#this is not a racism i face on the daily so i will stand up against it but if i can improve and learn i would love to do so.

[quillandrapier]

Tw in images for anti romani slur /////

I still find it insane that marvel STILL has a slur in pietro's bio on their website and they probably think that's okay. It's disgusting how they keep getting away with this

[royalarchivist]

Quackity: But before I start, I want to talk about a very serious topic, and a reminder to everyone who's watching this stream, because I know a lot of you know about my project QSMP, and I want to give a very important reminder to everyone who consumes the QSMP, and everyone who consumes my content and the content of everyone in the QSMP:

I want to start off by saying that QSMP is an international global server which has the objective of uniting creators and cultures globally. We are the very first project to create a global international content-creation space by breaking language barriers. That's literally why I started QSMP, that's why it exists. And I want to make one thing very clear: the negativity that has surrounded certain parts of the community since the very beginning of this project is an aspect that I completely disagree with. Constantly, time and time again, I've called it out and I've made myself very very clear on that. Anyone who watches and consumes my content knows that. Constantly I've even been very, very outspoken over the difficulties I faced with racism and xenophobia in my personal life, growing up, and to this day.

Before starting QSMP, and even to this very single day, I get private, racist and perverse messages daily where I am berated for my culture and for who I am. And for many years, I've taken the stance to give zero importance to the people who do that, because these are people that only want to do harm. Recently, now more than ever, it's clear to me why I do what I do, and it's clear to me why the QSMP exists in the first place. And even if there's one person across the world who this project is helping, then that to me is worth it enough to continue doing what I do.

So I want to make it very clear: What the QSMP project does is it embraces the cultural differences in order to unite people from all across the world in a positive manner. That's its objective and that's why I created it. So if anyone intends to consume QSMP with any scope of negativity, whether it be towards the events, the administration team, the creators, any communities, or any of the cultures, then QSMP is simply not for you. I've met some of my best friends, thanks to the server, so it's very clear to me that this concept works and it's going to continue to work. So anyone who watches QSMP and is not ready to accept any inherent cultural differences that will arise from this project, nor is willing to consume this project in the positive way that it was created in, then this project is not meant for you. And I want to make that incredibly, incredibly clear.

Lastly, I want to remind people of something very important: We are not a small community. We're a massive community. We're a huge international community. It's not small at all. So please remember, and please keep in mind that there are external people outside of this project who don't even consume QSMP, whose only goal is to destabilize and divide the QSMP community. There's people who are maliciously as well, and purposefully, provoking others in the community with harmful remarks. Do not- do not give these people what they want, and do not forget what the project and what the community as a whole stands for, which is respect, tolerance, community, open mindedness and unity. That's why I created the QSMP and that's why it exists. And I have to make that very clear for everyone who follows the project. So, yeah, I wanted to say that before we got the stream started, I wanted to clarify that and remind everyone of that fact. But yeah!

[theconstitutionisgayculture]

I don't have a comics "take" to offer up necessarily--but I want to see a Superman run where Clark Kent is essentially J. Jonah Jameson. Constantly finding reasons to just shit on Superman and belittle all of his efforts. Superman is of course just as heroic as usual, but I want to see him having fun writing a bunch of tabloid bullshit about himself.

He is the single least popular editor the Daily Planet has ever had, but it's the age of clickbait and engagement farming, so he's also the most successful. His most famous editorial rant is the one where he claims that Superman must have destroyed Krypton himself, since it's veeeeeery suspicious that somehow a baby just happened to survive while no one else did. Very suspicious indeed. And all these Kryptonian expats that keep coming to Earth to fight Superman must be looking for revenge for their murdered homeworld. If the forces of Earth would just stand back and let these freedom fighters take the filthy alien off their hands, it would save countless lives. They might even stop trying to conquer Earth. No more precious human lives lost on account of an alien!

(Lois reads this in utter disbelief. "Clark...are you appealing to racism to keep people from getting hurt during your fights?"

"Why not? Nothing else has worked. And the term is super xenophobia.")

Aside from Lois, who hates what Clark is doing but loves the free reign he gives her to investigate any story she wants, and Ma, who doesn't read the paper anyway, the only non-hero who knows what Clark's doing is Lex Luthor. He sussed it out the first time he tried taunting Superman with a Kent editorial and Superman merely floated there looking pleased with himself. It took Lex about three seconds to really look at Kent's byline photo and realize he was Superman all this time! Lex is pissed, of course. How dare this alien take over humanity's free press and use it to spread his false propaganda! Compromised newspapers pushing a biased agenda? That's just unamerican! Lex immediately buys the failing Huffington Post, renames it the Lexington Times, makes himself Editor in Chief, and turns the editorial section into a daily rebuttal of every article Clark Kent posts. Lex's elegant arguments against Kent's "shortsighted xenophobia" and "reckless crusade against Superman" garner national acclaim. LexCorp stock is breaking records daily. And Superman's reputation has never polled so high! Lex isn't exactly pleased with the latter, but when you add the former to the fact that he's finally succeeding in thwarting Superman's schemes, he decides that he's come out ahead anyway. All is right in Lexworld-- no, in Lextopia!

Two weeks later he's named the Grand Marshall of Metropolis's annual Superman Day Parade and he realizes that he might have fucked up. Superman and Lex Luthor are linked so tightly in the public consciousness that not only can he never risk attacking the alien again lest his stock plummet, but shareholders are actually expecting him to support Superman. Overtly! His own board won't shut up about destroying their Kryptonite stockpiles and dismantling the anti-alien missiles. Even worse, they want R&D to start working on anti-Kryptonite armor that will make the damned alien even more powerful! Lex never should have bought the Lexington Times. No! He never should have went public! Worst mistake he ever made. LexCorp should have stayed a family company.

He is, of course, placed right next to Superman during the mayor's Superman Day commencement speech. The entire time he's standing there, a rictus smile on his face, he's muttering "I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you" under his breath while he and Superman link arms and wave to the crowd.

Lois gets a great shot of Superman giving a surprised and bright red Lex Luthor a grateful hug, the American flag proudly flying high above their heads.

It wins her her first Pulitzer Prize for Featured Photography.

[cocogum]

The Great Wave - Chapter 6 Review

‼️SPOILERS FOR THE CHAPTER‼️

Warning(s): extreme use of foul language, aurora slander, mentions of racism, i’m cyber bullying an osamodas

So chapter 6 came out…

And I’m not happy.

Not one bit.

Blue cow: “You sadidas are so impressionable…”

Sadidas are impressionable?? Tf are you even talking about?? What are they impressionable about?? This sad excuse that you call a companion screeched and it scared the shit out of that woman. What did you think was gonna happen??? “YoU PeOPLe ARe So ImPrESsIOnAbLE” I’m gonna eat animals right in front of your face and feed them to you like a bird. You know what they’re not, Aurora? They’re people who aren’t scared of facing death more than once you fucking sad excuse of a pro-animal blue-skinned wretch.

She looks way too cocky in this shot. You wanna go back to the war, little bitch? Let’s see if you’ll keep smiling like that.

Did I mention I fucking hate Aurora?

This actual cunt is more worried about some ugly crusty bat bird than an actual human being are you fucking kidding me.

Blue cow: “Give that to me, you’ll scare him!”

Sadida servant: “I’m sorry, mistress…”

This is the very same woman who fled the people she was supposed to “lead” who called a servant, that did not belong to her, an idiot.

Are you fucking kidding me.

Blue cow: “Go fetch some water, idiot, the little one is dying of thirst…”

Sadida servant: “Alright, mistress…”

Yeah, your ugly bat is probably thirsty CUZ YOU SHOVED HIM IN A CHEST BEFORE YOU CAME HERE YOU FUCKING DUMBA-

She had also mentioned how her future son would inherit this monstrosity of a bat.

Sorry folks, but I was wrong, she actually is pregnant. Before chapter 6 had been released, I went on this full rant about how Aurora had actually lied to Amalia and the others and wasn’t expecting a child. But now that we’ve seen the Osamodas king talking privately to Aurora and claiming to be worried for her because she was pregnant, I unfortunately have to accept the fact that she is carrying a child.

This chapter made sure that we got a better shot at her belly which has a slight rounder edge to it.

Like I would genuinely rather have a raging chihuahua ready to gnaw my flesh than whatever the fuck this is.

Blue cow: “You will make a wonderful companion for my child!”

But to think about the positives, we at least have no idea if this blue-skinned dumbass thinks that she’s carrying an osamodas or a sadida.

For those who don’t know, the beast she’s holding is called a “skrot” (or “kougnard” in French). These beats originally came from Ecaflipus, the Ecaflip God’s dimension. Their main use is transportation but they can also be used as your companion. That means that anyone can just use them, you don’t necessarily have to be an osamodas to get one.

The skrot Aurora has at hand is a newborn so she was prepared to give her future child a companion. I think Aurora clearly meant that even if her child ends up being a Sadida, she will still give the beast to them since a skrot can be pretty useful every now and then.

So there is no evidence that she is expecting the child to be an osamodas. I think either way, she’ll be indifferent if the child ends up being a sadida or an osamodas. If they end up being a sadida, I bet it’ll just make her reminisce about Armand and love them even more (cuz omg this bitch can’t stop making everything about the Sadida kingdom about Armand).

Cow king: “Your priority now, is for you to be liked…”

Aurora just insulted a servant. She couldn’t even hold her tongue. How the fuck do you expect her to hear the daily sadida complaints??? Omg this “family” should go back to their circus they’re making me physically gag.

Blue cow: “If they think I’m just going to stand there and do nothing…”

Gurl shut the fuck up and sit your ass down no one is angry that you’re not there with them. Bitch is over here turning into McFry chicken as if she’s an actual menace. Literally go get yourself eradicated.

Stop breathing, you skank. Echo did the wing transformation far better than you.

But yeah, go ahead and ruin this interracial marriage with your stupid reasoning. Go ahead and get your ass kicked by the god-king and the experienced adventurous princess. Go ahead and try to fight them with your inexperienced fighting self. Go ahead and make every sadida realize that you didn’t fight in the war because of your pregnancy but you’re perfectly capable of fighting two rulers while pregnant. Go ahead and fight in a dress and an ugly crusty bat, yeah, I’M SURE you’ll win and won’t make yourself look like a demented moron.

Her dad should’ve honestly let her go “fight” (cuz let's be honest Yugo and Amalia would have ANNIHILATED her without even batting an eye) them instead of telling her common sense so we could get rid of her much more quickly.

Blue cow: “But I am perfectly capable of controlling my emotions!”

A second earlier: *insulted a servant for being scared of a screeching bat*

A second later: *almost attempted to crash a wedding just because she saw a sadida with an eliatrope*

I would rather hang out with freaking Julith, a known terrorist, than to even be near this sad excuse of a royal. Actually, I’ve got something better: I would rather spend a full week in the necrome world than be around her.

