#this is all that needs to be said on the matter as far as I'm concerned

[greenknighteitm]

Edited: to @holycrapitis i'm going into this with the Idea that Trump is guilty. I am interested in this evidence you say that exists of him not doing these crimes and the evidence of democrat crimes. I will be honest to you, I will fact check it, because of the rampant propaganda everywhere, rMost(I don't think any but I could be wrong. Im being lazy and not reading to make sure) of it directed at you isn't about the charges.

It seems like it's a confusing mess of policies... It seems a felon would need a waiver, not sure how one would get one. But it seems likely a waiver wouldn't work with how many felonies he has, tho I can't say I'm terribly informed on the exact charges to say that with certainty since this was just a quick google.

I would tend to agree with this person but as far as I know people used maruijana could be felons and I don't think those people should be disqualified depending on their other qualites.

Like I think this blank kind of statement does a lot of harm to minorites, which isn't that the kind of thing leftists, even democrats, are trying to avoid?

But it's possible that Trump is legally not allowed for different reasons, I wish it said what ones.

So onto the person I reblogged from.

The majority of people who voted probably aren't Communists, like the cold war propaganda is still very much in effect. And kamala definitely isn't, especially economically, and generally I don't think politicians Democrats are communist and are probably mostly still running on the ideas of the cold war. Theres definitely some outliers who are closer but definitely no elected.

And as the past shows, communists aren't necessarily going to be socially leftist (equality for all, in everything, raise people and lower people to become equal, etc . Because a lot of people who are rich become rich of the exploitation of others. We should give the value back to those who are exploited.) And I'm sure there's people on the social left who think kamala still isnt far enough, which might be.

Hmm there's got to be some words to define socially left other then being equal...

Anyways people know Trump was legally elected, but legal doesnt mean good. As far as I know, which to be fair isn't much, in the echo chambers who want trump to be president the idea was that trump was elected but was illegally changed. But I'm not in those circles so it's possible another narrative was that he would've if Democrats didnt make the votes turn their way, in legal ways.

AFAIK which honestly isn't much again since scrolling down theories on why we lost is psychlogically damaging no matter what side it is or even what it is I think

The theories I have heard say that Republicans gerry mandered the hell out of counties to get the results we got. But idk if that's an actual theory because then leftists are just being hypocrites(which I feel can be a good reaction if you feel like your in danger) about the electoral college since in the situation where its just Gerrymander at fault Trump would have still have the popular vote. So I think a more reasonable theory would be it had an effect, but not to the point where kamala won. The biggest effect was propaganda, in all of its forms. Even from people who don't know they are. If it's content showing a specific opinion, it's propaganda to someone. To educate you need good faith back to back conversation and research between people. At least in my opinion. With that definition intent definitely matters IMO since like an ad is explicit propaganda while a lot of content is implicit propaganda.

TBH I'm not liking this narrative that people who voted for Trump understand the consequences and believe the same things Trump does. Especially if they were like me and tuned out politics when he was elected like I did with biden, which I'm ashamed about. There's too many variables for me to believe that they all hold the same beliefs as trump.

Hold some of them? Believe lies about about both? Both? All the above? Yeah, sure. But I think it's crucial to not stereotype people who think different. It allows for dehumanization I feel which won't help us to grow this nation and have its citizens mature. Not to say the country is immature, in the traditional sense, where I think thats viewed as a bad thing, more that there's more progress to be made and when we think more globally, we realize there's so much more room to grow.

Want to say thanks to @holycrapitis for catching my attention and getting some of my thoughts together. I think when something like this happens, where the candidate you wanted to win doesn't, it activates the same emotions as grief does. So I've kinda been avoiding the topic. I'm sorry to those who were on the other side and got hurt even more by those who won while you were grieving four years ago no matter how much I disagree with you and how much I think these beliefs will hurt this country and my friends and family.

Its a shame I don't see this kind of empathy more. We should always start with this kindness. But it's what tribalism does. It dehumanizes the "them" and says its for the good of all, that it is justified, etc. Its never justified. It only hurts everyone.

[we-were-beautiful]

Unraveled Ends Chapter 2

Pre chapter Shenanigans 

a/n: Sooooo long time no post but I'm here now and that's what matters. Writers block hit me like a brick wall after my last piece that I did for the riders quadrant fic exchange back in July, that piece was only supposed to be 3k in words but ended up around 7.8k. I had been working on this chapter at the same time and had roughly 2k words but after I got through the edits on the gift fic couldn't seem to string together a coherent sentence much less moving the plot forward. all my photos for the moodboard/aesthetic come from pinterest. Last bit of info is that we did pick up two beta readers for this story( but I am always open for more if people want to hop in). So big Thanks to @loving-and-dreaming and @curse-bearing-hips for reviewing this chapter. That said we are all still human so there is more than likely some mistakes. And a huge thanks to @whisplion for inspiring me to write this fic. Hope y’all enjoy  

Summary: A tailor in the heart of Velaris finds herself mated to the two most powerful fae in Prythian. Unfortunately for her the mating bond only snapped for her, leaving her to question on how to move forward. Should she wait for her mates to feel the bond or should she go ahead and reject it and live with the gaping hole in her heart  

Poly!Feysand x Reader 

Warnings: None but there is angst

WC:3.1k

The next few weeks are nothing short of hell. I didn’t know pretending like nothing is wrong would be as exhausting as it has been. It was a never ending cycle of waking up, getting ready, going to work, and coming home. At work I was dancing a fine line of hiding everything from my seamstresses and sister and failing miserably. The only small mercy that I have had was that I haven’t had to see my mates. Thank the mother for that; I don’t know how I would have reacted to seeing them so soon after the bond had snapped. Not seeing them however did nothing to dampen the feelings that the two of them would throw down the bond unknowingly. Deep down  I know that they didn’t mean to send those memories and feelings to me, but on a good day it makes me sick to my stomach. I don’t know why it has gotten worse. I was fine for a year of burying the feelings that I have for the two down.

They were so happy together, and I don’t have a place in their perfect lifestyle. I thought that I had seen them around town a lot when they were just my customers but now it felt like every time I turned around they were there. It has increased since they came in to get their outfits for Starfall designed. I swear I ran into Rhys yesterday when I went to get lunch for myself. I ran into Feyre the other night while I was getting the groceries for my sisters and me. The two of them had actually approached me a week ago while I was at the park with my baby sister. They had little Nyx with them then and it felt like someone had taken a hold of my heart and started squeezing. The babe was adorable at two years of age. He's starting to reign terror on his parents who had apparently decided he needed to run off his energy at the park. The two of them are far more friendly with people than I would have liked, but mostly that friendliness was targeted towards me. As they joined me on the bench sandwiching me between them. They ended up chatting my ear off for the better part of an hour. There brushes of hands against my body that were too well placed to be incidental. It felt like a vice clamping down around my heart as I left the park with my sister to head home. Feyre had wanted me to stay a bit longer so that she could continue talking to me about my sketches. 

The physical interactions with them weren't the worst thing though. It was the images and emotions that the two had unknowingly sent down the bond. It wasn’t unusual to get a flash of lust from one of them at any given time of the day. It was inconvenient to just get hit with the overwhelming need for someone when I’m with clients. Late at night though I get the images. Of my mates tangled up in pleasure. Sometimes it was flashes of Feyre's face screwed up in pleasure; other of Rhys’s eyes alight with lust and desire. Those nights sleep was hard to come by. A few of those nights I found myself back in the shop working on my clients orders, anything to keep my mind from lingering on the two people that didn’t know I was bound to them.  I was surprised to be receiving so much from them down the bond given that both of them are powerful Demati. I figured that they would be skilled at keeping to themselves. 

Last night was one of those sleepless nights. It was a damn near endless barrage of want and need coming from both of them. If I hadn’t known that their mating bond had been accepted between them I would have assumed that they had accepted it last night. I left a note for my middle sister in the kitchen before heading to the shop in the dead of night. Being the night court, plenty of people were milling about the streets and shops in the palace of thread and jewels. Thankfully it isn’t one of the nights we keep the shop open for those who live under the stars, I could work in peace and not be bothered by anyone. No customers, no seamstresses, no nosy sisters, and most importantly no over friendly mates or their friends. 

It was wonderful to sit in the shop and do what I love with my shadows dancing around me. The shadows had been my friends since I was a very small faeling. They were more shy when I was out in public but when it is just me they come to life and sing. I had only seen two other people like me. One was my maternal grandfather who was from a court that had long since been lost; and the other was Azriel. Grandfather was able to teach me how to control the shadows and use them to my advantage. But he also told me to keep the gift to myself. Shadowsingers had long been coveted by the courts to be used as spies; and he and my parents were worried that the former High Lord would have conscripted me into his spy network if it was ever found out. I had successfully kept it a secret for nearly 400 years. Though times like this, when the shop is closed and I have the room to myself, I let them loose. A soft smile grows on my face as I watch the playful shadows dance about the room. A few of them try to be helpful by handing me tools and instruments that I need as I work on Feyre’s Starfall gown. 

