#trying to be as ''woke'' or ''politically correct'' as possible

[livwritesstuff]

Just in connection to my reply to one of your posts with little baby Moe (Okay she wasn't a baby but you get it.)

I really, really need some scenes with the girls (all of them or one by one) where they tell Steve (and Eddie too) how amazing he is as a dad. Not as teeny tiny children but rather as teenagers or even as young adults. Just genuine love between them, no ulterior motives.

Because I feel like Steve NEEDS that too. Every now and then. I know parents always have moments where they feel like they've fucked up or that their children don't really like them. And I feel like Steve could spiral about these things on a bad day. Eddie telling him that the girls love him to pieces doesn't help a lot on these days, I believe (You can correct me since it's definitely your universe and your Steve and Eddie).

So I'm just asking, very VERY politely :))), what you think those moments could look like and what the girls would say or why Steve even feels like he failed them. (Okay that's a LOT I'm asking of you, I'm sorry.) Just see where the flow takes you, if it does.

Thank you thank you thank you 🥰🥰🥰🥰

HAZEL

Steve was home alone with the kids because Eddie was away for a few days of work meetings in New York. The second day of Eddie’s absence, Steve was hit with a killer migraine – his first really bad one in a while – so he set the girls up with a movie (a long one) to give himself a couple hours to try sleeping it off.

A while later, he woke up to an alarm blaring – weird, he’d thought in the moment because he probably wouldn’t have set a loud alarm for a migraine nap (seems a little counter-intuitive), but everything about his brain was foggy so who's to say.

Then, outside the door, he heard this exchange between his two oldest daughters.

Moe: Papa can turn it off.

Robbie: But we’ll get in trouble.

Robbie: It’s on fire.

Half-convinced he was dreaming, he got up and followed the girls into the kitchen where, yep, the microwave was on fire. All Steve really remembers is unplugging it and leaving it to the elements outside.

Turns out Moe had wanted to make mac and cheese (which she knew how to do – they’d actually been about to graduate her to toaster privileges until this incident) and it had been a fluke timer-based accident.

Eddie had thought coming home to a melted microwave in their driveway was hilarious, but Steve was seriously rattled about it because it was the first time he'd felt like something had happened because of a failing on his part. He shouldn't have let himself succumb to the migraine, he should have pushed through it to be there for the girls, but he’d let himself slip and then they set the goddamn microwave on fire.

The same day he got back from his trip, Eddie went out and bought a new microwave (even though it’s one of those purchases Steve would normally handle because he doesn’t trust Eddie for a second to not buy the dumbest appliances he can find), and he took all three girls with him so Steve could have a bit of time alone. When they all returned an hour or two later, the sheer volume and amount of excitement they brought with them pretty much confirmed for Steve that whatever microwave Eddie bought had way more bells and whistles than any person on Earth could possibly need.

Steve didn’t go downstairs to greet them and not too long later, the door to his and Eddie’s room opened, and then three-year-old Hazel was climbing into bed and snuggling up close to him.

“There’s a new microwave,” she told him in her matter-of-fact way she reported on everything that happened in her world.

“I know,” he replied, running a hand through her tangled blonde curls (unlike Robbie, Hazel’s tolerance for “hair time”, as they call it, is pretty much rock-bottom – her hair is more frizz than curls these days and Steve is figuring out how to cope).

“Daddy wants to turn the old one into a diagram,” she continued.

Steve furrowed his eyebrows.

“A diagram?” he repeated.

“He wants to put all the melted spoons in and make them look cool and put it on a shelf.”

Oh – also, no fucking chance. Not in Steve’s kitchen.

“I think he said diorama, Haze.”

Hazel nodded.

Then she said, “You were like a firefighter.”

Steve refrains from pointing out that he shouldn’t have needed to be like a firefighter in the first place (because that would be putting his own issues onto his children and he doesn’t want to do that), even though he knows it’s true. He should have been there.

“You’re the best dad ever,” Hazel continued.

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh,” she nods, and she’s just as matter-of-fact now as she was before, and she’s sitting on his chest in a way that has her little knees digging into his ribs, which should hurt but instead feels like a tether to the real world he can grasp onto and pull himself out of his head.

 “You think we should go check out this microwave?” he asks, starting to sit up.

Hazel nods.

“Alright, let’s go.”

MOE

When Moe was 21 – a junior in college in New York City – she and her best friend since kindergarten, Gray, started dating (finally, in Steve’s opinion, because he’d seen that coming for ages).

Steve and Eddie have known Gray for as long as Moe has, and they’ve watched Gray grow up nearly as much as their three daughters – as a kindergartener with freckles and dark brown pigtails, as a middle-schooler tearfully coming out as non-binary knowing they’d have to hide it from their family, as a high school senior, still with all those freckles, eager for the fresh start that college would bring.

It was nice to be for Gray (and for a handful of their daughters’ other friends over the years) something that Eddie and Steve had needed when they were their age – a place where they could be themselves without any consequences, a place where they didn’t have to hide, because sometimes, as was the case for Gray for many years, you have to hide. It’s nice to have a safe haven where you don’t.

During Moe and Gray’s senior year of college, the pair made plans to come home for their final spring break. When that first week of March finally rolled around, Moe called from the train to tell them that Gray was finally pulling the trigger – finally coming out to their parents, finally telling them about their relationship with Moe.

“Are they sure,” Steve had asked – not because he doubted Gray but because he hadn’t been too much older when he’d taken that leap for himself and he’d felt the subsequent loss of his parents like mourning a death.

“Positive,” he’d heard Gray reply.

Three hours after their train dropped Moe and Gray off at the Wellesley Farms station, Steve and Eddie heard the back door open. A moment later, Moe trailed in with something heavy in her eyes.

“How’d it…” Eddie started to ask from where he and Steve sat on the couch, but he stopped when Moe shook her head.

“Not over yet,” she told them, “Gray made me leave. It’s a fucking trainwreck.”

And even though he knew that was always going to be the outcome, Steve’s heart still sank.

“Damn,” Eddie commented while Steve shook his head, “They’ll always have a home with us, but…”

“Yeah,” Moe nodded, “Still sucks.” 

Steve recognizes something of his own experience in that – he feels so damn grateful that Jim and Joyce had slid into that parent role for him, especially after he’d become estranged from his actual parents in his mid-twenties. Still, they weren’t his parents, and Steve would’ve never not wanted his parents to pull through like they should have.

Moe sat down on the couch between her dads.

“Why did Gray make you leave?” Steve asked (even though he had a sneaking suspicion why).

“Uh…” Moe paused, pushing her blonde bangs back, “Well, I wouldn’t say I was yelling, exactly, but…I dunno. If you ask Gray they might tell you I was yelling.”

Yep, that seems about right.

“I just,” Moe continued, “I know Gray was prepared for this – for their parents, like, rejecting all of this – and I know they’ve always totally sucked so this was obviously how this was gonna go, but I think I had a hard time seeing it because I’d never really had to consider what it would be like for that to happen.”

Moe shook her head, her bangs falling right back into her eyes, and Steve had to resist the urge to ask if she wanted his help trimming them like he’d done when she was little.

“I just mean – it never made a difference to you who me and Haze and Robbie were or what we did. You just, like, love us regardless…and always, y’know? I never had to imagine anything happening to make that stop, and I never had to consider that it might not be like that for everyone.”

She paused again, this time for a while, her eyes trained on the carpet as she fiddled with cuffs on her jeans. 

And then Moe looked Steve dead in the eye.

“You’re the best dads,” she said, “and I’m really, really lucky.”

ROBBIE

There were eight hours between Steve and Eddie finding out their fifteen-year-old daughter had been in a car crash during a school trip to Disney World and when they finally made it down to the hospital in Orlando she’d been taken to. There were another agonizing two before Robbie woke up.

When she did, her eyes groggily blinked open, and she looked blankly around the hospital room for a moment, and then she saw them.

Then her pale face crumples and suddenly she’s crying.

And that had Steve’s heart plummeting even faster than the phone call from hell he’d gotten eight hours earlier, because Robbie doesn’t cry.

He can’t remember the last time he’d seen her cry – not since she was a baby, anyway. She’d cried constantly as a baby, but the second she had a firm enough grasp on the English language it had ceased entirely, replaced by an endless stream of words – demands and trains of thought and exclamations and everything in between.

Eddie had joked that she’d only ever been crying out of frustration over not being able to tell them what she needed, and as soon as she could tell them, she had no use for it anymore, so seeing Robbie sobbing – the kind of crying where no sound could come out, where she was barely breathing, where her tears were soaking her cheeks and staining the collar of the hospital gown someone had changed her into – it practically had Steve crying himself.

After a few minutes of we’re here and you’re okay and what do you need, Robbie had tearfully admitted, “I need a hug,” and then she’d broken down again.

She wasn’t exactly in any position to get up, obviously, so Steve had taken off his shoes (because even through tears she’d still side-eyed his sneakers) and slid onto the hospital bed so he could pull Robbie into his arms just like he used to do when bad dreams woke her up in the middle of the night.

Later, when Eddie was just outside the hospital room talking to the nurse and the chaperone for the trip about the accident and how the school was planning on moving forward in the aftermath, Robbie finally spoke.

“Papa,” she said, her face pressed into his shoulder.

“Mm-hmm.”

“I’m sorry.”

Steve looked down at his daughter.

“Robbie, you don’t need to–”

“Not for this. For…just, like, in general. You–”

She paused, and Steve let her.

“I just mean…” she continued, “I haven’t been, like, good lately, and I’m sorry.”

Steve didn’t know what to say.

She’s not exactly wrong – it’s true that Robbie had been a total piece of work lately, especially since she started high school, especially since she got bumped up to the senior-level band class because she’s that good at the violin (which he and Eddie had been thrilled about initially until they realized it meant she was making friends with high school seniors) – but Steve didn’t exactly know how best to explain to her that up until this, up until she’d nearly died because of it and no matter how much Steve didn’t like it, it was normal.

It was normal for teenagers to do dumb shit, to hurt themselves, to hurt others, to drive their parents goddamn insane with worry. It wasn’t normal for them to nearly end up dead because of it, and this time it wasn’t really even her fault.

It sort of reminded him of Nancy in a way, of how Nancy had never been the same again after what happened to Barb, how Nancy had never let herself be a dumb teenager, never let herself relax, even though picking a boy over a friend was normal. Sneaking out and drinking during a badly-supervised school trip was normal. Sure, there were supposed to be consequences but there shouldn’t be a goddamn death toll.

“I know, Bean,” he finally said, something about the situation pulling out a nickname for her that he hadn’t used in a long time (because when she was born, Moe had turned Robin into Robbean and the rest was history).

“You’re really good to me,” Robbie whispered, “You and dad are so good to me, and I’m not always good back, and I’m sorry.”

