping about weird stuff when he really likes you. What idols he likes, how he can't stand Asuka vs Rei discourse, Love Live, Did You Know Power Rangers was just Super Sentai Footage Dubbed Over with New Super American Footage Replacing the Rest??

He about dies of embarrassment when you catch him pinstriping/detailing his own autowork. The more you gush over his skills the redder he gets until you could cook an egg on his face.

BAKERS' DOZEN: Getting him to open up about his past, experience in prison, his scars. He'd much rather hear you talk about your life but after a certain point, you'll be able to coax him into relaxing a little.

[garbinge]

Flower Shop

Richie Jerimovich x F!Reader

For @the-slumberparty's Bingo Challenge! Bingo square: Flower Shop A/N: This is NOT the same reader as my other Richie fics. I've decided to compile those fics into their own multichap because I've gotten some Bear fic ideas outside of that little universe I've created. ALSO, huge shout out to @kind-wolf for this idea!!!! Seriously sparked so much inspiration, thank you x 10000000 I hope you enjoy :) Warnings: Cursing, arguing, light angst, mentions of harassment, and someone being drunk and disorderly.

The Bear Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics @quixscentsposts @dadbodfanatic-x @adorable-punk-superheroes @lodeddiperrodrick @isalver @captainweasleybarnes @musicwithteeth

“We’re across from that stupid fuckin’ flower shop.” Richie spoke into the phone. “Yes, that one.” He was staring out the window at the shop he mentioned, annoyance growing as he stared out. “No, I don’t know if they’ve got white roses, look, will you just tell me when my meat delivery is gonna be here, I gotta fuckin’ feed people.” Richie had slammed his hand down on the table like the person on the other line could see his frustration. Before the conversion continued, Richie saw movement where he was staring across the street. “I gotta go, just deliver the fuckin’ meat.”

As you stepped outside of your flower shop, dragging to large potted plants to sit alongside the front door, you heard the familiar bell of the shop across the street. At first the noise went unnoticed, the first few weeks it was just part of the Chicago hustle and bustle but two months in, you began to notice it because it usually meant that someone was about to start yelling at you. 

“I thought I told you that putting that shit out on the street causes distractions and traffic!” The man yelled out to you. 

Right on schedule was the thought in your head as you huffed and stood up to yell back. 

“I thought I told you to mind your fuckin’ business, beef boy!” You usually had discourse like this on a daily basis but between the early start you had and the exhaustion from pulling these plants out of the back storage room, you were a little more rowdy today. 

“Beef boy?” He scoffed. “Stop blocking the sidewalk, you–you–flower fuck!” He tripped up on what to call you there and it made you smile. 

“T-t-t- today, Junior!” You mocked him back. 

“Are you making fun of me by quoting Billy fucking Madison?!” 

The cars of traffic were moving on the roads in front of you, the audacity they had interrupting your heated discussion. But nonetheless, you weren’t going to let it stop you from going back and forth. 

“Why are you such a fuckin’ jagoff?!” You called back out at him. 

The comment made the slightest smirk grow on Richie’s face, you were too far to notice it which he was grateful for but hearing the word that he called people so often out of someone else’s mouth was amusing. 

“I don’t know, why don’t you look in the mirror and tell me why you’re such a jagoff!” He lifted his hand up and pointed his finger, throwing it at you as he spoke. 

“Wow.” You started clapping. “Great comeback, what are we 10? I know you are what am I?” You called out in a immature tone. 

“I’m gonna go back inside and work because some of us put our blood sweat and tears into our jobs, while other people sit up on their bouqueted pedestals and fuck over us hard workers!” 

You had no idea what he was saying, what he meant by it but that was also a pretty normal and everyday occurrence so you didn’t think twice about it and just yelled out before going back inside your flower shop. 

“Go fuck yourself, beef boy!” 

These things happened pretty often, not everyday but often enough that your comebacks got funnier, they got more detailed, more pointed, on both sides. When you went out to water the plants on display in front of the store and Richie went out for a smoke break you yelled across at each other. When you both were at the window looking at the rain clouds forming or the rain drops falling, you’d throw middle fingers up and mouth profanities at each other. When you’d stay late and look across the street to see Richie there at the restaurant late, you’d stare at each other, give mean looks and turn the lights off to work in the back offices at your shop. 

It was strangely something enjoyable, for both of you. It was a way to get out so much frustration and build up tension that had accrued in the days. It wasn’t healthy, and you knew that but you weren’t exactly looking for the textbook solution to your problems these days. 

As you stood outside, past closing time, sweeping up the dead leaves and fallen petals from the day, Richie was out for what was likely his 5th smoke break of the day. It was late, and you both tended to keep it down when curfew hours hit, out of respect for the block, not each other. As you moved along your storefront, you heard a voice that wasn’t familiar. 