Feyre’s dress had been coming along beautifully. She had come in for a fitting last week where we were checking the fit on the mock up. The High Lady had all but begged to have a similar fabric to my own. We had more of the fabric left; thank gods for that; the last thing I wanted to do was take a trip to the Autumn court to source more. I lose track of time working on the dress; so much so that I didn’t realize the sun had risen until I heard the lock on the door turn. 

“Sis, are you still here?” Genevieve calls out. Of course she came here. “I saw your note on the counter this morning. I dropped Itty bitty off at school and brought breakfast.” 

I sigh and set my things down to make my way out of the work room. Genevieve stands in the room looking so much like our mother; hair tied up in a worn red scarf, a dark red linen shirt and comfortable leather trousers. Ready for a day at the blacksmith. In her hands she balances a bag of what I assume is the breakfast and two cups in the other. 

“Your shadows are so helpful I’m jealous.” She passes me one of the cups and I take a sniff and immediately am greeted by the comforting scent of coffee “ Were you here all night again?” 

It's not hard to hear the concern in her voice as she takes a once over of me. 

“Yes” I responded, taking a sip of the delicious coffee that she had brought. 

“Ok what is going on with you.” She cocks her head to the side “It seems like you have been stressed this past year. Well more so than normal. This is starting to get worrisome. The number of times you have left the house in the middle of the night and worked through to morning is ridiculous.”

“What’s going on? I know it's not money since I help with the books and we have two sources of income coming in.” She takes a breath. “You can talk to me Sis.” 

“Let's go into the office. The ladies should be coming in soon.” I led her into my office not wanting to state what was going on when one of my employees could walk in. Once we are in the office I gesture for her to take a seat in front of my desk. I take a seat and my chair, bones creaking as I sit on the soft leather. She fixes me with a look telling me to start talking. 

“So I met my mates.” I sigh running a hand through my hair 

“You met your mate. That's good news right.” She starts rifling through the bag of food 

“Mates. Two of them.” She stops looking up at me 

“Two. Is that possible?” Her eyebrows nearly disappear into her hairline. 

“It is.” I lean back in my chair. “Incredibly rare but possible.” 

“So let me repeat my earlier question. That’s good news right?” 

“It’s complicated.” I bite my lower lip “The two of them are already mated. Sealed the bond and everything. But the bond only snapped for me.” 

“They don’t know.” Her voice drops in concern 

“No,they don’t.” 

“So what is stressing you out about it? You wouldn’t be leaving the house in the middle of the night over nothing?” 

“They are sending things down the bond. Images, emotions; it’s driving me crazy Gen.” 

“Shit, well can you block them out.” Mom had taught the two of us how to shield from Demati when we were younger. 

“I’ve tried; it only is able to dull it.” I fidget in my seat.  “It also doesn’t help that I keep seeing the two of them every time I go out into the city.” 

“Oh..” She hesitates “Do you mind if I ask who it is.?”  I quickly sent a few shadows out to make sure that the shop was still empty and that there were no busy bodies lurking around the shop. 

“It's the High Lord and Lady.” This was the first time I had ever said those words out loud. I guess I had thought that if I didn’t say it then I could pretend it wasn’t real and that it didn’t bother me. Gen lets out a low whistle.

“That does complicate things. I was going to tell you to grow a pair and tell them but fuck. The High Lord and Lady that… that makes things way more complex.” 

“You see why I am stressed now.” I can feel the ugly emotions filling my chest.

“Yeah, you are in the world's shittiest situation.” She lets out a sigh “It's not like you can go up to them and say hey I am your mate. Fuck I am sorry Sis.” 

I let out a wet laugh, a few tears escaped my eyes and rolled down my cheeks “ There’s nothing for you to apologize for. I just got dealt a shitty hand by the mother.” 

“Are you going to…” She trails off. I know what she was going to say though. It wasn’t something that was talked about often and not in polite company. Rejecting the bond. 

“It’s an option, and I am considering it. I want to ask a few friends of mine in Day about it first though. Since it hasn’t snapped for them they shouldn’t notice but I would like some confirmation first.” It helped that I had friends in other courts that I could gather information from; and there was no better place for information than  the Day Court.

“I will support whatever decision you make. You deserve to be happy Sis, and if your happiness is achieved by breaking the bond then do it.” 

The conversation between us dies after that as she passes me a blueberry muffin from the bag. Seems she stopped by our favorite bakery before heading over here. Time seems to fly too quickly and all too soon Gen has to leave for work leaving me here by myself. Although I’m not on my own for too much longer as my employees start trickling in.

The day seems to stretch on and on as clients make their way into the shop for fittings or to pick up their orders. The dull chatter of my employees and the various customers buzzes in my ears as I methodically pull a small needle through water-like silk. It's hard to make out any distinguishable conversation from behind my office door. Today seems like one of those days when time is just suspended and I can work in peace. There is a quiet content hum from my mates bond; one of the few times that I haven't felt heightened emotions from either of them. 

A soft knock shatters the silence of the office, effectively breaking the spell of tranquility that had fallen over me 

“Come in.” My voice cracks just a bit from not using it. The door squeaks open as a familiar head of midnight hair pokes in. Violet eyes twinkle in amusement as a smile grows across his stupidly handsome face. 

“Sweetheart!” The door swings open the rest of the way as Rhysand swaggers his way into my office like he owns it. I am quick to stand from my desk. 

“High lord.” I give him a polite curtsy, slamming my mental shields up before meeting his gaze

“How many times do I have to tell you it's Rhys?” He laughs before taking a seat in one of the leather chairs in front of my desk. “ So are you ready for my fitting or should I come back later.”  

Shit… Shit shit shit. I had completely forgotten that he was on my books for his second fitting today. It wasn’t like I was completely unprepared. No his suit was ready for the fitting but I was nowhere near mentally prepared for a fitting and not having slept the night before was going to be the actual death of me. 

“No, you are fine.” I move from behind the desk “Let me go grab your suit and we will get you out of here in no time.” 

“No need to rush, I quite enjoy your company.” I cannot afford to focus on my racing heart right now. I need to get him out of this shop as quickly as possible. I move through the back of the shop with practiced ease quickly locating the High Lord’s suit hanging neatly next to the High Lady’s gown. The two pieces were works of art in themselves that compliment each other. The suit as dark as the night sky embossed fabric giving the illusion of swirling depths. The dress flowed off the hanger like liquid moonlight, the delicate silk the identical twin to my own gown. Small gems sewn into the bodice catch and reflect the light like the stars that will make their journey across the sky on Starfall. For as much as I don’t want to care about the two, these pieces tell a different story. If I wasn’t just a little bit attached to the two of them I would have passed the designs along to another dressmaker and been done with it; but now I painstakingly designed and sewn these garments for my mates. I let out a small sigh before reaching up to grab the suite. Once I get back to my office I am quick to pass the suit off to Rhys directing him to the small changing area at the back of the office. I quickly begin to route around my desk for my supplies.  

An hour, all I have to do is make it an hour and then I will be free of Rhysand for the time being. It feels like forever before he walks out from behind the curtain. It is only years of working with Rhysand that keeps me from gasping out. If the suit was beautiful on the hanger and dress form it is absolutely stunning on the male it was made for. Rhys makes his way over to the platform and mirror in the office stepping up before moving to fuss with the cuffs. 

“This is a beautiful suit Sweetheart.” He moves to pick off the smallest piece of lint on the  collar. I move to stand behind him to begin the process of adjusting the way the suit sits on Rhysand.

We continued the song and dance that we had done for many years to get the suit to fit him perfectly. I can't help the small ache in my chest as I circle around him placing pins and chalk lines where minute alterations need to be made. Rhys is beaming the whole time chatting away like we hadn’t seen each other just the other day. I can feel the long day in my bones, my hands ache from the countless hours of work. My fingertips are raw from the amount of times I have jammed pins and needles into them. While I try to appropriately match Rhys energy, it's easy to tell that he isn’t buying the act. 

“You seem tired.” He arches a brow at me as I move to pin the hem of his pants. 

“My mates kept me up last night.” A mischievous glint grows in his violet eyes.

“Oh. They kept you up .” He teased but hidden in the back of his teasing tone seemed to be a bit of jealousy… possessiveness. 

“Yeah the two of them kept sending all of their emotions down the bond last night.” I sigh looking up at him from my spot on the floor 

“Two mates…” He stumbles with his words. He hasn’t done that since he was a teen and I was helping my father with his fitting “The mother has blessed you.” 

