#white house hoax

[grits-galraisedinthesouth]

This is ridiculous! Dr O'Connor is giving Osteopaths a bad name.

KJP IS NOT BIDEN’S DOCTOR. WHERE IS his physician Dr. O’Connor?!!

@PressSec is going IN CIRCLES spinning the ENDLESS lies — The lies and coverup are NOT working. It is a DOCUMENTED FACT that a neurologist who specializes in Parkinson’s Disease and movement disorders was called to the First Family clinic by the President’s personal physician. Who did he see and for what reason?? The American people deserve to know the TRUTH!!!

[likefolksongs]

i need y’all to stop believing such obvious fucking enragement bait that seeks to justify not voting in the election this november.

[confessedlyfannish]

Writing Prompt #11

It's an innocent ("please," Jason sneers, "there's nothing innocent about a plagiaristic propaganda machine encouraging minors to dance for sick ol' pervs while it spews misogynistic hate speech.'"

"okay, boomer,"

"the fuck did you just call me, replacement?") TikTok, one of those ones that kind of simmers in the background for a few weeks until someone with a decent enough following posts it on the Platform Formerly Known as Twitter and from there it seriously catches traction, blowing up until Tim knocks on Bruce's office door, phone in hand. Damian stands behind him, arms crossed and clearly simmering.

Bruce, fresh off a series of zoom conferences, raises an eyebrow.

"Okay, so you haven't seen it," Tim decides, striding forward.

Bruce's eyebrow jumps a smidge higher, on the edge of concern, as Tim thrusts his phone into his grasp.

"So," he begins, reaching over to refresh the mobile page "there's a video that's been making the rounds on Twitter and—well you should probably see it," He sighs over Damian's scoff as he clicks through the pop-up asking him to sign in or join TikTok, and presses "Watch Again", unmuting the video.

🎶 "Doo, badoo-badoo-badoo Badoo-badoo-badoo-badoo,"🎶 an upbeat background song hums as someone, presumably a student, films a school hallway with their phone. They walk past students talking near their lockers, some of whom flash peace signs and silly grins as the camera swings their way before continuing on.

But the main point Bruce gets stuck on is the all lowercase white text at the center of the screen that an automated woman's voice awkwardly narrates:

"when you go to school with bruce wayne's other long lost lovechild"

The student filming comes up behind a much taller student who faces away from him, in conversation with a black haired pale teenaged girl. She spots the cameraman and shoots him a confused, disgruntled look, saying something to the boy who then turns around.

Bruce quietly observes as the camera zooms in on a boy around Tim's page, possibly older. Tall and broad-shouldered, with a strong jaw, he raises an eyebrow at the one filming, looking beyond the camera, pitch black hair with blue undertones falling into his blue eyes. The camera momentarily zooms too far into those eyes then abruptly pulls back as he quirks a puzzled smile at the viewer, mouthing out an easily understandable "hi?".

The TikTok ends and seamlessly transitions to a person balancing their cat on an exercise ball with minimal success and this time Bruce presses the Watch Again button. The heart on the right side claims 750k likes.

Damian scoffs, louder, as it ends. "Clearly it is a hoax, but it has been popular among my classmates."

"The board hasn't made much noise about it—" Tim starts.

"And they won't," Bruce says, lifting his eyes from his phone. "Wayne Industries doesn't give statements on videos like these, no matter how viral they become. I've been getting lovechild claims since before I adopted Dick."

Which Tim knows, which is why his insistence on showing Bruce this one raises his hackles. He pins Tim down with a stare and despite Tim's perfected PR mask, he can see Tim is unsettled.

"B...he really, really looks like you." Tim admits. Damian scoffs for a third time and Tim shoots him a glare, "I get it, you don't see it, but you haven't seen the pictures of Bruce when he was younger."

"I don't need to!" Damian says angrily. "You're all being ridiculous!"

"All?" Bruce asks. Tim shifts awkwardly. "The family group chat has been talking," he says.

"I see," Bruce says. Because he does. Many claim Damian to be his doppelganger, but the boy actually favors Talia not just in skin tone but in the shape and color of his eyes, as well as the soft slope of her mouth and ears. Whether those features will sharpen once he goes through puberty is anyone's guess.

But this young man has Bruce's eyes. Martha's eyes.

That night they have a suspiciously full house for dinner, with even Jason dropping in, but no one says anything until Barbara wheels in for dessert, carrying a manila folder on her lap.

"What?" she says, when everyone stares. "Dick told me it was crème brûlée today!"

Bruce extends a hand wordlessly, and Barbara sheepishly hands the folder over.

"Bruce," she says, before he can open it, "I wouldn't have looked into this normally, but,"

"Just say it," Jason says, leaning back in his chair. "Take away the gray hairs, the receding hairline, and the wrinkles and the kid's a dead match."

"Take it back, Todd," Damian growls, "Father has a very full head of hair!"

"Not to mention a failed track record at keeping it in his pants, Exhibit A," Jason continues, pointing a fork at Damian, "oh wait," he says gleefully, "kid is definitely 18, so I guess that would make you Exhibit B!"

The table erupts, cutlery tinkling as Damian gets a knee up on the table to hurl himself at a cackling Todd, Dick jumping up to grab him as the others lean out of the way—

"Ahem!" Everyone stops cold as Alfred stands in the doorway, porcelain ramekins of crème brûlée stacked perfectly on a silver tray. Under his gaze, everyone sits back down, Damian and Jason both quietly uttering a "Sorry Alfie/Alfred," as they straighten up.

Bruce is oblivious to the chaos, Barbara biting her lip beside him as he stares blankly inside the folder at the printed copy of an adoption certificate.

Two days and several million likes later, another TikTok goes viral from the same user. Caught in the moment as whoever is filming runs up to the group, the same young man is chatting with a blonde in a red letterman jacket, a partially formed crowd around them. Even with one leg still in the cafeteria table, he towers over everyone.

"—sh. Look, we're all possibly Bruce Wayne's son!" the boy snarks. He has his hands out, palms up as if he's making a great point, and as he looks around he catches sight of the cameraman and his smirk drops.

"Ah Mac, c'mon dude not again—" and the TikTok ends.

[fratttymatty]

Southern Shift

(All characters are 18+)

Maddox had never been much of a believer in magic. Sure, he’d seen the viral videos, heard the wild stories, but he figured they were all some sort of elaborate hoaxes or clever editing tricks. His life had always been a straightforward one: an 18-year-old guy from a fairly progressive city on the coast. He was used to being who he was—a proud gay man, confident and comfortable in his own skin. He didn’t fit in with every crowd, but that was fine by him. He had his friends, his passions, and a future in design and art lined up after graduation.

But when a strange e-mail showed up one Wednesday evening, everything Maddox knew about his life was thrown into chaos.

It came from a source called TrueVision Enterprises, a company he’d never heard of, with a subject line that read: "Your Destiny Awaits — Experience a New Life." Curiosity got the best of him. What could possibly go wrong?

It was a poorly-written message, vague but cryptic. “Ever wonder what it’s like to be someone else? To experience a life you’ve only imagined? Click here to find out.”

A grin spread across his face. Who wouldn’t be intrigued? Maybe it was a prank. Maybe it was a scam. But it was better than staring at the same four walls all night. So, against better judgment, he clicked the link.

The screen went black for a moment, then flashed with a blinding light.

When Maddox opened his eyes, everything had changed.

It wasn’t just the environment—though the suburban neighborhood around him looked radically different from his usual cityscape. No, it was something far deeper, more visceral. He felt it in his bones, in his muscles, in the very way he was standing.

Looking down, he saw the first signs. His body had undergone a remarkable transformation. Gone was his lean but soft physique, the figure of a 5'11" city guy with a slight build. In its place was something else entirely: a lean, toned build with defined muscles in his arms, chest, and legs. His body felt stronger, like he could throw a punch without thinking about it, or lift heavy things without breaking a sweat. But what really caught his attention was his height.

He blinked, staring down at himself. He was taller. Not just a little taller, but by a significant amount. Maddox used to be 5'11", but now, standing at 6'3", he had a commanding presence. His legs stretched out longer than he remembered, and the new height gave him an imposing posture. He’d never been the tallest in his group, and now he towered over everyone, even the people around him who seemed much bigger and broader than he remembered.

His new height felt natural, like it had always been this way. But it also made him feel powerful, larger-than-life in a way that was completely unfamiliar.

He glanced at the house around him. It was large, a two-story place with wide windows, a white picket fence, and an immaculately-kept lawn. The interior was similarly pristine, and the smell of fresh wood and leather filled the air. This wasn't his apartment. This wasn’t anywhere he recognized. But something about the space felt... familiar, as though it was his home now.

He staggered, momentarily disoriented, and made his way to a nearby mirror.

What he saw almost made him fall over.

A stranger stared back at him. His face was familiar, but only in the way you recognize a reflection in a window before you really focus on it. His hair—blonde, curly, and wild—was cut into a mullet that reached just past the top of his neck, the ends flaring out like a halo of unruly curls. He didn’t remember ever styling his hair that way, yet the new version of himself seemed to suit it effortlessly. The loose curls framed his jawline, drawing attention to the newly defined muscles there.

His eyes, once a sharp hazel, had turned a lighter shade of blue. His expression was different too—stoic, even smug, like someone who knew exactly who he was and had no time for nonsense.

Then he looked down at himself, taking in his outfit. A plaid, button-up shirt—tight across his chest but still comfortable—clung to his muscular frame. He wore a worn leather belt with a large, shining buckle, a pair of jeans that fit just right and boots that seemed made for walking through dirt. And of course, a tan, weathered cowboy hat sat perched on top of his head.

Everything about his appearance screamed “redneck,” yet it was as if he'd always been this way. As if this transformation was simply an outward reflection of who he was now.

He stared at his reflection, utterly speechless, before hearing a voice from behind him.

"Adam, honey, come on down here! Dinner’s ready!"

He froze. Adam? That wasn’t his name. His name was Maddox.

But when he tried to say it—when he opened his mouth to speak—it wasn’t "Maddox" that came out.

"Yessir, mom," the new voice said, gruff and confident, with a drawl he didn't recognize. It was his voice, but it felt... wrong.

Before he could think further, his feet carried him toward the stairs. Every movement felt more natural, more instinctual. He didn’t have to think about walking anymore; his body just moved.

The moment he stepped into the kitchen, he was greeted by two older figures: a tall man with a thick beard and a sun-worn face, and a woman with perfectly-coiffed blonde hair and a warm, motherly smile.

"Adam, you hungry, baby?" The woman—his new "mother"—asked in a thick Southern accent, as she placed a plate of fried chicken and mashed potatoes on the table.

"Yeah, looks good, mom." His voice was smooth, authoritative, and familiar. It was like he had always talked this way.

The man, his new father, patted him on the back. "Atta boy. Gotta keep up your strength if you’re gonna help me with the truck this weekend."

Adam nodded, suddenly feeling an unfamiliar rush of excitement at the thought of working on a truck. "Sounds good, pops."

His father gave him a knowing look. "Glad to hear it. Gotta be ready to defend this house. Keep it in shape." There was a pause, and then a sly smirk crossed his face. "Though, I gotta say, I’m more worried about that little gay friend of yours. What’s his name again? Cody, right?"

Adam’s heart skipped. Cody was his best friend. But the way his father said it—the sneer in his voice—felt wrong. His thoughts tried to resist, but the tug of new instincts, of new feelings, pushed him to respond in a way he would have never before.

"Yeah, Cody’s a nice guy," Adam said, his voice dripping with casual disdain, "but man, he’s just… different, y’know? He’s always talking about stuff I don’t care about, like his art or whatever. He’s not really my kind of guy. Dude’s all wrapped up in his feelings and thinks he’s some kind of big thinker. He’s just not built for the real world."

Adam laughed and shrugged, the words flowing out like they were second nature. It felt good, somehow, to say it out loud. The Maddox part of him—the part that would’ve fiercely defended Cody, that would’ve fought anyone who insulted him—seemed like a distant memory.

His father chuckled, clearly approving. "Well, I’m glad to hear you’re making better choices, son. You don't need someone like that holding you back."