“Yo, can I please get some flowers, my girl’s mad at me and I need something to bring home.” The voice was slurred, the person sounded drunk. You looked up and saw the person who had stumbled up to your store. 

“I can give you a mix of stuff for $10.” You weren’t in the mood to cause problems so you thought this would be a good compromise. A bouquet like that would normally be double so you thought this was the perfect meet in the middle deal. 

“Nah, I don’t got any money. Just let me go in and grab something small, no biggie, alright?” The man started to push by and tried to get in the door that you had already locked.  

“We’re closed, I can go grab something for you, and you can give me $10 for it, that’s it.” Your voice was firm as you stepped in front of the door. 

“C’mon!” The guy whined. 

“Alright, new plan. No flowers, and you get the fuck out of here.” There was no whine in your tone, you weren’t playing games which is why the push you gave the guy was more aggressive than your initial block. 

While the push worked to get him away from the door, the man didn’t leave. 

“Pretty sure she told you to get the fuck out of here.”

That sentence was said by someone else and it made both you and the man turn to look at where the hardened voice was coming from. You saw the man from across the street, now much closer on your side of the street, on your sidewalk. He looked different closer up, you could see the features of his face better, despite it being late at night you could see things that the space hid. The bags under his eyes, the roughness of his stubbled beard, the wrinkles in his forehead and eyes, he was worn, he had been through a lot, you could tell. You also could tell that he had been used to these type of run ins, or you so assumed as you looked at the gun in his hand that wasn’t being threatened yet, but was ready in the case it needed to be.   

“But my flowers…” The man stumbled slightly as he spoke. 

“They’re her flowers, not yours. Go home, get the fuck out of here.” Richie stepped forward, using his body to show force and slightly raising the gun to let the man know it was there. 

And it worked. The man left, drunk and defeated, leaving you and Richie on the sidewalk in front of your shop. 

“I had it handled.” The glare you had was still on the man walking away and when he got out of your view, you turned to the person still next to you. 

“Most people just say thank you.” He scoffed as he put the gun in his back waistband. 

“You have a history of showing up armed and ready to shoot someone?” You raised your eyebrow and leaned on the broom handle. 

“No, I just–do you have to argue everything?” He was frustrated. 

“I just assumed that was our thing.” Your shoulders shrugged so nonchalantly. 

Richie let out a laugh and shook his head as he took a step off the curb and was now standing on the asphalt of the street, slowly making his way back over to the restaurant. “I’d buy yourself a piece, get yourself familiar with it, this block can get hot sometimes.” 

“Who says I’m not familiar?” You called out to him with a smirk on your face. 

“My mistake.” He lifted his hands up in surrender with a similar smirk to your own before turning around fully to step onto his side of the street. 

“Hey, beef boy!” The humor in your voice was being held back by a thin thread as you smiled through your words. 

Richie turned around, his hand on the door handle ready to enter back into the restaurant as he stared at you. For the first time ever, you weren’t going to yell profanities at eachother, give rude gestures or annoyed looked. For the first time you smiled at him and truly had no sarcastic attitude in what the next two words out of your mouth would be. 

“Thank you!”

[becuzitisbitter]

Yesterday my professor and I were casually talking about tumblr and I when mentioned sidewalk discourse, a student at another table piped up like “That was YOU??” For better or worse, that’s my legacy.

[eudikot]

Okay Reigen typical hair color discourse over, what is the best way to describe it without using default terms?

[rjalker]

id call myself cpunk but i am scared the disabled community wont think im disabled enough even though i have chronic pain that affects my ability to live and do basic tasks......

im in denial lol esp w/ the discourse

You are 100% welcome, the Cripplepunk community is welcoming to all physically disabled people (it's just the ableists and ablebodied jackasses anyone has a problem with), and if you have chronic pain, you're physically disabled.

I'd suggest looking through Cripplepunk blogs who post about chronic pain, or just checking out the chronic pain tag, if you want to see what people are talking about.

Chronic pain is a physical disability, even if the rest of society makes it seem like you're just being lazy or a crybaby. The normal level of pain for ablebodied people is none, and especially if it's impacting your ability to function, you're definitely physically disabled, and you'll be welcome in the Cripplepunk tag :)

The "discourse" is people who aren't physically disabled in any way by any definition, who think that they can just "loophole" their way into calling themselves physically disabled, by pretending that physical disability is like...

Like, a riddle or something, and they're trying to be Extra Clever™ in solving it in the most obnoxious way possible, so they come up with "Well, I'm autistic and ablebodied, but the brain is an organ, and autism comes from the brain, so therefore, my brain is disabled, so that means I'm technically physically disabled! Ha! Checkmate, cripples!"