“I don’t need you to be sorry,” Steve told her because, for right now at least, it was true, “Just…just stick around long enough to work with us, okay?”

Robbie nodded.

“Okay.”

[cerastes]

Do you feel there are people whom you would agree with politically, whom you consider allies, but they have a really tiresome philosophy?

A worldview where the world is cleanly divided into "oppressed" and "oppressors", where someone is born into one category and can never leave it no matter what they do, and that is it morally superior to be "oppressed" even if that means vilifying any attempt to succeed at life. And they spend less energy on improving the world than on policing speech, and dividing humanity into smaller and smaller collections of combined traits to find new levels of virtue and sinfulness.

What if that defeatist, joyless paradigm is what "other people" call Wokeness?

Mm see, the thing is, yes, I do feel this way with some people, but I also try to temper my feelings on the subject matter based on lived experience, or lack thereof.

What I mean by that is that, in terms of privilege, I have it pretty good: I'm straight, male, cis, without any major disabilities, and I've never faced the possibility of going seriously hungry -- understanding "seriously hungry" as a complete and absolute impossibility of affording a meal no matter how squalid it is -- or homeless at any point of my life.

I've had hardships, for sure, but they have been of a distinctly different nature than the ones we are talking about, with distinctly different consequences. I've never been threatened to be ostracized or killed by my community based on my identity.

On one hand, yeah, I have no interest in people who spouse so intimately these topics to the point it permeates everything they do and say and think. They are, as you said, tiresome. I in fact have stopped talking to some friends who are like that altogether, because I have my own concerns, my own hardships, and most importantly, when I am on my free time, I don't want to listen to the 60th complaint about westerners this and cis people that in any particular day. It doesn't delegitimize whatever valid complaints they have, but, and here's the important part, I don't have to be there for it. I already know these things. Do they bear repeating for the 60th time? See, if they do for anyone in particular, that's fine, but they gotta find the other people that are there for that for the 60th time, that isn't me. Or in other words, I also have a responsibility to not be there for that, and find people that aren't going to do that.

I think actions speak louder than words, so, I try to live my life according to my beliefs, and I respect people that do this as well. Conversely, yapping on and on about something, no matter how important it is, is hollow to me if you aren't backing it up with concrete actions. You can say incredible things in social media or even privately in chat, but also, are you doing something for your community -- in an offline space or an online space -- besides this? Using Tumblr specifically as an example, I have a lot of LGBTQ+ and/or leftist friends IRL that actively participate for the benefit of their respective communities, with tangible actions, and they don't really respect Tumblr because a lot of talk is just talk to them. Conversation isn't unnecessary, mind you, but it can't all remain in Saying The Correct Things So I Can Be On The Moral High Ground. The moral high ground by itself is so useless, lmao, ok buddy you are up there, now what else are you going to do besides reminding us you walked up the stairs? Show me something concrete. Concrete can also be engaging in actual productive conversation rather than repeating the same points over and over to your online audience that already agrees with you.

You know how Mormons and stuff go door by door not as a means to actually convert but instead to build even more dependency on the group by showing them how hostile the rest of the world is? It's kinda like that. Echo chambers are not to my liking.

But.

But.

Here's where we circle back up there. I've not lived a life of oppression. So I think to myself, "man, I've not gone through that, maybe I'd be like that too if I did?" and, putting aside the entire point of Doing Stuff Instead Of Just Saying Stuff, sometimes we do need to Say Stuff. It relieves the weight on our shoulders, decompresses us, it's an important part of it, and maybe some people need to perpetually do that to decompress.

So, I try to see it from another angle: I just don't gotta be there. I know where I stand, and I act according to what I believe is right. Anyone that can vouch for me will do so, I believe, not because of what I preach, but from how I've behaved. And that's what I'll keep doing, Doing Stuff instead of endlessly saying stuff. If there's people that want to endlessly say stuff, it's not really my problem, and instead of I'll simply look for people that Do and Say simultaneously.

TL;DR -> Yes but I don't care too much because it's people I make a point not to be around in the first place, and at the same time, my experience and reality is vastly different so I can only be respectful of those with less ingrained privilege than me in how they go about their tribulations. Does that make sense to you?

[randomthefox]

Eggman definitely strikes me as the type of guy who would deliberately deadname or misgender someone solely out of spite. Woke he is not.

For real. No cap, even.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: it really speaks to how completely psychotic the woke morality standard is that they think not using the specific words they personally prefer to refer to them is somehow worse than physical violence up to and including murder.

"Oh sure Eggman will shove a gun into a 12 year old girls mouth and threaten to blow her brains out, and then launch a 15 year old boy into space and blow him into a million pieces with a bomb and laugh to himself after doing it, and then try to murder an 8 year old boy by shooting him to death with an arsenal of mecha weaponry. But he would ALWAYS make sure to ask what your preferred pronouns are and ensure they're respect! And offer to give Sonic top surgery if he notices he was using an unsafe binder! Sure he might blow up the moon and then threaten to do the same thing to occupied cities on earth and indeed SA2 Dark Story ends with him cackling like a madman with the full intention of firing the planet destroying laser beam directly at the planet, BUT HE OBVIOUSLY STILL CONFORMS TO OUR PROGRESSIVE INTERNET POLITICS!"

Even putting aside the COMPLETELY DERANGED moral standards that insisting that a tyrannical murderer would respect preferred pronouns implies: Eggman demeans Blaze for being a girl and tells Tails to man up

Eggman is Problematic with a capital P. He would absolutely be the kind of person to tell someone who is mtf that the only reason they believe they're a girl is because they're a weak pathetic failure of a man but the truth is that's still what they are and they'll never be a real female because their chromosomes cannot be altered. Any insistence to the contrary is acanonical, and frankly idiotic.

Shouldn't you WANT to portray the VILLAIN of the series as evil in as many ways as possible to make him more reprehensible, and thus achieve more catharsis from seeing him defeated by the heroes?? Wouldn't Eggman stating that your sexual organs define who you are and there's nothing you can do about it make a message from Sonic that people can decide who and what they are for themselves all the more powerful? What makes a villain the villain if he ascribes to all your standards and values that you think are morally correct? If Eggman respects everyones pronouns and offers free on the level genital reassignment surgery to everyone in the Eggman Empire, then why would we WANT Sonic to defeat him?

God I just realized the fucking movies "all possible genders" line is probably what fueled this isn't it? People are probably saying that Eggman respects the gender spectrum because Jim Carrey said some dumbass line in a dumbass movie -_- ignoring the fact that game Eggman is not the same character.

("Oh but the Egg memo about calling Sage 'she/her'!" Eggman assigning a gender identity to Sage based on her physical appearance without consulting her on her personal identity preference SUPPORTS my conclusion that Eggman is problematic, he looked at a thing that resembled a female and said that should be called by female pronouns, that's the OPPOSITE of progressive politics you dunderhead.)

[asirensrage]

Bestowed

Title: Bestowed Fandom: Star Wars (AU) Rating: M Pairing: Kylo Ren x Undescribed.Reader Word count: 1345 Warnings: kidnapping. sacrifice. assumed murder. stalking. magic.

Summary: Based on the scary story prompts from @darkpromptsyouneveraskedfor. Prompts include: 13) "I don't think of it as a curse, more a blessing." and 13) You wake up in the dark, on a slab of stone, with a pentagram drawn around you.

Notes: This is part of the Horror prompts series here.

You woke up slowly. And cold. That was the first thing you noticed. You tried to sit up but your arms don’t move the way you want them too. They’re bound together. The area is lit by candles and the fear that was growing in the pit of your stomach skyrockets to your throat. You’re on stone. It’s marked with something that you can't entirely make out in the flickering light, but it’s easy to trace the fact it goes around you. And under. 

“Don’t move.” The voice was deep and you looked around, trying to figure out where it came from. “It’s alright.”

“Pretty sure this is as far from alright as it gets,” you snap back. You lift your hands up, trying to tear at the binding with your teeth. Anything to get you out of here. It takes a few minutes before you even realize that every rip you manage to make heals itself. The bindings look as unblemished as they were before you started. “What the fuck?” 

“You won’t get out,” the voice tells you. “They won’t release for anyone but me.” 

“Then let me out.”

A figure moves into the candlelight. He’s tall and broad-shouldered. You can make out dark hair, pale skin, and a prominent nose. “I can’t do that.”

Your throat tightens but you try to ignore the fear that’s building. “Why?” 

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he says. “For longer than you know.” 

“Well, I’m not really into stalkers,” you try to be polite but firm and ignore the way your hands are shaking. “Next time, just ask a girl out for coffee, okay? Now can you untie me? My family is going to be looking for me.” 

“Ah yes. The sisters.” He starts to circle you and it’s hard to twist and keep him in sight. “There are five of you now, correct? Two passed away. One at birth, one as a child.”

You clench your jaw tightly. It was a painful reminder of the siblings you lost. The ones who came before you and just…never made it. They didn’t even get a chance. “How do you know that?” 

“I told you, I’ve been waiting for you. Public records and the internet do the rest if you know where to look.”

You shift, trying to throw your legs over the side of the platform you’re on. You need to get out of here. You need to go…as far away from here as possible. 

“It has been increasingly difficult to find one like you. The seventh child of a seventh child.”

“My dad really wanted a boy,” you explain. It hadn’t happened but they tried. They stopped with you. It had been your mother’s demand. She couldn’t take anymore. “That doesn’t fucking mean anything.” 

“It does.” He says it with complete assurance. “I have been waiting. Others have too. I won’t wait any longer.” He moves forward, shoving your legs back on the stone slab. “Don’t move. It’ll be less painful if you stay still.” 

“For what? Being ritualistically sacrificed? I think I’ll pass.” 

“It’s more than that. I am offering you something in return for what I will take.  In fact, something you yourself are not able to access due to your heritage. Others would simply rend the power from you and discard the husk that was left no matter what it did to you.  I call this a fair trade.”

“I don’t want it. I don’t want anything you’re going to curse me with.”

“I don’t think of it as a curse, more a blessing. Regardless, you do not have a choice.” 

He says something you don’t understand and lightning shoots down your spine. It feels as though you’re being electrocuted. The flames on the candles grow and the heat in your stomach increases. You cry out, tears building in your eyes and falling as it feels as though the blood in your veins is boiling. 

“Please! Stop!” you beg but his voice continues, echoing in your ears. 

The fire increases, your head swims and all you can do is scream until you black out. 

-

The next time you wake up, it's on something soft. 

Everything hurts. Your muscles keep twitching but you don’t feel like you can move. At least until one of your feet and calves cramp up. You can’t stop the tears or shooting up to sit, reaching for your leg. You don’t get the chance to. Someone touches you, fingers digging into the sore muscle. You swear but as the pain releases, you can’t help but fall back, exhausted again. 

You stare at the ceiling, ignoring the hands that continue to ease the cramping muscles. “What did you do to me?” 