If you care about being the queen of this land, then why the fuck are you insulting the servants??? Yeah, that’ll make them show you respect! They’ll definitely like you for sure! They will definitely not go to Amalia, the very same person who they’ve known for their whole lives.

Stop yapping on your own you cow, your existence is already sad as fuck.

And now she’s over here having a problem with a sadida and an eliatrope marrying.

Great, we just found out she’s an actual racist now too. What’s next?

Blue cow: “A sadida and an eliatrope?!”

Armand was racist towards Eliatropes, sure, but he was at least hating because he can make options of his own (even though his opinions were shit-). While Aurora over here just hates them cuz her late husband hated them??? Wtf??? Is she that empty-headed that she’ll just follow whatever other people are hating? She doesn’t even have the intelligence to hate things for her own reasons??? Is she that much of a trophy wife???

Blue cow: “My Armand would have never permitted this!”

Blue cow: “He hated the eliatropes!”

Omg this bitch is actually clinically dumb there is no way. At what point are you so mentally constipated that your likes and dislikes depend on what other people like and dislike???

She was saying how Armand would have never accepted the eliatropes so therefore she hates the idea of them being here as well.

Blue cow: “This little pest is not wasting time!”

Blue cow: “In only a few months, she had given some funny ideas to my subjects…”

If Armand told you he hates Osamodas, would you also hate your own kind???

I literally don’t get it.

Blue cow: “She spends her time showing off the traditions of the sadidas though…”

Uh yeah, so what?

Amalia is into the Sadida traditions as she should because she’s a sadida.

But just because she practices her culture, that doesn’t mean she cuts off other races????

Like what???

Aurora talks as if the sadidas have never brought other races inside their kingdom before. RACES LIKE HER.

Did she never know how King Oakheart used to be??? The sadidas, have more than once, accepted people that weren’t their own kind. They have taken in two cras from an infamous assassin. They sculpted a statue of a iop and gave him the title of “Savior of the Sadidas”. They welcomed an eliatrope and his twin dragon into the kingdom by giving him a guest room, told him that they would welcome his family, and even let him marry their princess.

How…are you this constipated to not have known this before?

Wait it has only been a few months since Season 4 so wouldn’t these two newlyweds technically be considered the second recorded interracial couple in history to have a twelvian and non-twlevian together?

“Long live the bride and groom!!!”

Omg this would also mean this was Amalia’s first time marrying a couple!!

I just want to highlight that @onyichii was the one who initially suggested that the marriage could have been between a sadida and an eliatrope, and it turns out they were correct. I had previously believed that the eliatropes aged slowly like the primordial ones, which is why they couldn't have been able to get married with someone who already looks like an adult, so I didn't think one of them could have been getting married. However, it turns out that only the Council of Six ages as slowly as dragons. The female Eliatrope in question is clearly a grown woman, and the Great Wave is set to occur right after Season 4, just a couple of months later.

In Season 4, it's possible that the elite eliatropes all looked the same due to budget constraints at Ankama. This could explain why they all wore identical clothes, colors, and were the same height.

Now let’s talk about Amalia again and how she killed it!!

Our queen CARRIED the ceremony so perfectly and elegantly!!

Look at her, she’s so experienced already!

Yugo is looking at her as she’s doing her thing. He’s so proud to have her 💕💕 omg I can’t 😭😭 LOOK AT HIM SMILING AT HIS WIFEY‼️‼️😩😩💖💖💖💖❤️❤️❤️❤️

I'm glad to see that there's no drama between the sadidas and eliatropes at the celebration, as Amalia and Yugo have enough on their plate. Amalia had to resolve a conflict between them this morning, so it's good to see the two races getting along here.

If we take a closer look at them, a good majority of the sadidas look young so maybe the new generation has a much faster and easier time accepting the eliatropes than the older generation.

And here is the part that immediately cuts off the fun entirely.

The poisoning.

During the lively event, a female Sadida was seen carrying a platter with two drinks, which she handed to Yugo and Amalia before leaving. Her sudden appearance and departure raised questions about her identity and origin. Despite this, no one seemed to pay much attention to her, possibly assuming she was a servant due to her role in serving the king and queen.

Unlike Aurora and her father, however, I actually would like to know what her deal is. Like I’m genuinely curious to know what could have been the reason to want to poison the king and queen.

Because yes, she didn’t just want to poison Yugo. She also wanted to poison Amalia.

The Osamodas king informed Aurora that he had been aware for weeks of the upcoming interracial marriage between a sadida and an eliatrope in the Sadida kingdom.

Blue cow: “A marriage?! And no one told us?!”

Cow king: “We’ve known for weeks, my daughter.”

But Aurora had no idea about it.

If Aurora, the wife of the late Sadida king, did not receive an invitation or any notification about the Sadida kingdom's upcoming marriage celebration, it raises questions about how the Osamoda king became aware of the event. Aurora's absence during the war could be the reason why they did not invite her but it remains unclear how her father came to know about the wedding.

This can only mean one thing.

The Sadida kingdom may have multiple spies who could have warned the Osamodas king. It is possible that the female Sadida who poisoned Yugo was not the only one willing to go to such lengths to get rid of the king. If she holds such a strong grudge, it is strongly possible that there could be other Sadidas who share the same sentiment.

By the way, it still surprises me that Amalia could have been poisoned too. How else would she have known that her cup had poison in it before trying to warn Yugo? The whole reason why Yugo had been targeted was because he wasn’t like them. So to have a sadida try to also poison the last member of the royal Sheran Sharm family is very off-putting.

Amalia knows her plants and remedies so the reason as to why she immediately thought something was up was probably because she either smelled something very deadly about the cup she was holding or she had a very strong gut feeling.

Either way, she dodged a bullet from not drinking it. Unlike Yugo who could survive this, Amalia would have likely died from the drink (the results would have made her look like how she did in Yugo’s nightmare, choking to death).

This is what I mean when I say I want to know more about this sadida servant.

We know she’ll make a reappearance because we can see her on the cover of the 10th chapter of volume 1.

I just don’t see why poisoning Amalia would have been a great idea. Because if she did die, who would replace her? Like I said, she’s the last member of the royal sadida family so was the female servant prepared to see Aurora replace her?? Why?? Is it because the sadida doesn’t like Amalia’s beliefs? To a point where she’d be fine seeing an osamodas replace her???

Man, Amalia has it rough. She knew that some of her people wouldn’t be pleased with having the eliatropes here but I bet she never imagined she would have almost gotten poisoned by one of her subjects.

Also what the fuck is the Osamodas king’s deal here?

If the sadida servant does work for him (for some reason), then he expected Yugo to have gotten poisoned. Okay, I get that part. So he wants Yugo to die because he’s too powerful to have him around.

So why did he tell Aurora that they were going to have to wait until they make sure the sadidas don’t trust Yugo anymore??

Cow king: “This pretentious little Yugo has powers beyond imagination…”

Cow king: “He is the one who we must succeed in getting rid of.”

Cow king: “And the only way to do that is to turn the sadidas against him.”

By doing what?? Poison him??? What???? How will that make the sadidas not trust Yugo anymore?? They just witnessed him coughing and bleeding like crazy. And they just heard Amalia scream that he’d gotten poisoned. The only thing they’d wanna do right now is help him, not run away from him. In fact, after Yugo gets healed, they’d be very understanding if the Eliatrope king tries to distance himself from them because he had just been fucking poisoned by one of them.

This is some deep clown behavior right here.

Anyways, these blue-skinned clowns are giving me too much of a migraine to keep up with their bullshit. That sadida servant looks more entertaining than them because she at least did the work and expected Yugo to instantly die instead of whatever the fuck the Osamodas king is expecting to happen.

After the incident at the wedding, it's possible to claim that the Osamodas king has spies within the kingdom. It's likely that he convinced some sadidas to join him in his disdain for Yugo, gaining their support. The sadida woman in question may be one of these spies, potentially acting on her own agenda as well. Although she doesn't appear to harbor the same malice towards Yugo as the royal Osamodas family, her anger is evident, as seen in her expression on the cover of the last chapter.

Either way, I hope we get to know more about her later on. Also, I’m pretty sure Amalia didn’t focus too much on the unnamed Sadida’s face when she handed them the drinks so it’s possible she wouldn’t be able to identify who the assassin was in the next chapter.

In the meantime, while we’re waiting for the continuation, let’s just enjoy Yugo’s suffering ✨✨

I swear there’s nothing personal about me wanting to see him like this it’s just that ever since I’ve seen him tied up on the ground shirtless and screaming in pain, I’ve been wanting to see more 😤😭

I can’t wait to see more in the next chapters 😍🥰🥰

But seriously no joke, this is not looking good for Amalia. The poor girl had recently experienced the loss of her father and her brother. On top of that, her husband Yugo, whom she had shared so much with ever since they were both little, was now coughing up blood from poison, adding to her distress. Even Yugo's wakfu wings appeared to be affected, suggesting a connection between their condition and his overall health.

Just look at the sheer horrified panic in Amalia’s eyes as she could only stare down at him, feeling completely powerless.

I wouldn’t even blame her if she lost it then and there. Yugo is literally her only family left. So to have an unknown enemy (since she still doesn’t know who could have done this) do this to her on a day that is supposed to take the stress of everyday life away must be incredibly traumatic for her.

Amalia: “The king has been poisoned!!!”

Also when you think about it, Yugo and Amalia’s cute kiss in this panel might as well have been their last kiss together if they both drank their drinks. It would’ve been over for them because Amalia would have instantly died. Yugo, on the other hand, will survive this but not without any damage to the body and brain.

I really wanna know what happens now it’s only been 6 days and I’m getting stressed out. I hate how the chapter ended, I NEED MORE.

[skele-bunny]

I seen you share this post and I know you're comfortable writing these things, so I was wondering if we could have little snippets or maybe a fic elaborating on when you wrote about Dew punching someone for fat shaming Aether? Thanks!! https://www.tumblr.com/skele-bunny/759611991374643200?source=share

Word! Also you're right wjsjdj I don't mind writing these things at all. I'm perfectly fine with getting requests to tackle heavier topics 💪 context: this post by @mutt-sys

CW - FATPHOBIA, RACISM, PARENTAL DISCRIMINATION, ABLEISM, VICTIM BLAMING, TRANSPHOBIA, ACEPHOBIA

Cowbell has experienced acephobia before. Ghouls are sexual driven creatures, there's no way a ghoul is asexual! She's had to deal with crude remarks, "You just haven't met the right person!" // "It's just a phase you'll grow out of." , which also meant unwanted advances. Sometimes it gets to the point she thinks she's broken. That something really is wrong with him.