And completely ignore the actual meaning of the words being used, and ignoring the fact that physically disabled people can't "Well, actually--" our disabilities away. Physical disabilities don't stop existing because of a technicality in language that's purposefully ignoring the context.

You can't tell your chronic pain, "Well, actually, you're just a product of my brain, so you can stop now". Talking about your feelings and learning coping mechanisms for when you're feeling upset isn't going to stop your chronic pain, because it's not an emotional problem, it's a physical one.

But these people think that they should get an award for "loopholing" their way into claiming they're physically disabled, while suffering none of the drawbacks of actually being physically disabled. Like chronic pain, and the kinds of systemic ableism that only impact physically disabled people, like lack of access to 90% of society via lack of ramps, no sidewalks, no elevators, doors that are too narrow, and so much more.

Physically disabled people are welcome in Cripplepunk as long as they're not ableist, and if you have chronic pain, you are welcome. No one who belongs in the Cripplepunk movement is going to judge you or tell you you're "not disabled enough" by comparing your chronic pain to theirs, or anything like that. And anyone who tries is gonna be the one who's not welcome in the community.

Here I've copied the original principles and rules of Cripplepunk:

Principles of Cripple Punk:

Cripple punk is exclusively by the physically disabled for the physically disabled

Cripple punk is about solidarity & is open to all physically disabled people

Cripple punk rejects pity, inspiration porn, & all other forms of ableism

Cripple punk rejects the “good cripple” mythos. Cripple punk is here for the bitter cripple, the uninspirational cripple, the smoking cripple, the drinking cripple, the addict cripple, the cripple who hasn’t “tried everything”

Cripple punk fights internalized ableism & fully supports those struggling  with it

Cripple punk respects intersections of race, culture, gender, sexual/romantic orientation, size, intersex status, mental illness/neuroatypical status, survivor status, etc.

Cripple punk recognizes that there is no one universal disabled experience

[originally italicized for emphasis] Cripple punk does not pander to the able bodied

Rules of Cripple Punk:

Cripple punk is not conditional on things like mobility aids & “functioning levels”

Always listen to those w/ different physical disabilities & different intersections than yourself. Do not speak over them

Disabled people do not need to personally identify w/ the words “cripple” or “punk” individually to be a part of cripple punk

Able bodied people wishing to spread the message may only ever amplify the voices of the disabled

Able bodied people may never use uncensored slurs themselves, but never censor our language

Able bodied people must always tag things like reblogs with “I’m able bodied”

Physically disabled people wanting to be a part of the movement who are uncomfortable using the slur may refer to it as “cpunk”

[choikanghuening]

Love and Revolution (or simply “The Youngblood Chronicles”)

Chapter 0: Novocaine

now playing: Novocaine - Fall Out Boy wc: 4k trigger warnings: darker themes, mentions of different kinds of v1olence and 4buse, oppres1on, sex1sm. reader discretion is advised. other warnings: not proofread, masturbation (f), mentions of sex with multiple partners, mentions of queerness, reader is just that bitch (and we love it). lmk if i forgot anything (i prob did)

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“Woman must not accept; she must challenge. She must not be awed by that which has been built up around her; she must reverence that woman in her which struggles for expression.” – Margaret Sanger

[chapter below the cut]

The following story took place in a universe different from ours, a few years in the future, but that could—and unfortunately might still—happen in our world.

Years ago, Vallum was bustling with life. Its streets, a kaleidoscope of vibrant colors, were filled with diverse melodies and the incessant movement of pedestrians and vehicles. In the open-air squares, lively bands sent musical notes into the wind, while artists, with brushes in hand, transformed walls into explosions of colors and shapes. Writers gathered on the sidewalks, echoing their words, creating a cultural spectacle that captivated the community's attention and blended various forms of art. The citizens engaged in heated debates and continuously shared ideas in this environment of constant and intense activity. Men and women lived in relative harmony, despite the problems that plagued the city, such as epidemics of contagious diseases, lack of housing and opportunities, and strikes by workers demanding improvements in their jobs. Vallum was a democratic place where one could argue, protest, make claims, and express opinions freely.

However, that freedom eventually came to an end. A group of oligarchs began inciting speeches, claiming that debauchery had taken over Vallum's society and that this was a setback to "progress." At first, people didn't pay much attention, but over time, as issues began to intensify in the city, many started to listen to that small group, which became increasingly popular and gained the trust of the people. As the protests against the government escalated, the oligarchs seized power in a coup d'état, establishing themselves as the new rulers of Vallum. They began to implement measures that, to outsiders, would seem like a restriction of collective and individual freedoms, but for the local residents, they were a matter of necessity to get life “back on track.”