“An exchange. Your lifespan is now tied to mine in exchange for access to the power you cannot reach for yourself.”

“What?” You force yourself to sit up, ignoring the pain. “What are you talking about?” you demand again when he doesn’t answer. 

“You have always been beyond…mortal. Now you are more.”

“I don’t want to be!” 

“There was no choice.” 

“There’s always a choice.”

You slap him without thinking. Your head whips to the side, cheek stinging. He hasn’t moved but you feel as though you’ve hit yourself. You stare at your hand in shock, wondering what happened. 

He gets up and you think you see a red mark where you know you hit him. As soon as his back is turned, you let yourself wince and mouth out an “ow”. 

“Here. Eat.” A plate is thrust into your vision. There is a small selection of fruits and granola bars. 

“Uh…thanks?” 

He nods and sits back down where he was before. He waits until you pick at one of the orange slices. “You’re an attractive target for those seeking to increase their power.” 

“...” You stare at him for a moment. “How is that possible? I’ve never done anything.” 

“You don’t need to. Power crosses from father to daughter or mother to son. It is inaccessible to the offspring, but not to one like me.”

You frown slightly. “What does that even mean?”

“But you cannot take something for nothing,” he continues as though you haven’t spoken. “There is always a price. I gave as much as I thought I would receive.” He leans forward. His hand touches the growing bruise on his cheek. You can see it fade, and as it does, sparks tingle under the skin of yours. His eyes bore into yours. 

“I don’t understand. Why didn’t you say any of this before kidnapping me?” 

“Would you believe me?”

“That doesn’t matter!” 

“You want the truth?” He waits until you nod. “After scrying for you, I…got sloppy with the search and I had to deal with two others who were on your trail. My home is warded for intruders and the ritual was done quickly. Neither of us is in danger anymore. You won’t be a target unless they kill me too.”

“That doesn’t solve everything,” you say, wondering if he’s going to ignore the kidnapping. 

“It does,” he nods. He pulls back slightly and reaches for something. You watch as he lifts a small bowl filled with a dark red liquid. He sets it down on the edge of the bed before reaching and grasping one of your wrists. You try to yank your hand back but his grip is firm. He dips his finger into the liquid and brings it to her skin. You watch as he draws a sigil. “This is where the magic pools.” He repeats the action with more symbols on your other wrist and neck. The marks burn slightly and your protests at the action fade as you realizes that the pain in your body is gone. Your psoriasis is even gone.

“Holy–”

He leans forward, blowing on the mark on her wrist. They light up, glowing red.

Your breath hitches as the sensation. You glance up, meeting his dark eyes as he watches your reaction. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. “What’s your name?”

“Kylo. You can call me Kylo.”

taglist: @raith-way @zeleniafic @jvstjewels @veetlegeuse  @chickensarentcheap @residentdormouse @themaradwrites @kingsmakers @far-shores

[clock-of-the-leaf]

The Ton in the Bridgertons

We do not see much politics in the Bridgertons but as sexism exist you cannot brush over or make racism disapear in what 40 years ? I try to be sensible about but as I am a white individual I might make mistake and apologise if so and will correct it.

At first we would still keep the same hierarchy of power than the one in real life and, I assume, in the show.

Secondly let's talk about THE thing that changes everything in the Bridgertons : the Great experiment.

The Great experiment appeared for the same reason than show in Queen Charlotte but it's a bit more subtle. It was introduced mostly so Charlotte could marry the king George but never did the royal councils intended to actually give more power to the "other side" of the society. Even if people could now get invited and participate in activity didn't mean they'd be invited or treated well.

Queen Charlotte is actually the one who shacked things up, after mostly focusing on her marriage at first she slowly woke up and saw that despise what was said her own were still being rejected and treaded unfairly. By attending Lady Danbury ball, she shoke things up. When some titles were left without any heir she would think first of giving it to the "other side" (that's how Simon's dad became Duke) etc.

Even thought the Queen Charlotte promoted tolerance things didn't completely work out that way. The "original" Ton felt jealous and left alone and while they couldn't reject the other side at the more little scandal possible they would directly reject a familly. And while young did marry racized Lord it was almost UNFATHOMABLE that an eligible white Lord would marry a girl of colour. It got a little better but there is still a lot of pression on racized people. A few Lord did actually mary girls from the "other side" the most known one being St-Clair, Abernathy and the Sterlings leaving a lot of preassure on their children because they represent this new kind of union and must be perfect. So it is a big deal that so many of the Bridgertons will have union with people of the other side as they are one of the most old and respected familly.

[the1975attheirverybest]

How do I try not to argue with my family about politics? (non 1975)

Tbh perhaps I’m the wrong person to ask because I would say argue with them! My dad used to not be great on queer rights. But for years we kept talking about it over and over. Finally he came around haha. I mean he’s now more like “everyone should have equal rights including queer people.” Which….good enough for me I guess.

One thing I have learned is to stay away from identity politics and to use tangible examples. I’m American so I’m using American scenarios but this applies elsewhere too.

So, like, instead of saying “Trump is sexist” (at this point people who vote for him already know he’s exist. They either don’t care or they love it cuz they’re sexist too) it’s more helpful to say “he has banned abortion even in case of rape and incest.” Instead of saying he’s racist (again, his voters know that he is) you can correct his claims that “you get shot and raped by illegal immigrants crossing the border.” Only 23 undocumented immigrants committed murder in the US in 2023. The rhetoric he uses isn’t true.

When we say stuff like “that’s racist/ homophobic/islamophobic” I feel like it shut down the other person and they become antagonistic. Or they start thinking “the woke left is pushing their beliefs on me.” So you wanna avoid that happening as much as possible by staying away from theoretical stuff or identity politics and sticking to real issues. it takes time. Cuz like you can’t undo programming and ideology with one conversation. But a lot of the time it can be helpful!

DISCLAIMER: obviously if you feel like you might be in danger, like if you’re queer or trans and your family is homophobic, don’t put yourself in situations where you could get kicked out or hurt etc. in those cases DEF AVOID THE SUBJECT FOR YOUR OWN SAKE.

[luna-writes-stuff]

CHAPTER XLI

A Kili X OC fic

Previous chapter // Next chapter

TW: Repressed traumas, mentions of pain/injuries, extremely unhygienic soldiers, mentions of blood, Fili is a darling, Gandalf makes questionable decisions.

———————————————————————————————————————

Repressed traumas are an absolute joy

Fili and Kili didn't see Raewyn after she had woken up. Kili was transported to his own medical tent for further treatment of his hands, whereas Fili had taken it upon himself to help other surviving fighters clear out the bodies from the field. Raewyn had woken up for short periods of time, only to fall back unconscious seconds later. Even the elvish healers did not know what to make of it, so they ultimately decided to leave her in the hands of the persistent dwarven medics. Days had passed since the last time anyone really saw her, but since her first difficult awakening, Gandalf himself had insisted she'd heal in her own time, without the crowds. No one dared to fight with the wizard, not even the tired prince himself. He was simply glad Raewyn was still breathing - asleep or not.

She had no realistic grasp of time. When she woke, it felt as if she had slept for weeks, but after only seconds of adjusting to the surroundings of the growingly familiar tent, she thought she had simply woken up multiple times in one night. Sometimes, Oín would be beside her to change the bandages. It was awkward for her the first time, even after the old dwarf had insisted he'd seen a lot of naked upperhalfs (and underhalfs) in his years. After only two changes, Raewyn had simply given up on trying to cover herself with a blanket. She was too exhausted to preserve her dignity any way.

When she woke now, she wasn't alone. Directly at the foot of her bed, she could see someone staring at her. She knew it wasn't Oín. He would have announced his presence the second a tired grunt left her lips.

"I was starting to wonder if you'd ever wake," the old voice spoke, it's figure now moving groggily to the side of her bed. The fatigue in Raewyn's eyes slowly began to fade, and she found herself staring into the dull grey eyes of an elder dwarrowdam. Her face had been sunken in, her eyes nearly covered from the bags that hung below and above them. A scruffy, untamed grey beard adorned her face as her rope-like hair was tied into one single braid. She had never seen her before.

"My name is Zahrad," she spoke sternly, though her blinded eyes showed some kindness. "I have come at the request of Gandalf."

That seemed to put Raewyn's mind at ease. The wizard had only visited her thrice since she awakened, and he would always be gone after she fell back asleep. Not much was spoken between them, but then again - she never felt the need to say much to him. He knew her as well as she did. They didn't need words. They'd be too difficult now.

"I already have a healer that tends to me." Raewyn tried to dismiss politely, her voice aching and scratchy. She winced at the sound of it, then looked back at the dwarrowdam, feeling almost guilty for rejecting her. "Medic." The elder corrected rudely, almost as if she was insulted. When she tried to reach out to the ranger, Raewyn flinched back, wincing as pain shot through her back, making its way into her head. A disapproving sound came from the dwarf as she shook her head: "You Ashas are so stubborn."

Confusion seeped into her bones as she tried to force the pain down, her fingers clenching the blankets on her legs. Squinting her eyes together in agony, Raewyn turned her head to look back at the dwarf.

"You knew my family?"

"I would hope so," Zharad returned. "I was married into it."

Almost as if her heart had stopped, Raewyn's body froze. For a blind woman, Zharad's eyes were sincere, and her face looked almost content - at peace. As if reminiscing a beautiful memory.

"That's not possible."

"My husband died in the raid."

"You didn't visit his grave."

Raewyn had buried all the bodies properly, giving them a formal Khuzdul ceremony, before leaving the site. She counted all the bodies - she had held all of them. If she had been missing someone, she would have known, and she would have spent her entire life looking for them. She didn't know whether to believe Zharad or not.

"I didn't know he had any," The dwarrowdam returned. "Didn't know you survived either. Gandalf failed to mention that until his letter arrived."

Zharad could almost feel the confusion and confliction filling the room. Raewyn was silent all of the sudden, but the dwarf couldn't figure out whether it was because of acceptance or distrust. Thus, she decided to continue: "His name was Roghud. He was your uncle."

The name was familiar. It was so familiar, but Raewyn couldn't place it. She had heard it before, a long time ago. But she would have remembered the names of her family members. She wouldn't forget any of them. There was her mother: Zura, and her father: Raegar. Then, her grandmother. Her grandmother's name. She was a specialist in jewellery and gems. She had a beautiful name. Beautiful indeed.

Her breath hitched. She couldn't place her grandmother's name. Did she even have an uncle to begin with? She must have had. There were six, which means there are still three left. Her mother, father, grandmother.... Maybe a grandfather? She had an aunt - her father's sister. What was her name? Did her father have a brother?

"You poor soul," Zharad spoke up, noticing the rising terror in the room. Gently, her hand rose. Feeling almost guilty for lashing out at the dwarrowdam, Raewyn grabbed her hand, her eyes set in panic and grief. Yet, she wanted to help the old lady. "The times have not been fortunate to you."