A multitude of both ghouls and siblings have had to work around ableism. Zephyr simply being denied into places like the bathhouse, outings with their pack as they simple didn't have wheelchair accessibility. Delta being denied accessibility services because he wasn't "blind enough." Pebble fighting for MONTHS to get his hearing aids. Phantom not being accommodated as "We've seen autistic people before. You don't act like that." or just "You? I would've never guessed! You don't look autistic!"

And yeah! Just like in that little hc post, Aether, Cumulus, Omega, Alpha, Ifrit, basically any bigger ghoul has absolutely received fatphobia on a daily basis wether it's subtle or outright. Getting grimaces, especially if they work in the hospital. Bc they're deemed "unhealthy" so why should they work in a "healthy" setting? Omega getting an annoyed sighs from the wardrobe siblings "Guess we need another size up..." Cumulus being deemed unattractive because of her weight, her height, basically anything about her was unattractive. Unlovable.

Even Terzo faced discrimination. Constantly misgendered and deadnamed even after being publicly out, always feeling his face warm up and heart stop as he's deadnamed in front of someone who only knew him as Terzo. But forced to bare it and grin as if he even tries standing up for himself he's "Sensitive" or "Over reacting" and given just annoyed sighs and eye rolls. Sunshine and Cirrus getting scoffed at and slurs thrown at them for entering women's sections of say the bathhouse or changing room at the gym. Constantly being reported (that doesn't go anywhere) but passively aggressively suggested to use the gender neutral rooms instead, which just makes them more upset.

Mist experiencing discrimination with her kits! One of them starts fussing and annoyed whispers of "I wish there were child free places"//"Does that baby have to be here?"//"Great, just what I wanted. A screaming kit." At first he was able to stand up for himself and curse them out but after so many times... It's hard to not let it get to you. Just softly crying and getting frustrated at not only himself but her kits :/. Unable to go back to work as they don't want someone "wrapped up with kits who's unreliable."

(Based on my own and my partners experiences.*)

Ghouls facing issues as they're learning a new language, just broken and choppy but doing their best to try and communicate. Always gets those fake smiles as they turn to a ghoul that been around longer "Could you translate for them?" Or even speaking to them like a child. "What is YOURRR naammee?" Just outright ignored if they try to get someone's attention bc that person doesn't want to 'struggle' with trying to understand even tho they're not even attempting.

Swiss having to learn to do his own hair and more styles as the stylists didn't know how to even work with his hair type. They just shaved it and he was MORTIFIED. Always labeled as aggressive by passer-byers and being followed around in stores while Dew is left alone and even approached with friendly service. Being stopped twice and accused of shoplifting and trying to defend himself only to, once again, be marked as aggressive and hostile.

Dew terrified to come out about anything he experienced bc he's heard the whispers about other people coming out. "Well what did she do to deserve it?"//"He must've led her on."//"That's what happens when you drink!" So he just stays quiet and never speaks up about anything, just forced to deal with it on his own even after he confided in Aether and Mountain as he's scared they think that of him.

Shit SUCKS. While there have been improvements through the years, unions, changes made with each Papa, it doesn't always stop it. Unfortunately, discrimination will always be around. 🫠

[seasidesandstarscapes]

Evening Sun

Summary: Don has been working on Ulbrickson's ranch for several months when a new face arrives.

He doesn't expect to be swept off his feet with just one meeting.

Pairing: Don/OFC (Original Female Character)

Rating: G

Genre: Canon Era, Ranch AU, Stable Hand Don, First Meetings, Getting to Know Each Other, Falling in Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Dancing

Words: 2784

Warnings: Light references to period-typical racism and sexism

A/N: Now, you know me. Y'all KNOW me. But this OC came to me and man, I wish she was a bestie in real life. I would love to write more about her and Don, so please send me your thoughts!!!

-

AO3

or

The sun beats down on Don’s neck, sweat beading his forehead.

They’ve been at this for hours now, he’s sure, but no one has broken the horse’s spirit. A part of Don wants to let the wild animal go, to let it live its life as it should. How cruel it is that they must tame what the world deems different, that conformity is strangling everything in its wake.

Another boy gets thrown off and the kicked up dust seeps into Don’s mouth. He coughs, takes a sip from his canteen, but still stands tall.

He was lucky to get this job. Despite the constant struggle with his lungs, Don pushes through. It’s daily reminders of a better tomorrow that keeps him going when all else tells him to give up.

“Damn, he was so close,” Jim mumbles next to him.

If there’s been one constant in his life since leaving his home, it’s his friendship with Jim. One of the few stable hands that doesn’t give him a hard time for his silence. Don can talk, sure, but he just chooses not to. There isn’t reason to waste breath on the bits that won’t matter.

Don’s turn is coming up again and he steels himself, hoping maybe one of the other boys will finally come out on top.

Yet, no one has moved into the ring and that’s when Don sees a figure approaching the gate. Her skin is dark, warm like the stained wood of a bookshelf Don once admired. Maybe just as smooth too. Her brown eyes dance in the sunlight, an even stare with a challenge on the edges.

“What do you want?” One of the more brazen boys snaps at her.

“Looks like you boys have your hands full with this one,” she waves to the stallion.

The horse paces the edge of the enclosure, snorting and stomping its hooves.

“Yeah and you think you can do better?”

The boys laugh, but Don and Jim stay quiet. At this, the woman raises her brow. In one quick movement she’s in the enclosure and on the wild horse’s back. The boys exclaim and Don grips onto the wooden slats, his heart thrumming in his chest.

No matter how the horse bucks, she remains firm, giving back just as much as the horse gives her. It’s a fierce battle, dust clouding Don’s vision. Hooves slam into the ground, the woman lets out a few grunts. At one point the horse rears and Don starts to climb the fence, but Jim’s hand on his arm stops him.

The horse throws its head back one final time, snorts, and then walks at a calm trot around the ring.

“There we are,” the woman smiles, patting the horse’s neck. “That wasn’t so bad now, was it?”

Don begs to differ and the horse nickers in response. The woman continues to soothe the horse with soft words, gentle touches until she can bring the animal to a stop.

She slides off the horse with grace and grins at all the boys. Before anyone can say a thing, a harsh voice cuts through.

“Boys, why isn’t anyone doing their work?”

Ulbrickson marches up to the enclosure, then pauses at the sight before him.

“And who is this?” His mouth forms a thin line.

Don could never read Ulbrickson well, but right now is even more impossible.

“My name is Penelope, sir,” the woman nods her head. “I’d like to be hired on as a stable hand.”

A low murmur passes through the other boys while Don and Jim exchange a glance. There’s too much to consider here and everyone is playing a dangerous game.

“I don’t—,” Ulbrickson begins and Penelope is quick to cut in.

“—hire colored folk?”

“Hire women,” Ulbrickson frowns.

Don can see the flash in Ulbrickson’s eyes but it’s not one of malice. No, instead, Don can sense amusement and wonders if it’s his imagination.

“But you don’t seem like one to take no for an answer,” Ulbrickson crosses his arms. “Alright then.”

“Thank you, sir,” Penelope smiles.

“It’s Ulbrickson.”

The air is a little less stuffy and the corner of Don’s mouth turns up when Jim raises his brows at him. Ulbrickson sends the boys on their way, but before Don leaves he turns back to Penelope.

She’s petting the side of the horse’s neck, once again murmuring little praises. Her hair is tied back into a bun, but soft waves run through her thick, coarse hair. Don takes note of the men’s trousers she wears, but really, what else should she be in? Stable work isn’t quite catered to the dress and Don wonders what her story is.

“You don’t talk much, do you?”

Don freezes when Penelope’s gaze locks with his. He ducks his head, embarrassed, and there is a soft laugh.

“Will it surprise you if I told you I used to be shy?”

There is a little spark in the back of Don’s mind and he looks back at Penelope. Her smile is stunning, comforting like his mother’s and Don swallows.

“What changed?” He finds his voice.

“Now, there’s something,” Penelope grins. “Can’t possibly be told in one day.”

Don bites his lip, digs within himself to find his courage. “Well, I’m here for a while yet.”

“Good.”

This earns him an even bigger smile and Don blushes. He gives one, two nods, then steps back to head to his chores. He’s floating on air when he’s back at the barn, and the usual exhaustion that comes with carrying bales of hay is nowhere to be seen today.

When Don helps the other boys to let the horses out to pasture, he spots the once wild stallion and in the distance, Penelope perched on her own bit of fence.

He doesn’t know what the days will bring, but all Don can hope is that Penelope won’t be leaving any time soon.

The days pass and Penelope runs circles around the boys.

Just when Don thinks he’s close to catching up with her, she’s off, leaving everyone in the dust. Even Ulbrickson is turned on his head, but he’s not complaining.

Only a few of the boys do, but their remarks are met with threats of being let go that instant. One or two leave of their own awful volition but it’s all for the best. With the worst gone, Penelope truly shines.

She sings through her work, familiar tunes Don used to play on the piano, and his fingers itch to get back to it. He wants to harmonize with her singing, the two of them creating music no one has heard before. If he still can remember his lessons. It’s been years and a small ache hits Don in his chest.

He misses his family, his home, but the fire took everything and Don has tried to accept this lonely life of his. Even Jim’s friendship has only filled a part of that hole, one that may be never completely healed.

“I don’t remember my mama’s name,” Penelope brings up when she and Don are brushing down the horses. “Some days, it’s hard to remember her face.”

“Did…did she die?” Don ventures.

There’s a sigh and Don can just barely see Penelope’s face fall. “No. She couldn't take care of all of us. Left us at the orphanage where I ran away. My brothers and sisters were too young to follow.”

“I’m sorry,” Don runs the brush slowly along the horse‘s back. “Will you look for her?”

“I don’t know,” Penelope admits. “I’ve gone so long without her, I don’t know if I can go back.”

Don nods, understanding all too well. Just the thought of going to his hometown makes him sick.

“Suppose that’s why I’ve taken to horses. Especially the wild ones. We’re not so different.”

The last part hits Don square in the chest and he wonders if Penelope means something more. Means the two of them.

“I'm scared there’ll be a day when I forget them,” Don admits, speaking softly. “When even their memory won’t exist.”

He stops brushing and that’s when Don notices Penelope stepping close to him. He glances up from the ground, swallows at the dark brown depths that stare back. He could get lost in her eyes, the compassion that shines, the layers of understanding.

“You won’t,” she reassured, voice soft like a spring breeze. “Even if the light starts to fade, they’ll always be in here.”

She lays a hand over Don’s heart. Her touch is warm, inviting, but Don stays his hand. He breathes in time with her, the seconds ticking by. With a small smile, Penelope draws back, then tends to the horse Don has been brushing.