"Exactly," Adam said with a grin. "I’ve got enough on my plate, worrying about football, work, and, you know, my future. Guys like Cody? They just complicate things."

The following day, Adam found himself at a school that seemed to be from another world. The high school was old, with large wooden bleachers in the gym and the faint smell of tobacco in the air. Kids in cowboy boots and trucker hats roamed the halls, and there was an air of casual arrogance in the way they all carried themselves.

When he walked into the classroom, heads turned. He wasn’t used to this kind of attention, but now, standing at his new, imposing height of 6'3", Adam felt like he belonged. He loomed over the students around him, towering above them with a sense of superiority that felt right, even though it was still so new. His height made him feel like the guy everyone respected—or, if they didn’t, they at least stayed out of his way.

"Hey, Adam," a guy called from the back of the room. He had a thick jaw and a cocky grin. "How’s it going, man?"

"Good, bro," Adam replied, easily slipping into the role of the guy everyone wanted to hang out with. The guy who didn’t care about anything except his truck, his friends, and his future. A life of simple pleasures, uncomplicated by anything like "progressive politics" or "diversity."

But the most striking change came when he spotted her in the hallway. Emily.

She was the cheerleading captain. Blonde, athletic, and with a smile that lit up the entire school. Adam hadn’t expected to feel such a strong pull toward her, but as he watched her walking toward him, he felt his chest puff out with pride, the feeling of possession he didn’t quite understand.

"Hey, Adam," Emily called, giving him a wink. She wore her cheer uniform—tight, short, and red—and looked every bit the picture of what his new life was supposed to be. "You ready for the game on Friday? I’ve got your back, big guy."

"Always," Adam said, his voice dropping an octave. He felt confident, even cocky, as he walked toward her, putting an arm around her waist as they headed to class together. She was his girlfriend, after all, and that was just the way things were now. The idea of a different reality, a different version of himself, felt so distant.

By the time school ended, Adam was fully in his new life. Football practice had been intense, but Adam had breezed through it. As a starting wide receiver, he was the star of the team. He felt invincible on the field, his new body moving with strength and agility. The other players had all been high-fiving him, slapping his back, calling him "the beast."

And as for Emily? She was always by his side, chatting him up with that sweet, familiar smile. They talked about the weekend plans—probably a party at Brad's, a bonfire down by the lake—and Adam felt perfectly at home.

When the final bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, Adam had only one thought: This is my life now. He was Adam, the 6'3", football-playing redneck with a cheerleader girlfriend and a world of opportunities at his feet.

The old Maddox, the artist from the city, was gone.

And Adam? Adam was everything he’d ever needed to be.

[jeankluv]

But daddy I love him - Satoru Gojo [ch.05]

short series

summary: If there was a phrase that could describe you, it was; good girl. You had been a good girl all your life, following your father's orders and being as modest as possible. You had focused your entire life on being a perfect lady, one who could be a good wife in the future. This is how you had been raised and how you had been instructed. But your whole world was shaken when one warm summer morning, your eyes met the bold, defiant and sharp gaze of a young man with white hair.

tags: 18, female!reader, set in 1700s-1800s, loss of virginity, misogyny language and thinking, oral sex, fingering, innocent oc, unsafe sex, vaginal sex, manipulative, eating disorders, abusive parents, no use of y/n, mention of pregnancy, mentions of abortion, character death, nightmares

words: 5,2k

Notes: enjoy this last chapter, just know that the epilogue still needs to happen 💋

ch.01 | ch.02 | ch.03 | ch.04 | ch.05 | epilogue

Jujutsu Kaisen materialist

Your gaze was on the window, you had barely moved a muscle since the sun had risen. But it had been like that since your father read that letter. You didn't know how much time had passed, you had stopped counting, the only thing you knew was that summer was coming to an end. Was it September? You didn't know, nothing mattered to you anymore.

You knew Rose was in the room, despite everything she still came and took care of you. Every morning she was there, trying to cheer you up and make you smile again, to pick up one of your books, to go to the market with her.

The only time you got out of your bedroom was when Mr. Harrison visited. You felt nauseous when seeing him and when he talked about how excited he was to take you with him to his house and finally have an heir. You felt sick to your stomach, but you stood there in silence, feeling how your heart didn’t beat anymore.

“My lady…” Rose whispered. “You need to take the herbs.”

You turned your head and looked at Rose. “Don't you think that if there was a baby, that baby is no longer there?”

Rose grimaced and sat up on the bed. “I don't know, my lady. But your mother insists that she keep drinking it until you bleed again.” You just nodded and took the glass from her hands.

You felt the bitter taste pass through your throat and the unpleasant smell invade your nostrils. It was so unpleasant that your eyes watered and a gag shot up your throat. You closed your eyes tightly and swallowed.

“I know you don't want to hear this…” Rose whispered. “But the wedding is in three days.”

“You won’t come with me right.” You raised your knees and rested your forehead on them.

“No, my lady.” You could notice the anguish and sadness in her tone. “Mr. Harrison doesn't want anyone from the house to accompany you, he will provide you with maids in his house."

You closed your eyes and nodded. “You can leave now Rose.”

“My lady… please eat something.” She said walking towards the door.

You heard the door open and then close. You sighed heavily and lay back down on the bed, looking again at the blue sky outside. No matter how much you thought about Satoru, you had a hard time believing, you had a hard time accepting that everything had been a hoax. That you had been manipulated by him.

Maybe it was the fault of your heart, the fault of falling in love the way you did for that man with white hair and crystalline eyes. Maybe it was all your fault and you should never have given him your heart the way you gave it to him.

But his voice and his words echoed in your head.

Trust me.

We will live in a house by the sea, you will have your own library.

I don’t plan on hurting you.

His memory was fresh in your mind and the pain was intense.

You rolled over yourself and you cowered between the sheets, mulling over the matter. The letter talked about some documents, something about the nobles. Satoru told you about it, how your family and a few others had refused the king's reform proposal 20 years ago and had paid for it. And some time later Satoru's parents had been murdered and Satoru's brother had spent his entire life investigating to clarify the facts and they had taken him to your family.

There was something that didn't quite fit you in that whole matter and that is, if Satoru was thinking of betraying you from the beginning, why did he tell you the plan he had in the middle? Maybe he thought you were going to be extremely stupid not to say anything.

You shook your head and tried to remember the last encounter between the two of you.

“I told you.” He said with a smile. “Before you finish your second book I will be back.”

“I trust you.” You whispered.

“Just… believe me.”

Were those promises empty? You stood up from the bed and walked around your room, feeling your body aching and heavy.

But you couldn’t shake the feeling that Satoru knew something was happening. And that’s why he looked like that the last time you saw him.

Covering yourself with a thin jacket, you left the room and walked looking for a specific figure. If Rose was your most trusted person in that house, that person was the second most trusted.

When your eyes met his straight figure and his gaze looking straight ahead, you smiled and approached him.

“Nanami.” You whispered causing his head to turn in your direction.

“My lady.” He said, bowing his head subtly to show her respect.

“Nanami, I need your help. But first walk me to my room.” You turned around. “I don't want anyone to hear us.” You walked, feeling Nanami's footsteps on your back.

When you got to your room, you made sure that no one was in the hallway and you closed the door. You walked to the couch and looked at Nanami.

"I need you to do me a favor." Nanami nodded slightly. “I have a feeling that something happened to Duke Gojo and I would like you to check it out. You and Rose are the people I trust the most, which is why I want to entrust you with this mission.”

“I will gladly do it my lady.” He said bowing.

“But before you leave, my parents are gone, right?” Nanami nodded and you felt your heart accelerate at the idea that had been established in your mind. “I need you to accompany me to my father's office and watch the door while I look for something.”

“No problem my lady.” You smiled and thanked him.

Waiting for a while to pass, you and Nanami left the room, trying not to be seen by any curious eyes. As you stood in front of the door of your father's office, you felt your heart pound and your nerves begin to attack your body. You took a breath and looked at Nanami, who nodded giving you the signal to enter.

Nanami stayed outside, keeping watch and preventing anyone else from entering. You moved through the room quietly and carefully, and among the pile of papers and letters that were on the desk you began to search and read, wanting to find something, some clue that would indicate that Satoru had not lied to you, that there was something more behind all that.

You found two letters that caught your attention, one of them had a stamp that you didn't recognize and the other was a letter addressed to your parents. It was a letter from one of the servants informing your parents about how you had been having premarital relations with the duke. You crumpled the letter slightly and sighed, there was nothing you could do about it now.

You took the letter with the unknown seal and began to read, the letter was addressed to your parents and talked about the crown prince and how to change the balance in favor of the person who sent the letter.

“My lady.” Nanami called you. “I think it’s better if we leave.” You nodded.

With that letter in your hands, you left the office followed by Nanami's steps. You felt your heart racing, that letter could mean something. You knew that Satoru was a friend of the crown prince and that your parents had not disagreed with the king's reforms, so this could mean something. But that seal, you didn't know which house it belonged to, nor were the names known.

“Nanami.” You called him when you got to the room and, uncrumpling the letter, you showed it to him. “Do you know this seal?”

You could see how Nanami was stunned looking at the letter. “Was this in his father's office?” You nodded confused. “My lady, if this letter is found by the palace, the entire family will be condemned for treason.”

You opened your eyes surprised. "What? What do you mean?" Nanami sighed and pointed to the seal.

“The seal belongs to the king's brother, that is, to the uncle of the future king.” You looked at him confused, you had never heard of the current king having a brother. “You are young to remember, but the king had a little brother. He was sent into exile after he tried to assassinate the prince. The king took pity on him and did not kill him, he simply exiled him.” You opened your mouth in surprise.

“Did this person have anything to do with the event 20 years ago? Where several noble families opposed the king?” Nanami nodded and you sighed. “Nanami, I fear that the duke knew about this and that something has happened to him.” You looked at him. “Please find out.” Nanami nodded once again.

“I will leave right now my lady.” He bowed his head and left your room.

When the door closed and you were alone in your room again, you sat on your bed and put your hands to your face, terrified to think that something could have happened to Satoru and that your parents knew about it.

It was terrifying to think that Satoru could be… No, no. You shook those thoughts out of your head and tried to think positively. That Satoru hadn't betrayed you and that he would be fine. You just needed Nanami to return and confirm all your suspicions. And you prayed that this would happen before the wedding that would take place in three days.

Lying in bed, you stared at the ceiling, the night darken the room and the accumulated fatigue that you were carrying covered you peacefully. But it was not like that. That night you couldn't rest.

Nightmares tormented you. The image of a dead Satoru haunted you throughout the night, reflecting in your tired eyes every time you closed them. The dreams were vivid and unrelenting, showing you scenes of Satoru lying lifeless, his once vibrant presence reduced to an eerie stillness. You saw his bright blue eyes, usually full of mischief and warmth, now dull and empty. You watched as the confident smile faded, replaced by an expression of eternal peace that brought you no comfort.

You tossed and turned, the sheets tangling around your legs as you struggled to find a way out of the nightmare. Every time you woke up suddenly, your heart would race and your breathing would be difficult. The silence of the room was oppressive and the darkness suffocating, leaving you gasping for air with every breath you tried to take.

You shifted between the sheets when the first rays of the sun began to penetrate through the curtains. A new day began and in your mind and heart there was only the anguish of knowing Satoru's whereabouts and condition. You got out of bed and opened the window, letting the breeze fill the room and the smell of the sea occupy your nostrils.

“My lady?” Rose entered the room with a surprise look on her face.

“Rose…” You smiled at her. “Good morning.”

“My lady, how are you feeling?” She approached you and held your hands with care.

“I am…” You sighed. Not knowing what to respond.

“It’s okay my lady.” She tried to calm you down.

You sat down on your dresser and looked at her through the mirror. “I send Nanami to investigate the whereabouts of the duke.” Rose looked at you, intrigued to know more. “Rose, I think something happened to the duke and I think my parents have been involved.”

Rose swallowed and opened her eyes slightly. “My lady, are you sure?”