“Blessed or cursed.” I put the pins down. 

“Cursed.” He questions

“The bond only snapped for me.” A small sad smile grows on my face.  My mental shields are intact and stronger than ever and it's not like I can tell Rhys that he and Feyre are my mates. 

“Have you told them?” He questions, holding a hand out to help me from the floor 

“No. The two of them have already sealed the bond and have started their own perfect little family.” It feels like an Illyrian has punched me in the gut as I make this confession to him “I don’t want to ruin that for them.” 

“So what are you planning to do?” He tilts his head looking at me in sympathy “ Because you seem to have wilted these past few months. 

“I have a few things I am thinking about doing. I want to seek out a few friends in Day first before committing to it.”

“Committing to what Sweetheart?” he gazes at me with concern 

“Breaking the bond.” And as those words leave my lips you can see the color drain from his face.

Tag list: @rachelnicolee @goldenmagnolias @jesssicapanigua @sweetorangeblossom @cat-or-kitten @alowint @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @coldpeachkitten @esposadomd @araneea92 @saltedcoffeescotch @persephonesalvatore

[reidology13]

we could make it better (breaking every habit)

Spencer Reid x fem ex-famous!reader

Summary: After Spencer overcomes his addiction, he seeks out the company and forgiveness of an old flame. cw: talk of addiction, a little sad? mostly fluffy though a/n: technically a part 2 of my fic based off making the bed by olivia rodrigo, but it can definitely be read as a oneshot. maybe they are a bit unhealthy, but they're cute and that's all that matters. also this was so incredibly delayed cause my phone drowned so I'm posting this from my dad's computer

Part 1

They say time heals all wounds, and standing at the door of his past mistake, Spencer hoped it had healed hers the way it had his. It had taken him too long to find her, for his pride to break down enough to ask Garcia to search for her. A few years ago it would have been all too easy, a few years ago she was on the cover of every magazine. Now she was the public's favourite conspiracy theory, the biggest where did she go? post made on some website full of self important nobodies. 

Where did she go? A small house in a small town, a few hours from D.C, just close enough that Spencer had gotten in his car without a second thought the moment he had her address. Maybe it was a slight invasion of privacy, but Spencer had seen much more of her than the house she lived in.

As he lifted his fist to knock, doubt crept in for the first time since the beginning of his endeavour. Was he right to apologise, to show up at the doorstep of the person he hurt worse than anyone else in his life, and say sorry? Sorry. ‘Sorry’ was a puny word that could never hope to mean anything compared to what he had done, how he had used her. But it would have to do, because he had not come all that way to turn back at the flashing neon sign that said ‘CLOSURE’.

Knock, knock, knock. Was three knocks not enough? Knock. God four was too many and the last one had been so separate from the others it was clearly an afterthought that she would think was weird before she even knew it was him on the other side of-

“Spencer?” The door opened, just enough for her face to be visible through the small opening. She was so much more beautiful than he remembered, although he really didn’t remember much from back then. 

“I’m sorry.” Well that was one way to get to the point. He smacked himself internally, scolding himself for being so stupid and inconsiderate, not even saying hello or asking her how she was doing.

“Do you wanna come in? You look like you need to sit down.” She pulled the door open, stepping back to let him in, and Spencer froze. She was allowing him into her home, her space, he who had squeezed her dry, used her up and tossed her aside when he didn’t need her anymore.

Unsure what else to do, Spencer found himself sitting on her couch, the awkward tension between them palpable as he sat silently in regret of every decision he had made in the last week.

“So,” She prompted, gesturing vaguely in his direction, “How are you?”

“Good, yeah, better. You?” He looked around the room, trying to find something that would tell him anything about her life, about her. She was a stranger, really, a stranger that used to be someone he knew. He wanted to know who she was then, on that day, in her house sitting across from him.

“I’m good too. You look better.” He knew what she meant – he didn’t look high out of his mind. The far wall of the room was covered in framed pictures of her and what he assumed were her family and friends. Some were from her childhood, some were taken in front of the very house he was sitting in. 

What surprised Spencer were the photos, though few and far between, where he made an appearance. The Fourth of July party, a bright, sunny photo full of smiling faces. The poor quality of the picture did nothing to disguise the bags under his eyes, nor the dead look in hers. Her birthday, a photo of her blowing out the candles on her cake, blurred from his shaky grip on the camera.

“I don’t remember that one.” He pointed to a picture of the two of them, a dark photo that he nearly hadn’t recognised as himself. The ability to not remember had been his favourite thing back then, now the haze left him with a pit in his stomach.

“Makes sense, you were… you were bad. It was taken right near the end.” 

“I am sorry, really.” Neither of them spoke after that, the silence a warm blanket rather than a thick smog. The apology wrapped around them in a warm embrace, they did not choke on it.

She moved first, after what felt like the most peaceful eternity, slipping her hand around his, holding it in the space between them. He looked down at their joined hands, his gaze slowly drifting up until it landed on the soft smile spread across her face.

“I missed you.” She squeezed his hand gently, although it felt like she squeezed his heart instead, “I missed you from the moment I met you. It’s nice to get you back.”

“I missed you too.” He didn’t know how to explain the way it had taken him a month to get sober enough that reality hit and he realised what he’d lost. At least, he didn’t know how to explain it without having to actually say something about his addiction. He’d always been good at avoiding the topic, skirting around it with suggestions and subtle confirmations. The word ‘addiction’ made him feel weak, like he’d been defeated. He’d talked about his problem once, in a room full of people who had been through the same thing, and even then he hadn’t been able to say it. 

“You’re so strong, Spencer. You’ve come so far.” It was like she could read his mind, see every fear that haunted him and soothe it accordingly.

“So are you, I mean, you got out of everything.” His eyes dropped to his lap in shame of everything that he hadn’t noticed, all of the obvious signs of just how not okay she had been. All that she must have been going through, that he had been too far from reality to know existed, even when it was staring him in the face.

“You say that like you didn’t.” It was a simple sentiment, but maybe that was what hit him like a freight train. It wasn’t some mantra he’d heard hundreds of times, or a complicated conversation with his friends where they tried to talk to him without saying anything that actually mattered.

He got out of it.

“You’re perfect, you know that right?” The way he looked at her in that moment could only be described as reverential, she was the brightest star in a sky that he had never truly seen before.

“No I’m not.” The way she said it like a definite fact made Spencer’s heart start to crack, “Do you know why I have those pictures up?”

Spencer shook his head, “Tell me,” he said the words under his breath, as if they were surrounded by people in the empty room, “I’m not going to find you any less perfect.”

“Hope. I could never get the thought out of my head that you would come back.” She shook her head, gaze locked on the ground like she couldn’t bear to look at him as she spoke. “It was stupid, and then you actually did, and that’s stupid all over again.”

“You’re even more perfect than I thought.” Spencer laughed, tears pricking in the corners of his eyes, happy and sad and something he couldn’t put a name to. She was still holding his hand, he realised, and he used that information to interlace their fingers, placing their joined hands in his spare palm.

“I’m stupid and lucky, that’s what I am.” She snorted, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“No, not stupid.” Spencer drew circles with his thumb on her palm as he spoke, “Lucky, maybe.” 

“We’re gonna have to talk about this, us, you know that.”

“Eventually, yes. Not right now.”

“Not right now.” She confirmed, nodding slowly. They were both there, and that would have to be enough, at least for the moment.

[that-basic-simp]

R&R

Lara Croft x Fem! Reader CW: N/A WC: 1.1k+

"Are you sure we're in the right place, Lara?" I asked.

"I was the one who gave you directions," she sighed.

"That is true, but I didn't expect your house to be this..."

"Big? Huge?"

"Yes," I whispered.

She chuckled, "I get that a lot."

She pulled her arm from around my shoulders and limped towards the gates.

"S-Should you be even walking on that leg?"

"No."

"Then why are you?"

"I don't want to burden you with carrying me."

"I can carry you, Lara. No problem."

"You're banged up, too, Y/N."

"I know I am, but I'm not the one with a sprained ankle."

"I'll walk it off."

"If you walk it off, it'll need more than just a splint."

As soon as the gates were pushed open, I grabbed Lara by her shoulders to turn her to face me.

"What?" she asked.

"Get on my back. I am carrying you to the door."

"It's a bit of a walk from here."

"I don't care. Just as long as you're off that leg, that's all that matters."

Lara sighed, "There's no saying no to this, right?"

"No. I know your charismatic ways, Lara, but let me take care of you for once. Please."

She smiled, "What would I do without you, Y/N?"

"Walk on a sprained ankle."

She laughed and I turned to where my back was facing her. She jumped up and I grabbed underneath her legs. I started to walk towards the door of the mansion after she had closed the gates to it. It wasn't a terrible walk, but I underestimated Lara's body mass. Of course it was mostly muscle, but damn. She sure has a lot of it. Once I reached the door, I set her down and fell to all fours.