Don watches her every movement, her figure caught in a hazy light. A bit of hair has come undone from her bun and Don wonders if she would mind him tucking it back into place.

Instead, he copies her brush strokes, takes care of the horse’s side and haunches. When they’re finished, Don almost begs her to stay by his side. She smiles at Don, a fondness, empathy Don can’t begin to describe and then she’s gone.

Letting out a heavy breath, Don pats the horse and carries on to the next one. The weight on his shoulders is the lightest it’s been in years and Don can’t keep the smile off his face.

The barn and pastures are buzzing, boys bustling about and nonstop chatter.

Save for Don, but he listens to each and every conversation with ease.

“You coming to the dance tonight, Don?” A new boy asks from his spot in the hayloft.

“Nice try, Coy,” another newbie — Don thinks his name is Johnny — shoots back. “Don never comes out with us.”

”Yeah, you should know. You’ve only been with us two weeks,” Jim settles the argument once and for all.

There’s laughter and joking, but Don is struck with a thought. Before Jim has a chance to ask, Don is searching and finds Penelope by one of the water troughs.

“Don!” She beams at him and waves. “You look like you’re in a hurry.”

Don wipes his hands against his trousers, swallows down his nerves. “Will you come to the dance with me tonight?”

At this, Penelope’s smile fades into a thin line. “That’s real sweet of you, Don, but I don’t think they let people like me in.”

The thought hadn’t even occurred to Don and his stomach drops. A sadness lingers in the air, but like embers bursting to life, Don doesn’t give in to misery.

“Then how about a dance here? Just you and me?”

Penelope stares at Don like he’s grown another head, then a bright laugh leaves her. “I really don’t have anything nice to wear.”

“That’s okay,” Don shrugs. “Neither do I.”

There is more laughter and Don has never heard anything more beautiful. A plan forms in his head, he’ll have to pull some strings, but he’s going to make this work.

“I expect you at eight o’clock sharp, Mr. Hume,” Penelope gives an exaggerated curtsy.

“On the dot, Miss Penelope,” Don offers back much to his and Penelope’s surprise.

Don’s face grows hot and he races from the scene, embarrassment and excitement flooding through his veins. He takes a few moments to catch his breath, then, with a few light smacks to his face, he’s ready to face the boys.

The questions are relentless, but Don keeps a tight lip and it’s Jim who has to bat them all back with the handle of his pitchfork. He asks with his eyes but Don just shrugs and this satisfies Jim for now.

The rest of the day flies by and before Don knows it, he’s combing his hair in front of a cracked mirror. He’s put on his cleanest clothes, but there’s still a few mouse-chewed holes here and there.

“You’re not taking out a gal looking like that, are you?” Ulbrickson comes into the barn, in his arms an old gramaphone.

He sets it on a crate and looks Don over with a frown. “Come on then,” Ulbrickson motions with his head.

Obediently, Don follows but he pauses when Ulbrickson opens the door to his home. “Well?”

Collecting himself, Don scurries in, keeping his arms close to his sides. Ulbrickson’s house isn’t a mansion, but there are many fine things, lamps on the tables and pictures hanging on the wall. Don edges his way along the room, standing at attention when Ulbrickson holds a suit coat up to Don.

“I think Hazel’s cousin is about the same size as you. Left this a few months back.”

Ulbrickson keeps his hand out and Don takes the coat, slow and gentle as if it’s made out of glass. He puts it on, smooths down the front with his hands. There is a small smile on Ulbrickson’s face and Don dares to give one back. Just as he’s about to say his thanks, footsteps on the stairs grab their attention.

Don’s breath catches in his throat and he can only stare as Penelope appears. Her dress is light blue, ruffled on the shoulders and flowing down from her waist. Her hair is out of its usual buns, purposeful ripples pressed along her head. A faint blush appears on her cheeks and Don meets her at the bottom of the stairs.

“Aren’t you two just a pair,” Hazel grins, having followed behind Penelope.

Hazel squeezes to the side, her hands clasped together in joy. It’s Don’s turn to blush now and words escape him. Penelope is a dream, the acceptance and help of Ulbrickson and Hazel is more than he could ever ask for.

Penelope looks on expectantly and Don straightens up, offering her his arm. When she places her hand in the crook of his elbow, Don’s knees almost buckle, but he manages to stay standing.

He leads her out of the house and to the barn. The floor is swept clean, the lanterns offer soft lighting. Even the horses in the stalls stand watch, part of the audience. Don and Penelope separate just long enough for Don to crank up the gramophone but then Don is quick to bring Penelope back in his arms. His hands shake as he places one on her waist, the other taking her hand.

Her fingers are slender and while worn down from the hard work, Don is sure he hasn’t felt anything softer. Her grip is firm on his shoulder and with the slow music, they sway in time. The music fills the barn, the two bathed in a golden light.

Don isn’t sure where to look first, there’s so much to take in. Never has he seen anyone as stunning as Penelope and his heart skips a beat. Her eyes trail up to Don’s, searching, asking. When their gazes meet, time slows. Don tilts his head down, Penelope stands on her toes but just before their lips can meet, the record scratches.

Jolted from the moment, Don hides his disappointment to fix the gramophone. When he turns back, Penelope is petting the stallion she had tamed, long strokes across its neck. Don could watch this forever and he’s slow to stand next to her.

“Do you have a name for him?” Don asks, tangling his fingers in the horse’s mane.

Penelope pauses, then a small smile spreads across her face. “Dmitri.”

It’s a perfect fit and Don nods his approval. Glancing from the horse to Penelope, Don falls again, his heart thudding in his chest. Penelope gives him a shy look from under her lashes and then in two small steps, Don has his hands on her waist, she holds tight to his shoulders.

The kiss they share is electric. Don forgets how to breathe, all he can feel is Penelope in his hands, the softness of her lips. Her hands slide along his shoulders, up until she takes hold of his jaw. Don’s knees weaken, their bodies flush together.

Their embrace only ends when Dmitri knocks into Don with his head, causing the two to stumble. Neither are upset though and Don finds the courage to place a kiss on Penelope’s cheek before gently pulling away.

He checks over the record, places the needle back in the groove and the music starts again. Holding out his hand, Don waits for Penelope to accept it and when she does, they hold each other close. She lays her head on his chest while Don wraps her up in his arms. They both sigh, eyes closing, hearts beating as one.

For one night, the world is theirs, a promise already in the making.

[adulting-sucks]

You seem to be taking his marriage a bit too hard! It's not like you had a chance with him, plus you're Asian. 🤮 Seriously get over it, you pathetic cow.////

Everytime I read things like this I can't help it but to think it's alba and her crew. It's the first time ind the fandom that we get such hateful comments on a daily basis. And it's usually something so dumb like your age, weight, origins and so on. I don't even feel insulted because it's the least creative way to insult someone. It shows how dumb alba and co is cause they literally can't insult a person beyond some factual stuff like someone being Asian.... How is that an insult? I'm not Asian but if I was, who cares? How does this make me less or more? Same with age or weight or whatever they always use as an insult. I genuinely think those people are too dumb to come up with a good insult so they go for this....

But what do you expect from people who have zero creativity in their bones?

I look at it this way: think about how America changed when Trump went into office. All of a sudden, people were taught it was okay to say the quiet parts out loud.

When you give hate, be it racism, antisemitism, body shaming, misogyny, a voice, you allow people to put a face to it. A name, a mascot. In this case, we get everything we’ve found her and her friends to be.

And this is why we are upset. Because Evans once stood against every type of hate mentioned above and more, but now these people are exactly what his fan base has become. They are a representation of what she and her closest stand for and what he’s allowing to be attached to him.

I was talking to a friend about this, and even after dealing with racism in some way all my life, it still does surprise me to see people still act like this. Doesn’t hurt me, any minority will tell you we come to expect it now. It doesn’t hurt, just still blows me away that we’re upholding archaic beliefs about people who aren’t white

[scrapsovereign]

That One Time I Got Kidnapped By An Evil Vampire Lord Ch. 9

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57838303/chapters/151278898

Summary:

Mac has an unexpected visitor with an unexpected message. She learns more about Astarion's mysterious past and receives an intriguing offer.

Pairings: past Ascended Astarion x Evil male!Tav, Ascended Astarion x Original Female Character

Trigger warnings/Tags: DnD in-universe racism, Self-gaslighting, Astarion's past trauma (heavily redacted for manipulating his target aka Mackenzie), Possessive Astarion

A blanket of fog covers the peninsula that makes up the neighborhood of West Seattle, the sleepy mist muting the vivid colors of late summer. Mackenzie breathes in and can almost taste the crispness of fall in the air alongside the onshore flow. She makes her way mindlessly through the backstreets that lace around the hem of Beach Drive, finding herself standing in her grandparent’s driveway.

She raises her head to gaze at the eaves of the slate blue 1920s style bungalow house.

Mackenzie knows then she must be dreaming. Developers had torn down her grandparents’ home years ago to make room for a neat row of townhomes. 

Tracing a curious hand over the freshly warmed hood of her grandfather’s forest green 1993 Ford Ranger, she registers a tune floating from the detached garage she hasn’t heard in a very, very long time. 

“Ohhhh~! 

Gja’vok farurm sjolmz 

Heth’fjad vothlag kvinnr 

oz sjolm krenl th’ras vothlagr!

oz sjolm krenl th’ras vothlagr!

oz sjolm krenl th’ras vothlagr! Hei!”

“Gramps?”

The thinning snow and copper hair belonging to her grandfather shoots up from the floor of his hand-restored wooden Chris-Craft boat, grinning from ear to ear.

“Mi aeling! Just in time to help get the daily catch to the greenhouse!”

Mackenzie shudders, his nickname for her doing nothing to soften the blow of his request. Of all the bonding activities her subconscious had chosen, why did it have to be cleaning the fish in the greenhouse sink?

“You could turn over the compost instead,” he lilts with his heavy Scandinavian accent, erupting with a good-natured laugh when Mackenzie visibly gags at the suggestion.

“That obvious, huh?” She wonders, holding her arms up to assist with lowering the cooler containing the mystery seafood.

“I remember you making a similar face the last time we were out on the water together,” he admonishes a crooked and stubby, calloused finger at her. “Glad we went when we did. Your grandmother left us shortly after that, and I couldn’t help but follow.”

Mackenzie’s arms flop to the side as her strength drains away with her color. How many years has it been since they’d passed away, fifteen? Twenty?

“I bet you’re old enough to have a beer with me this time, eh?” He asks with a soft voice and a wry, cheeky wink. “I’d make you a Manhattan, but we don’t have enough time to enjoy one.” 

“Beer really isn’t my thing,” Mackenzie explains, only to be shushed by her grandfather.