You nodded and clenched your fists. “If it's true... and what they did is discovered, the palace will kill us.”

“My lady”

“Rose, we must find some way to leave this place before the wedding, if Nanami does not arrive with news before.”

Rose nodded. “I will be with you my lady.”

You felt your chest fill and your eyes water as you realized you weren't alone. “Thank you Rose, thank you.”

“No problem my lady.” She gave you a warm smile. “But my lady…” You looked at her. “Your parents and Mr. Harrison will be arriving today.”

You sighed. “Alright.”

The morning and part of the afternoon passed faster than you would have liked. Anguish and uncertainty had established themselves in your body, they almost seemed like an extension of you, one that was dragging you down. Your hands were sweaty and your heart rate was fast, having to meet your parents and Mr. Harrison was like putting a noose around you. You were afraid but you wanted to be brave, even if it was for once in your life, you didn't want to tremble.

The carriage carrying your parents and Mr.Harrison arrived and now you looked at your reflection in the mirror while Rose brushed your hair. Your gaze was fixed on your face but at the same time not, you were lost in your own thoughts, trying to find something so that the wedding would be delayed or canceled.

“My lady…” Rose whispered as she let the brush down. “I have an idea that might help us win some time.”

You looked up and looked at Rose through the mirror. "Tell me." Rose leaned close to your ear and whispered her idea to you.

It was crazy but it would be a shock and Mr. Harrison would even want to cancel the wedding. You lightly laughed and looked at Rose.

"Thank you."

“I am here for you my lady.”

You looked out the window and saw how the sun was setting in the sea. You took a deep breath and stood up from the chair. The room was beginning to be illuminated only by the specifically placed candlelight. Asking Rose to wait for you in the room, you left and walked through the hallways, feeling your legs give out with every step you took.

You looked out the window and saw how the sun was setting in the sea. You took a deep breath and stood up from the chair. The room was beginning to be illuminated only by the specifically placed chandeliers. Asking Rose to wait for you in the room, you left and walked through the hallways, feeling your legs give out with every step you took.

The room was filled with the faint smell of old books and ink, a testament to the countless hours spent here studying and negotiating.

Your parents sat on the side of the desk, their expressions a mix of expectation and concern. Mr. Harrison was standing by the window, his back to you as he watched the darkening night. The silence in the room was oppressive, the weight of the impending conversation pressing down on you.

“Just two more days and we will all be family.” Your father proudly smiled.

“Yeah.” Mr. Harrison proudly sat on the chair. “Hopefully a baby will also come soon.” He looked at you and you felt nauseous.

You took a deep breath and stood up in your seat, trying to show a little confidence and strength. “Father, mother, my hand has already been asked for by another man.” You spoke without showing any hint of tremor.

You knew that talking about this in front of Mr. Harrison was not the right thing to do but you had to find some way to escape from this or the wedding would be delayed.

Your mother ground her teeth and said your name in a harsh, cutting tone. "Shut up."

“Darling.” Mr. Harrison called you, with that nickname that ok his lips sounded so disgusting. “Duke Gojo only came here and used you. You really want to marry that boy?”

You clenched your fists and clenched your teeth as you looked at the cynical smile that had spread across his face. Your blood boiled as the atmosphere in the office became increasingly overwhelming and cutting.

You wanted to get out of there but you couldn't, you had to delay that wedding. Or else, in two days you would be damned forever.

“Honey.” Your father spoke, with that false tone that you had already gotten used to hearing. “Mr. Harrison is right, don't you think about the damage that boy has done to us?”

Looking at him you wanted to laugh out of anger and ask your parents if they knew the damage they had caused to you for years and that Satoru had been the only one who had managed to make you feel alive.

Filling your lungs with air you spoke or rather screamed. “But daddy I love him!”

It had been years since you stopped calling your father that, but you knew that if you threw a tantrum in the middle of that place, your parents would be embarrassed and maybe, with luck, Mr. Harrison would put the wedding on hold.

You looked at their faces and could see how your mother was red with rage and your father clenched his teeth tightly.

“Well darling.” Mr. Harrison spoke, cutting the tension in the air. “I’m sure you will grow to love me too.”

You bit your lip and the crazy idea that Rose had proposed crossed your mind. What else could you lose?

“I’m having his baby!” You said out loud.

“What?!” Your mother and father screamed with speechless looks on their faces.

Out of the corner of your eye you looked at Mr. Harrison, who had his mouth slightly open and his face, like your parents', was a poem.

“This…” Mr. Harrison began and slightly smirked. “This is humiliating.” He turned to look at your father. “Did you know?”

“Mr. Harrison, I…” Your father stuttered trying to find some words, but they all got stuck in his throat.

“You stupid bitch.” Your mother approached you and held your arm tightly, you narrowed your eyes, feeling his nails dig into your skin. "Didn't you take the herbs that the doctor prepared for you?"

“Yes mother, apparently they didn’t work.” You smirked.

“You stupid bitch.” She slapped you and your head turned to the side, leaving you breathless.

Stunned by the slap heard how your father tried to reason with Mr. Harrison and how your mother also joined in.

They weren’t hiding anything anymore, how that marriage was going to bring them a large amount of money and how Mr. Harrison was also going to support the king’s brother's return. You smile when you hear those words, it was the confirmation you needed that those letters were real and that most likely there were more.

You left the room and practically ran to your room. Your heart was thundering in your ears and your head hurt from the enormous pressure you felt. It was almost like you were going to pass out before you could get to your room.

Holding onto the doorknob you entered your room and leaned your forehead against the door once you closed it. Trying to make your heart calm down and air return to your lungs.

“My lady…” You heard Rose approaching you from behind.

“Rose I need a minute, but…” You began to talk.

“My lady.” You froze and turned yourself to look at the man that just talked.

“Nanami!” You said breathless and looking at him.

“My lady.” He looked at you, then at Rose and then back at you. He took a deep breath and then you heard his words. “Your suspicions about him were correct, Duke Gojo had an accident when he was heading back here. His carriage failed and he fell down a hillside, all I know is that the Duke is currently under the care of His Majesty the Crown Prince. But I don't know his condition."

When your father read Satoru's supposed letter your heart stopped, but at that same moment you felt like your heart was falling out of your chest. Your breathing accelerated and you began to feel your eyes stinging because of the tears that were accumulating.

“My lady.” Rose caught you when your legs gave out. “My lady, you need to breathe.”

We tried but it was like a foot was pressing on your chest and sinking you into the ground. You held Rose's hands and tried to speak. “We need to go…”

Rose looked at Nanami and they both nodded. “We will leave here as soon as possible, my lady.”

“The letter…” You whispered.

You had to take the letter with you and give it to the king or someone from the palace, you knew that this would mean the death of your parents but those two people were no longer your parents and you wanted to see them sink.

Rose grabbed your arm and the three of you left the room, heading towards the stable. You still felt your emotions on the surface, at any moment you felt like you would break but you shouldn't. You had to stay strong and leave that place and send that letter.

Taking the reins of your horse you raised your gaze and fixed it in front of you. Sighing heavily, you signaled to Nanami, telling him to leave.

Your body was so exhausted that you practically didn't remember much of the trip. You remember stopping to pick up Rose's husband, you remember Nanami telling you to ride with him, and you remember arriving at a lodge where you spent the night, but other than that, your memories were vague and confusing.

When you opened your eyes, you blinked repeatedly, taking in the light that filtered through that window. Rose was still asleep in the bed next to her. Sitting up carefully and quietly, you changed your clothes and left the room, meeting Nanami's figure guarding the door.

“Nanami.” You spoke with your voice still sleepy.

“My lady.” He greeted you with the same courtesy as always.

You chuckled and shook your head. “You don't need to continue behaving like this Nanami, I don't belong to that family anymore.” You smiled at him. “But my last proposal as your lady is that you accompany me to her majesty so I can deliver the letter to her.”

Nanami held your gaze and shook her head. “My lady, if I am still here serving you and accompanying you it is because I trust you completely and my loyalty is yours alone.”

“But…”

“I don't care if you never belong to the family again, I am faithful to you my lady.” He bowed. “And I will follow you.”

You looked at him stunned by the words he just said. “Nanami…”

“You don’t have to say anything. Just know that I will follow you and make sure you meet the duke once again.”

“Thank you…” You whispered, whipping away the tears that had gathered in your eyes. “How long do you think it will take us to get there?”

Nanami thought for a moment, thinking of the shortest and most feasible route for everyone. “Probably in two more days.” You nodded and smiled calmly.

“Good.” You said.

And so once you were all ready you left again, heading towards the capital. You were amazed with each new place you visited, with the people and the landscapes. It was the first time you traveled, since you had always been in your town and had never left there. You didn't know what would happen after delivering the letter and showing them the evidence that the king's brother was still plotting against the crown. If they would also condemn you or what would become of you. You did not know.

You also didn't know if you would be able to meet Satoru. Nanami had told you that he was in the capital, where the palace doctors were treating him but you didn't know if you would be able to see him, but you longed to see him, you longed to touch him again and feel his warmth.

When you crossed the wall that surrounded the capital you felt your heart begin to accelerate and when you began to enter the castle gate to have a reception with the king it accelerated even more. And standing there in front of the king and the prince, you felt like you could faint.

“So…” You began. “His majesty, I’m the only daughter of…” You said your family name and bowed. “I’m here to give you this letter that I found in my father’s office.” You held the letter in your hands. “I believe it’s extremely important for his majesty to know about this information and to take care of it.”

The king nodded and one of his guards took the letter from your hands and brought it to the king. He read it carefully and with a slight frown.

“You say you found this letter in your father's office?” You nodded. “You know what it means right?”

"Yes sir." You said with your eyes downcast.

“Why would you betray your family like that?” He wondered.

You clenched your fists and clenched your lips into a thin line. “Those people were not my family, my family is the ones who have accompanied and supported me on this journey and the man I am looking for.”

The king touched his chin and smiled and then looked at his son who nodded. “Thank you very much for this young lady, the crown will take care of it.”

The crown prince looked at you and smiled. "Follow me please." You looked at Rose and Nanami doubtfully and the prince, noticing it, turned to you. "Don't worry, you can trust me."

You nodded and followed his steps, tightly gripping the pendant you were wearing, trying to calm your nerves. Your eyes roamed every corner of the hallways you walked through, marveling at the details of the walls and ceilings, admiring the paintings of old monarchs that hung on the walls and the large windows that illuminated your entire path. It was like being inside one of your books, where the protagonist toured her spacious palace.

“It must have been a long trip, right?” The prince spoke again, exalting you a little.

“Uh… yeah a little.” You smiled.

“Well now you can rest here as much as you want, I'm welcome.” He smiled at you again and you smiled back. “Oh!” He stopped short in front of a large white door. "We have arrived." He said, taking the knob he opened the door.

His back blocked your view of what was in front of you so you couldn't see well what was inside.

“Look who came to see your injured ass.” The crown prince stepped aside and you finally saw what was in that room, who was in that room.

Your breathing stopped and your heart forgot how to beat when you saw him lying on that bed. His face had the occasional scar that seemed to be healing and his arm was completely bandaged. But it was there, he was there. Satoru was before you, he was alive.

“Angel…” He whispered with his blue eyes looking at you, unblinking.

And that nickname, that whisper was enough to break you down. Crying, you approached the bed and fell next to it.

“I thought…” You tried to speak but words were hard to pronounce.

“I’m so sorry my angel.” He held your hand. “Suguru give my future wife a chair or something!”

“Tsk.” You heard the crown prince. “You know I’m going to be the next king right?”

“And she is going to be my wife, so what?” Satoru replied.

“It’s okay, I…” You tried to speak.

“My lady, here you have a chair.” The crown prince smiled.

“Thank you, his majesty.” You bowed and sat down on the chair.

“I will leave the two of you alone.” The crown prince said and left the room.

“Angel…” Satoru called you.