Rokal. It was a name so familiar to Roghud. But she couldn't place where she'd heard it. They were with six, but it suddenly felt as if there were way more. She had been there. Was she part of the clan of six? Or was she the spare seven? She couldn't even remember how many bodies she buried. Too many for a 41-year-old dwarfling. She didn't keep count. Or maybe she had, and she simply forgot. Maybe she had buried ten bodies, and not five or six. She never asked Gandalf. She was convinced she knew. She looked back on the event so feverishly, but only now she realised how little she actually remembered.

A gentle squeeze was send to Raewyn's hand, ripping her out of her thoughts and placing her back to the tent she was in. This was the first time she had gone this long without sleeping since the battle. Her mind was too anxious and stressed to shut back down now.

"Why are you here?"

"I must apologise for announcing this all so sudden," Zharad apologised, sounding genuinely remorseful. "You are still healing. That is why I am here." The dwarf's hand left Raewyn's. Watching the dwarrowdam in pain and interest, she now noticed the bag she was carrying, and the amount of bottles held within it. "I was a herbalist before your family took me in. I took back my job after the raid. My skills lie far beyond your common medic."

Then, she grabbed a very specific jar. Raewyn didn't dare question how she knew she picked the right one. "This will help you more than the cheap medic's paste."

——

Gandalf had his hands full on dwarves and men. It seemed difficult for them to grasp the fact his spells would only get the soldiers so far. There were not limitless, nor were they miracles. Thus, they eventually left the wizard alone. Now, he was left with the complaining of Thranduil, the brooding of Bard, and the rough words of the new king of Erebor. All of them wanted the best for their soldiers and people, but none of them were completely willing to cooperate. Not even after surviving a grand army of orcs and goblins. It became even worse when Thorin decided Raewyn fell under jurisdiction of the dwarves and refused to let any elves enter her tent after Kili told him about the medic she had been left with earlier.

Tiredly, the old wizard sat on a low dwarven chair, his legs uncomfortably pushed together. This was the first time in days he had finally been owned some rest. Zharad had arrived only hours prior, but was still in Raewyn's tent. He figured they deserved the long talk. And the wounded words that would be followed towards him. He was aware that there was no worse time to introduce them than now, but against his hopes, the chances of Raewyn's recovery going well, were slim to none, and he knew Zharad's knowledge would help her more than any elven medicine would. And it wasn't worth the fight with Thorin. Be that as it may, he was surprised she even showed up after his letter. She might not have been an Asha at birth, but she was as stubborn and pig-headed all the same. She wouldn't have helped him lest she would have been the last resort.

When she finally emerged from the tent, her face was set in that same stern gaze she always held, even though her shoulders seemed more relaxed. Gandalf rose from his seat when he saw her, no longer surprised when the blind dwarrow walked up to him without issue.

"Next time you decide to introduce me to distant family, do it over tea." And with that, she was gone again.

In the tent, Raewyn was still sitting upright, courtesy of Zharad. Regretfully, the old dwarf had helped her sit up, not lay back down. And now, with new bandages expertly applied around her and a stinging feeling in her back due to the new ointment, she was achingly left to lay back down on her own. It would be wisest for her to stay seated, adjusting to finally using her muscles. Laying back down was no option for her if she wished not to injure her back any further, but sitting up for the next few hours would be even worse to her. And thus, she finally decided it was time for her to get up. No one had told her she was not allowed to, so she saw no point in dwelling on the cot any longer, especially since fatigue had ultimately left her.

As her feet slowly touched the floor, she felt the bruises on her skin moving with her muscles. A dragged out hiss escaped her lips as she forced herself off of the bed. She stumbled lightly when she fully stood, her entire weight resting back on her legs. Holding onto cabinets tightly, she grabbed a cloak from a chair, clumsily throwing it over her shoulders to at least preserve the little bit of dignity she had left.

After days, she could now feel the grease and knots gathering in her hair, the entire thing seemingly untouched. She did not know whether to appreciate this or feel disgusted by it. As she tried to adjust to stumbling across the tent, she began to feel disgusting the longer she became aware of the state of her body. The only thing that seemed to be cleaned was her back, and a light portion of her torso. Her hands were still stained with dirt, blood, and little cuts, she could almost feel the layers of sand on her legs and feet, and her neck felt stiffer than it had ever been. She was grateful there was no mirror in her tent - never had she been vain, nor had she cared about the way she looked, but she began to grow self-conscious all of the sudden. She was not only feeling dirty; she felt deeply and utterly humiliated.

She halted in front of the entrance, the state of her appearance hitting her harder than the sharp ache in her back. Her hand was holding back a small piece of the tent: not enough to let others know she was there, but enough to risk a look outside.

A small crowd of elves, men, and dwarves walked past her tent, all seemingly focused on their jobs. Two dwarven soldiers marched past, their armour seemingly not have been taken off since the battle. She did not know how long it has been, but she had counted at least four days. The braids in their hair and beards were beginning to fall out and the beads no longer appeared to be shiny as all Khuzdul beads appeared to be. A man walked past with mud and dirt covering his entire face and arms, but he seemed to care little for it, much too focused on the bag of herbs he was carrying as he followed the two dwarves. But what shocked her the most was the tiny group of elves in the distance bending over to help their injured archer. Their hair was tied back roughly, and their clothes were torn. Their fair skin seemed to have dulled as their faces showed nothing but worry and stress. It was when she saw them, that she realised no one had cared much for hygiene since the fight. And though she felt uncomfortable at the thought that her pants - darkened and hardened under the amount of blood from her and her enemies - had been on her since Ravenhill, she was relieved to see she had not been the only one.

Finally stepping out, she noticed Gandalf, lost in conversation with Bard. She would have walked up to them, had she not been conflicted about meeting Zharad moments earlier. Without announcing herself, she quietly tried to blend in with the crowds, which proved easier than she thought. Thin slivers of light glowed through creaks in the walls, letting her know she was not entirely inside the mountain yet. Thus, with new-found determination, she walked the halls best she could, trying to remember where she had walked earlier, and which roads let outside. And for once, her memory had proven her right: only second later, she stood in front of the big entrance of Erebor, overlooking a sea of bodies, red fields, and working men and dwarves. Fallen soldiers were carried onto carts and piles, lost weapons were dragged against the walls of the mountain, and deserted transports were torn apart. A silent gasp tore from her upon the sight: she had no idea who had survived the battle and who had lost their lives. She had only seen a small amount of people, but nowhere near enough to be relieved of any stress.

Trudging through the field aimlessly, she ignored all protests in her legs and back, staring down at the fighters, bowing her head at every single one of them, before ultimately giving up at the amount. Little boys and young dwarflings lie beneath the fallen, fathers and mothers dragging them off in cries and pleas. She had no grasp of time, and could have stood there for hours. The sun told her that likely wasn't the case, but it certainly felt like it.

"Raewyn?" A voice called out, closer than she anticipated. Startled, she turned around, her face apparently giving away the pain, because the figure neared her quicker than she could. Beneath all the damage, it was still a clear mop of blonde hair moving towards her rapidly. He halted just before her, looking at her up and down in surprise: "They did not tell me you were allowed to get up yet." Observing him silently, she noted he did not look much better as she did, and if he did, she was thankful he did not mention it.

"I'm not sure I am." She replied hesitantly, coughing after she spoke, trying to swallow the scratching in her throat down. "You sound awful," Fili was quick to butt in, his heavy set face allowing a tiny boyish grin. She formed her lips in a thin line at his statement: "Haven't spoken in days."

"What a relief it was."

Finally, a small laugh escaped her, a moment of peace amid a bloody battlefield. Fili's smile grew at the sound, regardless of the roughness of it. If there was only one thing in the world the brothers shares, it was their ability to make anyone laugh in any circumstances, and Raewyn's heart warmed at the familiar feeling.

Despite the slight happiness, her mood changed quickly as everything suddenly came crashing down. Picking up on the shift, Fili came closer to the Asha, wrapping an arm around her waist to help her walk back towards the gates. They weren't even there yet when she decided to speak up: "I met my aunt."

Frowning at the words, Fili's steps faltered slightly, but he was swift to pick them both up and help her sit on one of the smaller boulders. "I thought you were the last one." He stated through a hushed voice. "So did I." Neither of them was entirely sure what to say next. Raewyn didn't even know why she had shared that with him - she simply felt the need to say it out loud in order to believe it. "Gandalf sent for her." She eventually spoke up, realisation slowly making its way into her mind. She was no longer talking to Fili specifically; she was trying to help herself actualise what she had just learned. "Gandalf knew of her existence and never told me. He never told her about me either."

Fili's face fell upon her words, a comforting hand squeezing her shoulder gently, almost as if it hadn't been there. "Raewyn, I'm sorry." "Why would he do that?" She rattled off, her sadness slowly merging into futile anger. "I have waited fruitlessly for my family my entire life - he knew." Her breath hitched as she looked at the dwarf beside her, desperation in her eyes. "Why would he not have told me?"

He wanted to help his friend. He wanted to, but he could not imagine how. He had spend days comforting grieving families and friends, but for once, he did not know how to aid her. He tried to remember all she had told him on their journey together, to see if maybe he could help her relate somehow, but the only thing that came up was "do you not remember burying her?".

A beat of silence passed between both of them, before she shook her head, wiping away a furious tear that had escaped halfway. "I do not remember any of them. I don't know if I ever have." She could not even retreat her hand before a second tear began to fall, taking the dirt and grime on her face with it.

"Oh, Raewyn," Fili spoke in remorse, carefully wrapping one arm around her in a side hug, extremely careful not to put too much pressure on her back. Leaning into his embrace, she slowly began to sob, all confusion hitting her harder than it ever had: "I know I buried my father. I buried my mother, my grandmother. She told me I have an uncle: Roghud, but it seems familiar to Rokal. I do not know who he is, but his name is so..." A chocked sob escaped her before she could finish her sentence, and she squeezed her hands together in agony. "Why can I not remember?"

"You just woke up," Fili tried to soothe. "You should not exhaust yourself with thoughts. They will come back."

"No." Raewyn protested nearly immediately. "No, I don't think I ever knew. I had this dream..." As she trailed off, she shook her head wildly before resting it in the palm of her hands. Gently, Fili's arm retreated, and he patted her knee in reassurance. "You need your rest."

"I need to talk to Gandalf."

"Raewyn, listen to me: this will fade. You will remember." She raised her head at this, looking up at him with a heartbroken expression the dwarf had seen too often this week.

"No," She answered. "I never did. He must know."

"Raewyn-" "Fili, please." The Asha interrupted, offering a look so crestfallen, Fili found himself breaking just as easily. And so, with a sigh, his shoulders fell and he stood up, offering his hand to her in assistance. "If he turns me into something, I will take you with me."