“Keep it down, I don’t want your grandmother knowing I’m drinking with you. Here- catch!” he launches a white, gold, and red can into the air with a whistle. It arcs above her and she hops back a couple of paces, just barely catching the ice cold projectile in her hands.

Mackenzie cracks the can open with visible distaste and takes a polite sip while her grandfather rips the aluminum tab open and guzzles it down. He crushes the empty can against his head and tosses it overboard, cheering for himself when it lands in the recycling bin. 

“And that’s how I passed my try-out for the Seattle Supersonics,” he guffaws at himself, his boisterous glee quieting when he doesn’t hear Mackenzie laughing with him.

“Copper for your thoughts, child?” He asks softly as he opens up another can of the bitter, pale beer, taking a noisy sip to punctuate his question.

“I have so many questions, and none of the words to ask them.”

He leans out the side of the boat with an arm made of corded muscle, gazing down at her with amusement. 

“I’ve got some! How’s: I’d like to see the look on that knife-eared prick’s face when he finds out yer heritage after playing 'hide-the-pickaxe' with you?” 

Mackenzie had chosen the wrong time to give the vile drink another go. She coats the ground in front of her with a sputtering spray of beer, shocked by his boldness. Her grandfather chuckles, using the moment to drag the cooler closer to the rudder while she gathers her thoughts. His stocky frame climbs down the metal boat’s ladder and grasps at the cooler’s handles, jerking it towards him with a wheezing grunt.

“Knife-eared? As in pointy ears? They look like mine, Gramps-“

Her grandfather plops the cooler down in front of him, wiping his forehead with the front hem of his grey, ratty Boeing 737 tee shirt. 

“Mi aeling. By the hammer. You saw them this morning, didn’t you?” He crosses his arms, arching a bushy eyebrow as high as she’d ever seen it go.

“Yeah, actually I did…” She mirrors his pose, stroking her chin in sync with how his stubby fingers pet the wiry fibers of his beard. 

“And you saw them out of the corner of your eye…didn’t you?” He prompts her, his eyes gleaming with warmth.

Mac shakes her index finger at him. “Well, now that you mention it…”

He steps over the cooler with an “uff-da”, bending her index finger into a curve with his perma-dirt stained hands.

“There you go. Never want to point directly at someone, lest you be pointed at in return,” he mutters softly. He embraces tightly around her middle, squeezing her with a pressure that pops her back.

“Pay attention to the thin times and places. They reveal what is concealed. Where the elements meet, such as the earth and the sea. Transitions, like the rising and setting of the sun,” he lists somberly in a voice that doesn’t sound like his, pulling away to look up at her with his kind, laughter-etched face. 

“Hmm. You’re taller than I remember,” he grouses, comparing their heights with the flat of his hand. He grunts when his measurement reveals Mac to be a full head higher than him, narrowing his eyes as the gears turn over in his head. “You’ll have to duck when the time comes. It’s the only thing I’ll make you promise.”

Mackenzie is so lost. “Gramps, what on earth are you talking about?”

“Not what, WHOM,” he clarifies for her, scratching at his beard. “Mi aeling, all the gold in Fort Knox couldn’t prepare you for what’s going to happen tonight.”

He tsks, shaking his head. “And could you believe your guardian spirits were going to sit with their thumbs up their incorporeal asses?! Bunch of lazy stiffs, leaving it to ‘ole Torben Eriksson to do their damned jobs for them.”

Mackenzie’s mouth tries out different shapes as she shuffles through her useless brain, searching for the right question to pry him for answers.

“In case you’re wondering, it’s not your new beau,” he sighs, his eyes flickering up to the wooden beams of the garage coated in cobwebs. “I couldn’t tell you to keep your mitts off that prancing, plank-shaped ninny if I tried. I don’t get why you’d want to get tangled up with that in the sheets, and I suppose I don’t have to.”

“After all, you’re a grown woman now!” he reminds her with a grin and a waggle of his eyebrows, “Free to make your own mistakes…”

West Seattle, Washington 

Friday, August 25th

7:15 PM

Mackenzie startles awake with a gasping breath, the sheen of sweat that coats her brow feeling cool in the evening breeze. The world spins around her as she sits up to lean on her elbows, her pulse rattling the bones that cage her pounding heart. She slows her breathing, her dizziness and ringing ears subsiding as she eases back into consciousness.

“Are you quite alright, darling?” 

Mackenzie feels Astarion’s cool hands rubbing reassuring circles on the small of her back. 

“I…think so?” She sits up to face him, her breath almost stolen by how handsome he is, illuminated in shades of gold against the azure blue sky. “I had a dream about my gramps and he was real candid about his feelings towards the end, there.”

Astarion’s brow furrows in concern. “Do you have these…’dreams’ often?”

Mac shakes her head, looking out towards the red ball of light beginning to set over the horizon. “No, they aren’t as vivid or self-aware. Truth be told, I’m a little freaked out by it.”

”I can’t believe it’s already sunset. How long have I been out?” Mac yawns, politely excusing herself for doing so.

“Mmm…a few hours, give or take,” he muses, looking off to the side as he recounts the passage of time on his elegant fingers.

“Oh. Oh my goodness. I’m sorry for falling asleep on you. I didn’t mean to just pass out. I hope you weren’t bored,” she apologizes, feeling a pang of guilt for having left him to his own devices for so long. 

Ari would have expected her to remain awake and ready to serve his needs, no matter how badly her body needed rest. Her therapist would tell her this was called ‘hypervigilance’ and ultimately contributed towards more fatigue later on. Mac always figured that was a problem for her future self. Current Mac had to survive the day, no matter the cost. 

“Hush now, my sweet. I’m not surprised. You’re likely exhausted from how much we’ve exerted ourselves,” Astarion reaches out to Mac, gathering her in his arms. She relaxes against him with a contented sigh, listening to the slow beating of his heart intermingled with the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. 

Astarion brandishes Amanda’s dog-eared copy of A Court of Thorns and Roses in front of them before setting it back down on his lap. “I had plenty of entertainment to occupy my time whilst you slumbered so peacefully.”

Mackenzie’s stomach feels like it might turn inside out from shame. “Oh. Oh no, oh God. You found the faerie smut.”

Astarion’s chuckle rumbles in his chest, his lips pressing a kiss to her temple. “If you’re embarrassed, don’t be. It’s an interesting little read. Not my usual fare, but still amusing nonetheless.”

“If you finished it, don’t spoil it for me. I haven’t gotten very far, I’ve only read the first few chapters. Not because I don’t want to read more. I don’t want to see the story progress,” she opens the re-usable shopping tote she’d used as a beach bag, shoving the novel down to the very bottom.

“And why would that be?” Astarion tilts his head in curiosity, watching Mackenzie busy herself with packing away their things.

Mac stops to consider his question, her eyes meeting his when she finds the words a beat later. “I don’t want my delusions shattered. She goes from barely making ends meet, starving and struggling to care for her family to living a life of luxury. She has no responsibilities aside from showing up for dinner.”

“Does that sort of lifestyle sound appealing to you?” Astarion turns on to his side to face her, leaning on his elbow against a massive driftwood log.

Mac snorts out a noise of agreement, nodding her head enthusiastically. “Oh yeah. I’d love being a fae prince’s consort. Who wouldn’t want to wear pretty dresses and paint all day? But alas, we live in a late capitalist, dystopian hellscape and let’s be real here: nobody in their right mind would want me as a trophy wife.”

Mac holds the moment between them in uncomfortable silence, waiting for Astarion to respond to her self-deprecating humor with anything but staunch disapproval. When she realizes he wouldn’t deign her with a reply, she changes the subject. 

“Anyways. Sorry for passing out super hard when you started petting my hair after we ate lunch. I’ve never felt more relaxed in my life. You make me feel really comfortable, and you’re pretty good at that,” Mac puts her hand on his thigh, feeling the captured heat of the sun on the fine, lightweight woolen fabric. “That being…uhm. It’s like you know exactly how to touch me.”

“It isn’t difficult, if you know what to pay attention to. Gods, I’ve had more than enough practice,” He scoffs with a flourish of his hand.

“You…have? Oh,” Mac stammers, her mouth going dry. She sneaks a sideways look at him, his mention of having had other lovers making her feel uncomfortable in her own skin. He tries to take her hand in his, but she wriggles out of his grasp, perching atop the driftwood log he leans against.

“I suppose that sounds awful without context,” He solicits, holding up an open palm. 

“Context? As in your past?” She narrows her eyes with her inquiry. 

“Precisely. After all, it’s only fair that I show you mine after you’ve entrusted me with yours,” he winks at her after muttering his entendre, joining her on top of her driftwood bench.

Astarion breathes in deeply through his nose, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “Shortly after I graduated from law school, I served as a magistrate. One evening, on my return home, a group of vagrants assaulted me. They’d taken issue with a ruling I made, beating me within an inch of my life.”

Mac turns to face him in open-mouthed alarm, noticing the far-away look in his eyes as he begins his tale.

This isn’t at all how she’d expected his explanation to start.

“That’s when…he showed up,” Astarion continues, the muscles of his jaw tensing at the mention of the unnamed man. “I told him I wanted to live, and he saved me. In the years to follow, I would spend every minute wishing he hadn’t.”

“After that fateful night, he enslaved me, along with six others. I would go out into the streets every night at his command to bring him the most beautiful souls I could find, playing the part of the whore, the rake. Lure them into coming back to his estate where I would…’entertain’ them until he appeared,” he sneers, his body going rigid. 

Regretting her jealousy, Mac connects the dots of why he’s so talented at making her feel good as his truth is revealed. She had felt his arm gradually stiffen, recognizing the guarding of his muscles as he recounted his past. She does what she feels would comfort her the most by leaning into his sideways embrace, nestling her head against his shoulder. 

“I attempted to escape only once. It wasn’t successful- shocking, I know. He found me before I could leave, and I…I was locked away by myself for a year. And that’s hardly the worst of it,” Astarion shudders, horrors unspoken replaying behind his haunted eyes.

“How did you get out?” Mackenzie boldly places her hand on his forearm, stroking the rough spun fibers of his shirt with her thumb. 

Astarion smiles at her touch. “I, along with several other individuals selected seemingly at random, were abducted by a cult and transported together. Chaos ensued onboard, and we crash landed hundreds of miles away from proper civilization. Making our way back to where we were taken was a challenge, but when we arrived back in the city, our merry band of weirdos successfully dismantled the cult.”

Mac shuffles closer to Astarion. “Did your abuser try anything when you got back in town?”

“He most certainly did. And oh, he paid dearly for it,” Astarion savors the memory as he drawls out the words slowly.

“What happened to him? He’s not still after you, is he?”