"You ok?" Lara asked.

"Yeah," I huffed out. "J-Just give me a minute."

Lara unlocked the door and pushed it open. When I got up, she wrapped her arm around my shoulders and grabbed my other arm, wrapping it around her waist.

"Let's just do it how we did before."

I nodded and I followed her directions as she led me through the house. When I entered her room, I almost fell once more. It was huge. There were a lot of artifacts from ancient places. There were taxidermy animals in every corner and even mounted on the walls. A large bed sat against the far back wall and there was a door to the right.

"What do you need? I can get it for you," I said as I set her on the bed.

"I just need to rest for now," Lara said. "Afterwards, I need to get back out there."

"You're not going out there."

"What do you mean?"

"With a sprained ankle? You're not going anywhere until it is properly looked at and healed."

Lara shook her head, "I can't afford to rest and relax."

"Yes, you can. You need it, Lara," I reached down and grabbed her hand. "Please."

She let out a sigh, "Fine. I wouldn't mind if you drew me a bath."

"Of course," I said and walked towards the door that was behind me.

"Wrong door," she said.

"There's so many damn doors in here!"

"One over there," she pointed to the door that was on the other side of the room.

I walked over there and opened the door. Afterwards, it was smooth sailing from there.

"Do you want extra bubbles?"

"Just a normal amount," Lara responded.

"Extra it is!"

"Y/N! Don't overdo it!"

Once the water was hot and there were a good amount of bubbles, I headed over to Lara and helped her into the bathroom. I stepped out and closed the door to let her have her private time.

"You're not coming back in here?"

"I-I didn't know if you wanted me in there with you."

"I want someone to talk to aside from myself."

I opened the door and almost fell for a second time. Her back was facing me and her hair was out of her ponytail. I could see where every muscle creased and flexed, where her shoulder blades were if she moved her shoulders back enough. Not to mention, the many scars and scratches that were on her back. I stepped towards her and lightly ran a hand over one I distinctly remember. I was the cause of it. It didn't happen too long ago, but it healed to where it left a white jagged line in its wake.

It was also the first time I had run into Lara, starting our friendship. I had stolen a priceless artifact from people who were going to sell it people in the black market. From there, with the money they got, they were going to do illegal trading in the ivory business. When they saw my not so sneaky get away, they were after me. I tried to get rid of them, but they had cornered me. Lara came in to save the day, but while she was fighting the men, one came up behind her and cut along her back with a dagger. After her fight with them, I took her to see a doctor. Afterwards, we had become inseparable.

"Don't blame yourself," Lara said.

"I-I just can't forgive myself."

"It wasn't your fault," she turned over her shoulder. "You did the right thing."

"I didn't want to hear anymore news of the illegal trade."

"You did your best. And so did I. That's all that matters."

I pulled my hand away and sat on the stool that was in the bathroom. I rested my arms on the ledge of the bathtub and rested my head on my arms.

"Look where it brought the both of us," Lara said softly.

"I guess there is an upside to that situation."

"Always has been."

"How did you not get lonely out there?"

"I had other people beside me, but with our line of work, I kept people at arms length. I couldn't get close to them because I was afraid of them losing me or me losing them."

"Have you lost anyone so far?"

"So far, no. I am grateful for it."

"I'm glad I haven't lost you either," I smiled, my heart beat faster against my chest.

"You know, Y/N," Lara inched closer to me, placing a hand on my forearm. "Out of all the people I met, you're by far my favorite."

"Really?" I smiled giddily.

"Yeah," she inched closer. "I told myself to not get close to anyone, no matter what circumstances. When I tried to push you away, you just kept coming back harder and harder. There was a fire in your heart, in your soul that I couldn't understand until recently."

"It was hard to get through to you, but I'm glad I did," I whispered as I leaned closer to where every word grazed her lips.

Her one hand came up and was placed against the back of my head while the other cupped my cheek. She pressed her lips against mine and I happily kissed back. Oh how I waited, how I longed for this moment. I pulled away and pressed my forehead against Lara's.

"Good thing I am taking some R&R," Lara said.

"Yeah."

"Will you spend it with me?"

"Of course, Lara."

[bottledfool]

People who disagree with me couldn't possibly hold real beliefs. No, only I, a proud Democrat, stand for anything. I don't care about all the Palestinians the US and Israel are murdering as part of their genocide, and I certainly don't care that both Harris and Trump have said they would continue to do so, which means no one else ever did either. Clearly this was all a ruse, for they did not vote for a genocidaire, and therefore they stand for nothing.

Surely Harris couldn't have run a better campaign. Surely she couldn't have done more to distance herself from Trump or Biden instead of saying "I'm going to bring you more of Biden, except our border and military will be stronger." Surely she couldn't have tried to appear even somewhat progressive instead of courting the far-right and embracing figures like Dick Cheney, thus failing to endear herself to either party. Love him or hate him, Biden is a deeply unpopular president among the people from whom Harris needed votes, but an evil wizard cursed her, so she was forced to do and say many of the things that made him unpopular in the first place.

It's a shame she just had no choice and no agency as a person. She didn't run a bad campaign. It's the leftists who are wrong. After all, the candidate I like is entitled to leftists' votes. If they don't vote according to my specifications, regardless of what those are, that is a betrayal on their part. It doesn't matter how bad a candidate the Democratic party puts forth, they have to vote for them, because anything else is morally incorrect, and I just can't imagine why thirteen months of smug bullying didn't get that through their heads.

I suppose even enlightened geniuses like myself will never understand the truth behind every mystery. Now it is time to return to my odinsleep for four years before I do it all over again, still tragically stricken by the same disease that makes me unable to learn from the past. Surely it will work next time.

They called it… they fucking called it

To those who were eligible to vote but refused cuz of Harris- well congratulations! That orange fucker won. Hope you’re happy. Also don’t start bitching when all of our rights starts to get taken away (reproductive rights, LGBTQ rights, etc.) we fucking warned you. We warned you that if you didn’t vote then trump was more likely to win. Also you pulling this stunt- isn’t gonna help Palestine. Y’all claim that you are pro Palestine but after this election- you just proved that you really don’t give a damn about them. So congrats!

[narukoibito]

If you’re up for it - i'm not used to seeing you with clothes on.

Harry had no desire to attend yet another Ministry function, but the tone in Robards' voice made it abundantly clear that if he skipped tonight's he would be suffering desk duty so long that he wouldn't even remember what being in the field was like.

But that didn't mean Harry had to actively participate. Which basically resulted in him sulking in the background along the wall, using those stealth skills the Aurors had trained him so diligently on to avoid small talk and intrusive pawing by one of the desperate singles. He shook off Sirius's talks about his lack of social skills (whose fault was that when he had only ever been homeschooled and hidden away until it was time to fulfill a fucked up fate).

Letting his guard down momentarily, he closed his eyes, letting his mind drift back to a few nights again. He'd learned far too early (finding the hidden stash of fan mail) that being the Boy Who Lived meant there would be no shortage of willing participants. He wasn't one for intimacy (Sirius gave him a hard enough time about it), but that didn't mean he didn't have needs. With a good amount of lubrication and a fair dash of loneliness, he found himself at a bar known for discretion.

That was all fine and dandy.

What he hadn't expected was how much that night stuck with him.

Strange enough, she'd been funny. Her quips making his lips twitch in an unfamiliar way. It had been surprisingly easy when they slipped into one of the many rooms upstairs.

A burning ache rose within him. The door had shut, and he had reached out for her, that reckless smirk, the way her eyelashes fluttered at his touch. Hand wound in silky hair. He swore he could still taste her—

His eyes snapped open at the sound of giggling and heels to his right. Shite, the unfortunate owner of said noise was Romilda Vane, the new secretary in the office who would not relent on her advances, no matter how bluntly Harry avoided them.

He ducked to his left, weaving through the crowd. It'd been an hour, and Robards couldn't say he hadn't shown his face.

Harry turned the corner.

"Oof!"

The wind was knocked out of him by some blur of gold and red.

"Sorry," he said, hands automatically reaching out to steady the blur. He was already taking another step toward the exit when a stray glance had him breathless for an entirely different reason.

The redhead pushed the curtain of her hair out of her face. "No, I..." she trailed off when they made eye contact. "Oh."

He was staring. She had disappeared before the morning light crept through the windows, fulfilling her promise of "no fuss." And for the first time, he'd wished differently. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about her, about the things he wanted to say, if he ever saw her again. He opened his mouth.

"I'm not used to seeing you with your clothes on," she said.

Harry burst out laughing, the tension in his gut unwinding. She grinned, looking tall and proud despite her small stature.

"A welcome change?"