Smiling sadly at him, she nodded, accepting his help as she got back up, unable to repress the wince crossing her features as she stretched her legs. Though he noticed, Fili did not mention it. He had seen many other injuries, but was wise enough to conclude Raewyn would be too stubborn to pretend to be bothered by it. Instead, he led her back inside the mountain. Making his way through the halls decorated with medical tents and loose cots, both of them eventually rounded the corner.

"Fi, other side." Raewyn mumbled, referring to the location of her tent, but her comment seemed to fall on deaf ears. Before she could give him another reminder, they waltzed into another tent. "This isn't my tent." Again, she was ignored. Instead, Fili grabbed a comfortable looking chair and gestured for Raewyn to sit in it. Assuming he was going to find Gandalf, she obeyed his silent order. As she sat down with some difficulty, she found Fili pacing the tent.

"He got out again," She heard him mutter under his breath. "I thought people were keeping an eye on him." "Fili, Gandalf is-" "Yes, I am aware." She was interrupted this time. "I'll find him." And just like that, the dwarf had disappeared. Sighing at her futile attempts to help him, she remained seated. Smart of Fili to use an empty medical tent. That way others won't see her lashing out at the wizard.

She discarded the thought. She had no energy left to be angry. She was just confused now.

The longer she looked around the tent, a nagging feeling in the back of her head told her this was not yet unoccupied. The sheets on the cot were haphazardly strewn over the floor, a thick coat dangled over another chair, a candle was still halfway lit, and in a corner she noticed a pair of shoes. What idiot would walk out of the tent without boots? Then, she looked at her own feet. She quickly silenced her thoughts.

It wasn't long until Fili reappeared, this time dragging someone in tow. Raewyn didn't have to be fully awake in order to recognize that this was not an old man with a grey beard and a large top hat. Be that as it may, he recognized her before she did.

"Rae?" Disheveled as he looked, Raewyn could not suppress the tiny step in her heart when she heard him say her name again. Two arms wrapped around her tightly, pulling her in closely, though his hands remained on her shoulders and not her back. He too, was covered in muck, sweat, and blood, but he smelled just as she had fondly remembered, and she found herself melting into his embrace quickly. Her hands loosely grabbed his upper arms to return the hug, whilst her shoulders sagged significantly. A brief flash of white skies and biting cold gnawed through her as the embrace began to grow familiar, but it was gone as soon as it came.

"Thank Mahal, you're up." The words were muttered in the crook of her neck, but she heard them all to well. Slowly parting from her, Raewyn dared risk a happy smile. "Not according to Oín." Kili followed with a scoff, that same mischievous grin forming on his face as it had always held. "Me neither."

"She needs to talk with Gandalf," Fili announced. "But I promised to tell you when she would be stable." Kili nodded gratefully, though his eyes remained on Raewyn, watching her every movement.

"Why must you talk with Gandalf?" He asked carefully, immediately noticing the shift in Raewyn's posture. Though she appeared hesitant, she confided in him nonetheless.

"It's about my family," She told him, then pointed to her back. "Apparently, I have an aunt who works magic with herbs."

She did not smile as she spoke those words, yet Kili gently lowered a hand onto her shoulder and squeezed it affectionately. "That is wonderful, Raewyn." After moments of confusion and pain, his words seemed to alter her mind completely. She had an aunt, of whom she did not even know existed. And though Gandalf should have told her, the fact still stands: she is not alone. Maybe not heriditary and bound by blood, but Zharad had certainly shared the Asha name. Her face relaxed at the words. It was wonderful.

"I will go with you."

"Ki," His brother dismissed. "Oín did not allow you to leave yet." "He did not allow me to use my hands," The youngest Durin corrected. "There is no need for hands whilst talking." Unable to suppress a second grin, Raewyn's hand shot up to meet Kili's, which was still on her shoulder. Gaining his attention successfully, she spoke to him: "Thank you, Kili. But this is a conversation between me and Gandalf."

Reluctantly, he nodded at her words. His hand intertwined with hers as he lowered them both, now suggesting she'd use it to get back up. "At least let me walk with you?"

——

Taglist:

@errruvande @writingawaymylife @justnerdystuffs @spidergirla5 @fallenangeloflight @bianavacker-is-bi-as-hell @lxdymormont @deathofafangirl01 @the-cranck-hobbit @chaoticpaintsplatter @bxtchopolis @radbarbariancupcake @gay-destiel

[grandhotelabyss]

"I believe the Transcendentalists had a "privative" notion of evil, that is, evil is just the absence of good, not an autonomous force..."

Tbh, although they don't phrase it this way, it feels like that move just makes 'evil' the default, and 'good' something that has to be active. Evil, filing in all the gaps where you don't act, is the ground of being; good, on the other hand, is only there if you create it. Which perspective at least allows the possibility of transcending evil, but I don't think is quite the point they're trying to make lol.

Yes, and it links them back to the paranoid Puritan consciousness they were trying to transcend in the first place, and links them forward to phenomena like wokeness and political correctness, all of them allied in a shared monomaniacal terror that evil will rush into even the tiniest crack in your goodness.

[13thdoctorposts]

chris chibnalls era was the most conservative nuwho has been. remember when he made the first non-white master dress up as a nazi, and the white protagonist purposefully reveals his race with the intent of getting him sent to a concentration camp? or when he queerbaited thasmin? or when the female protagonist knelt down to a man and called him her master? or when yaz instantly shut down ryan when he was talking about his struggles as a black person? or the concept of a pregnant man being used as a joke? please try to see through the performative activism.

Thanks for the question. I think most of the questions are rhetorical because obviously I’ve watched the show and saw these things, I think the question is just asking me to see through the performative activism. I don’t think it was performative activism but I thought we could go though each part of the question together as I’m happy to breakdown my thoughts on the situations mentioned. This might be TLDR for some people just warning you now 😅

chris chibnalls era was the most conservative nuwho has been.

I find it interesting the asker is saying the show is conservative while also saying its performative activism so essentially that it was trying to be woke.

Personally I don’t think Chibbs was trying to make a ‘Woke’ show, I also don’t think he was trying to make a ‘conservative’ show. I think he was trying to make a show with diverse stories. I think series 11 did this best. The ending of Keblam! was definitely not ‘Woke’ so all the talk about the show itself being ‘Woke’ I don’t think is correct but I also don’t think the show was trying to be actively conservative either since it was talking about issues like racism and partition of India and Pakistan, and making fun of a trump like figure, for example. It’s just a show about time and space, sometimes you see politics in it sometimes you don’t. I’ll talk about my thoughts on ‘performative activism’ during the Chibnall era at the end.

I think its important to remember Chibbs is just a dude going to work doing a really big job trying to use his position of power the best he can… it doesn’t mean every decision is going to be right… sometimes I make a bad calls at work, we all do… people are human… I can empathise that people can try their best and sometimes get it wrong but also often get it right, the world is nuanced not black and white. However this doesn’t make a whole show bad, can anyone name a show with 3 series that doesn’t have any bad decisions… can anyone name a different Doctors run that was perfect and no mistakes or mis-steps were made?

remember when he made the first non-white master dress up as a nazi, and the white protagonist purposefully reveals his race with the intent of getting him sent to a concentration camp?

I most definitely do remember this, and I think it was a bad call. However I can also acknowledge that Sacha was hired when everyone was already in South Africa a week before shooting Spyfall, which means the script was already written and pre production was well under way so they probably didn’t have the ability to change a major chunk of the script, thats just the logistics of shooting a TV show. It would have been great if Chris had unlimited money and time to change things but thats just not the case. I would think this logically means they couldn’t change the fact that they had the Master in a Nazi outfit… I also think its possible when writing the episode Chris probably wrote it with the subconscious bias that he was going to have a white male as the Doctors Master. Although Chris was very good about hiring diverse actors, subconscious bias sits in us we aren’t always aware we are doing it, hence the subconscious part. This isn’t great on Chris’s part but I don’t think he was being deliberately malice either. I think they also thought once they had Sacha that they needed to acknowledge race… and they did in the worse way possible, it was unnecessary and was a terrible look for the Doctor.

or when the female protagonist knelt down to a man and called him her master?

Yeah I do also remember this, it was uncomfortable to watch, I think the purpose of the scene was meant to make us really dislike the Master, to kill any good will the audience was having towards ‘O’. Him killing people is horrible but its the Master its expected and random characters who are extras that we as an audience aren’t attached to isn’t going to have the same effect as him doing something horrible to a character we are attached to like the Doctor. I wish what he had done wasn’t this. I don’t think it’s a good look, a female Doctor having to be submissive to a male in this way. It’s not appropriate. However I have to praise Jodies acting here because she acted this scene in the most unsubmissive way possible. This is just a decision I don’t agree with, it doesn’t make for a bad show overall.

or when he queerbaited thasmin?

Thasmin wasn’t queerbait because the characters canonically admitted having feeling for each other. You can be disappointed with the way it ended… I am… but a bad ending isn’t queerbaiting. Queerbaiting is implying their might be something queer happening only for it to be dropped and often a heteronormative ending is what is actually depicted on screen and was primarily used by shows as a rating kick. I would say it would be the opposite for Doctor Who, since people were vocal about not wanting a female Doctor, not wanting the Doctor to ever have a love interest etc. it likely wouldn’t have given the show a ratings kick in the same way other modern era TV would hope to get when queerbaiting. Thasmin isn’t queerbaiting its just a disappointing end

or when yaz instantly shut down ryan when he was talking about his struggles as a black person?

I don’t think this is what Yaz’s intention was but people can read the scene as they wish.

or the concept of a pregnant man being used as a joke?

I don’t think it was being play with as a joke. I think Ryan and Graham’s reaction in this episode was how a lot of people would act and through the episode seeing them coming to terms with the idea a male can be pregnant is a reflection of society and you see them work through being uncomfortable, not really being sure how to act or what to say but in the end they get to where they need to be, seeing the miracle that is life. This also touches on Ryans father issues so theres a lot going on in this situation and although theres some comic relief moments I don’t think it was trying to make the whole situation a joke.

please try to see through the performative activism.

I don’t think the Chibnall era was performative activism because he wasn’t all words, he was actions. There were more diverse voices in major positions, in the cast, in the writers room and with Directors.

So what do I mean by this? Well we didn’t have a white man write ‘Rosa’ and then have an all white TARDIS team take on racism in 1955 and defeat it. That would have been performative activism.

First of all and most importantly we had a woman of colour hired and paid to write a story that was in a very well known TV show giving the story a huge audience on a platform its never had before… thats not performative, that’s actively doing something, Chris hired, paid and gave a platform to a person of colour to tell their story.

Giving people real opportunities in areas they haven’t had opportunities before on a large scale like Doctor Who and trying to create an environment where that is normalised and diverse voices are a common place has to start somewhere, it doesn’t just happen fully formed and Chibbs was clearly and deliberately trying to normalises having voices of women and people of colour in front and behind the camera in senior positions like actors, writers and directors.