The first measure was the introduction of a discourse on “order,” which claimed that unrestricted creativity would result in disorder and chaos. They argued that society needed a clear and rigid direction to ensure balance and stability. Then, society relegated artistic expressions to mere dispensable items, labeling them as useless entertainment with no real value for social progress. Subsequently, the government completely prohibited all forms of art, claiming that they hindered social progress.

Following that, Vallum's citizens came under constant surveillance. Going to school ceased to be mandatory, and what was encouraged was dedication to work, which became primarily manual labor, as the old, spacious, and colorful buildings were replaced by combined buildings and houses to “optimize space” and ensure housing for everyone. In addition, surveillance cameras were installed in every corner of the city to “ensure that everything functioned properly.” After a while, the women, who had previously been actively involved in society, lost their rights, becoming restricted to the roles of wives, mothers, and housewives.

This led to a division in the population, sparking numerous questions and protests, particularly among women. Unfortunately, Vallum's democratic era had come to an end, with severe repression of all demonstrations leading many citizens to flee the city.

As the population began to decline, the government decided to take drastic measures. They created a medication to “improve performance and calm the spirits” of the population, which later became known informally as “the obedience drug.” In the long run, they discovered that the pill had a single purpose: to eliminate any trace of doubt, any rebellious thought, or any hint of criticism.

After that, authorities established relentless surveillance over bodies, particularly those of women, in an effort to increase the birth rate. The government restricted sex to procreation, requiring married citizens to have at least one child. Those who were not, upon reaching the age of 25, considered the ideal age for fertility, lived under constant health monitoring, as they could be selected for the “Vallum Seeds” program, which was nothing more than a forced reproduction program. The regime reduced their existence to producing children. The regime regulated and controlled their bodies, replacing sexual autonomy with the obligation to procreate. The government shaped the men to fulfill their roles within this colossal social machine, including sporadic sperm donations upon reaching the age of 25, and to maintain the imposed order as the only authorized workforce.

Procreation and, in the case of the elite, the perpetuation of alliances were the sole goals of relationships. The marriages had no emotional motivation. Any form of relationship that deviated from heteronormativity was considered a transgression.

The children born from the government program had different destinies according to the gender assigned to them at birth: those born male were sent to boarding schools to be prepared for their future trades. Except for a few cases of greater prominence, mental aptitude, and the elite, the boys studied until they were 15 years old, at which point they began to dedicate themselves to manual labor.

Those who were born female were given to newlywed couples as "training" for the wife and future mother in raising daughters, since if they had a male child, he would also be sent to boarding school. This severely disrupted the familial bond, leaving many of the children unaware of their true parents.

In the boarding school classes, the lessons were conducted in a clear and objective manner, but also impersonal and methodical, with a rational character aimed at efficiently conveying the content, yet without room for questions or emotions. This approach primarily served the interests of the regime, shaping the conceptions of reality, thought, and behavior of all the students. The regime carefully selected all knowledge, arranging it according to strict norms, leaving no room for doubt or reflection. For instance, the regime distorted history, glorifying the oligarchy, highlighting the power and influence of the elite, and portraying resistance as a path of destruction and chaos. Meanwhile, the regime exclusively favored their own interests, relegating the sciences, which in other times could have been the cradle of great discoveries and advancements, to a secondary role.

Like an unrelenting storm, the regime swept away the colors and nuances that once gave life to the city, covering everything with a heavy and oppressive gray veil. Vallum became a lifeless landscape. The tall and imposing buildings that surrounded the remarkably silent streets reflected a coldness. There was no music, laughter, or voices to challenge the monotony. They carefully orchestrated every detail to maintain order, promote discipline, and exert absolute control over the individuals. The city, once vibrant, now displayed an emptiness.

You were raised within this system. You grew up closely observing the people around you, noticing how the regime's norms shaped their behaviors, attitudes, and perspectives. Like all children your age, you received the first dose of the “obedience drug” when you turned 12. It infiltrated your being, anesthetizing any feeling of revolt or desire to question the system. The beginning of an unending cycle that you and others would integrate.

Something in you never fully adapted to this world. Since childhood, an uncomfortable feeling has accompanied you, like a silent shadow that followed you at every step. For years, you didn't understand what that feeling meant or how to name it. It was a constant restlessness, an inexplicable void, something that set you apart from the others. While the other children conformed without questioning, you spent your days watching the disinterested and empty gazes of the people around you. It was as if they were all trapped, transformed into lifeless echoes. And then the question formed in his mind, persistent and unsettling: Is this all there is to life?

This restlessness intensified when you were 16 years old, when your mother faced banishment from Vallum at that time. After your father's death, doctors diagnosed her as unable to bear more children, a condition we would call menopause in our world. Relentless, the regime did not tolerate any weakness, and when she could no longer “contribute to the continuity of society,” they removed her from the city and sentenced her to exile. Exile was a devastating blow to her. Vallum discarded her as a woman of no value, her abilities no longer aligning with his cruel demands.