"Hm," she said, her eyes appraising him. "I'm not so sure about that."

He swallowed hard.

"Heading somewhere?" she asked, her eyes following his original path toward the door.

"I suppose it depends. Would you like me to?" His hand was still on her waist, not ready to break contact.

His heart pounded hard at the thought that she might be here with someone.

She smiled, which seemed answer enough until she rose onto her toes. Her lips brushed against his, soft and warm, like sunshine breaking through the clouds.

She eased away, and only then did he realize he had pulled her close.

"That doesn't sound so bad... Are you sure you like these clothes though?" Her hands smoothed out the front of his robes.

"No promises." He grinned at her stupidly.

Before she could respond, a distinctly male and stunned voice, and she turned toward it. "Ginny!"

Ginny...so that was her name.

Harry followed her gaze, surprised to meet the shocked expression on Weasley's face a few paces away. Ron, he thought his name was.

"That'd be my insufferable brother." Her eyes shined with mischief, holding out her hand. "Still game?"

He took it without hesitation. "You bet."

As they walked toward her stupified brother, she asked, casual, "What did you say your name was?" She knew full well they hadn't exchanged names. His grip tightened.

She hadn't known then.

"Harry."

[blackpilljesus]

When I saw your blackpill views I thought you were a moron.

Now when I see the US elections result, you were right. The world hates women.

Most women are pick mes that will dump you for male validation and men are biologically wired to rape and subjugate women..

How do I cope with this reality? Can you provide me with resources?

That first line made me laugh but it's okay the word of christ was rejected at first too.

I looked at the results & fucking hell I truly thought kamala had it in the bag icl but I'm not suprised. I wrote the below on my private twitter account when I saw the results so far. At the time it was being said that typical red states were quicker to count but now more results are in & the donald is close to the 270 electoral college votes needed.

So far donald trump has more of the personal & electoral college votes from what it seems. Honestly if he wins nothing truly fucking matters. This is how it's like for women. Doesnt matter how qualified or well spoken you are, you end up losing to a dusty moid in society. Tho tbh it was the same thing 4 years ago. So much desperation for dems to be voted to protect roe only for it to be overturned anyways. It was about getting trump out of power w/ all he did. This is the first time I'll say this in a while but I truly hate politics. Like I saw in the witchesvspatriarchy subreddit, regardless of who wins the work is not over. However one thing I'll say about republicans esp trump is that they're persistent & dgaf about the rules. That's why they often win or come very close to it.

Donald is a convicted felon, jan 6, and yet. Yeah nothing fucking matters. One thing about moids is that they aren't as logical or even moral as the advertise, they just do whatever will get them closer to their goal at all costs which is why arguing with them is a waste of time.

In terms of how I cope I'll address this in another post as I've received a few asks on this but generally my solace in this hellhole is knowing it's not my fault and that under no circumstances am I leaving children behind. No life to the xy and no victims for them either. After millenias of suffering it ends with me in my line. Moid's fun & games end when there's no toys to play with.

As for resources, look through my blog or the blackpill feminism/feminist tags. Pinned list of some of my posts on @letters-of-libertas.

[sissylittlefeather]

Let's Forget About the Stars: Chapter 11

A/N: I'm back! Maybe. But I wrote this and I really love it, so I hope you will too. Here's another chapter of our lovely Dovey and Jumbee. We pick up with Gladys in the hospital and Dove sitting on a big secret. Enjoy!

Need to catch up? Masterlist

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, kissing, cussing, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, but also pregnancy, morning sickness, illness and death

Word count: ~2.6k

"It'll be okay, Jumbee. Whatever happens, I'm here. It'll be okay."

But she's not sure she believes it either.

******

Elvis sends Dove to Memphis immediately to be with his mama and promises to follow her as soon as he can. In an unfortunate twist of events, her morning sickness begins on the train to Memphis and she's ill the whole time. When she finally arrives and Vernon picks her up at the train station, she's pale and weak and sweaty. He does his best not to notice as he drives her to the hospital to see Gladys. She manages to compose herself enough to make it into her room, but the second Vernon leaves the two women alone, she rushes to the bathroom and vomits.

“You sick, baby?” Gladys calls from her bed. Even ill, she's caring for everyone around her.

“It's nothing catching, Mama. I promise.” She comes out of the bathroom and sits down, pulling a mint from her purse. Gladys looks her up and down and suppresses a smile.

“How far along are you?” Dove’s eyes flick up to meet the older woman’s quickly and she shakes her head.

“I-I-I-no-I’m just… food poisoning…”

“Right. And I've got allergies.” Gladys purses her lips and gives Dove the look.

“Almost 12 weeks.”

“Does Elvis know?” Dove shakes her head and tries not to cry.

“He said he didn't want this yet.”

“Oh, baby, c’mere.” Gladys pats the bed next to her and Dove perches on it gently, letting her take her hand. “He will be happy as a clam. Once he gets over his initial shock, that is.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.” Gladys pats her hand softly and then grins broadly. “I'm gonna have a grandbaby!”

Dove laughs. The older woman’s joy is contagious.

“Yes ma'am, I suppose you are.” The two women spend the next half hour or so discussing plans for a nursery, baby names, and the merits of breastfeeding. When Vernon returns, Gladys puts her finger to her lips and Dove smiles, enjoying their secret.

******

Elvis arrives a couple of days later and immediately meets his family at the hospital. He spends the next day and a half by his mother’s side. That night, she encourages him to take Dove out and then sleep at Graceland. She's hoping that the next time she sees him, he'll know about the baby and they can share in the joy together. But there's something else, too. Something dark and looming and she doesn't want him there for it, just in case.

Everything about the night feels off, though. For some reason, Dove never seems to find the right moment to tell him. She's filled with a kind of nervous energy that doesn't fade no matter what she does. Elvis tries to settle her, completely unaware of anything at all. He kisses her neck gently and tries to slide his hand up under her skirt, but she pulls away.

“Not tonight.”

“Aw Dovey, why not?” He looks at her with his blue eyes pleading.

“It just doesn't feel right. I can't say why.” She sighs, flustered by what she's feeling and he caresses her cheek gently.

“Whatever it is baby, it's okay. I'm here. Let's just get in bed and I'll hold you. Okay?” She nods and they both put on pajamas to settle into the bed. Dove is filled with thoughts about the future and she has a hard time relaxing. Something is wrong, but she can't figure out what it is. Praying it's not the baby, she tries to go to sleep. Elvis is wrapped around her, breathing quietly in her ear and she focuses on matching her inhales and exhales to his. Before too long, she drifts off too.

They're not asleep for very long before the phone rings. Elvis groggily curses and drags himself out of bed, ready to berate whoever is on the line. Dove rolls over and closes her eyes, but she freezes when she hears him.

“Oh God, no.” His knees hit the floor and the phone receiver hangs by the cord as he immediately weeps. Dove is out of bed in a second, pulling Elvis to her chest with one hand and picking up the phone with the other.

“Hello?” She hears someone crying on the other end and her stomach churns.

“Dove?”

“Yeah, Vernon, it's me.” Her blood runs cold when he sobs again.

“She's gone.” That's all he can choke out, but it's all he needs to say for Dove to understand that Gladys is dead. Elvis wails even louder, hearing it again and Dove hangs up the phone without even saying goodbye.

“Oh, Jumbee…”

“I should've been there! I'll never forgive myself for leaving.” He soaks her chest with tears and cries uncontrollably like a child. Dove’s body is wracked with sobs as well, but she tries to focus on Elvis's grief.

“No, Jumbee, there was no way of knowing this would happen.”

“Why did she tell us to leave?! Oh God!” As Elvis clings to her, weeping, she starts to wonder how he will react when he finds out the baby is the reason she wanted them to have a night alone. All of a sudden, she's crying for two reasons as she holds the shaking frame of her shattered husband.

This becomes a familiar position in the days that follow. He spends most of his time crying, either next to Gladys’s casket or, after the service, in Dove’s arms. She does everything she can to be what he needs, but what he needs is his mother and she can't be that.

Elvis is broken and Dove is broken watching him. Her helplessness overwhelms her and she hangs on by a thread. The thread is Elvis's need for someone to stay strong. The only thing that carries her through is the knowledge that he needs her.

People try various things to cheer him up, but Dove doesn't. She simply is for him: a safe place for him to fall apart as often as he needs. And he does, frequently. It takes every ounce of her strength to keep herself together for him.

In what feels to Dove like not nearly enough time, Elvis is called to go back to Fort Hood. She follows him to the house in Killeen, but nothing feels the same without Mama. Somehow, her morning sickness subsides as quickly as it came on and she's fine, albeit a little more tired than usual. She mopes around the house when Elvis is gone, carrying his pain deep in her chest.