“I though you died. I thought you left me, I…”

“I’m sorry.” He caressed your hair. “After going on that visit, I planned to take you with me to my house and finally get married. But well, the accident... it left me unconscious for several weeks and when I woke up your engagement to Mr. Harrison had become official and my condition was not the best." He sighed and squeezed your hand lightly. “I wanted to go there, get you out of that place and take you somewhere where I knew you would be happy but…” He touched his leg and smiled. “Suguru, the prince, did not allow me to do anything and I had to resign myself to knowing that the love of my life was not going to be able to be happy.”

You grabbed his hand in your hands and looked into his eyes. “But now I can be happy.” Satoru smiled.

“I didn't tell you at the time and when the accident happened my last thought was how sorry I was for not having told you but I love you my angel. I love you." He said and cupped your face in his hands and kissed you.

You closed your eyes, enjoying that kiss that you had longed for so much and you let yourself be enveloped by all the love and affection that Satoru was emanating at that moment.

You had believed that you would never taste those kisses again, that you would never again feel the soft touch of his skin against yours. But there you were, enjoying the love you both felt for each other.

You rested your head on his shoulder. “Satoru…” He hummed in your ear. “Your brother was right.” You looked at him. “I’m sorry my parents were behind your parents death and also behind your…”

“Hey angel.” He made you look at him. “None of that was your fault, you are not like your parents. And soon you will be a Gojo.”

His kiss made all the storms disappear from your heart, and calm was restored, allowing your heart to beat again with serenity and tranquility.

The tumultuous waves of doubt and fear that had threatened to engulf you subsided and were replaced by a deep sense of peace. Her touch, gentle, felt like a soothing balm for a wound you didn't know was so deep. It was as if, in that moment, all the chaos and uncertainty that had plagued you dissolved, leaving only the clear, steady rhythm of love.

Satoru broke the kiss and caressed your face. “Suguru told me that before you ran away from home, Mr. Harrison had called off the engagement or proposed. What happened?"

You smiled slightly. “I told them I was having your baby.” Satoru opened his eyes. “No I'm not.” You clarified. “But you should have seen their faces.”

"I would have loved it." Satoru smiled. “But next time it could be true.” He whispered.

You turned your face. “You must recover first.” You said.

“Angel, we can do a lot of things while we wait for me to recover.” He kissed your shoulder. “A lot of new things you still don’t know.”

You turned your face to look back at him. “Like what?” You had been tempted and Satoru knew it, which is why that smile that had captivated you from the beginning appeared on his face.

Fin

Notes: I can’t believe BDILH is over (the epilogue still needs to happen but still) 😭. The fact that this short series started as a Mikasa one shot, then turned into a dark romance with Sukuna but it ended up being a Gojo short fic bc I’m such a Gojo sucker… But thank you everyone for the likes, the comments and the love.

Also sorry bc this final didn’t have much angel x Satoru but the epilogue will be fully focus on them and just them and it will be 4-5k. But the main story needed a conclusion and didn’t want to extend the chapter too much. I’m quite satisfied with the result and I hope everyone enjoyed it ❤️

— comment if you want to be tagged in the final part

🏷️: @catobsessedlady @zoeyflower @satoracyxys @lavender-hvze @slashersgirlypop @tinydonkeysforlife @oddball08 @tttttttf @crybabytoru @fccxxxcvvx @augustine13028 @alwaysfreakingout

[itsgrimeytime]

when you get hurt... || Rick Grimes (TWD)

rick grimes taglist: @golden-hoax @mgparker @zomb-1-egutzz

"Rick," you stressed, "-it's just a cut. I'll be fine."

You'd been messing around with your knife and had sliced your finger. That was it. It was bleeding, yeah, but nothing worse than what you'd already experienced. So, you were here, hand pressed into your finger searching for some medical supplies and you had made the mistake of going to one Rick Grimes.

He'd been really concerned for you lately, to his defense, so it wasn't really out of the ordinary.

Whether be making sure you took care of yourself, "Ya eaten yet?"

Or dragging you away from something when you were bone-dead tired, "C'mon, 's time to at least take a break."

Or making sure you were careful on runs, he'd taken to telling you to "Please, be careful." with quite possibly the most genuine tone you'd ever heard. You weren't sure how to respond to that.

And then, he was always seeking you out. Roaming around Deanna's dinners with you, he focused on chatting with you. If he got pulled off to someone else, he'd be back by your side at the end of the night. Or he'd ask if you wanted some lunch, and you'd stay in the Grimes house for a few hours, just talking. Not that you minded it at all, you were close with Rick and, if you were honest, you did kind of have a thing for him. Well, bigger than a thing.

"Indulge me 'is one time, darlin'," he nearly begged -concern heavy in his blue eyes, "-Let me help ya."

Right, the "darlin'" thing. That had started recently, and you still weren't sure how to take it.

You sighed, the chill of the night dusting along your skin, "Yeah, alright, Grimes. But it is really not a big deal-"

He gently took your bicep in one hand, fingertips carefully pushed into your skin. Your lips snapped shut.

Physical contact? Add it to the list.

Recognizing the path to be the one to his own house, you weren't surprised. Everyone had a med kit in their house, you had just run out when you helped somebody with a bigger injury than yours currently was.

He didn't stop until he was in the bathroom, a tiny bathroom really, crouching down and fishing out the med kit. You stared at him for a few seconds, blankly, distinctly standing outside of the bathroom because... well, because standing so close to Rick just might make your heart burst out of your chest.

And it wasn't even that the bathroom was that tiny. It was just Rick was all broad-shoulder, leader-stance man that there would not be much space left at all. You shoved the thought of his shoulders far, far away. Or you tried to.

Finally, he stood up, little white container in his hand. His hands-

"C'mon," he motioned for you to come into the bathroom, tiny bathroom, broad shoulders, big hands-

"Rick," you spoke instead of following him in, "-is this really worth the medical supplies?"

"Yeah," he answered back, instinctively (getting a little of his leader voice), "-now, c'mon."

Gnawing at your lip a second, you sighed and moved into the bathroom. Just as you thought, it was small. And you could smell the woodsy smell of one Rick Grimes, as his body heat seeped into your skin. You almost forgot you were bleeding for a second.

"Rick, we can barely fit in here together. How are you supposed t-"

Rick put his hands under your arms and lifted you onto the sink counter with practiced ease. You swallowed, heavily.

"'Ere," he chimed, a little frustrated (worried, really), "-ya happy?"

You didn't say a word.

Luckily, he didn't expect you to. Instead, he brushed his calloused fingers against yours, pulling back your hand to see the cut. Rick pursed his lips, hands gentle and careful with you like you were precious. The thought made something thrum in your chest.

"'S hurt?" he asked, blue eyes focused on your wound.

You ignored the urge to really look at him and followed his eyes. You gave up fighting, answering honestly, "A little. Stings, mostly."

He frowned a little at that, gently pressing his fingers along your skin, "Gonna 'ave to clean it, and, by the look of it, 's gonna need stitches, darlin'."

"Rick," you countered, "-it does not need stitches."

"Does," he replied simply, adding, "-'Seen my fair share of wounds, sweetheart, an' it needs stitches."

Sweetheart, that's new.

"What," you responded, indignant, "-and I haven't?"

Rick looked up at you then, and your breath halted in your chest (blue, blue, blue), "Ya kno' you are terrible at takin' care of yourself."

"Just because I don't eat once-"

"'S not it," he hummed, busying himself back with the wound -he was gathering up some cotton balls, "-I see ya hide wounds all the time. Bad ones."

Okay, so maybe you lied. You cleaned out your medical kit out of your own volition. It wasn't that you were bad with weapons, you were just clumsy. You couldn't control that, and it was embarrassing, so you hid it.

"Nobody else has caught onto that," you questioned, "-how did you?"

He took a moment, not looking at you (eyes solely on the wound), "I pay attention to ya."

You pressed your lips together, silencing yourself. You were learning a lot today. Good things, maybe?

You eyes dipped to Rick a moment.

Yeah, okay, good things.

"If it needs stitches, shouldn't I go to Denise?" you asked, carefully.

He looked up at you, all blue eyes and worry, "Ya want to?"

"No," you cleared your throat, awkwardly (he was very close), "-no, this is fine."

Rick looked at you a little confused for a second, maybe at your sudden awkwardness, but he seemed to write it off. You breathed out a sigh of relief.

It was silent as he cleaned your wound, other than the hiss of your breath as it stung. Rick's eyes dipped to you then, lips flattening, and the next time he tried to do it gently. You don't know if you were supposed to notice it, but you did.

As he was finishing up the stitches, your mouth started moving before you could stop it.

"Why do you care so much?"

He didn't react at first, focused on stitching your wound up -calloused fingers careful and practiced. You briefly wondered how often he'd done this to be so casual about it. You supposed you couldn't judge, you did it a lot too.

Finally, he finished, turning his eyes up to you -something serious in them, "We doin' 'is now?"

You swallowed at the eye contact, but spoke, confused, "I just asked you a question. I don't-"

"Y/N," he leveled, voice stern and focused -just looking at you.

"What? I'm confused-"

His fingers tilted your eyes to him, callouses against your skin, and your lips snapped shut. Blue eyes intently focused, and something in your stomach swirled.

"We doin' 'is now?" he repeated, and his eyes dipped to your lips for just a second. Oh.

You blinked a few times, "I guess-" you swallowed, "-I guess not."

Rick nodded, gathering up the leftover supplies and putting them back in the container -fluidly. You just watched him wordlessly, words anywhere but on your tongue.

"Next time, ya hurt yourself," he stated, not really a question at all, "-come to me."

"Rick, I really can't ask you to-"

He turned to you again, eyes heavily focused, "Ya ain't a burden to me, and I'd prefer to kno' if ya were hurt."

You pressed your lips together a second, taking in all this new information -scanning him over, "Okay, yeah, I'll come to you."

Rick let his eyes rest on your face, skimming over you, before pulling you off the counter. His hands left your skin tingling, and you blearily blinked.

"We'll talk tomorrow mornin', yeah?"

You nearly asked him about what, but the way he was looking at you nearly knocked the breath out of your lungs. Oh.

"Yeah," you shook your head, slowly, "-yeah, we can talk tomorrow."

He smiled at you then, a small one (it felt different now), "Goodnight, darlin'."

You bit at your lip, just looking at him (he almost looked at you like he thought you were adorable), "Yeah, um, goodnight, Rick."

And with a blink, you turned and walked out of his house.

Tomorrow, you thought (maybe smiling a little), tomorrow. Maybe you could get up early. For no particular reason.

Well, at least you had something to look forward to.

[aziraphales-library]

Any pregnancy AU recommandations ? Fluffy soft preferably (not necessarily big details) but give everything anyway

Thaaaanks

We have a bunch on our #pregnancy tag, so check that out. Here are more to add...

Expectant by luciferfemme (E)

Something is very wrong, Aziraphale can feel it. He wakes up nauseous, and that shouldn't be possible. What's more the plants are acting strange, the Bentley refuses to drive faster than the speed limit and Aziraphale is pretty sure he might be pregnant. It shouldn't be possible but here they are. About to become parents.

Sunday Surprise by Vavoom_Thyself (E)

Grumbling, Crowley decided to finish preparing the pot as quick as he could before heading back inside. It seemed he got a few minutes worth of respite in between the pains, so hopefully he could make it back to the cottage before the next one. Hell, he'd have to explain it to Aziraphale, though. The angel was sure to notice if he kept stiffening up with each wave of discomfort, especially if it kept getting worse. And he'd fret even more when it turned out he couldn't explain what was happening to his body. Crowley sighed, finished filling the pot, and cleared his stuff away. He gave the plants one last warning that: “Nobody bloody dies over a bit of heat, you hear me?” Then made his way back to the cottage, thinking that if it wasn't such a bloody hot day, he'd have drawn himself a bath to try and relax his muscles a bit. He was fairly sure that was it. Just overdone it a bit with dragging heavy pots around. Sore, crampy muscles were a logical follow-up from that. - Or: despite his previous sidegigs as a midwife, Crowley is surprisingly clueless when it comes to adding up his own body's quirks. Until he and Aziraphale have to face facts.