I think it’s important to remember Chibbs was trying to be the beginning of this change so its not a fully realised idea, there aren’t as many writers and directors who are women and people of colour, so you bring in as many as you can, which I think Chibbs did, then you try and grow it from there. If more show runners did what Chibbs did in years to come we would have more minority writers, directors and show runners. It has to start somewhere and the more opportunities that open up the more people will enter these professions and so more voices will become normalised in the industry and more representation will be found in media for all of us. The fact he was trying to build this systemic change clearly demonstrates this isn’t ‘performative’ activism.

[psapphic95]

"Indeed, Regina herself hadn’t even really contemplated what she would have done if Emma had put her in a similar position with an ex of hers, but she knew her response wouldn’t be as tame as her little girl’s tantrum. Emma would never react as Regina would in the same situation; with all guns blazing, weapons, and murderous intent" If possible I would love love love to see a scenario where Regina is like this.

You may need to read You're Mine Now and I'm Yours, Mommy to understand this snippet.

****

“Mommy, you’re being silly,” Emma scolded lightly, walking into the bedroom with Regina closely behind her. “It’ll just be dinner, it’s not like we’re doing anything untoward.” 

Hot on Emma’s heels, Regina clarified carefully, “You’re going back to Storybrooke for the weekend to meet up for dinner with your old fuck buddy, and I’m the one being silly, Emma?” 

It was almost as though she couldn’t really believe what she was hearing. Had Emma gone mad? Regina was so confused by the news that they were going to be meeting up with Graham when they went back home to Storybrooke for the weekend, which Emma had just casually slipped into conversation during their post-dinner snuggles. In fact, the woman couldn’t even find the mental space to be upset by the fact that Emma was being utterly dismissive and rude by waving her off and walking away in the middle of a conversation. Her mind was too busy trying to comprehend the rather idiotic things that were coming out of her baby’s mouth. 

“Both of us are going back to Storybrooke, first of all,” Emma corrected, as if she had a leg to stand on. “My mom just thinks Graham and I were good friends, he mentioned to her that he hadn’t seen me in a while.” 

Flopping down on their bed and closing her eyes, it was clear that the blonde didn’t want to have an argument with Regina. Emma knew she’d react poorly. It was the reason why she thought she could just drop it into their after-dinner conversation, whilst she was cuddled on the sofa, in the arms of her half-asleep Mommy. 

However, Graham was way more than a sore spot for Regina. He was like an open bullet wound. He was Emma’s first everything; the first one to kiss her beautiful lips, touch her gorgeous body, taste her sweet little cunt…

Regina found that she couldn’t think about those facts for too long without sending herself into psychosis. So of course, when her little girl brought up that man’s name, it was like a shot of adrenaline straight into her veins - it woke her up from her post-dinner slump almost immediately. 

The woman climbed on the bed after the stroppy girl, her own anger building steadily as Emma began acting as if she was the one being irrational. 

Straddling Emma’s hips, Regina successfully pinned the baby girl to their bed. She wasn’t going to allow her to walk away from this conversation. 

“So he asked you to dinner, through your mother, and she agreed on your behalf?” 

Opening her eyes to observe the utterly stormy, unimpressed look that Regina wore as she loomed above her, Emma knew she had to diffuse the situation quickly. Slim hands moved up to rub gently over Mommy’s thighs, slipping under her silk pyjama shorts. Normally, physical contact would calm her Mommy down, but it didn’t seem like it was working this time. 

“He asked both of us to dinner, Mommy,” Emma sighed, like she was exhausted from repeating herself. “I don’t really want to go either, but mom likes to keep literally everyone who holds any type of public office in Storybrooke close and on her side. She’s a people-pleaser.” 

Regina’s hands came down to clasp around Emma’s wrists that rested on her thighs as she fumed, “So, I’m just expected to have wine and polite conversation with the man you opened your slutty little legs for and gave my pussy to after you ran away from me the first time?” 

“Gosh, Mommy stop. It’s not like that—” Emma blushed. 

“With the man who stole your virginity from me?” the unimpressed woman interrupted, lifting Emma’s hands and pinning them above her head. 

“I didn’t know you then!” Emma tried to deflect, but Regina was not having any of it. 

“If you don’t call your mother and tell her that dinner is canceled, you will find yourself with your ankle chained to a bed in Granny’s BnB with my cock stuffing all of your holes for the entire weekend. Do not test me on this,” Regina’s grip around her baby’s wrists tightened. 

“But my mom will just bitch and moan at me if we don’t go for dinner with him,” the little girl whined. “I don’t want to hear her bullshit–” 

“Well, tell your mother that my mother is the fucking Mayor and Graham will find himself out of a job if he even so much as mentions your name again,” Regina’s growled, her nose pressing threateningly close to Emma’s. “And once my mother becomes Senator I’ll have Graham blacklisted from any law enforcement or public sector roles in Maine. Your family isn’t the only one with leverage here, little girl.” 

The blonde squirmed, her pussy becoming slick in her panties as Mommy overpowered her and pinned her down. She knew Regina was in the right - her Mommy’s wishes were more important than her family’s silly networking needs. 

“Okay, Mommy. I’m sorry,” Emma whimpered. “I’ll tell her that dinner is off tomorrow morning.” 

Moving the little girl’s wrists so that she was pinning them both down with only one of her hands, Regina’s free hand began sliding down Emma’s torso to the waistband of her panties. 

“Good girl,” the older woman gave her obedient baby a little peck on her lips, as her fingers slipped into the girl’s cotton panties. “Now, I think Mommy needs to give you a little reminder of who owns this little pussy…”

[your-mommy-ems]

6

 Maximilien 

That weekend, I find myself in the main atelier, looking over at the collection again. That’s when I realize the patterns on the model, assumingly supposed to be Amaryllis’s, don’t look right. There’s a bunch of them drawn out on the table too, and as I examine them, I frown. I have no idea who’s fucking measurements they’re using, but I know for a fact it’s not hers. And my suspicion is confirmed when I see a sticky note on the table, with measurements that definitely aren’t hers. 

I sigh. Don’t tell me they’ve been wasting their time tracing these out. We need it done as soon as possible, we still have to run test shoots in two weeks for now and we’ve barely got three months to finish everything before the next season begins. 

Begrudgingly, I pick up my phone and tap the number my dad sent to me just in case. Amaryllis picks up after a multitude of rings. “Hello?”

She still sounds sleepy. I smile to myself, knowing I’ve caught her when she’s still half awake, despite it being ten in the morning. “Good morning. Are you-”

“Oh my god,” she groans. “What do you want? It’s literally ten in the morning. Disrespectfully, fuck off.”

“Noted with thanks. What are you doing right now?”

“Thinking if I’m capable of murdering you.”

“You’re not. Are you free today?”

“I don’t wanna go in,” she complains. “Why?”

“I need to retake your measurements, they messed it up with someone else’s. Send me your address, I’ll go over.”

“Send me your address. Take it off. You have too many opinions,” she mocks, dropping her voice in a weak attempt to mimic mine. “You’re so bossy. Can we switch to FaceTime so you can see me giving you my middle finger?” 

“No, we cannot. Don’t be difficult, Miss Anderson,” I say, knowing the name pisses her off. 

“I’ll be even more difficult if you keep calling me that.” She hangs up, and I think that’s it, until a notification appears at the top of my screen, an address followed by an insult. 

I pocket my phone, shaking my head and smirking. 

Amaryllis

The doorbell rings. From my room on the second floor of the penthouse, I groan. Still in my pajamas, I drag myself down to open the door. 

Dammit. He’s in his stupid suit, tie straightened and pinned. I didn’t even know people still did that. Meanwhile, my hair is tamed down with only my fingers, and I’m wearing fluffy house slippers and a vintage Victoria’s Secret nightgown. I scowl before stepping aside to let him in. 

“Good morning,” he greets politely, the mockery in his tone evident. 

“Wrong,” I correct, “Bad morning.” 

“I’m glad I can make your day worse.” He produces a measuring tape from the inner pocket of his blazer jacket. 

I groan, sprawling myself out lazily on the sofa. 

“Come on. I can finish this in less than half an hour if you cooperate,” he says like someone would to an irritating child. Although I’m pretty sure he sees me as one. How old is this guy, even? 

“How old are you?”

“Why does that matter? Do you only date guys above a certain age?”

I pull a face at him. A small furrow forms between his brows. That little crease seems to be present whenever I am. “‘M just curious. Answer my question.”

“Twenty five.” 

I nod. I close my eyes, leaning back on the sofa. He sighs. “You’re wasting my time.”

“You woke me up. Deal with it.”

“Are you trying to find reasons to spend time with me?”

“In case you hadn’t noticed,” I point out, “we’ve only been alone in the same room twice. And both of those times were initiated by you.”

“Well, you did agree.”

“Do I really have a choice?”

“No, I suppose you don’t. Now am I just going to stand here while you nap even though you’ve just woken up or can I actually leave by eleven?”

“If dragging it out means I’m annoying you, then the first. Even if it’s annoying me too. You know-” I open my eyes, “you’re so bossy. It’s obnoxious.”

“Oh?” He raises an eyebrow. “I’m obnoxious? You’re the one picking fights like a stubborn, dramatic, five year old. If either of us are obnoxious, it’s not me.”

“See, the fact that you think so highly of yourself not to see it-“

“I do not- oh, you’re impossible. Now hurry up and stand up so I can get this done.”

“You’re not sneezy today,” I note, closing my eyes again. 

“I didn’t notice you spent so much effort counting the number of times I sneeze.”

“I don’t. It’s just that your nose always does this thing,” I wrinkle my nose to mirror him, “and it’s not doing it today.”

“Enough sneeze-talk. Stand up, Amaryllis.”

My eyes shoot open, and I look up at him with a smile. I tilt my head. “What did you call me?”

He looks away and sighs. “If I called you Miss Anderson your immature self would pick a petty fight again, and I’m not going to entertain that.”

“I am not immature. I can be mature when I feel like it, and if I was right now, then the both of us would just be snobby and stuck up and that’ll be no fun.” I extend my arm. “Pull me up.”

He shakes his head, grabbing my wrist and pulling me up. “Have you had breakfast yet?”

“I don’t eat breakfast.”

“Fine.” 

I stand, arms out, as he drags the tape—and his fingertips—over me. Down the lengths of my arm, around my bicep, lightly over my wrist. 

I flinch. “That’s ticklish.”

“Stand still.” 

He notes the measurements down in his phone. Then he stands up, drawing the measuring tape around my chest without warning. I blink up at him, flustered as he pinches the tape between his two fingers to take a look at the exact reading. Suddenly, I’m all too aware of the shallow rise and fall of my chest, my breasts pushing against the tape through the thin silk material of my nightgown with each movement. 