And then one particularly bad night, the night before he's set to take the train north to sail to Germany, Elvis is wrapped around Dove crying as she strokes his hair.

“I jus’ don't see the point without Mama. I don't wanna be here no more. It hurts too bad.” Elvis groans into her chest. Dove tries to hide the sob that comes out of her, but she can't. The thought of being without him is too much. And the baby in her belly has her on the edge of a total and complete breakdown. He sits up when he realizes she's damn-near hysterical. “Dovey…”

“No. Ignore me. I'm sorry.” She tries to contain her sobs, but it's like the past few weeks are all hitting her at once and everything she's suppressed is pouring out of her like a broken tap.

“Dove. I'm not going to ignore you. Talk to me.” He reaches up to stroke her cheek from his place between her legs on the bed. If he was paying any attention, he would notice the changes in her body from this position, but Dove is thankful that he hasn't.

“It's fine. I'm fine. I'm sorry.” He sits up and pulls her into his lap and takes her face in both hands.

“Eleanor Morningstar Presley. I'm your husband. Tell me what's going on.” She looks into his eyes and it comes tumbling out of her before she can stop it.

“I'm pregnant.” He blinks a few times and she wants to scream and die and throw up all at once. “I'm s-”

“Don't you dare apologize. Dovey, how long have you known?” He tries to do the math back to the last time they had sex.

“Since July. I'm about 17 weeks.” His eyes widen in shock.

“Seventeen weeks?!” She nods slowly, bracing herself for some kind of negative response from him.

“I know, I'm s-”

“This is amazing.” She freezes with her mouth hanging open.

“A-amazing?” She looks at him as a smile, the first smile she's seen from him in weeks, crawls across his face.

“Yes. Amazing. Dovey, why didn't you tell me?!”

“Well, I was going to and then… Mama…” He darkens a bit.

“Did she know?” Dove nods.

“Yes. She did. That's why she sent us home that night, so I could tell you.” Understanding washes over him.

“Why didn't you?”

“I don't know. It just didn't feel right. I couldn't, knowing she was sick. Are you mad?”

“No. I'm glad she knew.”

“Oh yeah. We talked about all kinds of things, the nursery, names-”

“Names? Dovey…?” He looks at her with his eyes wide and pleading.

“Yeah, Jumbee?”

“Can we name her after Mama?” Elvis whispers. Dove sniffles as the tears fill her eyes.

“Her?” She looks at him lovingly. He nods vehemently.

“She's a girl. I can feel it.” She watches as he lifts her shirt to reveal her small baby bump. “God, how did I not notice?”

“You've been a little… distracted. It's okay.”

“No. You're my wife. This is our family. Mama would want me focused on this.” He puts his hand on her belly gently. “Our baby is in there.”

Dove giggles despite herself.

“Yeah, she is.” He leans forward and kisses her stomach gently and then whispers against her skin.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For giving me a reason to go on. I wouldn't be me without you. And now we have this to look forward to. Mama would be so mad if she thought I wanted to leave you both for her.” Dove breathes a deep sigh, releasing all of the stress and grief she's been holding on to.

“I love you, Jumbee.” He smiles up at her and kisses her belly again.

“I love you too, my Dovey.”

“We'll get through this.”

“Yeah, we will. All three of us.” He rubs his hand over the baby and nuzzles into her neck. “I'm so glad I married you.”

“Me too, Jumbee. Me too.”

******

The next morning, Elvis and Dove wake up early and lay in bed together dreading the time that they'll have to get up for him to leave for Germany. She's nestled into his side like she always is and he has his arms wrapped around her with his lips on her forehead.

“You'll be over there with me in less than two weeks. We've been apart before. We'll be fine.” Elvis sounds like he's reassuring himself more than her as he mumbles against her skin. Dove looks up at him and nods and he leans down to press his lips to each of her cheeks and then her lips. He pulls back a bit, blue eyes sparkling with affection and something else. She knows that look and it surprises her to see it, but she's not going to argue as he leans forward again, this time hungrily capturing her lips in a passionate kiss. It doesn't take long for the kiss to move into more, their tongues dancing wildly as hands slide over skin and up under pajamas.

He rolls over on top of her, sensually pressing his hips into hers as he drops a trail of kisses along her jawline and down her neck. She moans softly as he quickly unbuttons her shirt, but as soon as his hand touches her belly, he stops suddenly.

“Can I- can we- is it gonna hurt the baby?” He asks breathlessly. Dove giggles and kisses him gently.

“It won't hurt her. She's safe.” He nods and looks down at her tiny bump between them.

“That's good because I'm not sure I could stop now even if I wanted to.” He dives back into kissing her deeply, rolling his hips against her and letting his hard cock press into her center. “I need ya, baby. It's been too damn long.”

Dove whimpers as he finishes undressing her and strips off his own pajamas. He lays on his side and pulls her in close to him, throwing her leg over his hip. She sighs as he runs his fingertips over her body, stopping to squeeze her breast and her ass. He teases her entrance with the tip of his dick, slipping it around in her arousal.

“So good and wet for me, baby. You want this cock?” He murmurs against her lips. Dove whimpers and nods.

“God, yes. I need it.”

She moans loudly as he slowly starts to push into her, inch by tantalizing inch, his hand on her hip to steady her.

“Fuck, baby, you're so tight. I love this little pussy.” He groans as he bottoms out, his dick fully buried inside her. Dove’s eyes cross with the sensation of being filled as he slides out and rolls his hips forward to meet hers again.

“It's so good, Jumbee.” He kisses her softly as he picks up a steady rhythm of fucking into her slow and gentle. Maybe it's the pregnancy, or the fact that it's been so long, but when Elvis slips his hand in between them to rub circles on her clit, Dove cums almost immediately, moaning and grasping at his shoulders as her orgasm screams through her veins, lighting her on fire from the inside out.

The feeling of her pussy pulsing and squeezing his cock is almost too much for Elvis to take. He grunts and buries his face in her neck as his hips snap against her over and over again.

“Gonna… oh god, fuck!” He groans into her hair as his hips stutter against hers and he cums deep inside her. His body relaxes and he whispers. “I missed you.”

He lifts his head up and looks into her eyes, cupping her cheek with his hand. She smiles softly and kisses the end of his nose.

“I missed you too.”

******

At the train station, Dove stands on the platform watching as Elvis waves to fans. The Colonel has demanded that she stay back and let him be Elvis Presley. He even has his hand on her arm to keep her next to him. Neither she nor Elvis told him about the baby.

Just before the doors close, Dove yanks her arm away and takes off for the train. When he notices, Elvis's smile switches from the one he gives for pictures into his natural smile and he leans down, grabbing the back of her head and pulling her into a deep kiss. The cameras go wild, but they don't care.

The Colonel curses and Vernon just shakes his head laughing.

“Colonel, you lost. Elvis and Dove are gonna be Elvis and Dove. You might as well embrace it. He'll get rid of you long before he gets rid of her.”

The Colonel shoves his cigar in his mouth and turns around, huffing. He's beaten and he knows it.

As the train pulls away, Elvis is left with the image of Dove on the platform. He watches as she gasps and grabs her stomach, laughing with delight. That's the first time she's felt the baby move. She's lit up with joy and Elvis can't help but smile widely, knowing he'll never forget this picture of her with her eyes bright and her dark hair blowing in the wind. Dove looks down at her baby bump and runs her hand over it.

“Steady, little girl. We'll see daddy soon enough.”

******

Until next time...

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ccab @atleastpleasetelephone @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @cinnamoroll-things @burnthheparaphilia @jhoneybees @cattcb @everythingelvispresley @returntopresley @searchingforgravity @msamarican @angschrof @lustnhim @polksaladava @librababe99 @hooked-on-elvis @theelvisprincess @makethemorning @peaceloveelvis @mrspresley69

[dripdowndrop]

The Descent

Imagine a staircase.

You know what it is, and you have a clear and concise understanding of what it's for - to ascend or descend. Simple, right? I could tell you to picture one, and have you focus on the act of walking down; step after step, guiding you into trance via that simple and familiar structure. That's the idea behind many inductions, particularly progressive relaxation: I'll use an image or concept you're familiar with to make you comfortable, then create a scaffolding from associations surrounding it, and finally, I'll operate within that framework to help your mind make new connections between things you've experienced and things you are being asked to do that aren't necessarily as straightforward as "take a step down lower, now."

We could use a beach, instead, and I could describe the inexorable motion of the waves or the constant warmth of the sun and sand. Then, the mechanism of trance becomes the gradual transition into a relaxed state from the influence of the imagined stimuli. The waves make such a soothing sound, don't they? The sand feels nice against your skin, and the sun warms your body just right; those are the associations, the conceptual connections you've made around the topic of discussion. The "image" can be as simple as the single object of a staircase, or as complex as an elaborate beach fantasy.