Ineffable Promise by KaytheJay (T)

For the first few months of their marriage, they remained at their respective homes, though they stayed the night at each other’s place just about every night. Aziraphale insisted that their house search needed to be completed the human way. He wanted the house to be absolutely perfect for them before they even thought about an offer. It ended up taking a year and a half for them to find the perfect home. It had a large back garden where Crowley could plant every plant under the sun if he wanted to. The home had several bedrooms, one that would quickly be turned into a library. Unbeknownst to Crowley, another one of the rooms would be turned into a nursery.

blood, white marble, and starlight by blackeyedblonde (E)

Crowley feels an incredulous laugh wing up out of her like a startled bird. “What’s ailing me this time?” she asks, reaching up to claw at her sodden veil hanging limply against her front. “There’s nothing left for you to fucking heal.” Aziraphale leans in closer, his face held only the careful breadth of two hands from her own, and merely presses through the strands of hair and strips of cloth still plastered to Crowley’s throat and chest like scarlet seaweed. His index finger lightly touches the discernible shape of her breastbone, and she simply sits there and lets him with her heart dashing itself to death underneath. “But there is,” he says softly before pulling his hand away again. “Just here.” Crowley tries to snarl but makes a withered sort of sound in the back of her throat instead. “You idiot,” she whispers, shaking all over now with cold and wrath and the blinded oblivion of her own despair. “You doddering old fool of an angel. How the hell do you think you’re going to heal that?” “By holding you,” Aziraphale says, terribly simply. “If you’d let me.”

Some Unholy Hoax by ArgylePirateWD (E)

In a desperate attempt to delay the Second Coming, Supreme Archangel Aziraphale makes a proposal: Jesus should be completely reborn—gestated for nine months in the human way, then raised to adulthood on Earth. When he volunteers to carry the child himself, he doesn't think anyone will agree. Somebody, however, does. What will his unexpected condition do to his strained relationship with Crowley? And what will happen once it becomes apparent that something is very much amiss in this whole "Second Coming" business?

Good Expectations by tweedfeather (E)

After the Nope-ocalypse, Aziraphale and Crowley move slowly — up until the night they move too fast. The consequences will send them reeling. As they figure out what they mean to each other, they must contend with both the expected and unexpected.

- Mod D

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for ditching a long-term friend?

I (35F) had a friend (S, 33F) for years. We bonded the first night we met. We had ups an downs, and went everywhere together. I helped her kick her bf out after he tried to hit her and helped her through two miscarriages. She helped me through a family member death and a career change. We would speak almost every day, for hours.

She was always slightly more conservative than me. When 2016 rolled around, she supported Trump. I didn't like that, but it wasn't my place to bitch about it to her, it was her decision.

By 2020, she'd changed. Idk how it happened but she went from slightly conservative Christian who loved school and being a nurse and had friends who were LGBT+ (myself included), to deadnaming trans patients, refusing to do a blood draw on a patient after she said it was a prerequisite for an abortion, forcing patients to pray with her, even when they and their families spoke out against it, and bugging her coworkers to pray with her. She got fired from the hospital and was completely unable to hold down a job after that, and went through about 6 jobs that year, getting fired from them all. She got with a guy (B, 32M) and he is a... Well, he is a damn nut. Flat earther, antivaxxer, anti- Department of Education, anti-cell phone, thought bluetooth was turning kids trans, and that covid is 100% a hoax. Absolutely bonkers. But she was smitten, so I supported her, barely.

It's important to note that I backed away from her a bit after she was fired from the hospital. We were only speaking once every few weeks at that point.

Shortly after she got with B, my nephew was born. My nephew is half Mexican, half white. She called him "cute for a half n*g" because she thought my SIL is black. This blew me away because she's half Mexican. I told her off and distanced myself even further.

In 2021, she was a huge supporter of Jan 6th. She LAUGHED when that one cop killed himself. I stopped talking to her completely after that. Deleted her contact info and forgot she existed for almost 2 years.

Cut to October of this year, and she calls me. I didn't recognize her #. She and B are getting married! And she wants me to be a bridesmaid!!! Yayy! (sarcasm). She told me a long-winded variation of "I know we haven't talked for a bit but I promise I'm not as bonkers as I was, I think I let Facebook suck me in, and I'm sorry."

So, I let her back in. Not emotionally, mind you. She's not the woman I once knew anymore. I don't tell her where our house is (my partner and I moved while S and I weren't speaking), and I didn't tell her what car I drove. I didn't tell her anything about our lives, and kept the conversation solely on her, to try and read her out a bit.

Sure enough, two conversations in she starts ranting about how black people are black because they received the mark of Cain (it's a Christian thing? I guess? Idk I'm not religious) and thus should be avoided because they are inherently "up to no good," and that systemic racism doesn't exist because the US has had a black president.

I roll my eyes, hang up the phone, block her number, and end it, permanently, right there. I received a few odd texts from a number I didn't recognize, probably B's phone, so I just blocked that number and deleted them without reading most of them.

Cue our mutual friends. 🙄

She misses you! People can have differing opinions and still be friends! Why are you being so closed minded? She told us you yelled at her! 😭😭😭

Lol. I didn't say a word, but whatever.

I'd rather adjust my life to her absence than adjust my morality to her ignorance.

My partner is on my side, they saw her change, too. But our mutual friends are still upset. I shared some the racist and sexist text convos between me and S, and it's like they hadn't even considered my side of the situation. One is on my side now, the other two are still questioning how I can throw away a 6 year friendship over "differing politics."

So, Tumblr, AITA?

What are these acronyms?

[grits-galraisedinthesouth]

In January, President Biden's personal physician met with Walter Reed's Parkinson's disease specialist, Dr Cannard and cardiologist, Dr Atwood.

Top Washington D.C. neurologist had a meeting with President Biden’s personal doctor at the White House earlier this year, visitor logs reviewed by The Post show.

Dr. Kevin Cannard, a Parkinson’s disease expert at Walter Reed Medical Center, met with Dr. Kevin O’Connor, and two others at the White House residence clinic on Jan. 17, according to the records, which emerge as questions continue to swirl about the 81-year-old president’s mental health in the wake of his debate debacle last week with former President Trump.

Dr. John E. Atwood, a cardiologist at Walter Reed, was also in the 5 P.M. meeting, the White House visitor logs show.

Sen. Roger Marshall (R-KS), who is a physician, said “many” in the medical community have “suspected for several years that the president might be suffering from Parkinson’s disease.”

“Sadly, over 500,000 Americans are afflicted by this progressive neurological condition. If the president of the United States is among them, the American people deserve to know before voting in November,” he told The Post.

Dr. Rob Howard, a professor of old age psychiatry at University College London, said that President Biden displayed many symptoms indicative of Parkinson’s disease.

The president’s “fluctuation in attentional function, his facial appearance, and his gait,” were all signs that something is amiss, said Howard, who has never examined Biden and added he was not offering a formal diagnosis.

“I am not saying its Parkinson’s disease, I am just pointing out that there are features to him that are consistent with Parkinson’s disease.”

Cannard is an authority on Parkinson’s who has worked at Walter Reed for nearly 20 years.

Since 2012, he has served as the “neurology specialist supporting the White House Medical Unit,” according to his LinkedIn.

His most recent paper was published in August 2023 in the journal Parkinsonism & Related Disorders, and focuses on the “early-stage” of the crippling disease.

Tragic that this Kevin O'Connor would risk his medical license to coverup for the Biden family and jeopardize our national security.

[kimyoonmiauthor]

The whole Haitian Grill Hoaxes.

Warning: Talks about Haitian history of slavery briefly and of cooking animals.

Not my usual line of posts, but meh, I kinda want to so some solidarity, education and attempt at least to weave in some talk of anthropology and worldbuilding with it.

First off, Anthropologists are required to take as undergraduates Physical Anthropology. We have to be able to tell the difference between a carnivore, an herbivore and a omnivore. And also are taught things like how to tell the difference between human bones and animal bones. No lie, this was one of the most difficult classes I took and I spent for probably the first time in a long time studying my ass off. I usually don't study, but for this one I studied really hard. 'cause you have to memorize the names of bones and how they differ. (Cue me crying because I still remember frontal parietal and occipital and semi-have nightmares about this class. I still have mandible, but then semi panic about the names of all of the nose bones.)

This isn't what I thought I'd be using my degree for, but here we are.

Next, I 100% do not condone and 100% condemn everyone being AHs to Haitians who've had enough crap in their history, such as, but not limited to Columbus depopulating the Island of Taino (It's a word that starts with G), enslaving a bunch of Africans, and then people getting upset when they overthrew their slave owners. This is designed as a defense against the racist who accuse them of eating an animal rarely eaten in human history especially WITHOUT ANY FLAVOR. WTF. Only people who are from the Europe do that. Did you really get insulted by Tim Walz making fun of the white American Palate and then confirm he was correct? Yes, you did.

I'm pulling out my love of food anthro for this too. lol Did I almost write a book about it? Yes, yes I did. Also, I have graphic design knowledge to be able to tell things.

***

This is the image. Those are chickens, whole, not free of their internal organs.

Might be 3-4 chickens, but this is my best guess:

That's the anatomy break down.

Basically, the tail is not a rabbit tail. The tail is also not a cat tail. It matches a bird tail.

The legs are not rabbit legs—they are too long and there is a claw. There is a wing in the picture. Cats don't have the anatomy. They have longer tails and it wouldn't look that way.

For reference, the Sphinx Cat. (which is really expensive, BTW. They've been catnapped before.)

The red in the picture is glare from a window because the person is standing and as the video goes, if you focus on the glare you can see it is a white person taking the video—or at least very light skinned wearing a red t-shirt and dark pants. Might even be a Trump T-shirt, but I couldn't confirm it on repeated viewings. This means the window is pretty big. It's not a car. The way the person shifts within the video means they are likely in their own house. There is a level of comfort there. This was also likely taken with a phone because the resolution is terrible. The way the camera shifts as the person shifts their position, etc and the bad camerawork, suggests amateur with a phone. (Also didn't expect to use my graphic design knowledge for this)

Dude, just go outside your house to film.

The second reason this isn't from a car like some people suggest is there is a fence that goes along the back of the property where the beveling of the fence suggests it's to protect the current yard. This means the fence likely goes the entire perimeter of the yard which would mean it's not visible from the street. The majority of grills are set up to face the house, not the street, unless you're planning on selling it.

Sphinx is an all furless cat. This looks nothing like what is in the picture. Those are birds.

It was pointed out to me that it might be stewing chickens, i.e. after they've been retired from egg laying. The kind you make into something like Dak Komtang. This means the picture was 100% faked.

Now, why is it a badly faked image: Cultural Anthropology and food anthropology here.

In order to cook any animal in a BBQ setting, every culture I know of where you are physically using a grill: You would have to chop it up so it cooks evenly and if you don't do that, put it on a spit to cook it whole. It *is* possible to cook a whole chicken, however, one would have to have taken out the giblets, and then dressed and marinated it thoroughly so that the breasts are correctly tied, plus you would have to tie it up so that the wings are tied to the body: https://bluejeanchef.com/cooking-school/how-to-truss-a-chicken/

Truss it tight. This helps the chicken to cook evenly. Similarly with rabbit you'd have to empty the main cavity of the innards.

No one leaves the chicken feet on in that case. It's better to take off that part of the legs and do something else with them, like say Chinese Chicken feet for dim sum.

Nunzio pointed out that the chickens were likely stewing chickens, i.e. retired breeders.

based off of this picture. i.e. terrible for grilling on the barbecue because it's much tougher meat.

In addition, while there are cultures that do eat chicken heads, often to make the chicken cook more evenly, they are cut off of the body and grilled/cooked separately because the rate at which the head cooks is faster than the rest of the body. In the picture you can see the chicken combs.

The next point of clue that this is a faked image is that there is NO FUCKING FLAVOR ON THE CHICKEN.

White food travel shows, Haitians themselves when making their food, my own mouth is going to tell you, that is is packed to the gills with flavor. OMG, some of the food is so spicy, even this Asian feels like they were crying. C'mon now, that's a crime to say that Haiti people are going to cook anything on the grill with no flavor.