Then he drops the tape. My sigh is inaudible.  

“Your face is pink,” he comments, circling the tape around my waist after getting my bust measurements down into his phone. 

I scowl. “Okay, and?” 

“Nothing.” A hint of a smile plays on his lips. “Just an observation.” 

“I didn’t ask for your observations,” I flick his shoulder. 

“And neither do I ever ask for yours.” 

I roll my eyes. If I was told I’d have to see this guy almost every day for the next three months, I would’ve considered before accepting the job. I mean, I would say yes either way, but I wouldn’t have accepted immediately. 

I raise my eyes to his. He’s looking down at his phone, but I can still see his eyes. A ring of amber that blends into green, like the colors melted into the other. 

Maximilien

I feel Amaryllis’s eyes on me, but I pretend not to notice—or not to care. Tucking my phone in my pocket, I kneel down. 

“What are you doing?” 

“I need your thigh measurements too, you know,” I state. 

“Do you though? I mean-”

I shut her up by circling the tape around her thigh, just where her tiny nightdress ends. Her muscles tense and I grin to myself. “Why’re you clenching your thighs?” 

“Shut the fuck up. It’s a sensitive area, okay?” 

“Sure, whatever you say.” I go back to taking measurements as normal, and go back to measuring as normal. 

Without the overpowering scent of her perfume, she actually smells nice. Still the same vanilla scent, but only if I’m close enough to her—which I am right now. But she’s a lot more bearable without that stupid perfume. In fact, I’d hang around her if she always smelled like this. 

Amaryllis must feel awkward, because out of nowhere, she rambles, “So, can I call you, like, Max or something? Maximilien is such a mouthful. Also, who even spells Maximilian with an E? That’s so weird.” 

“It’s French. You’re welcome to call me Adrien if it means you’ll stop making fun of my name. No Max.” 

“Why not Max?” 

“I just don’t like it.”

“Adrien,” she says once, then repeats it again to test the word out. “Adrien? Maximilien. Yeah, no, Adrien is way better. But Maximilien is still kinda a shit name. I hate the name Max too, but I might just call you that since it annoys you.” 

“It does not annoy me,” I sigh. “It’s just not my preferred name.” 

“Whatever, Max. You know, you don’t seem to get annoyed easily. Matter of fact, you don’t seem to feel anything easily at all, except for- I dunno, stuck-up-ness.”

“Firstly, the word is arrogance,” I correct, standing up again. “And secondly, I do have emotions, whether you believe it or not. It’s just easier to not display everything I feel on my face, unlike some people.” I glance pointedly at her pouty lips. 

“Well, now that you’re done, are you gonna get out of my house?” 

“You’re a terrible hostess, you know that?” I tuck the measuring tape back into my pocket, shaking my head. 

“To be fair, I didn’t even invite you.”

“Still. Aren’t you going to offer me a drink?” I egg her on. One feeling that will always register on my face? The little smirk I can’t hold back when it comes to teasing her. 

“No. I hope you die of dehydration and crash your car on the way home.” She rolls her eyes, but I can see her smile. 

“I feel like you’re the physical equivalent of ‘I woke up and chose violence’.” 

“Me? Violent? Only verbally, but then you are too.” She places her hands on her hips. Her nipples peak through the silky pink material of her dress, and I’ve been trying my best to be respectful. 

Honestly, nothing about her wants me to be respectful. In all the ways. From her bitchy behavior and oozing confidence to her suggestive movements. 

If I could, I’d-

I shove the thought out of my head. Change of plans, I don’t want to stick around to annoy her anymore. I have to go before my thoughts become…anything other than professional. “Fine. I’ll see you Monday.”

She pouts at me, then laughs. “Sadly.” 

-💋

OOOH OOOH I LOVE LOVE LOVE..

And finally we find about the adrien part!! I kinda wanna know why he likes being called adrien now hehe. But this was SOOO good!!

ps: sorry this took me a while to respond to.

[what-if-nct]

guys- i finally watched the barbie movie!

of course tw for spoilers, but i think i’m going to talk about taeyong’s eyes for no reason at all-

like bro’s eyes are literal boba balls yo like i’ve never seen such black eyes in my entire existence.

bro’s eyes are so black, he could literally pass as a dam puppy, and they’re SO ROUND-

apparently his eyes are brown which is a DAM LIE- HOW THE HELL IS IT SO DARK? IS IT THAT POSSIBLE FOR EYES TO BE DARK???

ok, let’s get on with the spoilers.

well… where should i begin…? it’s not inherently… bad… but not good either. the first few minutes already put me off a bit… it was mostly the fact that the movie seemed a bit too woke. don’t get me wrong, i love the plot where it’s basically ken taking over barbie’s world, but i think it’s the fact that it’s a bit politically correct, like it’s trying to send some sort of message. i do like the diversity though, i never have a problem with movies having plus size, people of colour, and disabled people into the mix, and i’m glad they didn’t seem like they were forcing it, since it seemed as if they were showing barbies over the years, including now which has started to show different variety.

there are some unnecessary stuff they added, when the tween girl sasha commented “white woman saviour” and making her a bit too woke when commenting on how she felt about barbie dolls. it didn’t really sound like something middle schoolers would say, and just seemed very unrealistic. however, she does have a point, even though her saying “i kinda realised that barbies made me feel a bit insecure about the way i look” would of been better and would even give the point that barbies never really changed the world, or even her mindset to be exact.

also, i like the fact that the movie ended with barbie wanting to be a human, rather than continuing to be a flawless doll in a flawless world. it was a nice touch to it, with her asking for a gynaecologist — which idk why but i think it’s supposed to be a gag on the fact that she now has a vag instead of a job? i might get something wrong, please let me know if i do.

overall, i’d call the movie a 5/10. if they weren’t so woke, maybe 7 or 8/10.

I do agree on some things. My main gripe was I just wanted more Barbie. Like five times I was like I think all the Barbies should just stab Ken. I also don't understand exactly how he overturned the Barbie matriarchy. Like these Barbies are presidents, doctors, and lawyers. I liked the beginning and was hoping it would be Barbie self discovery and learning more about the human world then her choice to become human would have made more sense. Like actually trying to mend Gloria and Sasha's relationship and share perspectives. The feminist part at times felt forced and rushed. They kind of told the message instead of showing it. I wanted to feel it. I think Barbie seeing glimpses of girlhood at the end was beautiful that made me cry. I wish Barbie experienced even more real life experience of womanhood both good and bad. And shared it with all the Barbies. I also wish Gloria ended up with a higher position at Mattel or make Barbie CEO. I just think the Ken taking over Barbie land enraged me. But I do love Allan. I adore Allan. There should be more Allans. Like I get Barbieland is the real world reversed but kens were still treated with way more respect than women, he just wasn't given Barbies undivided attention and love which even if you're Ken you're not entitled to that. I just hated ken. Allan though, I want to find an Allan. Someone said Soobin is Allan and Soobin really is sooooo Allan. My main consensus is more Barbie less Ken. And more beautiful moments like Barbie meeting the woman at the bus stop and watching everyone at the park, and the moments with Ruth and those glimpses of girlhood, that really made me cry. I liked it, it was a sweet movie minus the Ken thing. I give it a C+ for plot, But an A+ for fashion, set design and casting it was a beautifully filmed movie and i want the little pink beach outfit and the camping outfit. My best friend and I ended the movie wanting to be blonde. My hair is blonde now and im going to help her bleach her hair. One thing that would have made it better Trixie Mattel. That's it just put Trixie Mattel in the movie.

[themainspoon]

Ok, nowhere in the article does it say he wants to own Wikipedia. What the article does state is that he has demanded that his followers stop donating to Wikipedia until it stops being "woke". This was as a response to the Twitter account "LibsofTikTok" posting about how much of their budget Wikipedia spends on "Equity" and "Saftey and Inclusion", lumping them together and describing them as "Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion" (or DEI for short, which is a right-wing dog whistle).

Wikipedia does need donations at the moment, but not because Musk is attempting to buy it. Wikipedia is owned and run by the Wikimedia Foundation, which is a nonprofit organisation. Wikipedia is not a publicly traded corporation, Elon could not buy it even if he wanted too.

The reason they need donations is because he is trying to get people to stop donating until they "restore balance to their editing authority". But what does this mean? It certainly isn't about trying to make Wikipedia as fair and equitable as possible, because Musk and his idiot goons are mad about them spending money on exactly that. No, it's because they think it is too left leaning, it doesn't support their political interests. The article points to a study that claims that apparently Wikipedia articles about right-wing figures and ideologies are more likely to be negative than left-wing ones, whether this is actual meaningful bias or if right-wing politicians and ideologies simply just look bad when you lay out the facts about them is up for debate. But it doesn't really matter.

This isn't really about Wikipedia, it's just more culture war bullshit. They're angry about the fact that Wikipedia is spending money on being more equitable and accessible, so that more people from more backgrounds with more worldviews can contribute. They see the spectre of "Wokeism" (or to cut away decades of euphemisms like "Political Correctness" and movements like "Gamergate" and return to the original term: "Cultural Marxism". Or to go even further back: "Cultural Bolshevism") everywhere. Elon Musk is willing spreading alt-right neo-nazi conspiracy theories, which honestly should surprise nobody.

While Christmas Day is the last day anyone should ask for you to spend more money, I'm asking you to spend more money. A dollar. Five dollars. Whatever you've got. Elon Musk wants to own Wikipedia - one of the last reliable sources out there, and the only one not owned by a billionaire or corporation.

If you can't donate, this message isn't for you and you should not feel bad.

If you can donate to Wikipedia to keep it out of Musk's filthy, blood-stained hands, please do.

Here's the donations page.

[manamoeba]

Let Them Bring Forth And Show Us What Will Happen

I love trying to predict the future. I am extraordinarily bad at it, but I can't stop myself. It's an excuse to be a cynic, to feel smarter than the average bear, and to tap into the omnipresent mystical instinct that drives people to buy crystal balls and develop 40-step sports betting predictors. It's fun.

I have almost never been correct, but I am still going to make some predictions for the coming year to look back on at the end of 2025 and laugh at. Three of them have already come true at time of writing, though one of those was a lay-up to get the year started on what is technically a win for me. For the others, I guess we'll just have to wait and see.

Dan's 2025 Predictions

My sister gets married

Elon Musk crashes out of the US government in embarrassing fashion and possibly gets in legal trouble over it

UK riots in the summer

UK shooting attack

Massive cyberattack on a developed country's infrastructure

Resurgence of atheism in the mainstream

Attempt made to oust Kier Starmer

Neuralink human trial goes horribly wrong

US aircraft shot down somewhere in the world

US makes overt reference to annexing or attacking Canada

Hayao Miyazaki retires/unretires

Food price riots in the developed world

Dick Van Dyke still alive

Ryan Reynolds fall from grace

Blade movie finally cancelled

"Hamilton" movie announced

"Nightmare Before Christmas" live-action remake announced

AI fraud among vulnerable people drives push for regulation

At least 3 corporate whistleblowers assassinated

"Woke" loses traction as a political catch-all and conservatives largely stop using it

Start Prepping UK gets enough traction to begin opening opportunities outside of the internet

Anyway no matter what happens, let's just get out there and try to have fun with it. Good luck guys!