But are these images really necessary? Do you need to imagine the staircase vividly enough to see it in your mind, or envision the beach effectively enough to feel the sensations of the sand and the sea? What happens if you're not able to do that? Are you unable to go into a hypnotic trance as a result?

In short, no. Like I said, everything presented in those little exercises is a framework, and it uses connections that are familiar to you in order to create a mental state with which you are, perhaps, less well-acquainted. But those connections are not required: not the connotative knowledge, not the intuitive understanding, not even the mental imagery. We hypnotists use the staircase to create an implicit recognition that you are meant to go down it; we describe the beach to intimate the idea of relaxation so you'll accept it as the reasonable outcome.

Ultimately, none of this is important to the mechanism of hypnosis; even the words are, themselves, meaningless when you're being taken into a trance state. That might seem a bit strange to you, considering I'm proposing to mesmerize you using my words, but it remains true nevertheless.

The only thing that matters when going into a trance is your desire to do so. You have to want to be hypnotized. It doesn't make the slightest difference whether or not that inclination is conscious, nor whether you understand what a trance state truly entails. The attraction to going under does, by far, the bulk of the work of putting you there. All the myriad of mental mechanisms are really for is to connect you with that desire, that craving, sufficiently intensely that you drop.

That's not quite everything, of course, we also need to aim your desire at a target - and one that you know, at least on some level, how to reach. But didn't I just say it doesn't make a difference if you understand what a hypnotic state is? As it happens, you're already aware that you can go on a journey without knowing the destination - and that's especially true when there's a trail to follow. If you've been entranced before, this is a very simple task; your brain already knows the path. If you haven't been hypnotized before, that's where things need to get creative, clever, maybe tricky. But do I need to convince you to give up your free will? Of course not, we can save that for later.

In truth, and you might have heard this before, your brain slips into and out of trance states by itself, all the time. That's why it can be somewhat hard to describe either the states themselves or the process to reach them, and it is why we rely on these common analogues to introduce the concept initially. Capturing the essence of anything without implying other, unintentional references, can be surprisingly difficult. It's tough enough to do with objects and with ideas you'd expect to be obvious, let alone with the magnificent mysteries of mesmerism.

Despite that, here you are, so it's pretty clear that you want to be hypnotized...meaning we've got the desire covered, so let's connect with that instead. What does that desire look like, to you? I expect it's a bit harder to picture than a staircase might've been. Where does it come from? That's easier: are you here to be freed from the responsibility and burden of thought? Do you know trance to be a pleasant state? Are you simply curious how it feels? Does the motivation beneath your fascination actually have any impact?

Of course it does, but not for our purposes just now. Just now, we've got you thinking about why you want to go into trance - which means you've acknowledged that you -do- want it. That's more than enough.

Because obviously you want to go into trance. You're here, reading a script designed to hypnotize you. You've not only acknowledged your desire, but acted on it. Navigating to this website is significantly more complicated a task than the mental exercise required of you now. So why not just drop? Why not start your descent?

You already have. Like I said, you've connected with your need to go under hypnosis. You've acted on it. You've read my words, with the hope and expectation that you will be put into a trance as a result. The descent into a hypnotic state has been inevitable, from the moment you started. The only variable, really, is time. How long will it take to conjure the ideal image, the proper parsing of phrase, some sufficiently seductive sound?

But I said none of those things matter, didn't I?

Which brings us, at last, to the important question: did you believe me when I said that? Have you focused on my words long enough to become convinced of the truth of them? Did you, perhaps, already suspect the things I've said to be the case? Because if so, you've already gone into a trance state, and this has become an exploration of your descent.

I told you the words didn't matter, and so they don't matter. I told you the images and concepts aren't important, and so they are not. I told you that the desire to drop, to descend, was sufficient...and so it is. It has been sufficient since you encountered the statement earlier, and you've been reading plenty since then. Each sentence you've accepted with that aspect of wanting - needing - to go into trance sitting comfortably in the back of your head, at the fringe of your consciousness this entire time, has been the structure to guide your descent.

But let's ramp things up a bit, because it may not feel like you're under hypnosis just yet. That's where we get into trouble with preconceptions and expectations. Do you need to be mindless for it to count as a trance state? You certainly can be, but it's not necessary. You need only to be willing to accept what I am telling you. That cooperation needs only to occur more readily than your other thoughts, if there are any.

Consider again the staircase, but let's focus on something much more specific about it. When you take a step down a staircase, there is a point when you have one foot off the ground, hovering over the lower step. In that position, you can perceive the pull of gravity much more effectively than you could a mere moment before. You don't have to picture the staircase to know that feeling; it came to you the instant I described it. There is a sensation almost exactly like that between reading my words and moving on to the next - and the only relevant question is, do you feel the way my words pull on your mind? That sequence has repeated itself with every passing sentence, each successive phrase, until now. You've been walking down a staircase the entire time.

At first, your desire to descend made you defer to my statements - perhaps hesitantly, perhaps not, it's irrelevant. But eventually, you reached a point when you began to accept my words just after you finished reading them. Now you're willing, and able, to trust my words before the statements are even complete.

From here, we can only descend deeper. But you should know, getting to this point was inevitable. You've been on this path all along; I told you, the words and images and concepts aren't important. You want to be hypnotized, and so here you are...hypnotized. Take a bit of time to let yourself ponder your present mental state, your trance state. Draw in a few deep breaths, and relax awhile. Become aware of how pleasant the sensation of being hypnotized is, if you can isolate it. Don't concern yourself over it if you can't yet separate specific components of being entranced - that will come with time.

Then, wake up.

Did you feel that mental shift? If you'd like, start over again. I'll be waiting.

The words still don't matter, only the descent.

[lunarscaled]

"I might believe you! I don't—I don't know anything about what's happened here. All I know are the things people keep telling me, I don't have any proof of anything else! Someone says you're violent, and Tesla agrees you're violent—he can't even swear you're not thinking about actually gutting me most of the time!"

-> The pitch up in their voice isn't much, but in such a small space it feels louder than it is. Distressed and frustrated.

"At least if you say it to my face it feels less like you're holding to someone's word until it gets boring. Tesla won't ever feel betrayed by you; you have nothing to lose if you break a promise to him."

-> Is comes out from their teeth bitter and incensed, sour like acid reflux. Lyric doesn't think Tesla's word alone can stave off their death forever; they aren't even sure Ulquiorra's presence can do so, no matter how he insists he'd sooner kill every Captain of Wing Bind than let them take Lyric against their will. At least they're witness to a fraction of the strength Nnoitra possesses, having torn a hollow limb from limb and broken into its chest. Ulquiorra has never needed to take up arms to put others in line, therefore Lyric is unaware how strong he is or is not. It frustrates them, knowing no matter where he sits they are beneath all of them.

"... he was taking his time. Dissecting me. He said that he was going to fix me and make me perfect, but I don't know what that means. It just felt like he was enjoying taking me apart and observing me. He——I was in a case. Like a doll. I remember all the blood made my skin stick to the floor."

-> They don't know why they explain it. He likely won't care; might tune it out with the rest of their bemoaning. After all, who were they to have demands or expectations of someone who hadn't shorn their skin clean from their ribcage, or removed their limbs one at a time? Was the bond to his Fracción greater than his right as a stronger beast? Was their survival guaranteed if they weren't fitter and more vicious? They think not.

-> They think the silence between them will extend forever with only the wind to cut through it. What may be mere minutes feels like far longer until he starts to move; it startles them for some reason. They feel their muscles twitch and their limbs lock up, raising their head, even if he's moving away from them. They expect him to drag them out by their hair with him and leave them lost in the sand, or to say some petty last word so they know their place in the food chain. But instead he warns them firmly that leaving too soon will earn their death. Don't get eaten, Tesla will be sad. They didn't have the strength he did to protect themselves, after all. ( but it meant they were going to be alone again. that's fine isn't it? they're used to being alone. it's fine. )

"—Tesla says he thinks you're lonely."

-> Is this the olive branch they think it is? Their voice is a quiet rasp compared to how assured it was before. It feels like they're talking to wind now. They don't know how to say what's clawing at their chest: don't leave me alone. I've spent so long alone. Does it show in their face? Can he see that weakness in their orange eyes in the dark if he turns to look at them? Was this cave alone enough to keep them safe?

"... he wants us to try and get along. He says that everybody treats you like something you're not...

... I don't know how to understand you. I don't know if you understand me either. I don't know if you want to... ... —I don't want Tesla to be sad, either. I wanna believe you're not gonna kill me, but if I'm ever wrong I'm dead, you know?"

"...Of course they don't trust me. None of them do. I haven't done jack shit to most of 'em and they don't trust me. But that's fine. I don't trust them either. Bunch of soft sacks of shit...