You know the only cuisine in the world that gets close to doing that? Europeans and people of that direct descent. And I've eaten my way through South America, Central America, North America, Texas BBQ, Louisiana, NE America, South West America, Italy, France, England, Germany, Poland, Russian, Hungarian, Iranian, Armenian, Tunisia, Nigeria, Ethiopian, Greek, Chinese (Northern and Southern, BTW), Japan, Korea, most of SE Asia, Philippines, and some of the South Pacific (Working on it). There is only one continent that does not flavor their meat before putting it on the grill—effing Europe. WTF.

The rest of the world is begging you to at least marinate your meat. !@#$ Even effing Texans are begging you to marinate your meat.

Anyway, no self respecting home chef or any type of cook would cook their meat this way.

Food experience

I've eaten and cooked whole rabbit, whole chicken, whole turkey, whole goose, venison (legally hunted and shot), beef, lamb, goat (not whole), and !@#$ there is no way someone is cooking it that way without any heat on the grill first. In order to grill anything, you need a lot of prep time to make it work, even for smoking. You need to heat up the grill.

Let me tell you as a kid when I first arrived to the US, my mom would serve up crap meals which consisted of mediocre rice, fish sticks, and carrot and celery sticks. God, I hated the cooking. And she kept saying how she would not ever put in more effort into our meals. Having some semblance of foundation about cooking, I watched cooking shows, read cook books, and managed to get the foundations of cooking from asking and doing.

This meant by the time I was a teenager I was making the majority of the meals for the house. In fact, my parents made me do the majority of the cooking some nights AND clean the dishes I cooked with sometimes because they were seriously assholes.

They also would have me heat the briquettes for the grill ALONE. --;; Unsupervised. Yeah, not recommended, and I would never ask kids to do it on their own. Don't do as my parents did.

On the list of things they had me cook was things like venison and goose. When I flunked out of college the first time due to lingering trauma, they also had me do all of the cooking for rent and made unreasonable demands on me.

Fuck. Go back to your fucking fish sticks.

The point is that I know the foundations of cooking meat very, very well. I got so good at it, I could sense the difference in smell to know when it was cooked versus not cooked.

I made up recipes too.

Anyway, there is NO way you would be cooking meat like that with the head still stuck on. For the cultures like Ireland that eats things like brains, the head is ALWAYS cooked separately from the body. The brain is squishy in there and can make the skull explode in some cases because it cooks at a different rate from the rest of the body. The same with the internal organs. Those are removed in every culture or taken out, rinsed and carefully placed back into the cavity of the animal to cook *with additional* things added (sometimes rocks, sometimes extra meats, etc.) Again, if you don't do that, the inside will explode. (And in some cases make things really bitter like gall bladder tastes nasty. You can see people eating the gall bladder on Youtube.)

This is why this is a faked picture.

In addition, the cultures that do eat things like cats are usually ravaged by imperialism, therefore, poverty. And I know how much imperializing nations like to make fun of other cultures they imperialized to the point of crippling their food supply and their inability to get new technology like refrigerators.

This is why I think it's best to not ridicule other culture's foods.

And don't believe hoaxes like this. Including the whole This is a dog without canine teeth video hoax. It's simply not worth it.

And I'd also beg you to fact check, fact check before you perpetuate rumors. But I suppose this is a lesson in racism and xenophobia too.

[simply-ivanka]

Joe Biden and America’s Out-of-Control Spooks

The president should step aside rather than find out how the deep state would save his candidacy.

Wall Street Journal

By Holman W. Jenkins, Jr.

Thursday’s catastrophic debate can be a lifesaver for America. A different kind of 2024 election is still possible, starting with a rollicking contest of impressive Democratic governors for their party’s nomination. The outcome wouldn’t merely result in replacing an invalided Mr. Biden. It would allow Democrats to hire a new standard-bearer who doesn’t need to dig America ever deeper into the pit of lawfare, media lying and intelligence meddling to get himself re-elected.

This is the real issue now.

Not exactly the bipartisan wise person I’ve been hoping for, Bob Bauer will have to do. A former White House counsel under Presidents Obama and Biden, he has a timely new book, “The Unraveling.” Our democracy, he writes, endangers itself with its free fall toward win-at-all-costs cynicism, and the trouble doesn’t begin and end with Donald Trump.

He’s right, and only missing is 75% of his case since he doesn’t mention the collusion hoax or intelligence officials lying about the Hunter Biden laptop to help Mr. Biden get elected, episodes in which his own hands may not be entirely clean.

Now he has a chance to put his money where his mouth is. I see the same descent into reckless, zero-sum politics that he does. So does fund manager Ray Dalio, who told clients this week that the behavior of our parties is “threatening the rule of law as we know it and is bringing us closer to some form of civil war.”

What I don’t see is an underlying cause or dispute, such as slavery in the Civil War, of transcendent magnitude to explain it.

The tainting of our elections itself is what’s driving Americans apart.

This is where Mr. Bauer’s moment has arrived. He played Mr. Trump in Mr. Biden’s debate prep. He’s obviously trusted by the candidate. He could point out a few things about how we got into today’s mess, starting with former FBI Director James Comey’s ill-advised meddling in the Hillary Clinton email case to help another Democratic candidate. Play history backward without Mr. Comey and everything is different now. Mr. Trump likely loses in 2016. The collusion follies never happen, profoundly damaging half of America’s faith in Washington.

Mr. Biden is playing with the same fire all over again. He had every moral and political reason not to seek a second term—his age, Hunter Biden, the intelligence community’s unseemly lying to the American public to secure his first victory over Mr. Trump.

Almost anybody in the Democratic Party was a better bet to beat Donald Trump a second time, and Mr. Biden wasn’t a good bet to beat almost any Republican who might earn the GOP nomination instead of Mr. Trump.

But Mr. Biden insisted on being the candidate anyway, and we got the bubbling up of Trump prosecutions from dutiful Democratic prosecutors around the country. Whatever their merits, the charges had an overridingly political purpose: Return Mr. Trump to center stage and give Mr. Biden the one opponent he might reasonably hope to beat.

The miscalculation is now apparent. Mr. Biden’s own deterioration makes him the opponent even a scandalized and distrusted Mr. Trump could likely beat, possibly in a landslide.

What now? Ours was already in danger of becoming a government of siloviki, to borrow Russia’s word for intelligence operatives actively manipulating domestic politics. This subject our media continues to shy away from though academics are taking it up: the revolutionary and unprecedented activities of Mr. Comey and Obama intelligence veterans James Clapper and John Brennan starting in 2016 and again in 2020 with the laptop lie.

In my view, Mr. Biden is more blundering than calculating in this mess. He foolishly indulged his son over the years, getting himself in a situation in 2020 where his campaign had to be rescued from his family-created scandal by the shockingly disingenuous intervention of intelligence officials falsely fingering Russia for the laptop.

But ask yourself: Having stumbled into a dynamic where they might need a failing Mr. Biden to hold off a Trump restoration, how will our Clapperized elite prevent the outcome they have been telling themselves and us for eight years would be the end of America? Do you want to find out?

The 2024 election is already shaping up to be a deeply souring democratic experience for millions of Americans, the third such presidential election in a row. It can get a lot better or a lot worse depending on what Democrats decide to do, with Mr. Bauer hopefully whispering wisdom in Mr. Biden’s ear.

The next few days will be telling. If Mr. Biden remains in the seat, Mr. Trump may romp to a broad, unambiguous victory and mandate. Then you’ll want to hold your breath on the morning of Nov. 6.

[mariacallous]

The winner of the 2024 US presidential election will confront complicated questions about whether the government is doing enough to protect the country from cyber threats. But one leading conservative group is sidestepping those questions and pushing to shrink the government’s main cyber agency, calling it a bastion of far-left tyranny.

Project 2025, a widely circulated playbook from the influential right-leaning Heritage Foundation, takes aim at the Cybersecurity and Infrastructure Security Agency (CISA) on several fronts, especially its efforts to reduce dangerous online misinformation. If former president Donald Trump wins the election and appoints officials who follow the playbook’s recommendations for CISA, the five-year-old agency could face an unprecedented crisis.

Trump has disavowed Project 2025—a 900-page document full of controversial proposals—but its authors have close ties to his former administration and his campaign, and many of its recommendations align with Trump’s agenda. If he wins a second term, Trump is likely to embrace Project 2025’s combative approach to CISA, whose director he fired for debunking his lies about the 2020 election. That makes the 2024 election an existential moment for CISA.

“If every recommendation in this proposal were accepted, this would significantly weaken CISA as an agency,” says Steve Kelly, a former special assistant to the president and senior director for cybersecurity and emerging technology at the National Security Council.

“It would essentially see CISA cease functioning as a principal element of cybersecurity,” says John Costello, a former chief of staff to the national cyber director at the White House. “It really takes out many of its central functions.”

Missing the Mark on Misinformation

No aspect of CISA’s work has sparked as much GOP ire as its efforts to combat online falsehoods destabilizing American society, and Project 2025’s most substantial recommendation for CISA concerns this work.

“Of the utmost urgency,” the plan says, “is immediately ending CISA’s counter-mis/disinformation efforts.”

During the 2020 election, amid conspiracy theories and hoaxes about Covid-19 and the presidential election, CISA flagged state and local officials’ concerns about online falsehoods to social media companies. This practice, dubbed “switchboarding,” outraged conservatives, who accused CISA of suppressing their speech. House Republicans produced a report on what they called “the weaponization” of the agency, two GOP-led states sued the government (the US Supreme Court dismissed the case), and CISA and its federal partners all but froze their conversations with social media firms.

“CISA has devolved into an unconstitutional censoring and election engineering apparatus of the political Left,” Project 2025 declares. After dismissing Russian interference in the 2016 election as a “dirty trick” by Hillary Clinton’s campaign (despite it being extensively documented, including in a lengthy bipartisan Senate report), Heritage’s policy proposal recommends that the military and the intelligence community take over the responsibility of combating foreign propaganda.

CISA and its defenders maintain that the agency never pressured tech companies to delete posts, but regardless, the agency’s current counterpropaganda operation is a shell of its former self. Talks with tech firms have resumed, but in the election space, the agency is now relying solely on its “Rumor vs. Reality” fact-checking page.

Cybersecurity experts say the government needs to be debunking harmful lies, especially those spread by foreign adversaries.

“There's a role for CISA in mis- and disinformation, but they'd be wise to keep it cabined and narrow,” says Kelly, who is now the chief strategy officer at the nonprofit Institute for Security and Technology.

Costello calls Project 2025’s proposal “deeply problematic.”

The report fails to acknowledge the seriousness of adversaries’ efforts to sow chaos in the US, according to Mark Montgomery, senior director of the Center on Cyber and Technology Innovation at the Foundation for Defense of Democracies, a conservative-leaning think tank.

The document “appears blind to the fact that Russia, China, and Iran are weaponizing social media networks to create a false narrative that weakens US national security,” Montgomery says.

Project 2025’s leaders did not respond to inquiries for this story. Ken Cuccinelli, a top Department of Homeland Security official in the Trump administration and the author of the report’s DHS chapter, declined an interview request.

Vague and Contradictory

Most of Project 2025’s proposals for CISA are difficult to decipher and reflect what experts say is a misunderstanding of the agency’s activities.

The plan envisions CISA helping local election officials “assess whether they have good cyber hygiene,” but it warns that “CISA should not be significantly involved closer to an election” and should not engage in any “messaging” work.

“It's unclear to me what a statement like that would mean,” says Kiersten Todt, a former chief of staff to CISA’s director, “because as the elections approach, the need to ensure the safety and security of those elections is even more urgent.”

Indeed, Costello says, the run-up to Election Day is “when misinformation [and] disinformation upticks the highest” and when it’s most important to debunk lies about things like polling places and voting times. “That's when [we’re] most vulnerable. And we saw that in 2016.”

Muzzling CISA during this crucial period, Costello says, “runs the risk of creating a bubble where Russia or China or any other nation-state threat actor could have a safe space for a massive disinformation campaign.”