And, just as a teenager, you were left alone. You've lost your father and now your mother. Her absence became an impossible void to fill. You witnessed the cruel and impersonal separation, devoid of any farewells, leaving no space for anger or questioning. The parting was definitive and painful. Your mother was now distant, and you, without her, found yourself adrift in Vallum, where loneliness became an unbearable burden.

The effect of the obedience drug should have been sufficient to control the uncomfortable feeling, but surprisingly, you became skilled at manipulating the system. You learned to act, to simulate a state of tranquility. You deceived everyone, pretending to take the medication, but in reality, you threw it away right after. Outwardly, you presented yourself as just another young woman who followed the rules with discipline and seriousness, but internally, questions and inquiries simmered incessantly. What seemed to be conformity on the surface was, in reality, a buildup of rebellion and curiosity, waiting for an opportunity to emerge.

Your insatiable curiosity was evident as you embarked on a journey to uncover the secrets and explanations hidden behind those unquestionable truths, eager to unravel the “why” concealed beneath the surface. Despite the rules emphasizing the importance of order and obedience, your mind would daydream about the forbidden stories of ancient Vallum and its collapse, which you gained access to through clandestine research. These narratives, full of adventures and mysteries, challenged the rigidity of the rules and awakened in you a deep desire to explore beyond the imposed limits, paving the way for a vision that transcended control and conformity.

The other people lived their lives, some without allowing themselves to reflect on what surrounded them, others with timid questions they did not dare to voice. Yeonjun, a soldier committed to the security forces, found comfort in the routine he adhered to, finding satisfaction within the inflexible framework that governed him. His belief in the necessity of his work to uphold the city's order led him to fully concentrate on his security role without questioning the intricate details that facilitated society's functioning. Discipline and loyalty were his greatest virtues, and he took pride in following the system's codes without hesitation.

Taehyun, a highly respected inventor, dedicated himself to developing new technologies that helped the city remain efficient and organized. He saw his creations as a positive contribution to society, feeling immense pride in his work. He always aimed his innovations for progress, believing that his mission was to help the city achieve greater efficiency and harmony. The idea that something could be wrong never crossed his mind, as he saw his role as essential for the collective well-being.

Soobin, a simple baker, lived a tranquil and serene life. His daily life was centered around work, and his life was focused on simplicity. He believed that, within his space, everything was in order until he met Mina and felt shaken. Unlike many around her, she did not completely conform to the city's order, but she also did not openly rebel. She remained discreet without drawing attention, but in her heart, there was a desire to live outside the restrictions of Vallum. Mina was a woman of silent strength, adept at concealing her emotions and desires in a world that forbade such luxuries, yet her gaze betrayed an enduring restlessness. Their paths crossed, and the love, which was thought to be nonexistent in the city, blossomed—largely because they both stopped using drugs. The affection they nurtured for each other marked their lives, and they gradually began to share dreams and hopes for a future together, far from the limitations the city imposed. Despite his reserved nature, Soobin's desire to live freely and without constraints was evident. Mina dreamed of a life where she could live without the limitations that society imposed on women.

Beomgyu, belonging to the elite, enjoyed a comfortable life. His status in society guaranteed him access to everything he desired, and he saw the city as a prosperous place. For him, discipline and effort were the means to achieve success and stability. His vision of society was of a system that functioned fairly and orderly, without major conflicts.

Kai, also a member of the elite, viewed the world around him with a privileged perspective. The regime guaranteed order and stability in the city, and his life was a constant celebration of his achievements. For him, the city was on the right path, and he saw no reason to doubt the system that provided him with so many privileges.

But you lived immersed in discomfort. To understand how each person survived and adapted to the invisible prison, you watched them. The feeling of oppression hung intensely in the air. The government, besides being relentless, displayed calculated malice in every move. Exiled women, like your mother, found themselves forgotten and relegated to the pages of a distant past. Babies born with any disability often did not survive their first year of life, as they did not receive the necessary care. Measures like these, disguised as “collective good,” were, in fact, deep tools of domination, irrigated by fear.

Everywhere, like a tightly woven web, surveillance was in place. Electronic eyes spied on every corner, and the murmur in the streets was muffled with the precision of a clock. The society treated any sign of affection or creativity as a crime, ensuring total obedience.

However, something began to change. Alone, you began to seek answers. And it was in this process that, secretly, you began to delve into your studies, learning to read and write on your own. Books by forbidden thinkers reached you stealthily, and with each page read, a new vision of the world formed within you. From Simone de Beauvoir to Sartre, you dedicated yourself to understanding structures and questioning the concepts that life imposed on you. Knowledge became a kind of refuge, a way to free oneself from the invisible chains that bound your mind.