What am I supposed to promise to ya? Promise not to hurt ya like I've promised t' Tes? And then what? You won't believe me, even then. Even though I haven't broke yer bone or killed ya, even when I could reach over and pluck yer head off like a grape on a vine right now.

It wouldn't change shit, so why bother?"

His teeth grit despite his casual tone, glaring at the cave wall in front of him.

He rolls his eye.

"Unfortunately for you, I'm not a teacher. Ask Ulquiorra about it, then."

Mention of Szayel makes his lip curl in disgust.

"I'm surprised ya came out of there alive. He usually lombotomizes folks or whatever to make into his Fracciónes. Would'a thought you'd make a perfect candidate."

A scoff, and he looks out at the sandstorm out side. He sticks his hand out, watching the way his bangle get blown to the side, and his hand disappears when he sticks his arm out further.

"...Could be half an hour or more. Some last minutes, some last days. This one should be on the shorter end."

He looks out at the sand and his disappearing arm for a long moment, before he pulls the limb back in and stares at his hand. After a time in pure silence, he starts moving again, getting ready to crawl out of the cave.

"...Fuck it. Have fun sittin' here. Don't leave 'til it's been quiet for an hour. Lesser Hollows like t' scavange right after a storm."

[upsidedownsmore]

Tennotober 2024 Day 7: Kalymos

what a little stinker lol

Previous (Day 6: Bird 3) || Next (Day 8: Atomicycle)

my muses

[identitty-dickruption]

When people say that they don’t want to be around addicts, they don’t mean recovered /ex- addicts - they mean active addicts or “dry drunks” who haven’t changed their behavior and are still selfish and manipulative and playing the victim. Active addicts hurt everyone around them. If you’re a recovered alcoholic people aren’t talking about you.

"still selfish and manipulative and playing the victim".... you are aware that addicts, even addicts who are not in recovery, are complex human beings with a broad range of characteristics and behaviours, yeah? the diagnostic criteria for being an addict is not "selfish and manipulative cunt"

I never said that anyone has to be friends with an addict, and it is never morally wrong to cut off someone who is being shitty to you. people can have their boundaries and that's fine. but when you say that you don't want to be around addicts, you are making a fuckton of assumptions about what an addict is. and you know what? I don't want to be friends with someone like that. I don't want to be excluded from the category of "addict" so that people like you can still feel okay about demonising addiction. they're talking about me because I am an addict and always will be, and I stand in solidarity with my fellow addicts. peace and love

[ef-1]

girlhood

[dredshirtroberts]

well it only took me 6 months and nearly 10 days but i am officially Done With A Task and now i'll be able to vote in the upcoming US election.

reminder to make sure you get your shit in before your state's deadlines so your vote gets counted, and don't put it off any longer if you can help it

[acourtofquestions]

Golden flame danced between her fingers.

Elide recoiled, and the fire vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

"My name is Essar," the female said softly. "I am a friend--of your friends, I believe."

Elide said nothing.

"Cairn is a monster," Essar said, taking a step closer. "Stay far from him."

"I need to find him."

"You played the part of his mistreated lover well enough. You have to know something about him. What he does."

"If you know where he is, please tell me." She wasn't above begging.

Essar ran an eye over Elide. Then she said, "He was in this city until yesterday. Then he went out to the eastern camp." She pointed with a thumb over a shoulder. "He's there now."

"How do you know?"

"Because he's not terrorizing the patrons of every fine establishment in this town, glutting himself on the coin Maeve gave him when he took the blood oath."

Elide blinked. She had hoped some of the Fae might be opposed to Maeve, especially after the battle in Eyllwe, but to find such outright distaste...

Essar then added, "And because my sister--the soldier you spoke with--told me. She saw him in the camp this morning, smirking like a cat."

"Why should I believe you?"

"Because you are wearing Lorcan's shirt, and Rowan Whitethorn's cloak. If you do not believe me, inform them who told you and they will." Elide cocked her head to the side.

Essar said softly, "Lorcan and I were involved for a time."

They were in the midst of war, and had traveled for thousands of miles to find their queen, and yet the tightness that coiled in Elide's gut at those words somehow found space. Lorcan's lover. This delicate beauty with a bedroom voice had been Lorcan's lover.

"I'll be missed if I'm gone for too long, but tell them who I am. Tell them that I told you. If it's Cairn they seek, that is where he shall be. His precise location, I don't know." Essar backed away a step. "Don't go asking after Cairn at other taverns. He isn't well regarded, even amongst the soldiers. And those who do follow him... You do not wish to attract their interest."

Essar made to turn away, but Elide blurted,

"Where did Maeve go?"

Essar looked over her shoulder. Studied her.

The female's eyes widened. "She has Aelin of the Wildfire," Essar breathed.

Elide said nothing, but Essar murmured, "That was... that was the power we felt the other night." Essar swept back toward Elide. Gripped her hands. "Where Maeve went a few days ago, I don't know. She did not announce it, did not take anyone with her. I often serve her, am asked to... It doesn't matter. What matters is Maeve is not here. But I do not know when she will return."

Relief again threatened to send Elide crumpling to the ground. The gods, it seemed, had not abandoned them just yet.

But if Maeve had taken Aelin to the outpost where they'd lied that the Valg prince had been contained...

Elide gripped Essar's hands, finding them warm and dry. "Does your sister know where Cairn resides in the camp?"

For long minutes, then an hour, they had talked.

Essar left and returned with Dresenda, her sister. And in that alley, they had plotted.

Elide finished telling Rowan, Lorcan, and Gavriel what she'd learned. They sat in stunned silence for a long minute.

"Just before dawn," Elide repeated. "Dresenda said the watch on the eastern camp is weakest at dawn. That she'd find a way for the guards to be occupied. It's our only window."

Rowan was staring into the trees, as if he could see the layout of the camp, as if he were plotting his way in, way out.

"She didn't confirm if Aelin was in Cairn's tent, though," Gavriel cautioned. "Maeve is gone--Aelin might be with her, too."

"It's a risk we take," Rowan said. A risk, perhaps, they should have considered.

Elide glanced to Lorcan, who had been silent throughout. Even though it had been his lover who had helped them, perhaps guided by Anneith herself. Or at least had been tipped off by the scent on Elide's clothes.

"You think we can trust her?" Elide asked Lorcan, though she knew the answer.

Lorcan's dark eyes shifted to her. "Yes, though I don't see why she'd bother."

"She's a good female, that's why," Rowan said.

At Elide's lifted brow, he explained, "Essar visited Mistward this spring. She met Aelin." He cut a glare toward Lorcan. "And asked me to tell you that she sends her best."

Elide hadn't seen anything that came close to pining in Essar's face, but gods, she was beautiful. And smart. And kind. And Lorcan had let her go, somehow.

[oculusxcaro]

[I portray Rorschach as gay but low-key his bond with Khare is so sweet and meaningful that I could see him being fine with platonically marrying Khare. In a world where that would even be on the table, which I'm sure is not.

but also Khare could get a green card that way. just sayin]

Rue, this is the sweetest thing and I'm sorry it's taken a while to reply to this because I kept coming back to this and grinning like an idiot until my cheeks hurt? Rorschach and Khare's relationship is by far one of my all-time favourite experiences, not just on this one thing but roleplaying in general.

Their connection is one of those things I never saw coming but holy crap, it's so good, the way their bond has grown so much and whenever I'm having a bad day, I just think back to one of their many interactions and start smiling like a loon all over again. It goes without saying your Rorschach is absolutely-fucking-phenomenal - all your muses are, but your writing in particular pulled Watchmen from the deepest recesses of 2009 and dragged it right back into the forefront again. Dan, Liz and Adrian are all beautifully written but I can't deny these two are something deeply special to me. Guilty as charged, your honor. ♥ Your Rorschach being gay (which I adore about him) is so brilliantly portrayed and reasoned, so it's all the more meaningful that, in the best case scenario, he'd actually be okay with platonically marrying Khare? I don't think she'd mind either; sure he's no Bruce Wayne, but that doesn't matter to her because she adores him and he really is the closest friend she's got, both in Gotham and probably in her life which was nothing special until, you know, the whole getting-kidnapped-and-turned-into-an-experimental-guinea-pig type thing. He's been good to her though, and even though not a lot of people like him very much, he's important to her, so even though it's not likely there's a world where this would actually happen given the issues™ our two have, just the thought that he'd willingly do this for her says a lot considering his attitude about women. She gets a green card, he gets a beard so nobody looks at them too closely and Rorschach can continue contending with his feelings and accept his being gay. It's a win/win situation if, you know, Rorschach didn't have a crippling deathwish and Khare wasn't basically rotting from the inside out. Still, it's a very sweet thing to think about and these two being able to heal from their pasts and come out as better people for it.