Astarion snorts. “Heavens no, he’s long gone. When they found his will after his death, I had been named to inherit it all. His estate, fortunes, lands, and his title. You could say all’s well that ends…not as bad as it could have.”

Mac stiffens, pulling away to look into his eyes, seeking the truth. “Wait a minute. Did you say lands and title? As in you’re…a lord? Like an actual landed noble?”

“Indeed. I am Lord Astarion Ancunin. Pleased to meet your acquaintance, darling,” He raises Mackenzie’s hand to his lips, peering up at her with eyes that sparkle like rare jewels in the waning light.

“Holy shit,” Mac whispers to herself, a line of red rising up her neck. “Yeah, uh…pretend that I didn’t say what I said earlier. You know, the thing about living a life where a hot fae prince just takes care of me and I wouldn’t want for nothing? Oh, fucking hell…”

“Are you not allowed to daydream? I too used to wish a handsome prince would appear out of nowhere and sweep me off my feet,” he murmurs to her, nudging his head against hers like a cat marking its territory. 

Mackenzie notes how affectionate they’ve been with each other, feeling a catch in her throat when she realizes at this time tomorrow she’ll be alone. Her time together with Astarion has an expiration date. Her ‘handsome prince’ will be gone at the stroke of midnight, continuing on with his life and she’ll go back to the mess that’s become hers. A bittersweet tear escapes that she quickly wipes away, facing the reality that they’ll have to part ways soon. 

“I…I wish you didn’t have to leave. A single day isn’t much of a sample size, but you’ve been so sweet to me. Nobody has ever treated me so well or been so patient and understanding. I’m not going to forget you. I’m grateful for the time we’ve spent together,” Mac steels herself for their eventual parting, preparing to shift away from him. “I’ve never met anyone who’s like you, and I don’t think I ever will.”

Astarion refuses to let her turn away. He rises, impossible to ignore as he looms above her, his index finger alongside the hinge of her jaw.

“Oh, you sweet thing. I’d already decided on what to do regarding your person, but that about settles it.”

Mac feels her core throb and tighten from his tender gesture. “Settles what?”

“Come back to the Gate with me, Mackenzie,” Astarion pleads as he gets down on one knee before her, taking her hand in his. “I couldn’t bear to depart without you.”

The sun nestles itself in between the far-away Olympic mountains, the last of the day’s light illuminating them in a ruby glow. Mac flinches, her field of vision clouded, overtaken by a torrent of mist surrounding Astarion. Crap, are her eyes dry again? She tightly squeezes them shut, hoping it helps to clear her sight. 

All the air in Mackenzie’s lungs evacuates from the dramatic shift in Astarion’s appearance.

She follows the connection between them with trepidation. Her eyes widen at the replacement of his fine linen shirt with an intricately detailed, opulent ensemble befitting a vampire lord. Her lips go numb as she notices how well the red and black jeweled jacket melds around his muscled frame, how perfectly the rich blood-red silk-velvet cloak around his shoulders drapes around him. 

Mac inhales sharply in awe as her sapphire blues meet his, crimson and aglow with dark, forbidden power. An aura of regal authority emanates from him, rolling off him in waves. Her gaze travels along of the outline of his figure, all the way from the sharp obsidian crown and pointy ears nestled in his silver waves to the painstakingly crafted breeches, ending at his kneecaps nestled in the beach's greige sand.  

The sun fully sets in the distance, disappearing beneath the Sound. The wind picks up then, causing a full body shiver to ripple through her. She closes her eyes in reaction to the breeze, her shoulders temporarily squeezed all the way up to her ears. 

When she opens them again, the vision of the wicked prince on bended knee is gone, replaced by the kind and beautiful man she’d spent the last day with. A dull headache sets in as she recalls something vague, a whisper of a thought about sunsets and where the land meets the sea. 

She ignores it, troubled by the possibility she might need to make a quick trip to the psychiatric urgent care in the morning. It wouldn’t surprise her if she’s at the beginnings of a breakdown from the stress. She’s been through more in the last day than some people experience in a lifetime.

“Come with me. Help me make the ridiculous things we’ve vowed to one another in the heat of passion real. I want you to be mine, and mine alone,” Astarion’s expression darkens with his confession, his voice growing husky at the mention of claiming Mac as his.

“You’re serious,” she thinks aloud, still rattled by her hallucination moments ago.

Astarion’s jaw twitches. “Absolutely. I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.”

Mackenzie idly wonders if Astarion hit his head while she was passed out earlier today. “You really want this. Me? To go with you? Why?”  

“Because I desire it. That reason alone should suffice,” he clips, becoming visibly irritated with her repeated disbelief.

Mac tries to tug herself away from him, rising swiftly to her feet. Astarion holds her steady in his grip, his eyes tracking her as she moves, watching her silently for a few seconds before he speaks.

“My treasure, is your reluctance in part to believing you are unworthy? You shouldn’t believe the things you tell yourself. They couldn’t be further from the truth.”

Mac sighs softly when Astarion kisses the tops of the hands he holds. “All that aside, I am fully aware of how mad it is of me to ask this of you. It’s terribly short notice, and so soon after you’ve ended things with Ari, but I couldn’t care less. I’m quite taken with you, more so than I expected. My affections for you have grown from a single drop of rain to an entire ocean; to part ways with you now would surely be the ruin of me. Return with me Mackenzie, nothing else would make me happier. Please.”

Mackenzie’s eyes brim with moisture, her earlier misgivings dissolving as she takes in his ethereal beauty in the twilight. Astarion was unaware that his request to come away with him is how she wished Ari had proposed to her- on bended knee at sunset at the most special place in the world to her. 

His tepid hands grip hers, his pleading crimson eyes flit back and forth, searching her flushed face for an answer. 

Well…she has the next few days off. What’s the harm in throwing caution to the wind and seeing where fate takes them?

She nods, a shy smile spreading across her face. Twin tears fall in tandem from eyes colored ultramarine in the early dusk, tracing a crystalline path down her flushed cheeks. 

“Yes. Okay. I’ll go with you.”

[andromedaexists]

the beef was between Greek and French people and slavery was the practice of the Greek (enslaved) one 💀💀 also the author is trans and queer, stop weaponizing racism where it doesn't apply lmfao tired of you white bitches

Hi there! I hope you see this and send me another ask so I can block you properly.

I was corrected on their gender by someone who saw me polite post and responded politely. I have since corrected this on my post because I will never intentionally misgender someone and will do everything in my power to correct it if I accidentally do. I do not take well to assholes like you so I'm glad to weed you out. 😊

This seems to imply a couple things that I have issue with.

Are you implying that Greek people are not people of color? Because if so, then I know a good handful of people personally who take issue with that and are discriminated against in the US where I live. People who have lived their lives being told to "speak English" and "Go back to where you come from" on the daily. People who have their ethnicity and culture used against them in their daily life as well as professions. People who have been hurt and overlooked by people like you.

Are you implying that enslavement isn't wrong if it's between two white people? I firmly believe that no one should be enslaved, regardless of skin color. And that's coming from someone who grew up poor in Appalachia with Irish ancestors. I am white. I will never know what enslavement feels like and I will never know the generational trauma like POC and specifically Black Americans do and in the same breath I would never wish enslavement on anyone of any color

Are you implying that I, a white person, can't stand up and say something when I see things that are not right? Am I not allowed to use my voice and my privilege to help others? Am I not allowed to complain about a fucking book that I do not like on my own personal platform?

Grow up and say it to my face. I will never respect a coward that can't back up their words

EDIT: I completely forgot to mention the whole "weaponize racism where it doesn't belong" thing, silly me!

Should I ignore when a white (just got more information, he is not white! he is white passing, but that is not the same as just a white person. thank you to the kind soul who educated me!) author writes a couple where the white character is the 'master' and the POC character is the 'enslaved' one? Please, feel free to educate me on this since I apparently do not know anything. I will wait 🥰

[randomness-is-queen]

Ok, so I don’t normally interact with these kind of posts but this one just… hit different. I’m not 100% sure why. Maybe it’s that last line; as though to Stan Lucas we have to hate Billy. Or maybe the one before that. Either way it got to me so buckle up people, it’s time for a rant and possibly some trauma dumping.

Billy is an abuse survivor. That much was made clear, and apparently this person knows that. And yet here they are claiming it to simply be a sad backstory and that that’s the only reason anyone supports him as a character. (I won’t even get into the attractiveness issue because that just opens up a whole other can of worms.) Anyway, back to the abuse thing.

We’ve seen how Neil is with him, and how he acts around other adults. Notice I said adults, because he’s completely different with kids his own age younger. Remember the whole Karen Wheeler situation? And how Susan acts in the background when Neil is ‘disciplining’ Billy? I sincerely doubt that that boy has had a positive adult role model in his life since his mother. He may know it’s wrong but that doesn’t mean that he hasn’t internalised that response. If the adults in his life never showed appropriate emotional maturity, how can he?

You grow up in a household where you get hurt for the slightest thing, your fight/flight/freeze response is on high alert. He’s going to be the bigger threat, make sure nobody can hurt him by hurting them first, or making sure they respect him enough not to even try (remind you of anything Neil might have said there). He may know that the hitting isn’t normal, but he never actually hits Lucas, just threatens him. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that it’s right, it’s not. Just that it’s logical for him not to know appropriate boundaries. I freeze when confronted with my trauma, just completely shut down. We all respond in different ways, and he’s still in the thick of it.

Not only is Billy an abuse survivor, he’s a child. A literal 17 year-old child. Do not try and argue that 17 isn’t still a child, it’s child enough. He’s been living with an abusive father for his whole life, who knows what nonsense Neil spouts on a daily basis. So Billy’s racism towards Lucas? Totally understandable. Again, not saying it’s right, just that Billy , who was raised in a toxic and most likely racist household, would absorb that way of thinking. Have you ever heard someone say that if you ever want to know where parents stand on a matter you should ask the children what they think? I have experience experience with this myself. I grew up in a homophobic household, and it was only stepping outside of that environment that helped me change my viewpoint, and Billy doesn’t have that. I’ll admit that I’ve read a few fics where Billy himself didn’t actually care but knew Neil would so was trying to protect Max by telling her to stay away from Lucas. While I like the concept I don’t think it’s true, he was being racist, it was problematic, and he should face the consequences of that. But not to the point were his character gets killed off.

before stranger things 4 comes out, i just wanna let you all know that i do not give a flying fat fuck about billy and we should just let him stay dead.

nobody cares that the racist/abusive mediocre white boy is attractive to you, we don't have to do the most to defend him.

sad backstory does not equal someone being a good person/worthy of praise.

anyway, stan lucas

[joshivision]

Multimedia Blog 3: Barack Obama's Instagram

Who is Barack Obama? Barack Obama was the 44th president of the United States, who was notable for many things. This included being the first black president and being a Nobel Peace Prize winner. Barack Obama’s presidency has sparked debates over the idea of a “post-racial” America and help spark discussions on systemic racism, intersectionality, and how minority voices can be uplifted. To better understand President Obama and how he relates to this course, we can investigate his Instagram posts.