Meanwhile, small fissures appeared. Men and women grappled with the regime's pressures, yet subtle glances revealed an undeniable unease. That's how you first heard about the rebels—a mysterious group that questioned the foundations of the regime in the shadows. Treated almost like a legend, these rumors ignited in you an uncontrollable flame of desire for something beyond.

Your search led you to secret meetings, where small groups exchanged words of resistance and hope. Gaining their trust was difficult, but your determination never wavered over the years. It wasn't just about surviving; you wanted to change everything around you. Over time, you armed yourself with what was necessary to face what was lurking. You began to study the city's innards, observing the gaps in the security and surveillance systems. You learned to manipulate technologies, create disguises, and disappear into anonymity. Knowing that discovery would erase you from history made the silence even more unbearable.

You stopped being a lonely girl and became a strong, strategic, and intelligent woman. At the resistance meetings, you shared what you had learned from your studies and gained knowledge about survival techniques from those with more experience.

Your body was gradually awakening—something you initially attempted to ignore, but it eventually became unavoidable. You have always been curious about the physical changes you noticed in yourself, and with your studies, you began to understand better how the human body works, especially the female one. Occasionally, you felt a strange sensation, a different warmth when looking at other people, but you still couldn't define what it was.

Over time, you came to understand that the strange sensation was actually arousal. The discovery scared you, but slowly you learned to listen to your body and began to experience gentle caresses, which intensified until you were able to experience an orgasm for the first time, a moment you would remember forever.

That night, something burned inside you. The soft light, filtered through the heavy curtains, gave the room an almost sacred twilight, as if the rest of the world no longer existed. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Anaïs Nin's book still rested in your hands, the words about female desire echoing in your mind. Not only did those sentences discuss sex, but they also explored the potential of something that defied your preconceived notions. When you closed the book, a wave of heat coursed through your body, and curiosity took over your mind. You closed your eyes and let yourself be enveloped by that sensation—a mix of discomfort and the desire to understand something deeper about yourself.

The city was silent, except for the sound of your breathing, which seemed to grow stronger with each passing moment. Vallum offered no space for pleasure, surrender, or desire, but it didn't stop you from discovering yourself.

You didn't want to hide anymore. Not just from the world, but from yourself. The years of repression, the regime's rules, the judging eyes—everything seemed distant now. He stood up slowly and walked towards the large mirror, which reflected his image softly. Once a barrier between who you were and what the world expected, that mirror now seemed like a gateway. You looked at yourself, but not just with your eyes. It was a deep, introspective gaze. The first sensation was a shiver, a warm surprise that ran across your skin.

You then slowly and shyly undressed. It was as if you were undressing not only physically but also emotionally. Your fingers tentatively touched the exposed skin. Your first touch was delicate, like you were afraid of its intensity. It wasn't just the curiosity about your body, but about what the act of undressing meant. Slowly, as if you were shedding layers of something heavy, the conventions ingrained in your mind throughout your life seemed to crumble before you. It was more than simply removing clothes—it was removing the lies that kept you bound.

Your body was filled with a subtle tension: the heat that burned in your cheeks, the light fluttering in your chest, your heart beating faster, as if waiting for something. The pressure of the silence became unbearable, and you could no longer hold back. Even though the idea was strange, out of place, and almost a betrayal of your training, you thought, “I need this.” You gazed at your reflection, feeling the heat rising through your skin with each movement. The desire was there, intertwined with something deeper—a longing to break free from the woman the system tried to shape and embrace who you truly were, completely.

You felt the heat on your skin—a wave that seemed to come from within that could not be ignored. Your breathing became more arduous, each inhalation more difficult, as if your body were waking from a long sleep. Your muscles tightened, your pulse pounded in your temples, and your heart raced.

The touches then began to gain firmness, your hand gliding over your skin with more confidence, exploring the contours that had previously seemed invisible to you. The tips of your fingers brushed against your nipples, and you couldn't help but shudder, the heat spreading throughout your body. You gently squeezed the mounds of flesh, feeling the shivers and the heat increasing. With that, your hips moved involuntarily, seeking something.

It wasn't just your body that was reacting; it was your mind, your soul, everything starting to align, to awaken. You were surrendering, but not just to pleasure. You were surrendering. The sweat on your skin symbolized the effort to break the remaining chains. As the touches on your own skin progressed, you could feel the transformation. You now explored every centimeter of your body, not only for pleasure but also for renewal. The pleasure that spread across your skin was merely a consequence of something much greater. There was no more fear. There was only you—naked, entirely yours, uncovered, and free.

Your pussy became wetter as the touches grew more intense, more urgent. The dampness between your legs indicated a break in your body, and you weren't sure if it was good or bad. But you couldn't stop; you didn't want to. The satisfaction seemed to come from an unknown place, a mix of self-sufficiency and a deep desire to free yourself from everything that oppressed you.