If Trump wins and adopts this approach, Todt worries that CISA’s locally deployed election security advisers will be pressured not to offer help in a campaign’s closing stage. CISA’s empowerment of its field force is “one of the great achievements and successes of the past few years,” she says.

Project 2025 also vaguely decries what it characterizes as CISA’s overlap with other agencies. The report says CISA “should refrain from duplicating cybersecurity functions done elsewhere at the Department of Defense, FBI, National Security Agency, and US Secret Service,” but no cyber experts consulted by WIRED could figure out what that means.

If the idea is that the military, not CISA, should be defending critical infrastructure operators from hackers, that’s “a fundamental misreading of US law … about who's allowed to do what,” Costello says. “CISA helps facilitate things domestically that DoD can't touch and NSA can't touch.” That includes direct monitoring of intrusion-detection sensors on critical infrastructure networks.

If anything, the military has impinged on CISA’s territory—not the other way around—out of exasperation with the civilian agency’s constrained resources, says Montgomery, a retired Navy rear admiral.

“The Department of Defense would say, ‘We're having to do things that we think CISA should be doing,’” Montgomery says, which has meant “slowly creeping outside the base fence to make sure that electrical power grids, water systems, [and] telecom systems [near bases] are properly protected in case of a crisis.”

Department of Dubious Moves

Of all the CISA proposals in Project 2025’s plan, the most ambitious one is highly unlikely to succeed: moving the agency into the Department of Transportation as part of a broader initiative to dismantle DHS.

The recommendation reflects conservatives’ desire to shrink the overall size of government, but it may also suggest a belief that moving CISA would curtail its scope and make it “a little more manageable,” says Brandon Pugh, director of the cybersecurity and emerging threats team at the center-right think tank R Street Institute. Pugh says some Republicans believe the agency “went beyond its original mandate and [has] become too bloated.”

But this idea is a virtual nonstarter because the congressional committees with oversight of CISA won’t give up their power in a rapidly growing domain. “There's no way that would ever work,” Costello says.

Apart from being infeasible, the proposal would undermine CISA’s effectiveness.

Cybersecurity fits squarely into DHS’s homeland-security portfolio, so moving CISA into a department with a different mission “doesn't make a lot of sense” and “would undermine some of the organizational logic,” Kelly says. “I don't actually understand the rationale of that.”

DHS is also better-suited to facilitate the kind of cross-government collaboration that CISA relies on for its twin missions of protecting federal computer systems and helping companies and local governments defend themselves.

“Giving CISA to Department of Transportation would reduce the cybersecurity of our national critical infrastructure for some period of time,” Montgomery says, adding that Transportation is “one of the last places” he’d put CISA and calling the proposal “nonsensical.”

Still, observers say it might be worth reviewing the structure of DHS, which has steadily accumulated functions since its post-9/11 creation and is now considered something of a Frankenstein department. But that review has to be “well thought out,” Todt says. “Reorganization of government should never be taken lightly.”

Squandering a Moment

Even as Project 2025 appears to misunderstand some aspects of CISA’s mission and focus disproportionately on others, the document also misses opportunities to recommend meaningful reforms.

Congress has spent years waiting for CISA to complete a “force structure assessment” that would better define its mission and the resources and organization needed to accomplish it. But even beyond CISA, there are serious concerns that the government as a whole isn’t coordinating well on cyber issues.

Pugh says it’s worth examining whether the system is working well. “Do we need to take a harder look at who's responsible for different leadership aspects of cyber?”

For now, though, experts agree that Project 2025 misses the mark. The document, Montgomery says, is “full of little tantrums” and “shows a lack of understanding of how federal government works.”

Costello says it’s “embarrassing” to see Project 2025 “call for essentially the hollowing out of CISA,” and he worries that its implementation could create a perilous feedback loop for the agency.

“If you were to reduce the mission scope and importance of CISA,” he says, “morale is going to drop, people are going to want to leave, and Congress is going to be less willing to fund [it].”

[sealochs]

i made you my temple, my mural, my sky; now i'm begging for footnotes in the story of your life. / grey and blue and fights and tunnels, handcuffed to the spell i was under, for just one hour of sunshine. / my white knuckle dying grip, holding tight to your quiet resentment, and my friends said it isn't right to be scared every day of a love affair; every breath feels like rarest air, when you're not sure if he wants to be there. / showed you all of my hiding spots, i was dancing when the music stopped; and in the disbelief i can't face reinvention; i haven't met the new me yet. / i gave you all my best me's, my endless empathy; and all i did was bleed as i tried to be the bravest soldier; fighting in only your army; frontlines, don't you ignore me; i'm the best thing at this party. you're losing me. / & are you really gonna talk about timing in times like these? and let all your damage damage me? and carry your baggage up my street? and make me your future history? it's time. / if you know it in one glimpse, it's legendary; what we thought was for all time was momentary; still alive, killing time at the cemetery; never quite buried. / and so we hereby conduct this post-mortem; he was a hot house flower to my outdoorsman; our maladies were such we could not cure them, and so a touch that was my birthright became foreign. / and i still can't believe it. old habits die screaming. / your faithless love's the only hoax i believe in.

[itstimetojellyfish]

White Sakura ( Ayato x reader)

…. I couldn’t help myself, I had to .

Senbonzakura(English cover)

Thousands of cherry blossoms ,

Dwindling in the light….

You heard that song from your father , who was stuck in Inazuma thanks to the degree , locking down all islands and keeping your father there , luckily though , he was allowed to ship items and send letters so he shipped over a music box , elegantly decorated with flowers .

Now , the degree has been lifted and you can finally visit you Inazuma , you’ve heard many things about Inazuma , from the excellent clans to the beautiful city and flowers .

Though , what you wanted to see most , was the White Sakura tree he told you about in his letters , as white as the snow in Snezhaya…

He told you that they were beautiful and could lift your spirit immediately, for the way the light bounces off the petals made them look ethereal.

He wished you could see them ,

(You wish you could see him one last time )

Your father died during the war , he was forced to become one of the shogun’s soldiers as repayment for something .

He was one of the servants of the Kamisato clan , you’ve heard many good things about Lady Ayaka and Lord Ayato , but you were still surprised when you say the Kamisato symbol on the letter you received.

You read that the Lord sent his condolences to you and since your father was loyal , the Lord has decided to pay for your travel plans and give you a tour of Inazuma.

So here you are , in front of the Kamisato estate in the most traditional clothes you could get from Inazuma .

You nervously walked up to the grand , dark brown doors , carved with the Kamisato clan’s symbol before timidly knocking on the entrance asking ,” Hello? It’s Y/N L/N? Is anybody there?”

You shifted your weight around as you waited , recalling all the rules of proper etiquette in order to not offend the head of the Kamisato clan.

It was only 10 minutes before the giant doors opened and you saw a soldier at the door , looking you up and down before letting you enter , but not before he checked your invitation.

When you walked in you felt the stares of people who didn’t know you , judging you , whether it was a good or bad definition, you didn’t care .

The guard escorted you towards the entrance into the house before knocking on the door and announcing your presence here.

When you looked around , you didn’t see the so called , white sakura anywhere , was it all a hoax just to keep your hopes up and to give you something to look forward to?

You were dragged out of your thoughts and brought back to reality when the door creaked open and a servant stood at the door and was ready to guide you to the head.

“ Hi! You must be the new guest , I’m Thoma , the house keeper and I’ll be here to introduce you to lady and lord kamisato!” He smiles at you like the sun and you smile back .

“ Hello , my name is Y/N ….” Your words got caught in your throat as you remembered your father .

Thoma looks at you sympathetically and then asks” Was your father Mr.L/N ? “

You nod and you stuffed a sob back into your throat ,” He … told me about how wonderful it was deriving the Kamisato Clan ….”

Thoma’s smile droops down as he pats your back and then leads you through the house towards Lord and Lady Kamisato.

He opens the door and behold , the pale blue haired male , Ayato , the head of the Kamisato Clan , was revealed dutifully signing documents.

As soon as he heard the door open , he looked up and smiled at both of you , thanking Thoma for guiding you.

Thoma left you alone in the room as he closed the door , Ayato decided to start the conversation.

“ Hello ,Y/N , your father has told me many things about you .” His smiled softened , “ I’m sorry for your loss.”

You stare at him before shoving a sob down your throat and telling him,” Thank you for your concern.”

He nods before pushing his chair back and standing up to walk towards you ,” I’ve finished the documents I needed to place , now , shall we?”

He slowly raised his arm and held his hand out for you to take , you didn’t refuse the offer and held his hand as you walked out of the house and estate , the people working staring at you .

He brought you to the grand Narikumi Shrine , but you didn’t see the white Sakura trees…

He brought you to restaurants , islands , and villages , all a great place to visit and just as beautiful as your father described it .

But you never once saw the so called White Sakura trees he mentioned.

Ayato noticed how glum you looked when he brought you to a restaurant, so he asked what’s wrong.

You replied with ,” In my father’s letters , he would tell me about the Sakura trees that would bloom beautiful white petals and reflect the light . I haven’t seen them anywhere…”

His eyes softens and then he replies ,” I know a spot , would you like to see?”

You stare at him in disbelief before nodding .

Soon enough , he’s leading you down a tunnel , when you turn the corner , you see a wonderful , pearl white Sakura tree with Wisteria trees surrounding it , a hole in the ceiling had sunlight pour down from above making it look ethereal .

You rush to stand under it , and unknown to you , to Ayato , you look like an angel who fell down from heavens .

As you stare in wonder , you don’t hear him say .

“ As pure as the petals , aren’t you?”

Yes white Sakura and wisteria exist

[itsgrimeytime]

Home is Where the Heart is (Part Six) || Farmer!Rick Grimes (TWD) x Teacher!GN!reader AU

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5...

Taglist: @1tsk1tty

rick grimes taglist: @golden-hoax @mgparker

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Inspiration: Like Real People Do by Hozier and Begin Again by Taylor Swift.

Summary: Your life was spinning out of control, you knew that. After a string of particularly shattering events, you decided it was time to start anew. With a little help from one of your Grandma's rentals, you found yourself in the small town of Alexandria. The last thing you expected was your neighbor, Rick Grimes.

TWs: none.

[[A/N: We're back babyyyy- get that cliché cooking together scene in here. Carl is significantly younger than he was in the show when Judith was a toddler, sorry. But the vibes were a young class, what can I say? I'd say he's like 7-9, making you like a 3rd grade teacher. Anyway. Enjoy :))]]

His house was what you expected -homey, and well a bit like a farmhouse. You wondered just how much of this was Rick's, and if any of it was Lori's. Did she live here?

"I built it myself," he remarked offhandedly, almost like a boast but not quite.

"What, the cabinets?" you hummed, pointing to the white, well-crafted cabinetry -you could tell there was substantial work put into them, each detail could be harbored on for-

"The house," he corrected, gathering supplies through his kitchen like he'd done it a million times before. He probably had.

"The house?"

"Yeah," he laughed, looking at you with his blue eyes, playfully, "-why? You surprised?"

"Well," you looked at him -rugged from working on the farm, you guessed, "-no. It just takes a lot to build a house-"

"'Worked on it for years," he hummed, absentmindedly, "-Suppose to be a family home, before..."

"Before the divorce," you finished, softly -carefully looking at him.

He seemed a little somber, but it didn't seem quite as painful as you imagined just after the divorce. It still hurt though, whatever reason it ended still hurt.

"Well," you spoke, playfully, "-she's missing out, I'll tell you that. I mean..."

He laughed, staring down into the bowl -a bright little grin cracking along his face.

"-it's amazing in here, really."

"Thank ya," Rick laughed a bit.

"No," you echoed, "-I'm serious. This place is, god."

Your eyes swam along all the details, imagining his own hands working on it. Each wall, each slab of flooring, the archways, the ceiling-

Rick fell rather silent, a smile slipped across his face but he seemed rather bashful, "Thank you."

"Of course," you echoed, hands fidgeting at your shirt, so you set them along the bar top -not a real one but one built into his kitchen, "-can't have a man like you shit-talking yourself afterall."

"A man like me?"

"A good man," you settled on -contemplative, "-a great man even. If you aren't the cream of the crop, then I certainly feel bad for anyone else."