This Instagram post promotes his Netflix series Working: What We Do All Day, inspired by Studs Terkel’s book. The series highlights the stories of everyday workers in industries like hospitality and technology and emphasizes the interconnectedness of people’s lives through work. The post addresses themes of race, class, and cultural identity by amplifying the voices of often overlooked workers in mainstream media, particularly women of color in caregiving roles.

Next, this Instagram post by President Obama celebrates Women’s History Month by highlighting Cary Shaw and Sharika Harris, two women working on the construction of the Obama Presidential Center in Chicago. Cary, a concrete construction worker, and Sharika, a plumber, both grew up in neighborhoods near the Center. They trained with Chicago Women in Trades, part of the Obama Foundation’s initiative to involve residents in skilled labor. This post reflects the intersection of race, gender, and labor, showcasing how empowering women of color in trades challenges stereotypes and broadens representation. Their stories emphasize resilience, community pride, and breaking barriers in male-dominated industries.

This was one of my favorite posts to highlight as it reminded me of Sojourner Truth’s famous speech “Ain’t I a Woman?”. Truth’s speech, delivered in 1851, challenged the intersecting oppressions of race and gender, emphasizing the strength and capability of Black women in a society that doubted their value and humanity. Sharika and Cary’s pride in their work reflects Truth’s assertion of women’s equal capacity, dismantling the stereotypes that persist in labor and society. By amplifying their stories, Obama continues the legacy of celebrating Black women’s agency and achievements, reinforcing the call for justice and equity that Truth so powerfully articulated.

In this Instagram post, Barack Obama commemorates Black History Month by reflecting on its significance as a part of the collective American story. The black-and-white image features a young boy, Clark Reynolds, gazing upward with hope and admiration as he stands behind a rope barrier, while an adult’s hand gently rests on his face. This tender moment symbolizes the passing of wisdom and responsibility from one generation to the next.

In the caption, Obama emphasizes that Black History Month is not just a celebration of achievements but a moment to acknowledge the resilience, contributions, and sacrifices of Black Americans throughout history. He highlights the enslaved people who built the White House, soldiers who fought for freedom, and scientists and inventors who propelled innovation. Obama ends with a call to action, urging us to continue striving for equality daily to honor past heroes and inspire the next generation.

Barack Obama’s Instagram post for Black History Month reflects Langston Hughes’ poetic vision of resilience and aspiration in “Let America Be America Again.” Obama emphasizes the shared experiences of Black Americans, from enslaved individuals to inventors, whose struggles and triumphs helped shape the nation. This mirrors Hughes’ call for an America where equality and justice truly belong to all, not just ideals promised but yet to be fulfilled.

Obama’s tribute to unsung heroes and his recognition of their impact echo’s themes of generational responsibility. He ties this commitment to the future, embodied by young individuals like Clark Reynolds, who represent the promise of a better tomorrow. Similarly, the article on millennial attitudes toward race underscores that younger generations, far from “post-racial,” remain deeply invested in addressing systemic inequities. Together, Hughes’ poetry, Obama’s message, and the millennial perspective highlight the enduring struggle for justice and unity in America.

Through Barack Obama’s Instagram posts, it doesn’t just display President Obama’s leadership. It also tells the continuing story of America, through bridging the past with the present. The posts celebrate the progress that has been made in our country. At the same time, it continues to encourage and motivate people to make tomorrow a better one through embracing intersectionality and fighting for racial justice just like what we have been reading all about this semester!

Sources Cited:

Hughes, Langston. "Let America Be America Again." Poets.org, Academy of American Poets, https://poets.org/poem/let-america-be-america-again. Accessed 13 Dec. 2024.

Obama, Barack. “When I Was in College, I Came Across the Book Working by Studs Terkel...” Instagram, 27 Apr. 2023, www.instagram.com/p/Cril-IbNgol/?hl=en. Accessed 8 Dec. 2024.

Obama, Barack. “For Women’s History Month, I Wanted to Share the Stories of Cary Shaw and Sharika Harris...” Instagram, 10 Mar. 2023, www.instagram.com/p/CpnfjIBvm_M/?hl=en&img_index=1. Accessed 9 Dec. 2024.

Obama, Barack. “Black History Month Shouldn’t Be Treated as Though It Is Somehow Separate from Our Collective American History...” Instagram, 1 Feb. 2023, www.instagram.com/p/CoIskZ9vrqo/?hl=en. Accessed 9 Dec. 2024.

SharlettesWorld. “Sojourner Truth ‘Ain’t I a Woman?’ Speech (1851) – Read by Alice Walker.” YouTube, 14 Mar. 2018, www.youtube.com/watch?v=rMc4th6o5Io. Accessed 9 Dec. 2024.

[maxisanangrywell]

Okay, so. I've had to delete a ton of asks because of my Leftist Rant post which can be found on my page. A lot of them were rude, from both sides of the aisle, and I want to present you all with the fucking FACTS since people (Tiktok/Online leftists) think I'm making this shit up or being weak or a "nazi sympathizer".

So, let's proceed with the facts, shall we?

Nic Sumners, a 21-year-old cosmetic car repairman from Virginia, says he is pro-choice. But when he voted in the 2024 presidential election, he did so for Donald Trump.

Despite his personal beliefs, he says that Trump talks about the American people in a way that resonates with him, without—in his opinion—faulting him for his gender and sexual orientation.

“I’m a straight white man, and I feel like we take the blame for a lot of things,” Sumners says.

“Of course there are bad guys,” he adds, insisting he’s not one of them just because he voted for Trump. But what appealed to him about Donald Trump was that “his campaign was not coming after us. He was highlighting the American people, which we are. It doesn’t matter what color you are, what you may identify as. Since I wasn’t excluded, I resonated with it.” -- Galmour Article

Wow! Lookie there!! Oh, but there's more!

The macho energy of the Trump presidential run -- eschewing political correctness, "wokeness" or other forms of liberal handwringing -- won over plenty of Black men, despite the campaign's outright racism at times.

As Democrats embark on their postmortem, trying to figure out what went wrong, there won't be one simple explanation.

Among Black men under 45, about three out of 10 voted for Trump -- double the rate of the 2020 vote and blowing yet another hole in the Democrats' traditional base.

But "Black and Latino men could possibly overlook the racism of the Trump campaign because Trump appealed to their sense of machismo," Vigil offered. --

It's almost like what I was saying has truth in it, because surprise!!! I actually am in a very conservative family and talk to these people on a daily basis. Now my household, and immediate family is very left leaning with the exception of my brother. Everyone else, including AROUND ME is either far left or Trump supporters/conservatives.

Unlike you internet lefties, I don't live in an echo chamber and actually try to educate the people around me. While you're over there, complaining about being in a fuckig blue state, I'm here on the ground, talking to people and finding out WHY they didn't vote for Kamala. Each person says the same thing, it's largely not about abortion, or sexism or anything.

Young men felt PUSHED OUT by the Harris-Walz campaign, and Trump like the fascist his party is, picked up on that way to win. And he catered towards those men DESPITE the racism. And it fucking worked, we saw it fucking work in real time.

Am I asking you to grab a neo-nazi's hand and fucking sing kumbaya? No. Of fucking course not. Am I asking you to be kind and have the barest hint, the SEMBLANCE of fucking empathy? Yes. That's it, just be fucking KIND.

I don't know where most of you got this idea in your head that there needs to be a bloody violent revolution. That's not going to happen. If it does we will all be killed. Your glorification of violence will get you killed. Stand your ground in the face of hatred, but be fucking kind and educate those that cannot properly do it themselves.

You leave these people in these groups because they voted for that man, and guess what happens? They go further into it. They start believing it is truly them against the world. They don't break out of that. They go further, get more radicalized. That's when you have mass shooters. That's when you have those guys in ski masks walking down the fucking street waving a nazi flag.

It's not hard to understand, or wrap your mind around. If you did actual reading, if you did ACTUAL ground work, you'd see you can't just fucking cut them off like that and you should have been challenging their beliefs almost every fucking time they opened their mouths about it.

Is it exhausting? Fucking hell yes. It's emotionally and physically taxing. But you know what it does? Saves us from this shit that we're in now. Black women and Indigenous people have been doing this shit for ages. Now it's time for EVERYONE to fucking do it. Stop acting like a revolutionary, you're going to get us all fucking killed.

I'm so sick of this, genuinely. I feel like the smartest fucking person in the room sometimes because Hunger Games and Divergent mixed with the Handmaid's Tale has rotted your fucking brains. Read actual shit, like By any Means Necessary, Malcolm X. Or fucking Martin Luther King Jr. Angela Davis. Fascism in Big Business. Fucking ANYTHING. Read shit that was done by Nazi's, detailing their descent into fascism and how their entire family got swept into it and how they realized later they were the fucking issue.

Read shit from former KKK members, former Neo Nazis. You should be reading EVERYTHING. Not getting breakdowns on radicalization on people who have NEVER been radicalized. It's like someone rapping about being a black guy in compton while they live in Upstate New York as a White girl. They aren't speaking from THEIR lived experience. Of course they're going to fall into misinformation.

It's not fucking hard to be a kind person. You're not the mean girl or bullied nerd in highschool anymore. Grow the fuck up and be kind. Our very fucking humanity depends on it.

[imspardagus]

Reform without substance

I walked into Gay’s Newsagents on polling day and there was Ian collecting his £4.40 winnings from the Euromillions Lottery the night before. Ian is a bit of an anomaly. He looks like you should cross the street to avoid him – grey Mohican haircut, a set of teeth that Shrek or maybe the Grinch would envy and several large rings on his fingers that could break a jaw – and perhaps the wing of a swan – if wielded in anger. But he is in fact as gentle as a baby seal when you talk to him. Mild and compassionate.

So it was quite disturbing when, in conversation as we left the shop, Ian stated, with painful honesty in his voice that there were only three parties he could possibly vote for: The Greens, the Liberal Democrat’s and … the Reform Party.

It brought me up with a jolt, I can tell you. It took just a moment for my brain to process the strange misalignment of what Ian had just voiced and to ask me in what alternative version of the Universe might it be consistent to group those three political parties as tolerable substitutes for one another. Greens and LibDems possibly. But Reform? That ragbag of bigotry and racism serving as a nice little earner for the Arch-spiv and serial self-server, Britain’s poundshop prince of putrid propaganda, Trump in a tankard, Farage? (If you get the impression that I don’t like the little piece of shit or his hamburger-in-a-suit US cousin, I am not going to deny it.)