Your eyes closed, and you let the sensations take over—the mind immersed in the raw and primitive experience. Your breath became ragged, the sighs more intense, and the sensation of heat became almost unbearable. The small moans that escaped your lips were not just sounds. They were murmurs of a soul that was finally breaking free from the shackles imposed by society.

Your breathing became deeper and faster as your fingers moved in circles on your clit. Your body reacted, opened up, and discovered itself, expressing a burgeoning power beyond words or screams. You were no longer a piece on Vallum's board. You were everything. Furthermore, you were complete. The desire now seemed to have an urgency that blended seamlessly with your search for release. Your body was in tune with your mind, and your mind was finally in tune with your essence. Your movements increased in intensity, and when your body finally found ecstasy, a louder moan escaped your lips, and your body writhed in waves of pleasure.

Something quieted within you, and for an instant, you felt a connection with what had once seemed distant. Your body was yours, and at that moment, it was all you needed.

More than just a simple physical pleasure, the touch of your own hand was an act of resistance, a way to regain control over yourself in a world that denied it. You stood there, breathless, with a warm body and closed eyes, not wanting to break the silence.

Touching yourself was a silent declaration of independence, confirming that no one could control your feelings at that moment. You were your own home—your own temple. Self-love was not a distant concept; it was there, pulsing in your body, in your soul. It was your first love, the most essential, the purest.

Then you opened your eyes, determined. The fight for Vallum began within you, and the revolution would be both internal and external. The love you found in yourself would be the flame that illuminated the path for all those who, like you, longed for self-sufficiency.

Soon, masturbation became a routine for you whenever desire spoke louder. Self-eroticism, once seen as a mere transgression, now became a release—a moment of connection with oneself, of exploring one's own limits and desires without the restrictions imposed by the regime. It was a small, almost secret emancipation, but extremely powerful. When touching yourself, you felt the affirmation of your existence, a reminder that pleasure should not be controlled and that your body was not a tool for the system but something unique, belonging to you.

You also began to have sex with other members of the resistance, men and women, creating intimate connections regardless of gender and sexual orientation. For you, the exchange of energy was between people; where there was desire, there was exchange.

It was with the resistance that you first accessed contraceptive methods, such as condoms and birth control pills, as well as sex toys and aphrodisiacs. For you, what some may perceive as depravity and debauchery was a liberating experience. The right to choose and control one's body and pleasure led to rebellion and self-mastery. With each movement, you were getting closer to something greater. An unmistakable feeling told you that the change was not a distant dream but a reality about to happen. You didn't know exactly how or when, but you felt a force growing inside you. The transformation began with a single step, and you were ready to take it, even if it meant risking everything. The burning desire for something more drove you—a silent flame, still small but powerful enough to make you believe that the revolution was about to begin—and you would be a part of it.

“When a young woman discovers her power, both sexual and intellectual, she unleashes her own voice, her righteousness.” – Susie Bright

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elle speaks: this is like the intro of the series and i hope this make you understand the context and the darker tone of the story, if comparing to my previous stuff. i want to challenge myself as a writer, so let's see if it works lol. hope you enjoyed, thanks for reading ♡ chapter 1 is coming soon!

disclaimer: this is a fanfiction created by me. the characters of TOMORROW X TOGETHER and the song mentioned are used for creative purposes only. this story is not affiliated with BigHit Entertainment or TXT, and all content is fictional and does not reflect reality. the song “Novocaine” is owned by its creators and used here without profit.

© CHOIKANGHUENING 2024-2025. do not plagiarize, translate and/or post on any other site. minors DO NOT INTERACT.

[nonbinary-jakey]

once again primmies keep bringing up stupid fucking sidewalk discourse!!!! roads are not embodiments of the capitalist regime you dump fuck

[anomalocariscanadensis]

finally went back to figure out what the hell "sidewalk discourse" was and i'm struck with an overwhelming feeling of like. that's all? everyone hypes it up so much but it's really as simple as "sidewalks are fucked up bc we've designed our streets so if you step off the safe bit you die" vs "many streets don't even have the safe bit and if you get rid of the safe bit people will die"?

[treefcker]

the real 'sidewalk' discourse is that it's called a pavement

[kunosoura]

I’m not convinced any marxist on this site knows what anticiv is anymore like I don’t think I’ve seen a post in the last 3 years which criticized anticiv anarchists by going after anyone other than primitivists (the easiest target under that umbrella). And like I get it, I’m an anarchist and I sure as fuck couldn’t articulate the differences between every breed of Leninism especially not for some half cocked tumblr post mainly about stunting my own position, buts it’s just like. Idk. It felt like at least a half decade or so ago during the heyday of sidewalk discourse etcetera there was at least an awareness that not even a majority of people who engaged with anticiv thought were primmies.