If you squinted, you could see a little blush rise on his cheeks -it made you feel kind of giddy.

"Thank you," he repeated, with the same sort of serious, but lighthearted, tone. He spoke almost as if it was hitting his soul, like it really meant something to him. Like your opinion mattered then.

You wondered if it did.

Clearing your throat, you approached him in the kitchen -leisurely, "Aren't I supposed to be helping?"

"Sure," Rick grinned, something telling in his eyes, "-but I do think you were doing a great job just sittin' there lookin' pretty."

"Ha, ha," you deadpanned, before scooting into his side -almost close enough to touch, "-Now seriously, how can I help?"

"I'm serious-"

"Rick," you laughed a bit, "-let me help. You want some bacon, eggs? I can do the whole works-"

Rick sighed, a bit defeated -flipping the little bit of his hair that had hung over as he stirred back to look at you with the tilt of his head, "Fine, darlin', you can do the pancakes."

He held his hands up and stepped away from the bowl, but he didn't go far -only a mere step to the right to take the bacon out of its packaging. If you focused hard enough, you feel the heat of his body but only if you focused.

Which you weren't, not on that anyway.

"Did you already put the mix in?"

He laughed, turning to you with hands at his chest -touching raw meat, "Ya never made pancakes from scratch? Did ya also get fed with a silver spoon?"

"Don't-" you started, pointing the spoon at him accusingly, "-my Mom used plastic, first of all, and I know what I'm doing, obviously. But if I didn't, what else would you put in the mix?"

He only laughed even harder.

It took you about ten more minutes and a Google search to finish the pancakes, and the whole time -because he was already finished- he leaned up against the counter and watched you.

"Here you are, loverboy," you sat the stack of pancakes on the table -they were small, but still seemed to be good in quality. They would be eaten, Rick assured you of that.

"You still on 'at?" He hummed, tilting his head slightly.

"Sure," you responded, "-you still on darling?"

"Touché," he chuckled, holding a piece of bacon towards you, which you politely refused, and then decidedly popped it into his mouth, "-let me get the kids up. One minute, just wait 'ere."

"Okay," you hummed.

You let yourself get lost in the house then, fingers tapping along the counter. The kitchen was so well-crafted, you absentmindedly decided one day that you'd ask him to build you a house.

Or you could have this one, your mind chimed, traitorous.

Waving the thought away, you slowly stepped off the tile and back into the entry. Looking down the hallway, where you saw not a soul, you ventured a little further into the house. Just a little peek wouldn't hurt.

Your footsteps echoed along the floor, as you guided yourself into the next room -the dining room. All along the walls were a slew of family photos and drawings, each with sturdy frames -treasured. You smiled for a moment, finger coming up to touch the wooden frame of a drawing -one where it was Rick (obviously by the bright blue dots where his eyes were) and a little boy by his side who was wearing a cowboy hat.

His son, you remembered.

You hadn't actually met him that first day, he'd never come to help -Rick said he was working on a "masterpiece". And seeing his work now, he most certainly could have been.

You weren't even actually sure of his name.

With that passing thought, you flickered through a few family photos -ones with Lori. It said a lot about a man when he put up photos of his ex-wife, a lot of good. Even for whatever reason they divorced, Rick kept her in their lives. That was really important.

You scanned the wall, looking for wedding photos -just to see if he was the kind to hang them. But you were left empty-handed. Huh, you guessed that made sense-

Your eyes settled on a photo, silencing your train of thought -it was Rick. He was turned to the side, in a professional sort of way, and your eyes dipped to the beige uniform and badge. Sheriff.

Well, you hummed, that must be where the hat came from.

He looked totally different -hair cut shorter and completely clean-shaven. Blue eyes still bright as ever, he suited it. That being said, you think he suited his look now better. He was very relaxed, at peace, and seemed to be doing what he wanted in life. In some sort of way, you could tell Rick was built for what he did, including being a Dad.

Your fingers extended, maybe just one little touch-

"If ya wanted a tour, darlin', you coulda just asked."

"Jesus, fu-" you spun on your heel, ears hearing the little mutters of kids so you corrected, "-Christ, Rick you scared me."

He was grinning, leaned against the doorframe with casual ease -how long had he been watching you? The stance indicated much longer than you initially thought.

"You did seem focused," he hummed -standing straight, "-what were ya lookin' at?"

You paused, lips snapping shut -no way you were telling him that. Luckily, you heard some clanging echo out for the kitchen, and settled on deflecting, "Oh, look at that, sounds like your kids are getting into something they shouldn't. You should probably deal with that."

It came out a little nervous, rambly even, but all Rick did was grin -shaking his head in disbelief. Of what, you weren't sure.

"Carl," you heard his voice echo out into the room, "-go sit at the table. Jude, stay with me, I'll put'cha in your chair."

Carl, you thought, you knew that name from somewhere.

You heard a young voice chime back, almost in a sing-songy tone, "Okay, Dad."

Before you could think too hard on where you recognized the name from, the boy walked in. His hair was just touching his shoulders, darker brown than his Dad's, but his eyes on the other hand were an exact match -bluer than blue. It was a little unnerving, actually.

"Hey," he crossed his arms, "-I know you, you're the neighbor Dad keeps talkin' 'bout."

"Uh, yeah," (he talks about you?), "-I'm Y/N, nice to meet you."

"My name's Carl," he smiled big and wide, holding his hand out to shake -cute.

You laughed, accepting the shake, "Very professional, Carl."

He grinned, proud of himself, before standing beside a chair -he seemed to know the exact one to sit at. Maybe it was where he sat every time? Now that you counted, there was exactly enough chairs for one guest (4 to be exact) -for Lori at one point, you realized.

Something in your heart tinged.

"You can sit beside me," Carl offered, even going as far to pull the chair beside him out.

"I'd be honored, Carl," you smiled, before looking back to the kitchen, "-Just let me help your Dad first. Save it for me, okay?"

He nodded -enthusiastically, sitting into his chair and holding the other's arm with a firm grip. Protective. You wanted to laugh at the sight, but bit it back -wandering back toward the kitchen.

Rick was there, organizing the plates of food, and Judith stood by his side, making relentless grabby hands. Something in your chest warmed at such a domestic sight, you let it simmer under your skin for a second.

"You need some help?"

He spun to look at you, letting out a nervous laugh, "Could ya? I can get the pancakes, and the plates-"

"Daddy," Judith pouted, "-up, up."

"Jude, just a second, okay? Daddy's gotta get the food-"

"Rick," you put a hand on his arm, "-I've got it, go sit down."

His eyes flickered to your hand for a moment -something in your fingers tingled, before connecting with your eyes, "I couldn't ask ya to-"

"You're not," you corrected, "-let me do this. Think about it. When was the last time you were served breakfast and not the other way around?"

Rick pursed his lips for a moment, reaching for one of the plates, "'s been a while, but I can help, darlin'."

You silently grabbed his wrist, and he turned his attention back to you, "Think of it as a thank you for the breakfast."

Rick sighed, and you dropped his wrist (fingertips warm and fuzzy) -stepping back from the counter with his hands in mock surrender, "Alright."

"It'll only take me a few trips," you explained, "-plus, I've already got a seat, Carl's saving it for me."

Rick wanted to say something to that, but Judith was persistent -tiny hands pulling at the fabric of his pants. With a long exhale through his nose, he scooped her up.

"Thank you," he hummed, soft and gentle and sincere.

"No problem," you smiled, teasing, "-loverboy."

He laughed a bit, a sort of flicker smoothing across his eyes. You didn't really know what it was, but it was warm, you knew that much. It made your throat run a little dry and your heart beat a little faster -you tried to school your face into something neutral.

Breakfast was... good. Not even just in the physical sense, which it very much was, but in general; it was a homey sort of experience, Carl chattering away, and Judith using a tiny fork to pick up bits and pieces of her food. Every once in awhile she'd play peekaboo with you, and you couldn't find it in yourself to stop smiling.

Carl asked you a lot of questions, but you answered them without a smile of hesitation.

Rick, though, was strangely silent. You didn't hear from him in any of the discussions, and his low gravel was decidedly absent to your ears. Pursing your lips, you chanced a glance at him and instead found him looking straight at you.

Blue eyes concise and focused, he seemed to be watching you, a little in awe. A sort of gaze that rooted you to your chair -a fondness far too much than you thought he would've had for you. Your eyes flicked back to the kids, who were both distracted by each other.

"You're really good with 'em," he spoke, slow and appreciative.

"I try," you quipped, before falling a bit more serious, "-I was really worried... when I started teaching, that I wasn't going to know how to deal with the kids."

Rick watched you for a moment, food forgotten, "It doesn't come naturally to ya? 'Sure seems like it."

"Thank you," you smiled -a little bashful, "-but you didn't see me before."

"There's no doubt in my mind 'at you were perfect, darlin'," he countered, blue eyes in a fuzzy haze -drifting across your face, "-in fact, I don't believe I can quite see a flaw."

"What," you questioned, bringing a bite to your mouth, "-with my teaching?"

"With you," he corrected, eyes still holding the contact as he slipped his coffee.

"Well," you cleared your throat -heart beating a thousand miles a second, "-there are definitely some people who would disagree with you on that."

"None of 'em 'at matter," he offered -so sincere, you almost had to blink away tears.

Your mind drifted to your city job, your... ex-fiance, and the aftermath of it all. You had really loved him. Now, you bet he had little to say about you positively.

"Darlin'?" His voice pulled you out of your head, "-Everythin' okay? Thought I lost ya there."

"I..." you started, but your words didn't come out -instead your tone trailed off into silence.

"You wanna talk about it later?" He offered -eyes flickering to his kids, warm and inviting, but not at all pressuring, "-Don't 'ave to, only if ya think it'll help."

"Would you?"

"Would I what?" He asked, seeking clarification.

"Listen," you hummed, "-it isn't very fun to just... listen. Especially about someone's problems-"

He grabbed your wrist, which sat unmoving on the table -rough fingertips brought you back, "I'd love to listen to ya. Whatever ya wanted to talk about, I'd be happy to."

"Yeah?" You offered, soft, "-You're a busy man, Rick, are you sure you can-"

"I'll make time for ya," he hummed, fingers leaving your arm -warmth in their wake, "-you're more important than that other stuff anyway, darlin'."

Your heart fluttered in your chest, but you merely noted it, "You're a farmer, don't you need to tend to your farm? Isn't that like grueling, time-consuming work?"

"I can adjust, get some stuff done faster," he muttered, "-what? Ya don't think I can do it?"

"No, I just..." your mind dipped back into the city and feeling lonely even though there were people all around you.

Rick must've noticed something flash through your eyes, as his hand hesitatingly threaded into yours on the table, "I'll make time for ya, promise."

And you somehow believed him.

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

by Stacey Mattews

The Biden White House has also said they want “answers”:

“We want answers,” National Security Advisor Jake Sullivan told reporters. “We want to see this thoroughly and transparently investigated.” A spokesperson for the US State Department also said Washington was continuing to press Israel for more information.

As with most things claimed by a Hamas-run organization, the problem here is that the mass grave was actually dug in January 2024 – but not by the IDF:

Analyses by Sky News and independent analysts of satellite imagery and footage published online found that claims spread by Hamas and Arabic media that the IDF had dug mass graves at the Nasser hospital in Gaza were false as the graves were made before the IDF entered the complex. Hamas, Al-Jazeera, and several news agencies claimed in recent days that the IDF had dug mass graves in order to “hide” the bodies of Palestinians after entering the Nasser hospital in Khan Yunis.

Here’s more from the Times of Israel:

The IDF, in its response, said that during its operation in the area of Nasser Hospital in recent months, troops examined corpses that had been buried by Palestinians on the medical center’s grounds, “as part of an effort to locate hostages.” The military said it operated in a “targeted manner,” only where it had intelligence that Israeli hostages may have been buried.

GeoConfirmed also has a lengthy thread that includes receipts that back up Shoshani’s statement. Make sure to click on the tweets to expand them for more detailed explanations:

The tweets are here