But when I thought about it later my initial shock dissipated in the face of the ghastly underlying (and I emphasise here the word lying) reality of the way so many decent people’s natural social conscience had been, and was being, subverted by the deliberate misrepresentations of a corrupt and ill-willed press media, and more recently by the manipulations of a malign clique of proto-fascists on social media.

These wicked people, and I do not use the term lightly, saw the opportunity to exploit the nervousness and impotence of ordinary folk. Folk like Ian and the pensioners I saw every day in the supermarkets queuing up to buy their Daily Mails, Daily Expresses, Suns and Daily Telegraphs. If asked, these folk would probably defend what they took to be their decisions to read this poisonous trash as being synchronous with their sense of status in this class-ridden society. Little do they realise that they are defending a toxic addiction: not to truth but to an unhealthily buttressed wall of fear: that they are imprisoned by this wall of lies that they have convinced themselves protects them.

And so they are divided, not so much from others who have managed to stay clear of the corruption, as from their own better selves. Like other substance abusers, they see their drug as their friend and those who wish to help them get free as their enemy.

And Reform feeds on their plight like a slimy dealer. It tells them reinforcing lie after reinforcing lie, because, just like Trump’s exploitative con trick, MAGA does in the US, it wants its backers to be free to milk the nation of its wealth. Free from accountability and responsibility.

How do we solve a problem like Farage and his rapacious money making machine Reform? Well, not by banning them, for a start. And not by appeasing them or trying to out-dissemble them. We have to be prepared to stand our ground and answer every lie with the plain unvarnished truth. And to do so over and over so that it becomes impossible for them to tell their lies without people hearing the truth at the same time.

We have to prove to essentially good people like Ian that Farage is Reform without substance.

[theevenusianwitch]

i have been particularly absent from this blog and all of my socials for the past month because i’m positive i’m going to die at the hands of medical racism and malpractice as well as gaslighting from family. i fell pregnant unexpectedly which on one part is my fault but the complications i’m facing this early on are killing me. i’m 6 weeks and a few days and this is not regular morning sickness like i’ve heard of. yes morning sickness has varying degrees of severity. but i have been unable to hold food or liquids down for almost two weeks without immediately regurgitating them. i threw up stomach acid and bile multiple times during the day and night. i’ve lost almost twenty pounds. i’ve been to multiple hospitals in my area. the doctors have just laughed in my face and told me to go home basically. to rest and try to eat crackers. but honestly, what the fuck are saltines going to do for me when i can’t even stomach them?

i live in the southern united states. abortion is completely banned in my state. i have preexisting health conditions that are making this harder on me physically, mentally, spiritually, and emotionally. i was already pro choice/pro abortion. getting one is a last resort but i have never felt so ashamed and alone by almost everyone around me for wanting to preserve my own life over the parasite living in me currently. i almost relapsed last night wanting to feel something other than the lump in my throat and the dizziness i feel when i stand up.

to anyone who supported overturning roe v. wade, fuck you. as a black femme person, i have enough on my plate daily. this overturn is killing black and brown people disproportionately and you do not care. you do not give a singular fuck about people who aren’t cisgender, rich, straight, male, and white. this is not about me not wanting to be a parent. this is about my health, my life. how do you expect me to bring life into this fucked up world when it’s taking mine away?

the past year i have lost so much, but i’d rather live with the grief of an abortion than let another child be in the hands of the system. i’d rather live with myself and that decision than die at the hands of medical racism. i’d rather go through obstacles to take matters into my own hands, than die. and i could die from that as well. this isn’t about responsibility issues.

and to use religion to enforce this upon people, fuck you. if you abide by the bible, wonderful. that’s the religion and doctrine you chose to follow, not me. that religion’s done more harm to me internally than good. it’s abhorrent how black and brown people have constantly fought for reproductive rights for decades just to be handed dust. this country genuinely hates its people. the people hate their own people. i could speak this til i give myself an asthma attack, but who will truly listen?

[tani-b-art]

See what I mean.

And then the typical “I was only (insert big age)” and “I couldn’t think for myself because ___” versus being a genuinely changed person. YET you’re still not comprehending your own antiBlackness….have you really become this “better” person?!

And you allegedly being 18 at the time doesn’t excuse you from traumatizing or disturbing me nor does it absolve you from being racist. You didn’t care what age I was. And your age is not this excusable factor to be racist because you didn’t think twice of the impact your racism would have on me! And do you know how many 18 year olds (which I highly doubt you were 18 but well over), even in the midst of their family’s views (your alt-left rhetoric), are still mature & filled with humanity enough to not be hateful AND even if they have white racists family members, they still aren’t racist nor antiBlack themselves! Nah, you don’t get to use your supposedly teenage years for being a racist. So, I REALLY DO NOT CARE!

Black people (Black people of any age also deal with racism, antiBlackness on the daily from people like you and we never resort to targeting anyone) have been forced to face the ugliest and most detrimental of societal views directed towards us yet we don’t go into random peoples’ online spaces spewing hate and anti views. What exactly was your purpose, in 2018, for even sending me such a hateful message anyway (when you never even liked a post of mine; never even knew my page existed-my post had absolutely nothing to do with anything that is you)?! You made it your mission to find my post to just be an antiBlack racist which is the most hypocritical thing ever!

That post isn’t a decade old, it’s only 6 years ago. You are shy of 4 more years for the faux “decades ago” excuse. Miss me with that! And this tired non-reason of “pulling up a decade old comment” would actually somewhat work had you NOT sent your message to me! You took time and crafted that mess of a message and decided to leave your comment on my page! It was NOT some random Tumblr comment I dug thru your page for. You took time to find a post of mine and spent more time to leave a comment on my post. This ain’t Twitter energy, it’s real-life energy and in real-life you deliberately targeted me to be antiBlack. None of your reportedly “reformed” ways erases the racism or the bigotry you threw my way. I experienced that from you and I can’t magically remove the antiBlackness you hurled at me.

REMINDER BLACK WOMEN: even so-called marginalized people will continue to exercise their antiBlackness and stand on it even when they have allegedly become a “better” person. you’re a pretender

good gosh the fact that they said in ‘18 that there are no cultures of groups just to degrade Black culture…how uncultured & uneducated.

I was going thru (my own) very old tags for a post I made about antiBlackness …I didn’t find the specific post I was looking for (tumblr has a strange way of tag searching) but this post came up.

I find it so fascinating how much antiBlackness comes from people who claim to be marginalized themselves. As long as they can be above Black people, in any capacity, no matter what their own status in society is…as long as they can keep a leg up over Black folks, they’ll do it and be it.

I had made this post at the time, not directed to anyone in particular…didn’t tag a soul and this random person (might I add they must’ve literally just been searching for antiBlack tags because they never dotted my page door ever) decided to spew this (they have a brand new handle now). And from the looks of their recent posts, the victim hood they desperately wanted to apply to me, in their point #3, is what they’re experiencing now.

I guess this post recycled itself for me just to help remind some Black American women how mythical solidarity really is. Especially considering this election — despite this person seemingly babbling about absolutely nothing in particular but their main goal was to simply be antiBlack.

[mbat]

i keep thinking about book 14 and the crown thing at the end that can seem ridiculous if you take it at face value, but i dont think youre supposed to take it at face value

the icewing crown was enchanted by a past queen so that everyone who wore it afterwards would hate nightwings just as much as she did. at first that like, comes out of nowhere and sounds like. funny honestly. like okay, sure, okay. racism crown

but i personally believe its meant to be more symbolic than literal

this queen, queen diamond as we know, had lost her son to another tribe, she percieved it as him having been kidnapped, stolen from her and never returned, but because she couldnt accept the truth that her son had simply fallen in love with a dragon from that tribe and had run off with her. quite frankly, no matter the truth, losing your child and never seeing them again can be life changing, even traumatic.

im not excusing her actions of course, but rather trying to explain them and my own point

not to mention that they were primary royal line at this point, and on top of that were both the last animus dragons from a long, long line of animus dragons who the icewing tribe held near and dear for many generations. this decision her son made would change the whole world, but also would change her whole world.

she was definitely pissed about it, and would not dare let anyone forget. she ended up kidnapping and imprisoning the woman he ran off with for not only the rest of her own life, but for the 2000 years following long after her death. cementing how harshly she hated what happened, and hated a woman who simply fell in love with her son.

personally im not surprised she went a step further and enchanted the crown to drive the point into the ground.

with all that out of the way, the symbolism is clear to me. its the trauma and the hatred being passed down through the generations. she didnt want anyone to dare forget what happened, and they wouldnt for a long time. not until snowfall went on a journey that would change her own life, this time for the better, and she said a big ol fuck you to several icewing traditions all at once.

of course, she wasnt the first of her own generation of family to say fuck you to it all, her own sister and cousins all proved that, but especially in the way that winter released foeslayer and quite literally broke the way a tradition even functioned, and ended the long, long torture of the poor woman, and one of diamonds horrible ways of expressing her hatred for what happened.

but snowfall is a queen. a queen who wore that shitty little racism crown more often than literally anyone wanted aside from whatsername (tundra?) and her mind was racing with paranoia of not only her own tribespeople and other tribes, but especially of the nightwings.

it wasnt until she spent days not only with other dragons, but ending up as other dragons due to animus magic she foolishly decided to wear without knowing what it was (it was a good thing of course) that she was stripped of her debilitating paranoia for the most part, and saw how her own tribe traditions were only making it worse.

a cliff made to physically harm anyone who would try and enter the kingdom. a board that she literally had to change daily that insisted that certain dragons had to be better than eachother. and of course, a crown that was enchanted to make you hate certain dragons the way your ancestor did because she couldnt cope with her own circumstances a long, long time ago.

she looked around and saw a tribe that was long broken because of traditions people were terrified to touch, but she was sick of it all, and not only that, she wanted to be the best queen she could possibly be.

she broke the cliff wall, officially letting other dragons in. she broke the circles wall, refusing to trap anyone else in the hell of trying to be better than eachother (and of her having to stand in front of it every night miserably sorting people lol), and she broke the crown that was poisoned to make her and every other queen feel the hatred of someone long dead, literally or not.

she saw the best way to be queen as breaking traditions that her people held dear, but those traditions were only harming them in the long run. and on top of it, she broke a long held chain of generational hatred that she was never supposed to feel in the first place.

queen diamond couldnt cope with the loss of her son and she took it out on anyone she saw fit, and that meant even her own descendants* who had nothing to do with it that she would never even meet. thats like, the definition of generational trauma isnt it?

*(or rather her niece and who came after her)

so yeah, racism crown ha ha, but like... symbolic of generation trauma, and eventually the breaking of it and other things as breaking that chain and the traditions that upheld them.