[eleemosynecdoche]

I think I'm going to get ahead of the discourse here and say that "queer spaces" are intrinsically bad as a concept and should probably be abandoned as a thing people want to create. This is one part trolling after seeing "I think queer spaces that don't have a token cishet guy are abusive by default" and two parts concluding that "queer spaces" that define themselves as such haven't really benefited me or anyone I know compared to more concrete and specific things, and one part the homonationalist desire to be corralling straights on the sidewalk to march them into a gay bar and improve the vibes of the place by making it less exclusionist.

[chilewithcarnage]

white queers (especially ones that grew up middle class, or with even more economic resources than middle class) have literally never been told no. like ever. in any way lmaooo. like someone suggesting that not 100% of the public is gonna wanna see ppl just have sex anywhere isn't some weird christian bs tbh. like you'll be fine to keep certain things in designated places. you have where you live, your friends live, adult theaters, gay bathhouses, etc. there are public places where ppl can do whatever sexually. someone isn't a religious zealot for suggesting that kids, and unconsenting adults shouldn't have to see like two people going at it on the sidewalk, or like in a bathroom at a grocery store. be respectful of the fact that other ppl exist in the world. like white queers are first, and foremost white lmaoooo. same thing with the "do cis/het ppl belong at pride" discourse. like someone who isn't white will talk abt racism on this site, and white queers jump all over that post.......like???? didn't u just write a 5 paragraph essay abt why non-queer ppl don't belong at pride but u as a white person r gonna feel the need to comment on posts ppl who aren't white make??????? 😭😭🤔🙄

[ex-foster]

I know a few people who are mandated reporters (paramedics) and it really shocks me how little they know about the foster care system.

Some people are so ignorant about the foster care system that it is news to them that North America (and many other nations) no longer have orphanages. Some believe that foster kids are orphans or conflate adoption and foster care.

Many others don't understand that foster care is often considered the "pipeline" to homelessness and sex trafficking. It's very shocking to me that mandated reporters who are supposed to be the "heroes" who rescue trafficked people often are ignorant on the foster care system but also the fact that many of them watch pornography. It is a huge conflict of interest for porn watchers to be the ones that are in the position to respond to sex trafficking victims. (see stories related to the porn hub scandals).

I think as a former foster kid, it's just shocking to discover all the ways in which the entire system is broken. I know paramedics and medical staff who have made rape and pedophilia jokes, and others who mocked patients who were likely victims of sex trafficking. (I used to work in a hospital). I have written a letter to the CEO of the hospital explaining disturbing things I've seen from mandated reporters working there and I received a polite response back validating my concern.

However I find that there truly isn't enough awareness on the issue. Compare the visibility of former foster kids who aged out of care to the visibility of other groups like LGBTQ+ for example. There is several areas in my city which have the rainbow flag and trans flag painted on the sidewalk for SEVERAL blocks. There are pride flags on the windows of shops in my local mall, on the cross walks downtown, Pride murals painted on the sides of buildings, there is pride merchandise at public libraries, gaming events, indie shops, clothing retail, music shops, badges, enamel pins, tote bags, beer cans, key chains, balloons, stuffed animals etc. The LGBT merchandise is almost inescapable.

This group maintains that this form of acceptance is driven by corporate greed ("Rainbow capitalism") and consider the merchandise to be a shallow form of acceptance. But from my perspective at least you guys HAVE visibility. All of this visibility truly does change public perception of LGBT and normalizes and destigmatizes. It can be the ice breaker for conversations on social change and acceptance. It can convince the public to advocate for the minority.

However I find that the public perception of the foster child and youth who aged out of care needs more public attention. We are seen as delinquent, troubled, mentally unstable, social pariahs, and our struggles when we age out of care are poorly understood by the public. People can and do mock the difficulties faced by youth who age out of foster care. Where is our flag? Where are our advocates and allies? Why are "progressives" especially more likely to socially exclude, threaten, and bully us?

For the amount of discourse I see on "terfs" and "swerfs" - why do I see absolutely ZERO discourse on how feminists exclude girls from foster care? I have eyes and I can see that we are exclusively mentioned in the abortion debate. I see when you feminists call us "unloved" and "unwanted". I see when you feminists say things like "being aborted is the better alternative than growing up in foster care". I see you when you accuse pro-lifers of "not caring" about foster kids while simultaneously claiming you also don't care about foster kids.

We could genuinely use grassroots activism in this area yet I barely see anyone interested in this sort of activism (besides those who work in child welfare and social work who are not laymen in these issues). It's actually really annoying dealing with "progressives" because they are so ignorant on this topic that you have to go back to square one and explain the basics on why former foster kids are a vulnerable group.