[billconrad]

The Problem with Dialog

    The term dialog describes the conversation between one or more characters in writing. It ranges from the most important part of the book to being completely absent. Why and when is it necessary? That depends on the writing and story style. In my books, I use dialog to convey emotions and round out the characters, but other authors use it to convey information between characters or during a social interaction.

    How do I create dialog? I imagine myself speaking and sometimes verbalizing the words to get in the mood. I find this an easy and natural process, but there is a big problem. To explain the issue, this is what I said to my wife this morning. (I was not awake.)

     “Umm, hey. After work, I’m going to get… Mmm, go to the store after work. I need to buy… We’re out of soda because I think I drank the last can. You need some stuff? Mmm, from the store.”

    Well, not A+ writing, but you know what I am trying to ask. What should I have said? “I am going to the store after work to buy soda. Do you need anything?” True, but that is not what I said.

    People’s speech is loaded with all kinds of grammar boo-boos. Run-on sentences? Fragments? Dangling modifiers? Wrong words? Pause words? Pronoun disagreement? Improper sentence structure? Bring it!

    And then there is slang. I grew up in California and was bathed in local words. “Surf’s up” “Excellent” “Dude” “Gnarly” “Bummer” “Chill” “Wipe-out” “Bro” “No biggie” “Radical” “Bail” “SoCal” America has its own superset. “Cool” “Couch potato” “Come again?” “Hit it out of the park” “Home run” “Touchdown” “Woke” “Politically correct” “Cringe” “Legit” “Airhead” Plus world-wide slang and regional slang from other English-speaking countries. To make matters worse, slang is evolving, growing, and shrinking faster than dictionaries can be updated.

    Actual dialog is an absolute mess, and it is a wonder that we understand each other. Yet, the Chicago Manual of Style and my grade school teachers have other ideas. Please eliminate that poorly structured mess and replace it with proper English. There is the battle.

    I try to keep my dialog realistic by adding as much junk as possible. This includes slang, pause words, incoherent thoughts, side tangents, and bad grammar.

    Plus, mistakes! People are not perfect, and their natural speech contains errors. In fact, readers expect imperfection. This might include incorrect logic, forgetting details, miscommunication, or even an intentional lie. The result trips up readers. A good example is a mistake I inserted into the dialog of my second book. At the beginning of the story, the two main characters are in a tense situation, and he forgets her name. We forget all kinds of stuff in real life; this kind of mistake adds to realism. Yet, I had to be mindful of my readers, so she called him out about the error.

    My rule is, “If it mostly reads right, go with it.” Well, that is all nice until I try to slip something past a sharp-eyed reader or the dreaded grammar monger. This reader class hates improper sentence structure, slang, pause, and junk words. Satisfying this crowd while trying to make a good book is quite challenging.

    Plus, an author must consider the type of character who is speaking: A high school principal who is upset with a student. The mean biker ordering a drink. Street-smart kid convincing their friends they are tough. A rancher with a Texas accent. All their slang, style, and word choices will be different.

    The hard part is deciding what to clean up and what to leave as raw. Well, are there guides? There are, but they only advise, “Do your best.”

    The editing process feels like an uneasy truce between two warring factions. No matter what choices I make, words are going to die. It has been a long, evolving process. Looking back at the first draft of my first book, the dialog was far too sloppy. The edited result read stiff and unrealistic. My latest book contains an uneasy balance. I keep thinking, “How would they say this?” Arrg. I can only close my eyes and move on to the next sentence.

    You’re the best -Bill

    December 25, 2024

    Hey, book lovers, I published four. Please check them out:

   Interviewing Immortality. A dramatic first-person psychological thriller that weaves a tale of intrigue, suspense, and self-confrontation.

    Pushed to the Edge of Survival. A drama, romance, and science fiction story about two unlikely people surviving a shipwreck and living with the consequences.

    Cable Ties. A slow-burn political thriller that reflects the realities of modern intelligence, law enforcement, department cooperation, and international politics.

    Saving Immortality. Continuing in the first-person psychological thriller genre, James Kimble searches for his former captor to answer his life’s questions.

    These books are available in softcover on Amazon and in eBook format everywhere.

[gobind-631]

…[Note no 3.7]..[Equivalent Chatgpt “as was “ version..below]

### Translation and Error-Corrected English Version

---

One day, I met a person like this (also at the eatery). You won’t believe what he said—it might even make you laugh. He said:

**Him:**

You must have noticed how, in many states, certain things happen after elections. Recent examples include MP and Rajasthan (referring to what transpired after the announcement of results in these two states).

Sir, in these states, seasoned veterans of the party were overlooked for the CM posts. (Mind you, these two are considered stalwarts of the party—seasoned politicians). Instead, much younger and less experienced individuals (compared to these veterans) were selected for these posts by the party.

Maybe these younger leaders are compromised in some way, making them easier to control from the center. (I don’t know for sure; I’m just guessing. It’s possible they have squeaky-clean records.)

Do you know why the party might have done this? I think this was their way of subtly telling these veterans:

*"Brothers, you left no stone unturned in trying to make us lose. If not for our machines, which saved us in both these states, you know you would have lost. So, you can no longer hold these posts. We now want to consider new people for these roles."*

In a way, these new leaders will bring fresh energy and leadership to these states.

The party seems to want to build a foundation in these two states through such appointments. These individuals will always be grateful for their surprise appointments and will remain loyal to the party’s decisions.

Have you noticed this phenomenon often? As soon as election results are announced in a state and a new CM is installed, gas cylinder prices, fuel costs, and taxes are increased.

Do you know why this is done? Doesn’t it seem like the party is mocking the public—as if they’re taking revenge for something?

This should be seen differently. They might do this to send a message to the people:

*"We know you intended to make us lose. If not for our machines/processes, you would have succeeded. Now that we understand your intentions, you’ll have to pay the price for voting against us."*

[**It was clear that this person wasn’t normal from any angle. When something seems out of the ordinary or hard to understand, people tend to assign meaning to it according to their mindset to make sense of it.

This man had likely come up with such reasoning to rationalize things in his own mind.**]

---

I told him:

**Me:**

First, tell me why you’re not taking this at face value. Why are you trying to complicate and overthink such things?

This kind of thinking is often found in liberals, "woke" individuals, leftists, and elitists.

It seems like you cannot accept your continuous losses and reversals—it’s causing you a lot of pain.

Don’t you think the party was genuinely trying to bring new energy and leadership into these states by selecting younger leaders?

The selected CMs have clean records. This is a seasoned party—a ruthless election-winning machine.

Sir, they must have made this decision based on some wisdom or strategy that comes from experience. We’re not in politics, so we cannot fully understand such things.

It’s true that when new, young leadership comes in, it often brings fresh energy, which can benefit the party greatly in the future.

Now, those veterans are indeed seasoned statesmen and politicians, so this decision must have been painful. But that’s the beauty of this party—it has members who aren’t selfish and are willing to sacrifice for the larger cause of the party. That’s no small thing.

The opposition, on the other hand, is full of selfish people—perhaps that’s why they’ve been losing repeatedly.

---

**Me (continued):**

Brother, a lot is done during the pre-election season—things like tax reductions, welfare schemes, freebies, reductions in gas cylinder and fuel prices, and similar announcements.

This isn’t wrong. From my perspective, this is just strategy. As far as I know, every party indulges in such tactics.

Why do you try to overthink everything?

Couldn’t it simply be that international crude oil prices suddenly increased? Such events can have widespread impacts—prices go up, inflation rises, transportation becomes more expensive, and naturally, gas cylinders and fuel also become pricier.

---

**Me (continued):**

When taxes and fuel prices increase, the revenue ultimately goes to the government’s treasury. That money is eventually used for the public’s benefit—for building new roads, expressways, highways, airports, metro projects, and railway projects, and for providing world-class infrastructure.

This improves connectivity, attracts foreign investment, and brings business to villages, towns, and tier-2 or tier-3 cities. It generates jobs, reducing the need for youths from villages and small towns to migrate to big cities for work.

This money also funds welfare schemes and brings in more foreign investments.

So ultimately, you, as a citizen, benefit from all of this. Holding a grudge or misunderstanding these actions only shows your naivety—nothing more.

---

### Error Corrections:

1. **Grammatical fixes**: Corrected tense inconsistencies, sentence fragments, and missing prepositions.

2. **Clarity**: Ambiguous phrases like *"koi matlab dhoond hi leta hai"* were clarified while retaining the conversational tone.

3. **Sentence structure**: Improved readability by restructuring overly long or fragmented sentences.

4. **Semantic coherence**: Maintained the logic and meaning while ensuring the flow was smooth and logical.

5. **Cultural context**: Kept the emotional and informal tone of the dialogue intact, making it relatable yet precise.

PS:

Woh compromised CM ko install kiye jaane wali baat..inki galti nahi ki inke mann main iss kisam ki baat aayi thi.

Duniya bhar ki Govts aksar iss kisam ke petre ko (from time to time )aajmaya karti hai..

Sab jaante hai ..aisi cheezien toh hamesha se hoti aayi hai..ab chahe woh kisi bhi desh ki govt kyon na ho..toh shyad isiliye aise keh /soch rahe the woh..lekin yahan pe..iss case main/iss wali baat ko lekar veh completely galat hai..(waise veh khud bhi keh rahe ki ..”..ho sakta hai ..main galat soch raha hoon..”)

Ek aur baat..sarkaren badla thodi liya karti hai ..apni citizenry se…(khas kar aisi sarkar..jisne apne vision koh hi shyad Ram Rajya wale vision se align kar/jod rakha hai(mujhe toh lagta hai..Iss sandesh ko depane ke liye/udhyesh se hi shyad iss mandir ko banwaya gaya hai..inke dwara))..woh toh apni citizenry ki hith ka hi socha karti hai hamesha..hai na?..kaafi unfortunate hai..veh/yeh mahanubhav ab agar aise sochne lage hai toh..

Overall..woh joh keh rahe hai..iss se ek cheez ka saaf pata chal jaata hai..woh yeh hai..

Kai baar aap jab kisi cheez ko samajh nahi paate ho..tab aap ka dimaag uss baat ko samajh paane ke liye..tarah tarah ki kahaniya gadh sakta hai..waise insaani propensity hi samjho aap..iss baat ko..

Isi baat ko saaf darshate hue dekhe ja sakta hai veh..yahan par..